[to be continued.]
[A SNOW BLOCKADE.]
BY JAMES B. MARSHALL.
Some boys, you know, think it is capital to be at boarding-school, and other boys don't like it. But there is no doubt that all think it is splendid to come home for a holiday. But what if your home has been burned down, as was Will and Harry Baker's, and your parents are living at a hotel until the house can be rebuilt?
The Baker boys wrote home to Rawley: "We expect living in a hotel is pretty nice, but of course we can't do many of the things we had planned for this holiday."
"The new house can not be made ready before spring," wrote Mrs. Baker, "but I do not think you have planned much you will not be able to carry out. I have one fine piece of news to tell you. Your uncle Ben and aunt Sue, whom you have not seen since you were very little fellows, and those six cousins, whom you have never seen, have sold their old home in Maine. Uncle Ben is going to build a house here, not far from our old home. Until it is finished, he has rented a house, and you and your cousins should have fine times together."
The idea of meeting these cousins took away much of Will's and Harry's disappointment. School broke up early on Thursday morning, and the next day, Friday, was to be Mrs. Baker's birthday—a great day with the Bakers.
Several of the boys who had to pass through New York city in going home went with the Baker boys, when they all arrived there, to help them select Mrs. Baker's present. Then Will and Harry started for the ferry, having full time to make their train. But while riding there the street car was delayed at a cross street where a fire had broken out. Watching the exciting scene, not more than five minutes seemed to have been lost, but to the boys' amazement the last boat to make connection with their train had left when they reached the ferry. And what was worse, it was the last train before next morning to make connection at the Junction for Rawley. After a council, it was decided to go and stay overnight at the hotel used by Mr. Baker when in New York, and to telegraph to Rawley what had happened.
In the morning, when the boys awoke, they were dismayed to find that a heavy snow-storm had set in. At the dépôt, long trains covered with snow were arriving, much delayed, and every one was talking of the storm, and what probably would happen if the snow continued. It was a great relief to Will and Harry when at last their express train started, though the snow fell steadily and fast. An extra engine, pushing a snow-plough, ran ahead to clear the track, and the boys anxiously watched the storm and the progress of the train.
"An hour and a quarter late," said Will, noting the time as the train drew up at the Junction station. The Rawley train, with a snow-plough ahead of the locomotive, stood on the other side of the platform, and a few passengers were in the dépôt, who had been waiting for the New York express. There was a stout farmer talking with the conductor of the Rawley train; and as Will approached the latter to ask a question, he overheard him say,
"Yes; it does look a little doubtful if we will get through to Rawley before the snow is drifted too deep for us."
"How far along do you think you will get? To Sanmere?"
Sanmere was ten miles from Rawley.
"To Rawley, I hope," answered the conductor, moving away. "All aboard!"
Toward Sanmere the track was built in a narrow defile cut through a hill, and beyond were a number of these cuts. When the train neared Sanmere, the engine and plough were uncoupled from the cars to clear the track in this narrow defile, and running swiftly ahead, were soon lost to sight in the falling snow. In half an hour the engine was backed to where the train stood. It was decided to leave the cars, and try to carry the passengers to Sanmere on the engine. The six passengers, the train-men, and the mail agent with his mail-bags, crowded into the cab, and the engine was slowly and carefully steamed through the snow-choked defile, and down to the station.
Will and Harry hurried into the waiting-room to warm themselves, and looking out at a window they saw a gentleman muffled in a great-coat directing the other four passengers—probably to a hotel. He then entered the waiting-room, shaking his coat free of snow.
"Snowed in, eh, Masters Baker?" said he, in a pleasant tone. "But you are a good deal better off than you think. What you want now is a good warm dinner, and merry people to eat it with."
Will and Harry looked at the gentleman narrowly as he shook hands with them, but they could not remember having ever seen him before.
"I know your father and mother well," continued the gentleman. "My name is Benjamin, and I keep Benjamin's House here in Sanmere. I'm a good landlord, if I say so myself, and promise you that directly there is a dinner coming on my table well worth your eating."
"I'd rather get to Rawley to-day than eat a dozen good dinners," thought Will.
"Have you a sleigh, Mr. Benjamin, and a pair of good horses to hire, to take us to Rawley?" asked Harry.
"Yes," answered Mr. Benjamin; "but the first thing you want is your dinner. After dinner, if you wish to go to Rawley, I have just the sleigh and pair of horses that can take you there. Now come along. Each of you catch hold of one of my arms; I'm nearly as good as a snow-plough."
Before the boys had walked far along the snow-covered streets of Sanmere, it seemed as if they had known Mr. Benjamin for a long time.
"Here we are," said he, stopping before a large house.
There was no "Benjamin's House" sign to be seen, but the snow was falling fast enough to hide a dozen signs.
"My house is full of people to-day," said Mr. Benjamin, "so come right up stairs to a warm room, where you can change your clothes and shoes, and make ready for dinner. Now make yourselves at home, and when dinner is ready I will come for you."
Merry peals of laughter could be heard down stairs, and there were evidently plenty of young people in the house.
"If we only had mother and father here," said Will, "it would be nearly as good as being at home."
"That's so," agreed Harry. "This is the kind of hotel I would like to live in. I wonder if Pop knows about it?"
Directly a dinner-bell rang, and there was a noise of feet sounding as if the people were going in to dinner. In a moment in came Mr. Benjamin, his eyes twinkling with fun, and invited them down to dinner.
"I didn't tell you," said he, as he led the way, "that it is a celebration dinner for my guests. I shouldn't be surprised if you should know some of the people."
Before the dining-room door was reached, a side door swung open, and in a moment the boys found themselves in a pair of warm arms.
"Mother!" "Father!"
They were indeed Mr. and Mrs. Baker. Wide open swung the dining-room door, and there, waiting, were Aunt Sue, the six new cousins, and a dozen more people.
"Welcome to Benjamin's House!" called Uncle Ben—Mr. Benjamin, as Harry had first called him, being Uncle Ben Starr his own merry self. "And, boys, if you want to go to Rawley through all this snow, my horses and sleigh shall take you."
What a dinner that was! And what a time there was, too, explaining how Uncle Ben had invited all the Bakers to his house to spend the holidays, and to surprise Will and Harry!
CARNIVAL SKETCHES.
CARNIVAL SKETCHES—(Continued.)
[EMBROIDERY FOR GIRLS.]
BY SUSAN HAYES WARD.
No. IV.
gentleman who has done more beautiful art work than any other I have ever known once told me that his principle was first to know the rules of art, and then to do as he saw fit. The one rule of the embroiderer's art that I would specially emphasize for you is that whatever is worth doing at all is worth doing as well as you know how. You do not wish to fill your homes with worthless work. It is vastly better to do but little, and to make that as choice and dainty as possible, for the first charm of embroidery is its nicety.
Fig. 14.
Having thus put you on your guard, let me tell you how the New England stitch may be modified and rendered more simple. This modified stitch is only for those who are so painstaking that they can be trusted never to slight their work except judiciously, for no lazy needle-woman could resist the fascination of this easiest of embroidery stitches. She would never use another. If you can not trust yourself, skip this article.
Take your first stitch as in Fig. 10, then, instead of reversing the stitch and pushing the needle from you, point the needle toward you as shown in Fig. 14.
Of course when each stitch is taken naturally with the needle pointing toward you, the work reels off wonderfully fast, but the stitch loses in effect, for instead of the pretty double twist, you now have the needle cross the thread but once, making a single twist not nearly so pretty when examined closely. (For work that is only to have its little day, like a tidy or a bureau-cover, I should surely use this modified form of the stitch. Life is too short to spend time in pushing your needle backward, when pushing it forward will do as well. For nice work, for hangings before choice little cabinets, or for a bed-spread that may last a century, take the stitch the old way; but for work that is not meant to last a lifetime, use the easiest stitch possible.)
Fig. 15.
Fig. 15 is meant to be repeated for the ends of a table-scarf or bureau-cover, with the border in two shades; another line can be added a half-inch below 2 to give weight to the border.
The lines 1 and 2 are to be worked in stem stitch, the space a filled with a darker and b with a lighter shade; c is not filled in. The design (Fig. 16) can be colored to suit your room or the shade of the stuff on which it is worked, though old gold, soft yellows, pinks, and blues would be pretty for the flowers, the border being in old golds or blues.
Fig. 16.
This design would do well scattered, or, to use the technical word, powdered, over a small curtain, alternating it with small sprays from the design like x or y, or for the corners of a small table-cover.
[THE CRANES OF IBYCUS.]
Ibycus was travelling one day on the road between Athens and Sparta, when he was set upon by some brigands, who robbed and murdered him. He cried for help—none was at hand; but just at the last he raised his dying eyes toward the sky and saw a flock of cranes flying high in the air above his head, and with his last breath he called upon them to avenge him. The assassins laughed at such a prayer; but it was strangely answered. The men hurried off to Athens to enjoy their booty, and a few days afterward went to the theatre, which in those days was in the open air. As the performance was going on, some birds were noticed flying low above the assembled crowd. "Ha! ha! those are the cranes of Ibycus!" one of the robbers unthinkingly said to his neighbor. Sorely he repented it the next moment, for others had caught the words. "Ibycus? Ibycus? What had become of him?" He was a well-known man, and had been missed. The men were seized, and believing that the gods had revealed their crime, they confessed all, and were executed. This story is beautifully told in one of the poems of Schiller, the great German poet.