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                 GOLDEN DAYS

              For Boys and Girls

     Vol. XIII--No. 51.      November 12, 1892.

                           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.]

       *       *       *       *       *

       *SERVE YOURSELF, AND YOUR FRIENDS
            WILL THINK MORE O' YOU*

        _You'll enjoy the good opinion
          of YOUR friends if you use_

                    SAPOLIO

   TRY A CAKE OF IT AND JUDGE FOR YOURSELVES.

       *       *       *       *       *

*From the Advocate, Londonville, Ohio.*

Good reading matter is as essential to the young people as good
food--its effect is seen in after years. Especially do they need good,
pure fiction, which engages their attention and excludes mischievous
ideas, leaving a lasting impression. In its great variety of short and
continued stories, GOLDEN DAYS is among the foremost, and its
illustrations are artistic. Puzzledom delights the solvers, while the
Letter Box contains much information and is read by old and young.
Although the Exchange Column will not publish any notices of a dangerous
character, yet it is always crowded and has been used to advantage by
its readers. The publisher knows the wants of the young folks, and the
pens of the young people's favorite writers are employed for GOLDEN
DAYS. It can be purchased weekly, or bound in magazine form, at the end
of the month. Send to the publisher, James Elverson, Philadelphia, for a
sample copy.


*From The Argus, Ashton, Dakota.*

To the young people of Spink County who enjoy first-class reading we can
truthfully recommend GOLDEN DAYS, published by James Elverson,
Philadelphia. It is a weekly publication, and filled with the purest of
reading matter, and yet the well-known desire of the young for stories
of adventure is not forgotten, for while the interest of the reader is
held by the power of the writers, yet there is nothing at any time that
could offend the most fastidious, while the youthful mind is led on to
emulate the good acts portrayed. Write for sample copies.


*From the Milton (Penna.) Economist.*

GOLDEN DAYS is filled with a choice selection of original stories and
pure reading matter of the highest order, together with numerous
illustrations. The contributors are many of the best and most
widely-known story writers of the world. One grand feature of this
journal is that it contains nothing that will be in any way leading to
the tainting of the moral or religious life of the young, which is the
case with so many of the story papers of the present day. We commend the
paper to parents who wish to get the best juvenile paper; and those of
our young readers who wish to get and read serial stories of a pure and
moral tendency should not fail to subscribe to GOLDEN DAYS.

       *       *       *       *       *

$45 SAFETY BICYCLES FREE.

Stoddart & Co., 19 Quincy Street, Chicago, Ill., are giving away an
elegant $45 Safety Bicycle to boys and girls under eighteen, without one
cent of money, on very easy conditions, for advertising purposes. We
advise those who want one to write them at once.

       *       *       *       *       *

*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.


*From the Clifton and Landsdowne 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 Star and News, Mount Joy, Pa.*

GOLDEN DAYS is the title of a weekly publication for boys and girls,
published by James Elverson, Philadelphia, at $3 a year. Each issue is
filled with a choice selection of original stories and pure reading
matter of the highest order, together with numerous illustrations. The
contributors are many of the best and most widely known story-writers of
the world. One grand feature of this journal is that it contains nothing
that will be in any way leading to the tainting of the moral or
religious life of the young, which is the case with so many of the story
papers of the present day. We commend the paper to parents who wish to
get the best juvenile paper, and those of our young readers who wish to
get and read serial stories of a pure and moral tendency, should not
fail to subscribe for GOLDEN DAYS.


*From the Cincinnati Suburban News.*

Twenty copies of the GOLDEN DAYS are sold weekly at Moore's book store.
The number ought to be forty, for it is the best juvenile publication we
know of. It is most beautifully illustrated, and the reading is of a
very high order, much of it historical and biographical. The price is
only six cents per week.


*From the Canton Press, Canton, Mo.*

The GOLDEN DAYS is pushing forward to a position in the field of
juvenile journalism that will make it the _ne plus ultra_. Its stories
sparkle with originality and interest, and its poems are the best.
Published at $3 a year by James Elverson, Philadelphia, Pa. Send for a
free sample copy.

       *       *       *       *       *

FREE!

[Illustration]

To any boy or girl, a Fifty Dollar Bicycle ($50), who will devote
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  _GOLD STAR TEA CO.
  GREENVILLE. PA._


PRINTING OUTFIT 15c

[Illustration]

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As to our honorable dealing, we refer to the Second National Bank and
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[Illustration]

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GUITAR

Self-taught, without notes; *24 charts 50c.*
*BANJO* _without notes (80 pp., 100 pieces) $1_
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A CENT SENT BENT.

FREE [Illustration {organ}]

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STRANGE BUT TRUE! *I give away Pianos, Organs and Sewing Machines*
for 10 lines of verse. Send your address, on postal, at once,
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       *       *       *       *       *

STAMPS.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

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STAMP COLLECTORS

May learn something to their advantage and receive a Central American
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125

Different rare stamps, including West Australia, Hawaiian, Liberia, Hong
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500

Mixed, Australian, etc. 10c.; *105 varieties* and *nice* album, 10c.; 10
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105

All diff., *Egypt, Japan,* etc., 10c.; 20 *Roumania,* 25c. Agts. wanted.
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       *       *       *       *       *

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, Publisher.

PHILADELPHIA, PA.

       *       *       *       *       *

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  [Illustration:
  (FREE! A NEW MUSIC BOX &
  CLOCK COMBINED
  PERFECT TIMEKEEPER RUNS 8 DAYS.
  1000 TUNES PLAYS PERFECT DANCE & SACRED MUSIC
  WGT 23 LBS. HGT. 18 IN.)]

*To introduce* it, one in every county or town furnished reliable
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[Illustration]

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[Illustration]

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[Illustration]

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[Illustration {ice skate}]

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

                  GOLDEN DAYS
              FOR BOYS AND GIRLS

(Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1892, by
James Elverson, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at
Washington, D.C.)

                  VOL. XIII.

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

         PHILADELPHIA, NOVEMBER 12, 1892.

                     TERMS
          $3.00 Per Annum, In Advance.

                    No. 51.

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

                   OFF SHORE,

                       or

            Matt and Natt's Venture.

           BY WM. PENDLETON CHIPMAN,


    Author of "The Mill Boy of the Genesee,"
           "The Young Linemen," etc.


                   CHAPTER I.

                MATT HIRES OUT.

It was a raw, cold day in early April. Since morning, the clouds had
been gathering, and they now hung, dark and heavy, over both land and
sea. The wind, too, which had been steadily increasing for hours in
violence, now blew little short of a gale. It evidently was going to be
a terrible night, and that night was nearly at hand.

No one realized this more than the boy who, with a small bundle in one
hand and a stout staff in the other, was walking rapidly along the road
that runs, for the greater part of the way, in sight of Long Island
Sound, from New Haven to New London.

He was a youth that would have attracted attention anywhere. Tall for
his age, which could not have been far from eighteen years, he was also
of good proportions, and walked with an ease and stride which suggested
reserved strength and muscular development; but it was the boy's face
that was most noticeable. Frank, open, of singular beauty in feature and
outline, there was also upon it unmistakable evidences of intelligence,
resoluteness and honesty of purpose. A close observer might also have
detected traces of suffering or of sorrow--possibly of some great burden
hard to bear.

The boy was none too warmly clad for the chilly air and piercing wind,
and now and then drew his light overcoat about him, as though even his
rapid walking did not make him entirely comfortable.

He, moreover, looked eagerly ahead, like one who was watching for some
signs of his destination. Reaching at length the foot of a long hill, he
drew a sigh of relief, and said, aloud:

"I must be near the place now. They said it was at the top of the first
long hill I came to, and this must be it."

As he spoke, he quickened his pace to a run and soon reached the summit,
quite out of breath, but with a genial warmth in his body that he had
not experienced for some hours.

Pausing now a moment to catch his breath, he looked about him. Dim as
was the light of the fast-falling evening, he could not help giving an
exclamation of delight at the view he beheld.

To the west of him he saw the twinkling lights of several villages,
through which he had already passed. To the north, there was a vast
stretch of land, shrouded in darkness. To the south was the Sound, its
tossing waves capped with white, its islands like so many gems on the
bosom of the angry waters.

"It must be a beautiful place to live in, and I hope to find a home
here," he remarked, as he resumed his journey.

A few rods farther he reached a farmhouse and turned up to its nearest
door. As he was about to knock, a man came from the barn-yard, a little
distance away, and accosted him.

"Good-evening!"

"Good-evening!" responded the boy. Then he asked, "Is this Mr. Noman?"

"No, I'm Mr. Goodenough," answered the man, pleasantly. "Noman lives on
the adjoining farm. You will have to turn into the next gateway and go
down the lane, as his house stands some distance from the road."

"I was told," explained the boy, "that he wished to hire help, and I
hoped to get work there. Could you tell me what the prospect is?"

The man had now reached the boy's side, and was looking him over with
evident curiosity.

"Well," he replied, slowly. "I think he wants a young fellow for the
coming season, and hadn't hired any one the last I knew. But I think you
must be a stranger in these parts?"

"Yes," the youth answered, briefly.

And then, thanking the man for his information, he turned away.

"I thought so," Mr. Goodenough called after him, "else you wouldn't want
to go there to work."

The boy scarcely gave heed to the remark at the time; but it was not
long before he learned, by hard experience, the meaning of it.

A quarter of a mile up the road he reached a gate, and, passing through
it, hastened down the narrow lane till he came to a long, low,
dilapidated house; but in the darkness, which had by this time fallen,
he was not able to form any definite idea of his surroundings.

A feeble light issued from a back window, and, guided by that, he found
the rear door of the building.

To his knock there was a chorus of responses. Dogs barked, children
screamed, and above the din a gruff voice shouted, "Come in!"

A little disconcerted by the unusual sounds, the boy, instead of obeying
the invitation, knocked again.

Then there was a heavy step across the floor, the door swung open with a
jerk, and a tall, raw-boned man, shaggy-bearded and shock haired, stood
on the threshold.

Eying the boy a moment in surprise, he asked, somewhat surlily:

"What do ye want, youngster?"

"Are you Mr. Noman?" the boy asked.

"Yes; what of it?" he answered, sharply.

"I was told you wanted help, and I have called to see about it,"
explained the boy.

[Illustration:
"THEN CAME A SUDDEN BREAKER, ROLLING OUTWARD, THAT LIFTED THE CART
AND OXEN FROM THE ROAD-BED AND SWEPT THEM OUT INTO THE SOUND."]

"Come in, then!" said Mr. Noman.

And his tones were wonderfully modified.

The boy now obeyed, and found himself in a large room, evidently the
kitchen and living-room all in one. There was no carpet on the floor,
and a stove, a table and a half-dozen chairs constituted its furniture.

Three large dogs lay before the fire, growling sullenly. A woman and
four small children were seated at the table. An empty chair and an
unemptied plate showed that Mr. Noman had been eating when he was called
to the door.

There was food enough upon the table, but its disorderly arrangement,
and the haphazard way in which each child was helping itself, caused the
boy to give an involuntary shudder, as his host invited him to sit down
"an' take a bite, while they talked over business together."

Mr. Noman evidently meant to give his caller a flattering impression of
his hospitality, for he heaped the boy's plate with cold pork, brown
bread and vegetables, and even called on his wife to get some of that
"apple sass" for the young stranger.

The boy was hungry, and the food was, after all, wholesome, and he
stowed away a quantity that surprised himself, if not his host.

When supper was eaten, Mr. Noman pushed back his chair and abruptly
asked his guest:

"Who air ye?"

"Matt Rives," promptly replied the boy.

"That's a kinder cur'us name, now, ain't it?" questioned Mr. Noman.
"I dunno any Riveses round here. Where be ye from?"

"I came from New York State," replied Matt, with the air of one who had
studied his answer, but it seemed for some reason to be very
satisfactory to his questioner.

"Any parents?" next inquired Mr. Noman.

"No, sir--nor brothers nor sisters. I've no one but myself to look out
for."

"I guess ye ain't used to farm work, be ye?" now inquired Mr. Noman,
doubtingly, and looking at Matt's hands, which were as white and soft as
a lady's.

"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," assured Matt.

"Of course ye can't expect much in the way of wages," remarked Mr.
Noman, cautiously.

"No, not until I can do my full share of work," replied Matt,
indifferently.

A light gleamed for a moment in Mr. Noman's eyes.

"I might give ye ten dollars a month an' board, beginnin' the fust of
next month, ye to work round for yer board till then," he ventured.

"Very well," responded the boy; and immediately after he added, "I've
walked a good ways to-day, and if you don't mind I'll go to my room."

"Perhaps we'd better draw up a paper of agreement an' both of us sign
it," suggested Mr. Noman, rubbing his hands vigorously together, as
though well pleased with himself and everybody else.

"All right, if that is your custom," said Matt. "Draw up the paper to
suit you, and I'll sign it."

After considerable effort, Mr. Noman produced the following document:

  "On this 10th day of April, Matt Rives, a miner of New York State,
  agres to work for me, Thomas Noman. He's to begin work May fust,
  an' work 6 munths at 10 dollers an' bord. He's too work till May
  fust for his bord. If he quits work 'fore his time is up he's to
  have no pay. To this we agre.

    "THOMAS NOMAN, on his part."

Matt read the paper, and could scarcely suppress a smile as he signed
his name under Mr. Noman's, and, in imitation of him, added the words
"on his part" after the signature.

He knew, however much importance Mr. Noman might attach to it, that as a
legal document it had no special force. He simply set down the whole act
as one of the whims of his eccentric employer, and gave no more thought
to the matter. But it was destined to serve that gentleman's purpose,
nevertheless, until taken forcibly from him.

Mr. Noman now showed Matt up to a back room on the second floor, and,
telling him that he would call him early in the morning, bade him
good-night.

The room Matt had entered was bare and cold; a single chair, a narrow
bedstead, a rude rack on the wall to hang his garments upon, were all it
contained.

Yet it was evidently with some satisfaction that he opened his bundle,
hung up the few clothes it held and prepared for bed.

As he drew the quilts over him, he murmured:

"I don't think I ever had more uncomfortable quarters in my life, and
the outlook for the next six months at least is far from encouraging.
Still, I would not go back to what I have left behind for anything."

He was tired. The rain that was now falling heavily upon the roof just
over his head acted as a sedative and lulled him to sleep. But his was
not an unbroken rest, for at times he tossed to and fro and muttered
strange, disconnected sentences. One was:

"I know it was not he. I will pay it back to the last cent."

After that the troubled sleeper must have had pleasanter dreams, for a
smile played about his lips, and he murmured:

"It is all right now; I've a home at last."

From these, however, he was rudely awakened by a gruff call:

"Matt, Matt! git up an' come out to the barn."

Sleepy, bewildered, he arose and groped about in the darkness for his
clothing. By the time he was dressed a full consciousness of his
situation had come back to him, and, with a stout heart, Matt went out
to begin what was to him equally new duties and a new life.


CHAPTER II.

A LITTLE UNPLEASANTNESS.

It was still dark and the rain fell in torrents as Matt opened the
kitchen door and ran hastily out to the barn, where Mrs. Noman, who was
making preparations for breakfast, had told him he would find her
husband.

He noticed the kitchen timepiece as he passed through the room and saw
it was not yet four o'clock. Early rising was evidently one of the
things to be expected in his new home.

Reaching the barn, Matt found Mr. Noman engaged in feeding a dozen or
more gaunt and ill-kept cows, which seized the musty hay thrown down to
them with an avidity that suggested on their part a scarcity of rations.

The same untidiness that marked the house was to be seen about the barn
also, which, if anything, was in a more dilapidated condition than the
former.

"Good morning, Mr. Noman. What can I do to help you?" asked Matt,
pleasantly, as soon as he entered the barn.

"Hum! I don't suppose ye can milk?" was the rather ungracious response.

"No, sir; but I'm willing to learn," replied Matt, good-naturedly.

"Well, I'll see about that after awhile. I s'pose ye might as well begin
now as any time. But fust git up on that mow an' throw down more hay.
These pesky critters eat more'n their necks is wuth," said Mr. Noman,
kicking savagely at a cow that was reaching out for the forkful of hay
he was carrying by her.

Matt obeyed with alacrity; and, when that job was finished, it was
followed by others, including the milking, wherein the boy proved an apt
scholar, until nearly six o'clock, when Mrs. Noman's shrill voice
summoned them to breakfast.

That meal, possibly on account of Matt's want of the good appetite he
had had the night before, seemed to him greatly inferior to his supper.
The coffee was bitter and sweetened with molasses, the johnny-cakes were
burnt, and the meat and vegetables cold.

He did his best to eat heartily of the unsavory food, however--partly
that he might not seem to his employer over-fastidious in taste, and
partly because the morning's work had taught him that he would need all
the strength he could obtain ere his day's task was over. Stormy though
it was, he felt sure Mr. Noman would find enough for him to do.

In fact, long before the first of May came, Matt realized fully the
force of the words Mr. Goodenough shouted after him the night he stopped
there to inquire the way to Mr. Noman's.

Had he really known his employer and family, he certainly would not have
been over-anxious to hire out to him for the season, for the dilapidated
condition of the buildings, and the untidiness and disorder that marked
everything about the place, were not, after all, the worst features with
which Matt had to deal. He soon found that his employer was a hard,
grasping tyrant, while his wife was a termagant, scolding and
fault-finding incessantly from morning until night. There was not an
animal on the place that escaped the abuse of the master, and not even
the master himself eluded the tirades of the mistress.

Matt, by faithfully performing every task assigned him, and thus
frequently doing twice over what a boy of his age should have been
expected to do, tried to win the approval of both Mr. Noman and his
wife. He soon found this impossible, and so contented himself with doing
what he felt to be right, and cheerfully bore the scoldings that
speedily became an hourly occurrence.

It was indeed astonishing with what good-nature Matt accepted the work
and the hard words put upon him. Mr. Noman attributed it to the paper he
had asked him to sign, and chuckled to himself at the thought that
Matt's fear of losing his wages kept him so industrious and docile.

He confidentially admitted to his wife, one day, that the boy was worth
twice what he had agreed to pay him--"only I ain't paid him nothin' as
yit," he added, with a knowing look, which his wife seemed to
understand, for she replied:

"Now yer up to another of yer capers, Tom Noman. There never was a man
on the earth meaner'n ye air!"

But Mr. Goodenough, who knew his neighbors well, could in no way account
for the boy's willingness to endure what he knew he must be suffering,
and finally his curiosity got the better of him; for, meeting Matt one
day as he was returning from the nearest village, he drew up his horses
and said:

"Matt, do you know you are the profoundest example of human patience I
ever saw?"

"No; is that so?" replied Matt, with a laugh. "What makes you think so?"

"Well," remarked Mr. Goodenough, leaning on his wagon-seat and looking
down into the smiling countenance before him, "I have lived here beside
Tom Noman and his wife for a dozen years, and know them well enough to
be sure that an angel couldn't long stand their fault-finding, and yet
you have actually been there six weeks, and are still as cheerful as a
lark on one of these beautiful spring mornings. Will you explain to me
how you manage to stand it?"

While he was speaking a far-away look had come into Matt's eyes, and a
shudder shook his robust frame, as though he saw something very
disagreeable to himself; but he answered, quietly enough:

"Mr. Goodenough, there are some things in this world harder to bear than
either work or unkind treatment, and I prefer even to live with Tom
Noman's family rather than to go back to the life I have left
behind me."

With these words, Matt started up his oxen and went on, leaving Mr.
Goodenough to resume his way more mystified than ever.

On the first day of June, Matt asked Mr. Noman for the previous month's
pay.

They were at work in the cornfield, and the boy's request took his
employer so by surprise that his hoe-handle dropped from his grasp.

"Me pay ye now!" he exclaimed. "What air ye thinkin' of?"

Then, as though another idea had come to his mind, he said,
persuasively:

"Ye don't need no money, an' 'twill be better to have yer pay all in a
lump. Jest think how much it'll be--sixty dollars! an' all yer own."

"But I have a special use for the money," persisted Matt; "and, as I
have earned it, I should think you might give it to me."

He spoke all the more emphatically because he knew that Mr. Noman had
quite a sum of money by him, and that he could easily pay him if he
chose to do so.

For reply, Mr. Noman put his hand into his pocket, and, taking out his
wallet, opened it. From it he drew the paper of agreement that Matt and
he had signed. He slowly spelled it out, and, when he had finished,
asked:

"Does this here paper say anythin' about my payin' ye every month?"

"No, sir," Matt reluctantly admitted.

"But it does say, if ye quit yer work 'fore yer time is up, ye air to
have no pay, don't it?" inquired the man, significantly.

"Yes, sir," Matt replied, now realizing how mean and contemptible his
employer was, and what had been his real object in drawing up that
paper.

"Well, how can I know ye air goin' to stay with me yer hull time till
it's up?" he asked, with a show of triumph in his tones.

"Do you mean to say you don't intend to pay me anything until November?"
asked Matt, indignantly.

"That's the agreement," answered Mr. Noman, coolly, returning the paper
to his wallet and placing it in his pocket. "If ye'll keep yer part I'll
keep mine."

He then picked up his hoe and resumed his work.

For the first time since he came to the farm Matt felt an impulse to
leave his employer. It was with great difficulty, indeed, that he
refrained from throwing down his hoe, going to the house after his few
effects, and quitting the place forever. But he did not, and went
resolutely on with his work.

Fortunate for him was it--though he did not know it then--that he did
so. Later on, he could see that the ruling of his spirit that day won
for him, if not a city, certainly the happiest results, though severe
trials stood between him and their consummation.

That night, at as early an hour as possible, Matt sought his little
room. Closing the door carefully after him, he walked over to the rude
rack on the wall and took down his light overcoat. From an inside pocket
he drew a long wallet, and from that, a postal card. Addressing it with
a pencil to "A. H. Dinsmore, 1143 Washington Avenue, Brooklyn, N.Y.," he
wrote rapidly and in small characters on the reverse side, without
giving place or date, the following words:

  "DEAR SIR: My promise to send you some money every month until
  the total amount due you was paid, I cannot keep for this reason:
  Through a misunderstanding with my employer, I am not to have my
  pay until the six months for which I have hired out are ended. At
  that time you may expect a remittance from me.

    "Truly yours,

      "M. R."

It was several days later, however, before Matt had an opportunity to go
to the neighboring village. When he did so, he took care not to drop the
postal into the post office, but handed it directly to a mail agent on a
passing train.

His reason for this act could not be easily misunderstood. Evidently, he
did not care that the Mr. Dinsmore to whom he had written should know
his exact whereabouts. But his precaution was unnecessary; for, before
the summer months had run by, he was to meet Mr. Dinsmore under
circumstances most trying to himself.


CHAPTER III.

SWEPT OUT TO SEA.

Mr. Noman's farm was a large one, and ran clear down to the shore,
terminating there in a singular formation of sand and rocks, known
throughout that region as "The Camel Humps." A small cove lay west of
the formation, while the main waters of the sound stretched out to their
widest extent from the south and east. The only point, therefore, where
the "humps" touched the mainland was at the north, and even this point
of contact was so narrow as simply to furnish a roadway down upon the
"humps" themselves.

Of these "humps"--for there were, as their name suggested, but two--the
northern one was much the smaller, embracing perhaps an acre of rough
soil, covered with a stunted grass, and dotted here and there with red
cedars. The southern one, on the other hand, covered also with a scanty
vegetation and scattered trees, broadened out so as nearly to land-lock
the cove behind it, and cause its waters to rush in or out, according to
the tide, through an exceedingly contracted passage at its extreme
southwestern end, popularly known as "the sluiceway."

The point of contact of the southern with the northern hump, like the
northern hump with the mainland, was also very narrow, and to its
narrowness was added another feature--it was so low, or, in more
technical language, it was so nearly on a level with the high-water
mark, that when there happened to be a strong wind from any eastern
quarter, the waters of the sound, on the incoming tide, would rush with
great force over the slight barrier and mingle with the waters of the
cove, making an island, for the time, of the larger and more southern
hump.

Three-quarters of a mile off shore, and a little to the northeast of
these humps, was an island of an irregular shape and a few acres in
extent, bearing the name of Sheep Island. The name had belonged to it
since colonial days, but the reason therefor was unknown, unless at that
early period some enterprising farmer had used the island as pasture
ground for animals of that kind, which gave the island its title.

This island had in later years, however, a more illustrious inhabitant.
A gentleman of considerable means, tired of society, or for some reason
at enmity with it, crossed over from the main shore, erected a small
house, dug a well, set out trees, planted a garden and built a wharf--in
fact, set up thereon a complete habitation. But not long did he endure
his self-imposed solitude. Scarcely were his arrangements completed when
an unfortunate accident caused his death, and the island and its
improvements were left to be the home of the sea-fowls or the temporary
abode of some passing fisherman.

This extended description has been given because it is essential that
the reader should form a definite idea of the island and its relation to
the "Camel Humps;" for on and about them no small portion of our young
hero's summer was destined to be spent.

During the fall and winter months previous to Matt's coming to the farm,
owing to the repeated storms, there had been landed on the "humps"
immense quantities of seaweed, so highly prized by the farmer as a
fertilizer. Mr. Noman had contented himself, however, with simply
gathering it into a huge pile on the summit of the southern hump, above
high-water mark, intending to remove it to the barnyard in the spring.
Thus it fell to Matt's lot to cart from the heap to the yard as the weed
was needed, and the first week in June found him engaged in this work.

It was a cloudy and threatening day. The wind was from the southeast,
and blew with a freshness that promised a severe storm before night.

Perhaps it was on this account that Mr. Noman had directed the boy to
engage in this particular work. He was himself obliged to be away on
business, and this was a job at which Matt could work alone, and the
weather was hardly propitious for any other undertaking. So, immediately
after breakfast, Matt yoked the oxen to the cart and started for his
first load.

"There ain't over four loads more down there, an' if ye work spry ye can
git it all up by night!" Mr. Noman shouted after him, as he drove off.

The distance from the barn to the "humps" was such that, with the
roughness of the way, one load for each half-day had usually been
regarded as a sufficient task for the slow-walking oxen.

But Matt knew he had an early start, and he determined to do his best to
bring all the weed home that day. He therefore quickened the pace of the
animals, and before nine o'clock had made his first return to the yard.

Unloading with haste, he immediately started back for his second load.
When he crossed from the north to the south hump, he noticed the
incoming tide was nearly across the roadway, but thought little of it.

On examining the heap of seaweed, he became convinced that by loading
heavily he could carry what remained at two loads.

He therefore pitched away until in his judgment half of the heap was
upon the cart. It made a big load, but the oxen were stout, and, bending
their necks to the yoke, they, at Matt's command, started slowly off.

As he approached the narrow roadway, he noticed the tide had gained
rapidly and was now sweeping over it with considerable force and depth.

Jumping upon the tongue of the cart, he urged his oxen through the
tossing waves. To his consternation, the water came well up around the
patient animals' backs, and had he not quickly scrambled to the top of
his load he would have been thoroughly drenched.

The cattle, however, raised their noses high as possible and plunged
bravely through the flood, soon emerging on the other side with their
load unharmed.

The rest of the journey home was made without difficulty, and Matt at
dinner time had the satisfaction of knowing that two thirds of his
appointed work was already accomplished.

Mr. Noman had not yet returned, and, hurrying through dinner, Matt
hastened off for his third and last load, hoping to get back to the yard
with it before his employer came. But hardly had he started when it
began to rain, and as he passed down upon the first hump the wind,
having shifted a point or two, was blowing with a velocity that made it
difficult for the oxen to stand before it.

Slowly, however, the passage across the first hump was made, and Matt
approached the narrow roadway leading to the other, then he stopped the
team in sheer amazement.

In front of him was a strip of surging water of uncertain depth, and he
instinctively felt that there was a grave risk in attempting to push
through to the other side. But he was anxious to secure his load. He had
passed through safely enough before, and he resolved to attempt the
crossing now, counting on nothing worse than a drenching.

This was a grave mistake, and Matt would have realized it, had he only
stopped to think that there was quite a difference between his situation
now and when he had made his successful crossing before dinner. Then he
had a loaded cart, the wind and tide were both in his favor, and the
water had not reached either its present depths or expanse. Now his cart
was empty--a significant and important fact, the wind was blowing with
greater force and directly against him, while the tide--as he would have
seen had he watched it closely--had turned, and was rushing back from
the cove and out into the open sound with a strength almost
irresistible.

But, unmindful of these things, Matt bade his oxen go on, and, though
they at first shrunk from entering the angry waters, he forced them
onward, and at last they began the passage.

For a rod they went steadily on, though the waves dashed over their
backs and into the cart, wetting Matt to the knees. Then came a sudden
breaker, rolling outward, that lifted the cart and oxen from the
road-bed and swept them out into the sound.

The moment Matt realized that the cart was afloat and the oxen swimming
for their lives, his impulse was not to save himself, but the
unfortunate animals that, through his rashness, had been brought into
danger.

Springing, therefore, between them, he caught hold of the yoke with one
hand, and with the other wrenched out the iron pin that fastened it to
the tongue, and thus freed them from the cart. In the effort, however,
he lost his hold upon the yoke, and the next minute found himself left
alone, struggling with the angry billows.

He was now forced to look out for himself and could not watch the fate
of the oxen, even had he had an inclination to do so, indeed with his
water-soaked clothing, which greatly impeded his efforts, there was
already a serious question whether he would be able to reach the shore,
good swimmer though he was.

With a strength born from the very sense of the danger that overwhelmed
him, he turned his face toward the fast receding shore, and swam
manfully for it.

For a time he seemed to be gaining, but the tide was too strong for him
and his strength was soon exhausted. Slowly he felt himself sinking.
Already the waves were dashing over his head.

He made one desperate effort to regain the surface, then there was a
faint consciousness of being caught by a huge wave and hurled against
some hard object, and all was blank.

[TO BE CONTINUED]




--The average duration of lives in the United States is 41.8 years for
storekeepers 43.6 years for teamsters, 44.6 years for seamen, 47.3 years
for mechanics, 48.4 years for merchants, 52.6 years for lawyers, and
64.2 years for farmers.




TALES OF BIG FISHES.


The whip ray, sea bat or devil fish, as it is variously named, is fairly
plentiful in Galveston Bay, so the appearance of four of these sea
monsters at one time the other day did not excite any special remark.
But they were seen by three boys, all under sixteen, and they determined
to get one and sell it. So one of the boys borrowed a Winchester rifle
while the other two got a rowboat and a harpoon, and out they went after
their prey. The boys rowed around awhile, and soon saw one of the
fishes, and pulled up within forty or fifty feet. One of the boys fired
a shot into the ray, which immediately breached, scooting fully twenty
feet out and ahead, like a flying fish. Two more shots were fired, and,
after beating the water furiously, it died. Then a harpoon was thrown
into the creature, and it was towed to the wharf, where it was slung and
hoisted out with a windlass. This fish measured fourteen feet from wing
tip to wing tip.


Another fish tale from the Gulf of Mexico relates to the adventures of
five sailors who were running a small schooner down the coast off Corpus
Christi. The vessel was gliding along smoothly when the monotony of the
voyage was broken by a six foot tarpon leaping upon the deck from the
water. The big fish at once began making things interesting on the boat,
and for a time it looked as if the crew would have to jump overboard to
escape being knocked lifeless. They finally regained control of their
nerve, however, and decided to have it out with the fish, so one of them
seized an axe and the others hand-spikes and at the tarpon they went.
The struggle was long and fierce, and one of the sailors was knocked
overboard by coming in contact with the tarpon's tail. A rope was thrown
him and he was pulled back on deck. At last the fish succumbed to the
repeated blows of the axe and hand spikes and lay along the deck as dead
as a mackerel.


When the steamer Dumois came into Boston recently, she brought as a
passenger a man named John Calder, who came on board under peculiar
circumstances. He was a Jamaica fisherman, and unwittingly hooked a
sword-fish. Mr. Calder didn't want that kind of a fish, but it would not
let go, and, as he did not want to lose a long and valuable line by
cutting himself away, both man and fish held on until forty miles at
sea. At this juncture the steamer came along, the fish was captured, and
the plucky fisherman sold the big catch to the marketmen.


"The prettiest battle I ever witnessed was between a young Cuban and two
sharks," said an American sea captain. "We had reached Havana and were
lying half a mile from the docks, awaiting the signal to go on. Several
fruit peddlers had boarded us, among them a swarthy, bare legged young
fellow who looked like a pirate. The purser was standing by the rail,
holding his five year old son in his arms, watching a couple of monster
sharks that were hanging about the vessel, when the child slipped from
his grasp and fell into the water. The father plunged overboard and
seized him, and the sharks at once made to the pair. The bare-legged
young buccaneer dropped the fruit-basket and went over the rail like a
flash. As the first shark turned on its back, the invariable prelude to
biting, the Cuban rose, and with a long, keen knife fairly disemboweled
it. The other was not to be disposed of so easily though. The purser and
his child had been pulled on deck, and the combatants had a fair field.
The Cuban dived, but the shark did not wait for him to come up and
changed his location. Finally the shark advanced straight upon his
antagonist, his ugly fin cutting through the water like a knife, turned
quickly upon his back, and the huge jaws came together with a vicious
snap, but the Cuban was not between them. He had sunk just in time to
avoid the shark, and, as the latter passed, shot the steel into it. The
old sea wolf made the water boil, and strove desperately to strike his
antagonist with his tail but the latter kept well amidships and
literally cut him in pieces."


As one of the Peninsular and Oriental steamers was steaming up the Red
Sea, the lookout forward called the attention of the officer of the
watch to the fact that a huge shark was jammed in between the
bobstay-shackle and the stem. Investigation showed that the monster,
which was over thirty feet long, was almost cut in two. The stem had
struck him just below the gills, and, while his head protruded on the
starboard side, his body had slewed in under the port bow. The sharp
iron stem had cut into the creature to the depth of a foot, and all
efforts to get it clear were unavailing. The captain at last ordered the
vessel full speed astern, and that sent the man eater adrift. The
accepted theory was that the shark had been asleep on the surface of the
sea when struck by the swiftly-moving steamer.




PUZZLEDOM.

No. 663


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.  Tied, diet, tide

  No. 2.  C A L A M U S
          A V E R I L L
          L E G A L L Y
          A R A M E A N
          M I L E A G E
          U L L A G E S
          S L Y N E S S

  No. 3.  Eve r

  No. 4.        A
               B A
          A B J U R E S
           A U G U R Y
            R U M O R
           E R O T I C
          S Y R I N G E
               C G
                E

  No. 5.  Beta, bet, be, bate, bat, at.

  No. 6.         S
                I S
               N E T
          G E N E R A T E
           S E M I N A L
            R E C O R D
             D E N T S

  No. 7.  F-all

  No. 8.      P A D
            P I L E D
          P I C A M A R
          A L A L I T E
          D E M I S E D
            D A T E R
              R E D


  No. 9.  O we go

  No. 10.       S
               P A
          S P E C T R E
           A C T I O N
            T I N T S
           R O T A T E
          E N S T A M P
               E M
                P

  No. 11.  Edmund Dantes

  No. 12.       R
              C A R
            C A M E L
          R A M B L E R
            R E L A T E D
              L E T T E R S
                R E E N A C T
                  D R A G O O N
                    S C O R N E D
                      T O N E D
                        N E D
                          D


NEW PUZZLES


NO. 1. CHARADE

  Whate'er my _one_ has brought to light
    It never was a _whole_,
  To think of it brings down my pride
    And cuts me to the soul.

  My principles will not allow
    That I am "obs." should _two_
  _Three_ any word that Webster calls
    Not just exactly new.

  For those of course who patronize
    Antediluvian lore
  'Tis easy quite to build _completes_
    And such like by the score.

_New York city_     LUCREZIUS BORGERS


NO. 2. SQUARE

1. Pain in the ear. 2. Town of France. 3. A body reflecting light
brightly. 4. A purchaser. 5. A sharp, shrill, harsh sound. 6. P.O.
Ontario N.Y. 7. Placed in regular form before a court.

_Brooklyn N.Y._        MOONSHINE


NO. 3. DOUBLE WORD ENIGMA

      In "pine-clad hill,"
        In "harvest home,"
      In "cider mill,"
        In "star-lit dome."

  Indulged and spoiled in tender years
    He grew a wicked youth
  He early learned to curse and steal
    And never spoke the truth.

  He did not love his books. He said,
    "Catch me sitting on a stool
  The livelong day! I'd rather be
    A dunce than go to school."

  Instead of going to school, he'd hide
    His books and run away,
  With other bad boys like himself,
    Into the fields to play.

  Or take his gun into the woods
    The harmless birds to shoot,
  Or climb the farmer's orchard trees,
    And steal and eat their fruit.

  On Sundays, when he should have gone
    To Sunday school or church,
  He'd take his fishing rod and go
    To fish for trout and perch.

  One day while fishing all alone
    Down by the river side,
  He tripped, and with a headlong plunge
    Fell in the river wide.

  In vain he cried aloud for help,
    No one was near to save,
  The waters closed above his head--
    He found a watery grave.

  Now let this bad boy's fate teach us
    _Complete_ is wicked in God's sight
  And let us all henceforth resolve
    To try and do what's right!

_Charleston, S.C._          OSCEOLA


NO. 4. RIGHT STAR

1. A letter. 2. A pronoun. 3. A spectre. 4. Quadrupeds of the genus
_Equus_. 5. Defensive arms. 6. Unsweet (_Obs._). 7. Startles (_Obs._).
8. A bone. 9. A letter.

_Pontiac, Ill._         CAN'T TELL


NO. 5. SYNCOPATION

  A _one_ arose between some bees--
    Indeed of them 'twas very wicked--
  They fluttered in about the trees,
    Among the grass and in the thicket

  Some thoughtless bees within the hive
    A scheme upon the drones were working,
  To make them labor they did strive
    But "drones" were only made for shirking

  The queen now on the scene appeared,
    A _fine_ her coming quickly making
  For she among them all was feared--
    Their hearts were filled with fear and quaking

  Said she "A 'drone' can never toil,
    A 'sinecure' is his position
  He lives on those who till the soil,
    Like any other politician."

_New York city_          JEJUNE


NO. 6. HALF SQUARE

1. Clairvoyance. 2. Computation. 3. Parts of a flower consisting of the
stalk and the anther (_Bot._) 4. Buffoons. 5. A hard amorphous mineral.
6. Open thefts (_Rare_.) 7. Belonging to it. 8. To see (_Obs. Word
Supp._) 9. A letter.

_Rochester N.Y._       THEO LOGY


NO. 7. CHARADE

  An old man sat in his easy chair,
    The _firsts_ of his life almost done
  How thankful am I, in this world of care,
    That my course is nearly run.

  My _second_ is waiting to greet me
    In mansions so bright--far away
  In the glorious house I shall soon be,
    Where all is eternal day.

  This would have been a hard _total_
    From its cares I hope soon to be free
  With me I think all things will be well
    When the Son in His glory I see.

_Iowa City, Iowa_          TANGANIKA


NO. 8. OCTAGON

1. To destroy. 2. A venomous reptile inhabiting the East Indies. 3. The
bleak. 4. Little wheels. 5. Comely. 6. A friend. 7. An Arabian prince,
military commander and governor of a conquered province. 8. Drives
together (_Obs._).

_Louisville, Ky._         X ACTLY


NO. 9. BEHEADMENT

  Palm tree boughs are lacing
    Through which the moonlight steals,
  And bathes the spot like silver
    Where India's daughter kneels
  Her white robes round her falling
    Her hair as black as night
  Has its coil of richest rubies
    Like a crown of crimson light.

  A lamp on the shining water
    It is a simple test,
  Does he _prime_ live, her lover--
    Lone star on the river's breast?
  See it nears the turning
    Now it's rocking to and fro
  In a splash, like liquid silver,
    Then it flickers and grows low.

  India's white-robed maiden
    Clasps her hands so tight
  Her face grows pale with anguish,
    _Fine_ brighter grows the light,
  Then on through the lily masses,
    Like a spark amid the blue,
  Floating safely onward--
    Floating slowly from her view

_Philadelphia, Pa._        SNOWBALL


NO. 10. NEWARK ICOSAHEDRON

1. A small cask. 2. A genus of climbing shrubs. 3. A kind of cover for
the finger. 4. Exemption from oblivion. 5. To dye. 6. Images. 7. A genus
of acanthopterygious fishes. 8. A house whose walls are composed of
logs. 9. General figure. 10. To stir. 11. One who mingles. 12.
A surgeon's instrument for scraping bones. 13. To plow.

_Newark, N.J._          JO HOOTY


NO. 11. NUMERICAL

  Edith, dear, do you not recall
    How we stood long years ago
  2, 1, the bridge, one cold, bleak _all_
    Looking at the pool below?

  How we watched the dry leaves sailing,
    2, 3, 4, 8 its cold breast
  While the breeze was softly wailing,
    As it bore them to their rest?

  How you wondered, were they happy
    Now their life was 2, 8, 4 _last?_
  How can they 6 and 7 happy
    When their summer life is past?

  Ah! the years have fallen round me
    Since we stood beside the stream
  And I have shown the hopes that found me
    Then to earth were but a dream.

  Oh, were you and I together
    On that bridge, once 5, 2, 8, 4
  I would give a different answer,
    Than I did in days of yore

  I would tell of summers fading--
    How the sun must set at night
  And of all the thick mists shading,
    Sun and summer from the sight

  I would tell of that deep yearning
    Springing from the fading years
  For a sun that has no turning--
    For a life that has no tears

  Yes! those little leaves that we recall,
    Drifting on the streamlet's breast
  They were glad, that bleak and chill _all_--
    They were glad for they had rest.

_Charleston, W. Va._      R E FLECT


[->] Answers will appear in our next issue solvers in six weeks.


SOLVERS.

Puzzles in PUZZLEDOM No. 657 were correctly solved by Madora Carl, Hello
Ian, Ran-de Ran, Night Owls, Lowell, Weesle, Charles Goodwin, Crovit,
Willie Wimple, Romulus, Night, Windsor Boy, Osceola, Flora Nightingale,
Addie Shun, Jejune, Stanna, Carrie Wolmer, Mary McK., Lucrezius Borgers,
Claude Hopper, Katie O'Neill, Tweedledum and Tweedledee, John Watson,
Dovey, Fleur de Lis, Rosalind, Little Nell, Spider, C. Saw, Legs, Joe-de
Joe, Flare, Dorio, Marcellus, Maxwell, Louise M. Danforth, Cora Denham,
Woggins & Co., Herbie O., Brig, War Horse, Essie E., B. Gonia, Mary
Roland, Theresa, Mary Pollard, Uncas, Duchess, Olive, Coupay, May De
Hosmer, Al Derman, Meandhim, Beta, Tanganika and Arcanum, V. I. Olin,
Lib Bee and A. L. Vin.

  *COMPLETE LIST--Madora.*




             Easy Methods Of

  MAKING SLIDES FOR THE MAGIC LANTERN,

              By John Boyd.


The new three-wick and four-wick magic lanterns which are now made are
so good, and give so much better results than the old oil lanterns, that
they are coming largely into use, and for ordinary purposes they do
remarkably well. The better class of them stands comparison even with
the oxy-hydrogen light, although of course they are excelled by it. They
are so easily manipulated that many boys now possess them and work them
with good effect. The more expensive ones are fitted with first-class
lenses, and can be used also with the oxy-hydrogen light.

Two years ago my boys became the happy owners of one, and many a
pleasant evening has been passed since, looking at photographs and
pictures by its aid.

It has been used with good effect, even in large rooms, to show
diagrams, to illustrate lectures and to exhibit pictures to the
Sunday-school children.

No sooner had the lantern been obtained, however, than a demand arose
for pictures to show with it. In most large towns they can be hired from
the opticians, but they cost at least twenty-five cents a dozen per
night and, apart from the expense, it is not always convenient to get
them; then to purchase them is more than most boys can afford, as the
commonest, full-sized chromolithographed slides cost from two and a half
to three dollars a dozen, while hand-painted pictures or photographs
vary from three to ten dollars a dozen.

Accordingly we determined to try if we could not make slides for
ourselves, and, as our efforts were crowned with a fair measure of
success, I think it will interest the boy-readers of GOLDEN DAYS, many
of whom, I feel sure, own lanterns, to hear what systems we found to be
the best and easiest. I shall confine myself to those pictures that can
be made entirely by hand, and accordingly will leave photographs out
altogether.

Bought hand-painted slides are usually first photographed on to the
glass from a large outline drawing, and then ; but so few boys
have the means of making their slides in this manner that it will be
best to pass this system by, especially as I shall describe a method of
making the sketch which answers as well, and is much easier.

At the very outset, we were met with a difficulty that we feared would
be insurmountable, and that was that it was almost impossible to make a
neat, fine-lined sketch with a brush and paint on plain, smooth glass;
and, even when this last had been managed, the coloring process often
washed out the outlines and made unsightly smudges, and, as every little
line, spot or smear shows with painful distinctness when magnified on
the sheet, we soon saw that amateur work on these lines would never do.
Fortunately I remembered a process, which I once saw used by a
microscopist, to make diagrams for the lantern to illustrate his
lectures, which answered admirably.

This was simply to draw, with a very hard lead pencil, on ground glass,
then to cover the ground surface with varnish, which rendered the glass
perfectly transparent.

I tried this plan, and got such good results from it that I can strongly
recommend it. By following out the instructions and hints I shall give,
any boy can readily and rapidly make a large series of excellent
pictures for his lantern, which will answer his purpose quite as well as
the most expensive bought slides.

This system has four great advantages: 1. Pictures can easily be traced
on the ground glass, and to those who, like myself, would find it
difficult to invent their own pictures, or to copy them, this counts for
a great deal. 2. The outline can be made very fine, but still very
distinct. 3. The paint will not take on the lead-marks; this renders it
much easier to prevent the color going over the edge of an outline.
4. It is also very much easier to paint on the slightly rough surface of
the ground glass.

There should be no difficulty in procuring this glass at any glazier's.
It need not be plate glass; ordinary ground glass will do, care being
taken to select that with a sufficiently fine and smooth surface, and
not too thick.

I have found _water_ colors for lantern slides the best for painting
with. They are very much easier to use than the _oil_ colors, and are
quite as transparent. Ordinary paints will not do, as some of them come
out perfectly opaque, but a box of the special paints can be procured
for a dollar. A camel's-hair brush, however, is of no use; you must have
a stiff sable brush. One No. 3 or No. 4 will be a handy size, and will
answer for all purposes, even for the finest lines.

In selecting subjects, use those where the outlines are clear and of a
size adapted to the usual sort of slides, which are invariably made now
three and a quarter inches square.

First rub a dozen ground glasses perfectly clean with a wash-leather
that has been washed in water in which a little soda has been dissolved,
to make it quite free from grease. During this cleaning process, the
surface of the glass can be sufficiently moistened by breathing on it.

Trace the entire series of outlines on the ground glasses with an H.H.H.
pencil, making the lines even lighter than the original, for it will be
found most convenient to have a number of slides, say a dozen, in
process at one time. Brush off any loose fragments of black lead, taking
care that they do not mark the glass.

You are now ready to proceed with the coloring, but, as you will wish to
be sure as you go on that you are keeping them sufficiently transparent,
it will be found to be a great help if you can always see through them,
even while painting them.

  [Illustration: FIG. 1]

You had better, therefore, make an inclined stand, and this can easily
be done, the only tools really required being a knife, a brad-awl and a
screw-driver. Procure one piece of wood 14 inches by 6 inches, one piece
of wood 12 inches by 6 inches, one piece of wood 14 inches by 12 inches,
all 3/8 inch or 1/4 inch thick.

Divide the first piece along the dotted line A to B, by cutting right
through it with the point of your knife. These two pieces will make the
sides of your stand. The piece 14 inches by 12 inches will make the
bottom.

Cut two laths 14 inches long, 1/2 inch wide, out of wood 1/4 inch thick,
and tack them along the upper inner edges of the two sides a quarter of
an inch below the top. These will form two ledges. Now fasten the piece
12 inches by 6 inches to rest on these ledges, which will serve to
support the hand. The upper portion remaining must be filled up by a
piece of strong, clear glass, 14 inches by 8 inches, which will rest
on the ledge at each side, and need not be fastened in, as it will
sometimes have to be removed to be cleaned.

Fasten all the parts together with screws, so that you can take it to
pieces and pack it away flat when not in use. Those screws with a ring
at the end instead of a head, such as are used to fasten into the backs
of picture frames to hang them by, are the handiest, as they can be put
in with the fingers, and cost hardly any more than ordinary screws.

This stand will be large enough to hold six slides at once, and enables
the light to shine right through them. A sheet of white paper should be
placed underneath to throw the light up.

Should the light be too strong it can easily be modified by spreading a
sheet of thin, white tissue-paper between the glass and the slides.

Of course daylight is best to work by, but I find you can get on very
nicely with an ordinary oil lamp, if placed at a convenient distance
from the stand.

An ordinary paintbox will contain twelve colors--namely, two blues,
neutral, crimson, brown, yellow, scarlet, burnt sienna, orange, two
greens and black, all but the last being quite transparent. These will
be found sufficient for ordinary work, as they can be greatly varied by
judicious mixing.

First of all the skies should be painted in on all twelve slides. As
long as you do not go over the outlines, great care need not be taken
about laying the color on evenly.

Now cut off a small piece of clean washleather, which has an even,
smooth surface. Let the color become nearly dry, then proceed to dab it
all over with the washleather, held on the end of the finger, breathing
on the slide when necessary, in order to keep it sufficiently moist.

This process must be continued carefully until the whole painted surface
is perfectly even and shows no mark of the brush, and only sufficient
paint must be left on to give a blue tint.

You must always remember that if too darkly painted the pictures will be
too opaque. Clouds can be put in nicely also with the bit of
washleather, but extra work of this sort is hardly worth while.

Then proceed to tint the other portions of the pictures with suitable
colors, doing one color at a time right through the set of slides, but
after applying each color, immediately dab with the washleather, to
render the color even and light.

You will find that by keeping to one color at a time you will get along
much quicker, and will also make the pictures more uniform.

When you have completely tinted all the pictures and "dabbed" all the
 portions, you may then go over them all again and shade them up
where required with rather stronger colors, taking care, however, not to
overdo this.

You will find for faces yellow, with a very slight addition of crimson,
answers the best. It may not look all right on the slide, but it will
when thrown on the sheet.

You will need to consider the effect of the various colors, as some show
much more strongly than others. The next process is to varnish the
glasses to render them transparent.

With most color boxes for painting magic lantern slides a bottle of
varnish for this purpose is supplied, which answers fairly well. It has
to be painted on, after the slides are thoroughly dry, with a large
camel's-hair brush.

Lay one coat on by drawing the brush right across from one side to the
other, taking care that the lines of varnish so deposited slightly
over-lap one another. When this coat of varnish is perfectly dry and
hard, another and sometimes even a third coat must be applied, and it is
best to lay it on at right angles to the previous coat, so that all the
surface is sure to be covered.

Make each coat as thin as possible, and to facilitate this keep the
brush soft by occasionally applying a little turpentine to it. This,
however, is a slow and tantalizing process of varnishing, and there is
an easier and better one. Procure a bottle of Canada balsam in benzole.
It is used for mounting microscopic objects in, and can be got from any
optician's. It should be quite fluid. Get a large wide-mouthed bottle
and pour the balsam and benzole into it. Then add to it as much again
pure benzole. It should now be nearly as fluid as water. This is your
varnish. Apply it just as a photographer coats his glass plate with
collodion. That is done in this manner. Take hold of the slide by one
corner and pour on to it a sufficient quantity of the balsam and benzole
to cover it.

You may need to encourage it to flow by slightly tilting the slide, and
sometimes it may even be needful to take a clean quill toothpick and
direct it into some corners that otherwise would be missed. Then pour
back all the superfluous varnish into the bottle from one corner of the
slide; the varnish remaining will rapidly harden, as the benzole
evaporates quickly, and the hardening may be hastened by applying a
little heat, but while hardening the slides should be protected from
dust.

  [Illustration: FIG. 2.]

I make mine perfectly hard by baking them on a thin iron plate fixed a
few inches above a small spirit lamp, but you need to take care not to
make the slides too hot, or they may crack. I can easily varnish and
harden a dozen slides in less than an hour.

A thin plate of iron, such as is used for an oven plate, can be arranged
on blocks of wood, a sufficient height over the spirit lamp. One coat of
this varnish is usually sufficient to render the slides perfectly
transparent, but a second coat can be applied as soon as the first is
hard if necessary.

The slides are now finished, but the varnished surface will easily
scratch, and must be protected by a piece of clean glass. Between the
glasses a thin paper mount should be laid, which may be a circle, an
oval, or a square, according to which is most suitable to the pictures,
and then the two glasses must be fastened together by narrow slips of
paper gummed round the edge. These mounts, and slips of paper ready
gummed, can be procured from any optician, and will save labor,
especially in fixing up the edges.

Before you join the glasses together insert at the right hand top corner
a number, so that by looking at this number you can readily arrange the
pictures in their proper sequence, and also tell which is the right side
up when putting them into the lantern carrier.

Sometimes you may wish to copy some other slides, but owing to their
having the covering glasses on you cannot trace them readily direct on
to your ground glasses.

This difficulty is overcome by using tracing paper, making the lines
with a fine crow-quill and ink. Then you can easily trace from these
copies through the ground glass. We also made some very good sets of
shadow pictures by cutting out suitable sketches in paper from the comic
and other illustrated journals, and mounting them between two sheets of
glass. These answered admirably, and when carefully cut out, no one
would believe, when thrown on the sheet, that they had not been painted.

We also made some sets of tracings on plain glass, of sketches in black
and white. Of course ink would not do, as a fine line could not be drawn
with it, and it was too transparent, but we found that, by using black
water color, in which a drop or two of thin gum had been mixed, it was
quite easy to draw upon plain glass with a fine pen, and then the solid
parts could be filled in with a sable brush.

Comic sets copied from the illustrated papers were very easily made, and
came out exceedingly well on the sheet and afforded great amusement.
This system, and the cutting out in paper, is very simple, and of course
takes much less time than the  and varnished drawings on
roughened glass.




THE AKHOOND OF SWAT.

By J. H. S.


A number of years ago there came over the cable an announcement that the
Akhoond of Swat had died, and immediately there was an outburst of
merriment in the newspapers. No one could tell who or what he was, many
believed him to be a myth, and for a long time the Akhoond was a
standing joke among paragraph writers all over the world.

But the Akhoond was a real personage and no joke, and it is only
recently that we have found out what a really great man he was.

Swat itself is a considerable province of Afghanistan, bordering on
India, and just southwest of the Pamirs. The Akhoond was not, however,
its civil ruler. At any rate, he was not nominally so. The title Akhoond
merely means "teacher," and he was, primarily, a religious teacher and
nothing more.

He lived in the town of Saidu, and he reached manhood and began to teach
the people more than half a century ago, when Dost Mohammed was Ameer of
Cabul.

An intense fanatic and a mystic, he exerted a marvelous sway over the
people of Swat, who like all the Afghan tribes, are nervous,
imaginative, and given to mysticism. So he became not only their
spiritual prophet, but their military leader as well.

He led the hosts of Islam against the Sikhs, in the days when Dost
Mohammed planned to conquer all India, and many are the stories told of
his prowess.

Nor did he fight alone against the Indians, but in 1863 he led the
Afghans in their battle with the British at Umbeyla, and made himself
the most feared man in all the Afghan empire.

When not busy in the wars, the Akhoond was always to be found at Saidu.
From sunrise to sunset he sat in his mosque, reproving the erring,
comforting the mourners, encouraging the faithful, and cursing the
obstinate unbelievers.

Disputes of every sort were brought to him for settlement. Troubles of
all kinds were brought to him to be made right. Hundreds of miracles
were performed by him every day. The sick were made well in an instant.

A man would come, lamenting that his horse was lost, and would find it
the next moment at the door of the mosque. A carpenter was bewailing
that a beam was three feet too short for the needed purpose, and in a
twinkling it grew to exactly the length required.

A visitor in the city wished to return speedily to his home in
Constantinople, thousands of miles away. He was bade to close his eyes,
and the next moment opened them in his home.

To tell the people of Swat that these things were not so, would have
been equivalent to telling them that light was darkness. No wonder,
then, that the Akhoond was a power in the land, and that Ameer after
Ameer sought his assistance.

Shere Ali was the last. When he began his last struggle with the
British, he begged the Akhoond to lead his armies as of old. But death
stepped in, and the Akhoond passed into history.

Yet still his virtues abide. The mosque in which he taught is the
holiest place in all Swat, and miracles are daily wrought there. The
Akhoond's son does not succeed him as a teacher, but he inherits the
worldly possessions of the Akhoond, and these are enough to make him the
richest man in all Swat.




         [_This Story began in No.44._]

                 A PLUCKY GIRL
                      or,
              "For Father's Sake."

            A Story Of Prairie Land

                BY CELIA PEARSE,

    Author Of "Little Gothamites," "Will She
      Win Her Way?" "A Wise Little Woman,"
                   etc., etc.


CHAPTER XXIV.

Lottie was so vexed and indignant that, for a moment, she could neither
move nor speak. Eva, too, was perplexed, and whispered into Lottie's
ear:

"What does the woman want? Is she going to take our things away
from us?"

Before Lottie could reply, the man who had been loitering around the
barn and outside premises, came up to the door, and, with a smile meant
to be ingratiating, bade them good-morning.

Lottie started at the sound of his voice. She thought she recognized it,
but was not quite sure. She rose from her chair and returned the
greeting.

"I'm one of your new neighbors," continued the visitor, planting himself
in the doorway and resting a hand upon the frame upon either side. "The
old woman an' me thought we'd come over an' git acquainted. I reckon she
has told you who we air?"

Lottie listened to this speech with intent ears. Yes, the voice was the
same she had heard that evening, weeks before, plotting to deprive them
of their home.

She did not doubt that it was he who had persuaded Jimmy to run away;
that he was the "friend" who had promised the boy work and wages and
independence, and so had gotten him out of his way.

Lottie crossed the room, Eva still clinging to her hand, and, when but a
few steps distant from the man in the doorway, stopped, and, looking him
straight in the eye, said:

"Yes, Mr. Highton, I know who you are. Will you please tell me where my
brother Jimmy is?"

Mr. Highton's hands dropped from the door-frame, and he took a step
backward. A dark flush spread over his countenance; his eyes wavered and
fell. But he recovered himself almost instantly, and, with a harsh,
disagreeable laugh, made answer.

"Tell you where your brother Jimmy is? Why, miss, I didn't know you had
a brother Jimmy. Has the young man been gittin' himself lost?"

"No, he has not been getting himself lost; but _some one_, pretending to
be his friend, has persuaded him to leave us, promising him money and
good times. And, Mr. Highton, I believe that _you are the man!_"

Mr. Mart Highton laughed again, more harshly and boisterously than
before. Then he said, still pretending to be amused:

"I declare I didn't expect to be treated this way, or I shouldn't 'a
come to see you. I'll send one o' the _boys_ next time, an' mebbe you'll
treat 'em better. You hain't so much as invited me in to take a seat!"

Lottie turned indignantly away, and, without giving the solicited
invitation, retreated to the sitting-room.

Here she found Mrs. Highton, seated in the big arm-chair, looking about
her with a self-satisfied air.

As Lottie and Eva entered, she exclaimed:

"Well, you an' Mart's been gittin' acquainted, I reckon. I heerd you
laughin' together. He's mighty friendly, an' easy to git acquainted
with. We all be, fer that matter. Some folks is so kind o' stuck up, or
somethin', that it takes a month o' Sundays to git to know 'em. But the
Hightons ain't that way!"

Lottie made no reply to these remarks. She was troubled and disgusted,
and did not know how to get rid of her unwelcome visitors. She sank,
silently, upon the couch by the window.

Mrs. Highton stopped her rocking, and turned her chair so that she could
face her listeners, and resumed:

"Mart an' me's bin talkin' 'bout the way you children's situated here.
Mrs. Green told me all about it, afore she went away. An' she says to
me, says she, 'Them poor, motherless, orphant children hadn't orto be
livin' over there by theirselves,' says she; 'but the oldest
girl'--that's you, I reckon" nodding at Lottie--"'is mighty sot an'
determined, an' is bound to stick to the place.'

"So Mart an' me, we've been talkin' it over, an' we concluded to come
an' hev a talk with you. He says to me, says he, 'If the children want
to go to their relations, we'll buy their housell stuff--fer we're
a-needin' the things--an' they kin take the money an' go. But if they'd
ruther stay, why, let 'em stay.'"

Mrs. Highton paused a moment, as if expecting to be thanked for this
generous concession. But as Lottie made no response, she continued:

"Him an' me thought that if you was so sot to stay here, mebbe you'd be
willin' to let us move in with you. His brother Ike's got a big family,
an' they're about took possession of the cabin the Greens moved out of.
The boys is goin' to put up shanties on their claims, but we'd like to
git settled quick as we kin, for we've been livin' jest 'anyhow' long
'nough. We could all live together in one family, an' that way your
livin' wouldn't cost you a cent. Mart says he'd look after things on the
place, an' I'd be a kind o' mother to you. It wouldn't be near so
lonesome fer you, an' it would be a 'commodation to us. Our gittin' the
use o' the house an' sich like would make you square about the
board-bill. Now, what do you say to our offer?"

[Illustration:
MR. HIGHTON SHIFTED IN HIS SEAT, AND SAID, IN AN INSINUATING
TONE, "YOU SEEM TO HEV A VERY POOR OPINION OF ME, MISS."]

Lottie shuddered at the idea of living in the house with these people.
And, being forewarned, she was quick to see that this was a plan
designed to entrap her--that the Hightons wished to get possession of
the house, and a hold upon the place, so as to oust her completely; for
that they would not scruple to get rid of herself and Eva, when it
suited them to do so, she was well assured. Jimmy, poor, credulous boy,
had already been gotten out of the way. Oh, why did not her father come?

Her heart felt as if it would burst, and for a moment she could not
utter one word. But she struggled bravely for composure, and presently
said, in a voice that in spite of her trembled a little:

"I cannot make any such arrangement. I hope and expect my father home
soon. And he would not be pleased to find his house filled with
strangers. Eva and I are getting along very well, and we have plenty to
live on."

"It seems to me you orto be satisfied by this time that your father
ain't never goin' to come back," replied Mrs. Highton, in a harsh voice.
"It's orful silly of you to stick to that notion! An' you orto consider
'tain't fit fer you two girls to be livin' here alone. There ain't no
knowin' what might happen. It would be 'nough sight better if you had
somebody here to look after you. Then ag'in, you wouldn't be tied down
to home like you be now. You'd hev somebody to leave the little girl
with, an' could git out an' enjoy yourself like other young folks. You'd
better think twice afore you say 'no' fer good an' all."

Lottie felt Eva's fingers closing tightly upon her own, the poor child
was imagining herself left to the care of Mrs. Highton! She pressed the
quivering little hand reassuringly and rose to her feet.

"I don't need to think any more about it. I have given you my answer,"
she said, firmly.

At that moment a heavy step was heard crossing the porch, and Mr.
Highton, with a sneering smile upon his face, thrust his head through
the open window.

"Come, old woman," he said to his wife, "you go along home an' see 'bout
gittin' dinner, an' _I'll_ settle this matter with little miss, here."


CHAPTER XXV.

The stars were growing dim, and a faint light was dawning in the east,
when, at last, Jimmy Claxton's slumbers were disturbed and he opened his
sleepy eyes.

There was a confusion of sounds filling his ears, a snapping and
snarling and growling that frightened and bewildered him. It was several
moments before he could remember where he was or why he was there, lying
on the ground beneath the open sky.

But his brain cleared presently, and he sprang to his feet and looked
about him. Where was his friend and companion of the previous day? Where
were the horses he had himself so carefully picketed the evening before?
And what was that snarling, fighting mass just visible in the dawning
light but a few rods distant?

Jimmy found himself very much awake about this time, for it had flashed
upon him that at least a score of prairie-wolves were there before him
and that the yelping that had awakened him came from their throats.

He involuntarily opened his mouth to call out for Mr. Highton, but the
thought came quickly into his mind that a sound from him might draw the
attention of the pack to himself, and this restrained him.

He wondered where Mr. Highton could be, and what it was that the wolves
were fighting over and feasting upon. A terrible fear took possession of
him. Had the creatures killed Mr. Highton while he lay sleeping, and
were they now devouring him?

He dared not venture nearer to investigate. He was afraid to move at all
lest the beasts should hear him. But, after a little hesitation, he
resolved to try to get away to the opposite side of the ravine and there
conceal himself until the pack dispersed.

Jimmy moved cautiously away, but had not gone far when, turning to look
back, he saw half a dozen of the wolves coming toward him at a gallop.

He knew that he could not outrun them, and, looking about for any
possible refuge, he saw, not far away, projecting ten or fifteen feet
above the surface of the ravine, the scraggy branches of a tree, which
overhung the depths beneath it.

With his best speed the boy dashed forward, and, scrambling down the
sides of the gorge until he reached the spot in which the tree was
rooted, he began to climb up its bent and twisted trunk.

The tree was but a small one, and its upper branches were hardly strong
enough to bear his weight, but he climbed upward until they swayed and
bent, and threatened to snap beneath him; then, grasping the largest of
them, one in each hand, and resting his feet on the best support he
could find for them, Jimmy braced himself and awaited his pursuers.

They soon came up, and leaped and howled and snarled about the tree, but
they could not reach their wished-for prey; and, after awhile, they
seemed to realize that they were losing their share--and a slender one
it must have been, or they would never have deserted it--of the feast
being enjoyed by their fellows, and trotted back, to renew their fight
over poor Cottontail's bones.

Jimmy breathed freer for a few minutes after their departure, but his
situation was anything but comfortable or agreeable. It was a strain
upon his muscles to maintain his position, and there was constant danger
that the limbs he was supporting himself by would break and tumble him
to the bottom of the ravine. And yet he dared not descend to the ground,
because, the wolves might attack or pursue him at any moment. The day
grew brighter and the sun appeared, and still Jimmy clung to his
swaying, uncertain support, until it seemed to him that he _must_
descend and give relief to his aching arms and feet.

But he knew that a race between himself and the wolves upon the open
prairie would be a hopeless one for him; for, emboldened as the
naturally cowardly creatures always were by numbers, they would never
give up the chase until they had run him down.

Thus two long hours passed, and meantime a painful consciousness grew
upon him that his usual morning meal was lacking. He thought, with
longing, of the delicious, mealy, baked potatoes and corn-fritters, with
their respective accompaniments of cream-gravy and fresh butter, that
had probably adorned Lottie's breakfast-table, and wondered if, when
released from his very unpleasant predicament, he would have strength
enough remaining to enable him to make his way to the ranch, ten miles
further on, according to Mr. Highton, where he could procure something
to fill the "aching void" that was making him more and more
uncomfortable.

At length, to his great joy, the sounds of fighting and snarling grew
less and less, and although he was unable to see from his station the
place where the pack had congregated, Jimmy felt sure that they had
dispersed, and, wearied and cramped, he ventured to descend to the
ground.

He stole cautiously out of the ravine to reconnoitre, and found his
surmise correct. There was not a wolf to be seen. They had stolen away
through the tall grass to their abiding-places, and the prairie showed
no sign of any living creature save himself.

After waiting a short time to make sure that they were really gone,
Jimmy ran forward to discover what it was that they had been feasting
upon. As he neared the spot, he uttered a cry of dismay. The tall grass
had hidden the object until he was within a few yards of it, but now he
saw that it had been his pony. The bones were not yet picked clean,
although more than half of the carcass was eaten, and Jimmy wondered, as
he rushed forward, that the voracious beasts had left a morsel
undevoured. But he did not wonder long; for a low, peculiar sound,
seeming to rise from the earth at his very feet, startled him, and he
saw, stretched upon the ground like a great cat, not six yards away, an
animal the like of which he had never seen before. But he had heard of
the lions which sometimes came down from the mountainous and broken
country farther west, and knew that this creature must be one of them.

He understood then what had driven the wolves away, and wished himself
safely back in his tree-top. The lion lashed its tail and partly rose
from its position on the ground, but it subsided again as Jimmy stood
stock-still, with eyes of horror fixed upon it. The probabilities are
that it was satiated with food, and only wished to guard the prey it had
already secured from further molestation. However that may be, it made
no other movement than to lift its head and swish its tail, as if in
warning, and Jimmy backed slowly away as long as he could endure the
strain of moving slowly; and then, when he felt that he _must_ run, he
turned and flew over the ground with the speed of a deer until he was
forced to stop from sheer exhaustion.


CHAPTER XXVI.

When Jimmy at length stopped running, he found that he had left the
ravine quite out of sight. The country about him was rolling, and as the
wind waved the tall grass before his eyes, it was as if he were looking
upon a great gray-green sea, and the ravine doubtless lay between the
billow-like swells of land that spread out in vast expanse before him.

He looked about him and became more and more bewildered. He could not
determine which course he ought to take in order to reach the ranch
described to him by Mr. Highton.

It never occurred to him that this great cattle ranch, where he was to
get "big wages" and have "lots of fun," had no existence, save in his
"friend's" imagination.

Then again he fell to wondering where Mr. Highton could be. He could not
bring himself to believe that a man--a grown man--had been so frightened
by the lion that he had run away and left him--a boy--to take his
chances, unarmed and alone!

And yet the last he knew of Mr. Highton, he was lying near him, with his
saddle and bridle beneath his head, apparently sleeping and settled for
the night.

And now Jimmy recalled the fact that, when he was awakened that morning
and had looked about him, there was no saddle or other accoutrements to
be seen, and the natural conclusion was that Mr. Highton had ridden
deliberately away. It might be that he had gone upon some exploring
expedition of his own and knew nothing of the lion--that he meant to
return.

But Jimmy found little comfort in these reflections, and he began to
wish most heartily that he was safely back in his own comfortable home.

Then his thoughts took a different direction. He wondered what Lottie
and Eva would say, if they knew of the fate which had befallen poor
Cottontail, their pet and favorite! And what would Lottie think when she
discovered that he had abstracted papers from his father's desk? She had
always guarded the contents of the desk so jealously, that nothing
should be destroyed or mislaid that had been placed there by her parents
for safe keeping.

His conduct had put on a new appearance to him, all at once, and he felt
miserable and ashamed. Mr. Highton had assured him that he wanted the
documents only for a short time, to compare some figures and numbers,
which would help him the better to locate a claim of his own, about
which there was some difficulty.

But Jimmy's confidence in his whilom friend was weakening with a
rapidity that made him very uncomfortable; and the longer he meditated
the more certain he was that he had been fooled and that Mr. Highton had
purposely deserted him.

He began to realize how much easier it is to take a wrong step than to
retrace it. It seemed to him that he could _never_ return home and tell
the dismal tale of the poor pony's fate, and of his own guilt in the
matter of taking those papers from his father's desk.

What then was to be done? Jimmy did not know, and his unhappy
reflections became so unbearable that he could no longer rest, and he
hurried on again.

The sun beat down upon him, his thirst increased and he grew faint with
hunger and weariness; but he walked on and on, hoping every moment to
see some sign of human habitation. But he hoped in vain; not so much as
a herder's hut met his eye. On every side stretched the sea-like
prairie, and no living thing was to be seen.

And so for weary hours he toiled on, distracted with thirst, sick for
lack of food and growing more bewildered and disheartened with every
step. At length he sank down, utterly exhausted.

It was then about four o'clock in the afternoon, and he had been walking
beneath a burning sun since early morning, and had had no morsel of food
or drop of water since the evening before.

He fell into a sort of stupor, and while he thus lay dark clouds began
to gather, and mutterings of thunder rolled along the sky. And presently
the sun was obscured and a kind of weird twilight settled down upon the
prairie.

For a time the thunder ceased, the air grew thick and close, and the
silence of death seemed to have fallen upon the world.

Then came a mighty roar, as if the elements were defying each other, and
the rain was dashed upon the earth or swirled through the air with
furious force.

The dashing of the rain upon his face aroused Jimmy, and he rose up,
fighting against the wind, which threatened to take him off his feet,
and, holding out his hands, he gathered enough of the down-pouring flood
to appease his thirst.

Then he staggered on, buffeted by the wind and blinded by the driving
rain, turning this way and that to escape the lashings of the deluge
that swept over him, until his strength gave out, and he dropped to the
ground more dead than alive.

At that instant he felt himself picked up and whirled through the air as
if he had been a feather.

Then he knew no more until, opening his eyes, he found the sun shining
upon his face and the clear, blue sky above him.

But the sun was not more than an hour high, and the thought that he must
pass another night alone upon the prairie was discouraging.

His clothes were wet as they could be, and the cool wind, blowing upon
him, made him tremble and shiver.

He was bruised and sore and weak, but happily his "ride upon the storm"
had not resulted in serious injury. There were no broken bones to
disable him.

The water he had drank had refreshed him greatly, but oh, how hunger
gnawed upon him!

He sat up and looked about him in shivering despair. He found that he
had been lying upon the verge of a fissure in the ground, such as are
often come upon in prairie countries.

It was but a few feet deep and three or four wide at the top. He threw
himself forward, face downward, and looked listlessly into this cleft in
the earth, thinking that perhaps, if he had strength enough left to
gather an armful or two of grass to lie upon, a bed down there,
sheltered as it would be from the wind, would be more comfortable than
where he then was.

But as his dull eyes roved over the bottom of the narrow chasm, they saw
something that put new life and hope into his despairing heart.

A few yards from where he lay, evidently blown there by the storm that
had just passed, were three or four prairie-chickens, huddled together,
with drenched plumage, their lives drowned out of them.

The trench had been filled with water by the tremendous fall of rain,
which had now soaked away through the fissures in its bottom, and the
chickens had lodged against some unevenness of surface, as the water
subsided.

Jimmy descended into the gap and quickly secured one of the birds; then
he looked about for some means of cooking it. He was ravenously hungry,
but could he eat raw meat?


CHAPTER XXVII.

Lottie was startled out of her self-possession by Mr. Highton's speech
to his wife. She turned quickly, and stretching out an imploring hand
toward her, begged her not to go.

But Mrs. Highton, with a coarse laugh, exclaimed, "Oh, you needn't be
afraid. He ain't a-goin' to hurt you!" and walked out of the room.

There were a few whispered words between man and wife before the woman
left the house, and while these were being said, Lottie's courage was
coming back, and when Mr. Highton came in he found her seated composedly
upon the lounge, with Eva nestled close to her side.

He threw himself into the arm-chair which his wife had vacated, and sat
for some minutes eying Lottie from under his shaggy eye-brows, without
speaking. Then he shifted in his seat, crossed one leg over the other
and said, in an insinuating tone.

"You seem to hev a very poor opinion of me, miss."

Lottie made no reply to this, and he continued, more roughly:

"You think I had a hand in your brother's runnin' off. How did you come
by sech an idea as that?"

"I have already told you that I know _some one_ persuaded him to go. No
one but you could have had any object in doing that," replied Lottie,
steadily.

"Wal, I declare! What did _I_ want the boy to run off fer?" asked Mr.
Highton, in pretended surprise, while an angry flush rose to his cheek.

"I can't answer that question."

"Wal, it's best not to throw out insinerations that you can't prove. An'
it will be all the better fer you, if you make up your mind to be
friendly with me. Because, if you ain't, you'll find yourself in a
middlin' bad box before very long. My wife an' me, we wants to be
friendly, an' is willin' to do the best we kin fer you; that's what we
come over this morning to talk about."

"I am getting along very well--I don't need any kind of help from any
one, at present," said Lottie coldly.

"You're mighty inderpendent fer a bit of a girl; but when you come to
find out jest how you air fixed, you may change your tune," and Mart
Highton grinned maliciously.

Lottie made no answer, and he continued:

"We come to you, my wife an' I did, to let you know that this place
_belongs to us_; but, not wishin' to be too hard on you, we offered you
the privilege of stayin' on here with us till you could make some other
'rangements. I told my wife to be easy on you, an' not break the news
too suddint, but she didn't seem to work it jest right. So the next best
plan is to come out plain an' let you know exactly how you're situated."

"I'd like to know, if there's anything I don't understand," said Lottie,
so quietly that Mr. Highton looked rather astonished at the way she was
taking the matter.

"Wal, then, this is the way the business stands. When your father
settled down here, an' entered his quarter-section, he jest made a
mistake an' put his improvements on the wrong quarter. Nobody didn't
happen to discover the mistake, fer folks wasn't comin' in here to no
great extent; but, now a railroad is bein' talked of, people is lookin'
after things middlin' sharp. I found out how it was 'tother day, when I
was over to the land office, an' I jest clipped in an' filed on it
quicker'n a wink. So now I'm goin' to come right along an' take
possession. You kin stay, as I said afore, 'till you kin make other
'rangements--_purvided_ you're a mind to make yourself agreeable! 'Taint
everybody as would be so easy on you, you must remember!"

"No, _it is not_ every one who would try to rob helpless children,"
answered Lottie, scornfully. "I do not believe a single word of your
story. You have prepared a scheme to rob us of our home--to drive us
away from the only shelter we have; but you will not succeed in your
wicked plans. I intend to keep possession here, until father comes back,
and will defend his home against claim jumpers as long as there is life
in my body."

Lottie had risen as she made this declaration, and stood cool and
resolute before the man whom she knew had determined to drive her out of
her father's house. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes gleamed, her form seemed
taller by an inch, and she looked quite unlike the bright-faced, merry
girl that she usually was.

Eva clung to her hand and looked up at her in wonder. What had this
hateful visitor said that had made Lottie so angry? She was not able to
understand the meaning of his words, but Eva knew he had offended her
dear sister, and she bent her brows and sent indignant glances in his
direction.

But Mart Highton paid little heed to the child; he was wondering how
this young girl, whom he had expected so easily to impose upon, had
penetrated his scheme, and how long she would hold out against him.

He knew nothing of the solitary night watch when those words of his
which had put her on her guard had reached her ears.

That a young girl like this should "show fight," as he phrased it to
himself, was a complete surprise, and for a moment he stared at her
silently. Then he burst into a loud laugh, and, when he had laughed long
enough, he said, jocosely:

"An' so you're a-goin' to hold on to my quarter-section, be you? You're
a mighty peart sort of a girl! I declar' I admire your spunk! But if I
was you, I wouldn't look _too_ strong fer that father o' yourn. You'll
never set eyes on _him_ till Gabriel blows his horn: an' that'll be a
middlin' long spell to hold out agin me an' the land office."

And Mart Highton laughed again at his own wit.

Lottie was too indignant at his brutality to make any answer. She felt
her limbs trembling beneath her, and sat down again quickly that it
might not be noticed, for she really feared the man.

But the gentleman in the arm-chair made no offensive movement, as she
had thought he might do; for in her eyes he was a wretch capable of any
crime, and, knowing that she and Eva were utterly alone and friendless
in this isolated spot, might he not have it in his heart to kill them
and so get them out of his way?

She knew instinctively that he was a man who would hesitate at nothing
that would serve to gain his ends. If he could not get possession of the
property he coveted in any other way, what was there to hinder him if he
chose to take their lives? There was not a friend, not even an
acquaintance, within miles of them who would be interested to inquire
into their fate. And then a dreadful fear flashed upon her. Perhaps he
_had_ murdered Jimmy--had lured him away from home with fair promises,
and had then killed him.

Her face blanched at the thought as she turned and looked searchingly at
the hateful countenance confronting her, and, almost without knowing
that she spoke, Lottie uttered the words, very nearly like those with
which she had first greeted him:

"What have you done with my brother Jimmy?"

Mart Highton sprang to his feet, pale with anger, and, with one great
stride, came to where Lottie was sitting.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




        [_This Story began in No. 45._]

                EPHRAIM CLARK'S
            FIRST AND ONLY VOYAGE.

              By E. Shippen, M.D.


                 CHAPTER XVII.

             EPH SEES GREAT PEOPLE.

At midday the big "dug-out," called La Belle Acadienne, paddled up to
the landing, under the charge of an old creole, who was to take Eph
Clark to New Orleans and then to lodgings at a French house, when Eph
was to seek an interview with the governor and carry out the
instructions he had received.

The Belle Acadienne had an awning over her after part, where the
passengers would be protected from the night-damp; and there were lots
of things to eat, with a cooking place forward, presided over by a
grizzled old <DW64>, who produced some very nice dishes from his few pots
and pans.

The "padron," or head of the boat, and six paddlers, made up, with Eph
and Eric and the old Creole, ten in all.

As soon as the passengers were on board, the canoe went away, almost
north, up the bay.

By nightfall they had entered a deep but narrow bayou, and then there
was a fresh surprise for Eph and Eric.

In the bow of the canoe, hanging well over the water, was an iron crane,
which supported a grating, on which was kept burning, after dark, chunks
of fat pine, which lit up everything around with a rich, yellow light.

As they got farther into the bayou, the banks seemed to disappear, and
they were, as it appeared to Eph--who had never been in such a
country--navigating between rows of huge trees, gray with moss, which
hung from the branches in long festoons, like giant cobwebs.

The fire-light, glowing on the surroundings, showed the most surprising
things to the boys, although the crew seemed to think nothing of them.
Out of the darkness, among the trees and bushes, would peer two bright
marks, which the men said was a deer.

Then would come a great plash in the still water of the bayou, and the
pine knots showed a huge alligator, sulkily sinking, and apparently
uncertain whether to make fight or not, at this invasion of his
territory.

Great gar-fish shot away from the canoe as she went on, and big owls
hooted at being disturbed, sometimes flapping almost into the burning
knots. Herons, and other large birds flopped up from points where they
had been fishing, and sailed away up the bayou with great croaks and
hoarse calls, which were answered from the darkness of the dense bush
and high trees by paroquets and many other birds and animals, disturbed
in their slumbers by the unusual invasion.

The canoe paddled steadily on, until some time late in the night they
reached a curious formation in the middle of the swampy forest.

It was an island, not more than an acre in extent, and quite high, where
the padron said they were accustomed to stop to cook and sleep, for the
men had had a long pull.

As soon as they had eaten the hot supper, which the cook served shortly
after landing, the boys lay down in the canoe on soft mats and slept
until the daylight began to show through the tops of the trees.

The old padron soon had the cook up, and he made a pot of coffee such as
the boys, in their experience of ship's cooking, had never tasted, and
off they went again, threading the tortuous channels, which would be
entirely impassable to any one not accustomed to them.

Once or twice they came into a great lake, full of cypress stumps and
knees, and of alligators also, and several times, on the edges of the
cane-brakes which they sometimes passed, were bears and deer and
quantities of smaller animals, as well as birds.

Eph was so interested at all this that he almost forgot his new position
as a messenger carrying important letters, and it was only, at last,
when they pulled into a small canal, that he began to think about it.

This canal led up to a place where the water communication seemed to
stop. The padron left them for a few moments, and then returned with a
dozen <DW64>s, who came from some huts in a grove of trees, and they
quickly ran her up an incline, and were ready to launch her down again.

Then Eph and Eric were really astonished. They were on a great
embankment, or levee, which seemed to hold in the water of a mighty
river, running with resistless force.

The Mississippi, the padron told them; and then pointed to the other
side, below, where there appeared the buildings of a large town, with
towers and the masts of vessels.

It seemed strange to Eph to emerge from a wilderness and to see such
evidences of civilization, but, young as he was, he had already passed
through many strange scenes, and braced himself up for the business with
which he was charged.

The men launched the canoe down into the brimming river on the other
side of the levee--they were kept there for that purpose by Lafitte, Eph
found out--and then they paddled away for the city.

It was a very different business from the navigation in the slack waters
of the bayous. The current of muddy water ran with great swiftness, and
great swirls, as of a whirlpool, sometimes almost turned the canoe
round.

But she had Lafitte's best crew, and they shot her across the wide,
yellow expanse of water in a way which surprised Eph, as much as he had
seen of boats and canoes.

As it was, they only brought up at the lower part of the town, where
they landed.

There were some people there who seemed to know the canoe very well, and
one long-bearded old Frenchman led Eph and Eric up to his house, where
he gave them some dinner, and then told them they had better go to bed
and rest.

He was Lafitte's principal agent, and when he had read the letter his
chief had sent him he at once began to prepare for an interview with the
governor.

Everybody in New Orleans knew that an invasion by the British forces was
now near at hand.

Governor Claiborne called his council together on the very day after Eph
Clark got there.

Governor Claiborne was the first American governor of Louisiana, and he
had a pretty hard time to reconcile American notions and laws with the
long-settled customs of the district.

But he had a powerful advocate in Judge Edward Livingston, who spoke the
language perfectly, and was a thorough lawyer.

Then there was General Villere, of the Louisiana militia, a brave and
honest man.

When the governor heard that there was a messenger from Lafitte, he was
at first much put out; but he called his council together, and summoned
Eph Clark to appear.

Eph was under a sort of arrest--as two men followed him about--but he
kept up a good face, and at ten o'clock appeared before the governor and
his council with the letter Lafitte had charged him to deliver.

With it he delivered the letter of the English Captain Lockyer, with its
proposals. They were opened and read aloud by a clerk, while Eph stood
at the foot of the table, gazed at by all the council. Then a member of
the council spoke and said:

"I do not believe in making terms with pirates. This story about the
English captain is no doubt merely a scheme to get his brother, who is a
prisoner here, released. He is here on a charge of smuggling, as you all
know."

Eph Clark's temper rose at hearing this speech, and, losing all shyness,
he replied:

"If it pleases your excellency and the rest of the gentlemen, I may say
that I know there are some bad men at Barataria, who are there from
choice; but _I_ was taken there against my will. I could not help
myself. I am no particular champion of Lafitte, but he means right in
this matter, I know, and I myself went with him to meet the Englishmen
and bring them in. Captain Lockyer's letter is genuine, and they mean
all they say. Gambio and Johannot are bad men, but I believe Lafitte is
not, and, if the enemy come here, will be willing to do all he can for
our side."

When Eph had got this far, and all the gentlemen had turned to listen,
he stopped and stammered and blushed, astonished at his own temerity.

A thin, grave gentleman, whom he afterward knew to be Governor
Claiborne, answered at once:

"Well spoken, lad! very well spoken!"

And then two other gentlemen, whom he afterward knew to be Judge Edward
Livingston and General Villere, of the Louisiana militia, chimed in.

Judge Livingston said that he believed that Lafitte was well disposed,
and that, as for his irregular trade, that was what was going on under
the old state of things, and must be put a stop to gradually.

While he was speaking, a messenger hastily entered and gave the governor
a written dispatch which announced the arrival of the enemy's fleet,
with troop ships, at the passes of the Mississippi.

In a few moments the feeling of the gentlemen who had opposed having
anything to do with Lafitte, suffered a change, and it was agreed that
Eph should hurry back by the way he came and bear a message accepting
Lafitte's offers of assistance in the defense of the city, as well as
thanks for having declined the British advances.

When the letter was delivered to Eph, the governor and Judge Livingston
and General Villere asked him about himself, and when Eph modestly and
shortly told them his story, they were more astonished than ever.

"All right, lad!" said the governor. "Do you come back with any force
which may be sent, and, after this trouble is over, these gentlemen and
myself will promise to look out for you. Tell Lafitte that we know
General Jackson is close at hand, with a force of Tennessee and Kentucky
riflemen; but we need artillery for our works and men used to serving
large guns. Let him send us those, and we shall be glad. Go now, and
when you come back, let me see you."

Eph was off at once to the agent's, where he found Eric and the canoe's
crew, and was across the river and winding through the bayous before the
sun went down. So full was he of his important message that he hardly
allowed a halt of a few hours to cook and rest, and arrived at Barataria
on the second morning after leaving New Orleans.


CHAPTER XVIII.

CONCLUSION.

When the Belle Acadienne was announced as coming down the bay, Lafitte
himself went to the landing, so anxious was he to hear the news of which
Eph Clark was the bearer.

As they walked back together to the chief's house, Eph told him all that
had occurred in the council. And Lafitte told him that Johannot had
reported the arrival of the British fleet, for he had been sent out to
reconnoiter, and that he had also sent a message to the English captain
which would prevent him from being certain whether they would be guided
through the bayous or not.

While Eph got some needed refreshment, orders were sent to assemble all
the guns' crews of the pirate vessels in the fort.

There were about two hundred selected, the best and most capable
gunners, and they were at once put under vigorous drill--Eph being made
a lieutenant of the battery.

In the meantime canoes and boats were prepared to take the cannon and
their carriages, with ammunition and stores and utensils of all kinds,
through the secret route, and up to the plain of the east side of the
river, where great works had been thrown up to resist the invaders,
which works stretched between the river and the swamp on the left.

When the artillery and men arrived they were immediately sent to this
work, where they found the battery of an American gun-boat, the
Carolina, also stationed. There was another gun-boat, the Louisiana,
afloat on the river, with a powerful battery of guns, which did good
service in the approaching fight.

The long row of earth-works which the Americans occupied had not been
quite finished, so the top of a great deal of the line was made of
cotton bales, which protected the riflemen from the enemy's bullets to a
great extent, but were easily disarranged and set on fire by artillery.
Some people thought that they would have been better without the cotton
bales, but they were then, and they were always afterwards, associated
with the battle.

When the firing actually began it was discovered that the British had
found a quantity of sugar hogsheads in the plantations, and had used
them in building their batteries, but they were not as good as the
cotton bales at resisting fire, as it turned out.

Eph Clark had Eric as a sergeant in the battery of which he was
lieutenant, on the night of the 7th of January, 1814, by which time all
was ready.

They lay in a rough hut, back of the battery, and the men were talking
and smoking, all around them, as they speculated on the chances of next
day's battle, for everybody knew it would occur then, probably at
daylight.

At last they dropped off into an uneasy doze, and were roused from that
by the order passed to turn out and man the battery.

They were hardly at their guns when General Jackson came along with a
large staff, carefully inspecting the preparations by the light of the
camp fires in the rear of the intrenchments.

General Villere, of the New Orleans militia, who had seen Eph Clark
before, and who was accompanying General Jackson, said:

"Here are Lafitte's men, general. And here is the youth I spoke to you
about, an American boy."

General Jackson had too many weighty matters on his mind that morning to
do more than glance at Eph, in answer to the officer's remark. But he
did say:

"All right! Glad to see such pluck and determination."

Then he passed on to the left of the lines--and all stood firm--peering
into a dense mist, which had arisen as the day was near and obscured the
field in front.

It was known that the flower of the British army was in front, and eager
eyes and ears kept open to detect the first movement. The invaders had
boasted that they would walk straight over the half-drilled riflemen
from Kentucky and Tennessee and the militia of Louisiana. They had not
quite heard of the artillery of Commodore Patterson and of Lafitte's
batteries, and were not prepared for them, while they had little idea of
what the riflemen could do, although they wore no such gorgeous uniform.

Suddenly, before the sun had risen and while the haze still hung upon
the ground like a curtain, a gun was heard from the left of the
batteries--the one in which Eph Clark had charge of the guns.

His sharp sailor-eyes and ears had detected the advance of the enemy
before any others, and, according to orders given beforehand, he fired a
round of grape-shot slap into the advancing foe.

Just then the mist lifted a little, and, by the early light, could be
seen the serried lines of the British force, advancing to the attack in
magnificent order.

There were two columns of troops, one on the right and one on the left.
At the head of each column was a regiment, bearing fascines for filling
up the ditch and scaling-ladders for reaching the crest of the defense.
Between the two columns were marching a thousand Highlanders, in their
picturesque garb, ready to support either column on their flanks, as
might be needed.

At once the riflemen, with their unerring aim, began a rolling fire,
while the artillery, served with great steadiness and coolness, joined
in the battle.

There was great slaughter and confusion among the attacking troops, but,
like veterans as they were, they rallied and came on again.

At first, Eph Clark was shocked by the effect of the fire; but he soon
became excited, and, going from gun to gun of his battery, saw that each
was well loaded and well pointed.

Up to the very ditch surged the brave men in front of them, and one
officer, a lieutenant, came over the breastwork uninjured. Seeing Eph
and a captain of infantry standing by their guns, close to him, he
called out:

"Surrender! surrender! The place is ours!"

Rather surprised at this speech from a single man, Eph replied:

"Look behind you, sir!"

The young English officer, whose name was Lavack, did as he was told,
and saw his troops either dead or wounded or in full retreat, and
already some distance away.

"I'll have to trouble you for your sword, sir!" said Eph, after showing
him this sight.

"And to whom do I surrender?" said the young officer, gazing at Eph's
rig of silk shirt and sash and loose white trowsers.

"To Lieutenant Clark, of Lafitte's Battery." And the young officer was
led away, to be well treated.

In the meantime, while the surviving British troops were retreating from
the front, Eph Clark and those about him heard the "advance" blown from
a bugle in front of them, and, seeing no one standing so near as the
notes seemed to come from, at last discovered, perched up in a small
tree--which must have been exposed to all the storm of balls and
bullets, for many of its branches were cut away--a small music-boy of
one of the British regiments, who had sat up there, sounding the
"advance," all the time the fight was going on, and continued to do so
when his regiment was half a mile away.

Amused at the curious courage and persistency of the little fellow, Eph
and a lieutenant of Kentucky riflemen dropped down into the ditch, and
went out and captured the courageous lad, who was not more than
fourteen.

When they brought him in, the stolid little Englishman, who was entirely
unhurt, was much astonished at the praises he received from those he
considered deadly enemies.

The English did not renew their attack, but at once began preparations
for retreat to their ships. And there was good reason, for the actual
fighting had only lasted twenty-five minutes, and they had twenty-six
hundred men killed, wounded or prisoners, while the American loss was
just seventeen.

General Packenham, the English commander, General Gibbs, Colonel Keene
and Colonel Dale, among the leaders, all lost their lives in that fatal
assault.

And the worst of it all was that the battle was fought after a treaty of
peace had been made between England and the United States. But there was
no means of knowing that, as there would be in these days of steam and
electricity.

That night Eph had the guard in his battery, for vigilance was not
relaxed, as the enemy, though beaten, had not yet retired entirely, and
he was pacing up and down the parapet, and wishing he could go to sleep,
after all the long excitement and labor, when he heard a challenge of a
sentinel at the rear, and soon a written order was brought by an
orderly, directing him to report at headquarters on the following day at
ten o'clock.

This official notice made him uneasy, but he did not know anything wrong
which he had done, and he knew he had served his guns well. So, when the
time came for him to be relieved, he quietly lay down and slept the
sleep of a tired boy, until roused for the rough camp breakfast.

At the appointed time he went to the headquarters in a plantation-house
in the rear of the lines, and reported himself.

An aid-de-camp came out and said:

"General Jackson wants to see you."

Without a word, but with much inward perturbation, Eph followed the
officer into the room, where a large, rawboned man, with hair standing
straight up from his scalp, and clad in general's uniform and high
boots, was sitting at a table filled with papers.

Several officers were standing about the room, and Eph recognized
General Villere and one or two others he had seen before.

The general looked up sharply from his writing--he had a piercing
gray-blue eye--and said:

"My lad, you have been much commended for your conduct. You are an
American?"

"Yes, sir. I did not go to Lafitte's place of my own accord; but when I
saw that I could do some good for my country, I worked as hard as I
could."

The general waved his hand and nodded approvingly.

"Yes," he continued; "I have heard how you acted from Governor Claiborne
and Judge Livingston and General Villere. You are a sailor, I believe?"

"Yes, sir. I have been a sailor for four years."

"Do you like the life?"

"I have not had such success that I should like it. I think I would
rather be a soldier."

"Well said, lad," and the grim general chuckled. "You _shall_ be a
soldier. They will listen to me after this work, and I promise you a
lieutenantcy in one of the regular regiments. In the meantime I take you
on my staff as a volunteer, and you may go to any tailor in New Orleans
and be fitted out."

"There is one thing I would like to say, general."

"What is it? Speak quickly, for I have much to do."

"There is a Danish youth, older than I am, who served in the battery,
and was taken out of the brig with me. I should like to see what becomes
of him."

"Very good! I will give an order for his enlistment, and meantime he can
remain with you."

Two months after this Ephraim Clark received his commission as second
lieutenant in the Second Regiment of United States Infantry, and Eric
Ericcsson was transferred as a private to the same regiment, the
headquarters of which were at the frontier town of St. Louis, in the
Territory of Missouri.

[THE END.]

       *       *       *       *       *

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COLUMBUS AND THE SCHOOL CHILDREN

By Sidney.


October, 1892, will long be remembered as the quadricentennial
anniversary of America. It has been a festival month, and hardly a town
or hamlet in this country but has celebrated, in some way, the landing
of Columbus. New York devoted almost an entire week to land and water
pageants, and Chicago, in formally dedicating the Columbian Exposition,
had three days of impressive ceremonies.

Two remarkable features are to be noted in connection with the October
celebrations. One is, that the United States, by common consent, have
monopolized the honors in connection with the discovery of this Western
Continent.

Of course, Columbus did not discover the United States any more than
Canada. Every one knows now that he never put foot on North America at
all, his nearest approach being the West India Islands, and that he did
discover South America.

Nevertheless it has always been recognized that here, if anywhere,
rested his claims as a discoverer, and here, therefore, it was fitting
that the quadricentennial should be celebrated.

The second feature was the zeal with which the school children entered
into the celebration. Schools, we may be assured, were little known in
the days of Columbus, when monarchs thought it no shame to be unable to
write their own names. Nor had Columbus any special desire to educate or
civilize the people whom he found in the new lands he annexed to the
Spanish crown.

Yet it may be said, without exaggeration, that of all the benefits
accruing to civilization that grew out of the discovery of America, not
one bears any comparison with the public school system of the United
States. Our forefathers were men who imbibed the love of liberty with
every breath, and they early realized that liberty without intelligence
was not possible, and that learning was a deadly foe to tyranny of any
kind--not the learning which is confined to the few, but the learning
which is free to all, without cost.

There are nations, even at the present day, which designedly keep the
people in ignorance, for fear that they will know their rights and
demand justice. America has no such fear. Every avenue of knowledge has
been opened to the child of the humblest, and in the public schools all
meet on a plane of equality.

So it was eminently fitting that the school children should celebrate
the discovery of this new world where they are rightly considered the
keystone of our national greatness. And they have celebrated it in a way
such as the world has never seen.

In the great civic parade in New York city on October 10, twenty-five
thousand school children marched to the music of a hundred bands, before
the grand-stands, on which sat the dignitaries of the nation, and to the
admiring plaudits of half a million spectators who crowded the
sidewalks, balconies and windows along the route.

Shoulder to shoulder, the pampered darling of Murray Hill and the "kid"
of the Bowery marched in accord, with flashing eyes and conscious pride
in being what they are, and at their head marched the mayor of the
Empire City.

It was a sight long to be remembered, and one calculated to make the
dullest thrill with love of country.

Later in the month, on the twenty-first, the schools all over the land,
from the primary to the high schools, joined in celebrating, each in its
respective schoolhouse. Speeches were made, odes sung and flags raised.

Such a series of celebrations cannot fail to leave a deep impress on the
youthful mind, and one that will tend to instruct and elevate.

In future years, when men and women, they will recall with justifiable
pride that they were part of the quadricentennial festivities, and that
the part they bore was second to none.

It will be a legacy to be cherished, and it is certain that in no
portion of their lives will there be a brighter spot than when, as
school children, they emphasized the power and dignity of the Republic.




CONDENSED FOOD.

By W. S. Bates.


In journeying through foreign lands, especially in the East, the English
or American traveler is constantly amazed to observe upon what meagre
diet the natives exist. Accustomed to meat at every meal, he sees
thousands of people who eat meat perhaps not once a year; used to an
abundance of vegetables and fruits of infinite variety, he encounters
people who live on two or three vegetables and as many fruits.

In the mines of Hungary the workers dine on two slices of black bread
and an apple; the Italians are content with a little oil and a handful
of maccaroni; the Chinese exist almost entirely on rice, and the Arabs
will live for weeks on dried dates. The surprise is not so much that
these people exist, but that they are healthy and strong. Travelers
again and again have noted that the Turkish porters in Constantinople
will carry a burden that two strong Americans can hardly lift, and that
coolies can tire a horse in running with the jinrikisha in China or
Japan.

Doubtless most of this abstemiousness is due to poverty, since all
nationalities soon fall into our ways of eating when they come to these
shores, but their sparingness is none the less a proof that much of what
we eat is an unnecessary burden to our stomachs. The primary purpose of
eating is to sustain life, not to please the palate. We need material to
replenish the waste of tissue, material to make blood and bone and
flesh, and that is all.

Out of a pound of meat, not more than one tenth is of any value, and the
same proportion holds good with many other articles of food. Now, it is
evident that if some method existed by which the nutritious elements
could be extracted and concentrated, the process of eating would be
greatly simplified, and much to our advantage.

The first effort in this line was made thirty years ago in the shape of
condensed milk, and the inventor was heartily laughed at. He lived,
however, long enough to laugh at other people, and died worth seven
millions of dollars. Now the condensing of milk has grown to be a very
large industry.

The processes employed are very simple, the fresh milk being put into a
great copper tank with a steam jacket. While it is being heated sugar is
added, and the mixture is then drawn off into a vacuum tank, where
evaporation is produced by heat.

The vacuum tank will hold, perhaps, nine thousand quarts. It has a glass
window at the top, through which the operator in charge looks from time
to time. He can tell by the appearance of the milk when the time has
arrived to shut off the steam, and this must be done at just the right
moment, else the batch will be spoiled.

Next the condensed milk is drawn into forty-quart cans, which are set in
very cold spring water, where they are made to revolve rapidly by a
mechanical contrivance in order that their contents may cool evenly.

When the water does not happen to be cold enough, ice is put in to bring
it down to the proper temperature. Finally the tin cans of market size
are filled with the milk by a machine, which pours into each one exactly
sixteen ounces automatically, one girl shoving the cans beneath the
spout, while another removes them as fast as they are filled.

People in cities nowadays use condensed milk largely in preference to
the uncondensed, regarding it as more desirable because of the careful
supervision maintained by the companies over the dairies from which they
get their supplies.

For their consumption the product is delivered unsweetened, but even in
this condition it will last fresh two or three times as long as the
ordinary milk by reason of the boiling to which it has been subjected.
Milk fresh from the cow contains eighty-eight per cent. of water,
condensed milk twenty-eight per cent.

After condensed milks come condensed jellies. They are made in the shape
of little bricks, each weighing eight ounces, and with an inside wrapper
of oiled paper. According to the directions, the brick is to be put in
one pint of boiling water, and stirred until it is dissolved.

The mixture is then poured into a mold or other vessel and put into a
cool place. In a few hours the jelly is "set" and ready to use, a pint
and a half of it. It never fails to "jell," which point is the cause of
so much anxiety to amateur jelly-makers.

We have often heard that "one egg contains as much nourishment as one
pound of meat," which shows that nature has condensed the food
essentials in this instance. But man has condensed them still more,
mainly, however, because eggs have a bad habit of getting stale.

Great quantities of eggs are bought up in summer when the price of them
goes down to almost nothing. They are broken into pans, the whites and
yolks separated and evaporated to perfect dryness. Finally, they are
scraped from the pans and granulated by grinding, when they are ready
for shipment in bulk.

Bakers, confectioners and hotels use eggs in this form, which is an
important saving at seasons when they are dear in the shell.

Extract of beef, although a liquid, is condensed beef; the vanilla bean
is now concentrated into an essence and cocoanuts are condensed by
desiccation; cider and lime juice are also condensed, so that a spoonful
mixed with water makes a pint of the original liquid.

Finally, some genius has condensed coffee into lozenges weighing only
fifteen grains, one of which makes a generous cup of coffee. It is
merely necessary to put the lozenge or tablet in the cup, pour boiling
water on it and the coffee is made.

What a boon for the housewife as well as the camper-out, the more so
since one hundred lozenges, weighing a little more than four ounces,
will make one hundred cups.

The processes by which coffee is thus concentrated are very interesting.
To begin with, the beans are roasted in an enormous oven and ground in a
huge mill. Then they are put into a great iron vessel, which is nothing
more nor less than a gigantic coffee-pot, holding two hundred and forty
pounds at a time. Hundreds of gallons of filtered water are pumped into
the coffee-pot, which acts on the drip principle, and the infusion is
drawn off to an evaporating tank. A steam pump keeps the air exhausted
from this tank, so that the coffee is in vacuo, being heated meanwhile
to a high temperature by steam pipes. The water it contains rapidly
passes off, and the coffee is of about the consistency of molasses when
it is taken out. It is poured into trays of enameled ware, and these
trays are placed on shelves in another evaporator.

When the trays are removed, a short time later, the coffee is a dry
solid, which is scraped off the trays, ground to powder, and moulded
into lozenges.




AN UNFORTUNATE EXPERIMENT.


Some weeks ago we chronicled in GOLDEN DAYS the particulars of a
competition race in Europe, which was unique in its rules and intended
to be scientific in its character. The Emperors of Austria and Germany
arranged for a contest between the officers of their respective armies
in the way of a long-distance ride between Berlin and Vienna, Austrian
officers to ride from Vienna to Berlin, and German officers from Berlin
to Vienna.

This entire distance of four hundred miles was to be covered in the
shortest possible time, each rider using but one horse and choosing any
route which suited his fancy.

Prizes were offered for the first man who covered the distance, and
another prize was to be given to the contestant who brought his horse to
the finish in the best condition.

It was a purely military race, and the outcome was expected to prove a
great many things of value to Austria and Germany as to the endurance of
man and horse, and naturally excited great interest, not only in Europe,
but also in this country.

The result, however, has been far from gratifying. The start was made on
time, and an Austrian officer was the first to cover the distance, in
three days, one hour and forty-five minutes. A notable victory, no
doubt, but at what a cost!

Hardly had the applause died away, when the noble horse which had
accomplished the feat, died in his tracks; and this was only the
beginning. Since then fifteen or twenty horses have died, and every one
of the remainder are dying or rendered forever useless.

Stories of pitiless cruelty on the part of the riders have been
reported--of whippings, spurrings, and even absolute torture, to urge on
the poor animals.

Under the circumstances, it is not to be wondered that the press and
people are now unanimous in condemning the race as brutal and barbarous,
and claiming that no good purpose was served by the exhibition.

It is true that a prize was offered to the rider who brought in his
horse in the best condition, but this chance seems to have been lost
sight of completely, and not a single horse arrived in a state less than
pitiable.

Public sentiment in this age is quick to put the stamp of disapproval on
unnecessary cruelty of any kind, and however much the Emperors of
Austria and Germany may regard the result with satisfaction, or crown
the visitors with laurels, humane people everywhere will condemn the
exhibition and protest against any repetition.




OUR NEW PACIFIC STATION.

By Anon.


In the days when the voyages and adventures of Captain Cook were read by
every schoolboy, there was a great deal heard of the Navigators'
Islands, in the Pacific. Lying between seven and eight hundred miles
south of the equator, this group of nine islands and some small islets
has been a favorite port for many years, and all seamen and explorers
unite in calling it an earthly paradise. The climate is perfection, the
soil is rich, and the natives always have been friendly.

Similar conditions doubtless prevail in other islands of the Pacific,
but our interests at present centre on the islands just described, since
they are now known as the Samoan Islands, and in them lies the harbor of
Pago-Pago, which our government has at last acquired, after years of
negotiation.

The chiefs of the Samoan Islands have more than once petitioned to be
taken under the protectorate of Great Britain or the United States, and
in 1878 a commercial treaty was concluded with this country, and in 1879
Great Britain and Germany made almost similar treaties.

Had the United States so desired, the Samoan group would have been ceded
to us years ago, but there is always vigorous opposition to this country
acquiring territory outside of its present coast lines. No such scruples
prevail in England or Germany, and, in consequence, both those powers
are industriously engaged in annexing stray islands, whether the
inhabitants desire protection or not.

But they did not take Samoa, mainly because of a well defined idea that
the United States, although opposed to annexing these islands herself,
was as strongly opposed to any other nation taking them, and European
nations have, of late years, a wholesome respect for this nation.

It is true that our trade in the Pacific is not large, but it is rapidly
increasing, and the need of a harbor has been apparent for some time. Of
course all the harbors in the Pacific are open to our ships in times of
peace, but there may come a time of war, when the ports will be closed
to our shipping, and we will sorely need some ports of our own.

Then we need coal and supply stations for our men of war, such as
England has in all parts of the world, and such as we ought to have and
would have were it not for the perverse public sentiment which is
opposed to any acquisition of territory, however needful or just.

Now at least we have Pago-Pago, and it is believed that Pearl Harbor in
Oahu, one of the Hawaiian Islands, will be acquired in somewhat the same
way.

The Germans have a harbor in Samoa and the English are negotiating for
one, but Pago-Pago is believed to be the largest and best of all.

Here a coaling, supply and repair station will be built, the title to
the land being vested absolutely in the United States.

Other nations may use the harbor as they please, but the United States
will control it, and in case of any trouble in the Pacific it will be a
point of vantage of the greatest value to this country.




--On Mount Washington, in New Hampshire, lives a little colony of
butterflies that never descend below 2000 feet from the summit. They are
completely isolated from others of their kind, no butterflies being
found in any other spot in their immediate vicinity. It is supposed that
the remote ancestors of this curious race were stranded on the mountain
at the close of the glacial period.




        [_This Story began in No. 48._]

                  THE MUTINY
           On Board of the Sea Eagle

                    or, the
         Adventures of a Homeless Boy.

               BY RALPH HAMILTON,

  Author Of "Chespa," "Off To The Southwest,"
                etc., etc., etc.


CHAPTER XII.

A SAIL--LAND.

Since the night of the mutiny they had been flying a signal of distress,
and when Frank saw it fluttering at the mast-head, through his bitter,
blinding tears, he wondered if it would bring assistance to him, or must
he float on and on over this wide, silent sea till he, too, died? The
thought was an appalling one, and he threw himself on the deck in an
agony of despair.

So intense was his strange fear and grief and loneliness that he did not
realize the fact that the schooner was driving through the water at the
rate of five miles an hour, though he heard the wash of the waves
against her sides, and felt the momentarily freshening wind blow cool on
his face and pipe lonesomely through the cordage.

Weary, sick at heart, and worn out with watching, he finally fell
asleep, and when he awoke the wind was gone, the sails flapped idly
against the mast, and the sun, in unclouded splendor, was just beginning
to peep above the eastern horizon.

He got up, feeling refreshed, but very hungry, went to the galley,
searched around till he found some bread and a bit of cheese, and then
came back to the shade of the awning to eat it.

The long day passed, the night came and went, and another day dawned,
only to find Frank still drifting aimlessly on before any breeze that
chanced to blow.

A little past noon he saw a sail a long way to windward, and so great
was his joy at the discovery that he shouted at the top of his voice,
and ran hither and thither about the deck in a mad transport of sudden
hope and delight.

The vessel proved to be the British bark Swallow. Frank could hardly
restrain his gladness within rational bounds when he saw her change her
course and stand directly toward the Sea Eagle, with all the speed the
light wind that was blowing would permit her to make.

When within speaking-distance, the stranger hove to and hailed:

"What schooner is that, and where bound?"

"The Sea Eagle, from Ruatan to Philadelphia!" piped the boy's voice from
the schooner's deck.

"Where is your captain?"

"Dead!"

"His name and yours?"

"Captain Calvin Thorne. My name is Frank Arden, and I am all alone.
First we had a mutiny on board, and then yellow fever, and now I am the
only one left."

"Yellow fever!" The captain of the bark repeated the words with a kind
of terrified jerk. "Forward there, men! Bend on all sail and stand off!"
he shouted to his crew, as he turned from the rail, where he had stood
while speaking to Frank. "We can't help you, boy. Sorry, but we can't,
if it's yellow fever you have on board."

And, to Frank's unspeakable amazement, the bark was instantly put about,
and was soon rapidly widening the distance between him and safety.

He had not thought of the dread pestilence the Sea Eagle carried in her
every rope and spar and sail.

For a moment he felt as if he should die, so great was the reaction from
eager hope and joy to bitterest disappointment and despair; but he
rallied his sinking heart, after a little, and watched the bark
disappear in the sun lit distance, with strangely-bright and tearless
eyes.

[Illustration:
"FRANK WORKED UNCEASINGLY UNTIL NEAR SUNSET."]

No one could, no one dared, to help him, when they knew it was yellow
fever that menaced them, and tainted the very air through which the Sea
Eagle sailed. He no longer need look for relief by means of a passing
vessel. That hope was gone utterly; for it would be wicked and cruel not
to tell of what it was the captain had died. And who would aid him, when
they knew it was to risk their life to do so?

Yellow fever, and with good reason, is only another name for death to a
sailor, and Frank could not blame them for giving the schooner a wide
berth.

When the Swallow was quite out of sight, he returned to his seat under
the awning. It was now almost sunset, and the haze and mist of early
twilight began to creep over the tossing waves.

For the first time since he was left alone on the vessel, he sat himself
down to calmly think over the terrifying position in which he was placed
and gravely consider what it was best for him to do.

He had passed through all there was, he thought, of sorrow, dismay,
disappointment and horror; and whatever there might be of suffering and
danger in store for him, he felt that, at most, they could give him no
greater pain than he had already endured.

The reflection somehow was as comforting as it was sudden and startling
to his weary energies and overtaxed strength. He would not give up
again, and, from that moment, resolved to save both the vessel and
himself, if he could.

Captain Thorne, when predicting his own speedy death, had spoken as if
he thought Frank would live to reach land; and in this belief he had
died, after giving into the lad's keeping his little all of wealth and
telling him what to do in case he survived the perils of this most
perilous voyage.

And, oh, how faithfully would Frank carry out his dead benefactor's
wishes, if he but lived to set foot on the soil of Pennsylvania again!

Buoyed up by this new hope and determined henceforth to make the best of
all and everything that might befall him, Frank went to the galley, made
himself a cup of strong coffee, and, with some hard biscuit, cheese and
dried beef that he found there, made a hearty supper.

Everything remained in the galley just as poor Nat had left it, and
during the whole time he was on the schooner it constituted the limit of
Frank's foraging-ground, for he had not the courage to enter the cabin
yet, or search for other stores than the cook's room afforded.

On the evening of the fifth day a brisk breeze sprang up, which set the
whitecaps to tumbling far and near and sent clouds of spray flying from
the schooner's bows.

The sun set in the luminous west, leaving behind a long track of orange
and purple light; the growing moon flung its yellow rays across the
troubled waters, melting into the million phosphorescent gleams that
sparkled and quivered along the surface like living jets of fire. Frank
had never before seen so lovely a sunset, or one so utterly lonely and
sad. He stretched himself on the deck, with his two hands clasped under
his head, in lieu of a pillow, and watched the masts make eccentric
circles through the stars, and the few fleecy clouds, that for a time
had followed in the wake of the moon, vanish, as it seemed to him, into
the sea.

"The vessel must be making six knots an hour, and doing it, too,
easily."

Frank fell asleep with some such vague calculation drifting
disconnectedly through his mind. He was awakened about daylight by the
loud screaming of a number of gulls that were flying near the vessel in
anxious search of a morsel of food.

He jumped up in great excitement, not on account of the noise made by
the gulls, but another sound he heard--a deep, continuous roar, not
unlike the moan of the wind through a pine forest.

He looked around him, first confusedly and then with surprised wonder.
His eyes brightened, and a cry of joy broke from his lips, for there,
not a mile away, was land. A long, white line of surf marked the
boundary of the beach, and beyond it he saw the feathery tops of palm
and cocoanut trees, nodding in the fresh morning breeze.

Land at last!

Again Frank's jubilant shout echoed oddly clear and solitary above the
incessant booming of the breakers and the monotonous wash of the waves.

Land, and no mistake, and the Sea Eagle was driving straight toward it
with a speed that would strand her in twenty minutes, if she kept on.

And grandly determined upon her own destruction looked the staunch old
schooner, in the fast brightening rays of the rising sun, as, with all
sail set and never a hand at her helm, she plowed her way toward the
low, sandy shore stretching away like the shadow of doom before her.

Frank meant to beach her, and take his chance on the island, for an
island he felt pretty certain it was.

He flew to the cabin, and brought up the captain's glass. He could do it
now without superstitious fear. To the southward he saw a black, barren
ledge of rocks, rising abruptly out of the sea, but to the north and
east the shore was low, and there did not appear to be much surf.

He ran to the wheel, and gave it a turn a point or two more to the north
and east. The vessel obeyed her helm splendidly. The tide was at the
flood, the wind fresh but steady, and blowing directly on land.

With firm, shut lips, watchful eyes and pale, resolute face, Frank kept
his small hand on the spokes, the rapid pulsations of his heart telling
away the seconds so audibly that he could count them.

In less than ten minutes' time she struck, grounding lightly and getting
off again; then she plunged forward, driven high on the beach by an
incoming wave, and was as motionless as if she had never pitched and
tossed through mountainous billows or careened to the angry rush of the
storm-lashed sea.

Frank relinquished his grasp of the wheel, and drew a long breath of
mingled regret and satisfaction.

"Fast aground till a squall comes along and breaks you up," he said, as
if speaking to the vessel. "It's all there was left for either of us to
do, for we are death, it seems, to every one that comes near us."

Hardly a dozen yards were between him and solid earth. Frank soon had
the ladder over the side, and in two minutes more was on shore.

He ran up and down the beach a little way, shouting at intervals as loud
as he could, but there was no answer.

Scores of beautiful little paroquets were chattering in the palm trees,
and numbers of long-legged sea-fowl stalking about on the reef, but no
human being, or any sign of one, did he see.

It was necessary that he should know something about the size of the
island before deciding what next it was best to do, so he set out to
explore its wooded portion and ascertain what the prospects were for
living on it for an indefinite length of time.

An hour's tramp showed him that it was perhaps two miles long by less
than half that distance wide, and to all appearance no human being other
than himself had ever set foot upon it.

The northern part was simply a barren rock, fissured and seamed by the
action of the water, its base marked by a tossing line of foam of
ominous import, for it told of the sunken reefs hidden beneath its
restless ebb and flow, and extending far out to sea. The southern and
eastern end were covered with a dense growth of tropical vegetation, but
fresh water he did not find, or any animal, great or small. Many
varieties of brilliantly-plumaged birds flew screaming away at his
approach, but they were the only living things he saw.

He came back to the schooner, clambered on board, went to the galley,
got himself a good breakfast, and, while he was eating it in the shade
of the awning, made up his mind what he would do.

The rainy season was near at hand--a period which Captain Thorne had
told him was usually ushered in by frequent afternoon squalls,
accompanied by terrific thunder and lightning, which was more than
likely to be speedily followed by a hurricane of such violence as to
destroy in a second a vessel beached and helpless as was the Sea Eagle.
The tide was going out by this time, and the schooner's bow was buried
high and dry in the sand.

Frank's first act after finishing his breakfast was to take in the sail.
Such of it as he could not handle he cut away, and then began to carry
it on shore. The captain's small boat still hung in the davits, but he
did not need it as yet.

With the sails and spars he made a nice roomy tent, under the largest of
the palm trees nearest the shore, so he could always have the schooner
in sight, and also an unobstructed view of the open sea.

His object now was to make himself as comfortable as he could on the
island, and then wait patiently for a sail to come and take him off, or
something to turn up in his favor of a nature calculated to restore him
again to the world and enable him to carry out to the letter Captain
Thorne's dying request.

By noon he had his tent up; then he went to the vessel and quickly
removed to his new quarters one of the smallest of the casks of water on
deck, a case of ship biscuits and the tin box the captain had charged
him to guard with untiring care.

He worked unceasingly until near sunset, and the surf was again
beginning to play around the stranded schooner's bow.

He was so tired he could hardly stand, and made his last trip to the
vessel for that day just as the moon began to glimmer over the water.

It looked so very friendly, hanging directly above the mainmast, like a
great golden world, that he thought it would be pleasant to eat his
supper on land, by the light of its mellow rays, though the fire he had
kindled an hour before flamed up brightly on the sand close by and the
fragrance of boiling coffee mingled appetizingly with the briny breath
of the sea.

After partaking of his supper, he swung his hammock in the tent, for he
had no desire to pass another night on the schooner, and in five minutes
was fast asleep.

He had a lively remembrance of the red ants, soldier-snails, gnats,
lizards, mosquitoes and sand-flies of Ruatan; but none of these winged
and creeping pests disturbed his slumber, and he slept on until the sun
was fully an hour high and the palm trees vocal with the chattering of
the paroquets.

He awoke refreshed, sprang from his hammock and ran to see if the
schooner was all right.

Yes, there she was! Her tapering masts shining like polished marble in
the brilliant sunshine, and the tide fretting and frothing against her
sides.

After an exhilarating plunge in the surf, Frank set about getting his
breakfast. The day previous he had carried on shore all the galley
furniture, completely dismantling poor Nat's late quarters of stove,
cooking utensils, cups and plates, and everything portable, even to the
zinc covering of the floor.

He had not ventured so far as the hold, but had taken everything of
value from the captain's cabin--his books and charts, the ship's
instruments, a fine eight-day chronometer clock, still going, and which
he wound up with no little pleasure.

He carefully housed on shore the contents of the lockers, which included
a case of port wine, a little bag of Spanish reals, another of
doubloons, a case of canned meats, two of preserved fruits and jellies
and a small medicine chest.

All the cargo, save the cocoanuts, was a rotten mass in the hold, the
larger part of which he eventually pitched overboard.

There were coffee, chocolate, sugar, rice, beans, dried beef, barley,
vermicelli, a small quantity of tea, salt pork, hard biscuit, flour,
salt beef, lemons, honey, a cask of vinegar, a dozen sacks of salt and a
few other supplies, such as a sailing craft of the kind usually carries.

In four days' time Frank had every movable article out of her, yet the
dreaded squall had not come nor a drop of rain fallen.

There lay the Sea Eagle, blistering under the sun by day and gauntly
outlined under the stars by night, changed in no way since she stranded,
except that she had settled quite two feet in the sand and was aground
so firmly that it looked as if it would take a pretty strong gale to
blow her to pieces.

So far, Frank had been too busy and too much engrossed by the novelty of
his situation to devote much time to thinking; but now, when the
excitement and hurry was over and he had leisure to turn his attention
to other matters, second only in importance to securing all there was of
value in the schooner, he concluded to make a thorough exploration of
the island and the grim, conical-shaped ledge of rocks that formed its
upper, or southern part.

So, the fifth day of his landing on the island, he got ready the small
boat, placed in it a bottle of water and a good supply of food, and set
out to row around the reefs.

He made a complete circuit of the island, and found it to be one of the
many results of volcanic eruption common throughout the Pacific Ocean
and the Caribbean Sea.

At low tide, a long, black reef showed its frowning edge above the
restless surf, connecting with the higher point of rocks overlooking the
narrow strip of fertile land lying between it and the sandy beach, where
the Sea Eagle had stranded, and still maintained the strange and lonely
anchorage she had made for herself.

Frank, curious and venturesome as he might be, was yet keenly alive to
hidden dangers, and, as he rowed around among the rocks, kept a sharp
lookout for treacherous currents and submerged ledges.

The meridian sun was pouring down its fiercest rays, and he was thinking
of returning to his tent and the grateful shade of the palm-trees, when,
just as he had rounded the jagged spur of a particularly ugly-looking
coral reef, he suddenly saw before him a deep, dark line of perfectly
smooth water, over-arched by a natural bridge of grayish-white
limestone, and flowing, as it seemed to him, directly under the island.

The entrance to this odd underground water-way was not more than four
feet in height by six wide, but he unhesitatingly entered the narrow
channel, bent upon seeing what there was of it and where it led to.

Drawing a long breath of surprise and satisfaction, he ceased rowing,
and, as the boat came to a stand-still on the glassy surface of this
subterranean sea, he uttered an exclamation of wonder, and looked around
him in a maze of doubt and admiration.

The cool, grotto-like atmosphere and dim, half-twilight contrasted
pleasantly with the heat and glare outside, though the silence was
something oppressive, and different from any he had ever before known.

No sound of wave or sigh of wind or howl of tempest seemed ever to have
been heard here. The water along the edges of the rocks was absolutely
without motion, and the light from either extremity of the cave--as one
might call it--nearly lost itself before it reached the vaulted centre.

Frank shouted loudly, and in answer the rocks sent back only the
faintest and most weirdly far-away echoes.

When Frank had somewhat recovered from his astonishment, and his eyes
had become accustomed to the dim light, he found the cay, or channel, to
be some fifty yards in extent, cut through the soft, porous rock by the
action of the water, that for ages and ages of time had beaten against
its gradually-yielding base, until it had made for itself a passage such
as man, with all his marvelous ingenuity, could never have fashioned.

Frank rowed the entire length of the cay--as the Bay Islanders call
these little wave-made inlets--coming out on the opposite side to that
which he had entered; and then, as it was getting late, he returned
home, as the brave-hearted boy termed the spot where he had pitched his
tent and stored his provisions.

Apart from finding the channel, he had made no discovery worth
mentioning. With the exception of a few sea-birds, he saw no living
creature, great or small; but this he did not much mind, for he hoped a
sail would come his way soon, and solitude was no new thing to him. So
he ate his supper with hearty relish, and, when it was dark, clambered
into his hammock and fell peacefully asleep.


CHAPTER XIII.

A CHANGE OF PLANS.

The morning of the tenth day of his residence upon the island Frank
rowed around to the grotto--as he called his new-found giant's
causeway--taking with him his fishing-tackle and a substantial luncheon
of bread and cheese and dried beef.

Fish of various kinds abounded in the quiet waters of the inlet, and in
an hour he had caught as many as he wished to carry "home."

He had seen no sharks anywhere near the reef, and so, when he saw a
beautiful pearly-white shell lying at the bottom of the water, which was
not more than five feet deep under any part of the natural arch of soft
porous stone, he threw off his clothes and unhesitatingly made a dive
for it.

He got the shell, and made a very important discovery at one and the
same time. Happening to glance upward as he came to the surface, his
quick eye saw a low, narrow opening leading directly into what seemed to
be the solid rock.

The mouth of the cavern was slightly shelving, and situated a little
less than mid-way of the centre of the arch.

Frank lost no time in climbing into it, and was surprised to find
himself in a semi-dark, sea-scented cavern, in shape something like an
old-fashioned Dutch oven and fully seven feet in height.

There was sufficient light to enable him to see that the floor of the
cave was thickly strewn with fragments of shells and gray-white coral,
the stone itself being so soft that he could easily penetrate it with
his jack-knife.

These submarine caves or grottos are numerous in the Bermudas, and the
limestone rock of which they are mainly formed so extremely
impressionable as to be readily cut into blocks for building purposes
with a common saw.

Frank remembered having heard Captain Thorne speak of them, but he
little thought at the time that he would ever be the discoverer of one
on an island in the midst of the Caribbean Sea.

Solitude, and having to look out for himself, as the saying goes, if it
had done nothing else, had sharpened his wits, and he was not long in
coming to the conclusion that, by enlarging the cave inland, he could
make an opening quite near his tent, and thus have both a dry and
wet-weather habitation.

He returned to the beach, where the Sea Eagle was daily sinking deeper
and deeper in the sand, full of his new plans. He could hardly prepare
his supper, so eager was he to begin work on his latest project and have
his stores securely housed before the rainy season set in.

He went to bed early, but was up with the dawn, ate his breakfast while
yet the rays of the rising sun were but faintly illumining the east, and
then, with hatchet and hammer and saw, some coils of stout rope and a
plentiful supply of food, set out for the cave.

He was not long in reaching it, and by noon had cut through five feet of
the calcareous stone, piling up the portion cut away in a kind of wall
on the lower side, where the rocky floor sloped somewhat precipitously,
forming a channel, through which a considerable rivulet stole silently
along, to join and lose itself in the great ocean that for miles and
miles surrounded it on every hand.

For four whole days he worked like a Trojan, cutting away and piling up
the soft, limy stone, and on the fifth was rewarded by a glimmer of
sunlight shining through the aperture he had made in the landward part
of the rock.

From the small opening he could see the tent, the tall palm trees that
sheltered it from the fierce rays of the meridian sun and the tapering
masts of the old schooner as she lay fast aground on the blistering
strand, and the landwash lazily undulating against her stern.

A little way beyond, some gulls and a blue heron were watching for
flying-fish, great numbers of which would every once in awhile skim like
so many silver leaves over the surface of the water, coming up and going
down at short intervals, more in fear than play, for no doubt their
relentless enemies, the dolphins, were after them, with a view to making
a meal off as many as were so unfortunate as to come within their reach.

Frank could not repress a shout of delight, in which there was mingled a
good deal of pardonable triumph, when he nimbly scrambled through the
narrow aperture he had made with so much patient toil, and stood on the
firm, warm earth without the gray, damp cavern.

All about his feet grew luxuriant ferns, soft mosses and trailing vines,
the vegetation gradually lessening as it met the base of the dark rock
forming the roof of the cave, and disappearing altogether before it
reached the summit, or what Frank judged would be the summit if one were
to approach it from the direction of the tent.

The next three days Frank spent in removing the most perishable part of
his goods to the cave, and this he did none too soon, for the afternoon
of the third day a dense black cloud suddenly arose in the northwest,
accompanied with ominous rumblings of thunder and quivering flashes of
lightning.

There was no fresh water on the island, so far as he had been able to
discover, and the patter of the big rain-drops on the broad leaves of
the palms was not only a pleasant sound, but one that assured Frank that
for a time, at least, he was not likely to die of thirst.

This warning foretaste of what he might expect for the next three
months, if he stayed so long on the island, admonished Frank to make
himself as comfortable as possible in the cave, and from its snug
shelter defy wind and wave.

He had heard Dunham say that these sudden storms were diurnal in their
nature, and frequently of great fury and destructiveness, so the
following morning he moved all his belongings into the grotto, as he
liked best to call the cave, and set up housekeeping in a manner that no
hurricane, however severe, could interfere with.

"Nobody can say I am in the way here," he said--for he had gotten into
the habit of talking to himself--surveying, as he spoke, his rocky home,
and smiling sadly. "I am neither a bother nor a burden to any one now.
I'm alone on an uninhabited island, and may die here, for all I can tell
to the contrary; but I don't know but what that is better than being
nagged by Aunt Susan, or driven about on the ocean, with nothing but an
old schooner between one and the bottom of the Caribbean Sea. It's just
eighteen days since I landed on this island, and I was five days on the
schooner--that makes twenty-three--and I'm alive yet. If I have to stay
here a year, that will not be very long. I've provision enough to last
that length of time, and it will give me an opportunity to grow and to
think. I'll read all Captain Thorne's books, and there's a good many of
them, including works on navigation, history and science. I'll fish and
row when the weather is fine, and when it isn't I'll amuse myself in
enlarging the grotto. I'll make a collection of all the plants and
flowers I find on the land and all the shells and seaweeds I find in the
sea, or that may drift on the shore. I've a whole island that I may
honestly call my own, a box of candles, plenty of matches, four cans of
oil, a lamp and a lantern, a good boat, and lots of other things
besides; so I am pretty well off, after all, and ought not to grumble at
the hard luck which has befallen me."

And Frank _did_ try hard not to grumble; but, with the sea beating
eternally around his rocky home, and no change anywhere, day after day,
save in the scudding clouds and the waning of the old and the rising of
the new moon, he grew very weary of his utter loneliness, and there came
a time when he would have given his life to hear again a human voice and
see again a human face.


CHAPTER XIV.

DANGEROUS VISITORS.

Every hour in the day Frank scanned the horizon in hopes of seeing a
sail. He felt that he could not be more than a hundred miles from the
Bay Islands, and not altogether out of the track of sailing vessels.

Once he saw what appeared to be a long, low cloud hovering midway
between the sky and water, and which he knew to be the smoke from a
steamer; but it was so far off that, even with the glass, he could only
make out the slow-moving line of smoke that marked her course.

His boat he kept in the channel forming the water entrance to the
grotto, and during the roughest weather he had yet experienced on the
island the tide never once rose higher than from four to six inches, and
its ebb and flow was so silent that it was never heard, no matter how
loud and tempestuously the surf was roaring without.

The rainfalls, though light, were more frequent, denoting the near
approach of the dreaded wet season, when for days together he might be
kept a prisoner in the cave, so he wisely took advantage of what
remained to him of fair weather, and was out on the reef every morning
as soon as it was light, looking, with longing eyes, for the hoped-for
sail.

What wonder, then, after all this patient watching and waiting, that his
heart leaped with indescribable joy when he saw a sail, not three miles
away, and heading directly for the island!

At first he thought it was a turtle-sloop, by its size and rig, but, as
it came nearer, it looked more like a pilot-boat, and somehow the sight
of it strongly reminded him of his old enemy, Juan Montes, the wrecker.

They were beating up toward the point where the schooner lay, and their
object evidently was to land and take a look at the stranded vessel.

A sudden fear seized Frank. It might be wreckers in search of spoils,
and, in that case, from the recent experience he had had among them, it
were better perhaps for him to retire to his cave until he knew
something more of their intentions.

This he quickly did, taking care, however, not to break or bend a
feathery fern or crush a tuft of moss, as he hastened within his
retreat.

Then he hurriedly pushed to its place the block of stone that served for
a door--or, rather, a window, for the aperture was only just large
enough to admit of Frank's crawling through--and, when this was done, he
took up his position at one of the two small loop-holes he had made, as
a precautionary means when stormy weather might make it necessary to
close the window.

Both lookouts commanded an unobstructed view of the sea and that part of
the beach where the Sea Eagle lay.

Frank watched the slow approach of the sailboat, with bated breath and
loudly-beating heart.

It _was_ Juan Montes! and with him Dick Turpie, the mulatto, Sagasta and
Chris Lamberton.

A chill of mortal fear crept over Frank, from head to foot. He could not
speak nor stir--scarcely to breathe--so great was his surprise and
terror.

He saw them haul down the sail, drop the anchor, all four jump into the
small boat towing astern, cast off the line and pull for the shore.

If discovered, he would surely be murdered, for as well might Frank hope
to escape the blood-thirsty jaws of a wild beast, if in its power, as to
expect mercy from these cruel, half-civilized, lawless men.

With a yell of exultant joy and malignant triumph, Sagasta cried, as he
leaped on shore:

"It's the Sea Eagle, by all that's lucky! Come on, mates. She's ours
now; and no mean prize, either!"

The three quickly followed Sagasta's lead, and were soon clambering up
the side of the Sea Eagle, like so many overgrown, ill-favored monkeys.

But their joy speedily changed to anger and disappointment, when they
discovered that the schooner had been already pillaged of everything of
value about her. Even the cabin door and windows were gone, and every
rope and spar and sail; the cook's galley, hold and forecastle plundered
of every article worth carrying off, and an air of general desolation
and ruthless ransacking pervaded her from stem to stern.

"Somebody's been here afore us!" said the wrecker, with a quick look
shorewards. "I don't understand it. Where's her boat? What's become of
her captain? If he, or any of his crew, are a-hiding anywhere on the
island, I'll soon know it. Let's have a look around, lads, afore we
begins work. This way!"

He drew his knife from its sheath as he spoke, the others following his
example, Sagasta alone of the formidable quartette producing a revolver
in addition to his knife; and thus armed, and ready to meet and
exterminate any foe who might happen to be near, they separated, Sagasta
going around to the southward, Turpie to the north, while Lamberton made
for the centre of the island and Montes bestowed all his attention on
the reef and its immediate neighborhood.

Frank was pale with suspense and fear. If they should find the seaward
entrance to the cave, he was lost. Yet they might easily discover the
causeway, and even sail through it, and still fail to find the cavern
itself. He had found it only by the merest chance.

The thought gave him new courage, and he dared to again fix his eyes on
the beach and the bit of sea where the wreckers' boat was gracefully
rocking on the short land-swells.

All four returned in little more than an hour, and sat down under a wild
plantain tree, not three feet from Frank's place of concealment.

"There's no one on the island, I'm certain of that," said Montes, whose
squat, ugly form was so near the loop-hole that it actually darkened
Frank's range of vision. "I can't just make it out, but I know this
much--that's the Sea Eagle, and she's ours dead sure! We'll get her off
to-morrow at flood-tide. There's a bit of a blow in that cloud a-comin'
up in the east, but it won't amount to much, so we'll light a fire, get
something to eat, and take it easy."

"It's pretty nigh a month since she stranded, by the depth of the sand
around her," remarked Turpie, looking first at the schooner and then at
the fire he was kindling a little way from the others. "I'd like to know
what's become of the captain and the mate and Jack?"

"I reckon Dunham's in Davy Jones' locker, for that air slash Dardano
gave him wasn't no scratch, I can tell you. They was short of hands, and
didn't have no time to attend to him; but that don't satisfactorily
account for the schooner bein' here, and dismantled as she is," rejoined
Montes, with a puzzled air. "Captain Thorne wasn't the man to abandon
his ship while a plank held together, and there's the Sea Eagle with as
sound a hull as ever floated, and a--"

"And the better luck for us," roughly interrupted Sagasta. "I'd like to
have got a whack at the boy; but, since he's food for sharks, I'll call
it square. Wreckers have been here before us--there's no doubt of
that--and they've cleaned her out pretty thoroughly, too; but we'll take
the schooner, and she's a good enough prize to suit me," he laughed,
with a cunning glance at Montes. "Yes, good enough, and as lawful a one
as was ever picked up on the high seas," he continued, in a rather more
positive tone of voice. "All we have to do is to get her off, bend on a
sail or two, and head her for Bonacca or Barbette. Once there, we'll
just paint out her old name and paint in a new one, and then, with that
dark water-line transformed into a light blue, and I am Captain Sagasta,
if you please, with fair pay for your services, of course, mates."

This last remark of Sagasta's did not seem to meet with much favor from
Chris and the mulatto, but they were prudently silent, for the Spaniard
was obviously the master-spirit of the unprepossessing gang. Even
Montes, cruel and greedy as he was, yielded him the palm of superiority
in matters of this sort.

Having finished their hastily-prepared meal, Turpie acting both as cook
and steward, they cut down several of the largest of the palm trees that
grew in the vicinity, and began shaping them into rollers ready for
getting the schooner afloat.

Frank was a frightened but very attentive watcher of all they did. Not
till he saw them repair to their boat for the night did he venture to
snatch a mouthful to eat.

Every word of their conversation, while seated under the plantain tree,
he had heard, and the recollection of it, and the near proximity of such
dangerous neighbors, prevented him from closing his eyes the live-long
night.

By the first peep of day the wreckers were astir, and so was Frank--that
is, he had taken up his station at the loophole, determined to let
nothing escape him in relation to their plans and purposes.

As soon as the tide was out, they began shoveling away the sand that had
collected around the schooner's bow, the four of them working like
beavers till there was space made sufficient to allow of placing the
rollers under her, and, by this means, gradually extricating her from
the imprisoning sands. They were still working when the tide was up to
their knees and lapping high on the beach.

"Hurrah! There she goes!"

The shout startled Frank, and, with a sick heart and quivering lips, he
saw the Sea Eagle slowly turn broadside toward the sea, and then fall
off into deep water. The staunch old schooner was afloat once more, as
sound as the day she was launched.

The pilot-boat was brought alongside and made fast, then they bent on
all the sail they could muster, and, as the hastily-rigged canvas caught
the wind, Sagasta waved his sailor-cap and exultantly exclaimed:

"Here's to Captain Thorne, a hundred fathoms below soundings; and here's
to the Sea Eagle and her new commander!"

All repeated Sagasta's shout with a hearty good will, for they were now
fairly under way--the Spaniard, Chris and the mulatto remaining on the
schooner, and Montes alone managing the pilot-boat.

Frank never took his eyes off the vessels, which kept close company,
till both were nearly out of sight. Then he removed the stone, crept
through the opening, and ran to the spot where only the ashes of the
wreckers' fire were to be seen.

He felt unutterably lonely. To look at the beach and not see the
schooner there was like missing for the first time the face of a dear
and only friend. He sat down on the sand and listened sadly to the moan
of the surf fretting along the beach and the hollow boom of the breakers
dashing against the reef.

The Sea Eagle now was but the merest speck on the ocean. It disappeared
utterly, and the sun set in a bank of wrathy, black clouds.

Frank returned to the cave, too miserable to care for any supper, lay
down on his bed, drew the blanket over his head and sobbed himself to
sleep.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




HOW MY CAMERA CAUGHT A BANK ROBBER.

By Elton J. Buckley.


Lester Drake's detective camera first created the idea of photography in
my mind. Before that, I hadn't the slightest inclination toward the art
whatever, but when Lester purchased his neat little leather-covered box,
and went around merely pressing a button, and getting dozens of pictures
by no other means, I immediately decided that I, too, must have a
camera.

Lester's was not an expensive one. His father had found it in one of the
photographic establishments in Philadelphia, and being of a slightly
scientific turn of mind himself, had purchased it and brought it home to
Lester. The latter fitted up a corner of the cellar as a dark-room, and
straightway launched himself as an amateur photographer.

Lester's first attempts, revealed by the chemical development, were
surprisingly good, and inspired a strong feeling of envy in the breasts
of those of his comrades whose fathers were blind to the oft-repeated
advantages and delights of amateur picture-taking. Even more
exasperating, he straightway became the idol of all the girls at school,
whose zeal in posing for him was only equaled by the grotesqueness of
some of their postures.

I brooded long and deep over this unpleasant condition of affairs, and
finally arrived at the conclusion that I would have a camera like Lester
at any cost.

Lester was kind enough to initiate me into the mysteries of his
dark-room, and to allow me to examine the interior of his camera by ruby
light. With the knowledge thus gained, I resolved to manufacture one
myself. It wouldn't be as handsome as Lester's, perhaps, I thought, but
it might do just as good work. So I made the attempt, using the lenses
from an old microscope which I owned, but in vain. The instrument never
reached the second stage of its construction.

The contrast between Lester's clean, smoothly-covered box, and what I
knew mine would appear, even if I could finally complete it, was too
great, and I abandoned it in despair.

Then I tried another tack. My father was exceedingly skeptical
concerning the desirability of amateur photography, and flatly refused
to furnish the necessary funds. It was October then, so I conceived a
plan by which I would earn money during the fall by corn-husking among
the near-by farmers, so that when spring opened I would have the price
of the coveted camera.

No one could have worked harder during the weeks through which the
season lasted than did I. Huskers were in demand that fall, and I
secured work wherever I applied.

It is just possible that if Lester had grown tired of his camera in the
meanwhile, and had ceased to use it, my desire for one might likewise
have gone by the board, but the snap of his shutter was heard everywhere
and at all times, and even at night--by flash-light--in the barns, where
the frequent huskings were progressing.

When, after a few weeks, the farmers ceased to require buskers, I struck
up a bargain with our grocer, whereby I was to spend Saturdays running
errands for him. The money from this helped out wonderfully, and,
according to my expectations, when April opened, a snug little sum
reposed as the fruit of my labors in one corner of my top bureau drawer.

As soon as the weather moderated slightly, Lester, who now posed as a
photographic oracle, and myself, went to the city one fine morning to
buy the camera.

The neat little leather-covered box was duly inspected and purchased,
together with the pamphlet of instructions that seemed so enticingly
mysterious to my uninformed mind.

The camera was just like Lester's, with the exception of some minor
improvements, which had been effected since the time when he had
purchased his.

On the way home, Lester and I drew up a compact whereby I was to have
the use of his dark-room and chemicals until I felt that I was fairly on
my photographic legs. Then I was to fix up one of my own.

The camera had been sold loaded with plates, ready for use, and I lost
no time in snapping several views here and there as the fancy seized me.

Lester taught me to develop them, and when the most of them came up
under the chemicals clear and sharp, my delight was great.

And when I made prints from them, and the familiar home scenes and my
playmates' faces were there plainly before me, it seemed to me that the
universe could hold nothing more entrancing than amateur photography. Of
course I had failures, but they were few compared with the successes.

One morning in May, after I had become thoroughly versed in the art of
using the camera and had fitted up a dark-room of my own in the attic,
Lester and I sallied out with our cameras, for no other purpose than to
secure a half-dozen snap-shots whenever desirable ones might present
themselves.

It was an ideal day for picture-taking. Rain had fallen the night before
and had left the atmosphere clear and brilliant, with none of that dim
haze which is the camerist's Nemesis so often.

We had strolled along the road, perhaps two miles out of the village,
and had caught three or four very pretty views.

None had presented themselves, however, for some time, when, by a turn
of the road, we came upon a man drinking from a spring at the side of
the road. He was but a few feet away, and was stooping down with his
back toward us.

"Let's get him," said I, in a low tone.

"All right," replied Lester; "you do it, though. I've only got one plate
left."

I had several unexposed plates remaining in my camera, so I pointed the
box toward the man and pressed the button. Just at the instant when the
shutter must have operated, the man heard us and turned his head, facing
us squarely.

He evidently understood what we were about, for he scowled deeply and
walked rapidly away through the woods, without, however, offering to
molest us. He carried a small black grip with him.

As the man's retreating figure disappeared through the trees, Lester and
I drew a long breath of relief, for we felt like criminals detected in a
crime, and we were a trifle afraid of the fellow beside.

We wandered on a little further, snapping a few more wayside pictures,
and then turned toward home and retraced our steps.

That afternoon, Lester came over to my father's house to witness the
development of the morning's pictures.

As, one by one, we put the plates through the developer, a majority came
out well. One or two were a trifle under-exposed, and there were minor
defects in others; but, on the whole, they were very good.

The star negative of the lot, however, was that of the stranger whom I
had photographed drinking, and who had turned his head and caught me in
the act. That was perfect. Everything was brilliantly sharp, and the
shutter had caught the man's full face. In the negative, even so small
an object as his eyes stood out beautifully.

We made a blue-print of this negative, and both Lester and myself
recognized the faithfulness of the likeness, notwithstanding the fact
that we had seen the man but a moment.

About the middle of the afternoon, my father returned from the
neighboring town, ten miles away, in one of the banks of which he was
clerk. He seemed to be much excited and perturbed about something. My
mother noticed it also, and immediately inquired as to the cause of his
uneasiness.

"The bank was robbed last night," he answered, "and over fifty thousand
dollars stolen. Every cent I had in the world is gone with the rest."

My mother made an exclamation of dismay.

"And the worst of it is," went on my father, "that we are almost certain
who the thief is, but we haven't a thing in the world to trace him
by--not a vestige of a photograph or anything like it, which we could
give to detectives to guide them in the hunt. The man's gone, and the
money with him."

And my father sank despondently into a chair.

Meanwhile Lester and I stood by, listening silently, the still wet
blue-print in my hand. After a minute I went and pressed the print out
flat upon the table, on which my father's arm was leaning. At any other
time I would have proudly exhibited it to him, and would have been sure
of his interest and appreciation, but I did not feel like intruding upon
his present worriment.

As I laid the picture face upward upon the table, my father turned his
head and looked at it indifferently. Suddenly he pushed me aside, and
bent over the print so closely that his face almost touched it.

I recovered my balance with difficulty, and stared at him in frightened
bewilderment. My father had never acted in this manner before, and I was
almost afraid he had gone mad.

"Great Scott!" he exclaimed. "The very thing!"

Then, wheeling around, he grasped me by the shoulders, and wanted to
know where I got that picture.

I was far too dazed by his strange actions to answer a word; so Lester
interposed and told my father, in as few words as possible, of our
morning expedition, and of the man whom we had photographed in the act
of drinking.

"Bless the camera!" ejaculated my father, excitedly, "that's Eli Parker,
the thief! And the best likeness of him I ever saw, too!"

Then he questioned us closely as to the direction the man had taken when
discovered, and ended by confiscating the print and the negative, and
rushing out of the house to take the next train back to town. Lester and
I talked about it all the afternoon, and felt ourselves quite heroes for
having the temerity to stand before a real bank robber.

Fifty prints were immediately struck off from the negative, and these
were given to detectives, who scoured the country in every direction.
After a two days' search, those nearest home were successful, and found
Parker in the same woods where Lester and I had first surprised him. He
had sought to evade capture by avoiding railroads, and hiding himself
until the first excitement of the robbery had passed. As the whole
amount of stolen funds was discovered in the little black grip which he
carried, he was convicted of the crime without difficulty, and sentenced
for a term of fifteen years in State prison.

The sequel of the incident was the most agreeable and the most
astonishing of all. One day, a month subsequent, when Parker had been
safely housed in the penitentiary, my father came home, and, with a
mysterious smile upon his face, handed me an envelope. Upon being
opened, the discovery was made that "Howard Benton and Lester Drake were
authorized to draw upon the First National Bank of C----, for $100
apiece, in slight recognition of their part in apprehending Eli Parker,
the perpetrator of the recent robbery upon that institution."

I am still an ardent disciple of amateur photography. Who wouldn't be
under such circumstances?




--The umbrella is undoubtedly of high antiquity, appearing in various
forms upon the sculptured monuments of Egypt, Assyria, Greece and Rome;
and in hot countries it has been used since the dawn of history as a
sunshade--a use signified by its name, derived from the Latin _umbra_, a
shade.




GOOD RULES.

By Rev. P. B. Strong.


  If a mean thing you would do,
    Always put it off a day;
  If a noble act and true,
    Do not e'en a moment stay.

  Ne'er by proxy do a deed.
    Would you have it surely done;
  It you'd never come to need,
    Wait not wealth from any one.

  Deem no coin too small to save,
    Quit not certainty for hope;
  Good denied, you cease to crave,
    Neither o'er the future mope.

  What you can't by bushels take,
    Get by spoonfuls, if you can;
  Never mounts from mole hills make;
    Ere you leap, the distance scan.

  Shiver not for last year's snow,
    Nor bemoan the milk that's spilt;
  When you hasten, slowly go;
    Keep your conscience clear of guilt.

  These old rules, which here in verse
    You behold thus newly set,
  Well it would be to rehearse,
    Till not one you could forget.




                A PERILOUS RIDE.

               By W. Bert Foster.


"So you boys think you came down here pretty fast, eh?" asked Randy
Bronson, crossing one wooden leg over the other and stretching them both
out toward the great fire of hickory logs that were roaring in the
chimney.

Seven of us academy boys had piled into the only double cutter the
village livery stable possessed, and had covered the nine miles between
the school and Randy's place down on the river road in forty-five
minutes, and for a pair of farm horses we thought that pretty good time.
Randy's suppers, or rather his wife Maria's suppers, were famous, and
the doctor was always willing to let a party of us off for an evening at
their little establishment providing we were back in good season. Randy
and his wife were to be trusted to look out for the most harum-scarum
boy who ever attended the Edgewood Academy.

While supper was being prepared we gathered about Randy and the wide
open fireplace to wait for the repast, with all the patience at our
command.

If Maria Bronson's suppers had gained a reputation among us, so had
Randy's stories. He had been a sailor in his youth, and, indeed, in
middle life, until during a naval engagement on the lower Mississippi,
in the civil war, he had both legs shot away, and was doomed to "peg
about," as he jocularly called it, on wooden substitutes.

"So you thought you came down here pretty fast?" asked Randy, repeating
the remark which opened this narrative. "And well you might, with the
roads in the condition they are now. But I've been sleighing faster than
any of you boys have traveled, unless it was on a railroad train, and
over the roughest sort of a track, too."

We all foresaw a story at once and were eager enough to hear the tale.
So with little urging Randy began:

"When I was a boy you know I went to sea," he said, and we all nodded
acquiescence, for about every story Randy told commenced with just that
remark. "My parents died when I was young and I was bound out to an old
uncle; but farming wasn't to my taste, and I was always longing so for
salt water that finally he told me I wasn't worth my board and clothes,
and to clear out and go to sea if I wanted to.

"I didn't need any second bidding. I went off that very night, and I
never saw my Uncle Eb again.

"After going two or three trips to 'the banks,' I shipped aboard the New
Bedford whaler Henry Clay, knowing well enough that whaling couldn't be
a great sight worse than fishing off Newfoundland in the dead of winter.

"As luck would have it, though, the Henry Clay joined the North Atlantic
fleet and started for the Greenland fishing grounds. We lost the rest of
the fleet in a big blow off Cape Farewell and worked northward alone,
having the good fortune to fall in with several school of right whales,
out of which we captured three or four 'balleeners,'[*] the oil and bone
together being worth something like eighteen thousand dollars.

  [Footnote *:
  All the large whales of the region referred to are called
  "balleeners" as their mouths are furnished with the balleen
  or whalebone of commerce.]

"The captain had begun to crow over the fine season we were having,
when, early in October, we were caught in a nip in Cumberland Inlet, and
the ice piled in so solidly around us that we knew we were good for all
winter. There wasn't any particular danger, for the Henry Clay was a
well-built craft, strengthened to withstand just such a squeeze as the
ice-pack was giving us.

"Captain Simon Lewis, as kind-hearted a man as ever I sailed under, made
all needed preparations for winter at once, and we boys before the mast
looked forward to a pretty jolly season.

"We were warmly clad, the fo'castle grub was better than is common with
whalers, and there was every prospect for plenty of fresh meat and good
hunting, as soon as the ice about us should become firm.

"After everything had been made ship-shape, we were given all the
freedom we needed, and the library brought aboard by the officers was
open to common use. Several days after this order of things had been
established, the mate took half a dozen of us younger fellows out for a
long tramp over the ice. There were three guns in the party, and we went
along like a parcel of schoolboys out on a frolic.

"We made only about eight miles before noon, for the ice was so uneven
that the traveling was rougher than any I had ever experienced, when
suddenly, upon rounding an enormous ice hummock, we came in sight of a
group of Esquimaux, sledges and dogs, and were discovered before we
could retreat behind the hummock again.

"The crowd raised a cry of '_Kabulenet! Oomeak! Kabulenet! Oomeak!_'
which means, 'White men and ships!' and a general rush was made in our
direction.

"The mate told us there was nothing to fear, as they were quite
friendly, and he walked forward to meet them. He had been among them
before and knew some of their words, so we were quickly on excellent
terms with them.

"They surrounded us, laughing and chattering like so many children,
shaking hands, examining our clothes and repeating, like parrots, the
words and expressions the white men whom they had met before had taught
them.

"One old chap, Kalutunah by name, seemed especially kindly disposed
towards us, and, following his example, the entire party, finding the
white men's ship was so near, decided to make their winter quarters near
us, knowing that they would probably get what would be, to them,
valuable presents.

"Captain Lewis was glad to have them for neighbors, too, for, if we
should happen to run short of fresh meat or should get smashed in the
ice--and there is always a possibility of that--the Esquimaux would be
of great assistance.

"They built their _igloos_ not far from the ship, and we interchanged
frequent visits. Kalutunah and I became very intimate, and I tried to
teach him English words and their meaning in his language; but he never
got any farther than _ees_ and _noe_--his pronunciation of 'yes' and
'no.'

"Two months of such an easy life as we led tired me more than cutting up
the biggest 'balleener' that was ever 'ironed.' Parties of the Esquimaux
went off hunting every day, and, finding that Kalutunah was making
preparations for a two days' hunt up the inlet, I begged the captain to
allow me to go with him, and permission was readily given.

"The trip was to be made on Kalutunah's sledge, and if you have never
read about or seen a picture of an Esquimau sledge, you want to look it
up at once. It is one of the most ingeniously-built things I ever saw,
considering the means at the command of the Esquimaux.

[Illustration:
"MY BULLET HAD TAKEN EFFECT ON ONE OF THE DOGS,
WHICH HAD IMMEDIATELY TANGLED UP THE REST OF
THE TEAM AND BROUGHT THE SLEDGE TO A STANDSTILL."]

"The runners, which are of bone, are square behind and curved upward in
front, usually five feet or more in length, three-fourths of an inch
thick, and seven in height. They are not of solid bone, but composed of
many pieces of various shapes and sizes, yet all fitting together so
perfectly that they are as smooth as glass.

"The shoe is of ivory from the walrus, and is fastened to the runner
with seal strings looped through counter-sunk holes, and in the same
manner the various bones making up the runner are fastened in place.

"When you take into consideration the fact that all this fitting and
smoothing is done with stone implements, you will believe me when I say
the Esquimau sledge is a wonderful thing.

"The runners are placed fourteen inches apart and are fastened together
by cross-pieces tightly lashed by sealskin strings. Two walrus ribs are
lashed to the after end of each runner in an upright position, and these
are braced by other bones, forming the back, and, with plenty of skins
and robes for cushions, the Esquimau sledge isn't the most uncomfortable
thing in the world to ride upon.

"Kalutunah was going after walrus, and I borrowed a rifle of the mate,
thinking that I might do a little shooting on my own account on the way.

"Seven of the hungriest-looking and ugliest dogs among the large number
belonging to the natives drew the sledge. The Esquimau usually hitches
seven dogs to his sledge, and never drives them tandem, each dog being
attached to the sledge by a single trace fastened to a breast-strap.

"It doesn't matter how rapidly they are running or what the obstructions
are, they will keep their traces clear of one another. The dogs on
either side have the most work to do, and, after holding that position
for some time, a dog will jump over several of his fellows into the
centre of the pack and let some other have his place on the outside.

"Kalutunah got on the sledge, and I sat between his knees, and, amid a
great deal of shouting and chaffing from the rest of the crew, the dogs
started off at Kalutunah's cry of 'Ka! Ka!' and a touch of the whip.

"By-the-way, boys, that whip was a wonder. The lash was six yards long
and the handle but sixteen inches. Learning to throw the lasso isn't a
circumstance to learning the ins and out of that whip.

"Of course, boy like, I wanted to try it before we had gone a mile.
While traveling, the lash trails along in the rear, and by a quick
motion of the hand and wrist is thrown forward like a great snake,
snapping like a gun-shot over the heads of the team.

"The first time I tried it the end of the lash caught me on the arm,
and, although the member was thickly covered, I felt the blow
unpleasantly.

"Kalutunah laughed immoderately at my failure, but dodged the next
instant as I tried it again, the lash this time coming within an ace of
taking him across the face.

"The third time I essayed the feat, the end of the whip caught on a
jutting piece of ice, and I was 'snatched' off the sledge in grand
style, nearly wrecking it in my exit.

"That was going a little too far, so Kalutunah thought, and he wouldn't
let me try it again, so I contented myself with nursing the various
bruises I had received in my tumble.

"But how those dogs could travel! The frozen inlet was strewn with
hummocks and broken ice cakes, and I had to cling to the sledge with
both hands sometimes to keep from being thrown off.

"I was profoundly grateful when we reached our stopping place about the
middle of the afternoon. A week before Kalutunah had seen a walrus near
this place, under some new ice that had formed over a breathing hole.

"The dogs were left fastened to the sledge, so that their presence would
not disturb the walrus should one be near. The Esquimau got out his
harpoon and line and approached the thin ice, telling me to keep back.

"I wasn't very eager to stay near the walrus should the old fellow be
lucky enough to iron one, for there had been one caught near the Henry
Clay, and a more ferocious-looking beast I never saw.

"I stayed back near the sledge with my rifle, on the lookout for
something to try a shot at, and in the meantime keeping my eye on old
Kalutunah. He went forward carefully, dodging from hummock to hummock,
but gradually getting nearer the thin ice. All at once I caught sight of
another object on the ice a little to the right of the Esquimau. At
first I thought it was a seal, for it lay flat on the ice, and was about
to hurry after Kalutunah to tell him about it, when the figure rose up
and I saw that it was a man--another Esquimau.

"The stranger walked rapidly toward Kalutunah, and had almost reached
his side before the old fellow noticed him. Then he sprang up, and
although they were too far away for me to hear them, even if my ears had
not been covered with my hood, I saw that they were talking together.

"The stranger continued to advance, holding out his hand as though to
shake Kalutunah's.

"Having arrived quite near, he took a quick stride forward, and instead
of offering his hand, as Kalutunah had evidently expected, suddenly
raised a short club and struck Kalutunah on the head.

"It was a most brutal act, and so unexpected was it that for an instant
I was stupefied.

"Kalutunah threw up his arm, and fell backward without a cry. The
treacherous wretch leaned over him to repeat the blow, but I had found
my senses by that time, and, raising my rifle, fired at him. The bullet
probably flew wide of its mark, but it scared the rascal. Evidently he
had not noticed me before, and least of all expected to find a white boy
with the old man he had so cruelly attacked.

"With a wild yell, he ran at the top of his speed, expecting no doubt
another shot every instant.

"I hurried forward to where Kalutunah was lying senseless on the ice. He
was not dead, and, as I reached him, he raised up, with an evident
effort, and cried:

"'See-ne-mee-utes! See-ne-mee-utes!'

"I remembered then what the mate of the Henry Clay had once told me
about a tribe of bloodthirsty men in the interior, called by the
well-disposed Esquimaux See-ne-mee-utes. These wretches approach a
stranger to all appearances in a friendly manner, and, taking him
unawares, assault him in the treacherous way that Kalutunah had been
attacked.

"The old man was brave if he was an Esquimau, for I could understand by
his motions that he wanted me to fly and leave him. But I wouldn't hear
of that.

"From the direction in which the See-ne-mee-ute had fled I saw a dozen
figures approaching. Evidently there were plenty of reinforcements at
hand, and, even with my rifle, I could not keep them at bay.

"Kalutunah was not a large man--Esquimaux seldom are--and the dog sledge
was not far in our rear. I had strong arms and two good legs under me in
those days, so, lifting the poor fellow, I carried him to the sledge.

"The dogs were up and excited, I could see by their actions; but I had
no time to fool with them. I placed Kalutunah, who had again become
unconscious, on the sledge and got on before him. By this time my
pursuers were close at hand, and I was horrified to see two dog sledges
following in the rear. Unfamiliar as I was with the management of
Kalutunah's team, the See-ne-mee-utes would overtake us in spite of all
I could do.

"I raised my rifle and gave them a parting shot, and the dogs,
frightened by the report so near them, started off like mad over the ice
toward the distant ship.

"Again my bullet must have been badly aimed, for it only brought forth a
howl of rage from my pursuers, as they saw me escaping. Hastily boarding
their sledges, four of them started after me.

"I had a little start, but my dogs, having had only an hour's rest,
would likely be no match in speed for those attached to the
See-ne-mee-ute sledges; but they started nobly, spreading out like a fan
before the sledge and tugging at the breast-straps.

"Had Kalutunah been able to drive them, there might be more chance for
us, I thought; but Kalutunah remained unconscious, and I had all I could
do to hold both him and myself upon the swaying sledge.

"Without Kalutunah's voice and whip to guide them, the dogs turned aside
for very few obstructions, but tore over them all, nearly wrecking the
sledge at every leap. The pursuing sledges, guided by skillful drivers,
were therefore able to gradually creep up on us.

"I knew very few Esquimaux words, but I yelled to the dogs at the top of
my voice and managed to get 'em infused with some of my own fear, for
they sped over the ice-field as I had never seen them travel before.

"On, on we went! The wind cut my face--from which the hood had fallen
back--like a knife. I grew dizzy with the rush of air and the swaying of
the sledge. It was impossible to get a shot at my pursuers, while the
dogs were traveling at this rate; but I determined to make a desperate
stand against the four men, should they overtake us.

"For some reason or other, their dogs were not so superior in endurance
to Kalutunah's as I had feared. After first gaining on us a little, they
barely kept their pace for the first six miles. Then the speed began to
tell on my dogs and skillful driving on my pursuers'. My animals were
getting fagged out, and slowly but steadily I was being overhauled.

"Old Kalutunah had all the appearance of a dead man. For one dreadful
moment I was tempted to throw him off the sledge. Their burden thus
lightened, the dogs might be able to carry me safely back to the ship,
still far down the inlet.

"But this cowardly thought possessed me only an instant. I recalled the
old Esquimau's unselfishness in wanting me to escape and leave him when
he was wounded, and determined that, if I ever reached the Henry Clay
again, he should.

"The See-ne-mee-utes were close behind me now, urging their dogs on with
exultant cries. The foremost sledge was within fifty feet, and the other
directly behind it.

"Risking a disastrous tumble upon the ice, I rose upon my knees and
turned toward them, holding by one hand to the back of the sledge.
Kalutunah lay on the bottom, and I held his body from rolling off by the
pressure of my knees.

"The wretches saw my head appear above the back of the sledge, and they
uttered a loud shout of rage, shaking their spears and urging on their
dogs to still greater exertions. An extra heavy lurch of the sledge
almost threw me overboard, but I braced myself and raised my rifle to my
shoulder.

"As soon as they saw my weapon the two men in the foremost sledge
burrowed like rats among the robes. Those in the rear were hidden
from me.

"I had but an instant to reflect. We were rapidly approaching a terribly
rough piece of ice, and I should be thrown out did I not sink down into
the sledge again.

"The dogs were between me and the crouching occupants of the pursuing
sledge, and kept me from getting a correct aim at the men.

"Quick as a flash I fired right into the pack, and then dropped into the
bottom of my own sledge. The next instant we struck the rough stretch of
ice, and I had all I could do to cling on until we had passed it. Then I
looked back.

"Judge of my surprise when I saw that, by a fortunate accident, my
pursuers had been stopped.

"My bullet had taken effect on one of the dogs, which had immediately
tangled up the rest of the team and brought the sledge to a standstill.

"The sledge behind seemed to be completely mixed up in the disaster, and
the two sets of dogs were fighting furiously, while the Esquimaux were
running about trying to separate them.

"I was safe! Another two miles and the Henry Clay would be in sight,
and, unless some accident happened to my own team, my pursuers would not
be able to gain the vantage they had lost.

"When I reached the ship, the moon was high and all hands had turned in
long before, but they roused out, as did the Esquimaux from their huts,
at my halloo.

"Poor old Kalutunah was carried into the cabin, and the captain and mate
worked over him a long time before they brought him to. He had been
almost frozen in addition to his wound, so that he had a hard fight for
life. But when he was finally on his pins again, how thankful he was to
me! And the whole tribe was the same way.

"One bad result of my adventure, however, was that Captain Lewis would
allow no more extended trips away from the vessel, and although we never
saw anymore See-ne-mee-utes, every party that went out for even a short
tramp was fully armed and under the command of an officer.

"Now you can't tell me anything about rapid sledding," concluded Randy.
"I've had my day at it, and I must say that it was about as
uncomfortable an experience as I ever had."




        [_This Story began in No. 43._]

               The PURPLE PENNANT
                       or
           ALAN HEATHCOTE'S FORTUNE.

               A Foot-Ball Story.

            BY A PRINCETON GRADUATE.


CHAPTER XXV.

MR. MACKERLY REVIVES AND GRANT ATTEMPTS TO SEND ALAN TO COVENTRY.

The sudden collapse of Mr. Mackerly, while in conversation with his son,
was a great shock to the latter, who could scarcely believe that the
news he had just been relating should have such an extraordinary effect
upon his imperious and lofty father. Was it possible that the statements
at which he had scoffed had some plausibility, and that there was a
grain of hidden truth in the charge brought by his rival, Alan
Heathcote? There was no mistaking the fact that something external had
caused the magnate's startling indisposition, and Grant, even though he
was badly scared at his father's plight, drew his own conclusions in
regard to the matter. Meanwhile he stood helplessly calling until he
collected presence of mind enough to go around to the other side of the
table and raise his father's inanimate form to a more comfortable
position.

"Help! Help!" he cried distractedly. "Father's dying! Aunt Annie!
James!"

He was warranted in his belief that his parent was breathing his last,
for his face was of a deathly pallor, and to Grant's inexperienced eye
this was a symptom of the gravest import, and he gave his father up for
lost immediately.

He did not stand long alone in his helplessness, for in another moment
James, the butler, and Grant's Aunt Annie came hurrying in. They both
took in the situation at a glance, and while the first mentioned opened
the window, in order to admit the fresh cold air, the latter bathed his
temples with water and cologne.

Mr. Mackerly had fallen into a swoon of unusual severity, and the
process of reviving him was slow and tedious. It was nearly a half hour
before he was strong enough to speak to them.

"Shall I send for a doctor?" inquired his sister anxiously.

"No, by no means," he feebly replied. "It's one of my ordinary fainting
spells. I've had them before. I'll--I'll be all right in a few minutes.
Lay me on the couch in the library and--let me alone. What time is it?"

"Nearly half-past seven," answered his sister.

"Where is Grant?" was his next query.

"Here I am, father," and his son stepped before him. "What's wanted?"

"Come to the library at eight o'clock. I want to speak to you. I will be
much better then. Don't forget."

Grant promised, and with the help of the butler and the gardener his
father was carried to the library and placed upon a couch, where he was
left by himself in spite of his sister's expostulations.

She was a widow, as Mr. Mackerly was a widower, and they made their home
together in that magnificent residence on the hill back of Whipford.

Promptly on the chime of eight, Grant marched into the library, and
found his father, pale but steady, seated at the secretary, busily
examining a heterogenous mass of papers.

"Are you better, father?" he asked, solicitously.

"Don't you see I am?" was the cross response. "That spell was only
temporary. I am afraid of them, as they are coming on more frequently.
Doctor Sedgwick tells me I must take more exercise or I'll fall sick in
earnest."

"I thought you took plenty," said Grant, guardedly.

His father did not seem to hear his remark, but went on searching busily
among the papers. Grant grew impatient and asked:

"Well, what do you want of me, father?"

"Oh, yes, I did ask you to come in, Grant, didn't I?" he replied, as if
just recollecting the fact. "Why, what were we talking about when that
dizzy feeling came over me? Do you remember the conversation?"

"Why, of course," replied the son, considerably astonished at his
parent's alleged forgetfulness. "It was about that little affair between
Alan Heathcote and myself. Just as I told you he denied his father owed
you anything, you fainted, and I hadn't a chance to finish. You--"

"Oh, I remember!" interrupted Mr. Mackerly. "You told me he stated that
he had an envelope containing papers, didn't you?"

"Not that I know of," answered Grant. "I never said anything about an
envelope, and he didn't, either. He said he had papers to prove that you
owed his father money, and that's all. There was something more about
witnesses--just what it was I don't recollect."

"Well, you had quite a wordy quarrel. What else did he say?"

The tone of anxiety with which this was asked was but barely concealed.

"Oh, all sorts of tough things, together with that little imp, Dick
Percy!" responded Grant, bluntly. "But I gave them as good as I got, and
don't you mistake. Pretty soon that big chump Teddy Taft came up and put
in his say, and, as I couldn't stand up against three, I took my leave."

"From what you say, this Heathcote boy is a determined fellow, is he
not?" inquired Mr. Mackerly, toying with a paper-cutter.

"Bull-headed, I call him," was his son's vindictive reply. "He's no
gentleman, and I've told him so. What makes me so mad is that Cole and
Mr. Nicholson have put me off the eleven, and put him in my place. Him!
He can't play football, the country jay!"

"It's favoritism, that's what it is," remarked Mr. Mackerly, shortly.

He had heard rumors of the matter in the village, but held his counsel.

"They can do as they please," asserted his son; "but if I don't make
that fellow sick, my name's not what it is, that's all. The idea of him
saying he had proof that you were a rascal. It's a mean, bold lie, and
he ought to be drummed out of school."

"You have my authority for branding it as a malicious falsehood," said
his father, "and if it is repeated, I shall take measures to have young
Heathcote punished. But don't say anything of it, Grant, until some one
informs you. You needn't take the trouble to deny it if he hasn't told
anybody. Perhaps he has been afraid to spread the tale among the boys at
Whipford."

"I guess he was afraid of the licking he knew he'd get from me," said
Grant, vauntingly; "so I don't think he's told anything like that."

It was for another reason unknown to him that Alan had kept
silent--because Beniah Evans had cautioned him to that effect--and not
that he feared the vain-glorious Grant.

"Well," remarked the magnate, "that may be. I hope he has kept a close
tongue in his head for his own good, if nothing else. It will save him
trouble. Go and tell James to pack my grip," he directed, suddenly, as
he scattered the raft of papers with a quick move of his arm and closed
and locked the secretary. "Hurry up. I must catch that ten o'clock
train."

"Where are you going this time of night?" asked Grant, who, though used
to his father's absences, and caring little whether he was home or
abroad, felt somewhat curious as to this rapid determination to travel.

"I'm going to Philadelphia and then possibly further south to see a man
on very important business," responded Mr. Mackerly. "I am restless and
can't stay at home. I originally did not intend to start until next
week, but I've changed my mind."

"But you aren't well. What will Aunt Annie say?"

"She needn't know," was the short reply. Then, hastily, "You run and get
the buggy out for me, and I'll call the butler. I must catch that ten
o'clock train at the Junction at all hazards. Stop at O'Brien's house
and tell him to come and drive me over. If he isn't there, James will
have to try his hand at the reins."

Grant hastened to obey his father's directions, and in the space of a
few minutes the team was ready, with O'Brien, the stable-man, and Mr.
Mackerly as its occupants; and soon they were out of sight in the
darkness, speeding for the train.

"There's something up, that's dead sure!" soliloquized Grant, as he
stood in the doorway. "Father's never in all that hurry for nothing.
I wonder what the racket is? I'll go a fiver that it has something to do
with that Heathcote matter. He's a perfect nuisance, and I hope father
will squelch him this time, once and for all, the booby!"

Soon dismissing his father's departure from his mind, Grant went up to
his room and retired to bed.

The next morning he went over to the Hall very early, considering his
past record, and was one of the first to take his seat in the assembly
room.

Archer and Shriver, with whom he desired to speak, were somewhat tardy,
and he got no chance to address them until the end of the first
recitation.

"Hello, Grant!" called the former. "Where've you been all the time?
Haven't seen you for an age."

"Been up at the house," replied Grant, briefly. "Any practice to-day,
George?"

"Yes," answered Shriver; "at half-past twelve. You're with Wilcox on the
second eleven. Sorry that Heathcote dished you out of half-back, but it
can't be helped. I took Runyon's place, and he was angry at first, but
he came up to-day and shook hands with me like a little man, and said he
hoped I would get along first rate, and that he'd try and oust me next
year. He's one of the substitutes this year, and you are to play
substitute half-back with Wilcox."

"I am, am I?" growled Grant, sneeringly. "Who says so?"

"Cole gave it out last night," put in Lewis Archer, "so it's settled."

"It's not settled as far as I am concerned," declared the turned-down
player, firmly. "I play on the regular team or not at all. That's my
proper place, and no miserable upstart like Alan Heathcote is going to
crow over me."

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" asked Archer, with a careless
drawl.

Grant Mackerly was steadily dropping from the high place, he once held
in his estimation, and every action now exhibited his selfishness to
Archer, who, with all his laziness, was a boy of fine feelings.

"Why, let's boycott him altogether," said Grant, eagerly. "Let's put all
the fellows against him and show him up for just what he is. If he sees
nobody speaks to him he'll soon come down from his high horse. What do
you say to it, fellows?"

Instead of making any immediate reply in words, his companions at first
gave him looks of incredulity and amazement, and then burst into loud
peals of laughter. It was some time before they sobered down.

"What?" demanded Shriver. "Boycott Alan Heathcote? Send him to Coventry?
Ha! ha! Why, you'd have the heaviest contract on your hands you ever had
in your life. It's all nonsense."

"There's not a fellow in the whole school who would be fool enough to
join you," said Archer, plainly and in disgust. "Why, you might as well
try that scheme on Cole or Mr. Nicholson. No, no, my dear boy, that plan
of yours won't work. The fellows, as a rule, like Heathcote pretty well.
He attends to his own business, stands well in his class, or will when
the next exam. takes place, and to add to it all he's as fleet of foot
as a deer on the foot-ball field; so you would be the solitary duck in
the puddle if you tried to freeze him out."

Grant Mackerly listened to these responses of his friends in silence.
Then his face assumed a determined look, and without another word to
either of them he turned away and walked quickly out of the door to the
campus and disappeared among the trees.

"Mad as a hornet," observed Archer, carelessly.

"He'll cool down by to-morrow," remarked Shriver.

And they went into the recitation-room talking it over.


CHAPTER XXVI.

RIPLEY FALLS INVADES THE TOWN.

The story of Grant Mackerly's attempt to place a boycott on Alan soon
leaked out among the boys, and great was the merriment it aroused at the
Hall.

In the ridicule and disgust which the incident produced the prestige of
the rich man's son was lost forever. No one pitied him. It was all his
own fault, and even his quondam friends deserted him, while his
appearance would have been the signal for a universal grin.

Strange to say, he had not been seen at the Hall since he had made that
proposition to Archer and Shriver, and now a couple of days had passed
and no sign of him.

He did not respond to his name either in the assembly or
recitation-rooms, and Doctor Bostwick began to think something was
wrong.

He summoned Lewis Archer one day in passing and asked him if he could
call at the Mackerly residence and obtain some news of the missing boy.

"I am afraid that he is ill," said the good principal, "or something
unusual has happened to him. I have never known him to have been absent
for so long a time without sending in an excuse or asking for leave."

Archer called that very afternoon at the house on the hill, and, after
repeated ringings, Mrs. Weldon, Grant's aunt, came to the door.

"What's become of Grant?" asked Archer. "Doctor Bostwick sent me up to
inquire about his absence. He's been away from the Hall for three days."

"Yes, I know he has," answered Mrs. Weldon; "but please tell Doctor
Bostwick I don't know the reason for his absence, except that one day he
came home and said he was too ill to stay at school, and the day before
yesterday he borrowed some money from me and went to Buffalo, where his
uncle lives. I hope Doctor Bostwick will be patient with him. His father
is away, too, and won't return till over a week."

"Well," cogitated Lewis, as he carried this information to the doctor,
"that's very satisfactory, I must say. I wonder what Doctor Bostwick
will think?"

The principal of Whipford Hall looked puzzled as Archer related to him
the account of Mackerly's whereabouts, but said nothing except, "I will
communicate with Grant's father on his return," and thanked his
schoolmate for the call he had made and bowed him out.

When the examination took place, Grant Mackerly was still absent, and it
was understood that no word had been received from either himself or his
father.

As a consequence he was dropped to the foot of the class, and a poor
report was sent to his home.

Alan was overjoyed to find that he was very near the head, and still
more so when he saw the accounts of his progress in study which was to
be sent to Beniah Evans. The principal complimented him on his good
work, and hoped he would keep it up.

Alan inwardly resolved to do so, and remit no exertion which would cause
him to forge to the front at Whipford.

It was now the first week of November, and he had been at the Hall for
nearly two months and was getting along famously with both the pupils
and teachers.

As far as his intimacy with Cole, Taft and Kimball was concerned, it
continued with unabated ardor and remained unbroken. The four of them
conned their studies over to each other in their rooms, and Alan got
many an idea from the older and more experienced genius of King Cole.

As for football, they were the backbone of the team, and many a new
trick in the game was invented by one of them as they sat together in
the autumn nights over the sputtering lamp.

By the boys of the school they came to be known as the "Big Four," and
it was to them that every one looked to uphold the honor of the Hall,
both in study and athletics.

The team kept on practicing with persistent regularity, and the interest
in the championship, which had somewhat abated after the Jamesville
game, now began to arouse, for the Ripley Falls contest was at hand.

For three weeks the eleven had had a holiday, and played no heavy games
except on two occasions, when a delegation from the Whipford Athletic
Club had given them a sample of hard playing, and, sad to say, beaten
them on both meetings. It was no wonder, though, for their team was
composed of full-grown young men, some of whom had been to college and
all of whom were in business or lived in the neighborhood.

It was no disgrace to be defeated by such good material, and while the
Hall team went into the fight with no expectation of winning, they came
out with a great stock of experience and many new points. It was a good
practice to them, and a couple of the Athletic Club players took their
eleven in hand and coached them for a whole week. Every boy was
developing into a fine all-around player.

One Saturday afternoon in the middle of November, on a dull and chilly
day, the team from the High School at Ripley Falls came over with a full
complement of players, and the whole school to a boy following on their
footsteps.

They were an enthusiastic but orderly crowd, and had the most implicit
confidence in their team. In truth, their eleven deserved it, for they
had met both Davenport and Jamesville and whipped those teams by good
scores--the former by 16 to 4, the latter by 25 to 8, thus rendering
their chances for the pennant null.

So far, they had won the same number of games as either the Whipford or
Weston, and stood neck to neck with them in the race.

There was more uncertainty about to-day's game than any the Hall boys
had yet played, but none of them would hear of defeat for an instant.

"What!" exclaimed Ike Smith, who was worked up to the shouting point,
and who had heard one of the boys express a doubt as to the team's
ability to win except by a stroke of luck. "What do you say? Our eleven
be frozen out? I guess not, young fellow. Look at Cole, just coming out
of the gymnasium. Why, he's cooler than most of us. There comes
Heathcote now and Kimball, and there's Teddy Taft. Hooray for the Big
Four! Come, fellows, let's give them a cheer."

The group of Hall boys whom Ike headed followed his instructions and
gave the four players a rousing yell of encouragement, which was duly
appreciated.

As the four made their way to the scene of the conflict, Percy's field,
Ike and his company got together and marched up to the station, with the
purpose of meeting the visitors.

When the train rolled in, carrying the High School boys, the latter, on
alighting, were both surprised and pleased to see a whole line of Hall
boys drawn up with military precision on the other side of the road, and
saluting the newcomers with uplifted hands.

The fellows from Ripley Hall formed in twos in short order, and,
escorted by their opponents, proceeded down the road to Percy's field.
Ike Smith, who was in his element, led the procession, and his proud
strut was something comical to see.

The appearance of the two contending factions in one parade was a
surprise to the town's-people who had gathered to see the game, and they
greeted the young collegians with applause.

After a few preliminary movements, the boys of the opposing schools
settled in one place of their leaders' choosing, and waited for the
contest to begin.

The grounds were in fair condition, and had been put in good order by a
number of the boys the day before. They had been measured off under the
supervision of Mr. Nicholson, so that the field was a perfect rectangle
of three hundred and thirty feet in length by one hundred and sixty in
width, the five-yard lines and bounds being marked with streaks of lime,
so that there could be no mistaking them.

Some of the boys had borrowed a roller from Mr. Percy, and by dint of
much work had succeeded in leveling the field and pressing down the
uneven spots. Although it was a fair place for playing, and, as the
small field directly back of the Hall could not be utilized, this was of
very good service. Unlike the Davenport grounds there was no stand, and
the spectators moved from one end of the field to the other, keeping
pace with the players. As the boys would rather stand than sit, it made
no difference to them, and the majority of the others had vehicles in
which they stood to view the play.

"Oh, if we only had the athletic grounds!" remarked Archer, who was
gotten up in the height of fashion and carried a cane on which was a
yard or so of blue ribbon. "That's the place for a game."

"It costs too much," replied Ike, "and we can't very well charge an
admission."

"They're fine grounds and no mistake," said another. "But here come the
teams. Little Dick Percy is running ahead."

In another moment the two elevens had vaulted the rails and burst into
the grounds amid the cheers of their respective schoolmates.


CHAPTER XXVII.

A CLOSE CONTEST WITH THE HIGH SCHOOL.

The visiting team had changed their clothing in the gymnasium, and in
company with some of the Hall eleven had set off for the grounds. Cole
and Kimball had been trying for goals for some time, and when the rest
came on they ceased practice and joined the eleven. After a few minutes'
preparatory work in kicking and passing, the two teams stopped while the
captains tossed up for choice of the ball or position. Cole won and
decided to keep the ball. The referee was a member of the Whipford
Athletic Club and the umpire was from Davenport. As both were well
acquainted with the rules of the game, there was no question of any
disputed point remaining unsettled. Time for the play was called.

"Oh, now, fellows," pleaded Ike Smith, "do your level best and beat
'em."

"You bet they will," said Archer, emphatically. "Look at George Shriver
getting ready to spring at the ball. George means business and no
mistake."

"And look at little Dick Percy dancing around with his hands ready for
service," added Ike. "Isn't he a little wonder now?"

The ball was placed in the centre of the field. The rushers of the High
School eleven stood leaning forward expectantly, waiting the moment of
charging. They were obliged to stand ten yards from the front of the
leather sphere, the movements of which decided the fate of the game. It
was plain to be seen they knew their business and were of much superior
stuff to the members of the Davenport and Jamesville teams. Their
captain held the position of right half-back, and from that place gave
his commands to the players, who were well trained and drilled in the
intricacies of team work. On the other side the Hall team was the same
that had played the game at Jamesville and looked like sure winners to a
disinterested outsider. Wilcox and Mackerly were the substitute
half-backs, and there were a dozen other players to be put on in case of
necessity. But the latter named was still absent, much to the disgust of
everybody, and as his non-appearance was unexplained, it was naturally
put down to sulkiness and lack of school patriotism.

In the first exciting minutes his absence was not noticed by all, and
attention was earnestly concentrated on the opening of the match that
was to decide if Ripley Falls or Whipford should have the best chance
for the pennant and should battle with the presumably successful Weston.

Teddy Taft, amid a death-like silence, advanced to the middle of the
field, followed by all his supporters, and slowly picked up the ball.

He was the apex of a triangle of boys, who were ready to rush down the
field the instant the ball was put into play. Dick Percy crouched behind
him with extended hands ready to receive it.

The centre-rusher held the ball for a moment, and then passed it to the
active quarter-back, who in turn passed it to Harry Kimball, and in the
centre of the V, and protected by its side, the latter tore diagonally
down the field for a gain of forty feet, until he was held by the
rushers of the other side, who had finally broken through.

Quickly the teams lined up in the scrimmage, and Alan ran around the
ends for a good gain.

Then, unfortunately, the Hall boys could not advance another yard, owing
to the active tackling of the High School players, and on four downs,
without a five-yard gain, the ball went to their opponents.

Then ensued a battle royal for the next quarter of an hour. Ripley Falls
struggled hard to advance the leather into Whipford's land, with some
small success, but being in danger of losing the ball on downs, it was
passed to their full-back, who punted it away up the field close to the
blue's goal-line.

It was caught by Cole, who no sooner clutched it than he was seized and
held by the boys of the white and purple--the colors of the High School.
He grasped it firmly, and was allowed a fair catch.

This gave Whipford the kick-off, and the ball was punted up the field
with the whole eleven on its track.

Upon lining up for the scrimmage, McKenzie, the right end of the Hall
team, broke through and was down on the captain of their opponents
before the latter could run with the ball.

It was a big loss for Ripley, and when Adams, the left end, did the same
thing an instant later, the noise from the Hall boys along the bounds
was ear-piercing.

When it looked as if the captain of the High School eleven was good for
a run the whole length of the field, with only Heathcote and Cole in
front of him, and was very neatly stopped by the former with a gain of a
few yards only and the loss of the ball, the racket was tremendous.

Then the blues did some tall playing. They had the ball and meant to
keep it, and surely was it forced to within a couple of yards of the
goal-line of the purple and white.

The next play of the Hall team settled the question, for when Dick Percy
received the ball from Teddy Taft, instead of throwing it to Heathcote,
as the enemy expected, it was passed over to Adams, who, with Shriver,
Heathcote and Cole pushing him, crossed the line and touched the ball
down amid the plaudits of their schoolmates.

As the touch-down was made near the centre of the goal immediately under
the cross-bar, Cole had no difficult task to kick a goal.

It had been hard work, but was accomplished nicely, and the boys from
Whipford felt highly elated, while the High School fellows looked
mournful.

The first half ended without any further scoring, and the contestants
threw their sweaters over their shoulders and retired to their benches
for a rest, while their supporters talked the game over.

"I don't see Grant Mackerly," remarked a boy, looking over all the
wearers of football costumes. "What in the world has become of him?"

"Well, he might as well stay away," declared the ever-ready Ike. "He's
not needed in this game, anyhow. Alan Heathcote is doing the work of two
like him. Now look how he stopped that half-back of the Ripley's! Wasn't
that fine? Just like clock-work!"

"No question about that," admitted Archer. "I thought for sure that
fellow was headed for a touch-down, but Heathcote brought him to grass
as neat as a whistle. He certainly is a plucky player."

The sentiment among all the boys was practically to the same effect.

Meanwhile the conversation among the members of the team was of a
decidedly earnest character. None of them shared the confidence of their
schoolfellows in regard to winning by a large score, for they knew that
the boys of the striped stockings had played a skillful and a bold
game--a game that was persistent and wearing, and which might turn the
tables the other way in the next half. So they took counsel together as
they collected about their captain.

"Play a defensive game next half," directed the latter. "Don't try to
roll up points, but let them do the struggling. We're ahead, and we must
keep ahead. And, by all means, keep your eyes on those half-backs.
I tell you that captain of theirs--Young, I think his name is--is a
splendid player. He's full of tricks, and he hasn't showed us them yet,
and I look for a surprise in the next half."

"I tell you," said Shriver, as he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, "that fellow opposite me is giving me all I care to attend to.
I'm pretty nearly done up trying to get past him."

Cole looked alarmed.

"You're not going to peg out, are you?" he questioned. "I told you,
Shriver, that you didn't pay enough attention to your training and kept
too late hours. Now you see the result of it."

"I'll stand up against them," declared Shriver, "if I have to be carried
off the field in a wheelbarrow. Never worry for me, Cole."

"Time!" called the umpire at this point.

"Well, now for the pennant, boys," said Cole, encouragingly.

And the two elevens walked out for the last effort.

"High School's ball," announced the referee.

And on the word that team pounced upon it and carried it ten yards down
the field toward Whipford's goal.

The vim and energy of their playing was certainly phenomenal, and they
dashed aside the opposition like charging war horses. Next a most
alarming thing occurred, and it was no easy matter to say how it
happened. It was one of the tricks of that captain of the High School
eleven. His team had gained no ground since the first rush, and, rather
than give the ball to his adversaries openly, it was expected that on
the eve of the fourth down he would send it to the full-back for a kick.
But before any one could realize the trick, the quarter-back threw the
oval to the left half-back, and that player dashed through an opening in
the rush line between Emmons and Blake, respectively the right guard and
right tackle of the Hall, and, before he could be stopped by Kimball and
Cole on that side, had made fully thirty yards.

Everybody was dumfounded but the High School boys, who waved their
purple and white flags and shrieked themselves hoarse. It was certainly
a fine play, and merited all the applause it received.

It brought the ball to within a yard of Whipford's goal-line. Do all
they could, it was an impossibility to stop the next move, which was to
force the right-guard of the Ripley Falls team across the line and score
a touch-down.

As the goal was kicked from it, a sigh of despair arose from three-score
youthful Whipford followers, and three-score hearts felt as heavy as
lead.

Their eleven had lost the lead, and the points were even on each
side--six to six.

What would the rushing team of the High School do next?

[TO BE CONTINUED.]




COLORADO SNOW FLEA.


The observing Colorado miner cannot furnish you scientific names, yet he
will tell you at once that red snow is caused by the snow flea. The snow
flea is very small. It would require about fifty of them to equal their
larger brother of the East in size.

A person walking upright might think the snow covered by a very fine
dust, but if your eyes are good, and you place your face within eighteen
or twenty inches of the snow, you can easily discern the snow flea.
Although so small as to be almost imperceptible to the naked eye, yet
they are most active, jumping from twelve to fifteen inches.

To the naked eye they appear to be dark brown in color, but under a good
microscope they would be found to be a reddish brown. During cold
weather they stay under the bark of trees, but when it is a nice, warm
day, and the sun shines brightly, you can find them on the southern and
eastern <DW72>s of the mountains, where they can get the direct rays of
the sun.

During the day they will ascend the mountains, sometimes far above the
timber line. When the sun disappears and it gets cold, the snow flea
freezes to death. During the winter great numbers will be thus frozen,
and their dead bodies color the snow.

Foot trails upon the south and east sides of the mountains will, if it
be a hard winter, be , for when the snow flea strikes a deep
trail through the snow, millions upon millions of them never get out,
but perish from the cold dining the night. Besides, a man with a
good-sized foot might kill from one thousand to ten thousand of them
every step.

The snow flea favors the south and east sides of the mountains, and it
is there you will find the red snow. The non-observing will say there is
no such thing as snow fleas, because they have never seen them, but you
can easily prove to them, if you will look upon the right kind of a day,
that they do exist in countless numbers.




A QUARREL, AND HOW IT ENDED.

By Abbie M. Gannett.


Father was mad clear through! He gave Mr. Ridlet one look and walked off
without a word.

That broke up everything between Bub Ridlet and me.

Was Bub going to speak to a boy whose father stole from his father? Was
I going to speak to Bub, when his father accused mine of stealing?

We'd been great chums, chestnutted, set snares, skated, fished and gone
winters to the district school together. Our houses were within a
stone's throw of each other, and no others nearer than a quarter of a
mile. Never had an evening come but I was at Bub's or Bub with us.

The change came hard, and it came hard on our mothers.

Mrs. Ridlet would come over to ask if mother could spare a couple of
eggs. Mother would run to the barn and come back with half a dozen,
saying:

"Don't mind about returning them. I've so many, I like to get rid of
them."

Mother would go to Mrs. Ridlet's and say she'd like to borrow a pound or
two of butter. Her cream didn't "come good" these cold days. Bub's
mother would give her a big pat, with a bunch of grapes stamped on it.

"Don't you fetch it back, Mrs. Pomfrey," she would say. "I've so much
that I shall never miss it."

Now, when they met, they would not look at each other.

Six months passed, and we were lonesome as could be. But we would have
bitten our tongues off rather than speak to the Ridlets.

I didn't have a speck of fun. I'd go swimming, but what's swimming all
to yourself? or tramping, but what's tramping alone? or setting snares,
or anything?

I knew father missed Mr. Ridlet on wet days, when they had used to sit
in the barn talking over crops and stock, but he never let on.

Mother would look out of the window as if expecting some one; then she'd
turn away and sigh. But she never spoke Bub's mother's name--not once.

I saw Bub running toward our house one day, and thought he was coming
in. But no. He ran past without looking up.

It didn't seem much use to do anything--that is, if you wanted to get
any fun out of it.

I never knew exactly what Mr. Ridlet accused father of stealing, and it
seems mother didn't know, either, until one day, six months after the
quarrel, when father said:

"I'd like to know if Ridlet's found his wife's silver dollars."

"Was it those he lost?" asked mother, speaking quickly.

"Yes."

"Mrs. Ridlet's been three years saving them. She said she meant to have
a dozen as nice silver forks as could be made. She thought it would take
about thirty-six dollars."

"She had just thirty-six. She'd sent them to town by Ridlet, but the
jeweler wouldn't agree to make the forks for less than forty dollars.
Ridlet says he brought them back, but it seems they were gone when he
got home."

"And he accused you of taking Mrs. Ridlet's money," said mother. "Now,
I'll _never_ speak to her."

"It's odd where the money went," continued father. "You know I borrowed
his wagon to go to town, a few minutes after he came home. He said he
put the package on the wagon-seat, and got out to unharness the horse.
Before he had done so, Elijah Bangs came in at the south door of the
barn, all excitement about his sick cow. He wanted Ridlet to see the
animal--he had been so unlucky about curing his own sick cattle. While
they were talking, I came in to borrow the wagon. Ridlet, who was going
off with Bangs, said 'Yes,' hurriedly, forgetting all about the silver
dollars, so he says; and he says nobody came into the barn but me and
Mr. Bangs, and, as Bangs came in at the south door, he wasn't near the
wagon. Ridlet never thought of the silver till he was half-way to Mr.
Bangs'; but he did not worry, knowing it was safe with me."

"Did he say, out-and-out, you'd taken it?" asked mother.

"No; but he said it was mighty queer a man could miss seeing a package
as big as that. There was no use looking for it, or advertising for it;
he knew that it was on that wagon-seat. I fired up and said, 'Do you
think I took it?' He didn't answer; and that settled it."

"Well, if ever he does find it, I'll never have anything to do with
them," said mother. "Suspect you of keeping her fork-money!"

"It's very odd where it went," repeated father.

"I am glad you've spoken at last. It's been on my mind more than
anything. I thought you might have misunderstood him, and was over
touchy; but--her money!"

Father made no reply; and from that time mother stopped looking down the
road.

Finding out just what Mr. Ridlet accused father of, made the
estrangement between Bub and me seem worse. Our going together would
never be fixed up now. I had hoped our fathers would, some time, settle
things. It was tough. I couldn't put my mind to anything, mother
noticed.

"What's the matter, Seth?" she asked. "Aren't you well?" she went on,
seeing I didn't answer. "You don't eat much, and you are moping all the
time. How would you like your Cousin Mel to visit you a while?"

I rushed off. Mel was a real softy, with shining shoes, slick hair, and
all that. About as ready to go on a tramp as a girl. I couldn't bear the
thought of him.

I went under the grape vine that grows over the trellis between Mr.
Ridlet's garden and ours.

I threw myself down, looking up into the leaves, making a mat overhead,
and counting the green bunches, as if that was great fun.

It was a hot day--such a day as one likes to creep along barefooted in
the wet grass by the brooks, fishing-pole in hand.

I thought of Bub, and how, if things had been all right, we'd been ready
to start off, and, well--

Then I heard some one pulling apart the vines against the fence, and the
next minute I sprung up as if I was shot, for Bub's voice, rather shaky,
called:

"Seth!"

I turned my back on him.

"Please, Seth!"

I wouldn't speak.

"Say, father will give me a licking, and if you'll only speak to your
father--say, Seth! Seth!"

I was half-way to the house.

His voice ought to have made anybody turn back, but I wouldn't stop. He
hadn't spoken to me for over six months and his father was to blame, and
now he spoke because he was going to get a licking. I didn't think any
boy would be such a coward. It didn't seem like Bub.

Once I felt like running over to his house--I had seen him sneak
back--then I was mad at myself for wanting to go there.

What wouldn't I have given afterwards if I had gone?

After supper, as father and I were passing the Ridlets', we heard Bub's
howls. They came from the barn.

Father had been almost as fond of Bub as of me. When he heard the cries,
he stopped short. For a minute we didn't hear any more, only Mr. Ridlet
scolding hot and heavy, and Bub trying to put in a word or two.

He was a dreadful quick-tempered man, and, when angry, hardly knew what
he did.

Bub's howls began again. Father couldn't stand it. He made for the barn.

"What's this?" said he.

There stood Bub, with his jacket off, and his father, with a big, tough
switch in his hand.

"This?" responded Mr. Ridlet, his teeth fairly chattering in his wrath.
"This? It's that this boy deserves the confoundedest whipping a boy ever
had--and I'm giving it to him!"

He lifted the switch, and Bub yelled before it touched him. I knew he
had been hurt pretty bad.

"Oh, now, neighbor," said father, putting out his hand to prevent the
switch from coming down, "your boy can't have done anything so terribly
bad. I've always thought a lot of your boy. Haven't you punished him
about enough?"

"Hasn't done anything bad, hasn't he? Oh, no! He hasn't been the one to
know about his mother's fork money, and not say a word, and let the
mischief be to play between two families? Take that!"

Down came the switch. Poor Bub's screams made my ears ring. I would not
have got that crack for twice the money in question.

"There, neighbor," interposed father, taking hold of the rod. "I insist
on your telling me all about Bub and the money, since I was accused of
having it. Bub didn't steal it?"

"No, no, no!" protested Bub. "I forgot, that's all. I took it and forgot
it. That's all, Mr. Pomfrey. Father knows that's all."

He took on awfully, but it was the pain. I could see he'd done no wrong.

"How did you take it? Come, Bub, tell me all about it," coaxed father.

"It's a pretty story," burst out Mr. Ridlet. "A boy old enough to know
something takes a package of silver dollars for nails! Nails! Takes it
and tosses it into the old carriage room, where it gets covered up, and
never comes to sight till to-day. And our two families set together by
the ears in consequence, and not speaking for half a year. Tell me a boy
doing such a senseless thing as that doesn't deserve a whipping?"

"But I forgot it, father," pleaded poor Bub.

"Has your wife's money been found?" said father, looking real pleased.
"Why, that's the best news I've heard this long while. You and your wife
must be glad. I would hear Bub's story through before giving him such a
whipping. Found it in the old carriage room? He put it there by
mistake?"

"Mistake!" roared Mr. Ridlet. "If it was by mistake, why didn't he
remember it? It's a likely story! I asked him over and over again where
he was that morning."

"You see I clean forgot it, Mr. Pomfrey," sobbed Bub, not daring to
speak to his father, "for I just ran in to see if father had got the
nails I wanted, when I heard Seth outside. He'd come to get me to go out
in his new boat. We had agreed to go that day. You see I asked father to
get the nails for Seth to finish up the boat with; but Seth had found
some. The good time I had that day just put everything else out of my
mind. Then, not having anything more to do with Seth kinder mixed me up
afterwards," explained Bub; "made me forget worse, I suppose."

"How happened it to turn up at last?" asked father.

"Why, Bub was rummaging round this morning, and he lighted on it, he
says," replied Mr. Ridlet. "Says he was so scared, he didn't dare to
tell me till to-night."

Here Bub looked at me, and I understood how he wanted me to tell father
when he had spoken to me under the grape vine. That would make it easier
with his father.

I felt mighty mean then, I can tell you.

"Throw down your switch, neighbor," said father. "You've got an honest
boy, and that's a fact. When I found you whipping him, I was dreadfully
afraid of something bad. Why, neighbor, we're all liable to forget; it's
human nature."

Mr. Ridlet looked down.

"Your boy's an honest boy," repeated father. (How thankfully Bub looked
at him!) "You yourself, Mr. Ridlet, forgot the silver, when you started
for Mr. Bangs'," continued father, with a laugh.

Mr. Ridlet looked foolish. He drew a step nearer father, dropping the
switch.

"There's one thing I'm not likely to forget," said he, "and that is, my
wronging you as I did. But I wish _you'd_ forget it, neighbor. I offer
my apologies."

He held out his hand. Father took it, smilingly.

"Perhaps we'd both better forget the whole thing," rejoined he.

"Bub," said Mr. Ridlet, "run into the house and tell your mother that
I've asked Mr. and Mrs. Pomfrey to spend the evening with us. Tell her
to set out her best cake and that basket of blackhearts."

Bub and I looked at each other, and then we ran in together.

"Why, Seth! Why, Seth!" exclaimed his mother.

When my mother came over, the two women hugged each other and cried a
little.

Father and Mr. Ridlet sat side by side the whole evening long, talking
stock.

Mother and Mrs. Ridlet sewed industriously, now and then looking up at
each other and laughing.

After Bub and I had filled up on cake and cherries, we made molasses
candy and planned for a tramp up Wachuset next morning.

Getting put out with folks is bad, but isn't making up about O.K?




UNLUCKY DAYS FOR ROYALTY.


Thursday, the day upon which the late Prince Albert Edward died, is an
unlucky day for English royalty, four sovereigns--Henry VIII, Edward VI,
Queen Mary and Queen Elizabeth--having died on that day, but a far more
fatal day is Saturday.

During the past two hundred years, for instance, William III died on
Saturday, March 18, 1702; Queen Anne died on Saturday, March 14, 1714;
George I died on Saturday, June 10, 1727; George II died on Saturday,
October 25, 1760; George III died on Saturday, January 29, 1820; George
IV died on Saturday, June 26, 1830; the Duchess of Kent, the present
queen's mother, died on Saturday, March 16, 1861; the Prince Consort,
Queen Victoria's husband, died on Saturday, December 14, 1861, and the
Princess Alice, her daughter, died on Saturday, December, 14, 1878.




DROLL AND DELIGHTFUL.


--Now is the time to kick. The football season is here.

--Any loafer will tell you that half a loaf is better than none.

--"A little of this will go a grate weigh," said the man who was
preparing a load of coal.

--Bertha breaks her doll, and it is sent out to be repaired. A few days
later, Bertha goes to the store after it, but it cannot be found.
"Her name is Marguerite," she explains, to facilitate the search.

--"Well, Tommy," said the visitor, "how do you like your baby brother?"
"Oh, lots and lots--only I don't think he's very bright!"
"Why not?"
"We've had him nearly two weeks now, and he hasn't said a word to
anybody."

--The letter S, we must confess.
    Was never made in vain,
  For, take it from your "stars and stripes,"
    But tar and tripe remain.

--"Is that really a glass eye?" said Maude to the optician.
"Yes, miss."
"How strange! it is not transparent. How does the wearer see
through it?"

--A little girl, aged nine, called her father to her bedside the other
evening.
"Papa," said the little diplomat, "I want to ask your advice."
"Well, my little dear, what is it about?"
"What do you think would be best to give me on my birthday?"

--Little Girl: "I wish I was an angel."
Little Boy: "Why?"
Little Girl: "Then I wouldn't be 'fraid of ghosts."

--Small boy: "Been fishing, mister?"
Man: "Yes."
Small boy: "Can't I sell you some fish?"

--Perry has a very musical father and mother, and the little lad knows
good music from bad. His parents live in a city flat, and in the flat
just above it one afternoon a young lady was trying to sing and not
succeeding at all. Perry listened with a frowning brow for some time,
and then said to his grandmother:
"If this keeps up much longer, grandma, I shall die. And what do you
think you'll do?"

--Little Harold, out walking with his mamma, saw some men lifting a
square piano from which the legs had been taken, as usual, for
convenience in removal, and a happy thought struck him.
"Mamma, didn't you tell me the other day that our piano was an upright?"
"Yes, dear. Why?"
"Well, if ours is an upright, this must be a downright."

--The small boy taunts the teacher new,
    And she in vain may fret,
  She knows, whatever he may do,
    He's "mommer's little pet."

--Mamma lay on the lounge, with her face toward the ceiling, when Jamie,
who lay beside her, asked her to "look." Mamma turned her eyes and
looked at him, without moving her head.
"No, no, mamma!" burst out the little fellow. "I want you to look at me
with your nose."

--"Did you ever take a bicycle trip, Smithers?"
"Once."
"Where did you go?"
"Straight over on my neck."

--"Cousin Edith, you can't send money in a letter."
"Why, Bessie, what ever made you think that? I've sent it that way lots
of times."
"Well, I'm sure it's wrong, because I've seen it printed on the fences
to 'post no bills.'"

--Contentment makes pudding of cold potatoes.

--"That wall-paper has a very cold look," said a customer to a dealer.
"Well, you see, it is intended for a frieze," was the dealer's reply.

--"I have a notion to break your face," said the boy to his watch.
"You may even do that," said the watch, bravely, "but you can never make
me run."

--A copper trust--Giving a policeman credit for peanuts.

--Lady: "A ticket for me and two halves for my sons."
Ticket seller: "Excuse me, madam, but one of your sons is much older
than twelve years."
Lady: "What of that? The other is as much under twelve years as the
older is over twelve, so they only aggregate twelve years."
Ticket-seller: "Excuse me; not to-day."

[Illustration: CIVIL ENGINEERING IN THE TROPICS--BRIDGING THE RAPIDS.]

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

OUR LETTER BOX.

[->] The postal laws requite all manuscripts to be prepaid at letter
rates--two cents for each ounce or fraction thereof--and manuscripts,
sent in rolls or open wrappers, are not exempt from this provision. The
large number of manuscripts reaching this office every day, on which
postage is due, compels us in future to allow such matter to remain in
the post office, unclaimed.

DECLINED.--October--A Talk With Santa Claus--Nina--A Hallowe'en
Night--Sleep On--Who?--Blue-Eyed Nell--Mama, Sew the Pieces In.

BERT E.--Postage-stamp mucilage is prepared as follows: Gum dextrine, 2
parts; acetic acid, 1 part; water, 5 parts. Dissolve in a water-bath and
add 1 part of alcohol.

ALAN HEATHCOTE.--A. A. Zimmerman made a mile on a Safety bicycle in 2
min. 6 4-5 secs. at Springfield, Mass., September 9, 1892. W. Windle, on
September 29, 1892, at the same place, made 3 miles in 7 min. 4 3-5
secs; 4 miles in 9 min. 26 3-5 secs., and 5 miles in 11 min. 41 secs.

CAMDEN.--1. His Royal Highness Albert Edward, Prince of Wales, is alive
and hearty, at the age of fifty-one. 2. A silver dollar of 1827 has no
premium value. 3. See "The Average Boy," No. 50, Vol. 12, GOLDEN DAYS.
4. There are a number of dealers in printers' supplies in Philadelphia,
and your best plan would be to go to them for a list of prices.

A. W. OULDBE.--1. See answer to "Doc," No. 41, Vol. 13. 2. The salary of
an electrical engineer varies with his knowledge, position and scope of
his duties. There are always positions for experts, but, as in every
other profession, the beginner must commence at the foot and work his
way up. Colleges do not secure situations for their graduates; they must
do that for themselves.

A. G. M. AND OTHERS.--GOLDEN DAYS is pleased to receive letters of
commendation of the excellent serials which are a feature of the paper,
but for obvious reasons we cannot remove the disguises which the authors
choose to throw around their characters. It frequently happens that
living characters are portrayed, who, though they do not object to
having their adventures described, might not like the publication of
their real names, residence or other personal particulars.

A. T. REYNOLDS.--The largest bell in the world is the "Czar Kolokol," or
King of Bells, cast in Moscow in 1734, during the reign of the Empress
Anna. It is 21 feet high and the same in diameter, and weighs 193 tons.
During a fire in 1737 it fell to the ground, a large piece being broken
out in the fall and remained sunk in the earth until 1837. In that year
it was raised and now forms the dome of a small chapel made by
excavating the space below it. The worshipers enter through the opening
where the bell was broken by the fall. It is very unlikely that any
attempt will ever be made to restore it to its former use.

H. O. A.--In light oak graining, the ground coat is yellow ochre and the
graining coat raw umber. House painters are not thoroughly agreed on
graining for oak and walnut, so that they do not always mix the same
shades; in fact, since there is no school of house painting, it is
largely a matter of individual taste and skill.

T. P.--The first and second volumes of GOLDEN DAYS, being out of print,
are not for sale at this office, and naturally command a premium when
sold by other parties. Bound volumes are usually quoted at ten dollars,
and higher prices may have been given. They may be had, however,
occasionally through the medium of our exchange columns.

A SUBSCRIBER.--1. The U.S. navy now has 116 vessels of all kinds, of
which 44 are building or not in commission. 2. The greatest war ship of
the English navy, and also the greatest in the world, is the Royal
Sovereign, 380 feet in length, 75 feet in breadth, and of a displacement
of 14,150 tons. The armament consists of four 13-1/2-inch guns, ten
6-inch quick-firing guns, and twenty-five 6-pounder and 3-pounder
machine guns.

DON'T KNOW.--Upon meeting a young married woman, upon her return from
her wedding journey, it would be proper to congratulate her and wish her
happiness in her new relation; but, if you had not previously known her
in a single state, a simple acknowledgment of the introduction is all
that would be necessary.

ARCHY TECT.--A knowledge of geometry is essential to a successful
architect; in fact, he should be expert in all branches of mathematics,
as well as a good draughtsman. See answer to "Arch-I-Tect," in No. 42,
Vol. 13, for your other questions, to which it is only necessary to add
that architects are paid according to contract only.

J. B. McF.--A tun is a certain measure for liquids, as for wine, and its
capacity equals two pipes, or four hogsheads, or 252 gallons. Being a
measure, a tun may be made of any shape, so that the capacity is neither
increased or diminished. Any school arithmetic treats of this subject
under the head of "measures."

AN OLD READER.--We do not think it would serve any good purpose to
publish a list of the serial stories which have appeared in GOLDEN DAYS
since the first issue. They average more than twenty complete serials to
the volume, and the titles are included in the annual index. If you, who
have read the paper since the first volume, wish to refresh your memory,
indexes will be sent you free, on receipt of your real name and address.

D. EMBE.--Rotting tree-stumps may be easily removed in this way: With a
one-and-a-quarter-inch auger, bore a hole in the centre of the stump,
eighteen inches deep, and put in twenty ounces of saltpetre; fill the
hole with water and plug it tight. In the spring, take out the plug,
pour into the hole a half-pint of crude petroleum and set it on fire.
The stump will burn and smolder to the end of the roots, leaving nothing
but ashes.

H. H. P. L.--From No. 1, of Vol. 13, up to No. 33, of the same volume,
the following-named serials were begun. The Young Engineer, The Hermit's
Protege, Little Miss Muffet, An Unpremeditated Journey, Johnny Henry's
Cruise on the Spanish Main, The Mystery of Valentine Stanlock, Lost In a
Ceylon Jungle, Adrift From Home, Crowded Out, In Hostile Hands, In the
Homes of the Cliff Dwellers, Una, Lost in the Slave Land, Smack Boys and
Judge Dockett's Grandson.

NO NAME.--1. When tinware is worn until the iron shows, it can be
retinned by dipping it again; but the process would be too expensive,
except as an experiment. It would first have to be washed in a chemical
bath, and then dipped the same as tin plates. 2. Poultry raising is
undoubtedly a profitable business, if followed intelligently, and is
best done on an extensive scale, with the benefit of modern appliances.
In Eastern cities, eggs and poultry bring very high prices during nine
months of the year, and the demand is always in excess of the supply.
You may gain some valuable hints on this subject by reading "Practicable
and Profitable Poultry Keeping," Nos. 13 and 14, and "Nell's Chicken
Farm," No. 18, Vol. 13, GOLDEN DAYS.

DETECTIVE.--If you have any serious notion of being a detective, the
best thing for you to do is disabuse your mind of the idea. A boy who
can speak three languages and writes shorthand should secure a situation
in the office of a steamship company or a large importing house which
has foreign correspondents. Such talents would be thrown away in the
detective business, which is not the lucrative profession you imagine.
The best detectives are now in the employ of the national government or
city authorities, and the supply at all times exceeds the demand. At the
beginning you could not expect more than three or four dollars a day,
and only during the time you were employed, and the rewards of which you
have read so much would go to the agency, and not to the men who do the
work.

C. O. P.--1. The famous liberty bell still hangs in the corridor of
Independence Hall, in Philadelphia, although it is proposed to take it
to Chicago to exhibit during the Columbian Exposition. No proposition
has ever been made to melt it and recast the metal into two smaller
bells, as such a proceeding would justly be regarded as little short of
sacrilege. 2. There are many kinds of pigeons, but only two kinds--the
common pigeon and the turtle dove--have been tamed. All the fancy breeds
now raised come from the common pigeon, which is descended from the wild
rock pigeon or rock dove. The carrier pigeon is a special breed, larger
than the common pigeon, with a long, slim neck, with a piece of naked
skin across its bill and hanging down on each side. Carrier pigeons have
been known from the most ancient times, especially in the East.

F. C.--1. By the census of 1890, the Indian population of the United
States, exclusive of Alaska, is set down at 249,273. Of these, 133,382
are at schools or on reservations, under the control of the Indian
Bureau; 66,289 are included in the five civilized tribes of Cherokees,
Chickasaws, Choctaws, Creeks and Seminoles; the pueblos of New Mexico
contain 8278; the Cherokees of North Carolina and the Six Nations of New
York number 6189; Indians taxed or taxable, 32,567; and the remainder
are prisoners of war or in jail for state offenses. 2. Admission to the
Columbian Exposition has been fixed at fifty cents, for young and old.
3. The London-Paris telephone is open to the public on week days from 8
A.M. to 8 P.M., and the charge is two dollars for three minutes'
conversation. The distance by wire is nearly 170 miles. 4. The nearest
telephone office in your city will give you distances and rates. 5. Your
handwriting is plain and legible.

NAPOLEON I.--1. Although Napoleon Bonaparte is still idolized by the
French nation and has elsewhere many ardent admirers it is now generally
conceded that all his deeds sprung from personal ambition and that he
had little of that love of country which characterized Washington. No
one can call him a patriot; he was a soldier imbued with the love of
conquest, and as such was merciless and even cruel. In his private life
he was by no means a model, and his divorcing Josephine for State
reasons has been generally condemned. He was perhaps the greatest
soldier that ever lived, at any rate dividing the honors with Julius
Caesar, but many greater men have lived, if we may define greatness as
that which confers the most good upon mankind. 2. If a boy could have
the personal tuition of an expert civil engineer he could learn the
profession, but the easiest and quickest way is to take a college course
and then go to work as an assistant.

AN OLD SUBSCRIBER.--When training for a bicycle race, the rider should
first get his stomach in good condition. He should begin the exercise
easily, and work up day by day as his strength and agility increases. He
must indulge in plenty of wholesome food, but never touch pastry or
tobacco in any shape. Having got into good condition, he should decide
what distance he proposes to race, and turn his whole attention to it,
never striving to become a long and a short-distance rider at one and
the same time. Two or three trials of speed, at forty or fifty yards
distances, should be made every day, after getting in fair form, slowing
up gradually each time. Then he should finish up the day with a run of
from one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards at three-quarter speed,
and so on, day after day, until the stipulated distance is covered at
full speed. The same method should be pursued in training for a foot
race, boat race or swimming contest. On the day of the race, if the
contest occurs in the afternoon, the only exercise should be a gentle
ride for a mile or two.

DARKEY.--1. Architects' assistants are paid salaries in accordance with
their experience and skill, which varies greatly. 2. Government
postage-stamp mucilage is not for sale, but can be easily made as
follows: Gum dextrine, 2 parts; acetic acid, 1 part; water, 5 parts.
Dissolve in a water bath and add 1 part alcohol. 3. William H. McKinley
is an American. 4. We do not advertise periodicals of any kind in this
department. 5. Detective agencies are private affairs, except those
connected with the police department of various cities. The salaries are
not by any means munificent, and are earned by a vast amount of
privation, exposure and hard work. 6. There are now built or in
commission 24 armored vessels, 11 unarmored vessels, 4 gunboats and 4
special class vessels of the new navy, and 59 iron and wooden vessels of
the old navy, of which 30 are in commission. 7. Major Andre, on August
1, 1780, wrote "The Battle of Cow Chace." It was in three cantos, and
was a parody on the English ballad of "Chevy Chace." 8. On the 1st of
June, 1785, John Adams was introduced by the Marquis of Carmathen to the
King of Great Britain as first ambassador extraordinary from the United
States of America to the Court of London. 9. A considerable portion of
the United States yet remains to be surveyed, but no portion remains
unexplored. There are doubtless large tracts of forest and mountain land
which are in primeval wildness, but the general topography is known. In
Alaska, however, there are thousands of square miles which have never
been visited by a white man, mainly in the interior; in fact, with the
exception of a strip of sea-coast and the lands bordering on the Yukon
River, all Alaska is _terra incognito_.

LOUIS GRANAT.--Read "Some Points About West Point," No. 12, Vol. 7
GOLDEN DAYS.--C. B. GOLDEN DAYS has never published directions how to
make a star puzzle out of wood.--CURIOSITY SHOP. See "Leaf
Skeletonizing" in No. 39 Vol. 13.--S. W. Sir Moses Montefiore died July
28, 1885.--F. P. B. Electro-plating was described in No. 23, Vol. 11,
and in answer to "Gualy Dids," No. 38, Vol. 13, a method is explained of
electro-plating without a battery.--A READER. The ever-recurring
question as to which goes faster, the top or the bottom of a wheel, was
answered in Our Letter Box, No. 31, Vol. 13, in reply to "Three Boys."

[->] Several communications have been received which will be answered
next week.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration]

Mr. L. B. Hamlen.

Of Augusta, Me., says "I do not remember when I began to take Hood's
Sarsaparilla; it was several years ago and I find it does me a great
deal of good in my declining years.

*I Am 91 Years*

2 months and 26 days old, and my health is perfectly good. I have no
aches or pains.

*Hood's Sarsaparilla*

regulates my bowels, stimulates my appetite, and *helps me to sleep
well*. I doubt if a preparation was ever made so well suited to the
wants of *old people*." L. B. HAMLEN, Elm St., Augusta, Me.

N.B.--Be sure to get Hood's.


*HOOD'S PILLS* cure sick headache, biliousness, assist digestion, the
best after-dinner pills.

       *       *       *       *       *

*BAD COMPLEXIONS*

Pimples, blackheads, red, rough, and oily skin, red, rough hands with
shapeless nails and painful finger ends, dry, thin, and falling hair,
and simple baby blemishes are prevented and cured by the celebrated

*CUTICURA SOAP*

[Illustration]

Most effective skin-purifying and beautifying soap in the world, as well
as purest and sweetest of toilet and nursery soaps. The only medicated
*Toilet* soap, and the only preventive and cure of facial and baby
blemishes, because the only preventive of inflammation and clogging of
the pores, the _cause_ of minor affections of the skin, scalp, and hair.
Sale greater than the combined sales of all other skin and complexion
soaps. Sold throughout the world.

POTTER DRUG AND CHEM. CORP., Boston.

[->] "All about the Skin, Scalp, and Hair" free.


*HOW MY BACK ACHES!*

[Illustration]

Back Ache, Kidney Pains, and Weakness, Soreness, Lameness, Strains, and
Pains *relieved in one minute* by the *Cuticura Anti-Pain Plaster*, the
only pain killing strengthening plaster.

       *       *       *       *       *

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, poisons, rifles, 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.*


R. Pier, West Hill, Dubuque, Iowa, hair-clippers, tent, U.S. and foreign
stamps and $30 worth of other articles for boxing gloves or Indian
clubs.

H. A. Cutting, Wakefield, Mass., books, papers or a piccolo for a
Simplex or World or other good small typewriter.

F. L. Bebont, Addison, N.Y., Vol. 2 GOLDEN DAYS for a Safety bicycle
head-lamp or an Ordinary bicycle hub lamp.

W. G. Crease, 2043 Ridge Ave, Pa., Vols. 7, 8 and 9 GOLDEN DAYS and a
pair of mahogany drum-sticks for a piccolo.

H. C. Head, 185 Oakwood Boulevard, Chicago, Ill., a 4-1/4 x 6-1/2
portrait and view camera and outfit for a self-inking printing press,
a mandolin or a cornet (vicinity offers preferred).

W. T. Fuller, care of DAVIS BROS. CO., Henderson, N.C., $15 worth of
complete volumes of story papers for a watch with gold-filled case.

E. P. Huff, Box 38, Aida, Ohio, about $65 worth of goods, including
telegraph instruments, electrical goods books, etc., for a Safety
bicycle, 30 inch, ball bearing.

C. Boyce, Troy, Pa., a hand-inking printing press (chase, 3x5), 6 fonts
of type and outfit for a B flat or E flat cornet or viola.

B. Cornell, 427 Main St., Owego, N.Y., Vol. 65 of "Youth's Companion"
for a Harvard or a Glen camera and outfit in good order.

J. Havens, Box 212, Tom's River, N.J., a New Rogers scroll saw with saw
blades, or a bracket saw with saw-blades and a base-ball bat, for a New
England Hawk camera and outfit or other 4x5 camera and outfit.

J. A. Bollinger, 1001 Dickinson St., Phila., Pa., a self-winding
electric clock (value, $45), a C. & C. motor, 1/8 H.P. and 4 cells Mason
battery (value, $28), a telegraph key and sounder, 3 cells blue stone
battery, lightning arrester and ground-switch, 3 box bells and 6-cells
open circuit battery for a High Grade Safety bicycle or an improved
Remington typewriter and stand.

A. J. Smith, Jr., 99 Mercer St., Jersey City, N.J., 4 batteries, a push
button, a book on electricity and a pair of American club skates for
Vols. 11 and 12 of GOLDEN DAYS.

C. B. Gilliland, 114 Fifth St., Renovo, Pa., novels valued at $1, a pair
of ice skates, 100 stamps and 25 cards for any vol. of GOLDEN DAYS, in
good condition, prior to the 9th.

C. S. Bontecou, 80 Broadway, New York, a cushion tire Credenta bicycle,
1892 model, with double chime bell (Harrison) and Orient lamp, in
perfect condition, for a one-horse-power boat engine or a 5x7 photo
camera of equal value.

R. W. McMichael, Rockland, Maine, set of chessmen, Vol. 12 GOLDEN DAYS
and a bound book, all valued at $4.50, for a set of boxing gloves.

C. Whitney, 825 Jefferson Ave., Detroit, Mich., a pair of Indian clubs
for a Rugby football, or self-inking Baltimorean press, chase 2-1/2 x
3-1/2, with type, quads, cuts, joints, ink and 300 cards, for 22 inch
Rugby football.

C. Renfert, 456 E. Madison Ave., Cleveland, Ohio, a 6-1/2 x 8-1/2 camera
with rising front, a fine lens, 3 double plate holders, tripod and
carrying case, for a Kodack, Hawk Eye or Premier camera.

J. C. Baxter, 2207 Memphis St., Philada., Pa., a 4x5 photograph camera,
tripod, carrying case and complete outfit, and a set of boxing gloves
for a B flat cornet (city offers preferred).

E. W. Putnam, 118 N. Terrace Ave., Chattanooga, Tenn., a dark lantern
for books.

W. G. Holboron, 634 8th Ave., N.Y. city, Vols. 6 and 7 GOLDEN DAYS and
40 Nos. of Vol. 8 for a banjo.

J. Neubauer, 407 E. 87th St., N.Y. city, a lot of boys weekly papers and
other reading matter, for some musical instrument in good condition
(zither preferred).

F. F. Cooke, 218 Menlo Ave., Sioux Falls, S.D., a magic lantern with 12
slides, a fountain pen, $3 worth of job type and a flute, for a 20-ohm
telegraph key and sounder, any vol. of GOLDEN DAYS prior to the 9th, a
telescope or a collection of stamps.

E. A. Fellingham, West Side, Crawford Co., Iowa, 12 numbers Frank
Leslie's "Pleasant Hours," a book called "Plain Facts," a Domestic
Encyclopedia and 2 story books for a telescope or field glass.

H. L. Maitland, Bordentown, N.J., a No. 3 catcher's mask (A. J. Reach)
for a Rugby football.

C. E. Proctor, 223 Ford St., Ogdensburg. N.Y., a bound book by Jas. Otis
for "Looking Backward," by Edward Bellamy.

G. J. Frick, 2093 Fairhill St., Phila., Pa., a cornet, clarionet, pair
of opera glasses, 10 vols. of Journal Franklin Institute, 3 vols. of
GOLDEN DAYS, 1 vol. "Leisure Hours," and sporting goods to the value of
$15, for a Safety Bicycle, tuck-up boat, camera or typewriter.

M. Hulings, Mt. Pleasant, Henry Co., Iowa, 6 mos. of Vol. 13 GOLDEN
DAYS, a pair of ice skates and a fountain pen for a 14 inch (or larger)
snare drum, with sticks.




"GOLDEN DAYS."


The title of GOLDEN DAYS was an inspiration, and the paper itself has
been a revelation. Our golden days are childhood and youth, when all
nature is bright and the future shows no cloud. It is the period when
the mind is formed for good or evil, and, in many respects, is the most
important period of life.

There was a time when anything was good enough for young
people--cast-off clothing, second place at table and the poorest
sleeping-room, with snubbing at every hand. As for literature, it made
no difference how dull or prosy were the books, young people had to read
them or none at all.

But the world moves, and GOLDEN DAYS was the pioneer in recognizing that
young people have tastes that must be consulted, if it is sought to
interest and amuse them. They will absorb knowledge, as a sponge does
water; but they will discriminate, as a sponge does not. A scientific
article can be as interesting as a novel, and yet be as full of
instruction as an egg is of meat; stories may point a moral unerringly
and yet thrill with romantic adventure, like Robinson Crusoe; natural
history teems with wonders far surpassing the Arabian Nights, and they
are all true!

These are the principles upon which GOLDEN DAYS is founded, and from
which it has never deviated; and that is why it is to-day the most
popular juvenile paper in the world. Do you wonder why? There is no
mystery about its popularity.

Its broad and generous pages, coming every week all the year round,
contain more reading than any other periodical in America. That is one
reason; but the other and better reason is, that all the reading is just
what the boys and girls want.

To keep GOLDEN DAYS up to this standard, to make it bright, breezy and
abreast with the times, requires writers who understand boy-and-girl
nature; and it has them.

Every regular number of GOLDEN DAYS contains liberal instalments of

*Four Serials, together with Stories of Adventure, Articles on Science
and Natural History, Our Letter Box, Puzzles, Humorous Miscellany,
Illustrated Sketches,*

and other interesting matter, and there is not a dull or common-place
line from the first page to the last.

       *       *       *       *       *

      Children Cry for Pitcher's Castoria.


  CONSUMPTION
  Relieved By
  SCOTT'S EMULSION

       *       *       *       *       *

J. McKeough, 1621 Ave. B, New York city, "Tom Brown's School Days At
Rugby" and "Perils By Land and Sea" for any vol. of GOLDEN DAYS up to
the 11th. (City offers only.)

W. Troutman, 121 18th St., S.S., Pittsburgh Pa., a set of draughting
tools for a guitar.

J. A. Brearley, 306 10th St., S.E., Washington D.C., Vol. 11 GOLDEN DAYS
(bound) for any other vol. (bound) prior to the 11th, except vol. 6
or 7.

L. P. Addison, Box 699, Saginaw, Mich., 5 fonts of type, 1 set of
numbers and a foot-power scroll-saw, with patterns, saw blades, and a
set of 6 finishing files, for a World typewriter or one of equal value.

F. Bennett, 202 West 134th St., New York city, a small typewriter, a
magic lantern with slides and 2 games for a rugby football (city offers
preferred).

L. C. Hamlin, Grand Junction, Mich., a U.S. flag 5 feet by 3 feet and a
pair of extension, nickel-plated ice-skates for a watch.

A. McLean, Jr., 88 Highland Ave., Jersey City, N.J., a book of games and
sports, 200 varieties rare stamps, 2 fonts short type and a fishing reel
with line for a vol. of the GOLDEN DAYS prior to Vol. 10.

H. S. Dunning, 314 Brodhead Ave., South Bethlehem, Pa., a 50-inch
Columbia Volunteer bicycle, with all the tools, almost as good as new,
for books, telescope, typewriter or camera.

F. A. Newcomb, Jr., 97 Cross St., Somerville, Mass., a printing press
and outfit for a guitar or mandolin (guitar preferred).

W. P. Shaw, cor. 7th Ave. and Garfield Place, Brooklyn, N.Y., 10 books,
an electric bell, a picture, 50 feet of copper wire, a solid rubber
ball, a camera worth $15, a thermometer, 2 vols. GOLDEN DAYS and 2 vols.
"Youths' Companion" for a tintype camera and outfit, making 4 pictures
on an 8x4 plate.

A. Garrigues, 155 Lex'n Ave., N.Y. city, a foot-power scroll saw, a
guitar, a set of boxing gloves and a stamp album containing 900
varieties of postage stamps for a bicycle. (Safety preferred).

W. Rieder 500-1/2 East 80th St., N.Y. city, a magic pocket-lamp outfit,
a Star Safety razor, a small pocket printing outfit with 3 fonts of
rubber type, a gold scarf pin and some sporting goods for a small motor
and battery, or telegraph key and sounder, or small steam engine or
propeller.

C. A. Hayn, box 268 Manitowac, Wis., Vol. 12 or 13 GOLDEN DAYS for any
previous vol. of same paper.

W. F. Slusser, Rochester, Ind., a scroll saw and outfit, a collection of
stamps worth $200, a pair of Indian clubs, a sketching camera, a
collection of 500 covered stamp papers, an anchor puzzle, 1000 old
postal cards, 40,000 mixed U.S. stamps, 1 vol. "Youth's Companion,"
a solid gold pencil, a steel engraver's outfit, a silk watch chain, a
pair of solid gold cuff buttons, a rubber printing outfit and dating
stamp, 2 pocket banks and 5 games for U.S. stamps (rare), a 1 horsepower
engine (marine), a printing press and outfit or a photographer's outfit.

C. Wass, Kansas, Edgar Co., Ill., GOLDEN DAYS from No. 33, Vol. 10, to
No. 46, Vol. 13, a scroll saw and an electric motor of sewing-machine
power for No. 18 or 20 magnet wire.

C. J. Deibert, 2009 N. 8th St., Phila., Pa., a foot power scroll saw for
a set of boxing gloves.

A. Gross, 24 Stanton St., N.Y. city, a small hand printing press,
complete, a few types missing, for any volume of GOLDEN DAYS.

J. W. Neveil, 2317 Sepviva St., Phila., Pa., a rare collection of U.S.
and foreign stamps, a collection of minerals and an actor's make-up book
for a nickel plated rim banjo.

M. Ross, 41 Maiden Lane, N.Y. city, a collection of 106 different U.S.
and foreign stamps in Challenge Album, "Winter Evening Tales" (bound),
"Stories About Animals" (bound), and Vere Foster's "Animal Drawing Book"
for a zither of 15 strings.

R. C. Morris, Box 473, Greenville, Bond Co., Ill., 4 vols. GOLDEN DAYS
for a banjo, guitar or B flat clarionet.

J. W. M. Schmitt, 1112 E. Monroe St., Springfield, Ill., a 4x5 view
camera and complete outfit and some books for a good self inking
printing press and outfit.

L. C. Hamlin, Grand Junction, Mich., a pair of extension ice skates and
2 vols. of "Youth's Companion" for a watch or a small steam engine and
boiler.

L. D. Brace, Nunda, N.Y., a silver Elgin watch, 1 vol. "Youth," 23 books
by Optic and Alger and 12 magazines for a self-inking printing press.

H. M. Emerick, 633 Putnam St., Brooklyn, N.Y., a $40 26-inch Safety
bicycle for any 4x5 hand camera and outfit worth $15 or more.

W. Kolle, 438 First St., Brooklyn, N.Y., a 4x5 camera and outfit, a set
of boxing gloves, a printing press and stage costumes for a camera worth
at least $30.

G. B. Bissell, 306 W. 137th St., N.Y. city, a magic lantern and slides,
2 games and 5 books for a Rugby football (city offers preferred).

R. A. Epperson, 344 Hudson Av., Chicago, Ill., a catcher's mask, a
league ball and 2 cloth-bound books for a Rugby football.

C. E. Rice, Sardinia, N.Y., vols. of "N.Y. Weekly," "N.Y. Ledger" and
"Family Story Paper" for vols. of GOLDEN DAYS or "Saturday Night."

       *       *       *       *       *

_All_ who use Dobbins' Electric Soap praise it as the _best_, cheapest
and _most economical_ family soap made; but if you will try it once it
will tell a still stronger tale of its merits _itself_. _Please_ try it.
Your grocer will supply you.

       *       *       *       *       *

*From the West Philadelphia Press.*

GOLDEN DAYS is far ahead of any weekly paper published in the United
States having for its object the culture and amusement of the youthful
mind. Now, in its Twelfth Volume, it exhibits every sign of strength,
permanency and progression. Mr. Elverson, the proprietor and editor, is
one of those men who believe it a duty to do what they can for their
race, and wisely he is doing for the "rising generation" a work which,
for him, is "a work of love." Aiming to benefit our youth, through
history, science, philosophy, geography, mechanics, etc., in a manner
easily comprehended, he has made his journal the efficient instrument of
his noble purpose. Could he see the anxiety on the faces of his young
friends awaiting the arrival of GOLDEN DAYS by the mail or the news
agent, he would feel that his efforts to please them were not in vain,
and that the running of his great presses, day and night, at Ninth and
Spruce Streets, was indeed to them a gratification and blessing.


*From the Christian Advocate. Richmond, Va*

Any boy's or girl's days must be golden who reads that charming paper,
published in Philadelphia, styled GOLDEN DAYS. The day it comes, and
every day after, while its contents are not exhausted, will be golden
with the charming adventures, incidents of travel and thrilling stories
of childhood and youth. The children of every family should have it.
Parents cannot make a better investment than to subscribe for GOLDEN
DAYS for their young folks. It is sent to any address for $3 per year.
James Elverson, Publisher, Philadelphia, Pa.


*From the Albany Evening Post.*

GOLDEN DAYS is one of the very best publications for boys and girls in
this country. Every number contains a valuable amount of information on
athletic sports, fishing, hunting, and short stories on all kinds of
interesting subjects. The best writers are engaged, and they give their
best work to GOLDEN DAYS. James Elverson has produced a weekly paper for
young people that finds a warm welcome in every city, town and village
from Maine to California. GOLDEN DAYS can be found at all our bookstores
and news rooms throughout the United States.


*From Uncle Sam, El Dorado Springs, Mo.*

Our opinion of GOLDEN DAYS is very plain and straight, as follows: It is
one of the purest publications to be found in the hands of the reading
young people of the present day. It is full of short sketches that are
interesting and instructive to the young and the old as well. The serial
stories are all perfectly pure and are very interesting, besides setting
good examples and morals for all who read them. I have read GOLDEN DAYS
more or less for seven or eight years, and I unhesitatingly pronounce it
pure and instructive enough to be in the home circle of every family in
the reading world.


*From the Southern World.*

Mr. James Elverson, of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, deserves the thanks
of parents who desire to see the minds of their children fed on healthy
reading matter. His GOLDEN DAYS, for boys and girls, is one of the
handsomest and best weekly publications of the kind in the country, and
should supplant the vile, sensational trash with which the country is
flooded. The hope of our republic is in her youth, and if their moral
characters are not elevated and made noble by a pure and lofty type of
literature for boys and girls, we may expect serious trouble in the
future of our race.


*From the Advocate of Peace, Boston.*

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 an increasingly large and well-deserved patronage.
Its readers are not treated with trashy matter, but with pictures and
puzzles and stories of thrilling adventure and useful knowledge. GOLDEN
DAYS 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.


*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 Journal, Philipsburg, Pa.*

James Elverson, corner Ninth and Spruce Streets, Philadelphia, publishes
a handsome illustrated and interesting youth's paper called GOLDEN DAYS,
only $3 per year. 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. Send
for sample copy.


*From the Gazette, Charlotte Court-House Virginia.*

GOLDEN DAYS.--Of all the publications for little boys and girls, GOLDEN
DAYS stands most conspicuous to the front, while its columns abound with
stories and tales well calculated to entertain, amuse and please the
youthful reader. There is a moral in its articles well calculated to
make the young reader better for having read its columns. The
subscription price is $3 per year, two copies for $5. Send for specimen
copy, and you will be sure to take it.


*From the Philadelphia Times.*

Of all illustrated juvenile periodicals published in this country, none
is more deservedly popular than GOLDEN DAYS, published by James
Elverson, this city. It strikes that happy medium which appeals to the
masses of school children whose tastes have not been spoiled by
overstrained appeals to their fancy, and while it is bright and varied,
it aims to be instructive in a pleasant, homelike way. The monthly part,
made up of the four weekly parts, is quite a treasury of short stories,
pictures and puzzles.


*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. 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 Standard, Belvidere, 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.


*From the Pipe of Peace, Genoa, Neb.*

GOLDEN DAYS fills a want that no other magazine attempts to supply.
Pure, clean, instructive and amusing, it furnishes reading matter, both
for young and old, which is not surpassed by any other publication.

Published in attractive form, beautifully illustrated and in clear type,
the mechanical work is in keeping with the reading matter it contains.
Address for sample copies, James Elverson, Philadelphia, Pa.


*From the Methodist, New York.*

James Elverson, Philadelphia, publishes a handsome, illustrated and
interesting youth's paper, called GOLDEN DAYS. It should find a welcome
in every Christian 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.


*From the Record, Union, Mo.*

GOLDEN DAYS, published by James Elverson, Philadelphia, is a weekly
journal of literature and fiction for the rising generation. The paper
is not of dime novel order, but its serials and short stories are
instructive, moral and entertaining. The youths of this land must have
reading, and Mr. Elverson, in printing such an exalted and high-toned
paper, is winning the support and thanks of the people.


*From the Republican Journal, Belfast, Me.*

GOLDEN DAYS, the leading juvenile weekly (and monthly) continues to grow
in interest and circulation, and is a welcome visitor to homes over all
this broad land. The publisher's claim that it is "pure, instructive and
entertaining" will be conceded by all who read it. James Elverson,
publisher, Philadelphia.


OUR PREMIUM KNIFE!

[Illustration {Golden Days knife}]

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.*

       *       *       *       *       *

  Binding "Golden Days"

    Covers for Binding

        Volume 12,

      "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

       *       *       *       *       *

  *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.

       *       *       *       *       *

  [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.

       *       *       *       *       *

    JUST OUT

  "Golden Days," Vol. XII

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 my 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 are:

  Cover                                  pic01.jpg
  Off Shore                              pic03.jpg
  A Plucky Girl                          pic07.jpg
  A Perilous Ride                        pic14.jpg
  The Purple Pennant (decorative title)  pic15.jpg
  The Mutiny on Board of the Sea Eagle   pic11.jpg
  Civil Engineering in the Tropics       pic18.png


Layout of Advertising Pages:

inside front:

  +---------------+---------------+---------------+---------------+
  |            Sapolio            |   Aermotor    |    Ayer's     |
  +---------------+---------------+               | Sarsaparilla  |
  |(testimonials) |    FREE!      +---------------+               |
  //              //              //              //              //
  |               +---------------+    Stamps     |               |
  |               |(testimonials) |               |               |
  |(testimonials) +---------------+---------------+               |
  |               |      Pitcher's Castoria       |   Deaf ...    |
  +---------------+-------------------------------+---------------+


inside back:

  +---------------+---------------+---------------+---------------+
  |     Hood's    |    Cuticura   |  (exchanges)  |    Scott's    |
  | Sarsaparilla  +---------------+               +---------------+
  |               | My Back Aches |               |  (exchanges)  |
  |               +---------------+---------------+               |
  +---------------+         "Golden Days"         |               |
  |  (exchanges)  |                               |               |
  //              //                              //              //
  |               |                               |               |
  |               +-------------------------------+               |
  |  (exchanges)  |      Pitcher's Castoria       |  (exchanges)  |
  +---------------+-------------------------------+---------------+


back cover:

  +---------------+---------------+---------------+---------------+
  |(testimonials) |(testimonials) |(testimonials) |  Handy Binder |
  //              //              //              //              //
  |               |               |               +---------------+
  |               |               +---------------+  Ready Binder |
  |(testimonials) |(testimonials) |    Binding    |               |
  |               |               +---------------+---------------+
  +---------------+---------------+    "Golden Days" Vol. XII     |
  |       Our Premium Knife       |                               |
  +-------------------------------+-------------------------------+


Errata (noted by transcriber)

Missing or incorrect punctuation was silently corrected. Typographical
errors in the advertising sections were left unchanged; those in the
main text were corrected. Both are noted here. The "cents" symbol was
not used; prices use the simple letter "c".


Advertising, Front Section:

  (For Clerk No. 14  )
    [_space in original, as if number was inserted later_]
  *CANCER* and Tumors ... Book free. 163 Elm St.
    [_printing unclear: possibly 168_]

Off Shore

  but the reason therefor was unknown  [_"therefor" is not an error_]
  Mr. Noman had contented himself  [Norman]

Big Fishes

  sent the man eater adrift  [_printing unclear: possibly "man-eater"_]

Puzzledom

  No. 3.  Eve r  [_spaced as shown_]

Slides for the Magic Lantern

  and to facilitate this  [faciliate]

A Plucky Girl

  he dared not descend to the ground, because, the wolves might attack
    [_commas as printed_]

Ephraim Clark

  Eric Ericcsson was transferred as a private
    [_spelling of name unchanged: earlier parts of serial unavailable
    for comparison_]

Condensed Food

  a handful of maccaroni  [_spelling unchanged_]
  condensed by desiccation  [dessication]

The Mutiny

  it will give me an opportunity  [me give]

A Perilous Ride

  three-fourths of an inch thick, and seven in height  [heighth]
  a little shooting on my own account on the way.
    [_comma for period_]
  while the Esquimaux were running about
    [_text unchanged: error for "See-ne-mee-utes"?_]

The Purple Pennant

  who could scarcely believe that the news  [belive]
  busily examining a heterogenous mass of papers
    [_text unchanged: probably error for unrelated word
    "heterogeneous"_]
  steadily dropping from the high place, he once held
    [_comma in original_]

A Quarrel

  fishing-pole in hand  [in had]

Replies to Correspondents

  neither increased or diminished  [_error for "nor"?_]
  Alaska is _terra incognito_  [_unchanged: error for "incognita"_]

Advertising, End

  This volume will be sent to my address
    [_unchanged: error for "any address"_]






End of Project Gutenberg's Golden Days for Boys and Girls, by Various

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