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                 GOLDEN DAYS

              For Boys and Girls

     Vol. XII--No. 6.      January 3, 1891.

                           Philadelphia:
                           JAMES ELVERSON,
                           Publisher.


       *       *       *       *       *

[Transcriber's Note:
The notation "->" represents the pointing-finger symbol. Text
incorporated into advertising illustrations is shown in (parentheses);
where necessary, a brief description of the illustration is given in
{braces}.
The layout of the advertising pages is shown after all text, along
with a list of file names for major illustrations. Typographical errors
in the original, whether corrected or not, are listed at the end.]

       *       *       *       *       *


      "BIRTH IS MUCH, BUT BREEDING MORE."
    Where were you born that you DON'T use
                    SAPOLIO

SAPOLIO is a Solid Cake of SCOURING SOAP
used for ALL Cleaning Purposes, except the Laundry.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: (Telegraphy)]

  THE "MORSE" OUTFIT, $3.75.

Complete Outfit for learning Telegraphy, and operating Short Lines of
Telegraph, from a few feet to several miles in length. Consists of full
size, well made Giant Sounder with Curved Key Combination Set as above,
together with Battery, Book of Instruction, insulated Wire, Chemicals,
and all necessary materials for operating. Price $3.75. Sent by express
upon receipt of amount by Registered Letter, Money Order, Express Order
or Postage Stamps. Morse Pamphlet of practical Telegraph Instructions
free to any address. J.H. BUNNELL & CO., 76 Cortlandt Street, New York.
Largest and Best Telegraph Supply House in America.


  MAGIC

LANTERNS WANTED AND FOR SALE OR EXCHANGE.
HARBACH & CO. 809 Filbert St. Phila. Pa.


[Illustration]

 ** The STAR BANJO **

Is made on entirely new principles and produces the most desirable
QUALITY of tone combined with the greatest volume and carrying power,
making it the finest instrument extant for stage or parlor use.
PRICE LIST MAILED FREE.
*LYON & HEALY, Chicago.*


*CIRCULARS* to young people only. Money for you.
Address Novelty Typewriter Co., *Oswego, N.Y.*


  [THIS IS NOT AN IDLE]

This company does not handle Farm Mortgages, but City Investments only.
The WINNER COMPANY has paid its investors over Two Million Dollars in
profits since 1883, without a single case of loss.

  [TALE OF IDLE MONEY]

To be convinced of this send to WM.M. PARMENTER, 50 State St., Boston,
Mass. for circulars explaining the business of the WINNER INVESTMENT CO.
Mailed free to any address.


  CARDS

Send 2c. Stamp for Sample Book of all the FINEST and Latest Style
CARDS for 1891. We sell Genuine Cards, not Trash. UNION CARD CO.,
COLUMBUS, OHIO.


  MAGIC LANTERNS

*And STEREOPTICONS*, all prices.

Views illustrating every subject for *PUBLIC EXHIBITIONS*, etc.
-> _A profitable business for a man with a small capital._
Also, Lanterns for Home Amusement. 208 page Catalogue _free_.
*McALLISTER*, Mfg. Optician, *49 Nassau St., N.Y.*


*WORLD'S* Fair Railway Puzzle. Lots of fun: sample 10c.; 3 for 25c.
Morton & Co., Box 848, Chicago


*MINIATURE PHOTOGRAPHS 12 for 25c. Sample 2c.*
Copied from photographs or tintypes, which WE RETURN.
THE BARTHOLOMEW STUDIO, WALLINGFORD, CONN.


    Advertising Rates for "Golden Days."

Single insertions, 75c. per Agate line.
Four insertions, 70c. per Agate line for each insertion.
Thirteen insertions, 65c. per Agate line for each insertion.
Twenty-six ", 60c. per Agate line for each insertion.
Fifty-two ", 50c. per Agate line for each insertion.

  _Eight words average a line. Fourteen lines make one inch._

    JAMES ELVERSON, Pubisher,
      Philadelphia, Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

STAMPS.


[Illustration: (CEYLON POSTAGE TEN PENCE)]

  *STAMPS--ALL GENUINE!*

    *100 Rare Varieties*

China, Nicaragua, Honduras. Old Japan and Egypt, Bosnia, Peru, Orange,
Hawaii, fine old U.S., Interior. Treasury, P.O., War, etc., *with
elegant Stamp Album, only 25c*. 100 assorted rare Mexico, Ceylon,
Guiana, Turkey, Costa-Rica, etc., *only 10c*. *Large new 20 page
Price-list, etc., FREE! AGENTS WANTED* at 33 1/3 per cent com.
*STANDARD STAMP CO.*, removed to 923-925 Lasalle St., St. Louis, Mo.


  STAMPS

We lead; others follow. We are the world wreckers on low prices.
Ten-cent sets--3 Malta, 2 Montserrat, 5 Newfoundland, 2 Paraguay, 4
Dominica Republic, 2 St. Vincent, 2 Sierra Leone, 5 Straits Settlements,
3 Suriname, 2 Tobago. 40-page price list, 2c. New coin catalogue, 10c.
E.F. GAMBS, Coin and Stamp Dealer, 4 Sutter Street, San Francisco, Cal.


  STAMPS

100 all different, 10c.; 300 all different. $1.25; 500 all different,
$2.25. price lists free. Agents wanted to sell stamps from my unequalled
sheets at 33-1/3 per cent, com. Wm. E. Baitzell, 412 N. Howard St.,
Baltimore, Md.


300
Mixed, rare Australian, etc., 10c.: 75 fine varieties and *nice* album,
10c. Illustrated list free. Agents wanted, 40 p.c. com. F.P. Vincent,
Chatham, N.Y.


STAMPS

Agents! Approval Sheets, 1-3d com. List free. Conrath & Co.,
1334 Lasalle St., St. Louis, Mo.


STAMPS

Price list *FREE*. Approval sheets 50 per ct. com.
E.A. OBORNE, Jamaica, New York.


STAMPS--Agents wanted for the _very best_ approval sheets at
40 per ct. com. *Putnam Bros., Lewiston, Me*

       *       *       *       *       *

  15 CENT PACKAGE OF GAMES.

    The Best Collection Ever Sold for
      Four Times the Amount.

*Game of Authors*, 48 cards with directions.
*Set of Dominoes*,
*Chess Board*, with men.
*Checker Board*, with men.
*Fox and Geese Board*, with men.
*Nine Men Morris Board*, with men.
*Mystic Age Tablet*, tells age of any person.
*The Beautiful Language of Flowers*.
*Morse Telegraph Alphabet*.
*The Improved Game of Forfeit*.
*Parlor Tableau*,
*Pantomine*,
*Shadow Pantomine*,
*Shadow Buff*,
*The Clarivoyant*, how to become a medium.
*Game of Fortune*,
*The Album Writers Friend*, 275 Select Autograph Album Verses (new).
*50 Choice Conumdrums or Riddles*, with answers (new).
*Thirteen Magical Experiments*,
*Eleven Parlor Games*,
*Magic Music*,
*Order of the Whistle*,
*Game of Letters*, and many others.

To introduce our goods and get new customers, we will send the whole
lot to any address, freight paid, on receipt of 15c.; 2 lots for 25c.;
5 lots, 50c. Stamps taken. *STAYNER & CO., Providence, R.I.*


  CARDS

FINEST GOODS, LATEST STYLES, LOWEST PRICES, SAMPLES *FREE*
LAUREL CARD CO., CLINTONVILLE, CONN.


[Illustration]

*Will Do It.*

Our Beard Elixir will force a *Mustache* in 20 days.
*Full Beard* in 30. Sample package, postpaid, 15c; 2 for 25c;
one dozen, 75 cents. Agents wanted. WESSON MFG. CO., 5 E St.,
Providence, R.I.


 USE BOILING WATER OR MILK.
           EPPS'S
    GRATEFUL--COMFORTING.
           COCOA
SOLD IN LABELED 1/2 LB. TINS.


  CARDS

NEW SAMPLE BOOK of Hidden Name, Silk Fringe, Gold, Silver and Tinted
Edge Cards. The Finest ever offered for 2 cent stamp. NATIONAL CARD CO.,
SCIO, OHIO.


MAGIC LANTERN VIEWS FOR SMALL LANTERNS.
COMIC, BIBLE SCENERY, NOTED PLACES
SEND ONE CENT FOR NEW PRICE LIST
CAEL BROWN
155 WASHINGTON ST., CHICAGO, ILL.


  CARDS!

30 Samples *Free.* Jewel Co., Clintonville, Conn.


  ASTHMA CURED

DR. TAFT'S ASTHMALENE never fails; send us your address,
we will mail trial BOTTLE *FREE*
THE DR. TAFT BROS.M. CO., ROCHESTER, N.Y.


  WINTER PRICES ON BICYCLES

    [Illustration]

      DEALERS DISCOUNTS OUTDONE.

Don't wait till spring, buy *now* and save big money. Easy payments,
all makes, new & 2d hd. Extraordinary prices on job lots. Cata free.
*Rouse, Hazard & Co., 84 G Street, Peoria, Ill.*


  CARDS

LATEST STYLES, BEST PREMIUMS, -> COSTLY OUTFIT. *FREE*
YALE CARD CO., NEW HAVEN, CONN.


  100

Popular Songs, 32 complete Love Stories, 11 thrilling
Detective Stories and large catalogue, all for 10c silver.
*Handford & Co., Lincoln Park, N.J.*


  I CURE FITS!

When I say cure I do not mean merely to stop them for a time and then
have them return again. I mean a radical cure. I have made the disease
of FITS, EPILEPSY or FALLING SICKNESS a life-long study. I warrant my
remedy to cure the worst cases. Because others have failed is no reason
for not now receiving a cure. Send at once for a treatise and a Free
Bottle of my infallible remedy. Give Express and Post Office.
*H.G. ROOT, M.C., 183 Pearl St., N.Y.*


  PLAYS

Dialogues, Tableaux, Speakers, for School, Club & Parlor. Best out.
Catalogue free. T.S. DENISON, Chicago, Ill.


[Illustration:
(The Ready Binder
for binding
THREE MONTHS
of the
GOLDEN DAYS
*Price, 10 Cents.*) ]

THIS BINDER is light, strong and handsome, and the weekly issues
of GOLDEN DAYS are held together by it in the convenient form of a book,
which can be kept lying on the reading-table. It is made of two white
wires joined together in the centre, with slides on either end for
pressing the wires together, thus holding the papers together by
pressure without mutilating them. We will furnish the Binders at
Ten Cents apiece, postage prepaid. Address JAMES ELVERSON,
Publisher, Philadelphia, Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

      Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria.

       *       *       *       *       *

    DOCTORS RECOMMEND

Ayer's Cherry Pectoral in preference to any other preparation
designed for the cure of colds and coughs, because it is safe,
palatable, and always efficacious.

"After an extensive practice of nearly one-third of a century,
Ayer's Cherry Pectoral is my cure for recent colds and coughs.
I prescribe it, and believe it to be the very best expectorant now
offered to the people. Ayer's medicines are constantly increasing in
popularity." --Dr. John C. Levis, Druggist, West Bridgewater, Pa.

"I have never found, in thrty-five years' practice, any preparation
of so great value as Ayer's Cherry Pectoral for treatment of
diseases of the throat and lungs, and I constantly recommend it to
my patients. It not only cures colds and coughs, but is effectual in
relieving the most serious bronchial and pulmonary affections."
--L.J. Addison, M.D., Chicago, Ill.

  ->For croup and whooping cough, take

    Ayer's Cherry Pectoral,

Prepared by Dr. J.C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. Sold by all Druggists.
Price $1; six bottles, $5.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

FREE
TO BOYS AND GIRLS UNDER 18 YEARS OF AGE.

The WESTERN PEARL CO. will give away 1000 or more first-class safety
bicycles (boy's or girl's style) for advertising purposes. If you want
one on very easy conditions, without one cent of money for it.
Address, enclosing 2 cent stamp for particulars,
*WESTERN PEARL CO., 308 Dearborn Street, CHICAGO, ILL.*


SAMPLES 2c. World CARD Co. 47 Elder Cin'ti O.


[Illustration: (Excelsior)]

  PRINT Your Own CARDS and Advertisements!

Card Press, *$3;* Circular size, *$8;* Small Newspaper Press, *$22.*
Fast 9x13 Jobber, *$100.* You can *SAVE MONEY* and *make big money*,
too, by printing for others. _Fun for spare hours._ Type Setting easy
by our printed rules. Send 2 stamps for large catalogue of presses,
type, cards, paper, etc., direct to factory.
*KELSEY & CO., Meriden, Conn*


[Illustration]

GOLD PLATED PEARL SCARF PIN FREE

To introduce our Watches and Jewelry, we will send the above beautiful
Scarf Pin free to anyone. Cut this ad. out and return to us. Large
illustrated catalogue sent free with pin.
*W. HILL & CO., Wholesale Jewelers, 11b Madison St., Chicago, Ill.*


  100 NEW SONGS

(no 2 alike). 1 pk. May I.C.U. Home Cards. All the late flirtations,
etc. 20 Fine Photos, large Ill. Cat., Lovers' Telegraph and 15 Versions
of Love, all 10c. EASTERN SUPPLY CO. Laceyville, O.


Piso's Remedy for Catarrh is the Best, Easiest to Use, and Cheapest.

[Illustration: (CATARRH)]

Sold by druggists or sent by mail. 50c. E.T. Hazeltine, Warren, Pa.


32 *COMPLETE* Love Stories, 11 Thrilling Detective Stories and 100
*Popular Songs*, postpaid, 10c. (silver). J. Roush, L. Box 615,
Frankfort, Ind.


[Illustration: (THE GREAT AMERICAN TEA COMPANY)]

  GOOD NEWS
    TO LADIES!

*Entire New Departure. Handsome Present to every Purchaser.*

Greatest offer. Now's your time to get orders for our celebrated
*Teas, Coffees* and *Baking Powder* and secure a beautiful Gold Band
or Moss Rose China Tea Set, Dinner Set, Gold Band Moss Rose Toilet
Set, Watch, Brass Lamp, Castor, or Webster's Dictionary. 3-1/2 lbs.
Fine Tea by mail on receipt of $2. The Great American Tea Co., 31
and 33 Vesey St., New York. P.O. Box, 289


10 CENTS

(silver) pays for your address in the "AGENT'S DIRECTORY," which goes
whirling all over the United States, and you will get hundreds of
samples, circulars, books, newspapers, magazines, etc., from those who
want agents. You will get lots of good reading free and will be *WELL
PLEASED* with the small investment. -> List containing name sent to
each person answering. *T.D. CAMPBELL, D 105, Boyleston, Ind.*


DO YOU PLAY CARDS?

No game complete without our *Patent Counters.* Scores any game.
Send 10 cents for a pair. 30 cents buys fine pack Cards and
100 Poker Chips. *REED & CO., 84 Market St., Chicago, Ill.*


  CATARRH CURED

I will send FREE to every reader of this paper a copy of the
original recipe for preparing the best and surest remedy ever
discovered for the permanent and speedy cure of Catarrh. Over one
million cures in five years. Send your name and address to Prof.
J.A. LAWRENCE, 58 Warren Street, New York, and receive this free
Recipe. Write to-day. A Postal Card will cost you but

  ONE CENT!!


[Illustration: ring]

30 New Style Cards, 275 Album Verses, 50 Conundrums with answers,
slight of hand tricks, games and RING, 10 cents. Address HOME CARD CO.,
PROVIDENCE, R.I.


FUN

Game of Forfeit, with full directions, 275 Autograph Album
Selections, 11 Parlor Games, 50 Conundrums. Game of Fortune. Mystic
Age Table. Magic Music, Game of Letters. The new book, Order of the
Whistle. Language of Flowers, Morse Telegraph Alphabet, Game of
Shadow Buff and 13 Magical Experiments. All the above on receipt of
3 cents for postage, etc. Address, NASSAU NOVELTY WORKS, 58 & 60
Fulton St., New York. FREE


*SAMPLE BOOK* of Cards, 2c. Globe Co., Wallingford, Ct.


25c PRINTING OUTFIT

[Illustration]

*A WHOLE PRINTING OUTFIT, COMPLETE AND PRACTICAL*, Just as shown
in cut. 3 Alphabets of neat Type. Bottle of Indelible Ink, Pad,
Tweezers, in neat case with catalogue and directions "HOW TO BE A
PRINTER." Sets up any name, prints cards, paper, envelopes, etc.
marks linen. Worth 50c. The best gift for young people. Postpaid,
only 25c., 3 for 60c., 6 for $1. Ag'ts wanted. Ingersol & Bro.,
65 Cortlandt St., N.Y. City.


  4 CTS.
100 Assorted U.S. and Foreign Stamps 4 cents; 500, 18 cents;
1000, 33 cents HANDFORD & CO., Lincoln Park, N.J.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE DOLLAR TYPEWRITER

$1

THIS IS THE TYPE USED. ABCDEFGHI

[Illustration:
        (NEW YORK 007 2
DEAR SIR.
  THIS TYPEWRITER DOES THE SAME
QUALITY OF WORK AS A REMINGTON.
AND WILL WRITE 20 WORDS A MINUTE)]

A perfect and practical Type Writing machine for only *ONE DOLLAR*.
Exactly like cut; regular Remington type; does the same quality of work;
takes a fools cap sheet. Complete with paper holder, automatic feed,
perfect type wheel & inking roll; uses copying ink. Size 3x4x9 inches;
weight, 12 oz; Satisfaction guaranteed; Circulars free; *AGENTS WANTED.*
Sent by express for *$1.00*; by mail, 15c extra for postage.
*R.H. INGERSOLL & BRO., 65 CORTLANDT ST., N.Y. CITY.*


MOUTH ORGAN

Chart teaches a tune in 10 minutes. Agts. watd. 2c. stamp.
Music Novelty Co., Detroit, Mich.


GUNS

Watches, Clocks, Etc.
DOUBLE Breech-Loader $7.75
RIFLES $2.00
PISTOLS 75c

All Kinds cheaper than elsewhere. Before you buy,
send stamp for Catalogue. Address POWELL & CLEMENT,
*180 Main Street, Cincinnati, Ohio.*


MOTHERS

Be sure und use *"Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup"*
for your children while *Teething*.


  FORCE BEARD OR HAIR.
    EITHER SEX. ANYBODY.

Prof. <DW18>'s Elixir has restored the hair on my head, when I was
perfectly bald, J.T. Biggs, Bryan, Tex., Oct. 8. John Millard says,
Prof <DW18>'s Elixir has produced a heavy moustache on my upper lip in
4 weeks. My face was entirely smooth. Thousands more

Prof. <DW18>'s Elixir grows the heaviest beard and hair in 4 weeks.
Complete remedy, in bottles or metal cases, with the finest perfume
known, for 25c, in stamps or silver. Worth four times this amount.
We mail secure. Address *Smith Med. Co. Palatine. Ills.*


$25 A WEEK to LADY AGENTS

"Victoria Protector" and rubber goods for ladies and children.
Victoria by mail $[**] Circulars free. Mrs. L.E. Singleton,
Box 865, Chicago, Ill.


For boy or man, as an educator or as a source of amusement or income,
at a small expense, get one of our

  PRINTING PRESSES
  JOSEPH WATSON,
  25 Murray St., N.Y. City.

Specimen Book of type, [**] cents. Circular sent free.

Amateur Printers' Guide Book. 15 cents.


[Illustration]

[Illustration]

375 Plush Floral Silk Fringe cards, games, album verses,
&c., Initial Handkerchief, Ring, Pocket Pen & Pencil &
*Agents' Samples 10c. CLINTON & CO., North Haven, Ct.*


  SEND 30 CENTS

in stamps for elegant *Concert Harmonica*, worth $1.00.
Money refunded if not satisfactory. JOHN C. HAYNES & CO.,
33 Court Street and 694 Washington Street, Boston, Mass.


100 SCRAP
  PICTURES & AGENT'S CARD OUTFIT
2c AND PRESENT
  FREE
E.H. PARDEE, MONTOWESE, CONN.


PLAYS! PLAYS! PLAYS!

De Witt's AMATEUR and STANDARD PLAYS DICK'S LONDON ACTING EDITION OF
PLAYS Complete Descriptive Catalogue of over 2000 Plays: Dialogues;
Headings and Recitations; Charades; Tableaux; Pantomimes; Books of
Games, Sports and Amusements, Athletics, Gymnastics, etc., etc., sent
free on application to The De Witt Publishing House, 33 Rose St., N.Y.


OPIUM

Morphine Habit Cured in 10 to 20 days. No pay till cured.
Dr. J. Stephens, Lebanon, Ohio.


  BARNEY & BERRY

[Illustration: {ice skate}]

  CATALOGUE
Springfield, Mass. FREE.


CARDS FREE

Send your name and address on a postal card for all the Latest
Styles of Silk Fringe, Photograph, Envelope, Beveled Edge, Crazy
Edge Cards &c., Samples of all free. HOME and YOUTH, Cadiz, Ohio.


[Illustration: (TONS OF MAIL)]

  ONLY DIRECTORY ON EARTH

Guaranteeing 50,000 Circulation. For 10cts. (silver) your name will
be inserted and copy mailed you accompanied by positive proof that
your name is sent to 50,000 Publishers, Advertisers, Mfgrs, and
others, and from these you will receive hundreds, probably
thousands, of valuable Samples, Papers, Books, Magazines, etc.
ALL FREE. Always address AMERICAN DIRECTORY CO., Buffalo, N.Y.

Vernon Hill, Va.-- Gents: I have already received over 1,000 parcels
of mail, scores of magazines, etc., for which I had often paid 25c
each before. My experience proves your Directory far excels all
others, as I find most of them are frauds and cheats. R.T. James.


  FREE

SAMPLE CARDS. THE FINEST, CHEAPEST AND BEST.
COSTLY OUTFIT FREE to all who will act as AGENT.
Send 2c stamp for postage. U.S. CARD CO., CADIZ, OHIO.


    DEAFNESS
  & HEAD NOISES CURED by
Peck's INVISIBLE *TUBULAR EAR CUSHIONS*. Whispers heard. Comfortable.
Successful where all Remedies FAIL. Ills. book & proofs free. Address
F. HISCOX, 859 Broadway, New York.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *

                  GOLDEN DAYS
              FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

(Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, by
James Elverson, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at
Washington, D.C.)

                   VOL. XII.

          JAMES ELVERSON, Publisher.
       N.W. corner Ninth and Spruce Sts.

         PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY 3, 1891.

                     TERMS
          $3.00 Per Annum, In Advance.

                     No. 6.

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *

                 RAILROAD ROCK,
          THE TRAIN BOY OF THE PEN YAN

            Or, Doing His Level Best.

              by VICTOR ST. CLAIR,

  Author of "Bayard the Bicyclist," "From the
       Forge to the Forum," "Roughing It
           on Range and Ranch," etc.


                   CHAPTER I.

"Discharged from your last situation, young man? For what reason?"

And the busy superintendent of the Pen Yan Road, one of the largest
railway systems in the country, turned from his maps and statistics to
glance suspiciously at the slight figure, before him.

Clear and prompt came the answer:

"For doing my duty, sir."

"Humph!" replied the official, shrugging his shoulders and eying the
youthful speaker more closely. "Men--nor boys, for that matter--never
lose situations from attention to business. You will have to find
another excuse."

"I have no other, sir."

By this time the notice of the subordinate officials and clerks, of whom
there were twenty or more in the company's spacious rooms, was fixed
upon him who stood at the iron railing encircling the chief's desk.

He was not over sixteen years of age, of medium size, poorly clad, and
evidently used to hard work. But his features, though browned with a
deep coat of tan and bountifully sprinkled with freckles, made up an
honest, manly-looking countenance, while the blue eyes met the railroad
superintendent's sterner gaze with an unflinching light.

Everything had seemed to work that day at cross-purposes with
Superintendent Lyons, and he was in no humor to parley with the poor
boy, who had thrust himself into his presence with more boldness than
discretion.

But the very attitude of the youthful applicant, as he stood there with
uncovered head, respectfully waiting for his answer, showed he was not
to be put off with the ordinary excuse.

General Lyons was so favorably impressed with his appearance of quiet
determination that he was fain to ask:

"You say you have come from Woodsville, a hundred miles, for a situation
on the road?"

"Yes, sir."

"And that you have recently been discharged from our employ? I must say,
your audacity is only equaled by your frankness."

"But, sir, it was no fault of mine. I was trying to do my duty."

"Give me the particulars in as few words as possible."

"Thank you, sir. I have worked on Section 66 nearly two years--"

"Let me see," interrupted the superintendent, "that extends from Trestle
Summit to Wood's Hollow."

"Yes, sir."

"The most troublesome section on the entire line of the road. But go on
with your story."

"It's a bad section, sir, and it usually takes five regular hands to
keep it in repair. But for two weeks a couple of the men have been off
on account of illness, while our foreman, Mr. Gammon, has not been on
duty half of the time. This left one man, with myself, to look after the
road. That, with the rains we have been having, has given us more than
we could do as it ought to be done. But Mr. Gammon refused to put on any
more help, so Mr. Baxter and I have done the best we could.

"Day before yesterday it was after dark when we had finished a repair
which had taken us all the afternoon, at Trestle Summit, the extreme
upper end of our section.

"The northern mail train was then due, and we were waiting for that to
pass, so we could have a clear track to go home, when a man, coming from
the direction of Woodsville, told us the bridge, two miles beyond the
station, had been washed away. The stranger didn't look like an honest
man; and we knew, if he had been, he would told them at the station. But
the bridge had been threatened for several days, and, as we had not seen
it for thirty-six hours, we knew there was more than an even chance that
the tramp was right.

"Mr. Gammon had promised to look to it that day; but he so seldom did as
he would talk that we did not believe he had been near it. If it was so,
every life on the train was in peril, and, as I have said, it was then
time for it to come along.

"So Mr. Baxter and I decided to signal the train, and tell them of the
situation. But it was raining hard then, the wind was blowing furiously,
and our matches were damp, so we worked in vain to make a torch. It was
too dark for our flag to be seen. We had no way to stop the train. At
that moment we heard its whistle in the distance and knew it would soon
reach us.

"We were on the backbone of Trestle Summit, where, either way, the track
descends at a sharp grade for over three miles. It was nearly six miles
to Woodsville; but I knew while the mail was climbing the up grade we
could get well on toward the station. So I said to Mr. Baxter:

"'Let's take our hand-car and go on ahead of the train. It's our only
chance.'

"We weren't long in getting the car upon the track. But we had barely
sprung aboard when the mail head-light burst into sight less than half a
mile away!

"'We are too late!' gasped Mr. Baxter; and, whether from fright,
excitement or illness, he fell in a swoon.

"The car had started down the grade. Pulling Mr. Baxter on, so he would
not fall off, I lent my strength to the car's momentum, and we shot down
the track like lightning.

[Illustration:
ROCK STARTED FORWARD AND UTTERED A CRY OF TERROR
AS HE SAW THE GLEAM OF A HEADLIGHT AND AN ENGINE AND TRAIN.]

"In my excitement, I had forgotten that it would require my arm to hold
in check the speed of the car. In fact, it had been known to get beyond
the management of its drivers at one point several times. But I had
given it a start, and it wasn't long before it was beyond my control.
Then, all I could do was to cling to the platform, expecting every
moment to be my last. We went so fast the wheels didn't seem to touch
the tracks, only now and then, and we appeared to be flying through the
air, going faster and faster.

"Glancing back once, I saw the engine-light as the train thundered over
the summit, and at increased speed shot down after us! But we were not
likely to be overtaken, going at our flying rate.

"How the hand-car kept the track I do not know; but, before I could
realize it, we had reached the valley, crossed Runaway Bridge, and were
rushing up the ascent toward the station.

"As we began to lose speed, the train began to gain on us, and I knew
the engineer was doing his best to make up for lost time.

"For the last half-mile it looked as though we should be overtaken, but
we came in with the cow's nose at our heels.

"I told them what we had done, and as soon as they got over their
surprise a party went ahead to examine the bridge."

"Well, what was the result?" asked the superintendent, who had listened
with great interest to the boy's thrilling, yet straightforward, account
of his hazardous ride. "You took a fearful risk."

"The bridge was not gone, sir, and the train passed over in safety. The
tramp had lied to us."

"And you had your dangerous ride for nothing?"

"Yes, sir, unless you could consider a notice to quit work a reward. Mr.
Gammon accused Mr. Baxter of being intoxicated, and said we had got
caught on the track to tell that story to get out of a bad scrape. I
knew it was useless to talk with him, so I have come to you."

"What sort of a job do you want?" asked General Lyons, showing by his
tone that he had not been displeased by the boy's story.

"Anything that is honest, sir, and will give me fair wages, with a
chance to rise."

"So you have an eye to the future. Perhaps you hope to have the
management of a road yourself some time."

"It shall be no fault of mine, sir, if I do not."

"Nobly said, my boy; and it is possible you hope to be superintendent of
the Pen Yan."

"I mean to do my best for it, sir." And then, as if frightened by the
boldness of his speech, he added, "I only meant to say I am going to do
my duty."

"And if you stick to that purpose as faithfully as I think you will,
success will at last crown your efforts. I will speak to Mr. Minturn of
you and he will doubtless give you a situation. Good-day."

The superintendent turned back to his business problems, and the others
in the room followed the example of their chief, disappointed at the
sudden termination of the interview.

The boy, however, seemed loth to leave. He started away, went a few
steps and paused.

Then coming back to the railing, he said, with less firmness than
formerly:

"If you, please, sir, I had rather you would not leave my case in Mr.
Minturn's hands."

"So Mr. Minturn knows you?" asked the railroad king, sharply, vexed at
this second interruption.

"He does not like me, and he would never give me a situation. I--"

"Well, that is no fault of mine. But I haven't any more time to lose
with you."

Seeing it was useless to say more, the boy made his departure, trying to
feel hopeful, but fearing the worst.


                  CHAPTER II.

Scarcely had the youth left the railroad company's headquarters, when a
tall, spare man, with faultless dress and cleanly-shaven face, entered
the apartment, going straight to the superintendent's desk, smiling and
nodding to the clerks as he passed them.

He was Donald Minturn, the assistant superintendent, who had a smile for
every one, but as treacherous as the charm of the serpent.

"Hilloa Minturn!" greeted his chief; "you are back sooner than I
expected. By-the-way, you must have met a boy as you came in. He was
after a situation, and I was careless enough not to ask him his name.
Call him back if it is not too late. I think we might do worse than--"

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Minturn, "has that fellow had the audacity to come
here for another job? He has been discharged from his section this very
week."

"Then you know him, Minturn? Come to think of it, he told me so. How
stupid I am to-day! What is his name?"

"That he couldn't have told you himself, if you had asked him, general.
He is a sort of waif of the switch-yard. Jack Ingleside--you knew
Jack--he was engineer on the old Greyhound, afterwards took to drink and
went to the bad--well, as I started to say, Jack found this boy in the
caboose one morning as he was starting from Wood's Hollow. He wasn't
more than three years old, and how he got there is yet a mystery. Jack
took a fancy to him and gave him a home while he lived. I think the
young scamp still lives with the widow at Runaway Tavern."

"He seems like a more than commonly smart boy."

"Oh, he can appear well enough when he is a mind to. But Mr. Gammon had
to turn him off of his section for downright disobedience of orders.
Why, only yesterday he and a man named Baxter jumped on to the hand-car
in the very teeth of the northern-bound mail, and came very near
wrecking the train, to say nothing of ending their own worthless lives."

"Oh, well, if you know the boy, of course you are more competent to
judge of him than I. But I must confess he impressed me very favorably.
What news from Draco?"

So the august officials of the great Pen Yan gave no employment to the
poor boy who had come so far for a situation, whether he deserved a
better fate or not.

Meanwhile, the boy, unconscious that his fate had already been decided
upon, hastened to the Fairfax Station, to take the homeward-bound train,
which would be due in a few minutes.

The Pen Yan railway system forms upon the map of that part of the
country a stupendous letter Y. The Fairfax Fork running north-northwest
makes one branch of the arm meeting at the Big Y, as the junction is
called--the line of the upper arm, where the two tracks unite in one to
reach across a mountainous, often sparsely-settled, country for over
three hundred miles. At the time we write it was a single-track road
from the Big Y to its terminus.

The boy had to wait but a little while for the accommodation, which was
on time, and stepping aboard, he was soon homeward bound. He was
absorbed in meditations when he was roused from his rather unpleasant
reverie by the voice of the conductor, who had taken a seat near by him
to chat a few minutes with a friend.

"It is a strange coincidence, Sam, and it puts me in mind of an
adventure I had several years ago, and which came near punching my
through ticket."

"An adventure, Henry? Give us the story."

"As soon as we have passed Greenburn. I shall have plenty of leisure
then."

Without dreaming how soon he should recall it with startling vividness,
our hero, with a boy's interest, listened to the conductor's story:

"Ten years ago I was engineer on the Tehicipa and Los Angeles Road, a
branch of the Southern Pacific. Those were troublesome times. What with
the guerillas and Indians that infested the country, to say nothing of
other dangers, we never knew when we were safe, if we ever were.

[Illustration {map}]

"One evening--just about such an evening as this, too--we had barely
stopped at a way station when some one rushed up to the train and said
Gray Gerardo's band was coming to attack us.

"Gerardo was considered the worst desperado in that lawless country, and
knowing we had a lot of the yellow ore on board, I knew the outlaw was
after it.

"The conductor cut our stop short, but before I could get under way the
outlaws were upon us. From their sounds one would have thought all the
fiends from the lower world had been let loose.

"The boys fought like tigers, and it was a wild scene for a few minutes.
My fireman--a plucky little fellow he was, too--was snatched from my
very side, and with a volley of shot whistling about my head, I was
pulled from the cab.

"The wheels had begun to revolve and the train was moving on. Struggling
desperately with my captors, I succeeded in breaking from them and
sprang back upon the engine. Three or four of the outlaws followed me,
and among them was Gerardo himself, whom I knew by sight.

"He was a tall, stalwart fellow, with burning black eyes, and a
countenance that would have been handsome, had it not been for a long
scar under his right jaw. It looked like a sabre-wound, and quite
spoiled the beauty of that side of the face.

"Well, knowing it was life or death with me, I pitched one after another
of those fellows off the cab, until only Gerardo was left. It surprises
me now that I could have done it; but a man never knows his strength
until put to the test. Then, you see, being on my own footing gave me an
advantage, while some of them, losing their hold on the moving engine,
fell off without any assistance of mine.

"I grappled with Gerardo, just as he was boarding the cab and before he
could establish his position, I hurled him, heels over head, down the
side of the track. At the same moment, however, I heard a sharp report
and felt a stinging sensation in my right arm, where the outlaw's bullet
had struck me.

"The firing had nearly ceased at the rear of the train, and feeling that
in another minute we should be safe, I sprang to the lever and threw the
valve wide open. With snorts and shrieks of defiance to our enemies, the
old engine obeyed me, soon gaining a rate of speed which I knew would
out-distance the baffled outlaws, whose yells I could still hear above
the thunder of the train.

"As my excitement abated my arm began to pain me fearfully, and I found
the member disabled for further use. My fireman gone, my situation was
critical, and I was wondering how the rest of the boys had fared when I
heard some one behind me.

"Half expecting to meet one of the outlaws, I turned, and was glad to
see one of the brakemen, who had come to my assistance.

"'We have repulsed them, but they are following us,' he said, in reply
to my anxious questions.

"'Well, let them follow,' I answered, 'if they think they can overtake
my Bonny Bess. Give her more fuel, Ned. You will have to be my--'

"I did not finish my sentence, for at that moment, as we shot around a
curve, great tongues of fire leaped from the track ahead of us. It was a
bridge in a blaze of flame, and in the light of the burning structure I
saw a dozen of Gerardo's band waiting our coming.

"We were going at lightning-like speed, and we were within twenty rods
of the fire when I discovered it, so I had no time to hesitate upon my
course of action. Quick as a flash I realized the trap Gerardo had
laid--our situation. To stop was to throw ourselves into the hands of
his followers, which meant death. The bridge was still standing. It
might hold us to cross over. There was at least a chance. To stop was
hopeless.

"All this seemed to come to me at one thought. I would keep on. Bonny
Bess was doing her prettiest and I gave her a free bit; that is, in our
parlance, 'linked her up.' My left hand was on the lever and my gaze was
fixed on the burning bridge, which hung, a network of fire, over the
glowing river, thirty feet below.

"I heard the shouts of the amazed outlaws above the roar of the train,
and then I felt the bridge quiver and tremble beneath me, as we were
borne over its swaying spans, amid a cloud of ashes, smoke and cinders,
which fairly blinded me.

"The blazing girders overhead sent out their forked tongues of fire,
and from the timbers below leaped up the sheets of flame until we were
enveloped in the fiery shroud. Blinded, stifled for a moment, I then
felt the cool night air fan my face, and the engine no longer shook as
if upon uncertain footing.

"We had passed the bridge in safety, and I drew a breath of relief. Then
another curve in the track brought us into full view of the burning
structure, and feeling we were now safe from pursuit, I checked the
engine's speed, so we could watch the fire.

"We hadn't watched long before a cloud of sparks flew into the darkness,
and one span of the doomed bridge fell into the water. The other must
soon follow.

"I felt a dizziness creeping over me then, and the next I knew I was
lying on the ground, with an anxious circle of men and women bending
over me. You see my arm had been bleeding all of the time, and the loss
of blood, with the strain of the awful ordeal, had been too much for me.

"But my arm had been bandaged, and I was soon able to resume my old
post, which I did, running the train to Los Angeles without further
adventure.

"Strange enough, Gerardo and his followers were not seen after that
night. But I had got tired of that country, and I soon after came up
this way. I have never regretted it, either.

"But now comes the strange part of my story, and which recalled my
adventure so vividly. There is a man on this train who is the exact
image of Gerardo!"

"Whew!" exclaimed the other. "Do you really think it is he?"

"I can't say. The likeness is perfect, even to the scar."

"I have heard of cases where two persons looked so much alike you could
not tell them apart."

"Very true, and this may be one of them. There is a slight difference
here, too, for this man wears side-whiskers. But his beard is not heavy
enough to conceal the scar."

"Do you remember where he is going?"

"To Woodsville; and he inquired for Jack Ingleside. Seemed surprised
when I told him Jack was dead. Said he was a relative, and he asked all
about the family. Here we are at the Big Y. This is as far as I go."


                  CHAPTER III.

An impatient crowd was waiting at the Big Y station for the northern
mail, which was half an hour overdue.

Finally, when the engine thundered into the depot, puffing and panting
like an over-driven steed, there was a rush to board the train, as if
the time was limited to the shortest possible space.

"It's going to be a rough night," muttered the old engineer, as he
peered out of the cab window into the gathering gloom of storm and
darkness. "I never felt so uneasy in my life, and I have a presentiment
something is going to happen--as if it wasn't enough to be half an hour
behind time and your engine in the sulks. But how are you feeling,
Gilly?" addressing his fireman. "Any better?"

"No, Jockey; and I am afraid I won't be able to go through. I don't
understand it, for I felt well enough when I started."

"I tell you everything is wrong to-night. If Jim were here--Hilloa!
there's Jack Ingleside's boy, as true as I live! We're in luck. Hi,
Rock! aren't you lost?"

At the sound of the engineer's voice, our hero, who was following
leisurely the crowd to one of the cars, looked in that direction to see
the soot-begrimed countenance of his old friend.

"Lost, Jockey? Never where you are," replied the youth.

"Going up? Jump in here, then. It won't be like riding in a parlor-car,
but it will suit you just as well, I'm thinking."

Rock showed his willingness by springing quickly into the cab.

Railroad companies have a rule forbidding persons to ride with the
engineer without permission from the president or superintendent, though
at the time we write this matter was not as rigidly looked after as now.

Rock, however, who had passed nearly all his young life on the
foot-board, would have been deemed an exception to any rule. At least,
so thought Jockey Playfair, the veteran "knight of the lever" on the Pen
Yan mail and accommodation.

But Jockey's usual good-humor had been relegated to the background on
that evening, as Rock soon saw.

The signal to start was given, and with a full head of steam on, the old
engine, trembling and groaning from her pent-up power, began to creep
ahead, as if feeling her way along the switches and through the yard,
going faster and faster at every revolution of her wheels, until the
station-lights faded in the distance, and she plowed boldly into the
night.

The tall form of the engineer, clothed in greasy overalls and jumper,
stood at his post like a grim sentinel on duty, his right hand on the
reversing lever, his left on the throttle, while his steely gray eyes
peered into the gloom, as if expecting to see spring from the regions of
darkness the hosts of danger and death.

A drizzling rain was falling, so altogether it was a disagreeable night.

"I have a favor to ask of you, Rock," said Gilly, the fireman, as the
engine fairly gained her feet and increased her progress at every beat
of her piston heart. "I want you to take my place until we get to
Trestle Foot. I am used up."

"Of course I will," replied Rock, taking the fireman's place. "Is she
very hungry to-night?"

"Hungry and cross, Rock," said the other. "But I'll risk you to feed
her."

No engineer who has stood at the lever for any length of time refuses to
believe that his trusty servant is without her faults, however he may
care for her. She is subject to her ill-moods as well as himself.

The engine, so good-natured on his last run, so prompt to obey his will,
on this trip is stubborn and hard to manage.

He can see no reason for her change of spirit. Her wonderful mechanism
is in perfect working order, her groom has arrayed her for a dazzling
passage, her fireman has fed her with the best of fuel, the flames dart
ardently along her brazen veins, she bounds off like a charger, eager
for conquest. Her first spurt over, she falters, sulks.

No coaxing can change her mood. In vain her master bestows greatest care
upon her; with each effort she grows more sullen.

Jockey Playfair's engine was in the sulks on the trip of which we write.
The Silver Swan had never seemed in better temper than at the start.
Delays in making connections, the bad condition of the track at places
on account of the recent heavy rains, with other difficulties, had
caused them to lose time. The engineer, however, had confidently
expected to make up for this before reaching Wood's Hollow, sixty miles
above the Big Y junction.

In the midst of his anxiety his fireman was taken suddenly ill. Then his
engine began to fail him. This last gave him more uneasiness than all
the rest.

"Behind time, with a sulky engine and a sick fireman!" he muttered, to
himself. "I see it coming--something dreadful! Never mind, old Jockey!
You are on your through trip to-night, but stand to your post like a
man."

During the next ten miles nothing was said by the three, and then, as
they stopped long enough at a way-station to take on a solitary
passenger, Jockey merely remarked:

"One minute gained. If we can't do better than that on our next run I'll
never touch the lever again."

As Jockey knew, he was now on the most favorable section of the road. No
signals were to be expected for a long distance, and there was no reason
why he should not regain a good part of the lost time. If he didn't he
resolved it should be no fault of his.

As soon as he was fairly under way again, he "linked her up." That means
he drew the reversing-rod back until the catch held it near the centre,
so the steam, instead of being allowed to follow the length of the
piston-rod, beat alternately the heads of the cylinders, giving the
highest momentum acquired.

Rock understood his duty perfectly and was determined the Silver Swan
should not hunger for fuel under his care.

"Mind how well the boy fires," said Gilly, forgetting for a moment his
pain.

"So he should; for wasn't he Tommy Green's pupil? And Tommy was the best
fireman ever on the Pen Yan, not even excepting you, Gilly."

"I know it; but she is pulling for all she is worth now, Jockey. You'll
get there on time, after all."

The Silver Swan was behaving beautifully now. Apparently she had gotten
over her sulks. Nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of their
progress until the lights of Haford's Run came into sight.

At this place they must stop to refill the engine's boiler, and while
Rock looked after this matter, Jockey carefully examined each part of
the wonderful machine, talking to it and patting it as he would a child.

When he had run his practiced eye over the bars, joints,
connecting-rods, cylinders and steam-chests, then around the pilot to
the other side to find everything in fine working order, he came back to
the cab-step and consulted his watch.

"Ten minutes gained," he murmured, exultantly. "If you hold out like
this, old Swan, we'll make Wood's Hollow on time."

"Good! So you will, Jockey!" exclaimed the conductor, coming forward
with his lantern. "You have an excellent run ahead of you; do the best
you can. If we can gain ten minutes before getting to Trestle Foot,
we'll venture to Woodsville. Are you ready?"

"All ready," answered Rock, who had shut off the flow of water and
flung back the dangling leather arm to spring from the tender to the
footboard.

"Ho!" called out the conductor, "who's firing to-night?" as Rock,
jerking open the furnace door, stood in the glow of the fiery light.
"Where's Gilly?"

"Here; but he's sick," answered Jockey. "Rock took his place at the
Big Y."

"What! Jack's boy? Well, he is good for it. If Gilly is sick he had
better come back into a passenger."

But the old fireman wouldn't think of deserting his post so far as that.

The next instant the conductor's lantern waved back and forth, dense
volumes of smoke rolled from the smoke-stack, and snorting as if with
rage at being driven on again, the engine forged on along its iron
pathway.

"Where have you been to-day, Rock?" asked the engineer, as they were
once more spinning along at a flying rate.

"Down to Fairfax to see if I could get a job. You know I got turned off
the section."

"No--you don't mean it! I'll bet Gammon was at the bottom of it."

"I am sure of it. He has boasted I shouldn't stay there long."

"Zounds! I'd like to shake the rascal out of his jacket. He's been
wanting Gilly's place; but he can't get it. What do you want?"

"To brake."

"Get it?"

"Nothing certain. I have little hope, for Donald Minturn will never let
me get there if be can help it."

"The old snake! I never did like him. So he isn't over fond of you?"

"No; he is opposed to me on account of an old enmity he bears Mrs.
Ingleside."

"Rock, you deserve a place on this road. Why, bless you, you are fit to
take my place. Not many trips did old Jack make without taking you with
him. I used to fire for him, you know. He had a mat for you at his feet,
and when too tired to keep awake longer you slept curled up on the
footboard. Ah, it was something such a night as this when poor Jack made
his last trip! It wasn't quite so dark it may be, but he was behind
time, as we are, and he was trying to make up.

"He was swinging down the long grade beyond Woodsville at a humming
rate. There was no station at the Hollow then, and he was counting on a
clean sweep to Owls' Nest. Leaving the air-line grade he swooped around
the curve, when right in his face and eyes he saw a string of loose
cars, which had broken from the special on the highlands.

"He must have been going at the rate of fifty miles an hour, and the
runaways were coming toward him at scarcely less speed. I caught a gleam
of his white face as he reversed, and then he was beside me at the
brake.

"'Stand by!' he cried. 'We'll die at our post.'

"The shock came the next moment. I felt myself lifted into the air, and
the next I knew I was lying at the foot of the embankment, a dozen yards
from the place where we had met.

"Jack died at his post, and his sufferings could not have lasted long,
for he was crushed beyond recognition. Fortunately no other lives were
lost, though the passengers were terribly shaken up, and two of the
freight cars were piled up on the engine.

"Jack's fidelity, I am sure, averted a worse catastrophe. He met the
fate of a hero, and it was always a mystery to me the company never did
more for his family.

"Hey! As I live, the Swan is falling into another ugly mood!"

They were rushing along at a tremendous rate, and an inexperienced eye
would have seen nothing amiss.

In fact, the engineer himself could not. The driving-rods were shooting
back and forth in perfect play, while the large drivers were revolving
with clock-like regularity. Every now and then Jockey would give the
lever a slight pressure, which would be instantly felt by the iron
steed.

Despite all this the Silver Swan was not doing as well as she ought. She
was barely keeping her course at the usual speed.

Jockey glanced to the boiler. The index finger pointed to the gauge at
122 degrees. Three more degrees was all she could stand. Rock was doing
his duty. The track was straight and level. Still the Swan showed no
disposition to gain the twenty minutes coveted time.

The old engineer shook his grizzled head and the furrows deepened on his
careworn visage.

"The fates are against us to-night," he muttered. "We can never make
Wood's Hollow in time to escape the down express. That is always on
time."

Just then the little gong over his head sounded, in response to the
conductor's pull upon the cord.

Jockey quickly answered this with a blast from the whistle, which the
other would understand to mean that the engine was already crowded to
her utmost.

The old engineer was losing his temper by this time, and with his hand
still on the lever he leaned forward to peer into the gloom, parting
before the dull rays of the headlight, as if to let them pass.

A drizzling rain was yet falling, but he did not notice this, for at his
first glance a cry of horror left his lips, and he staggered back,
exclaiming:

"It is coming! Someone has blundered!"

Rock started forward with surprise, and he uttered a cry of terror as he
saw the gleam of a headlight and the shadowy outlines of an engine and
train, less than a rod in front of them.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




              THE ORIGIN OF DOLLS.


It is a safe assertion to make that every girl has at some time or other
played with dolls; in fact, it is almost impossible to imagine a girl
without a doll. Of course, the older ones have outgrown their dolls, and
only keep the old favorites as souvenirs of childish days and pretty
playthings, and it is quite likely that they would be puzzled to explain
why they call the little image a "doll," and not, as the French do, a
"puppet," or, with the Italians, a "bambino," or baby.

What is the meaning of the word "doll?" To explain, it is necessary to
go back to the Middle Ages, when it was the fashion all over the
Christian world for mothers to give their little children the name of a
patron saint. Some saints were more popular than others, and St.
Dorothea was at one period more popular than all.

Dorothea, or Dorothy, as the English have it, means a "gift from God."
But Dorothea or Dorothy is much too long a name for a little, toddling
baby, and so it was shortened to Dolly and Doll, and from giving the
babies a nickname it was an easy step to give the name to the little
images of which the babies were so fond.




             ANECDOTES THAT AMUSE.


In this age of enlightenment it is not often that one meets with an
adult who cannot read and write, and the encounter is generally as
amusing as it is amazing. In one of the interior towns of Pennsylvania
there lives a farmer who brings butter, eggs and produce to market, and,
being illiterate, also brings with him his son to do the "figuring." The
other day the son was ill, and the old man had to venture alone. For
awhile he got along very well by letting his customers do the figuring;
but presently he sold two rolls of butter to a woman who could not
figure any better than he. The farmer was much puzzled, but, being
resolved that she should not know that his early education had been
neglected, he took a scrap of paper from his pocket and began. He put
down a lot of marks on the paper, and then said, "Let's see; dot's a
dot, figure's a figure, two from one and none remains, with three to
carry--$1.50, madam, please." She paid over the $1.50, took the butter
home, had it weighed and "figured up" by her daughter, who discovered
that the price should have been $2.10 instead of $1.50.


A small Detroit boy was given a drum for a Christmas present, and was
beating it vociferously on the sidewalk, when a nervous neighbor
appeared, and asked, "How much did your father pay for that drum, my
little man?" "Twenty-five cents, sir," was the reply. "Will you take a
dollar for it?" "Oh, yes, sir," said the boy, eagerly. "Ma said she
hoped I'd sell it for ten cents." The exchange was made, and the drum
put where it wouldn't make any more noise, and the nervous man chuckled
over his stratagem. But, to his horror, when he got home that night
there were four drums beating in front of his house, and as he made his
appearance, the leader stepped up and said, cheerfully, "These are my
cousins, sir. I took that dollar and bought four new drums. Do you want
to give us four dollars for them?" The nervous neighbor rushed into the
house in despair, and the drum corps is doubtless beating yet in front
of his house.


Photography is an art that looks to be easier than it is, but some
beginners add to their difficulties by inexcusable carelessness. A young
lady bought a Kodak at a dealer's before she went on her summer
vacation, and was so confident of her own ability that she took only the
book of directions and went off. She took seventy or eighty shots in
picturesque places, and promised copies to all her friends. When she
came home, she left the camera to have the film developed and printed.
The artist developed on and on, but found none but blanks. In great
surprise, he sent for the amateur photographer, and when she came he
asked, "How did you operate this camera?" "Operate it? Why, I pulled the
string as the book says, and touched the button." "But what did you do
with this little black cap here?" "Why, I didn't do anything with it,"
she replied. And then the artist roared with laughter. She had never
once removed the cap that covered the lens, and had, of course, taken
not a single picture, and when she found what she had done, or rather
not done, she wept bitter tears.


One of the most amusing accidents imaginable happened recently to an old
gentleman in one of our large Eastern cities. He was asked to buy a
ticket to a fireman's ball and good-naturedly complied. The next
question was what to do with it. He had two servants, either one of whom
would be glad to use it, but he did not wish to show favoritism. Then it
occurred to him that he might buy another ticket and give both his
servants a pleasure. Not knowing where the tickets were sold, he
inquired of a policeman, and the officer suggested that he go to the
engine house. So the old gentleman went to the engine house that
evening, but there was no one in sight. He had never been in such a
place before, and stood for a moment or so uncertain how to make his
presence known. Presently he saw an electric button on the side of the
room, and he put his thumb on it. The effect was electrical in every
sense of the word. Through the ceiling, down the stairs and from every
other direction firemen came running and falling, the horses rushed out
of their stalls, and, in short, all the machinery of a modern engine
house was instantly in motion. Amid all this uproar stood the innocent
old gentleman, who did not suspect that he had touched the fire-alarm
until the men clamored around him for information as to the locality of
the fire. Then he said, mildly, "I should like to buy another ticket for
the ball, if you please." The situation was so ludicrous that there was
a general shout of laughter, and the old gentleman bought his ticket and
the engine house resumed its former state of quiet.




               A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

                by MARY ROWLES.


  A Happy New Year, and a new beginning
    For hands that have wavered and steps that fall;
  New time for toil and new space for winning
    The guerdon of happiness free to all.

  Now hope for the souls long clouded over
    With possible sorrows and actual pain;
  New joys for comrade, and friend and lover,
    The year is bringing them all again!

  New days and hours for the patient building
    Of noble character, pure and true;
  For faith and love, with their radiant gliding,
    To make the temple of life anew.

  A Happy New Year, and a truce to sadness,
    Its every moment by God is planned;
  Whatever may come, whether grief or gladness,
    Must come aright from a Father's hand.

  He blessed the old in its dawning--thenceforth
    His love was true to us all the way,
  And now in the hitherto shines the henceforth,
    And out of the yesterdays smiles to-day.

  We would have power In this year to brighten
    Each lot less blessed and fair than ours;
  The woe to heal, and the load to lighten,
    The waste soul-garden to plant with flowers.

  May every day be a royal possession
    To high-born purpose and steadfast aim,
  And every hour in its swift progression
    Make life more worthy than when it came.




             PRACTICAL PHOTOGRAPHY.

                   by DORCAS.

                    PART II.


If you simply desire to get a picture from your negative in the easiest
and quickest way, without going through the necessary processes which
are involved in toning, you can use cyanotype paper, which requires but
one process for the completion of the picture and that process simply a
bath in clean water.

Prints made upon this cyanotype paper have a beautiful blue tone, and
are so simple and easily made that they are very popular. This cyanotype
paper is sold in any desired quantity and size, and it is never worth
while for the amateur to prepare his own paper, as it is a tedious and
uncertain process.

When you are sure the negative is thoroughly dry, place it in the
printing frame with the film side uppermost, and upon it lay a sheet of
the cyanotype paper cut the right size, with the prepared side next to
the film of the negative.

The frame should then be put where the sun's rays will fall upon the
glass, and allowed to remain there till the cyanotype paper has turned
to a dull bronze in the shadows.

It will be necessary to look at the print from time to time to see when
this point is reached. If the paper is not allowed to print long enough,
the result will be that the picture will wash off the paper when it is
put in water.

When you think it is done, place it in running water, or in several
changes of water, and wash it thoroughly. It should be washed till the
water that drips from it is no longer discolored, but is perfectly
clear. The picture then should stand out in blue tones on a clear white
ground.

If you prefer to use the ready sensitized paper, there is a preliminary
process through which the paper must pass before you print it. This
process is called "fuming," and consists in exposing the paper to the
fumes of ammonia for a short time.

A fuming-box is needful, but one can easily be constructed, without the
expense of purchasing this convenience. Take a wooden box about two feet
cube, and, with hinges, make a door of the cover. Close all the cracks
with strips of cloth so that the box will be both light and air tight,
and fasten corresponding strips around the edges of the door so that no
light will make its way in there.

Stretch two or three strings across the box near the top, on which to
hang the paper that is to be fumed, and put a small flat dish in the
bottom of the box.

When you are ready to fume your paper, pin two sheets together, back to
back, and hang them on one of the strings. Several sheets can be fumed
at once in this manner. Fill the dish with ammonia, and closing the door
tightly, let the paper absorb the fumes for fifteen or twenty minutes.

After fuming, the paper should be given a short time to dry before it is
used for printing. It should then be put in the printing frame in the
same way as the cyanotype paper and exposed to the sun.

If your negative is a thin one, a diffused light is better for printing
than the direct rays of the sun. Diffused light is a strong light that
is not sunlight.

If the negative is exceedingly thin, the light indoors, away from the
window, will be sufficient. Satisfactory results cannot of course be
achieved with too thin a negative, but this diffused light will give the
best print that you can obtain.

In examining the print from time to time be sure that you do not open
both sides of the printing frame at once, for if you should do this, you
will find it impossible to replace the print in exactly the same
position, and so it will be spoiled by being printed with double lines.

No exact rule can be given for the length of time which should be
allowed for the printing of a negative. It should, however, be allowed
to become twice as dark as it ought to be after the picture is toned and
mounted. The after processes of toning bleach the print very much, as
the amateur will discover for himself.

If a negative is very dense or thick, as over-development will sometimes
cause it to become, the time for printing will be considerably extended.
While in a good light, with a negative of the right density, five
minutes or less is sufficient to print a negative, three or four hours
will sometimes be required.

When the print has become dark enough, it should be removed from the
printing frame and put at once in a dark place where the light cannot
reach it. It is what is known as a proof at this stage, and the light
will turn it black.

About twenty prints can be toned at once, and, as it is a long process,
it is better to wait until several have accumulated than to go through
the various operations with only one or two prints.

They should first be trimmed to the required size. Some amateurs leave
the trimming until after they have finished the toning process, but this
is not advisable for several reasons. In the first place, it is easier
to trim them beforehand, because they lie flat and are not curled up, as
they generally are after toning. None of the toning solution is wasted
in toning the parts that are of no use, and if the accumulated clippings
are saved, they are of some value on account of the silver in them.

The trimming cannot be satisfactorily done with a pair of scissors,
as it is impossible to cut perfectly straight. A thick piece of glass
called a cutting mould is used, and a convenient little instrument
called Robinson's trimmer. If you do not wish to go to the expense of
these articles, however, you can manage very well by using a sharp
pen-knife to cut with and any piece of glass with straight edges to
trim by.

You should have a firm, hard substance to cut on (glass is preferable),
and on this should be put a piece of paper. Upon this paper the print
should be laid face downward, and after you have decided how much of it
you are going to cut away, draw your knife firmly along by the edge of
the glass, pressing down well, and the strips will be cut off leaving a
smooth, straight edge.

After the prints have been trimmed, they should be soaked in water for
fifteen minutes. If you have not running water in which to place them,
the water should be changed several times. This preliminary washing must
be very thorough, or the toning will not be satisfactory.

To prepare your toning bath, make up first a stock solution of fifteen
ounces of water and fifteen grains of chloride of gold and sodium. The
chloride of gold and sodium can be obtained in small bottles which come
for the convenience of the amateur prepared in just the desired
quantity.

For a toning bath for twenty prints, take ten ounces of water, three
grains of sodic bicarbonate, six grains of sodic chloride (common salt),
and three ounces of your stock solution of gold. Add to this bath three
ounces of the stock solution of gold that has had three drops of
saturated solution of bicarbonate of soda added to it. This bath should
be alkaline, and you can test it with red litmus paper. If it turns the
paper slightly blue, it is ready for use. Put this bath in a flat tray
(porcelain preferably), and then lay the prints in it face down. Move
them all the time, to insure evenness of tone and to prevent spots. It
is a good plan to keep drawing out the undermost one, and putting it on
the top.

The prints are of a reddish-brown color when they are put into the
toning bath, and in about fifteen or twenty minutes they begin to turn
to a rich purplish black. Experience will teach the amateur at what
point the prints should be removed from this bath. They should lie long
enough to have every tinge of red entirely removed, and yet not long
enough to turn the prints to a dull gray.

When the prints have been sufficiently toned, they should be thoroughly
washed and then put into the fixing bath. This bath is made of one
gallon of water, one pound of sodic hyposulphite, one tablespoonful
sodic bicarbonate, and one tablespoonful common salt.

These ingredients should be thoroughly dissolved, and then a portion put
in a tray. This tray must be kept for the fixing bath and not be used
for any other purpose. The prints are put in the tray in the same manner
as in the toning bath, and moved continually until they are fixed.

This process should take fifteen minutes, or, if the bath is rather
cool, the time may be extended to twenty minutes.

After the prints have been removed from the fixing bath they are put in
a strong solution of salt and water, to prevent their blistering. After
they have been in this solution for about five minutes they are then
ready for their final washing. The prints should be left in running
water for some hours, and there is very little danger of washing them
too long or too thoroughly.

After every trace of the fixing bath has been removed, the prints may be
taken from the water and dried between sheets of chemically-pure
blotting paper. They will not curl up when dried in this way, as they do
when simply exposed to the air.

The prints are now ready to mount. This is by no means the least
difficult nor the least important of the many processes necessary to
secure a successful picture. Even if care has been exercised in all the
other processes, yet if the prints are carelessly mounted they will not
look well.

The prints should be wet in clean water and laid in a pile upon each
other, with their faces down. It is necessary to have a very adhesive
paste to make the prints stick well to the mounts. There are some pastes
that are manufactured for this purpose, but it is very easy to make one
which will work equally well.

Boiled laundry starch, with the addition of a little white glue, is
perhaps the best; it can be easily made, and with the addition of a few
drops of carbolic acid will keep well. It is made in the proportion of
one and three-quarter ounces of starch, mixed with one ounce of water,
till it is a smooth paste, as thin as cream, and eighty grains of glue
added with fourteen ounces of water. The whole should be well boiled and
six drops of carbolic acid added. This can be put in a bottle and will
keep a long time.

After the water is pressed from the wet prints a bristle brush is dipped
in the paste and drawn back and forth over the print, till it is
thoroughly covered.

The position on the mount should have been previously marked with a
pencil or with pin-pricks, and when the print is well covered with paste
it should be carefully lifted and put in place. With a piece of paper
laid over it and a flat paper-cutter, all the unnecessary paste and any
bubbles of air may be pressed out from between the print and the mount.
With a soft cloth wipe away the paste that is pressed out around the
edges of the print and then put it under a weight to dry.

If it is desired to mount prints in an album, a piece of cardboard, an
eighth of an inch smaller than the print, should be placed upon the back
of the print and the exposed edge covered with paste. Put on just as
little as possible and lift it in place at once, before the paste has
time to dry. Pass a soft cloth over it to press it into place and then
close the album. In less than an hour it will be dry, and if properly
mounted will be firmly adhering to the page.

The one important factor for success in photography is care. Without it,
you can accomplish nothing, no matter how complete and costly your
outfit may be. With care and patience you may achieve results that will
be a pleasure to your friends as well as yourself, and will give
permanent existence to pleasant scenes and occasions that otherwise must
be only memory pictures.

[THE END.]




                 FEATHER BOOKS.


Elizabeth Brightwen describes, in "Nature Notes," her method of
collecting birds' feathers, by grouping them artistically in the page of
a large album.

"The book," she says, "should be a blank album of about fifty pages,
eleven inches wide by sixteen, so as to make an upright page, which will
take in long tail feathers. Cartridge paper of various pale tints is
best, as one can choose the ground that will best set off the colors of
the feathers. Every other page may be white, and about three black
sheets will be useful for swan, albatross and other white-plumaged
birds.

"The only working tools required are sharp scissors and a razor, some
very thick, strong gum arabic, a little water and a duster, in case of
fingers becoming sticky.

"Each page is to receive the feathers of only one bird; then they are
sure to harmonize, however you may combine them.

"A common wood-pigeon is an easy bird to begin with, and readily
obtained at any poulterer's. Draw out the tail feathers and place them
quite flat in some paper till required. Do the same with the right wing
and the left, keeping each separate and putting a mark on the papers
that you may know which each contains.

"The back, the breast, the fluffy feathers beneath, all should be neatly
folded in paper and marked; and this can be done in the evening or at
odd times, but placing the feathers on the pages ought to be daylight
work, that the colors may be studied. Now open the tail-feather packet,
and with the razor carefully pare away the quill at the back of each
feather.

"This requires much practice, but at last it is quickly done, and only
the soft web is left, which will be perfectly flat when gummed upon the
page. When all the packets are thus prepared (it is only the quill
feathers that require the razor) then we may begin.

"I will describe a specimen page, but the arrangement can be varied
endlessly, and therein lies one of the charms of the work. One never
does two pages alike--there is such scope for taste and ingenuity--and
it becomes at last a most fascinating occupation.

"Toward the top of the page, place a thin streak of gum, lay upon it a
tail feather (the quill end downward), and put one on either side. The
best feathers of one wing may be put down, one after the other, till one
has sufficiently covered the page; then the other wing feathers may be
placed down the other side; the centre may be filled in with the fluffy
feathers, and the bottom can be finished off with some breast feathers
neatly placed so as to cover all quill ends.

"When one works with small plumage, a wreath looks very pretty, or a
curved spray beginning at the top with the very smallest feathers and
gradually increasing in size to the bottom of the page.

"Butterflies or moths made of tiny feathers add much to the effect, and
they are made thus. It is best, I find, to fill a wide-mouthed bottle
with dry gum, and just cover the gum with the water, allow it to melt,
keep stirring and adding a few drops of water till just right--no bought
liquid gum equals one's own preparation.

"To make the book complete, there should be a careful water-color study
of the bird on the opposite page, its Latin and English name, and a
drawing of the egg. It may interest some to know how I obtained the
ninety-one birds which fill my books. Some were the dried skins of
foreign birds, either given me by kind friends or purchased at
bird-stuffers'. The woodpecker and nut-hatch were picked up dead in the
garden. The dove and budgerigars were moulted feathers saved up until
there were sufficient to make a page.

"Years after the death of our favorite parrot, I found that his wings
had been preserved; so they appear as a memento of an old friend who
lived as a cheery presence in my childhood's home for thirty years. It
is a pleasure to me to be able to say no bird was ever killed to enrich
my books."




          LILIAN'S NEW YEAR'S CALLS.

           by Mrs. CLARA DOTY BATES.


"Oh, what a lonesome day it will be!" sighed Lilian, looking wistfully
out across the snow-bright prairie.

"Not unless you make it so," responded her mother, cheerily.

"Make it so!" rejoined Lilian. "How can I make it anything else? It is
always lonesome here, and to-day will be the worst of all. Only think of
the fun the girls will be having in dear old Deerfield, while I am off
out here in this--"

She stopped short, fearing she might say too much. What she had been
about to say was "this horrid, desolate Kansas ranch."

"Perhaps the boys can take you for a drive, dear; and you know we're
invited to Uncle Abner's for the evening."

"A drive!" replied Lilian, scornfully. "I hate driving, all alone, along
these endless roads. Nothing but snow, snow, until I am nearly blind."

"You have your books, Lilian; and your father likes perfect lessons."

"Yes, I can have books any day. But think of the girls at home--what
they are having. They are getting their tables ready, this very minute.
They will darken the parlors and have gas-light, and pretty dresses and
lots of callers."

Here Lilian broke down and sobbed. Her mother came to her side and
stroked her hair.

"Be brave, daughter," she whispered. "I know it is a great change. But I
have often told you we must bear in mind why we left the East, and why
we are here. Father would not have been alive but for this change of
climate and open-air life. You know he is getting well, and is so happy
in that. We ought not to mind anything if he can be well again."

Lilian felt ashamed, and tried to dry her tears. Yet she was unwilling
to quite give up her discontent.

"If only something would happen!" she said. Then, desperately, "I wish
there would be a cyclone or a blizzard, or a prairie fire! I wish the
Indians would make a raid!"

"We don't have cyclones and prairie fires in winter," her mother said,
calmly.

Just then Lilian heard a great stamping of feet and gay voices outside
on the kitchen threshold.

Her four brothers were coming in from doing their morning chores. As
they entered they let in a great rush of cold air. Jack spied Lilian
through the half-open sitting room door.

"Hello, Lil!" he called.

She did not answer.

"Lil in the dumps again?" he asked his mother.

"She is a little homesick this morning."

"Why doesn't she get out, as we do, and stir up her spirits?" said
Harry. "It's nothing but moping makes her homesick."

"This is a thousand times better than poky old Deerfield," asserted Ben.
"There was nothing to do there but slide down hill on a hand-sled, and
here we have the ponies, and the cattle, and--"

"But you are a boy, Ben," interposed Mrs. Wyman, "and can do a great
variety of things. Lilian isn't strong enough for hard riding, and,
besides, she misses her friends."

"Let her make new ones," piped up Jamie. "There's lots of nice people
all over these prairies."

"She will find them in time," said Mrs. Wyman. "But you must cheer her
all you can meanwhile."

Lilian overheard herself discussed, and began to sob afresh.

Jack went into the sitting-room and playfully pulled her ears, and tried
to laugh her out of her gloom.

"Come now, Lil. What is it you want--a gallop, a sleigh-ride?"

Lilian could confess anything to Jack.

She told him all that had been in her thoughts--how the Deerfield girls
were getting ready for callers, what pretty dresses they would have, and
what gay, good times.

"Do you want callers? Is that what you want, Lilian?"

"Oh, you stupid fellow! I want anything except this awful experience. I
told mother I even wished the Indians would drop down on us."

"Why, Lilian, if you saw even one Indian coming down the road, you'd run
and hide under the bed."

"No, indeed I wouldn't. I'd make my very best courtesy and wish him a
Happy New Year. I would spread the table with the rose-bud china, make
coffee for him, and--"

"Y-e-s--but before you'd half done, he would whip out his tomahawk,
grasp you by the hair--this way--and, w-h-o-o-p! off would come your
scalp. Then he'd tuck your braids into his belt, and away he'd go to the
reservation to hang them up on the ridge-pole of his wigwam!"

"All the same, I wish he'd come."

Jack laughed.

"Say, Ben," he called, "Sis wants visitors so badly, she even wishes a
Comanche would call."

"I do," persisted Lilian. "I wish a whole tribe would come!"

Harry stormed into the sitting-room, in search of his heavy leather
gloves.

"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Lilian, eagerly.

"Out on business," he answered. "Are you ready, Jack?"

"Are you all going off?" cried Lilian, in alarm, lest she should lose
even the doubtful pleasure of her brothers' company.

"We're going on the ponies, to look up some stray cattle for Uncle
Abner."

"But mamma said you would take me for a drive?"

"Can't this morning--too busy!"

"We're all to go this evening, you know," comforted Jamie.

"This evening! What am I to do alone all day?"

A flood of tears again threatened.

"Oh, entertain your callers!" said Harry, with scant sympathy.

Lilian watched the four boys on their ponies go down the poplar-lined
lane to the highway, and then, too desperate for reading or study, or
even helping her mother, she flung herself on a sofa and hid her face.

The day was a dazzling one. The rolling prairie on every side looked
like a white ocean, with great, sweeping billows of snow as far as eye
could see.

The widely separated farm-houses, with their wind-breaks of Lombardy
poplars and interspersing clusters of evergreens, looked like ships on
this endless, shining, cold sea.

One needed a happy heart and busy hands not to be affected by the
vastness and isolation.

Neither of these did Lilian have, and it took her nearly the entire
forenoon to get through her bitter struggle with self.

When she finally roused herself she found her mother had put the rooms
to rights, and besides her own work, had done all the little tasks
Lilian had been used to assume.

This made her remorseful. She got her books and began to study. But
somehow the brilliant sunshine kept drawing her to the window to look
out.

The sky was of an intense blue that was almost purple. The blue-jays
were flitting and calling. A few stray crows hovered over a distant
corn-stubble--these were all the signs of life she saw.

She stood tapping a tune on the window panes. Presently she noticed, on
the far crest of one of the snow billows, some moving black figures.

They were mere specks against the intense blue beyond, but they fixed
her attention. Almost as soon as she saw them, however, they disappeared
in an intervening valley.

"That is on the Hardin road," she said, trying to fix the direction. "It
can't be the boys, for Uncle Abner's road is to the south."

[Illustration:
THE CHIEF GAVE A WHOOP OF DELIGHT AT SIGHT OF THEM.
HE SPRANG TO HER SIDE AND OPENLY BEGAN PUTTING THEM IN HIS POCKET.]

Almost immediately her curiosity was stimulated again by the
re-appearance of the figures on the next rise. She could not distinguish
numbers, but she felt certain it was horsemen.

Again they vanished from the crest into the lower-lying space between
the land-billows. And so she watched them until they were near enough
for her to see it was indeed horsemen.

"Mother," she called, "come here! There's somebody coming along the
Hardin road."

Her mother came.

"Who can it be?"

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," counted Lilian. "There are
seven of them! Perhaps they will turn at the Climbing Hill Corners. They
can't be coming here."

"Get the glass," said Mrs. Wyman. "See if we can make them out before
they strike the valley."

Lilian ran after the glass. She adjusted it and raised it to her eyes.
She had only one glimpse, however, before the descending riders were
again hidden by an intervening ridge.

"They ride so wildly, mother!" she said, in a kind of breathless wonder.

"They must be skirting that hill along the creek," said Mrs. Wyman.
"We'll see in a minute if they come up from the Corners."

It seemed a long time before they came again in sight. Lilian had just
said, "They've turned on the Climbing Hill road," when they burst into
full view on a not-distant summit and halted.

Lilian could distinctly see them pointing, as if discussing the way to
take. Then, of one accord, they put spurs to their ponies and came
wildly dashing down the <DW72>.

Lilian turned deadly pale.

"Mother," she gasped, "they are Indians!"

Mrs. Wyman grew pale also. During her short life in the West she had
seen only one or two isolated Indians, and those always at railway
stations--dull, commonplace creatures enough, and with nothing
suggestive of the warrior about them.

"Where is your father?" she asked, with something of a tremor in her
voice.

"Probably over at the sheep-sheds," faltered Lilian. "He's always there
near noon. I wish--I wish the boys were here."

"They'll be coming directly. Look again now, Lilian. They are
approaching very fast."

Indeed the Indians were coming on fast. They were now in plain sight on
the long incline and were riding at a full gallop, gesticulating and
pressing forward with what looked to Lilian like savage fierceness.

"They will go by no doubt," said Mrs. Wyman, her native courage
reasserting itself. "They are probably out in search of lost ponies
or--"

"Look, mother! See! They are not going by. They have halted, and are
pointing to the house. See! They are turning in at the lane. Oh,
mother!"

"Never mind, dear. They want to inquire, perhaps--"

But while she was speaking, the Indians had wheeled into the gateway and
swept up with a headlong pace to the very door.

They swung themselves from their saddles, tethered their ponies to the
hitching rails and came quickly up on the porch.

Mrs. Wyman had thrown off her momentary fear. She stepped to the door
and opened it. Lilian trembled in every muscle. The leader of the party
was a huge fellow, much taller than his followers. He was more fantastic
in his dress, too, and had streaks of paint on his cheeks. The rest had
turkey feathers stuck into the bands of their slouch hats, and all had
blankets over their shoulders.

The chief uttered a surly "How!" and made a motion of his hand to his
mouth that he would like something to eat.

Mrs. Wyman smiled cordially, and said, "Come in."

He obeyed directly, the rest stalking after him in perfect silence. They
went at once through the sitting-room to the kitchen stove and held out
their hands to warm.

This done, they squatted on the floor, with various low guttural sounds
to each other, as if exchanging views. They apparently approved of the
comfort, for a stolid silence ensued.

Lilian was absolutely spellbound with terror and could not move. Mrs.
Wyman went to the pantry to prepare them food.

The chief was restless. He kept his eyes roving over everything. Finally
he began to move about.

He went into the sitting-room. He spied the china closet door and
opened it.

"Ugh!" he said, as if in delight at the pretty dishes. He waved his
hand at Lilian and pointed to the rosebud china, making an imperative
gesture, as if to say, "We want to eat off those."

Lilian, anxious to seem to want to please these terrible visitors,
nodded and smiled a ghastly smile. The very fact that she must do
something seemed to relieve the spell of cold horror that had settled
on her.

She took a fresh cloth from a drawer, and spread it deftly on the table.
As she straightened the corners daintily, to see if they were quite
even, the Indian grumbled his approval.

She took out the dishes and set seven places. She recalled, with a great
thump of her heart, what Jack had said about scalping, but as yet there
had been no warlike demonstrations.

She began to be more at ease. But what was that uneasy chief doing? He
was prying into everything. Lilian distinctly saw him put her scissors
into his pocket. But she dared not protest.

While thus distracted, she heard her mother in the kitchen burst into a
merry laugh. She ran hastily out to see what had come over her.

Mrs. Wyman was in the pantry, holding a corner of her apron over her
mouth, as if to smother her amusement.

There sat the six Indians on the floor, with hats drawn down surlily
over their faces, and with blankets shrugged about their shoulders.
"Mother, what is it?" was Lilian's whispered inquiry.

Mrs. Wyman pointed silently at the ludicrous row of savages, and covered
her lips again with her apron.

Lilian could not help laughing, too.

"New Year's callers, after all," she said, to herself.

Mrs. Wyman had made the circle of waiting braves move somewhat away from
the stove, so that she could cook ham and warm potatoes. Lilian returned
to her table-setting. She placed a spoon-holder on the cloth, full of
bright tea-spoons.

The inquisitive chief gave a genuine whoop of delight at sight of them.
He sprang to her side and openly began putting them in his pocket.

This was too much. Lilian flew at him and tried to snatch them away from
him. He scowled fiercely, and jabbered at her in excited gutturals.

At once she heard a great scuffling of feet in the kitchen. The other
Indians, attracted by the sound, were coming to his rescue.

In they filed in formidable line.

"He shan't have them!" cried Lilian, struggling to prevent the last
instalment going into his pocket. "He has my thimble and scissors
already. Here," to the others, "your chief is stealing. But he can't
have my spoons. You--" catching hold of the nearest one-- "Jack! Ben!
Harry!" (for as soon as she got one good look at the faces of her
callers she knew them), "Jack--Ben--Harry! hold him! He's just a common
thief!"

A roar of laughter followed.

"Good for you, Lilian!" cried Jack, flinging off his hat and blanket,
and leaping on the offender's shoulders to pinion his arms. "He shan't
have your spoons, Lilian. But allow me to present to you our cousin,
Harold Wyman, just arrived from Wyoming. We found him at Uncle Abner's,
come to spend New Year's with us."

Lilian, who had captured part of the spoons, blushed and dropped them on
the floor.

"It's real mean of you to scare me so," she stammered. "Mother, did you
know it was the boys?"

"Not until Jamie winked at me from the floor, and then it was all so
ridiculously clear I could not help laughing aloud. I saw you were well
over your first fright, so I thought I'd let the boys carry out their
fun."

"My, but I'm hot!" ejaculated Ben. "Sis has good grit, hasn't she
Harold?"

"Yes," cried Jack, "and she kept her promise about the rosebud china.
Let's have dinner. All we lack now is the coffee, Lilian."

When the new cousin, and Uncle Abner's boys and the four teasing
brothers were seated about the table, Lilian asked:

"Where did you get your toggery, Jack?"

"Oh, Uncle Abner's garret is full of all sorts of Indian traps. This
morning when you were crying for callers--especially Indians--the
thought struck us it would be lots of fun to give you your wish. We
found Cousin Harold at Uncle Abner's, and he helped us out. He's been on
a ranch for years. We knew you wouldn't recognize him. The rest of us
kept in the background."

"If you hadn't been so scared, Lilian, you'd have known the ponies,"
said Jamie.

When they had nearly finished dinner, Lilian said:

"I'll write it all to the Deerfield girls. I don't believe they've had
half as jolly a time as we have. Their calls will be just the poky,
polite ones. But mine are genuine wild West."




        [_This Story began in No. 52._]

                TRUDY AND KIT;

                      or,

          What a Summer Brought Forth.

               by EMMA A. OPPER,

    Author of "Susanne," "Barbara and Dill,"
                etc., etc., etc.


                 CHAPTER XVIII.

             In the Depths of Woe.

Collin stood staring at Trudy. She had not loosened her clinching hold
for an instant, and, before he had realized it, the last warning had
been shouted, the plank had been withdrawn, and the Sandy Hook was
moving off. And he stood on the pier.

Many emotions were rife in his good-looking, boyish face, but anger was
chief among them.

"Trudy," he said, sharply, "what are you doing? What have you _done?_"

He looked after the moving boat.

Trudy tried to stop her shower of tears, and Collin could but look at
her. It was a rare thing to see Trudy cry, and it was on his account she
was crying.

"Well, what's the matter?" he demanded, gruffly enough. "You've got what
you wanted, haven't you? What are you going to do now? What are you
going to do with me? Tell me that!"

With a reckless laugh, Collin turned into the freight-office and threw
himself down on a box in an unnoticed corner. And Trudy followed her
prisoner.

"I saw you from up the beach, Collin," she said, "and I couldn't let you
run away! How could I? That would have been the _worst!_ How could you
have wanted to, Collin?"

"The worst! Worse than what?" snapped Collin. His head hung in his
hands, and his eyes were sullenly lowered. "The worst has happened.
You'd see things plain enough if you stood in my place, Trudy, and you'd
feel! Do you want me to tell you just how things stand?" Collin asked,
fiercely.

"You know only too well! I've lost my place because I was a fool, and
worse than a fool! That Grand View business is all over town. More than
one fellow has said 'Grand View' to me and snickered. It's got around
worse than the thing was, too! Gus Morey told me he heard we'd started
to steal the best horse and buggy in Conover's stables and got snapped
up at Buxton. I've lost my place, and do you think I can get another,
with a thing of _that_ sort hanging over my head? I guess not!

"I'll tell you the truth, Trudy," continued Collin. "I _have_ tried two
or three places--and it was for your sake I did it--before I made up my
mind to clear out. I'd have done anything. I tried to get something to
do at the Riggs House; and I went up to the sawmill and the canning
factory; and I got the same answer everywhere. They'd all heard the
story, and they said they didn't want a boy with a recommendation of
_that_ kind.

"Dolph Freeman's all right; it's all smooth enough for _him_," said
Collin, grinding his heel. "I was bad enough, but I didn't do anything
sneaking mean, the way he did. But _he_ isn't going to suffer for it;
not a bit. His father's got money, and Dolph can go on loafing around
town and getting other fellows into trouble. _He'll_ never get come up
with.

"Well, I know it was my own fault, anyhow. Nobody could have got me into
any trouble if I'd done the right way. But it's done, and look at me
now. The whole town is down on me. And _mother_," said Collin,
grimly--"mother's the worst! This thing has soured her till she hasn't a
kind word or thought for me. She said she ought to turn me out of the
house; that I was a torment and a disgrace to her, and she ought not to
put up with me. I believe she'd be glad to be rid of me."

"Collin!" exclaimed Trudy, who was far from believing that.

"What else can I think? I _do_ believe it! And if she thinks that way
now, what will she think when she reads the note I left for her? I
couldn't face her, and tell her I'd taken that money, but she knows it
by this time. And I'd like to know how I'm going to see her after that!
She won't believe I meant to put it back; she won't believe anything;
she's down on me, and I can't stand it!

"I can't stay here with everybody against me and no way to turn. The
best thing I can do, and the only thing, is to take myself off; and I'm
going to do it. I don't know what'll happen to me, nor what'll become of
me. But I'm going. You've stopped me this time, whatever you did it for.
I'm not worth your worrying, Trudy; I'll tell you that. But I'll go
yet."

Trudy stood looking at her captive in more hopelessness than she would
admit to herself. She knew that this, Collin's first serious trouble,
had overwhelmed him till he had despaired.

She could see plainly enough the weakness of his arguments, and she
foresaw the misery into which he was ready and anxious, in his
despondency, to plunge.

But how to make _him_ see it? That was another matter, and one which
staggered the faithful, anxious girl. To run away! What folly, and what
sure ruin! But, if Collin would not see that hard truth?

Trudy's heart sank. She had gained her point, for once; but beyond that,
which was little, would she prevail? Collin was young and headstrong and
in the depths of woe, and what would, in spite of her, be the outcome,
Trudy feared to think.

"Collin--Collin!" she was beginning, entreatingly, when hurrying steps
on the pier-planks made her look up.

Rosalie Scott was coming towards them at a quick trot, looking this way
and that, searchingly, till she saw Trudy.

"Well," she cried. "If I ever! What a girl you are! What _were_ you
after? If I ever saw such a runner! I knew you could row, and now I know
you can run. I thought you'd seen a ghost, or something worse. You'd
have run the other way, though. Anyhow," said Rosalie, dropping down on
a second box to get her breath, "I thought I'd see _what_ it was, and I
didn't think you'd mind, if I did."

She looked from Trudy to Collin, with undisguised wonder. Collin only
stared at her. Trudy smiled, but with quivering lips, and traces of her
tears were plain.

"Why-y," Rosalie stammered. "Something's the matter!"

She was the picture of amazement and curiosity, and Collin could not
help smiling. He was dazzled, too, by the gay apparition in the
yellow-ribboned dress, the big, daisy-trimmed hat and the patent-leather
shoes.

Neither he nor Trudy denied that something was the matter. Neither
spoke.

"Well," said Rosalie, with the good-nature which was a part of her,
though half-pouting, "I'm intruding, I suppose. I didn't think it was
anything private, or--solemn."

Her bright eyes turned from one to the other, a funny twinkle in them.

Trudy could not speak, but Collin roused himself.

"I don't know what we're staying here for," he said, shortly. "I'd got
started to take the boat, but Trudy stopped me. _That's_ what she was
running for. The boat's gone, and we'd better go. I don't know what
Trudy's going to do with me _now_. Maybe she knows."

He got up, his bundle sagging from a nerveless hand and his face dull,
and they turned up the pier.

"You are in trouble," said Rosalie, soberly. "I'm sorry I came. That's
the way I always do, you know. I do things before I think. And I'm sorry
for _you_."

Collin made a husky sound of acknowledgment. To Trudy, he muttered:

"_I_ don't know where I'm going. I won't go home--I daren't."

And Trudy answered:

"Go to the Browns with me, then, Collin?"

But he shook his head.


                  CHAPTER XIX.

               Mrs. Scott's Idea.

Softly humming, Rosalie walked a little apart and pretended to find
great interest in the still water, the scattering row-boats and the few
belated bathers along the shore.

For want of other occupation she took off her hat and swung it till the
daisy-wreath was in peril. Trudy and Collin walked in silence.

But the active brain of Miss Rosalie Scott was by no means idle. She
hummed, but she smiled, too; she swung her hat, but she had a thoughtful
frown--not only that, a determined one.

Trudy was destined to see yet another remarkable instance of the
impulsiveness without which Rosalie Scott would not have been Rosalie
Scott, and which worked for good or ill as the case happened.

When they had covered the pier and had passed up the street as far as
the Bellevue Hotel, had reached its broad entrance, she suddenly turned.

"Come in for a minute," she said--"both of you. Oh, don't look so
scared--just for a minute! Trudy Carr has promised me a visit for a long
time, anyhow, and--well, you'll have to come. _Come!_"

Rosalie was in earnest. She took them each by the hand and pulled them
up the wide piazza steps, reiterating her commands. And Collin Spencer,
who had had no notion of complying, found himself, before he could get
his breath back, standing in one of the fine great parlors of the
Bellevue Hotel, gaping in confusion at a long mirror and blue plush
chairs.

"There, now, sit down," said Rosalie. She ran to a small knob in the
wall and pressed it, and to the brass-buttoned boy who appeared said,
"Please ask Mrs. Scott to come here."

She went to the door when he had gone, and stood with her back
against it.

"You shan't get away. Sit down, I say. It's only a notion of mine,
that's all. I know you won't care. Maybe it can't do any good, but it
won't do any harm. I know something is the matter, and I--I'd like to
have my mother hear about it. If you knew her! She's so good to
everybody, and always does just the right thing, too. I've known her to
help so many people and think nothing of it. That's the way she's made.
I don't know what's the matter, but I know you got _me_ out of an awful
fix, Trudy Carr, and that my mother knows it, too, and--"

The door was pushed open.

"Why, Rosalie," said the newcomer, "your father and Uncle Angus are
here. I thought you were to meet them at the boat?"

"I didn't, mamma," Rosalie answered. "This is Trudy Carr again, and--"

"Collin Spencer," added Trudy.

And Rosalie's mother, who had a face of sweet refinement, with clear
gray eyes, and wore a handsome dark gown with billowy-lace falling from
neck and sleeves, and had a pleasant voice and smile--Rosalie's mother
shook hands with Trudy Carr and Collin Spencer, and sat down near them.
And Rosalie brought a stool and perched herself between them.

"Now," she said, imploringly--"now _do!_"

Collin was getting every moment stiffer and redder. He felt like an
intruder, and, despite these softening influences, made up his mind not
to say a word. It was nobody's business but his. It was his own
miserable affair. He neither asked help nor wanted it.

How, then, did the story get itself told? Collin supposed that Trudy
must have started it, for he did not.

He sat bewildered by all this strange and unwelcome situation, while
slowly, drawn out by questions and gentle comments, his trouble was
told.

His first weak mistake, the disaster at Buxton, Trudy's attempt at
righting matters and her failure, and all the dreary facts of the
present condition of things. By degrees, the lady who sat with
thoughtfully-lowered eyes and knit brows heard it all.

"Don't think it was _my_ idea to tell you, ma'am," Collin ended, the
blood mounting in his sturdy face.

"Doesn't mamma know that?" Rosalie cried, impatiently.

She had got her way, and she was highly satisfied.

"And don't think I'm asking you to do anything for me," Collin proudly
persisted. "I don't know what you _could_ do; I don't expect anything--I
didn't want to come in."

"And she knows all that, too," said Rosalie, knocking down his protests
like tenpins.

Her mother sat thinking.

"I wish I knew what to say," she said, sincerely, "or what to do. I
should be glad to do something, believe me. I am deeply sorry for you,
my boy. It seems to me that your case is a peculiarly hard one. I am
glad I have heard your story, for I can give you my sympathy, if nothing
more. You made a mistake; you were thoughtless and weak; yes, you did
wrong. But--I can't help saying it--it seems to me that your punishment
is too great. You have escaped nothing; the worst has come. The worst
fault was not yours, and yet you are suffering most. At least, don't be
ashamed of having told me," said Mrs. Scott, that ready sympathy of
which her face spoke strongly roused.

"I wish I could help you," she declared. "Not only does your case
deserve it, but Trudy Carr here"--she smiled brightly. "I feel as though
I knew Trudy Carr. I have heard nothing but items concerning her since
Rosalie first saw her. And that little adventure on the bay is not to be
forgotten. Yes, I would help you gladly."

"There's only one way for me," said Collin. "If I could go back there to
work, and show Mr. Conover what I _can_ be and do, there'd be some
chance for me; I could 'live it down.' But _that's_ gone up."

"That is the only way, or the best by far," was Mrs. Scott's quiet
agreement. "I wish it might be. I had an idea about it--I wonder--I want
to do what I can. I might send a note to Mr. Conover." And then she
added, with an impulsiveness much like Rosalie's own, "I will go myself.
We'll go together. I have an idea, as I said. Come, it will do no harm
to try."

Collin was getting used to bewilderments, to being hustled and managed
like a baby instead of a tall, seventeen-year-old boy. One thing--he had
not been remarkably successful at managing himself.

And when, ten minutes later, he stood with Mrs. Scott, her bright young
daughter and Trudy in Mr. Conover's livery-stable, he kept a stiff upper
lip and waited for what should come.

Mr. Conover came forward to meet the oddly-assorted four. For Collin
Spencer he had only unsmiling surprise, and his glance at Trudy was
puzzled. But he knew by sight the lady from the Bellevue Hotel, and he
raised his hat with an inquiring face, and drew forward the only chair
the stable boasted. Accepting it, Rosalie's mother wasted no time in
getting to the point, and wasted no words.

"First, Mr. Conover," she began, "I must apologize for being an
interferer, for that is what I am. My business concerns this boy. I have
just now heard his story from the beginning."

"About the trick he played me?" said Mr. Conover, half doubting the
interest of such a lady in such a case.

"That exactly; all about his foolish escapade and the result of it.
About the effort of this little girl, Trudy Carr, to save him, and about
the discovery and discharge. And, Mr. Conover, I want to ask nothing
less than that you take the boy back into your service on a month's
trial. I feel convinced that the consequences of his error are almost
more than he deserves, and perhaps more than you realize, Mr. Conover.
He was led into it by a bad companion, whom he has certainly dropped.
First impressions go for something. I _cannot_ but believe the boy
himself is steady and trustworthy. And then the anxiety of this girl,
who seems to have been such a friend to him--"

Mrs. Scott's voice was a little unsteady.

"And his position now is pitiable. The story has spread through the town
in exaggerated forms. He has tried to get work elsewhere and on that
account failed. I cannot see what is before the boy unless you can
forgive and take him back, for it is here only, it seems both to him and
to me, that he can redeem himself. I ask you to take him on a month's
trial, and I wish to give bonds for his good behavior. I am Mrs. John
Scott."

This, then, was Mrs. Scott's idea of which she had spoken. Surely a
convincing one. She opened her purse, took five ten-dollar bills
therefrom and handed them to the young livery-stable keeper.

Mr. Conover looked at her in astonishment, slowly rubbing his
smooth-shaven head.

"I--Mrs. Scott," he said, with earnestness, "I don't want to take the
money. I begin to see how it is; I see you're right. To tell the truth,
I was afraid I'd been a little hard on the boy. I knew that young cur of
a Freeman was to blame for it, and I was sorry on the girl's account and
all; but I was hasty, I suppose. I shouldn't have done anything, though,
about taking him back; but now that you've made me see it plainer yet,
and if he's in such a bad fix as all that, why, I'll give him another
chance," said the young man. "But never mind the money; I'll try him."

"Keep it," Mrs. Scott answered, "and if he does not do his best, it is
forfeited. I think he will."

Poor Collin! Perhaps in all the course of his troubles he had known no
sharper moment than that. He looked around the group. Several of the
stable-hands had gathered, Sim Miles, with a broadly smiling face, being
among them.

The tears sprung to Collin's honest blue eyes. Nor was he ashamed of
them.

"I _will_ do my best," was all he could say.

"All right; come around to-morrow, Spencer," said Mr. Conover, bluffly,
seeing that the scene threatened to be rather a moving one, and he went
back to his business.


                  CHAPTER XX.

              An Important Letter.

His visitors turned away.

Rosalie, whose triumph was supreme, could not wholly control herself.
She gave an occasional hop as they went.

Trudy's face shone, and her eyes were starry. As for Collin, he felt
that silence was best.

"Go and tell your mother, Collin," Trudy whispered. "You won't be afraid
to see her _now_."

"I'm going there," Collin answered--they stood at the corner of his
street. "I'll go; and all I can say is, that I shan't ever forget what
you've all done for me. You've saved me--that's what. I don't know what
would have become of me. And you'll never be sorry for it."

And, choking somewhat, Collin Spencer turned down the street to his
mother's home.

It seemed to Trudy that it was the strangest piece of good fortune in
the world which had taken place. After all the dark worry her true young
heart had known, she could hardly believe it. And yet a stranger thing
was to happen then and there.

As they walked on, Trudy's eyes turned down the street and fixed
themselves upon a figure coming rapidly towards them, or as rapidly as
was possible. The figure, which was small and bent in the shoulders,
limped. Rosalie saw it at the same instant.

"See! who is that?" she asked, in wonder.

"It's Ichabod," said Trudy--"why, it's Ichabod! And I left him sick
abed. Whatever is the matter?"

Ichabod came hurriedly limping on. It became plain that he had seen them
and was hastening to reach them; and Trudy ran forward.

"Why, Ichabod," she cried, in remonstrance, "if you didn't get up! Were
you able? No; see how tired you are!"

Certainly Ichabod was. He leaned against the fence a minute, and then,
giving it up, sat down on the grass beside it, pulling off his old hat
and fanning himself.

Something else dawned upon Trudy. Ichabod was excited. That indeed
seemed to be the greater cause of his exhaustion, for he sat blinking up
at Trudy in a peculiar manner and tried vainly to speak.

Mrs. Scott and Rosalie had come up, and paused. Too courteous to smile,
they looked their perplexity.

"What _is_ the matter, Ichabod?" said Trudy, again. She began to feel
some alarm. "What made you get up? What _have_ you been doing?"

Ichabod, slowly and painfully, rose to his feet.

"I was calc'lating to git up. Didn't I say to ye I was? Didn't I say I
was goin' to git up soon as ever I could? And what fer did I say? Why, I
was goin' to ask a favor o' Mr. Doolittle--jest a leetle favor."

"Oh!" said Trudy, remembering.

She had forgotten the old man's queer talk about the box in the closet,
and the papers in the box, and his odd eagerness concerning them.

"Seein' you--" continued the old man. "Well, I couldn't stan' it another
minute arter that. I jest got up. I _was_ kind o' weak in my legs to the
fust, but I got thar. I got to Mr. Doolittle's office, and thar he was
settin'. He knows me, Mr. Doolittle does, and I wan't afraid to ask that
leetle favor of him."

Ichabod had got back his breath and his composure now. He covered his
bald head with his hat, planted himself against the fence, his little,
twinkling eyes fixed on Trudy with an intense gaze, and continued his
story:

"Thar he set. And I walked in and I says to him, 'Air ye willin' to do
sump'n fer me, Mr. Doolittle?' And says he, 'Yes I be, Ichabod.' And
says I, 'It ain't goin' to take but jest a minute, Mr. Doolittle.' And
says he, 'Go ahead, Ichabod.'

"Says I, 'I was lookin' in the closet of the garret bed-room up to Mrs.
Spencer's house, whar I've been stayin', and I found a leetle box,
shoved 'way back, as though it wan't no use, anyhow. And, kind o'
hankerin' to know what 'twas, I broke it open. And thar was papers in
it,' says I-- 'and letters.

"'I can't read none myself,' says I-- 'only jest a leetle; but I looked
over them letters, and I worked and I figured, and I studied out a
leetle here and a leetle thar, till I begun to suspicion sump'n. Sump'n
awful quare--_awful quare!_ And this here one,' says I, 'I've fetched
down to ye, fer ye to jest look at. And if there ain't nothin' in it,'
says I, 'why, all right, and thank ye fer yer trouble. And if thar _is_
sump'n--' says I.

"And I handed him over that thar ole letter, and then I set still, and I
had my ole eyes glued right onto his face, and I ketched my breath and I
waited.

"'Well, I'll see, Ichabod,' says he. 'Ole letters are quare things,
Ichabod,' says he; 'but I'll look at it.'

"And he looked. He looked it up and down two er three times, and then he
read it clean through two er three times more. And then he took up his
spectacles off'n the table, and he read it ag'in, and he looked jest as
astonished as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Says he, 'I can't make it out. Reuben Wallace has been dead a year, and
this is the fust breath o' evidence that he left any money, although
everybody in this town has been clean up a stump about his _not_ leavin'
any. But this letter--dated two months afore he died,' says he, 'is from
a coal merchant in New York, findin' _that_ in the printin' up top o'
the letter. And it makes reference to the sum o' forty thousand dollars
invested by Reuben Wallace in his business. There's more in it,' says
he; 'but that's the principal thing.'

"And he got up and stood thar, shakin' his head and lookin' as if a
feather'd knock him down. And, says he, 'if this means anything at all,
Ichabod, it means an awful lot! It means that Reuben Wallace was worth
forty thousand dollars at the time of his death, and that that forty
thousand dollars was invested with this New York coal merchant. Thar's
one thing fer us to do, Ichabod,' says he, 'and that's to write to this
man in New York and see what's the meanin' of all this 'ere! That's a
simple thing, and I'll do it,' says he. 'I'll do it, this minute.' And
down he sot and begun to write; and when he'd got done with that air old
letter, I put it back into my pocket ag'in.

"And," pursued Ichabod, whose voice had grown shrill as ever, in
excitement, "I come away and I set to lookin' ye up, to tell ye every
word Mr. Doolittle said--every word. And I've been pretty nigh all over
the town, and was jest thinkin' o' startin' up thar to the Browns, when
I see ye."

Ichabod mopped his face and head with his handkerchief.

Trudy stood still, in a dazed condition, which allowed her neither to
move nor speak; but Mrs. Scott, who had listened with close attention,
though finding it hard to understand a tale which, for her, had begun in
the middle, asked, with practical interest:

"And what is the name of the coal merchant in whose hands this money is
placed?"

"Angus Pritchard," replied Ichabod, nodding his head several times.

He drew the letter from his pocket.

"Here 'tis, down to the bottom. Angus Pritchard, that's what 'tis."

"Angus Pritchard!" Mrs. Scott repeated, in a voice of utter amazement;
and Rosalie stood now as stock still as Trudy. "Angus Pritchard is my
husband's uncle--yes, and a coal merchant in New York. And he is at the
Bellevue Hotel at this moment!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




                 WORK AND PLAY.

                by KARL WINSHIP.


"Have you watered Prince this evening, Roswell?" asked Mr. Hofford, as
his sixteen-year-old son came into the room at supper time and dropped
into his seat at the table.

"Yes, sir," answered Roswell, sulkily.

"And brought in the wood and coal?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then you may go to the village to-night."

"I don't want to go to the village."

For the first time Mr. Hofford appeared to notice his son's air of
discontent, and he asked, kindly:

"What's the matter, Roswell? Are you sick?"

"No; I'm just tired out, that's all," replied the boy, giving the
table-leg a little kick.

"Tired, are you?"

"Yes, I am. I am worked to death."

Mr. Hofford laughed pleasantly.

"You don't look as if you were in danger of dying. And I don't think you
do more work than other boys of your age."

"I don't know about that," rejoined Roswell, in a discontented voice;
"but I know I'm working from morning to night. I have to attend to
everything in the way of chores, until I'm so tired that I can't read or
study. And I never have any time for play."

"I am sorry for that," said Mr. Hofford, gravely, "because all boys
ought to have time for play. I thought I saw you playing football
yesterday?"

"Oh, I play _some_," admitted Roswell, "but nothing like I want to. I
wish I had nothing to do but play, like Rollo there."

"You'd soon get tired of living a dog's life," said Mrs. Hofford, with
an amused look.

"No, I wouldn't," said Roswell, confidently. "I never had enough play."

"Very well," said Mr. Hofford, with a queer smile. "To-morrow is
Tuesday; suppose you start in and play."

"And not do any work?"

"Certainly not; no work for yourself, or anybody else."

Roswell looked at his father, as if disbelieving his ears.

"I mean it," continued Mr. Hofford. "I will tend to the horse and cow,
Jennie will do the house chores and run the errands, and your mother
will do the rest. You will have nothing to do but play, and I hope you
will enjoy yourself."

"I'm sure I shall!" declared Roswell, joyfully.

When he opened his eyes the next morning it was bright daylight, and he
sprang out of bed very hurriedly, forgetting the changed condition of
affairs. Then, as recollection dawned upon him, he dressed slowly and
went down stairs to breakfast.

There was no one there but his mother, who said "Good-morning!"
pleasantly.

"My!" he exclaimed, glancing at the clock; "if it isn't ten minutes to
nine! I'll be late for school."

"You are not to go to school," said his mother, quietly. "Going to
school is not play."

"But I'll miss my promotion, if I don't go," pleaded Roswell, aghast at
the thought.

"Can't help it. You must not do anything but play."

Roswell laughed.

"Very well," he said, lightly.

Then he finished his breakfast in silence and strolled out.

He walked around the yard for five or ten minutes, whistling shrilly;
took a look in the barn at Prince and then set off to the village. It
was almost deserted, the boys being at school--all but a few loaferish
fellows, with whom Roswell did not care to associate.

About ten o'clock he returned home, got a book and read until
dinner-time.

Somehow he did not have much of an appetite, and after dinner he took
his fishing tackle and went off to the creek.

When he returned at dusk, he had a string of perch.

"Where's my fish-knife, Jennie?" he asked, as he laid the fish on the
bench in the wash-house.

"Jennie will clean the fish, Roswell," called out his mother. "Catching
fish is play; cleaning them is work."

"Pshaw!" said Roswell, impatiently.

He was rather proud of his ability to prepare fish for the pan.

At supper Mr. Hofford asked him how he was enjoying himself, and Roswell
answered that he was doing very well. After supper, when the table was
cleared, he got out a lot of traps and set to work on an electrical
machine he was trying to make, but his father promptly checked him.

"That won't do, Roswell. Work is strictly forbidden."

"But this is for myself."

"No matter. It is not play. You had better go to the village and play."

Roswell got up angrily, put away the machine and went out. In an hour he
came back, saying he had had a quarrel with Perry Gantley, and had a
headache. So he went to bed.

The next morning he rigged up a swing in the woods back of the house,
and amused himself for an hour, and then went fishing, but, as he had no
luck, he hardly spoke a word at dinner-time.

During the afternoon he read for a few minutes, and then took a walk
through the woods, returning so tired that he was glad to go to bed
right after supper.

Thursday was simply dreadful. It rained all day, and Roswell read until
his eyes ached. Then he tried to sleep, romped with Rollo awhile, and at
last went to the barn.

Mrs. Hofford followed him presently, and found him currying Prince.

"Come, Roswell, this won't do," she said, quickly. "No work."

Roswell threw down the currycomb with an impatient exclamation, and
returned to the house.

He did not make his appearance at all at supper, and Jennie reported
that he was lying in bed, asleep. She supposed Mr. Hofford smiled, but
made no remark.

Friday morning Roswell came down very early and Mr. Hofford met him
coming in with an armful of wood.

"Here! What does this mean?" he asked, sternly.

"I'm going back to work," replied Roswell, flushing up, but laughing at
the same time.

"It is not possible you are tired of play?"

"No, not tired; but--"

"But you think it is more fun when sandwiched between work?"

"Yes, sir."

"I am glad you have made the discovery for yourself," said Mr. Hofford,
with a smile. "Fun or play is never thoroughly enjoyable unless we have
earned the right to it by hard work. A perfectly idle boy or man is
never happy, and no person knows the absolute pleasure in work until
they are deprived of it, It is a good lesson to learn, my son, and I am
glad you have learned it so early."




                NEW YEAR'S DAY.


  The aged and the young, man, woman, child,
  Unite in social glee; even stranger dogs,
  Meeting with bristling back, soon lay aside
  Their snarling aspect, and in sportive chase,
  Excursive scour, or wallow in the snow.
  With sober cheerfulness, the grandam eyes
  Her offspring 'round her, all in health and peace;
  And thankful that she's spared to see this day
  Return once more, breathes low a secret prayer,
  That God would shed a blessing on their heads.

    --_James Grahame_.

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               ROYALTY IN EXILE.

            by THOMAS PARKE GORDON.


In olden times thrones were very unstable affairs, and kingdoms were
overthrown in a twinkling. Readers of ancient history will recall many
such instances of the downfall of earthly grandeur.

Alexander the Great overthrew Darius in the plenitude of his power; the
Emperor Aurelian destroyed Palmyra and led Zenobia, the queen, in
triumph to Rome, where she ended her days in peaceful retirement.

Rome, when mistress of the world, overthrew hundreds of monarchies, and
killed or sent into exile innumerable kings. In the days of her decline,
the people deposed their own rulers at such a rate that the imperial
purple was finally put up at auction by the soldiery.

In later days, monarchies became more secure; but kingdoms were
nevertheless overturned, and several royal rulers sent into exile, when
not more severely punished. But, with passing years, revolutions became
more rare, until Napoleon began his wars of conquest, and deposed kings
as if they were playthings.

Since Napoleon's downfall, revolutions have become still more rare; yet
monarchies are so many, and republican ideas are growing so rapidly,
that scores of deposed rulers are in exile, pining for the days that
will never return.

Perhaps the most notable is the Count of Paris, who recently paid a
visit to this country. The count, it is true, has never reigned, so he
cannot be said to have been deposed; but he claims descent from the
Bourbon kings of France, and seeks to revive the ancient rule.

He is a resident of England, and is in easy circumstances. He has a
rival for the throne in Prince Napoleon Bonaparte, who lives in
luxurious exile in Switzerland.

Prince Napoleon's father was a brother of the great Napoleon, and he
hopes that some day the people of France will recognize him as their
ruler.

England gives refuge to another exile in Eugenie, the widow of Napoleon
III, who resides at Chiselhurst, and who makes no pretensions to royal
grandeur. Since the death of her son by Zulu assegais she has lived the
life of a recluse.

Paris shelters the exiled Isabella, Queen of Spain, who takes her
downfall philosophically. She is rich, and passes her time between
Paris, Nice and Boulogne in social enjoyment.

In the same city lives Don Carlos, a pretender to the throne of Spain.
He traces his descent from Carlos, the second son of Charles IV, born
1788.

The original Carlos began the insurrection business in 1825, and, after
being repeatedly defeated and banished, died at Trieste in 1855. His son
Don Carlos continued to make periodical attempts to regain the crown,
but died in 1861, leaving no direct heir.

The present Don Carlos, the nephew of the above, has headed four
insurrections and has many followers, but no one believes that he will
ever be more than an aspirant.

Dom Pedro, the deposed Emperor of the Brazils, lives in Portugal, and is
the most unhappy of ex-rulers. The death of his wife followed close upon
his exile, and he longs to return to Brazil, if only to die. He has
refused the gratuity offered him by the infant republic, and not being
wealthy, the future looks rather dark for him.

When Italy was united, a number of petty sovereigns were deprived of
their crowns and now wander around without any particular aim in life.
Unlike an ex-President of the United States, an ex-king cannot go to
work, and, if he has not saved any money, must depend on charity for a
living, unless he can marry a rich wife.

Austria has taken care of several rulers of the Tuscan provinces, and
the Italians are generous enough to see that none of them starve.

Paris is a notable refuge for royal exiles, and some of them are engaged
in anything but kingly pastimes. A prince of Georgia drives a cab, and
one of the best police agents is a scion of the royal house of Poland.

Among the curiosities of Paris is Orelie, King of Araucania. Originally
a poor lawyer, with a taste for adventure, he made his way to Chili, and
thence to a remote section of the republic, where the Araucanian Indians
live. He won their good will to such an extent that they elected him
king, and for several years he ruled over them. Then the Chilians
started a war and Orelie I decamped. In Paris he still calls himself
King of Araucania, and makes a precarious living by selling titles of
nobility to gullible or vain people.

Another exile, more meritorious, is Francesco, King of Armenia and
Prince of Jerusalem. It has been many years since Francesco's ancestors
were driven by the Turks from the throne of Armenia, but there can be no
doubt whatever of the royal antiquity of the family. Descended from a
bold crusader, they held the kingly rank for centuries, until the rise
of Mohammedan power in the East made them exiles. Russia, for many
years, gave the titular prince a pension, but this was dropped about
forty years ago, and since then the kings of Armenia have had a very
hard time of it. The present king is a waiter in a small restaurant near
Versailles. He is a quiet fellow, and does not parade either his
pedigree or his misfortunes.

There can be no doubt that the number of royal exiles will increase with
the passing years. The trend is all one way. Monarchies are giving way
to republics all over the world, and once the people have the power in
their own hands they will not relinquish it. Revolutions, however,
nowadays are peaceful, and kings may thank their stars that they are no
longer in danger of losing their heads along with their crowns.




               A HAPPY NEW YEAR.


Nature has made no marked division between the new year and the old, and
there is practically no difference in weather between the last week in
December and the first week in January. Perhaps it would be more logical
to have the year begin with the vernal equinox, but practically it makes
no difference at all. The year begins on the first day of January in all
Christian nations except Russia and her dependencies, and it is not
likely that any change will be made in future.

Yet, although there is no natural division, custom has made one that we
cannot help but notice. In the business and financial world the end of
the old year marks a distinct epoch, and the first of January is the
beginning of new accounts and new books. There is a general brushing up,
so to speak, and a number of new rules enacted, even if they are never
enforced.

There seems to be no reason why there should not be a moral brushing up,
as well as a business one. On the first of January, why should not every
one take an account of stock? Why not foot up all the good and bad done
in the old year, and find out on which side the balance lies? If bad, it
is a subject for correction; if good, it is a matter for congratulation.

It is not necessary for one to make the footings public, any more than a
business man takes the outside world into his confidence, but a perusal
may do a wonderful amount of good. Indeed, it is the only way by which
one can learn to avoid a repetition of the errors of the old year.

The first of the new year is called "happy" doubtless on account of the
good resolutions which inevitably spring from a contemplation of the
past. It is the one day in the year when every right-minded person at
least tries to do good, and it is an axiom that to be good is to be
happy.

Another reason springs from the time-honored custom of calling and
renewing old acquaintances, and thus reviving many happy memories.

Let no boy or girl be laughed out of making good resolutions on New
Year's Day. To make a resolution and keep it for a single day is better
than to make none at all, and it renders each successive resolution
easier to make and keep. But good resolutions may be kept, and then,
indeed, the new year will be a happy one.

Resolve, then, on New Year's Day to be something better and nobler than
you have been in the old year, to correct some fault or develop some
virtue; resolve to make some one's life brighter, or to do good in some
way, however humble, and you will find your reward in a happiness equal
if not superior to that which you have bestowed.




                   ICEBERGS.

                 by J.V. HAY.


It may sound strangely to the average reader to say that icebergs are
more numerous in warm weather, but such is the fact. Of course they are
formed in winter, but it takes the summer sun to set them adrift and
send them floating on the ocean, a grand sight to look at but a fearful
menace to vessels.

Icebergs are born every day in every month, but most of them remain in
or near their native waters for a long time before they escape and
wander to the great lanes of travel between here and Europe.

The bergs seen last summer are from two to ten years old--that is, they
have had an existence individually for years, though the ice from which
they are formed is much older, some of it possibly having been frozen
first a thousand years ago.

Icebergs are born of glaciers, and four out of five of the floating
bergs on the Atlantic come from Greenland. A glacier is a river of solid
water confined in the depressions running down the mountain sides.

Soft and powdery snow falls upon the summits, and though some is
evaporated, the yearly fall is greater than the yearly loss, and so the
excess is pushed down the <DW72> into the valleys which possibly at the
time are covered with green and have afforded pasture lands for cattle.

The snow gathers in the high valleys and every day undergoes some degree
of the change which finally transforms it into ice. Slowly, very slowly,
in some cases only a foot every year, this frozen river flows downward.
Nothing can stop it, nothing can even check it.

The process is the same in Switzerland and Greenland, only in
Switzerland the glacier melts when it reaches the lower valley and feeds
rivers; in Greenland the glacier slides into the ocean, breaks off and
becomes an iceberg and floats away.

One of the incidents of an ordinary Alaskan cruise along the coast is to
see the glaciers break off and fall into the water. They are far more
beautiful than the finest of the glaciers of Switzerland, and in size
they are so great that the largest Alpine glacier would make only a
fair-sized nose, if it could be taken bodily and placed upon the face of
one of the Alaskan giants.

At Glacier Bay icebergs are being born all the while. Muir Glacier, the
largest that dips into the bay, presents a front of 5000 feet. It is 700
feet thick, five-sevenths of it being under water. It extends back for
miles and miles.

Each day the central part moves 70 feet into the sea, the discharge
every twenty-four hours being 140,000,000 cubic feet of clear ice. As
this great quantity cracks into pieces from the glacier, the bergs of
the North Pacific begin their life. The separation from the larger mass
and the plunge into the sea cause terrific noises.

The interior of Greenland is a solid mass of ice. In fact, some people
think that at about the central part of Greenland there is a high
mountain, around whose sides there has grown through the centuries an
enormous glacier, sending down in every direction branch glaciers that
extend to the coast. It is known that the only part of the land which is
not covered completely by ice is a narrow belt around the shore.

Crossing this belt at hundreds of places are the glaciers. Some are only
a few hundred feet wide and 50 feet thick, while others are several
miles wide and measure 1500 feet from surface to bottom.

All of these ice streams are making their way to the sea, and as their
ends are forced out into the water by the pressure behind, they are
broken off and set adrift as bergs.

Ensign Hugh Rodman, of the United States navy, in his report on the
"ice and ice movements in the North Atlantic Ocean," explains many
interesting things about ice and bergs.

Once the glacier extends into deep water, pieces are broken off by their
buoyancy, aided possibly by the currents and the brittleness of the ice.

The size of the pieces set adrift varies greatly, but a berg from 60 to
100 feet to the top of its walls, whose spires or pinnacles may reach
from 200 to 250 feet in height and from 300 to 500 yards in length, is
considered an average size berg in the Arctic. These measurements apply
to the part above the water, which is about one-eighth or one-ninth of
the whole mass.

Many authors give the depth under water as being from eight to nine
times the height above. This is incorrect, and measurements above and
below water should be referred to mass and not to height.

It is even possible to have a berg as high out of water as it is deep
below the surface, for if we imagine a large, solid lump, of any regular
shape, which has a very small, sharp, high pinnacle in the centre, the
height above water can easily be equal to the depth below. An authentic
case on record is that of a berg grounded in the Strait of Belle Isle,
in sixteen fathoms of water, that had a thin spire about one hundred
feet in height.

Each glacier in Greenland, so far as any estimate has been made, is the
parent each year of from ten to one hundred icebergs. When these bergs
have plunged into the Arctic Sea, they are picked up by the Arctic
current and begin their journey to the North Atlantic. But there are
thousands of them afloat; they crowd and rub against each other and
frequently they break into smaller masses.

Many go aground in the Arctic basin; others get to the shores of
Labrador, where from one end to the other they continually ground and
float. Some disappear there, while others get safely past and reach the
Grand Banks.

According to Ensign Rodman, the ice of bergs, although very hard, is at
the same time extremely brittle. A blow of an axe will at times split
them, and the report of a gun, by concussion, will accomplish the same
end.

They are more apt to break up in warm weather than in cold, and whalers
and sealers note this before landing on them when an anchor is to be
planted or fresh water to be obtained.

On the coast of Labrador, in July and August, when it is packed with
bergs, the noise of rupture is often deafening, and those experienced in
ice give them a wide berth.

When they are frozen the temperature is very low, so that when their
surface is exposed to a thawing temperature the tension of the exterior
and interior is very different, making them not unlike a Prince Rupert's
drop.

Then, too, during the day, the water made by melting finds its way into
the crevices, freezes, and hence expands, and, acting like a wedge,
forces the berg into fragments.

Much of the ice encountered at sea is discolored, and often full of dirt
and gravel, while not infrequently stones are found imbedded in it.

Along the shores of Labrador, where there is a large rise and fall in
the tide, ice is brought into contact with the bottom, and mud and
sea-weed are frozen in with it, while at times landslides precipitate
large quantities of dirt and stones on its surface.

As the ice leaves the coast and comes to the southward, it brings these
burdens with it, which are deposited on the ocean bottom when the ice
melts. As this melting occurs to a great extent over the Grand Banks, it
would seem that the deposit from the field ice would be greater than
that from bergs.

It is hard to understand why bergs should have foreign substances frozen
into them, as they are formed from snow deposited on the frozen surfaces
in the interior of Greenland, and hence their thickness is added to from
their upper surface.

It is possible that in their journey south in the Arctic current they
accumulate more or less foreign matter by having it ground into their
bottoms; but this does not seem probable, as it is hard to force gravel
into ice and give it a permanent hold, while mud accumulated in this way
would soon be washed out.

Then, too, the largest bergs find their way around the edges of the
Banks, and do not cross, on account of their draught, for only an
average-size berg crosses the Banks.




                    "1891."

           by Rev. PHILIP B. STRONG.


  Dear "1890" is no more!
  The year has gone like years before.
  With feelings foreign, sure, to none,
  I write an "1891."

  What lofty vows, what high resolves,
  The wakened soul to-day revolves!
  Will they endure, as now begun,
  Through all of "1891?"

  Oh, may more kindly words be said
  Than in the twelve-month that has fled;
  Far better, braver deeds be done
  Than then in "1891."

  What hath this year of loss or gain?
  Who knoweth? What of boon or bane?
  Life's thread may bright or dark be spun,
  Ah, shrouded "1891!"

  But faith is strong though sight is dim;
  We gladly leave the days with Him,
  And, trusting, wait the sands to run
  Of hopeful "1891."




         [_This Story began in No. 4._]

       Schooner Sailing and Beach Combing;

                      or,

           LEE HOLLAND'S ADVENTURES.

            by EDWARD SHIPPEN, M.D.,

     Author of "Cast Away in the Ice," "The
      Yacht Grapeshot," "Tiger Island and
      Elsewhere," "Jack Peters' Adventures
             in Africa," etc., etc.


                  CHAPTER VI.

Lee now began to feel hungry and tired, so he let the boat drift while
he sat down and ate the lunch which the old woman had provided with such
very different intentions; and after that was finished, he fell sound
asleep in the stern-sheets, only to be awakened by the chill of the
dawn. Sitting up, he saw that the Sound was covered by a dense mist, and
all around him were flocks of wild ducks, settled upon the water, but
which flew off as soon as he moved.

While he sat looking at the sky, growing brighter in the east, and
trying to make up his mind in what direction Plymouth lay, he heard the
dip of a paddle, and then he saw coming up through the mist a dug-out
canoe, in which sat a venerable-looking old <DW64>.

[Illustration:
"I'VE RUN AWAY FROM A SCHOONER ABOVE HERE,
AND I WANT TO GET TO PLYMOUTH."]

"Hillo!" said Lee.

The old fellow started as if he had been shot and peered about until he
saw the boat.

"Hillo, sah! hillo!" he answered, and then paddled nearer. "Now I can't
say as I rightly knows you, sah; an' I knows most everybody round here.
Duck-shootin' maybe? Is you one o' de Talbots?"

"No; I'm not duck-shooting, and I'm not one of the Talbots."

"What you doin' out here in de cold mornin', den, boy? Dat boat come
from some wessel, I see. An' dear knows it would be quare if you _was_ a
Talbot, an' I didn't know you. I belonged to old man Talbot onst."

"No, no, old man! I tell you I'm no Talbot. I've run away from a
schooner above here, and I want to get to Plymouth."

"Laws a massy! Why, I runned away myself, afore de wah. Was fo' year in
de Dismal Swamp, an' had a good time dere, too, honey. We had plenty o'
possum an' chickens an' corn-meal toted by  folks we knowed, an'
put whar we could find it. An' we had sweet potatoes, an' simlins, an'
water-millions, an' berries, an' grapes, an' wild plums, an' wild hogs,
an' fish. Don't know as ever I'd 'a come out ef it hadn't 'a be'n de wah
freed de slaves, an' I wanted to see de ole place."

By this time the old <DW64> was alongside, and took out a cob-pipe,
filled it, struck a light, and settled himself for a good talk, first
telling Lee that he was going fishing, at which he made his living.

Before he could begin talking again, Lee asked him in what direction he
ought to go to reach Plymouth.

"Why, honey, I'se a-goin' right dat way. My place for fishin' lays right
in dat direction. You come along o' me."

And with that the old fellow made fast his canoe to the schooner's boat,
and got in with Lee, taking one of the oars, so that they gave way
together.

After pulling for some time, the old man sounded.

"Now here I is," he then said, "in my place for fishin'. Now you see de
sun is scoffin' de fog, don't you? Well, you jus' keep de sun right in
your eyes, an' pull away, an' in less dan two hours you'll be in
Plymouth, for de tide is fa'r for you. I wish you well, honey! I done
run away onst myself, but I believe I tole you about dat. Take some o'
dis corn pone, and a piece o' dis cold bacon; you must want sumfin' in
your stumic. So-long!"

"Can't you give me a drink of water?" said Lee. "I want that more than
anything to eat."

"Yes, 'deed I kin!"

And then the old fellow rummaged in his canoe and brought out a black
jug, stoppered with a corn-cob, pulled the latter out, wiped the mouth
of the jug with his sleeve, and presented it to Lee, who took a good
drink, thanked his black friend, and then settled down at the oars for a
long pull.

Belts of fog and mist continued to lie upon the water, and after a time,
and having taken several breathing spells, he was shut in by one of
them, when he began to hear, carried over the water from a distance, the
creaking of blocks and tinkling of iron, and the cries of drivers
shouting at mules or horses, and other noises of a seaport.

Then the fog suddenly lifted, and he saw, quite a distance above him,
the wharves and some houses and vessels, mostly big, three-masted
schooners, loading lumber and tar and turpentine, just as he had been
told by old Jake.

Then, for the first time, it occurred to Lee that if he appeared there
alone, in possession of a ship's boat, he might be looked upon with
suspicion and might have hard work to explain how he came there, and
even might be held until he could clear the matter up.

So, rather than be suspected and detained, he determined to make his
appearance by land, instead of by water, and ran the boat on shore, some
way below the town.

Jumping out, he was about to give her a shove out into the stream, when
he reflected that the tide was still flood and an empty boat would be
sure to be seen and secured and his sudden appearance connected with her
in some way; so he hauled her under a clump of bushes, made her well
fast and walked up a marshy cattle-path toward the town.

In about twenty minutes he came out close to a wharf, where the work of
the day was in full blast. A large schooner lay there, with "Traveler,
of Boston," on her broad stern. She was taking, as a deck-load, some
large, squared timbers, and just then had a big one hung by chains from
a patent crane, which stood upon the dock.

A number of <DW64>s were at work lowering it down, when suddenly
something cracked and the most of them let go the winch.

The great timber must have come down on the deck with damaging effect if
Lee, who had often seen such cranes used before, had not jumped to the
safety-break, at the risk of being killed by the whirling winch-handles,
and brought the beam to a stand before it could do any damage.

"Well done, my lad!" shouted a stout, bronzed man, from the vessel. "You
just stay there and work those other three timbers down on deck, and
I'll pay you for it. I'm short handed. But, stop; maybe you belong to
some of these other vessels? No? Well, I'll be as good as my word. My
mate's sick with this confounded North Carolina fever, and the
second-mate's got some kind of 'fantods,' too, and is laid up, and I
want to get away to-day."

"Send me out a drink of water and a piece of hard tack, sir, and I'll
stop here till the timbers are on board."

"Steward," called the captain, "there's a boy out there on the dock; I
want you to take him something to eat and drink. He's the one at the
break. Now, bear a hand and sling another one."

While they were slinging it Lee managed to eat something, and in an hour
the whole were safely on deck and securely chocked. Then the captain saw
Lee still on the dock and beckoned him on board.

"Now, here's a half-dollar for you, my lad. Do you belong about these
parts? Don't look as if you did. But, no matter; I s'pose you've run
away from some vessel. Now, I'm bound to Havana with this load of
lumber, and I'll ship you, if you like."

"I would rather ship in some vessel going north, sir."

"Well, maybe you can and maybe you can't. I'm going to haul out, right
away. Go, or not go? What do you say?"

"Are you going home from Havana, captain?"

"I can't say. I will, if I get a charter. But, being short handed, I'd
like to have a good, active, stout lad, like you, and will give you
ordinary seamen's wages. Haven't been much to sea, have you?"

"No, sir; but I'm not a bad schooner sailor, and can reef and steer."

"Well, I don't want any shilly-shally! Say yes or no. I have my
clearance, and here comes the tug to take me down the Sound."

"Well, yes, then."

And so it came about that Lee found himself, within half an hour, bound
down for Hatteras Inlet and thence for Havana, when he had only started
from home to go halibut fishing!


                  CHAPTER VII.

In a day or two after the vessel got to sea the mates got better and
went to duty, and the skipper seemed to take a pleasure in abusing and
worrying them, although it was evident from their appearance that they
had suffered severely from the swamp fever, and had not been shamming,
as the captain intimated.

In fact, the latter turned out to be a regular sea-tyrant, and Lee soon
found that life under him would be intolerable.

The crew were a mixed lot, mostly Norwegians and <DW55>s, whom the captain
had shipped at low wages. Some of them hardly understood a word of
English; and before the week was out the captain almost killed a poor
Portuguese by striking him with a belaying-pin because he misunderstood
an order while at the wheel.

That night the second-mate talked to Lee during his watch, and asked him
how he came to ship.

Lee told him his story.

"Well, my lad, my advice to you is to run away as soon as we reach
Havana. The captain is also part owner, and he will never pay you any
wages, if by any chance he can avoid it, while he is likely to do you
harm if you cross him."

"Why do you stop on board?" asked Lee.

"Because he owes me several months' wages, and I cannot afford to lose
it. But you mind what I tell you, and get away the first chance."

Among the crew of the Traveler, Lee had found a Cuban lad of about his
own age, named Diego, whom Captain Bristol had inveigled into shipping
as a cabin-boy, on a previous voyage to Havana.

He had been five or six months on board the vessel, and began to speak
English pretty fluently, but in a broken way, and with many sailor
expressions.

One evening, at sea, he came up to Lee and said:

"My name is Diego. What is your name?"

Lee told him.

[Illustration:
DIEGO AND LEE LOOKED AT EACH EACH OTHER
AS MUCH AS TO SAY, "WHY WOULDN'T WE DO?"]

"I came from Havana. Where did you come from?"

Lee related his story in a few words.

"Just the same with me," said Diego, when he had finished. "I've got no
father, no mother; but I'll not stop here. The captain treats me like a
slave. When we get to Havana, we go ashore, eh?"

Lee had for some time thought he had better get out of the Traveler, if
he could only see his way to do so. But he said:

"Where would we go, and what would we do, Diego? I have to get a living,
and would only have to look for another vessel to take me home, and that
might not be so easy to get."

Diego smiled knowingly.

"You see, I've got an aunt, and she lives at Regla," he said. "She's a
good old woman, but very poor. We can sleep in her house, though, till
we find something to do."

Lee did not promise, although Diego returned to the subject several
times. But on the morning that the vessel entered Havana the captain
gave him a violent blow with his fist, because he was not quick enough
in bringing him his spyglass from the cabin, and this determined Lee
finally, and he went forward and told Diego he was ready to go at the
first chance.

"All right," replied the Cuban; "I'll keep my eyes open and mouth shut."

It was a lovely morning as Lee stood forward and entered the first
foreign port in which he had ever been, glancing up at the frowning
Morro Castle at the entrance, close to which all vessels must pass, and
seeing the great guns pointing at them from the embrasures in the old
walls, the quaint turrets or sentry-boxes, painted in red and yellow,
with the sentinels pacing up and down, with polished muskets and
bayonets, and dressed in uniforms of white linen.

Then opened the view of the great harbor within, filled with shipping,
and the town beyond, with houses having no chimneys and painted in white
and red, and green and pink, with nodding palms and other tropical
foliage growing--all strange enough to a lad who had been all his life
north of Cape Cod.

When they had been boarded by the health officer and the custom house
officials, the Traveler came to anchor, and for a time all were busy in
furling sails and cleaning up the decks, while the captain took a boat
and went off to see his consignees.

All day they lay quiet, as the captain did not return and there were no
orders to begin to discharge, but toward evening a bumboat came off,
with fresh bread, fruits and other things to sell to the crew.

In the bumboat was a boy of about Diego's age, whom he recognized as an
old acquaintance and playmate, and who seemed very much surprised at
seeing him on board the American vessel.

Diego went down and had a whispered talk with him, which resulted in his
beckoning to Lee to come down. The second-mate was in charge of the
deck, and if he saw them go he took no notice.

Lee had no clothes to take, as he had only two shirts--one flannel and
one woven undershirt, which he had up to this time worn in turn, while
he washed the other--and both were becoming well worn out.

In view of a chance of running away, he had put them both on, in spite
of the heat of the day.

Diego's friend pushed them into a little cubby-hole under the half-deck
of the bumboat, saying in Spanish, which Diego translated to Lee:

"Lie there, lads, and we'll put you on shore at Regla all right."

The place was hot and stuffy and there was hardly room to turn round,
but they were so anxious to get away that they lay perfectly still for
at least an hour.

Then the bumboat shoved off to return to the shore, and in fifteen
minutes Lee stood upon foreign soil for the first time. Forlorn and
strange enough he felt, too, and if it had not been for Diego, would
have felt almost inclined to go back to the Traveler and her tyrant of a
captain.

Every sight and sound which met him when he landed was different from
any he had ever experienced before. Long drays, drawn by mules covered
with tasseled harness and bells, and driven by half-naked <DW64>s,
groups of dark-complexioned men, with sashes round their waists and gay
handkerchiefs on their heads, on top of which they wore felt or straw
hats.

They talked with great energy and many gestures as they smoked their
cigars. Diego said they were stevedores and other laborers who had just
finished their day's work.

The streets were paved with small cobble stones, or else not paved at
all, and the sidewalk was very narrow and elevated, more like a beach
than a walk, and everybody seemed to take to the middle of the street.

Nobody took any notice of the two lads, for sailors were no rarity in
those parts, and they worked their way along the narrow, crowded, noisy
streets, sometimes jumping to one side to avoid a mule dray or some
heavy burden, carried by a number of <DW64>s upon their heads, the
bearers singing in chorus to warn people out of the way.

Occasionally they met a lady dressed in white, with bare head and fan in
hand, who had driven down in her volante to fetch a father or a husband
from his place of business.

This vehicle struck Lee as being very odd. It was a sort of large, open
gig, mounted on very high wheels and drawn by a horse at the end of very
long shafts, which kept him several feet from the volante.

The horse was always ridden by a black postillion in gorgeous livery,
glazed hat and cockade, and enormous boots, who cracked a whip with a
noise like pistol-shots, to show that an important person was coming.

A number of times Lee stopped to look at the novel sights about him, but
at last Diego said:

"Come on now, Lee. We're still some ways from my Aunt Dolores, and she
always goes to bed with the chickens."

Trudging on, over the rough, slippery stones, they at last turned up a
side street of poor habitations, most of them in sad want of soap and
water, as well as paint and whitewash, and about half-way up the block
came to an open door, at which sat a chocolate-, withered old
woman, who was smoking a very long, thin cigar.

Diego stepped up to her and said, in Spanish:

"Dear aunt, do you not know me?"

The old woman stared at him a moment with her dim eyes, as she took the
cigar from her mouth, and then she jumped up and exclaimed, in the same
language:

"It is Diego! my Diego!"

And with that she flung her arms about him, hugged and kissed him, and
talked at such a rate that all the neighbors came to see what had
happened. At last Diego got clear of her, and turned to Lee, saying:

"She says they heard that I had gone off to the ends of the earth with a
confounded Gringo Yankee, and I was gone so long she thought I must be
dead."

Then he turned to the old woman and continued:

"Here is a Yankee friend of mine, who is a good fellow. We have had hard
times, and I want you to let us sleep here to-night, and to-morrow we
will look for something to do. We have had enough to eat for to-day, and
so we only want shelter."

Old Dolores, Diego's aunt, was a washerwoman. She employed one or two
girls during the day, but they had now gone home, and she was alone
in the house; so she took the lads in and spread some sheets on
ironing-tables in a back room, which opened upon a little court, with
high stone walls, and there they lay down, and in spite of the numerous
curious smells, and of the hardness of their beds, were soon asleep.


                 CHAPTER VIII.

Next morning the old woman had them up early, for she wanted to use
their beds, and gave them some breakfast, consisting of very good
coffee, without milk, fried plantains, very nice white bread from the
baker's next door, and to each a little relish of salt bacon, which did
instead of butter.

It was evident that this repast was considered a great treat by both
Diego and his aunt. When they had finished, the latter said:

"Now, Diego, if you and your friend will take a basket of washed clothes
over into the city, to the hotel for which I work, you will do me a
favor."

"Why not?" answered Diego, who then explained to Lee what was wanted.

The old woman soon had the large, square basket packed and covered with
a clean checked cloth, and then said:

"Here, Diego, take these coppers for the ferry-boat, and here are the
lists and the bills. You will get the money and bring it back to me."

The boys set off at once, crossing the bay to the city in the balmy
clear, tropical morning, so charming before the sun gains its full
power, and having a long trudge before they came to their destination.

In this neighborhood Lee saw a very different state of things from that
at Regla. They passed a great square, planted with palms and flowering
plants, such as he had only seen in pictures heretofore. Then there were
long ranges of public buildings and grand houses, with sentry-boxes in
front of them, and sentinels pacing to and fro.

They also met frequently battalions and companies of troops, going to
relieve guard or returning from early parade, stepping out briskly over
the clean-swept pavements to lively airs played by the bands.
Everything, at that hour, was life and bustle, for most of the business
of the day is done in the early morning, that people may have time to
take the "siesta" during the hot hours.

All these strange sights seemed to divert Lee's thoughts from the heavy
basket which they were carrying, and he was still staring about when
Diego stopped before a large, low, two-storied building, with a great
arched entrance into a court-yard, around the four sides of which the
building extended. Above the arch hung a sign, with "Hotel de los
Estados Unidos," painted upon it.

"Well, I know what _that_ sign means," said Lee; "and it's the first one
I've seen which I _did_ understand."

"Yes, here we are at last," replied Diego.

And they turned in and came out in the large court-yard, which presented
quite an animated appearance.

A fountain was playing in the middle, surrounded by orange trees,
bananas and flowering plants, in great green tubs. All around, the doors
of sleeping rooms opened upon the court, while above, another set of
doors opened upon a balcony, which was reached by steps below.

On the pavement of stone were many little tables, at which gentlemen and
ladies were taking breakfast, and waiters in white jackets were bustling
about and supplying their wants.

On the left, as the boys entered, was an office, with a half door and a
shelf upon it, from which a clerk hailed them:

"_Hi, muchachos, qui quiere?_" (What do you want, you boys?)

"The clothes, senor," answered Diego, in reply, pointing to the basket,
which they had deposited on the flagstones.

"Ah, that's all right! Are they from Dolores? There's a gentleman here
who has inquired half a dozen times already about his clean things. He
wants to leave to-day."

"What's his name? I have the lists here."

"What _is_ his name? I never _can_ remember these English and American
names. But here he comes himself."

As he spoke, a tall, fine-looking man, of about forty, with light hair
and complexion and wearing gold spectacles, came hurrying in from the
street.

"Now, then, senor," said he, addressing the clerk, "are those my things?
All right. Take them to my room, No. 17, on the balcony. The steamer
sails for Ruatan this afternoon, before sunset, and I must send my
baggage on board at once. Where is the servant you promised to engage
for me?"

"Senor, the young man I hoped to get will not go on such an expedition
as yours, and has backed out, at the last moment, after promising me he
would be ready."

Lee and Diego both pricked up their ears at the word "expedition," and
Diego took off his cap and said:

"Where might the gentleman be going?"

"I'm going to make some explorations, and to try to find some ruined
cities in Central America. Not an easy task, for their situation is not
precisely known, and many have been baffled in trying to find them. I
want a young man who is a good traveler and handy, and who speaks both
Spanish and English, so that he can act as an interpreter."

"But just where are you going, sir?"

"Why, to Ruatan, first--where I shall get my outfit, and engage some
canoe hands and a cook; and then to Truxillo, for more precise
information. I may go up the River Maugualil, or some other stream. It
will depend upon what I hear."

Diego and Lee looked at each other as much as to say, "Why wouldn't we
do? We must do something, and that at once; and here is a chance for
travel and adventure, too."

Lee even forgot his design of returning North, and said to the
gentleman:

"I am an American, sir, willing and strong, and ready for anything which
will give me an honest living and a chance to see something new; and my
friend here speaks Spanish, for it is his native tongue--and also
English well enough. If you'll take us both, there is nothing to prevent
us from going, for we have left our vessel."

The gentleman looked closely at their faces, and then answered:

"I don't see why I shouldn't try you--especially as I can't get any one
else," he added to himself. "My name is Higley, and I am a professor in
Coryale College. I have been sent out for the purpose I have told you,
and expect to be gone from here for seven or eight months, or perhaps a
year. Now, who are you?"

Lee told him their story, and the professor said, when he had finished:

"Very well, then. If you have no one from whom to get permission, I will
trust you without reference. I expected to pay a faithful and competent
man, who was willing to go with me, and encounter any danger or
privations which we may meet, fifty dollars a month; and of course he
would live the same as myself. Now, I'm willing to divide that sum
between you two lads, if you do well and earn it."

This offer sounded very large to Diego and Lee, who neither of them had
a copper of their own, especially when the excitement of discovery and
adventure was to be thrown in, and they closed with Professor Higley's
offer immediately, only stipulating that they were to go back to take
old Aunt Dolores her money and bid her good-by.

"Well, go; but be sure to be back here by three o'clock at the latest,
or I shall conclude you've changed your minds."

"Ah, it is settled at last," said the Spanish clerk. "Now that the
gentleman has been suited, he will leave me in peace to smoke my cigar.
These Americans and English have no idea of quiet, but must always be on
the go," he mumbled to himself, as he turned into his darkened retreat.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




               PLANTS IN A ROOM.


There is a widespread belief that the presence of growing plants and cut
flowers in a room is in some way prejudicial to those who sleep therein.
This belief is probably due to the fact, learned at school, that plants
give off at night carbonic acid, which is known to be deleterious to
health.

A recent writer has published the results of some experiments made in a
closed green-house, showing how fanciful are these fears. In this
green-house there were 6000 growing plants, and the average of three
experiments made early on three different mornings after the place had
been closed for more than twelve hours exhibited only 4.03 parts of
carbonic acid per 10,000.

We can judge by this experiment that from one or two plants the quantity
of gas given off must be far too small for recognition, and certainly
many hundred times less than that formed by a burning taper or given off
by one pair of lungs.




            A CORNER IN ALLIGATORS.

           by GEORGE ETHELBERT WALSH.


"'Gator hides worth three dollars, and big ones four. That's our game,
Jed, and we'll make enough in 'gator hunting to get that pony."

"You bet, for there's plenty of 'em down in Loon Lake--big ones, too."

"We'll have a regular corner in 'em. Come, let's get off."

The two young Southern hunters felt as if they had already captured a
small fortune, and Stam--short for Stamford--made a rush for the house.

"Where's my gun? It's never in its place. Mother," raising his voice, "I
can't find my gun anywhere. It's so provoking! Have you taken it?"

"And my game-bag is gone," echoed Jed, in an irritable voice. "We're in
such a hurry, too."

"It's money out of pocket standing here looking for these plaguey
things."

"Well, boys," replied Mrs. Fellows, appearing on the scene, "you have no
one to blame but yourself. Nobody has touched your things, and they are
just where you left them."

"Where is that?"

"You ought not to be told. You should be made to look for them."

"Oh, please tell us, mother, for we're in such a hurry."

"'Gator skins are selling high now," added Stam, opening his eyes, "and
we know where we can get some big ones."

"That's no reason why you shouldn't be made to find your things. You
must be cured of your careless habits in some way. This is a good time
to begin."

"Oh, don't lecture us now, mother. Do it when we come back."

"Please tell us where we can find the gun and game-bag," pleaded Jed,
putting an arm around his mother's waist.

Mrs. Fellows could not resist this appeal, and she directed the boys to
the wood-shed, where they found the desired gun and game-bag standing
near a pile of wood. The boys had left them there two days before after
returning from a hunt, and the gun was somewhat the worse for rust and
exposure.

Down by Loon Lake the great saurians were basking themselves in the hot
sun, and the appearance of the boys among them made a slight disturbance
along the edges of the water.

"These are only small ones," whispered Jed, with contempt. "We want some
big four-dollar hides. Snag Creek's the place for them. The big fellows
always hang out there."

The young hunters paddled their small skiff rapidly around the edge of
the clear-water lake, and then shoved her gently up a narrow, muddy
creek.

Enormous cypress trees lined either bank, and scores of buzzards were
perched on the dead branches, watching the solitary skiff glide through
the water. The buzzards seemed to know that they were protected by law,
and they did not deign to jump from their roosts.

At the end of the creek was a smaller lake, or rather a small muddy
pond, in the centre of which was an island which nearly touched the
mainland at one end. Between this island and the land the big alligators
basked in numbers, and Jed truthfully exclaimed, as he caught sight of
the saurians:

"We've got a regular corner in 'em, sure! We'll land and pelt 'em like
fun!"

The boys had only one gun between them, but they were both so excited
that they enjoyed the anticipated sport as much as if each held one of
the deadly weapons in his hand.

As the skiff touched the island, they leaped out of it together. Stam
hurried up to a huge alligator and took deliberate aim before pulling
the trigger; but, to his chagrin, the alligator still blinked at him
after the hammer struck the cap.

The gun was so rusty from its two days' exposure that it refused to go
off. Several caps were exploded with the same unsatisfactory result.

The boys began to worry and fume while the alligator eyed them
menacingly.

Stam took the ramrod out and began to draw the load, but, before he
could succeed, the alligator became aggressive. He winked at his
comrades, snapped his jaws, and then waddled toward the young hunters.

"Look out!" Jed screamed, "he's coming for you! Get in the boat and draw
the load there."

Both boys turned and ran for the skiff, but there was no skiff to be
had. In the excitement they had jumped out of the boat and left it
without securing it in any way, and the skiff had quietly drifted off.

The two boys were in a great predicament, and their fun gave place to
fear.

"We're in for it now, Stam," gasped Jed.

"We'll have to swim ashore."

"We can't do that unless we get on the other side of the island. There
are too many snags on this side. We'd get caught in them."

The boys walked around their narrow prison, and tried to frighten the
alligators away; but they were unsuccessful in this attempt. Two or
three curious alligators crawled up on the land to ascertain the cause
of the alarm.

The boys set up a shouting, and threw sticks at the saurians; but the
more noise they made, the more alligators assembled around the island.
The backs and heads of several big ones could be seen swimming toward
them from the adjacent shores.

Evidently the creatures knew intuitively that a feast was ahead of them,
and each one was getting ready for his share.

"Oh, if this gun would go off!" groaned Stam.

"And if we had thought to tie that skiff," sighed Jed.

"It's all our fault; we were so careless."

"I'll never be so thoughtless again if I ever get out of this."

"But we can't. We'll be eaten up in less than half an hour. Oh, dear!"

The battle now actually began. The boys were forced to the extreme end
of the island, and they had to fight or take to the water. Behind them
was an enormous alligator--larger than any other two. The big fellow was
floating about motionless, with more than half of his body out of water,
and he seemed to think that he was sufficient guard for that side of the
island.

The two hunters clubbed the approaching enemies and retreated gradually
into the water. At first they almost cried in their terror, but, as they
warmed up to their work, they felt that everything depended on their
bravery. Stam used the butt end of his gun, while Jed swung a heavy club
effectively.

But there was no fighting such determined enemies successfully. The boys
had to jump around lively to escape the snapping jaws and thrashing
tails.

At last they found themselves in water knee deep, with the alligators
close upon them.

"It's no use," gasped Jed, throwing away his club. "Swim for your life.
Make direct for the shore."

"I don't believe I have strength enough left," replied Stam, who was
nearly exhausted in swinging the heavy gun.

"Well, keep together, and we'll die helping each other."

With this noble resolve the brothers ran out into the water as far as
they could and then swam for dear life; but between them and the shore
was the huge alligator guarding that side.

Before they were aware of their danger the boys were nearly upon the
great saurian.

"We're lost!" whispered Jed.

"Ugh!"

The last exclamation was made by Stam, as the long tail of the alligator
rubbed against his side. Both boys expected to see it swish through the
water the next moment and dash the life out of them, but it did not
move. Stam took a hold of it and twisted it viciously.

The alligator did not resent this familiarity, but was as motionless as
ever.

"He's asleep!" Jed whispered. "We can get by him yet."

"No, he's dead," shouted Stam, "and he'll have to carry us ashore."

It took the brothers only an instant to realize their good fortune. The
alligator was only the dead carcass of a big bull 'gator, which the sun
had swollen and distended. It was so light that it could almost carry a
man on its back without sinking. The boys threw an arm over either side
of the carcass, and then with the other they began to paddle for dear
life.

The pursuing alligators were close upon them, but, with their strange
support, they easily held their own in the race.

They reached the bank in time, and, leaving the dead 'gator in the
shallow water, they staggered up in the woods to a place of safety.

When they recovered their breath and strength they began a search for
their boat, which they found at length drifting close into the shore.

Then they returned to the scene of their battle and recovered their gun.
When they started home they towed with them the carcass of the alligator
which had saved their lives.

Their corner in alligators was over with, and ever afterward they took
good care to see that they were not cornered before they counted their
gains in cornering the market in 'gator skins.

As Jed expressed it:

"We've got to get over our careless ways, if we're going to do anything
with these 'gators. They don't make any allowances for forgetfulness, as
mother does, _and perhaps she shouldn't, either_."

       *       *       *       *       *

  --"Decide not rashly. The decision made
  Can never be recalled. The gods implore not,
  Plead not, solicit not; they only offer
  Choice and occasion, which once being past
  Return no more."     _--Longfellow._




       INTERNATIONAL LESSON--FOR JAN. 11.

           I Kings 12: 25-33.

          Subject--Idolatry in Israel.

         by REV.G. E. STROBRIDGE, D.D.


GOLDEN TEXT.

  "Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image" (Exod. 20:4).


INTRODUCTION.

Jeroboam reigned twenty-two years, beginning in the year 975 B.C. The
extent of his territory was larger than that of the kingdom of Judah,
over which Rehoboam ruled after the division. Jeroboam's portion, called
the Kingdom of Israel, and comprising the northern portion of the land,
was about the size of the State of New Hampshire.

Rehoboam first made an attempt to recover the allegiance of the revolted
tribes, and sent his representative to take tribute from them, but he
was promptly killed. Rehoboam then made preparations for war; but he
was admonished to pursue this course no longer by the prophet Shemiah
(1 Kings 12: 21-24).

Rehoboam then turned his attention entirely to his own kingdom, and for
three years left off his former wild and sinful ways, and seemed to give
promise of becoming a good monarch (2 Chron. 11: 17). He busied himself
in fortifying his kingdom by a circuit of fifteen walled cities, thus
protecting it on the south and west.

Three years of this devotion to a wise care of his kingdom was about all
this young man could stand, and he went back to his dissolute ways, and
the bad blood of his heathen mother manifested itself.

Continuing thus for two years, he was then attacked by Shishak, the King
of Egypt, who was a friend of Jeroboam. Judah was invaded, and the
thousand shields of gold which Solomon had made for the display of his
wealth and power, and other treasures of the temple, were carried off.
These shields Rehoboam replaced with shields of brass.

There was a war, on a larger or smaller scale, all the time between the
two kingdoms, until in the reign of Abijah, the son of Rehoboam,
Jeroboam was severely punished by an overwhelming defeat.


JEROBOAM'S FORTIFICATIONS.

  "Then Jeroboam built Shechem in Mount Ephraim, and dwelt therein;
  and went out from thence, and built Penuel."

Jeroboam did not build Shechem. There had been a town there from the
earliest times, but the meaning is that he rebuilt it, enlarged it,
beautified it, and made it the capital city.

It was especially adapted for this, as it was right in the centre of the
territory of the ten tribes and the leader of the revolt. It was the
most ancient sanctuary in the land, and the ancestors of the Israelites
had worshiped there long before they became a nation.

In 1 Kings 14: 17, we are informed that after a time Jeroboam left
Shechem, and set up his capital in Tirzah, where he built a palace and
other buildings on so grand a scale that the place became even a rival
of Jerusalem (Sol. Song 6: 4).

After having established himself in Shechem, he began to give attention
to the outlying territory, and, in order to protect it, he built a
fortification at Penuel. The name of this place means "the face of God."
It received this name from the meeting here of Jacob with the angel, and
his wrestling with the angel (Gen. 32: 24-32). It is located on a little
stream called Jabbok, and is twenty miles east of the Jordan. It was an
important point, as it was situated on the road over which all the
caravans passed first to Damascus and then on east to the countries of
Babylon and Nineveh.

A fortress here would defend the kingdom of Israel from the attacks of
Assyria on the east and north, and from Judah on the south.


THE KING'S APPREHENSION.

  "And Jeroboam said in his heart, Now shall the kingdom return to the
  house of David.

  "If this people go up to do sacrifice in the house of the Lord at
  Jerusalem, then shall the heart of this people turn again unto their
  lord, even unto Rehoboam, King of Judah, and they shall kill me, and
  go again to Rehoboam, king of Judah."

Now that Jeroboam is king, his troubles begin. Having settled the matter
of protection against invasion by the building of the strongholds as
just noticed, a more serious danger arose before him. It would seem that
the people had no thought when they separated from the government of
Rehoboam that they would also give up their religion. It was expected
that Jerusalem should be still the religious capital, and the temple the
place for all the people of both nations to worship.

But Jeroboam reasoned with himself that if the people of his kingdom
went up to Jerusalem three times a year, as the law directed (Deut. 16:
16), to worship there, they would by this become alienated from him as
their ruler, would learn to reverence the king who was of David's line
as more rightfully their sovereign, and the result would be not only
that they might change, such was the fickle temper of people in the
east, but they might expel him and perhaps take his life.

It was a very natural course of reasoning, but he should have trusted in
God. In I Kings 11: 38, the promise had been expressly made to him that
on condition of his obedience, he should be protected and his throne
should be firmly established. But he forgets this and goes on in the
foolish fashion of all doubt and unbelief.


FALSE GODS SET UP.

  "Whereupon the king took counsel, and made two calves of gold, and
  said unto them, It is too much for you to go up to Jerusalem; behold
  thy gods, oh, Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt,

  "And he set the one in Bethel, and the other put he in Dan."

He reasoned that if there were to be two kingdoms, there must also be
two religions: at least, the citizens of one kingdom should not get
their religion from the worship and service held in another kingdom. On
the face of it this looked like the very essence of wisdom. It was
worldly wisdom, but it was religious folly because it was putting policy
above principle.

After he had thought this matter over for some time, Jeroboam took some
of his friends and counselers into the secret of his reflections, and
they agreed with him. Thereupon he proceeded to establish home rule in
religion as in everything else, and his whole course is an exhibition of
great shrewdness. It is a pity that so bright an intellect had not been
united with a better heart.

He set up objects of worship and established shrines for them at two
places in his kingdom, Bethel and Dan.

Bethel was located in the tribe of Benjamin's territory, but had been
taken as part of the land embraced in the revolt of the ten tribes. The
name meant the house of God, and was so called by Jacob at the time of
his vision (Gen. 28: 11-19.)

As long ago as Abraham's time, an altar had been built here (Gen.
12: 8.) Samuel had also judged Israel here (1 Sam. 7: 16.) It was,
therefore, shrewdly selected, for the people of those days were readily
and deeply impressed with the sacred associations of places, especially
old places.

The other place, Dan, was in the extreme northern part of the land, so
that the expression from Dan to Beersheba means from one end of the land
to the other, north to south.

There was no city here at this time, but at a spot about four miles from
where the city of Dan was afterwards located, there is a remarkable cave
in one of the ridges at the base of Mount Hermon. This cave had been a
sanctuary or place of worship from the earliest times (Gen. 14: 14.)

Having thus selected the localities, Jeroboam set up there the objects
for their worship. It was not his intention so much, perhaps, to teach
the people the worship of images--he would hardly have ventured to do
that in its bald form--but it was his intention that these calves or
oxen should be the symbols representing the presence of God just as the
ark and the cherubim did in the temple.

They were made of wood and covered with plates of gold. The ox was an
old object of worship. Aaron had set it up in the wilderness, and
Jeroboam used almost the very words of Aaron so long before (Ex. 32: 4).

The Israelites were made familiar with this image in the decorations of
the temple of Solomon, including colossal cherubim. Also the great
molten sea of brass was supported upon oxen of the same material.


THE DAMAGING RESULTS.

  "And this thing became a sin: for the people went to worship before
  the one, even unto Dan.

  "And he made a house of high places, and made priests of the lowest
  of the people, which were not of the sons of Levi."

It was hardly to be expected that any other result than that of sin
would come from this course. It was, to begin with, a violation of the
second commandment, and if Jeroboam did not intend to teach Israel the
worship of false gods, this was the result of it, and repeatedly he is
spoken of in the Scriptures as the one that did cause Israel to sin.

So completely were the people carried away with this bad current, that
they preferred to get as far away from Jerusalem as possible, and went
even to Dan to engage in their idolatrous practices.

At both these places where he had set up the calves, he built houses for
them. Originally and commonly houses of worship were built upon high
places, so that this expression "high places" came to be a description
of the house itself.

It is not a fortunate translation to state that Jeroboam made priests
of the lowest class of the people. It would have been poor policy, and
would have brought his movement into disrepute.

The literal rendering of the Hebrew is "from the ends of the people,"
and means, as in the Revised Version, "from all the people."

Jeroboam would have been glad to have the priestly tribe, Levi, furnish
him his priests, but they were loyal to God and the true worship and
would not assist the king in his schism, so he had to get priests where
he could from all the people and from any tribe.

In 2 Chron. 11: 13 it is said that the Levites in a body went over to
Rehoboam. This greatly strengthened the king of Judah and tended to keep
the religion of that part of the people pure.


NEW FEASTS APPOINTED.

  "And Jeroboam ordained a feast in the eighth month, on the fifteenth
  day of the month, like unto the feast that is In Judah, and he
  offered upon the altar. So did he in Bethel, sacrificing unto the
  calves that he had made: and he placed in Bethel the priests of the
  high places which he had made.

  "So he offered upon the altar which he had made in Bethel the
  fifteenth day of the eighth month, even in the month which he had
  devised of his own heart; and ordained a feast unto the children of
  Israel: and he offered upon the altar, and burnt incense."

Jeroboam was the more anxious to get his religious enterprises
established because the time for the feast of the tabernacles was coming
on and many of his people would be going up to Jerusalem.

He therefore, as a part of his scheme, very shrewdly appointed a counter
feast, putting it on the same day of the month, the fifteenth, because
that was the time of the full moon, but he changed the month.

The right time was the seventh month, corresponding with our October and
November, and it was the most joyous of all the festivals celebrating
the gathering of the harvest.

He could plead a good reason for putting his feast a month later,
because the harvest was slower ripening in the northern part of the
kingdom than in the southern, and the change of time would be an
accommodation. The law fixing the seventh month is given (Lev. 23:
34, 39, 41).

At this feast Jeroboam himself approached the altar and served as a
priest. He did this doubtless for two reasons--1, To give the royal
sanction to the new religion; and 2, To show that he considered himself
the religious as well as the civil head of the nation.


LESSONS.

1. Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness. Jeroboam
forgot this rule and put the improvement and fortifying of his kingdom
first--his secular affairs--and as a result made a fatal mistake.

2. How long and far a sin reaches! Solomon's idolatry bears fruit in the
breaking up of the nation and the lapse of half of it into heathenism.
What a disappointment to God, who had done and borne so much for this
people!

3. Jeroboam needed to have no fear about the perpetuity of his kingdom.
He had an express promise from God. (1 Kings 11: 38.) But his faith in
God's word failed, and hence he sinned. Thus sin is always the fruit of
unbelief.

4. Jeroboam also put policy before principle; for the sake of temporary
success he turned aside from the strictly right course. This is always
wrong, and because wrong is unsafe. Fasten the lesson deep in your
heart; never for the sake of any apparent advantage depart in the least
from the truth as conscience and God's Word shall make it known to you.

5. It is said in the lesson that Jeroboam devised of his own heart these
religious departures which he forced upon the people. Here was another
feature of his sin--that he presumed to depart from the explicit
directions that God had laid down as to the times, places and manner of
His worship, and gave the people instead inventions of his own. To say
the least, he had no business to do this, and he exposed himself to the
curse that comes upon those who take from or add to God's Word.


ILLUSTRATIONS.

  "On mission ground there was once a prayer meeting held in an idol
  temple. A lamp was placed in the hands or lap of each idol around
  the room, so that the idols themselves held the light by which the
  true God was worshiped. So the sins of Jeroboam may light us to
  heaven." --_Peloubet._

  "Judge a religion by its god. Judge a people by the kind of god
  that will satisfy them. If a calf will do, what must be their
  intelligence? If nature will do, what must be their emotion? If
  science will do, what must be their moral sense? The Christian
  religion pays the highest tribute to human intelligence. It calls
  men to a God, infinite in every perfection." --_Joseph Parker._

  "It has been remarked that the two tribes in whose inheritance
  the calves stood are not found among the number of the sealed in
  Revelations. The names of Ephraim and Dan are missing from that
  list." --_Waller._

       *       *       *       *       *

  "Oh, God, our strength! to Thee our song,
    With grateful hearts we raise;
  To Thee, and Thee alone, belong
    All worship, love and praise.

  "And Thou, Oh, ever gracious Lord!
    Wilt keep Thy promise still,
  If, meekly hearkening to Thy word,
    We seek to do Thy will.

  "Led by the light Thy grace imparts,
    Ne'er may we bow the knee
  To idols, which our wayward hearts
    Set up instead of Thee." --_Harriet Auber._




           SIDNEY'S GOOD INTENTIONS.

            (_A New Year's Story._)

             by FLORENCE HALLOWELL.


[Illustration]

"Sidney, did you leave that note at Mrs. Flynn's yesterday?" asked Mrs.
Dent, as her eldest son came hurriedly into the sitting-room to get the
pocket-knife which he had left on the table. "She hasn't come, and I
don't know what I am going to do about the washing. Nora's arm is still
so lame that she must not attempt to use it."

"Oh, mother, I am so sorry!" and Sidney looked mortified and contrite.
"I fully intended to leave the note, but--"

"You forgot all about it," finished his sister Fannie, who was sewing at
one of the front windows. "Of course! Mother ought to have known she
couldn't trust you. Your intentions are always good, but that is as far
as you go."

"It is a great deal easier to _intend_ to do a thing than to do
it--everybody knows that," said Clara, a girl of twelve, who had put
down her book as her brother came in. "I suppose as long as we live
we'll have to hear Sidney say, 'I fully intended.' I don't expect
anything else."

And she laughed.

"I can't help being forgetful," said Sidney.

"Perhaps not," said his mother; "but you could go a long way toward
carrying out your good intentions if you would only do promptly whatever
is given you to do."

"I will go to Mrs. Flynn's now," said Sidney. "She can get here by ten
o'clock, anyway."

"Very well," said his mother. "The sooner you see her, the better it
will be for the washing. This winter sun will not last long."

Sidney went out, and, hurrying on his overcoat and cap, was soon on the
way to the cottage of Mrs. Flynn.

He felt a little depressed, for the remarks of his sisters had hurt his
feelings a good deal.

He wondered, as he walked briskly along, if Fannie and Clara never
forgot anything.

Next to Mrs. Flynn's was a small, brown cottage a good deal in want of
repairs. It had needed a coat of paint for many a year, and some of the
blinds were broken. But at the window was a very pretty little girl,
with golden curls, and Sidney paused a minute to nod and smile at her.
He knew her quite well, for she was sister to one of the junior clerks
in his father's warehouse.

The child smiled in return, and looked into the rear of the room, saying
something Sidney could not hear. But a moment later the head of a pale,
sad-faced woman appeared above that of the little girl.

She bowed to Sidney and then moved quickly away.

"How ill Mrs. Stewart looks!" thought kind-hearted Sidney. "I imagine
Christmas did not bring many good things to _this_ house. I remember now
that I fully intended to send little Mabel a doll; but--"

And then he stopped and blushed hotly. _Another_ good intention never
carried out.

Fortunately, he found Mrs. Flynn in, and she promised to go to his
mother at once. So he walked away, feeling that he had done his best to
repair the neglect of the previous day.

His next stopping-place was his father's office, which was a room built
on to the warehouse, and communicating with it by a single door.

There was another door which opened on to a side alley, and was kept
always locked. It was the door used exclusively by his father for
entrance and exit. But Sidney was a privileged person, and had been
allowed a pass-key. So he entered the office now without having to go
through the busy warehouse.

He was disappointed to find the room empty. His father had promised to
give him some money to buy powder, shot and caps for the new gun he had
received on Christmas Day, and, like all boys, he felt that time was
very precious when he was going to buy anything of that sort.

"Now I suppose I've got to wait," he soliloquized, as he threw himself
into the swivel-chair in front of his father's desk. "It'll be noon
before I get a chance to try the gun, I dare say."

He played with a paper-cutter at first; but soon his attention was
attracted by a letter on the desk, the superscription of which was in a
familiar hand.

He picked it up at once, for his Aunt Susan Dent's letters were always
public property at home. His father never failed to bring them home and
read them aloud at the supper-table. So Sidney drew this letter from the
envelope without hesitation.

He had always received a five-dollar bill every Christmas from his aunt,
but this year the day had come and gone without the customary present,
and he gave an exclamation of joy when, on unfolding the letter, a
five-dollar bill fell out.

"For me, of course. Better late than never," muttered Sidney, as he
hastily glanced over the letter.

Yes, his aunt intended the money for him.

She wrote that she had been too ill to write just before Christmas, but
that Sidney would probably rather have the gift come late than not at
all.

"Well, I should say so!" ejaculated Sidney. "And now I needn't wait for
father. I can use this money to buy my ammunition, and tell him about it
at dinner time."

He restored the letter to its envelope, and then let himself out at the
alley door. In five minutes he was in the nearest hardware store,
bargaining for his shot.

His mind was full of the sport he expected to have that afternoon in the
woods with his gun, and when he reached home he sprang up the steps two
at a time.

He was about to ring, with no gentle hand, when the door was thrown open
by his sister Fannie.

"We've been watching for you, Sidney," she said, in some excitement.
"Uncle Charles is here, and wants you to go home with him for two or
three days. He says he can promise you a splendid time. You'll have to
hurry, though, for the train leaves at twelve o'clock, and it is
half-past eleven now. We were _so_ afraid you wouldn't get back in
time."

"Hurry, Sidney," said his mother, appearing at the parlor door. "Change
your clothes as quickly as possible. I have packed your valise for you."

"No time to waste, my boy," said his uncle, from the dining-room, where
he was snatching a hasty lunch, attended by Clara. "The train won't wait
for us."

Sidney was soon ready, and, with a hasty good-by to his mother and
sisters, hurried off with his uncle.

"And be sure you come back Friday night, Sidney," called out his sister
Fannie, as she followed him to the front gate. "Don't 'fully intend' to
do it, and then come walking in here on Sunday. You know you've got to
make calls on New Year's Day."

"All right," answered Sidney. "I'll be here. You needn't worry."

It was not until he was in the train and half way to his destination
that he thought of the five-dollar bill. He was provoked with himself
that he had not spoken of it to his mother.

"But I'll write as soon as I get to Meadville," he thought; "and they'll
get the letter to-morrow."

But there was a great deal to occupy him when he reached his uncle's
home.

His cousins were fond of fun and were always ready for anything, and he
was so hurried from one place to another and had so many calls on his
time, that it was little wonder that the writing of that letter was
postponed. He fully intended to write it, but it wasn't written.

Only the recollection of Fannie's parting words made him resist an
invitation to a sleighing party and start for home on Friday. He knew
how the girls would talk if he were not there to make those calls on New
Year's Day.

He occupied himself while on the train with thinking on whom he would
call and what he would talk about. His visit to Meadville would give him
one subject, at least, for conversation.

It was nearly eleven o'clock at night when he reached home, but he found
his father and mother and two sisters still up. They were finishing some
preparations for the celebration of the next day.

"So you have actually come!" cried Fannie, as Sidney entered the room
and went to the fire to warm his half-frozen hands and feet. "One good
intention kept, at least. I'll score that to your credit, Sidney."

"It seems as if I had been gone a good deal longer than four days," said
Sidney. "I've been in a perfect whirl of excitement ever since I left
here."

"We've had some excitement, too," said Clara. "Father's discharged Harry
Stuart."

"Yes, just think, Sidney, he stole five dollars," said Fannie.

"We merely _suspected_ him of stealing it, my daughter," said Mr. Dent.
"I did not accuse him of it; but I fear there is no room to doubt that
he is guilty. He was the only one in the office while I was out."

"It is very hard to believe Harry Stuart a thief," said Mrs. Dent. "He
had as open and frank a face as I ever saw, and every one says he is
devoted to his mother; but then of course he was greatly tempted,
needing the money as he did."

"Do you mean the five-dollar bill Aunt Susan sent to me, father?" asked
Sidney.

He had grown very pale and his voice trembled as he spoke.

"Yes; how did you hear of it? The letter came the very day you left."

"Oh, father, I read the letter, and--and it was I who took the money! I
fully intended to tell you, but--"

And there Sidney broke down utterly and could not go on.

"_You_ took it!" repeated his father. "Oh, what trouble and sorrow you
have brought upon an innocent person, Sidney, by not letting me know
that sooner!"

"I intended to write from Meadville," faltered Sidney.

"But, as usual, you did not carry out your good intentions. Sidney, for
the first time in my life I am ashamed of you--heartily ashamed."

By degrees they drew the whole story from Sidney; and, though they
blamed him, they could not but feel sorry for him, so acute was his
remorse.

"I hope this affair will be a lesson to you as long as you live," said
Mr. Dent, as he dismissed the remorseful boy to his room.

Had it not been so late, Sidney would have gone that night to see Harry
Stuart, but as it was, he was up the next morning by six o'clock, and in
the cold, gray light of the first day of the New Year hurried to the
little brown cottage.

He found Mrs. Stuart sitting by the bedside of her son, who, never
strong, had been utterly prostrated by the trouble which had come upon
him, and for two days he had been delirious with fever.

He did not recognize Sidney, and the latter could hardly repress his
tears as he took the young man's hot hand in his own and looked down at
his flushed face and unnaturally bright eyes, and heard him mutter
incoherently his denial of the theft of which he had been suspected.

That was the only call Sidney made that day. All else was forgotten as
he sat by Harry Stuart's bedside hour after hour, trying to atone for
the pain and grief his carelessness had caused.

Harry got well at last and was restored to his former place with an
increase in salary, and he and Sidney were firm friends for the rest of
their lives; but Sidney never forgot the lesson he had learned and the
good resolutions he had made that New Year's Day in the little brown
cottage.

No one ever again heard him say, "I fully intended." To intend was to
_do_ with him at last.




                NEW YEAR'S EVE.


        Ye bells! peal forth
        From south to north,
  No longer let your iron tongues be dumb:
        Up to the rafters swing,
        Make all the country ring
  An omen of a Happy Year to come,




         [_This Story began in No. 2._]

                 ANDY FLETCHER,

       the Story of a Boy with a Purpose.

            by JOHN RUSSELL CORYELL,

   Author of "Cast Adrift; or, Ned Carroll's
                 Promise," etc.


                  CHAPTER IX.

              Police Headquarters.

"Who are you? What are you talking about?" demanded one of the
detectives of Andy, after the latter had stepped forward with his
exclamation that it was not the little boy.

A curiously malevolent expression crossed the face of the man with the
child as he bent his eyes on Andy; but he did not speak to him then, but
rather to the crowd that had quickly gathered,

"What does all this mean? Why am I stopped in this way? Is there a
policeman here? Call a policeman, somebody, please. Upon my word--a
pretty pass this, that a man may be molested in a public place in such a
fashion!"

Mr. Roberts was well dressed and his manner was composed and even
dignified, so that the sympathy of the spectators was with him at once,
until one of the detectives threw back his coat and showed his badge,
when there was a murmur of wonder, and one of them asked:

"What's he done?"

Just at this point the policeman came hurrying up.

The detective in charge saw him and showed him his badge, and then said
to him:

"Collar the kid," pointing to Andy, "and fetch him along to the office
up here. Are you a passenger on the steamer?" he asked of his prisoner.

"No; but I warn you that you will find yourself in trouble if you do not
release me at once. I can easily see that there is a conspiracy among
you to give me trouble. That boy there, whose father is a convict, as I
happen to know, is at the bottom of it, I suppose. As for this child
here, he is the son of a friend, and I have brought him here to see the
departure of the steamer. If, after this explanation, you still persist
in detaining me, it shall be at your peril."

"If I've made a mistake, I'm sorry," said the detective; "but I'm doing
no more than my duty in holding you. I never saw that boy before. I
don't know what he knows of the matter."

"You're looking for Regy Thorne, aren't you?" said Andy, who had
confined himself to listening and thinking until now.

"What if we are?" replied the non-committal detective.

"So am I, that's all," answered Andy, giving his enemy a bold glance of
defiance in return for the black looks cast upon him.

They had reached the wharf office by this time, and were readily
admitted by the wharfinger and given a place at the back end.

"Oho!" said the detective, "so you are after him, too, are you? How do
you come to know anything about it?"

"I live in Lakeville, and I left there last night on purpose to come
here and look for Regy. I was after the reward."

"Do you know this gentleman?"

And he pointed to the man Andy had such good cause to know.

"He knows me," struck in Mr. Roberts, with a sneer, "and bears me no
good will for having exposed him in the village where he lives. I
protest against being held on his evidence. If I am to undergo this
humiliation, send for a carriage immediately and have me taken to
headquarters, so that I may send for this child's parents and for some
of my friends. The charge against me I do not understand yet, excepting
that it has something absurd to do with this little boy."

If Andy had been allowed to speak at once in answer to the question of
the detective, he would have betrayed a great deal of the knowledge he
had of the man, and would have given out a sudden light that had come
to him as he stood there looking at him and listening. But with
consideration came wisdom, or, at the least, caution, and he replied,
briefly:

"I saw him in Lakeville yesterday. He did what he could to injure me,
but I did not know that he had anything to do with this matter."

"You know the boy we are looking for?" asked the detective.

"Yes, sir."

"And you are sure this is not the one?"

Andy looked carefully at the child, who had stood in a sort of wonder at
the attention he was receiving.

"I am sure," said Andy, finally, "that this is not Regy Thorne; but he
is dressed exactly as Regy was yesterday, or the day before. I did not
see him yesterday."

"Dressed the same!" said the detective, exchanging meaning glances with
his fellow-officer. "How do you explain that?" he inquired of Andy's
enemy.

"I don't explain it," was the cool answer. "I suppose, however, that a
great many children dress alike in these days when clothing is bought
ready-made."

The detective looked at him shrewdly and turned to his companion.

"Get a carriage, Dan--that is, if this gentleman is prepared to pay
for it."

"Certainly," was the reply. "And may I ask what the charge against
me is?"

"I should suppose you might have guessed it by this time," answered the
detective, with so much less respect in his manner that it was quite
evident that he did not believe his prisoner as innocent as he would
have it appear. "The charge against you isn't made yet, but I arrested
you on suspicion of being implicated in the kidnapping of a little boy
named Reginald Thorpe Thorne, and I shall take you to headquarters on
that suspicion."

Andy was sure he saw a slight change in the man's features at the tone
in which the words were uttered, and it was plain to him that the
coincidence of the little boy in his company being dressed exactly as
Regy had been dressed, had made an impression on the detective.

The latter turned to him.

"You will have to go with us too. What is your name?"

"Andrew Fletcher."

"You will find his father's name on the register at Sing Sing," said the
man who had, as Andy believed, done so much to put it there.

Andy flashed an indignant glance at him, but paid no other attention
to him.

"Must I go with you?" he asked of the detective.

"Yes."

"Will you leave somebody here to watch the steamer, just the same?"
questioned Andy, anxiously.

"Don't worry about that, my lad. The steamer shall be watched."

"Will I be kept long?"

"I can't tell. Depends on what the inspector says."

It seemed to Andy that all his chances of earning the reward were gone;
but there was just a glimmering of hope left, and he was determined not
to part with a certain secret he had until he was certain that Regy was
found.

The secret was a small thing, and yet it might be the key to success. It
was this: Andy had made no effort to connect the two speakers he had
overheard while he was working in the onions with any one he knew, until
as he stood there in the wharf office confronted with the man who had
tried so hard to injure him, and who seemed in some singular way
connected with the kidnapping of Regy Thorne.

Then it came to him like a flash, that his was the voice he had heard
saying to the other man the words about being at the Arizona at five in
the morning.

It was certain to him then that Henry Roberts was connected with the
kidnapping, and while it was impossible for him to comprehend the
meaning of the episode in which he was an enforced actor, he had settled
it in his mind, that if Regy was to be found, it would be through this
man.

He should have told all this--his knowledge and his suspicions--to the
police when he was taken to the inspector's office and examined; but he
did not realize the importance of doing so, and his eagerness to gain
the money for his father's sake was so great that he merely answered the
questions put to him.

As for the man, whom he had come to look upon as his enemy, and who,
indeed, seemed to have transferred to the son the hatred and ill-will he
had once borne the father, it was found impossible to fix any sort of
complicity on him.

The child was easily proven to be the son of respectable parents, who
had been promised long ago by Mr. Roberts that he should go some morning
to see an ocean steamer off. The clothes had been purchased some time
before at a clothing store.

So Mr. Roberts was dismissed; but no apology was made to him, and he
demanded none. Of course, no one thought of apologizing to Andy for a
detention of four hours at police headquarters, for Mr. Roberts had not
failed to inform the inspector that Andy's father was in Sing Sing, and
it is natural for police to judge a child by his parents.

So Andy was dismissed, with a warning not to mix himself up in matters
that did not concern him. And Andy went out of the gloomy building,
feeling that there was not much justice to be had from the law.

There was his father, innocent and in prison; and here was he,
dismissed, as if he was not much better than a criminal himself. And to
be told not to mix himself up in the matter! As for that, he would not
give up his search for Regy because they told him to.


                   CHAPTER X.

              A Mysterious Letter.

Andy walked out into the street, feeling very ill-used and indignant,
and was for hurrying away as quickly as possible, forgetting for the
moment that he had determined on a certain course to pursue.

"I thought fer sure yer was in fer a trip to the island," said a voice
behind him.

Andy turned and there was Pete following after him.

"Oh, is that you, Pete? I had forgotten all about you. Where did you
come from?"

"Yer didn't think I'd give yer the go-by now, did yer?" asked Pete, in
an injured tone. "I was waitin' fer yer all the time. I don't go back on
a pardner like that. Why, if they'd shipped yer up to the island, I'd a'
been there to say good-by to yer, an' don't yer ferget it. Yer give me a
breakfast this morning, didn't yer? Yer licked them fellers, didn't yer?
Well, Pete, if he's got only one name, don't go back on yer. See? An'
that settles it."

It was not an elegant speech, and Pete was an uncommonly
disreputable-looking lad, with his grimy face and hands and his tattered
garments, but there was a ring of gratitude and earnestness in his tone
that went straight to Andy's heart, and he held out his hand with:

"You're the right sort, Pete."

"Anyhow, I don't go back on a pardner," said Pete, shaking the proffered
hand awkwardly.

Andy was in need of sympathy at just that moment, and he was really very
glad of the friendship of the little waif, who was so old in experience
if so young in years.

[Illustration:
"YER KNOW ME? I'M LYNX-EYED BILL, THE TERROR OF THE FORCE.
GIT ONTER MY LYNX EYE."]

He would not have selected Pete for a friend and confidant; but there he
was, at hand, with his sympathy ready, and Andy was moved to take him
into his confidence.

"I say, Pete," he began, and stopped.

"Say it," said Pete.

But at that moment Andy had caught sight of his man with the child, and
he exclaimed: "Do you see that man, Pete?"

"The feller that was on the wharf? I see him."

"I want to follow him."

"Nobody's hinderin' yer."

"But he knows me, and if he sees me following him, he will know what I
am after. Don't you see?"

"I'm fly. Yer want me ter do the trick. Good! Yer know me? I'm Lynx-eyed
Bill, the terror of the force. Git onter my lynx eye."

Whether he had a lynx eye or not, he certainly was a very shrewd little
scamp, for he left Andy's side and hurried nearer to the man and child;
and so, followed by Andy at a considerable distance, he kept after them.

The mother of the child and some sympathizing friends were with them,
and there was no difficulty in keeping them in sight as long as they
remained together.

Mr. Roberts went with them, however, only to the cars, where he left
them, evidently with many apologies for the trouble he had been the
cause of putting them all to, for Pete, and even Andy, from his
distance, could see him bowing many times over.

As soon as the car took them away, he looked all around with seeming
carelessness, though it was plain to the boys that he was scrutinizing
everybody anxiously.

Andy jumped out of sight at once, and when he peered around his corner
again the advantage of having Pete help him was evident.

Mr. Roberts had disappeared, but Pete was visible just as he was
hurrying around a corner, and so Andy was enabled to follow again.

If he had been asked just what he expected to gain by following the man
he could not have told. It was merely that it had entered his head that
if Mr. Roberts was concerned, as he believed, in the kidnapping of Regy,
and if Regy had not yet been taken out of the country, then Mr. Roberts
would be likely to do something or go somewhere that would betray Regy's
hiding place to him.

Mr. Roberts walked over to Broadway and down it a few blocks to a liquor
saloon, which he entered. Pete was turning it over in his sharp brains
how he could contrive to follow him in there without attracting his
attention, when he suddenly came out again and walked briskly up
Broadway.

Pete reasoned that he had not been in there long enough to get a drink,
and he was just reproaching himself for not having followed him into the
saloon, when Mr. Roberts drew a letter out of the side pocket of his
sack coat, and with a preliminary glance around, read it, and then
thrust it back into his pocket and showed relief in every movement.

He was no longer in a hurry, but sauntered along in leisurely fashion,
and was no further concerned, apparently, as to whether or not he was
followed.

Pete turned this over in his mind and came to a conclusion. The letter
was the thing that had had the sudden soothing effect on the man; then
the letter was probably about the child Andy was hunting for. If so, it
was only necessary to get the letter and give it to Andy and the matter
would be ended.

Andy would have despaired of getting the letter, if he had been near
enough to observe all that had taken place, and so would most other
persons; but Pete had had a training which, fortunately, most persons
have not had, and it was a comparatively small matter to him to obtain
the letter.

He turned his sleeve up, so that his hand and wrist were clear and free,
and then quickened his pace and drew nearer to where Mr. Roberts was
sauntering along. He kept close behind him for a block or more, walking
as if he had not a thing on his mind.

Presently there was one of those sudden gatherings of people on the
sidewalk, such as are of common occurrence in every large city.

Then Pete pressed close to the side of Mr. Roberts, taking care to be on
the side where the pocket containing the letter was. Mr. Roberts did not
know it--you would not have seen it had you been there--but the grimy
hand of Pete went in and out of that side pocket like a flash of
lightning, and it held the letter when it came out.

What would Andy say to that way of obtaining the letter? That was the
very question Pete put to himself after the missive was safe in his
pocket.

He had had an example of Andy's notions of honesty, and it spoke volumes
for Andy's influence on him that he did not propose to let his "pardner"
know how he had obtained the letter.

"I'll bet a quarter," said Pete to himself, as he fell back to where he
knew Andy would be, "that he'd be jest fool ernough ter give the chump
the letter back ag'in."

When he was where he could beckon Andy he did so, and the latter
hastened up to him.

"Here's a letter," explained Pete. "He dropped it. Mebbe it has
somethin' in ter tell yer what yer want ter know."

"Dropped it?" said Andy, taking the letter doubtfully, but not
suspecting the way in which it had been obtained.

"Ya-as, an' I picked it up," replied Pete, unblushingly. "Go on an' read
it, why don't yer?"

It seemed to Andy that it would be no more than fair to read it under
the circumstances, and he opened it and did so. It was without
signature, and read as follows:

  "Gone with Uncle Mike! Watch the Mirror."

Andy's disappointment at the contents of the letter was plainly shown on
his face.

"What's the matter?" asked Pete, curiously.

"I can't understand it," answered Andy.

"Can't yer read writin'?" was Pete's surprised inquiry.

"Of course I can," replied Andy; "but I can't make anything out of
this."

"What does it say?" asked Pete.

They were walking along as they talked, and Pete constantly kept his eye
on Mr. Roberts.

Andy read the letter to him.

"Lay low!" exclaimed Pete, suddenly, pulling Andy around a corner. "He's
missed the letter. He'll be back ter hunt fer it."

"I'll stay here," said Andy. "You keep your eye on him."

Pete went out to Broadway again, and Andy saw him disappear hastily
around the corner.

He knew by that that his man could not be approaching, so he peered
around the corner and saw Pete on the edge of the sidewalk looking every
way. Mr. Roberts was nowhere in sight.

Pete hunted and Andy hunted, but neither could obtain a glimpse of him,
and Andy was in the depths of despair.

"It's no use," said Andy, at last; "he's gone, and my chance has gone
with him."

Pete looked sympathetic and downcast.

"I s'pose it's my fault," he said, dismally.

"No, it's my fault," said Andy. "I should have kept my eye on him all
the time."

"Yer've got the letter," reminded Pete, by way of consolation.

"What's the use of the letter when I can't understand it?" replied Andy.

"What don't yer understand?" asked Pete.

"Any of it 'What does 'Gone with Uncle Mike' mean? What does 'Watch the
Mirror' mean?"

"Huh!" said Pete. "I can tell yer that much."

"You can."

"Yer bet I can. Come on, an' I'll show yer."

Andy looked suspicious and doubtful. How could Pete be so knowing as
that? If he could not understand the letter, how could Pete?

Pete, however, led him without a word, but with a wonderfully knowing
air, along several blocks, and finally stopped at a news stand and
looked it over.

"That the last Mirror, boss?" he asked, of the man in charge.

"Yep."

"Give it ter me?"

And Pete handed over his quarter, received his change and a paper and
then led Andy up a side street and gave the paper to him.

Andy saw that its name was the Mirror, and that it was devoted to
theatrical news. That was enough to give him confidence in Pete's
intelligence, but he was in the dark yet.

"I see so much," he said; "but I don't understand about Uncle Mike."

"Andy," said Pete, with a compassionate air, "yer a dandy with yer
dukes, an' yer square as a brick; but yer ain't cut yer eye-teeth yet.
Gimme the paper an' let me show yer."

Andy gave him the paper and the knowing Pete took it and turned to the
back pages.

"There!" said he, pointing to a column beaded "Dates Ahead." "Look at
that an' see if Uncle Mike ain't mentioned."

Andy, with a glimmering of Pete's idea, looked along the column until
he came to "U," and there he saw, at the head of the list, "Uncle Mike
Co.; Philadelphia, July 8--week."

He read it aloud to Pete, and Pete nodded his head, as if to say, "Of
course, I knew you'd find it."

"Does it mean that Uncle Mike is a theatrical company?" asked Andy,
eagerly.

"That's what it means, sonny, an' it means that Uncle Mike is goin' ter
play Philadelf fer the week wot begins on the eighth. So all yer've got
ter do is ter add that up an' there yer air. What! ain't we on ter his
nibs? Oh, no, I guess not!"

And Pete dashed his old hat down over his eyes and strutted around.

"You think my man is going on there to join the company?" asked Andy.

"Naw. The man with the kid is in Philadelf. That's the way I lay it
out."

"That's it," cried Andy. "I see! He wanted to get away on the steamer,
and Mr. Roberts was afraid there would be detectives on the watch; so he
dressed the little boy up just like Regy to make the trial first. Then,
when he found that the steamer would be watched, the man with Regy went
to Philadelphia."

"That sounds like it," said Pete, approvingly.

"Yes," continued Andy; "but I don't understand what Uncle Mike has to do
with it."

"No more do I," answered Pete. "But I tell yer what yer can do. Yer can
go on an' find out."

"Go to Philadelphia?" exclaimed Andy.

"Why not?"

"It'll take too much money."

"Huh! won't take a cent."

"Why not?"

"How fur is it?"

"I don't know. About a hundred miles, I think."

"Well, yer can walk, can't yer? Terday's the fifth, ain't it? That gives
yer till the eighth, an' a week more. It won't take us that long;"

"Us?"

"Yes. I'll go along ter take care o' yer."

Andy considered a moment.

"See here, Pete," he said, presently, "how do you come to know so much
about what the letter meant?"

"Been there," answered Pete.

"Been where?"

"In the show business. Greatest knock-about juvee-nile all-around dance
artist in the world! That's me. Too much knock-about fer me, an' I
skipped. Tra-la-la!"

And Pete made a comical show of skipping away.

It seemed to account for Pete's extreme shrewdness, and Andy had no
difficulty in believing him. He weighed the reasons for and against
going to Philadelphia after Regy on the strength of the letter.

It was only a chance that Regy would be found there; but it was a
chance, and he could not bear to throw it away. And why should he? There
was only the thought of his mother to deter him, and he was certain that
she would be easy about him if he wrote to her.

"Let's go, Pete. I'll write to mother and then we'll start."

"Have yer got a mother?" asked Pete, with a sort of eagerness.

"Yes," said Andy, "and a father, too. I'll tell you about them and what
I'm after soon as I get a chance. Come on while I buy a sheet of paper."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




        [_This Story began in No. 49._]

              Mind Before Muscle;

                      or,

              TRIALS AND TRIUMPHS.

               by J.W. DAVIDSON,

     Author of "Spud," "Hardy & Co.," "Rob
     Archer's Trials," "Limpy Joe," "Harry
       Irving's Pluck," etc., etc., etc.


                 CHAPTER XXVII.

                Some Plain Talk.

The evening after Tony's return with the money was a very joyful one for
Job Loring. He was continually praising his second son, much to the
disgust of the first, and really seemed to have recovered all of his
habitual cheerfulness.

He never once mentioned Tony's prospects; his own were assured, that was
enough for him.

As the evening wore away he gravitated toward Aaron. There was really
much in common between the man, whose one idea of power was mere
physical strength, and his rawboned son, so closely allied to him by
disposition.

Job Loring was not a cruel man, nor yet did he mean to be an unjust one.
In his rude way his family was dear to him. Of course, the larger the
object, the more love could be bestowed upon it.

To Tony, with his fine, sensitive nature, inherited from his mother's
side of the family, these grosser qualities were far from being
attractive, and his companionship with Morrison had opened his eyes to a
new creation.

So it was with a feeling of relief that he saw his father turn to his
elder brother, and the cloud lifted from the sullen face of the latter.

Long before nine o'clock the next morning Tony was on his way to
Ashville. He found Morrison in the store, and the latter exclaimed, as
soon as his eyes fell upon the pale face of the little fellow:

"Why, Tony, what ails you? You look as though you hadn't a friend in the
world."

Tony made an effort to look happy, but did not wholly succeed. He
glanced into the office, near which they were standing, and saw a stout
man talking with Mr. Smart.

"That's my father," said Morrison, as he noticed the direction of Tony's
glance. "He arrived this morning. I'll introduce you when he comes out.
He was quite interested in you. Here he is now."

As he said this, Morrison turned to the gentleman who had just emerged
from the office.

"Father, this is the boy I was telling you of--Tony Loring. Tony, let me
make you acquainted with my father, Mr. Morrison."

Tony nearly sank to the floor as he felt his hand grasped by that of the
stout man, while a pair of dark eyes scanned him keenly.

"I had some curiosity to meet you," said Mr. Morrison, after his
scrutiny, "as my son has a habit of picking up some rather peculiar
friends. In this instance, I think he has shown much wisdom, considering
his usual lack of judgment."

Both father and son laughed at this, and then the senior Morrison looked
at his watch.

"It is about nine o'clock," he remarked. "Have you seen anything this
morning of the stranger from Scaly Brook? I think you said he was to be
on hand at that time."

"He is standing by the door now," replied Tony, a certain feeling of
strength creeping over him, which he could not account for.

"In that case, I will go with you to Mr. Furbush's," said Mr. Morrison.

The Morrisons, father and son, and Tony left the store at once, and,
accompanied by the red-bearded stranger, proceeded to Mr. Furbush's.

They found that gentleman at home. They were scarely seated when the
senior Morrison said, somewhat abruptly:

"I called, in company with my son, to have a plain talk with you. Of
course, as game-warden, you only did your duty in taking the captured
deer. The Loring boy was not to blame; my son was the responsible
party."

"You mean the guilty party," rejoined Mr. Furbush. "Any one who commits
a crime is considered guilty."

Mr. Morrison smiled.

"There may be various degrees of guilt," he said, quietly; "but I do not
see it in that light. To me, in order to place the guilt of an act upon
a person, that person must do a wrong willfully or maliciously. In this
case, my son did not know he was violating the law."

"Ignorance of the law is no excuse," answered Mr. Furbush. "I've been
deputy sheriff and game-warden for a good many years, and about every
law-breaker has an excuse."

Again Mr. Morrison smiled.

"All very true, no doubt," he replied; "and, in regard to the deer,
there was no real harm done."

"Well, no," admitted Mr. Furbush. "The fine was paid, and I set the deer
at liberty as soon as I received information from the county warden. But
seems to me this talk has all been unnecessary."

"Very likely," assented Mr. Morrison; "but now we come to the real
object of our visit. You have a son Isaac. This gentleman," pointing to
the red-bearded man, "would like to see him."

"I'll call him," said Mr. Furbush.

Isaac was summoned, and came into the room with a frightened look on his
round face.

"I was just going away," he said, glancing uneasily around the room.

"Going in to Duck Lake, I suppose?" queried the stranger.

Isaac grew very red in the face, but made no answer.

"Do you remember," continued the man, "that this boy here"-- pointing
toward Tony-- "lost a lot of gum last fall, and you said I stole it?"

The red in Isaac's face gave place to a deathly pallor, but no reply
passed his lips.

"I don't see what use all these questions are," interrupted Mr. Furbush,
testily. "My son is not a prisoner on trial."

"Well, if he isn't," replied the man, significantly, "it won't hurt him
to answer a few questions. Now, young man, speak up. Didn't you
circulate the story that I stole that gum?"

Isaac began to cry.

"And you did this notwithstanding the fact that I pulled you out of Duck
Lake, thereby saving your life," said the stranger, severely. "Now I
want to jog your memory a little and get you in the habit of telling the
truth. Shall I go on?" he added, turning to Mr. Furbush.

"Oh, I suppose so," replied that individual, wearily. "Make it as short
as possible."

"I stopped a few nights with you and this little chap you call Tony last
fall," continued the stranger. "One night this Tony had a fine lot of
gum, and he put it away careful like. I forgot my pipe one morning, and
went back to the camp for it. The door was open, and I seen you taking
Tony's gum out of where he put it, and I dodged behind the camp and
watched you and see you take it and put it in a holler tree--a far-side
of the path to the spring."

He turned to young Morrison and continued:

"Yesterday morning, when I got up at the camp, I looked in the tree and
found there was a lot of gum. So I shot at it, just to draw your
attention to it. How much gum was concealed there?"

"About fifty pounds," replied Morrison.

"If you knew my son was doing as you claim he did, why did you not tell
this other boy?" demanded Mr. Furbush.

"Because," answered the stranger, "I didn't go back to the camp again
after I see this boy a-hiding it away in the tree, and the next time I
see 'em was when I pulled 'em out of the lake."

"Is that all?" asked Mr. Furbush. "If it is, I'd like to ascertain the
object of all these accusations and questions. What proof have we that
my son did this or that you didn't do it? The boy has his property back,
and why not let the matter drop? It looks to me like a trifling matter,
anyway."

The face of Isaac brightened a little at this, but when his eye met that
of the stranger, he trembled again.

"I'll tell you what the object of this is," he said. "This boy of yours
made me out a thief; now I want to show it's him and not me. As for
proof, I'll leave it to him, and forty-five dollars worth of gum ain't
no trifling matter."

Then he turned sharply to Isaac.

"Didn't you take that gum yourself?" he asked. "Remember, this is going
to court unless I'm cleared of it."

Isaac whimpered.

"If I own up to it will that save me?" he asked.

"Yes," assured Tony; "tell the truth."

"I took it," confessed Isaac. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry he's found out," muttered the stranger. Then he said in a louder
tone, "I hope this'll be a warning. There's nothing so good for everyday
wear as the truth. It'll wash and won't fade."


                CHAPTER XXVIII.

                 A Revelation.

The little conference at Mr. Furbush's was over, and Mr. Morrison,
rising, said slowly:

"I was very sorry to feel it my duty to take part in this matter. Let us
forget it, and all be friends. Good-day, Mr. Furbush."

He shook hands with that gentleman, and also with Isaac, both of whom
responded with very poor grace.

Then they walked out into the open air. Mr. Morrison, turning to Tony as
they reached the sidewalk, remarked:

"My boy, I was glad to see that you exhibited no desire for revenge."

As they walked back toward Mr. Smart's store, the senior Morrison talked
earnestly with the stranger, while young Morrison said to Tony:

"Well, good-by, my friend. Father is determined to go back to Boston
to-night, and wants me to go with him. I won't forget you."

Morrison gave him a warm pressure of the hand, and then Tony found
himself alone. How unutterably lonesome the world seemed to the boy at
that moment! and as he walked slowly home he reviewed the events of the
last few months.

His winter's work had exceeded his most sanguine expectations, and yet
he felt the burden of defeat upon him. When he reached home, his father
questioned him closely in regard to what had transpired, all of which he
explained minutely.

"The young rascal!" said Job Loring, clenching his hands and frowning.
"He got off too easy. He'd orter had a lesson."

"I am satisfied," said Tony. "I think it will be a lesson to him."

Tony was treated with much more consideration than formerly, but somehow
it brought him little comfort, and a week dragged slowly by.

Aaron had improved greatly, now that poverty had loosened its grip upon
them, and was helping his father fix up around the house, when a
stranger came walking up to the door one afternoon.

"Hullo, Job! How are you?" he cried, reaching out his hand.

Tony, who was reading, looked up to see his father shaking hands with
the red-whiskered man whom he had such good reason to remember.

The stranger nodded to Tony.

"So you're Job Loring's son, are you?" he said. "I tell you what it is,
Job, that chap isn't very big," pointing to Tony, "but he's a boy to be
proud of."

After this, he talked in low, earnest tones to Mr. Loring and Aaron, and
soon the three started together in the direction of Ashville.

Father and son did not return till nearly dark, and then they came with
quick, hopeful tread.

"Amanda," said Mr. Loring, eagerly, "what do you think? I've got every
cent o' my pay."

Mrs. Loring stopped her work in surprise.

"I'm glad for Tony's sake," she replied. "Now he can have his money.
He's been moping around the house like a shadow."

Mr. Loring looked thoughtful.

"I have been harsh with him sometimes, I s'pose, and I've said lot's o'
things ag'in the rich folks that I hadn't orter. There's one decent one,
anyway."

"Who's that?" his wife wanted to know.

"Mr. Morrison."

Tony came into the room at this moment, and caught the sound of the
name.

"What of him?" he asked.

Then Job Loring told his story:

"That chap who was here to-day worked with me'n Aaron, over on Scaly
Brook last winter, and the land we trespassed on belonged to this Mr.
Morrison. I didn't know it at the time. Morrison was away, but a lawyer
in Ashville advised Smart to take the hull lot o' logs, 'cause they was
forfeited. But there was one landin', or brow of logs, that could be
proved as come off of our permit, every stick of it, though _I_ didn't
know it. This brow was in the way of the others, and some o' the boys
attached it for their wages. Then they sent this red-whiskered man
through to see what Morrison was going to do about it. He came home
himself and agreed to pay every man, and to-day we got it."

Then he turned to Tony.

"How much did you make last winter?" he asked.

"A hundred and thirty-three dollars," replied Tony, omitting the odd
cents.

"Four dollars more than Aaron and me," said Mr. Loring.

He got up and paced across the room and back.

"I'll tell you what I'm going to do," he continued, speaking with some
effort, "I'm going to pay that all back to you, Tony--every cent of it."

He had expected to see Tony spring to his feet with a great outburst of
joy. Instead, he only shook his head and said, slowly:

"I don't want it; you can keep it."

"Well! well! well!"

It was all Job Loring could say.

"You can give me part of it, if you like," said Tony, at length. "I
suppose I shall need some clothes."

"And you ain't going to peddling, nor nothing?" queried Mr. Loring.

Again Tony shook his head.

And so the matter was dropped.

Another week went by and Tony was one day walking through Ashville. He
had purchased, at the earnest solicitation of his mother, a suit of
well-fitting clothes; but he was low-spirited, and in spite of the money
he had made, the past winter seemed a sort of failure to him.

Suddenly some one grasped him by the shoulder and a familiar voice
shouted in his ear:

"Hello, Tony, how are you? I hardly knew you, with your new toggery on."

Could it be possible? Yes, he was shaking hands with Morrison.

They were near Mr. Smart's hardware store.

"Come inside," said Morrison. "I've got a bit of news to tell you."

They entered. Mr. Smart was nowhere in sight.

"Right into the office," continued the young man, gaily. "Now, no
backwardness to-day. Sit right down, while I spin my yarn, as the
sailors say. It was as big a surprise to me as it will be to you."

Tony sank into one of the chairs, while Morrison elevated his feet upon
the desk before him.

"Now, are you ready?" he said, with a laugh. "Well, here goes. I worked
in this store two years, under this man Smart--and a precious rascal he
was, too--and never knew that my father owned this store and everything
in it. Mr. Smart had been a clerk for father in Boston, and the object
of the deception was to see if I really had any liking for business. And
what do you suppose the result is?"

"I don't know," said Tony, feebly.

"I'll tell you," continued Morrison. "I was twenty-one years old
yesterday, and I am sole proprietor here."

Tony looked at his companion in a peculiar way; saw how his eyes
sparkled and his cheeks flushed with eagerness, and he knew that his
heart was light and happy with ambition and hope. But the gulf between
them was wider than ever.

"I congratulate you," he said, huskily. "I wish you everything--"

He stopped and rose to his feet, but Morrison pulled him down into the
chair again.

"Don't go yet," he pleaded. "I'm not through. Now I want a favor of you.
I want you in the store with me. Stop!" he said, imperatively, as Tony
attempted to speak. "I know what your objection will be, but it's no
use. There are evening schools here in the village, and you can attend
them as much as you wish. You are bright and quick; I'll risk you. Mind
before muscle, any time."

What could the poor fellow do? Nothing, except to grasp the hand of
Morrison and shed tears of gladness, while his lips vainly strove to
utter the thankfulness which over-flowed his heart. His wildest dreams
were more than realized, and, better than all material advancement, he
would not be parted from his friend.

And Morrison never had occasion to regret his offer, for Tony took to
the business like a duck to water. A year later, Mr. Morrison, senior,
said to Job Loring, who was making some alterations in the rich man's
stable:

"A wonderfully smart boy of yours, Mr. Loring. It doesn't seem possible
that twelve months can work such a change."

Job ran his great fingers through his shaggy hair, and made answer in a
puzzled sort of way:

"It do seem strange, Mr. Morrison--it do, for a fact. I al'ays pitied
the little chap, and kep' tellin' him he'd never be any good. But there,
it shows that size don't al'ays count, and I wish Aaron could 'a had
more brains, even if he didn't have quite so much muscle."

The story of Isaac Furbush's petty pilfering in some way got noised
about the village, and it seemed as though the disgrace would ruin his
prospects in Ashville, till Tony induced Morrison to give him a job as
porter in the store.

Isaac, to whom the bitter lesson had been extremely beneficial, accepted
the situation thankfully, and a goodly portion of his superfluous flesh
disappeared in his zeal to prove himself worthy of his employer's
confidence.

And in the hunting seasons, Morrison and Tony manage to steal away and
chase the flying caribou and deer, and more than one lordly moose has
been forced to succumb to their prowess and skill.

[THE END.]




               A SUBMERGED CITY.


It has happened many times in the history of the world that cities have
fallen into decay, and finally disappeared so entirely that their
existence has not been suspected by the ordinary traveler.

Nineveh, Babylon and Carthage are the most notable instances of the
destruction due to war, pestilence and famine. Sometimes Nature lends a
hand, as in the following strange case:

The city authorities of Rovigno, on the peninsula of Istria, in the
Adriatic Sea, have discovered a little south of the peninsula the ruins
of a large town at the bottom of the sea.

It has been observed for some years that fishermen's nets were sometimes
entangled in what appeared to be masses of masonry, of which fragments
were brought up from the sea-bed. A year or two ago a diver declared
that he had seen walls and streets below the water.

The city authorities recently decided to investigate. They sent down a
diver who, at the depth of eighty-five feet, found himself surrounded on
the bottom of the sea by ruined walls. He says he knows they were the
work of man. He is a builder by trade, and he recognized the layers of
mortar.

Continuing his explorations, he traced the line of walls, and was able
to distinguish how the streets were laid out. He did not see any doors
or window openings, for they were hidden by masses of seaweed and
incrustations.

He traced the masonry for a distance of one hundred feet, where he had
to stop, as his diving cord did not permit him to go further. He had
proved beyond a doubt that he had found the ruins of an inhabited town,
which, through some catastrophe, had been sunk to the bottom of the sea.

Some people think that they identify this lost town with the island
mentioned by Pliny the Elder, under the name of Cissa, near Istria. This
island cannot be found now, and it is thought the submerged town may
have been a settlement on the island that so mysteriously disappeared.




                 ST. NICHOLAS.


A very pretty legend from Germany tells how St. Nicholas came to be
considered the patron saint of children. One day, so the story goes, he
was passing by a miserable house, when he heard the sound of weeping
within.

Stepping softly to the open window, he heard a father lamenting the
wretched fate to which his three lovely young daughters were doomed by
poverty. St. Nicholas' gentle heart was touched. He returned at night
and threw in at the window three bags of gold sufficient for the dowry
of the girls. His kindness to them, and to many others equally wretched,
made him regarded as the especial benefactor of children.

In Russia he is reverenced as the chief saint of the Greek Church, but
in Germany, Switzerland, Holland and Austria it is as the children's
saint that he is chiefly honored. The good Dutch burghers who founded
New Amsterdam placed the little settlement under his care. It has grown
to be the great city of New York, but his name is no less honored in the
splendid metropolis than in the humble Dutch town.

       *       *       *       *       *

                   PUZZLEDOM.

                  *No. DLXVI.*


Original contributions solicited from _all_. Puzzles containing obsolete
words will be received. Write contributions on one side of the paper,
and apart from all communications. Address "Puzzle Editor," GOLDEN DAYS,
Philadelphia, Pa.


ANSWERS TO LAST WEEK'S PUZZLES


No. 1. Quiet--quite.

No. 2.

        R
      M A W
    M I C O S
  M I T H R A S
R A C H I L L A S
  W O R L D L Y
    S A L L Y
      S A Y
        S

No. 3. P-reserved.

No. 4.

          A
        S T Y
      S H O E S
    S E A M A I D
  B A L L I S T A S
C O L L E C T E D L Y

No. 5. Y-our.

No. 6.

            R E P U T E S
          H A R E L I P
        S I M I L E S
      C O V E N T S
    S Y R I N G A
  P I M E N T O
P A R E R G A

No. 7. A very Merry Christmas to all those in our 'Thedom.

No. 8.

        M
      R A S
    P E T E R
  R E F U T E R
M A T U T I N A L
 S E T I R E M E
  R E N E G E S
   R A M E N T
    L E S T S

No. 9. The eminent posers.

No. 10.

C A N D L E W A S T E R
  P A R A D I S E A N
    B A N I S T E R
      B E T T E R
        S E I R
          D T


NEW PUZZLES.


No. 1. CHARADE.

The glad New Year again is here,
  With joy and merriment bedight,
Let vanish now all worldly fear.
  _Last_ peace let every heart be light.

This is the time for turning leaves,
  And living better lives withal,
And he who o'er the past year grieves.
  His wayward thoughts must overhaul.

The youth his diary will grasp,
  And write _complete_ about his love;
He calculates when next he'll clasp
  Her to his heart and call her dove.

The cashier closes up his books.
  And feels at ease that he is free:
From taint or tarnish of the crooks.
  To Canada he need not flee.

The plumber also gathers in
  The surplus from the bygone year;
His features wear an unctuous grin,
  He feels he is without a peer.

And so the happy New Year gives
  Great pleasure to both great and small;
Where'er the human family lives
  First see we good that comes to all.

_Philadelphia, Pa._     Arty Fishel.


No. 2. INVERTED PYRAMID.

_Across:_ 1. The first day of the year. 2. A poison. 3. Dutch gold.
4. Lit again. 5. Females. 6. A letter.

_Down:_ 1. A letter. 2. A prefix. 3. A pronoun. 4. To growl like a dog
(_Obs._) 5. Plants. 6. Enameled (_Obs._) 7. A root. 8. The tail of the
hare. 9. A she deer. 10. An article. 11. A letter.

_Bangor, Pa._    T. Hinker.


No. 3. NUMERICAL.

The Christmas season of great joy
Comes not to all without alloy.
For soon will follow, in its line,
The day our bills we 3, 2, 9.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5 are they
Who view this time without dismay--
Who have no fear to 12, 10, 11, 4--
Dread I.O. U's, given long before.

Such trying times must us befall,
Still, a _complete_ we wish to all.
And hope you may pull safely through,
8, 1, 7, 6 your bills fall due.

_Philadelphia. Pa._    F. Lasher.


No. 4. STAR.

1. A letter. 2. Behold. 3. Skimmed (_Obs._) 4. To array. 5. The Pope's
triple crown. 6. Errors in printing. 7. Purest. 8. While. 9. A letter.

_Chicago, Ill._    U. Neke.


No. 5. TRANSMUTATION.

The clock strikes nine, within the school
  The children take their seats:
Within the corner stands the fool,
  Him oft the _primal_ beats.

The master sits his desk behind,
  The lessons now commence:
"Of these verbs you will tell the kind,
  Also the mood and tense."

The sentences he then dictates,
  The pupils start the task,
But soon he spies two boys--two mates--
  Who each other answers ask.

He calls the _lasts_ to come to him:
  A flogging they expect.
And, naturally, their eyes grow dim.
  And heads are not erect.

The master looks them in the eye.
  "I see you guilty are."
And straightway he does make them cry.
  And badly do they fare.

At last the punishment dost cease,
  The arm descends no more,
But of advice a right long piece
  He gives to them before

They are allowed to take their seats,
  With faces red with shame.
Such is the punishment of cheats,
  And they deserve the same.

_Philadelphia, Pa._    O. Range.


No. 6. HEXAGON.

1. An East Indian fruit obtained from a species of cypress. 2. Armor for
the arm. 3. The ends of an elliptical arch. 4. Narratives. 5. A variety
of zeolite of a flesh-red color. 6. Restored the original design of.
7. Moved. 8. English essayist (1671-1729). 9. An adder or serpent
(_Prov. Eng._)

_Litchfield, Ill._    Stocles.


No. 7. CHARADE.

We are standing in the doorway,
  My dearest _prime_ and I;
The golden sun is sinking fast,
  And we must say good-by.
Good-by! How can we speak the word
  So full of bitter pain?
My laddie is going o'er the sea.
  We may ne'er meet again.

God grant the _fine_ may carry him
  Safe on his quest away,
And surely bring him home next year,
  Till then I'll wait and pray.
Again by the door I'm standing,
  With my love so near to me.
For my _prime_ was true, the _fine_ was strong,
  And our _all_ will ne'er severed be.

_Cambridge, Mass._    Dil I. Gence.


No. 8. HALF SQUARE.

1. Representations (_Obs._) 2. Charcoal. 3. Long measures of one hundred
feet. 4. Excrescences growing on a horse's leg. 5. To swell. 6. A bird
of ill-omen (_Obs._) 7. A throng (_Obs._) 8. Measures of capacity for
liquids (_Roman Antiq._) 9. A title for a person in authority in the
East. 10. A Latin preposition. 11. A letter.

_Jersey City, N.J._    Itami.


No. 9. TRIPLE-LETTER ENIGMA.

    In "promise wise;"
    In "different size;"
    In "endless ties."

A country, governed by an _all_,
  Is nicely situated,
For it has some advantages
  Which can't be overrated.


DOUBLE-LETTER ENIGMA.

    In "knowing looks;"
    In "reading books;"
    In "solemn rooks;"
    In "quiet nooks;"
    In "line and hooks."

My _all_, you'll find, is quite a good book,
By a Scottish author. Now, then, look.

_Rochester, N.Y._    Oregon.


No. 10. INVERTED PYRAMID.

_Across_: 1. Restorations of lost parts of the body (_Surg. Sup._)
2. The quality of being warlike. 3. A fishing boat, built sharp at both
ends (_Obs._) 4. Diseases of timber. 5. The kidneys. 6. Gods (_Latin_).
7. A letter.

_Down_: 1. A letter. 2. An abbreviation. 3. To strike with a sharp blow.
4. Angers (_Poet._) 5. The aromatic principle of flowers. 6. Peeped
(_Obs._) 7. Small carts used in mines (_Supp._) 8. Italian singer
(1824 ----). 9. Blows the nose (_Low_). 10. Suppers. 11. An affix
signifying one who. 12. A prefix. 13. A letter.

_Brooklyn, N.Y._    Gemini.


No. 11. TRANSPOSITION.

      Little Dick
      Was very sick
From eating _primal_ hard;
      He went above,
      Where all is love.
And now _last_ his reward.

_Rochester, N.Y._    R.O. Chester.


No. 12. C.C. HEXAGON.

_Across_: 1. An abbreviation. 2. A dish of stewed meat. 3. A small
rodent mammal. 4. A kind of cold cream. 5. Polishes. 6. A softening
of statement (_Rhet._) 7. Nitrate of potassa. 8. A French article.
9. A letter.

_Down_: 1. Probable. 2. A scale of anything. 3. A fagot of brushwood.
4. Shining. 5. Water passages (_Prov. Eng._) 6. Durations. 7. One who
defrauds. 8. Boundaries. 9. Movements.

_Logan, Pa._    H.C. W.

-> Answers will appear in our next issue; solvers in six weeks.


SOLVERS.

Puzzles in "PUZZLEDOM" No. DLX were correctly solved by Goldey and Pen
Ledcil, Hello, Irish Foreman, Carl, Nucky and Eskaletta, Carrie Wilmer,
Little Rhody, Weesie, R.O. Chester, Lowell, Madeline, Charles Goodwin,
Thad R. French, Addle Shun, Ham, Stanna, Viscum, Rosalind, Fred L.
Comstock, Romulus, Jim Nast, Windsor Boy, Gemini, Night, Ed U. Kate,
Katie O'Neill, John Watson, Dorlo, Auburnian, Olive, Legs, Spider,
Theresa, Arty Fished, Joe-de-Joe, Flora Nightingale, M.E.T., Herbie C.,
Miranda, Alcaeus, Orlando, Mary Roland, Carrie Ketchum, Cypress, Andrew
F., Tan, Sir Joseph, Venio Vincere, Flare, Pantagrapher, Lucrezius
Borgers, May Le Hosmer and Magnolia, Jack O'Lantern and T. Hinker,
Sam Smart, Esq., Osceola and Martin Dale.

COMPLETE LIST.--Goldey and Pen Ledcil.


PALAVER.

Once more we wish to draw the attention of all Puzzlers who favor us
with their contributions to a very necessary caution in the selection of
the words which they use in the work. Some unscrupulous puzzlers see no
objection to using any word, since they are able to make successful
combinations. We are of a different mind, in this department. Puzzledom
in GOLDEN DAYS has a very varied constituency, which includes old and
young, boys and girls, men and women. We intend to keep it a bright,
progressive department--above all, clean and without reproach in any
particular. Therefore, puzzlers who are given to the use of words of
double meaning, or words whose reputation is shady in the slightest
respect, so to speak, will please bear this in mind and not in such a
way spoil an otherwise excellent piece of work which they may desire to
see in our columns.

THAD R. FRENCH.--Your puzzle comes under the above criticism. You are
new, however, and we hope you will receive the timely word of advice.
If so, you are very welcome to our ranks. Would like to hear again from
you.




             NEW YEAR'S NICK-NACKS.


--A correspondent wants to know if "fits are hereditary." Any small
boy, compelled to wear out his father's old clothes, could tell him
they are not.

--There are many shoots in a park of artillery.

--"What are you doing?" demanded a furniture dealer of his clerk,
who upset an extension table.
"I'm only turning over a leaf, sir."

[Illustration: TWO KINDS OF HIDING.]

--City Dame (in the country): "Boy, can't you get me some cat-tails?"
Country Boy: "Yes'm. Long ones?"
City Dame: "Oh, long or short, whichever are the prettier!"
Boy: "Well, mum, I guess I'd better just bring you the cats, an' you
can cut the tails off to suit yourself."

A Mean Swindle. --Mistress: "Did you ask for milk bread?"
Domestic: "Yes, mum."
"What a miserable little loaf they gave you!"
"Yes, mum. It's my opinion, mum, that that baker is using condensed
milk."

--"What's the matter with you to-day, Tommy? You seem to be uneasy."
"I am," said the bad little boy. "Yesterday was pa's and ma's wooden
wedding, and all the neighbors sent 'em shingles."

--A square meal generally costs a round price.

--The pupil of the eye is incessantly lashed.

--Mrs. Pennifeather: "Goodness gracious! I wonder what in the world
has become of all my tarts?"
Mr. P.: "Where did you put them?"
Mrs. P.: "Right on the window-sill here."
Mr. P.: "That accounts for it. You have carelessly exposed them to
the son."

--It is his exalted position that makes the weather cock vane.

--Father (severely): "My son, this is a disgraceful condition of
affairs. This report says you are the last boy in a class of
twenty-two."
Henry: "It might have been worse, father."
Father: "I can't see how."
Henry: "There might have been more boys in the class."

--Sunday School Superintendent: "Who led the children of Israel into
Canaan? Will one of the smaller boys answer?"
No reply.
Superintendent (somewhat sternly): "Can no one tell? Little boy, on
that seat next to the aisle, who led the children of Israel into
Canaan?"
Little Boy (badly frightened): "It wasn't me. I--I jist moved yere
last week f'm Missoury."

--The concave mirror is not exactly a humorist, but it makes some
very amusing reflections.

--"Boy, I read in your eyes that you have told a lie."
"Papa, that is impossible. You cannot read without spectacles."

--Sauso: "Why did you yell 'Stop thief!' at the man who was running
toward the railroad station?"
Rodd: "I saw that he was going to take a car."

--A chilly salutation-- "Shake!"

--Weeks: "I'm afraid Brown is not very steady. I don't think he will
stick to his business."
Wentman: "Oh, yes he will. You forget he is working in a glue
factory."

--"Do you distrust fat men, captain?"
"Well, no," returned the old sea-dog, "not exactly; but I always
give them a wide berth."

--"Here, I bought this compass of you, t'other day, but it's no
good. It points north, east, south or west, just as it happens."
"Ah, but you don't understand. You see the needle points this way.
Now turn the compass around this way--see?--there you are. That's
north."
"Yes, but if I know where north is, what in time do I want a compass
for?"

--Sunday-school teacher: "And when the wicked children continued
mocking the good prophet, two she bears came out of the mountain and
ate up over forty of the wicked children. Now, boys, what lesson
does this teach us?"
Jimpsy Primrose: "I know."
Teacher: "Well, Jimpsy?"
Jimpsy Primrose: "It teaches us how many children a she bear can
hold."

--Cousin Nell (inculcating generosity): "Supposing your chicken
should lay a nice egg, Tommy; would you give it to me?"
Tommy: "No; I'd sell it to a dime museum. That chick's a rooster."

--A corn dodger--The careful dancer.

--"Had I better make a list of the prize cows and pigs?" asked the
secretary of an agricultural fair.
"Yes," replied the president. "Cattle hog them."

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *

OUR LETTER BOX.

TANITE.--The flag signals used by the U.S. Signal Service to designate
the state of the weather were fully explained in No. 11 of the volume
just ended. They do not vary in the different cities, the code holding
good for every portion of this country.

QUI VIVE.--Bowditch is the standard authority on navigation, and all the
theoretical knowledge necessary can be gained by a close and persistent
study of his work on that subject. The best way for a boy to learn it
practically is to enlist as a naval apprentice on one of the United
States training ships.

SKATER.--First, place coal oil on the rusted skates and allow it to
remain until the rust becomes softened, after which it can be easily
removed by rubbing with fine sand paper or emery cloth. After using,
they should be wiped dry and then rubbed with an oily rag before being
placed in the case, or flannel bag.

M.P.J.--1. Rabbit skins are extensively used in making hats, caps and
muffs, and for lining garments of various kinds, such as circulars,
overcoats and the like. They are dressed in the usual manner, the fur
being dyed to imitate many of the higher grades procured from the
ermine, beaver and other animals. 2. An article on electro-plating was
given space in No. 23 of the last volume.

G.E.B.--Several manuals relating to the use of fire-arms of various
kinds are obtainable from book dealers in various parts of the country.
The most expert rifle and revolver shots have gained all their knowledge
by actual practice, placing no dependence on printed rules, but paying
particular attention to the make of the weapon selected and thoroughly
acquainting themselves with its construction.

SCHUYLER.--1. A vacuum air-brake, of which there are several patterns,
is a kind of continuous brake, operated by exhausting the air from some
appliance under each car, and so causing the pressure of the atmosphere
to apply the brakes. 2. Nos. 4, 5, 13 and 17, Vol. IV are out of print.
3. After indulging in gymnastic exercises, it is said that the hands can
be kept in good condition by rubbing them with alcohol.

M.J.A. AND H.S.D.--Your kind appreciation of the issue in question gives
great pleasure to the publisher. There was no such number this year, in
so far as the illuminated cover is concerned; but in the matter of
stories, you will find that the contents of No. 5, of this volume, far
surpass any other devoted to Christmas literature. It is full to the
brim with good things well suited to the joyous season to which it is
dedicated.

ELECTRA.--1. If the directions for making electric motors presented in
No. 3 are followed to the letter, you will be successful, but, if
substitutions and alterations are made, the result will be that the
apparatus will prove useless. 2. It is not at all likely that the
company will interfere with the miniature telephone. 3. As the elements
in a Bunsen battery are immersed in sulphuric and nitric acids, it would
not he advisable to place it in a sleeping apartment.

C. OGDEN.--1. There are forty-four States in the Union. 2. The famous
River Nile is formed by the union of the Bahr-el-Abiad and the
Bahr-el-Azrek. The first of these, or the true Nile, has its source in
Lake Victoria Nyanza, and the second rises in Abyssinia. The Kagera and
Shimiyu rivers, and the waters that descend from the plateaux from which
rise the snowy peaks of Kenia and Kilimanjaro, unite to form that
wonderful fresh-water lake, Victoria Nyanza, which covers an area of
upwards of 40,000 square miles.

W.F.S.--1. Minorcas, Hamburgs or Leghorns are the best laying fowls,
while Plymouth Rocks, Wyandottes or Langshans are the best to raise for
marketing purposes. 2. It will be found both cheaper and more
satisfactory to buy ready-prepared mocking-bird food from a dealer in
bird supplies or a druggist. The food for young mocking-birds should he
meal and milk, and occasionally finely-minced fresh meat. Grasshoppers,
spiders and meal-worms should be given to the old birds, together with a
liberal supply of the prepared food.

STUDENT.--Among the ancients, and during the earlier part of the middle
ages, there was no distinction of capital and small letters. After the
practice had been introduced of beginning books and chapters with large
letters, often adorned or illustrated with artistic ability, it was not
long before capital letters were employed in much the same way as at the
present day. At times, however, their use was so extravagantly indulged
in that many of the old books present a ludicrous appearance to the
latter-day readers. The exact date at which they came to be universally
used is unknown.

TWO OLD CRONIES.--1. A boy aged eighteen is not too old to learn how to
play the piano, violin or any other musical instrument. There are
thousands of stenographers who did not take up that profession until
they were twenty-five or thirty years of age. They were firm believers
in the adage, "It is never too late to learn." 2. Munson's appears to be
the most popular system of shorthand. 3. A ten or fifteen minutes' walk
in the open air before taking breakfast will do no harm; but indulgence
in other forms of exercise should be reserved for the middle of the day,
if possible, or an hour or so after eating supper.

H.T.C., BIZ AND J.A.M.--Candidates for clerkships in the government
departments must pass a civil service examination in arithmetic,
geography, grammar, history, reading, writing and spelling, and in some
cases a knowledge of book-keeping is required. This depends upon the
branch of the service and the special position for which application is
made. Those desiring to enter the railway mail service must, among other
things, give the boundaries of their own county, State and country; the
location of all the States and Territories, locate all the counties
along a specified mail route, locate offices on the route and exhibit a
thorough understanding of the geography of the United States.

FRANK W.--1. According to Caesar, the first coins of what is now called
Great Britain were of tin, and he has been substantiated by the
discovery of pieces made of that material. The first copper coins made
by the United States Mint were one cent and one-half cent pieces, of
which there were four designs, designated the "chain cent," the "wreath
cent," the "flowing-hair cent" and the "liberty cap cent." 2. The
letter, or mark on a coin designating the mint at which it was struck,
is called the "mint mark." The U.S. coins struck at the parent mint, at
Philadelphia, bear no such mark; those displaying a small "S"
immediately under the denomination are coined in San Francisco, while
"C.C." stands for Carson City, and "O" for New Orleans.

EX-CONFED.--A glue well adapted for any work which requires particular
strength is made by dissolving an ounce of the best isinglass, by the
application of a moderate heat, in a pint of water. After straining this
solution an ounce of the best glue, previously soaked in water for
twenty-four hours, and a gill of vinegar should be added. After all of
these materials have been brought into a solution, the mixture should be
allowed to boil up once, and then the impurities must be strained off. A
handy method of making glue for ready use is to employ common whisky
instead of water in dissolving any quantity of glue. Put both together
in a bottle, cork it tight and let it stand for three or four days, when
it will be ready for use without the application of heat.

BIRDIE HAIGHT.--1. The American swan breeds in the northern parts of
America, and its migrations extend only to North Carolina. Another
American species is the Trumpeter Swan, breeding chiefly within the
Arctic Circle, but of which large flocks are seen in winter as far south
as Texas. It is smaller than the common swan, which is found in its wild
state in Asia and the eastern parts of Europe. In a half-domesticated
state it has long been a common ornament in lakes and ponds in this
country and Europe, more especially the latter. The black swan is a
native of Australia. 2. Varicose veins, it is said, may be radically
cured by a surgical operation, but the disease may reappear in some
other portion of the body, there being no way to prevent it. 3. Papua,
or New Guinea, is the largest island in the world. Australia now ranks
as one of the grand divisions of the earth.

S.A.M.--Eighteen articles on electricity have been published in this and
previous volumes. They were: "A Cheap Electrical Machine," Vol. II, No.
22; "How to Make a Simple Electrical Machine," Vol. VI, No. 3;
"Experiments of Various Kinds," Vol. VI, No. 4; "A Storm in a Teacup,"
Vol. VI, No. 9; "The Leyden Jar and How to Make It," Vol. VI, No. 20;
"The Electrician at Home," Vol. VII, No. 16: "A Mysterious Alarm," Vol.
VIII, No. 14; "Studies in Static Electricity," Vol. IX. No. 30, "How to
Make an Electrical Machine," Vol. IX, No. 20; "How to Make an Electric
Battery," Vol. X, No. 8; "The Induction Coil and How to Make It," Vol.
X, No. 28; "A Simple Electrical Machine," Vol. XI, No. 6: "Simple
Electrical Experiments." Vol. XI, No. 15; "An Electric Bell Outfit,"
Vol. XI, No. 20; "How to Make a Storage Battery," Vol. XI, No. 25;
"Induction Coil Condenser," Vol. XI, No. 47; "Electric Lamps and How to
Work Them," Vol. XII, Nos. 1 and 2; and "Electro-Motors and How to Make
Them," Vol. XII, No. 3.

BIAS EYES.--1. Letters relating to business matters connected with this
paper--such as inquiries relating to advertising rates--are the only
ones answered by mail. They must invariably contain a stamp to pay
postage on such reply. 2. Any reader complying with the rules governing
the exchange department is entitled to its privileges. 3. He is an
Englishman by birth. 4. The principal use of the bell on board ships is
to denote the time of the day or night, which is done by 1, 2, 3, and so
on, up to eight strokes of the bell. The twelve hours between midnight
and noon, or noon and midnight, are divided into three portions of eight
bells each, the duration of time between bells being half an hour.
Consequently, during the course of each twelve hours, the same number of
strokes of the bell will necessarily be used to denote three different
hours or periods of time, as follows:

    1 bell at 12.30, 4.30,  8.30.
    2 bells "  1.00, 5.00,  9.00.
    3  "    "  1.30, 5.30,  9.30.
    4  "    "  2.00, 6.00, 10.00.
    5  "    "  2.30, 6.30, 10.30.
    6  "    "  3.00, 7.00, 11.00.
    7  "    "  3.30, 7.30, 11.30.
    8  "    "  4.00, 8.00, 12.00.

5. The magnetized needle of a compass has the property of arranging
itself in the meridian, one end always pointing to the north and the
other to the south; yet not exactly, but with a deflection or
declination which varies from time to time in magnitude, and may be
toward the west or the east.

A READER OF GOLDEN DAYS. A very plain and simple method of making
snow-shoes was furnished our readers in Vol. Vll, No. 2. --ROD AND GUN.
In Nos. 15, Vol. I; 23, 24 and 36, Vol. II, will be found articles
devoted to the subject of camping out, which contain all requisite
information regarding that form of recreation. --DODY. The Spanish
sentence is untranslatable, several of the words being beyond the ken of
any one who understands that language. --LAWYER. The gentleman
representing your district in Congress is the proper person to whom
application should be made for copies of the "Congressional Record" and
Department Reports. --J.S.T. A portion of No. 52, Vol. VIII, was devoted
to a minute description of ice-boat building. --A.S. 1. California
half-dollars, in perfect condition, are worth 60 or 70 cents each. 2. It
is claimed to be very efficacious. --W.P. Your offer is respectfully
declined. We have already provided many articles on electricity in its
various forms, and from time to time will publish others by practical
writers. --NENA. 1. The titles of the serials in the volumes named are
printed in the index furnished with each. 2. Harry Castlemon was the
author of "The House-Boat Boys." --CONSTANT READER. We never supply
business addresses. --JIM. Not possessing the key we are unable to solve
the cryptogram. --L.F. It is a very interesting game, suited to the
tastes of both old and young. The query was sent too late to be
answered in the Christmas Issue. --BYRON V. Refer the matter to a local
engineer. --HOWARD W.E. A description of the way to make a small storage
battery appeared in Vol. XI. No. 25. --CONSTANT READER. Books devoted to
hypnotism have been written by Drs. Hammond, Bernheim, Moll and Raue,
besides which it has formed the subject of many magazine articles.
--WHEELMAN. Read the description of electroplating in Vol. XI, No. 23.
--J.L.J. No premium. --W.K. 1. We do not pay for contributions to
"Puzzledom." 2. All the stories, sketches, etc., published in these
columns are written by experienced authors. --O.J.C.U. 1. The papers are
mailed from this office on Friday night. 2. Yes; in any sum less than
one dollar.


-> Several communications have been received which will be answered
next week.


[Illustration: A HAPPY TRIO.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Your Worst Enemy

Is that scrofulous humor in your blood which manifests itself in
festers every time the skin is scratched or broken, or in hives,
pimples, boils, and other eruptions, causes salt rheum, or breaks
out in occasional or continuous running sores. *Get Rid of it at
Once*, or some time when your system is weak it will become your
master. Hood's Sarsaparilla is the remedy which will purify your
blood, expel all trace of disease and give you strength.

*Hood's Sarsaparilla*

Sold by all druggists. $1; six for $5. Prepared only by C.I. HOOD &
CO., Apothecaries, Lowell, Mass.

100 Doses One Dollar


*1000 DOLLARS!*

I will forfeit the above amount if I fail to prove that I have the
best remedy in the world for the speedy and permanent cure of
*Indigestion, Dyspepsia, Biliousness, Liver Complaint, Sick
Headache, Nervous Debility* and *Consumption*. I will gladly send a
free bottle of this *wonderful* medicine, prepaid, to every reader
of this paper, thus giving all sufferers a chance to test its
merits, *free of cost*. Over 70,000 testimonial letters on file from
living witnesses who have been cured. Write to-day, stating your
disease, or ask your Druggist for it and get well. Address *PROF.
HART, 88 Warren Street, New York.*


*CONSUMPTION.*

I have a positive remedy for the above disease; by its use thousands
of cases of the worst kind and of long standing have been cured.
Indeed so strong is my faith in its efficacy, that I will send TWO
BOTTLES FREE, with a VALUABLE TREATISE on this disease to any
sufferer who will send me their Express and P.O. address. *T.A.
Slocum, M.C., 181 Pearl St., N.Y*

       *       *       *       *       *

*From the Clifton and Lansdowne Times.*

GOLDEN DAYS.--We would like to be able to place this weekly journal in
the hands of every girl and boy in the county who cannot afford to
subscribe for or buy it from news agents. But the girls and boys of
that kind, we fear, are "too many for us." A sad fact, too,
by-the-way, when we reflect that a little thought and a bit of economy
on the part of themselves or their parents would do what it is not in
our power to accomplish. Nevertheless, they ought to know what GOLDEN
DAYS is, namely, a sixteen-page weekly journal, with
finely-illustrated articles on various subjects of interest to young
people, embracing natural history, philosophy and other branches of
education, together with pleasing, instructive and moral stories by
the best authors. It is just what is wanted for the youthful mind
seeking for useful information, and ready at the same time to enjoy
what is entertaining and healthful. If all girls and boys could peruse
and profit by its columns every week, they in time would grow up to be
women and men, intelligent, patriotic and influential in their lives;
and lest any who may read these words are ignorant--which is hardly
possible--of the whereabouts of GOLDEN DAYS, we gladly give the
address, James Elverson, Ninth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia.


*From the Commercial List and Price Current, Philada.*

GOLDEN DAYS.--That was a happy title chosen by Mr. James Elverson for
his weekly journal, published at his great establishment, Ninth and
Spruce Streets, Philadelphia. In this early part of its tenth volume,
it shows, as every number of the past has done, a steady growth in
vigor. The acorn sprout has gradually to expand and shoot upward in
the air and light before it becomes the majestic oak of the forest;
but all the while it is growing, it is putting forth new beauties and
fastening its roots deeply and strongly in the earth. GOLDEN DAYS is
that young monarch of the "literary wood," and it well deserves the
honor. Year by year it has grown in favor with the young people of the
country. By its distinctive American features, by its efforts to
impart knowledge in an instructive and pleasing way to youth, and all
through pure channels of information, it has to attribute its
popularity. There is not in this or any other country a journal
published for young people so meritorious as GOLDEN DAYS. You might
call every weekly number a golden treasure, and never be amiss. It is
what is needed in every family where there are girls and boys, for in
its columns there is instruction, wisdom and harmless entertainment.


*From the Republican Progress, Bloomington, Ind.*

Elverson's GOLDEN DAYS is a publication that needs but an examination
to recommend it to the public at large. It is handsomely printed on
heavy paper, its illustrations are the best that money will procure,
while the stories are written by authors of established reputation.
GOLDEN DAYS is one of those magazines that cause the reader to be
impatient for the next issue, because each number is a promise of
something still better to come. Every boy or girl who is a patron of
GOLDEN DAYS has a fund of information at hand that to not easily
procured, as to travels and travelers in foreign lands.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration:
(CUTICURA SOAP
For
BAD COMPLEXIONS
RED ROUGH HANDS
and
BABY HUMORS.)]

Bad complexions, with pimply, blotchy, oily skin, Red, Rough Hands,
with chaps, painful finger ends and shapeless nails, and simple Baby
Humors prevented and cured by CUTICURA SOAP. A marvelous beautifier
of world-wide celebrity, it is simply incomparable as a Skin
Purifying Soap, unequalled for the Toilet and without a rival for
the Nursery. Absolutely pure, delicately medicated, exquisitely
perfumed, CUTICURA SOAP produces the whitest, clearest skin and
softest hands, and prevents inflammation and clogging of the pores,
the cause of pimples, blackheads, and most complexional
disfigurations, while it admits of no comparison with the best of
other skin soaps, and rivals in delicacy the most noted and
expensive of toilet and nursery soaps. Sale greater than the
combined sales of all other skin soaps.

Sold throughout the world. Price, 25c.

Send for "How to Cure Skin and Blood Diseases."

Address POTTER DRUG AND CHEMICAL CORPORATION, Proprietors, Boston,
Mass.


[Illustration]

Aching sides and back, weak kidneys, and rheumatism relieved in one
minute by the celebrated CUTICURA ANTI-PAIN PLASTER. 25c.

       *       *       *       *       *

*Notices of Exchange.*


-> The publisher will positively take no responsibility concerning
exchanges effected by means of this department, neither will the
reliability of exchangers be guaranteed. To avoid any misunderstanding
in the matter, it would be advisable for those contemplating
exchanging to write for particulars to the addresses before sending
the articles desired.

-> Exchange notices containing offers of or for _shot-guns, air-guns,
pistols, rifles, poisons, dangerous chemicals, animals, odd numbers of
papers, valueless coins and curiosities, birds' eggs_, or "offers,"
will _not_ be inserted.

*Exchange Notices conforming with the above rules are inserted free of
charge.*

F. McKinley, Box 171, Albuquerque, New Mex., a $15 violin for stamps.

G.L. Scholl. 1907 Biddle St., Baltimore, Md., Vol. XI GOLDEN DAYS for
a fish-bowl or a bamboo fishing rod.

G. Plander, 309 W. 37th St., N.Y. city, 1300 all different foreign,
U.S. and local stamps (valued at $65) for a bicycle or a cornet.

L.R. Wildermuth, 63 E. Town St., Columbus, Ohio, a steam engine, a
plating outfit and a font of Old English type for a typewriter.

J.S. Polhemus, East Millstone, N.J., 16 books by Dickens, and others
by Verne and Opper, for a pair of opera glasses or a field-glass or a
jointed fishing rod and reel.

J. McCann, Brentwood, L.I., N.Y., 5 books, by Irving, Hughes, Verne
and Greely for a mandolin or a guitar.

A.E. Miller, Gallon, Ohio, a violin and bow and a flageolet for a
B-flat cornet.

G.G. Worstall, Manchester, N.J., a $14 violin or a $12 fishing rod for
a banjo.

F.P. Goodwin, Putnam, Conn., a printing press for a game and
chess-table.

H.F. Smith, 800 W. 5th St., Dayton, Ohio, a magic lantern with a few
slides and 2 pairs of skates for a bound or unbound vol. of GOLDEN
DAYS.

C.C. George, L.B. 38, Darlington, Wis., a 23-string 4-bar autoharp and
an ocarina for a telegraph key and sounder or a typewriter.

D. Graham, 434 Willoughby Ave., Brooklyn, N.Y., a printing press with
outfit, a lot of artists' tubes, 2 books and a coin detector for a
banjo or bicycle saddle.

A.C. Durham, Green's Landing, Me., an autophone and music for a
Webster's or Worcester's Dictionary, worth $4.

E. Schantzler, 328 S. 3d St., Phila., Pa., a silver watch and a pair
of opera glasses for type.

L.S. Boyd, Auburn, Ala., volumes of GOLDEN DAYS for telegraph
instruments or telegraphic supplies.

W. Brunswig, 177 E. 82d St., K.Y., a banjo and some electrical goods
and tools for a bicycle or a Safety machine.

E.C. Covert, Vassar, Mich., a 1/2 horse-power steam engine for a
typewriter (Merrill or Odell).

C. Cropsey, 326 Ogden Ave., Chicago, Ill., a magic lantern and 24
slides and a pair of roller skates for a horizontal steam engine (city
offers preferred).

F. Rouleau, 2402 N. 27th St., Phila., Pa., a silver watch, a pair of
ice skates, 3 vols. of GOLDEN DAYS, 3 vols. of "The Argosy," "The
Rugged Pick Series" and a violin and bow with book for a Safety
bicycle.

S. Eisenmann, 115 E. 56th St., N.Y. city, a pair of Indian clubs, 100
foreign stamps, 2 books, some minerals, a bicycle bell, a pair of
skates and a base ball game for a self-inking press with type.

R.B. Dawes, 10 Summit St., W. Somerville, Mass., Vol. VII GOLDEN DAYS,
several games and books and a nickel-plated, 75-candle-power lamp for
a striking bag or musical instruments.

T.A. Mapes, Plattsmouth, Neb., a vol. of GOLDEN DAYS, a lantern and a
lot of books for philatelic papers.

F. Crosbie, 1527 Summer St., Phila., Pa., 2 vols. of "The Argosy" and
a vol. of "The Century" for a Victor Safety bicycle or a writing desk
worth $25.

J.H. McCormack, 200 Centre St., Brooklyn, N.Y., a large-sized, foot
power lathe with tools and attachments for a Safety bicycle, a
typewriter or a small dynamo.

C. Allen, Greencastle, Ind., 800 foreign and U.S. stamps (valued at
$25) for a 4x5 Detective camera.

L.A. Potter, Saginaw City, Mich., a foot-power scroll saw with
patterns, etc., for type.

D. Curley, 31 Brown St., North Adams, Mass., Vol. XI GOLDEN DAYS for
Trumbull's "Names and Portraits of Birds," Coues' "Check-List of N.A.
Birds," or either vol. of "New England Bird Life."

W.H. Pierce, Larimore, N.D., a main line relay, a Waterbury lens and a
fife with mouthpiece for $6 worth of type.

W. Kempton, Box 53, West Woodstock, Conn., a violin and bow, a
phonograph, a telegraph instrument, a sewing machine, an autoharp and
a self-inking press for a magic lantern or automatic organ and music.

W. Sikeson, 2930 M St., W. Washington, D.C., an International album
with 645 rare U.S. and foreign stamps for a watch.

H. Johnston, 2023 Stevens Ave., Minneapolis, Minn., a foot-power
scroll saw for any vols. of GOLDEN DAYS or vols of "The Argosy" except
IX or X.

R.F. Church, 78th St., E. Cambridge, Mass., a 4x6 self-inking press
for a scroll saw and outfit.

W. Klaffenbach, 112 E. 8th St., Muscatine, Iowa., a pair of ice
skates, some books and a hand scroll-saw for electrical goods.

H.J. Robinson, L.B. 13, Washington, D.C., a 175 ohm pocket relay for a
motor or other electrical goods or a camera.

G.H. Hakes, Belvidere, Ills., U.S. and foreign stamps and some
printing material for a pair of clamp roller skates.

C. Schimelfenig, 7 S. May St., Chicago, Ills., Vols. IX and X GOLDEN
DAYS and 4 vols. of "The Argosy" (several nos. missing) for a
Detective camera or bound books.

S. Tasker, 1033 Vine St., Phila., Pa., a bass rod, reel and outfit and
Vol. VIII or IX GOLDEN DAYS for a jointed paddle.

C.E. Pottenger, Box 126, Burlington, Kans., Vols. VIII and IX of "The
Argosy" for U.S. and foreign stamps.

E.L. French, S. Easton, Mass, Vols. IX (3 numbers missing) and XI
GOLDEN DAYS for an 18-bracket banjo.

J.O. Yates, Box 165, Chartiers, Pa., Vol. XI GOLDEN DAYS and a lot of
books for a magic lantern or a $5 steam engine.

B.F. Bird, 47 Dana Ave., Hyde Park, Mass, a volume of GOLDEN DAYS for
a set of boxing gloves.

C.M. Wallace, Frankfort, Ind., a pair of climbing irons, 2 vols. of
popular papers and a pair of roller skates for a banjo.

G. Chassey, 524 8th Ave., N.Y. City, a printing press and outfit (no
type) and a $4 fife for an electric bell and battery (Law battery
preferred).

       *       *       *       *       *

*OUR PREMIUM KNIFE!*

[Illustration: {knife} (Golden Days)]

Ivory handle, beautifully finished, EXACTLY AS ILLUSTRATED. Made to
our own order, and can *only* be had by subscribing to "GOLDEN DAYS"

-> We will make this Knife *a Present* to any one who sends us
THREE DOLLARS

For One Year's Subscription to "Golden Days,"

-> The money must be sent *direct* to this office. Address

*JAMES ELVERSON*, Publisher "GOLDEN DAYS," Phila., Pa.

*Special Notice--WHEN TEN CENTS FOR REGISTERING IS SENT, we consider
ourselves responsible for the safe delivery, though we have sent
several thousand Knives without one in a thousand being lost.*

       *       *       *       *       *

*Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria.*

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration] TEN POUNDS IN TWO WEEKS!

THINK OF IT!

As a Flesh Producer there can be no question but that

SCOTT'S
EMULSION

Of Pure Cod Liver Oil and Hypophosphites *Of Lime and Soda* is
without a rival. Many have gained a pound a day by the use of it.
It cures

CONSUMPTION,

SCROFULA, BRONCHITIS, COUGHS AND COLDS, AND ALL FORMS
OF WASTING DISEASES. _AS PALATABLE AS MILK._

_Be sure you get the genuine as there are poor imitations_.

       *       *       *       *       *

A.W. Boston, Traverse City, Mich., 2 striking machines, a bell rack
and a chimney sweeping outfit for a printing outfit.

G. Chase, 524 8th Ave., N.Y. city, a printing press and outfit, a
cabinet with a font of type and a lot of reading matter for
carpenter's tools.

R. Chambers, 939 W. Madison St., Chicago., Ill., a music box and
self-lighting pocket lamp for a miniature steam yacht.

G.C. Post, Box 5, Garfield, N.J., a 5x8 camera and outfit (cost
$22.50) for a 5x7 self-inking printing press.

E. Craig, 1007 Pine St., St. Louis, Mo., a telegraph outfit (sounder,
key and battery) for a photo outfit.

G.D. Lawrence, 998 Broad St., Providence, R.I., a brass B-flat cornet
with case and outfit and 4 books for a dulcimer or a 4-barred
autoharp.

H. Kirchner, 1361 Ave. A., N.Y. city, a printing press and outfit with
4 fonts of type and a cabinet for a lancewood fishing rod with extra
tip and reel, line, etc.

J. Rivers, 316 W. Jefferson St., Syracuse, N.Y., a $15 banjo for a
steam engine.

R. Hoagland, 6636 Perry Ave., Englewood, Ill., a snare drum for a
B-flat cornet or a small camera with outfit.

W.T. House, 380 Main St., Bridgeport, Conn., $7 worth of reading
matter for an International stamp album, with or without stamps.

W.H. Carlovitz, Milton, Fla., a collection of stamps (worth $14) for a
self-inking press.

F.C. Skillings, 1059 Washington St., Bath, Me., any 4 vols. of
"Youth's Companion," from 1880 to 1889, for Vols. VI, VII and VIII, or
V, VI and VII of "The Argosy," or any 4 complete vols. of GOLDEN DAYS.

F.J. Wiest, Box 54, Minersville, Pa., a rosewood flute, a small steam
engine and a magic lantern with complete outfit for a banjo.

W.J. Cline, 1627 Connecticut Ave., N.W., Washington, D.C., a telegraph
instrument with solution for battery and a fishing reel for a
typewriter.

F. Foss, Box 113 Greenland, N.H., Vols. VIII, IX, X and XI GOLDEN
DAYS, 4 vols. of "Youth's Companion" and books (all valued at $20) for
a turning lathe, tools, or a printing press with type.

L. Rosett, 219 Rivington St., N.Y. city, 400 foreign and U.S. stamps,
an album with over 500 stamps, a magic lantern with 16 slides, a pair
of skates and some books for electrical goods, a Safety bicycle or a
typewriter.

J.L. Mills, 1527 F St., Washington, D.C., Vol. IX GOLDEN DAYS for
books by Castlemon, Ellis or Alger.

G.F. Jones, 1530 S. 13th St., Philadelphia, Pa., Vol. IX GOLDEN DAYS
for foreign stamps. (City offers only.)

C.W. Holmes, Palatine, W. Va., a volume of "The Argosy," a volume of
GOLDEN DAYS, 15 engravings and 3 books for a card printing press, with
type.

A.D. Hayworth, Terre Haute, Ind., an 8x10 self-inking press, with
complete outfit (worth $135) for an exhibition outfit of marionettes
or a gold watch.

H.D. Holberg, 10 Belvidere St., Brooklyn, N.Y., Vols. X and XI GOLDEN
DAYS, an album containing 175 stamps and a pair of ice skates for a
banjo or a telescope valued at $5.

H. Iddings, Pleasant Hill, Ohio, a telegraph outfit and a watch for a
violin, a press or a photo outfit.

M.B. Stone, Ledyard Block, Sioux Falls, S.D., vols. of "The Argosy"
and type for a violin.

C.E. South, Box 357, Burlington, Kans., Vol. IX GOLDEN DAYS, 4 books
and a magic lantern with 60 views for a press or printing material.

R. Koch, 36 E. 52d St., N.Y. city, a World typewriter and Macaulay's
"History of England" (3 vols.) for magic lantern slides.

M.W. Jacoby, Seneca Falls, N.Y., Vol. IX GOLDEN DAYS and 20 books for
a banjo.

J.O. Fairbanks, Springfield, Mo., 3 vols. of GOLDEN DAYS, 7 vols. of
"The Argosy" and other papers, 2 magic lantern outfits, a scroll saw,
a pair of skates and 300 stamps for a Safety bicycle.

B.C. Houston, 172 Main St., Bridgeport, Conn., a pair of ice skates
and a Safety bicycle lantern for any volume of GOLDEN DAYS prior to
the tenth.

       *       *       *       *       *

For washing _flannels_, Dobbins' Electric Soap is _marvelous_.
Blankets and woolens washed with it look like _new_, and there is
absolutely _no shrinking._ No other soap in the world will do such
_perfect_ work. Give it a trial _now_.

       *       *       *       *       *

"The Worst Complexion is improved by the daily use of Pears' Soap."

Pears'

Transparent

SOAP

Produces White and Beautiful Hands; keeps the Skin Soft as Velvet,
and free from Redness and Roughness.

It can be had of nearly all Druggists in the United States,
BUT BE SURE YOU GET THE GENUINE, as there are worthless imitations.


[Illustration: (This is our New Teacher
HAVE YOU SEEN IT?)]

  THE EDUCATIONAL MARVEL

"Cultivate the growth of constructive imagination
in your children by giving them word-pictures."

  KINDERGARTEN AT HOME.

_Let them study or play. They'll learn either way._

  THE ONLY MECHANICAL SPELLER IN THE WORLD.
    _IT HAS NO RIVAL._

This is truly the educational device of the period.
Will spell any word of two, three, four, or five letters.

One touch of the keys, and our boys and girls are delighted.

Carefully made. Superbly finished. Simple, yet perfect mechanism.
Cannot get out of order.

  ALWAYS INSTRUCTIVE. ENDLESS AMUSEMENT.
    _IT IS THE CHILD'S BEST COMPANION._

This sparkling, spirited, sensible device can be purchased at any
notion, book, toy, or stationery store, or will be sent carefully
to any address on receipt of One Dollar.

  KINDERGARTEN NOVELTY CO., Ltd.,

_427 Locust Street, Philadelphia, Penna._

       *       *       *       *       *

*From the Standard, Belvedere, Ill.*

James Elverson, Philadelphia, publishes a handsomely illustrated and
interesting youth's paper called GOLDEN DAYS. It should find a welcome
in every home for the young folks, for the reading is wholesome, and
such literature should be encouraged by prompt subscriptions. If the
youngsters catch a glimpse of it they will find they need it as a
recreation after study hours.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Binding "Golden Days"

    Covers for Binding

        Volume XI,

      "GOLDEN DAYS,"

Stamped in gilt and black lines, will be sent by mail,
postage paid, to any address, on receipt of

       SIXTY CENTS.

-> These covers can only be attached properly by a practical
book-binder.

With the cover will be sent a handsome title-page and complete index.
Address.

      JAMES ELVERSON, Publisher,
      PHILADELPHIA

       *       *       *       *       *

*From the News, Bloomfield, Ind.*

GOLDEN DAYS.--"To merit is to insure success" is certainly verified in
the publication of GOLDEN DAYS, by James Elverson, Philadelphia. This
admirable weekly for the youth of this great land is now well
established and has a large and well-deserved patronage. It is
supplanting a poisonous literature, and performing a wholesome mission
in this day when too much good seed cannot be sown by the friends of
humanity. Parents wishing to put valuable reading matter into the
hands of their children should subscribe. It is only $3 per annum, and
can be had weekly or monthly as may be desired.


*From the Daily News, Geneseo, N.Y.

We wish we could impress upon the mind of every father how cheaply he
could make the home circle doubly attractive by subscribing for the
GOLDEN DAYS, decidedly the most valuable and most interesting
pictorial newspaper we ever saw, not only for the children, but for
the entire family. For the sake of his children we sincerely urge
every father to send to the office for a specimen copy, when he can
see for himself the great value it will be in his family, and he will
thank us in his heart for calling his attention to it. Address James
Elverson, publisher, GOLDEN DAYS, corner Ninth and Spruce Streets,
Philadelphia, Penna.

       *       *       *       *       *

*Something That
YOU Want*!

_Thousands have asked for it_.

A HANDY BINDER!

That will hold 52 "Golden Days."

[Illustration]

Heavy, embossed cloth covers, with flexible back. GOLDEN DAYS
stamped in gold letters on the outside. Full directions for inserting
papers go with each Binder. We will send the HANDY BINDER and a package
of Binder Pins to any address on receipt of *50 cents.* Every reader
should have one.

Address JAMES ELVERSON,
Philadelphia, Pa.

       *       *       *       *       *

*From the Buckeye Vidette, Salem, Ohio.*

GOLDEN DAYS.--This deservedly popular paper begins the autumn ripe with
golden fruit. Its stories and miscellany are rare gems of interest,
being instructive and pure, and it completely accomplishes the
delicate task of satisfying a boy's taste for adventure without being
sensational. The pictures are handsomely executed. A Sunday-school
lesson each week by Rev. Dr. Strobridge. Its articles on scientific
subjects are of the best, its short stories good, and, in fact, it is
a masterly combination of useful and fascinating literature.


*From the Marietta Times, Marietta, Pa.*

The monthly part of GOLDEN DAYS is, as usual, replete with healthful and
interesting reading, in the shape of instalments of several captivating
serials by popular authors, short stories, natural history papers,
practical papers, Sunday-school lessons, poetry, puzzles, etc.,
profusely illustrated. James Elverson, publisher, Philadelphia.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRAGRANT
*SOZODONT*
For the Teeth.

Everybody uses
*SOZODONT*
For the Teeth.

AROMATIC
*SOZODONT*
Perfumes the Breath.

Don't Neglect Your Teeth.
*SOZODONT*
Is the Gem of Dentifrices.

       *       *       *       *       *

*From the Dalton (Ga.) Argus.*

The GOLDEN DAYS is a handsome and most entertaining publication for the
youth of the country. Its sketches, stories, anecdotes and general fund
of bright reading matter is such as excites the vivid imagination of the
young, without leaving a trace of wild and unbridled adventure to
torture their minds to a longing for border acts of cowboy heroism.
There is a moral precept in every page, and an abundance of thrilling
adventure to awaken the lethargy of any boy or girl. We cheerfully
commend it to parents as a valuable adjunct to the children's parlor.


*From the Morgantown (W. Va.) Post.*

The GOLDEN DAYS, a publication for men and boys, published in
Philadelphia by James Elverson, is a literary publication that never
goes backward, but keeps on improving. It is the best of its kind, and
will bear re-reading, and then make a choice book for binding for future
generations to read. Try it one year and you will never be without it.


*From the Advocate, Tipton, Ind.*

GOLDEN DAYS fills a want that no other magazine attempts to supply. Pure
and interesting stories for summer reading is a special feature. Highly
illustrated. For sample copy. address James Elverson, Philadelphia.

       *       *       *       *       *

    JUST OUT

  "Golden Days," Vol. XI

Is a Magnificent Book of 832 pages. A perfect mine of everything
that will interest young people. It is

  Superbly Illustrated!

CONTAINING

Over 400 Finely-executed Wood Engravings--making, without question, the

*Most Attractive Book of the Season!*

-> This volume will be sent to any address, prepaid, on receipt of
price, $4.00.

    JAMES ELVERSON,
      Publisher "GOLDEN DAYS,"
        PHILADELPHIA

       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *
       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustrations:
Readers who are unable to use the fully illustrated html version of
this text may wish to view some individual images, located within the
"images" directory of the html file. The major illustrations, all named
in the form "picXX.jpg", are:
  Front Cover          pic01.jpg
  Railroad Rock        pic03.jpg
  Lilian's ... Calls   pic07.jpg
  Lee Holland...       pic11.jpg
  Andy Fletcher        pic15.jpg
  "A Happy Trio"       pic18b.jpg ]


Layout of Advertising Pages:

inside front:

+-------------------------------+-------------------------------+
|           SAPOLIO             |       Doctors Recommend       |
+---------------+---------------+                               |
|  Telegraphy   | 15 Cent Pa..  |    Ayer's Cherry Pectoral     |
+---------------+---------------+---------------+---------------+
|     Magic     |  Will Do It   | FREE Bicycle  | Dollar Type.. |
//              //              //              //              //
|               +---------------+               |               |
|    STAMPS     |     Ready     +---------------+---------------+
|     ....      |     Binder    |  4 cts.       |Only Directory |
|     ....      +---------------+---------------+---------------+
|     ....      |      Pitcher's Castoria       |  Deaf...      |
+---------------+-------------------------------+---------------+


inside back:

+---------------+---------------+---------------+---------------+
|   Your Worst  |   Cuticura    |  (exchanges)  |    Scott's    |
|     Enemy     |     Soap      |               |   Emulsion    |
+---------------+ (Anti-Pain..) |               +---------------+
|(testimonials) +---------------+               |  (exchanges)  |
|               |  (exchanges)  |               |               |
//              //              //              //              //
|               +---------------+---------------+               |
|               |      Our Premium Knife!       |               |
|(testimonials) +-------------------------------+  (exchanges)  |
|               |      Pitcher's Castoria       |               |
+---------------+-------------------------------+---------------+


back cover:

+-------------------------------+---------------+---------------+
|       Pears'                  | Something     | Sozodont      |
|        Transparent            |   that you    |   Sozodont    |
|          Soap                 |     want      |     Sozodont  |
+-------------------------------+---------------+---------------+
|     Kindergarten at Home      |(testimonials) |(testimonials) |
+---------------+---------------+               |               |
|(testimonials) |(testimonials) |               |               |
//              //              //              //              //
|               |               +---------------+---------------+
+---------------+               |    "Golden Days" vol. XI      |
|    Binding    |               |                               |
| "Golden Days" |               |     Superbly Illustrated!     |
+---------------+---------------+-------------------------------+


[Errata:

front advertising (uncorrected):
  JAMES ELVERSON, Pubisher
  *The Clarivoyant*
  *50 Choice Conumdrums or Riddles*
  in thrty-five years' practice
  slight of hand tricks
  Be sure und use *"Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup"*
    _all as in original_

  Victoria by mail $[**]
  Specimen Book of type, [**] cents.
    _prices illegible_

Railroad Rock
  an adventure I had several years ago, and which
    _text reads_ several years, ago and

Practical Photography
  The after processes of toning
    _text reads_ processess

Work and Play
  He was rather proud of his ability
    _text reads_ abilty

Lee Holland's Adventures
  "senor" _consistently printed without tilde_

Trials and Triumphs
  They were scarcely seated
    _text reads_ scarely
  a goodly portion of his superfluous flesh
    _text reads_ supurfluous

Notices of Exchange
  A.D. Hayworth, Terre Haute, Ind., an 8x10 self-inking press
    _text unclear;_ 8x10 _is best guess_

Our Letter Box
  "Induction Coil Condenser," Vol. XI, No. 47
    _close quote missing in text_ ]






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol.
XII, Jan. 3, 1891, by Various

*** 