| vol. iii.—no. 124. | Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. | price four cents. |
| Tuesday, March 14, 1882. | Copyright, 1882, by Harper & Brothers. | 1.50 per Year, in Advance. |
"TEASING TOM."
[POLLY GARDNER AND THE DRAW-BRIDGE.]
BY JULIA K. HILDRETH.
Polly Gardner had been spending her vacation with Aunt Mary in the country. She would have been "perfectly happy" but that her father and mother were obliged to remain in the city. It was five weeks since she had seen them, and it seemed to Polly like five months.
One lovely afternoon Polly sat on the horse-block idly kicking one foot backward and forward, watching Aunt Mary as she drove off on a visit to a sick neighbor. Birds were singing, bees were humming, and the slender branches of the great gray-green willows that shadowed the road moved softly with every light puff of wind. Away off in the field over the hills Polly could hear the ring of the mowers' scythes. Everything was so pleasant and peaceful that she wished her parents were there to enjoy it with her.
Just as Aunt Mary was hidden from sight by a bend in the road, she heard the crunching of wheels in the opposite direction, and, on looking up, found it was another wagon, driven by Mr. Ward, the grocer and postman of Willow Grove. He checked his horse at the gate, and began fumbling slowly in his coat pocket for something.
After considerable searching, he drew out a white envelope, and turned it first one way and then another, shook his head, and began feeling in his pockets again, brought forth his spectacles, adjusted them carefully upon his nose, and once more began examining the letter. At last he read in a loud voice:
"'Miss Polly Gardner, in care of Mrs. Mary West, Willow Grove. In haste.'" Then he peeped over his glasses severely at Polly, and asked, sharply, "Who's Miss Polly Gardner? Do you know, little girl?"
"Oh, that's me!" cried Polly, jumping from the horse-block, "and Mrs. Mary West is aunty. Please give me my letter. It's from mamma. I am so glad!"
"Can you read?" asked Mr. Ward, still holding the letter far above Polly's reach.
"Yes, of course," cried Polly, indignantly. "I'm nine years old next week."
"Wery well, Miss Polly Gardner, here's your letter. But if your mar hadn't put 'In haste' on the outside of it, you would have had to come and fetch it yourself," said Mr. Ward, as he handed the letter down to Polly.
"Thank you ever so much," said Polly, tearing her letter open nervously. After reading it once, she said "Oh!" in a delighted voice.
"Nothing the matter?" inquired Mr. Ward, who still sat looking at Polly.
"No; but mother and father are coming to-day, if this is the 24th of August."
"Yes, it's the 24th. But let's see your letter, and I can tell you what they mean."
Polly handed her letter back to Mr. Ward, who read it aloud slowly:
"'Dearest Polly,—Papa finds he can leave his business for a short time, so we have concluded to spend the remainder of your vacation with you and Aunt Mary. We shall take the train that reaches Willow Grove at 4.30 p. m. on the 24th. Tell Aunt Mary to meet us if she has time.
"'Love to all, and a thousand kisses from
"'Mamma and Papa.'
"Well," said Mr. Ward, as he gave Polly back her letter, "they'll be here in about a half-hour, for it's almost four now. I guess I'll be moving; it's time I was back to the store." So he chirped to his horse, turned the wagon, and was soon out of sight.
As Aunt Mary would not return before five o'clock, Polly determined to walk down to the railroad station, and meet her father and mother alone. She had often been there with Aunt Mary to watch the trains come and go. It was a small station, and very few people stopped there.
Just before reaching the station the railroad crossed a draw-bridge. Polly liked to watch the man open and shut the draw as the boats in the river passed through. There was a foot-path over this bridge, and Polly had once crossed it with Aunt Mary. They had stopped to speak to the flagman, who was pleasant and good-natured. He told Polly where she could find some beautiful white lilies in a pond not far away. That was more than a week ago, and the flowers were not then open, and now as Polly ran down the road she thought she would have time to gather some for her parents before the train arrived.
When Polly reached the station she found no one there, and on looking at the clock, saw that it was only ten minutes past four, so she had twenty minutes to wait. Then she ran on quickly.
The flagman stood by the draw, and Polly saw, some distance down the river, a small vessel coming toward the bridge. She ran along rapidly, and as she passed the flagman he called out:
"Going for the lilies? The pond was all white with them when I went by this morning."
"Yes, sir; I want to pick some for mamma and papa. They wrote me a letter and said they were coming in the next train."
"You don't say so! Well, I guess you're glad. Look out for the locomotive, and don't take too long picking your flowers, and you'll have plenty of time to get back before the train comes in."
Polly thanked him and ran on. In about five minutes she reached the pond. How lovely the lilies looked, with their snowy cups resting upon the dark water! But their stems were long and tough, and most of them grew far beyond her reach. She contrived to secure four. Polly was sorry to leave so many behind, but was afraid if she lingered too long she would miss the train. So, gathering up the blossoms, she pinned them into her belt, and scampered back toward the bridge.
The boat had just sailed through the draw, and the man stood ready to close the bridge, when Polly came up. He looked over at her from the centre of the bridge, and called out with a smile:
"Couldn't you get any more flowers than those? If I had time to go to the pond, you should have as many as you could carry."
Polly smiled back at him, and then began to watch him as he made ready to turn the great bridge back into place for the train to pass over. His hand was already on the crank, when a rope dangling over the railing of the bridge attracted his attention. As he tried to pull it in, it seemed to be caught underneath. Polly watched him lean over to get a better hold, when, to her great horror, the piece of railing to which he held gave way.
There was a sudden scream, and a great splash in the water. But before the waves of the swiftly flowing river closed over him, Polly heard the cry,
"The train!—the flag!"
Poor little Polly! She was so alarmed for the poor man's safety that for some moments she could think of nothing else, and ran backward and forward wringing her hands in despair. As he arose to the surface she saw that he made frantic gestures to her, and pointed up the road from which the train was to come. He seemed to be able to keep himself above water with very little effort, and Polly saw with joy that the accident had been observed by the occupants of the vessel. The man in the water struck out toward the boat, and Polly could hear shouts and cheers from the men on board.
All at once she was startled by the far-off whistle of the approaching locomotive. In a moment she understood the meaning of the flagman's gestures. She looked at the open space and then at the bridge. In five minutes or less the train would come dashing into that terrible chasm. Polly's hair almost rose on her head with horror. It was as much as she could do to keep her senses.
There must be some way to avert the awful calamity. She ran swiftly along toward the rapidly approaching train. Lying on the ground just by the small wooden house where the flagman generally sat, Polly saw a red flag. She remembered having heard that this flag was used in case of danger, or when there was any reason for stopping the cars. She did not know whether there was yet time, but she seized the flag and flew wildly up the track.
"Oh, my papa! oh, my mamma!" she cried; "they will fall into the river and be drowned! What shall I do?" and Polly waved the flag backward and forward as she ran.
Then came the train around the curve. She could see the white steam puffing from the pipe, and could hear the panting of the engine.
"I know they'll run over me, but if mamma and papa are killed, I don't care to live," she said to herself, as she approached the great black noisy engine.
When it was about three hundred feet away from her, she saw a head thrust out of the little window by the locomotive, and then, with a great puffing, snorting, and whistling, it began to move slower and slower, until at last, when it was almost upon Polly, it stopped entirely.
All the windows were alive with heads and hands. The passengers screamed and waved her off the track. She stepped off and ran close up to the side of the engine and gasped out, "The bridge is open, and the man has fallen into the river. Please stop the train or you'll be drowned."
The engineer stared in amazement, as well he might, to see a small girl with a flushed face, hair blown wildly about, and four lilies pinned in her belt, waving the red flag as though she had been used to flagging trains all her life.
At that moment another remarkable figure presented itself to the astonished eyes of the passengers. A man, dripping wet, bruised and scratched as though he had been drawn through briers, came tearing toward the cars, stumbling and almost falling at every step. As he reached little Polly, he snatched her up and covered her face with kisses.
"You little darling," he cried, "do you know what you've done? You've saved the lives of more than a hundred people."
Polly, nervous and excited, began to cry. One after another the passengers came hurrying out of the train and crowded around her, praising and kissing her, until she was quite ashamed, and hid her head upon the kind flagman's shoulder, whispering, "Please take me away and find mamma and papa."
Almost the last to alight were Polly's parents. "Why, it's our Polly!" they both exclaimed at once.
The draw was now being closed again, and the conductor cried, "All aboard!" The passengers scrambled back to their seats again. Polly's father took her into the car with him, and now she looked calmly at the people as they gathered around, and answered politely all questions put to her, but refused the rings, chains, bracelets, and watches that the grateful passengers pressed her to accept as tokens of their gratitude for saving their lives.
At last Polly grew tired of so much praise, and spoke out: "Really I don't deserve your thanks, for I never once thought of any one but papa and mamma. So keep your presents for your own little girls. Thank you all the same."
Those that heard her laughed, seeing they could do nothing better for her than to let her remain unnoticed for the short distance she had to go.
When Polly was lifted out of the car, and stood upon the steps of the station while her father looked after the luggage, the passengers threw kisses and waved their handkerchiefs to her until they were out of sight.
A few days afterward Polly was astonished at receiving a beautiful ivory box containing an exquisitely enamelled medal, with these words engraved on it:
"Presented to Polly Gardner, whose courage and presence of mind saved a hundred lives."
[WHO ARE THEY?]
BY JENNIE J. KELLY.
A blustering fellow goes prowling about;
He tosses the snow with a scuffle and shout,
And pinches the toes,
The ears, and the nose
Of each little darling, wherever he goes.
The timid birds hear him and hide their wee heads,
The mooly-cows shiver in barns and in sheds,
And sweet flowers say,
"At home we will stay
Until this noisy fellow gets out of the way."
A bright little maiden is soon on his track,
And gently, though firmly, she orders him back.
Oh, fair she appears,
In smiles and in tears;
She calls to the flowers, "Come up, pretty dears."
The birds hear her voice, and they twitter with glee,
And pink little buds peep the bright sky to see;
The grass twinkles out,
And lambs skip about,
And, oh, the glad children so merrily shout!
And who is this blustering chap, can you tell?
And who is this maiden who robes hill and dell,
Whose whisper so arch
Wakes oak-tree and larch?—
Why, she is Miss April, and he Mister March.
[SOME ODD RELATIONS OF THE JELLY-FISH.]
BY SARAH COOPER.
Let us now examine some odd-looking animals called hydroids, or sea-firs, which grow in the ocean, firmly rooted upon the bottom, or attached to shells and stones.
Fig. 1.—Hydroids growing on a Shell.
The tall branches in Fig. 1 are hydroids growing upon the shell of a dead mussel. A barnacle, too, has lived and died on this pretty shell, and little sea-weeds cluster around its remains.
We can scarcely imagine animals that are more unlike jelly-fish than these slender branches are; and yet the wonderful story I have to tell you will show them to be so closely related that we could not study the life of one without the other.
Long graceful sprays of hydroids are often thrown on shore by the tide, and as they resemble plants much more than animals, they are generally mistaken for sea-weeds. Many persons gather them for decorating brackets and hanging baskets. We frequently see bunches of them arranged in sea-shells, and offered for sale in our shops. The shop-keeper would probably not know them by any other name than sea-weed. Still, they are animals, and we can mostly recognize them by their yellow, horny appearance, and by the numerous joints on their stems.
In looking at one of these sprays with a microscope you will find each little point on the stem to be in reality a dainty cup, which when alive contained a hungry animal. Should you find a piece freshly washed up from the ocean, it would be well to place it in a glass jar filled with sea-water, and after allowing it to remain perfectly still for a while, it may perhaps show you, if it is yet alive, how it has been accustomed to pass the quiet hours in its native home.
You will find each cup occupied by a soft animal, with a mouth in the centre opening directly into the stomach. Hydroids, you see, are higher in the scale of life than sponges, for they possess mouths and stomachs. As we watch, the body of the animal will rise up in the cup, and from around the mouth will gradually creep out slender thread-like feelers, which may be extended quite a distance, or drawn up at will entirely within the body of the animal. You will, of course, wish to use the proper name for these feelers. They are called tentacles, and they evidently serve to produce currents of water toward the mouth, and to bring the required food. In this way the little animals live, day after day and year after year, patiently waving their tentacles, and waiting for the food that is sure to come.
Do you still ask what connection there is between these demure little animals and the jolly jelly-fish? We shall soon see.
The hydroids have grown by budding and branching somewhat as plants do. Occasionally pear-shaped cups much larger than those we have looked at are formed on the stem. These large cups are called spore-sacs. They contain the substances which, later, will grow into eggs; and at the proper time they fall off. After resting awhile, and throwing out cilia and tentacles, these spore-sacs swim gayly away, and, strange to relate, they are hence-forth known by the name of jelly-fish!
Fig. 2.—Hydroid magnified, showing Spore-Sacs.
In Fig. 2 you will see a spray of hydroid magnified which shows two spore-sacs. In the species which is represented here (the Sertularia) the spore-sacs do not fall off, but they burst and discharge the eggs which they contain.
These jelly-fish now lead active lives, and as they dart and swim about in the water no one would suspect that they had any relation to the plant-like animals with which we started, yet it is supposed that most hydroids have this wonderful history.
Forgive us, jelly-fish, forgive us, hydroids, if in our ignorance we have ever cast an indifferent glance upon you. We did not know your charming secret, and we should never have guessed it, for the lives we lead are so different from yours. Now that we have learned your secret, we shall certainly tell it to the boys and girls, that they may help us enjoy it.
Jelly-fish produce eggs, from which are born little floating bodies. These after a time fasten themselves to some stick or stone, and grow by budding until they become the elegant feathery branches which we must now call hydroids. The young of nearly all animals resemble their parents, but the children of jelly-fish, you see, are very different from the jelly-fish itself. In the next generation, however, we shall find jelly-fish again.
Most of the plant-like objects which we are accustomed to see growing near the shore are in reality hydroids. Has it ever puzzled you to know the difference between plants and these low forms of animal life? One very important difference is that most plants can procure their food directly from the soil, whereas animals are obliged to feed upon living substances, or those which have at some time been alive, as vegetables and animals.
Hydroids grow in all parts of the ocean, in deep water as well as near the coast. Some of them are three feet high. One branch may contain a hundred thousand distinct animals, the only communication between them being a circulation of fluid through the hollow stems. In this way each branch constitutes a family which has sprung originally from the same little egg. Some varieties never grow tall, and as they occur in patches over rocks and shells, they resemble thick beds of moss.
Fig. 3.—Jelly-Fish (Aurelia Aurita), with Young in various Stages.
The little hydroids which we see hanging from the under side of a rock in Fig. 3 produce jelly-fish in a different manner from the one I have described, although it is equally remarkable. This hydroid has no buds or branches, but the main tube of the body divides itself into a number of rings or plates, until the whole animal looks somewhat like a pile of tiny saucers with scalloped edges. Finally the upper plate begins to twist and squirm until it loosens itself from the pile, and floats off to lead the gay and independent life of a jelly-fish. It is followed by the other plates in their turn, each making a separate animal. These new jelly-fish eat greedily and grow fast, forming some of our largest varieties.
We can form but little idea of the immense numbers of animals thus leading quiet contented lives, and drawing from the surrounding water all that is needed for their support. They can not go in search of food, and they take only such as floats toward them. Still, they seem to have some choice in the matter, as they reject from their mouths any food they are not suited with. Many of these curious animals are glowing with bright colors, and surrounded as they are with a great variety of plants, they give to the bottom of the ocean a marvellous beauty.
Does it not seem strange that the slender, delicate sprays of which we have been speaking are really animals; and more than that, the children of jelly-fish? A little girl once exclaimed, on hearing of these wonderful changes that happen in the life of hydroids, "Why, it seems almost like a fairy tale!"