[to be continued.]
[BELL COUNTS HER CHICKENS.]
BY AMANDA SHAW ELSEFFER.
"Aunt Lena, come look at my chickies;
They have a house all to themselves;
It's very much bigger than Dickie's;
They sleep in a row on the shelves."
"And how many have you?" asked Auntie.
"I'll count them," said dear little Bell.
"There's Speckle, and Top-knot, and Bantie,
And that little lame one is Nell;
"And papa calls this Coach-in-China,
The greediest one of the lot;
And that one we named for old Dinah,
Because it's as black as a pot;
"And Brownie, and Whitey's her mother,
And Yellow-legs there by the door,
And Shanghai, and Prince, and another,
And Graywing, and Dot, and one more;
"And there, you see, 'way in the corner,
Is Patsy—we call her Cross-patch—
And Ned says she looks like a mourner,
But I know she's going to hatch.
"And so I have five that are hidden,
But Patsy knows what she's about,
And won't come away if she's bidden
Until she can bring them all out.
"I do hope that one is a Bantie,
And don't you want one for Elaine?"
"Well, how many have you?" "Why, auntie,
I s'pose I must count them again."
[THE BRAVEST MAN IN THE REGIMENT.]
BY DAVID KER.
"So you want me to tell you a story about a brave man, little people?" said Colonel Graylock, as his half-dozen nephews and nieces, tired with their afternoon's play, gathered around his arm-chair by the fire. "Well, I've seen plenty of them in my time, but the bravest man I ever knew was a young Ensign in our regiment, whom we used to call 'Gentleman Bob'—and right well he deserved the name, though not as we meant it.
"Soldiering's a very different thing now from what it was in my young days, and men have learned—what it's a pity they didn't learn sooner—that a man may make none the worse officer for being a gentleman and a Christian. Henry Havelock taught us that pretty fairly, but in the rough old times it was a very different thing. Then the harder an English officer drank, and the louder he swore, and the more he bullied his men, and the readier he was to fight a duel or to join in any low frolic, the better his comrades liked him, and I'm afraid we were much the same as the rest.
"So you may fancy what we thought when a man like 'Gentleman Bob' came among us, who was always quiet and sober and orderly, and instead of brawling and rioting like the rest of us, spent all his spare time over dry scientific books that we knew nothing about, and read a chapter of the Bible every morning and evening. How we did laugh at him, and make mock of him, to be sure! But the provoking thing was that he never seemed to mind it one bit, and he was so good-natured, and so ready to do any one a good turn when he could, that it certainly ought to have made us ashamed of ourselves; but it didn't, more's the pity.
"But before long something did make us ashamed of ourselves, and this was it. Our Colonel was in a great hurry one day to find out the whereabouts of a village that wasn't marked on his map, and none of us could help him, when, lo and behold! forward stepped 'Gentleman Bob,' with a neat little map of his own drawing, and there was the very place, just where it should be. The Colonel looked at it, and then at us, and said, grimly, 'It's not often, gentlemen, that the youngest officer of a regiment is also the smartest: let this be a lesson to you.'
"You may be sure this reproof made us none the more merciful in talking against poor Bob; and perhaps we might have done something more than talk but for a thing that happened one night at mess. Our junior Captain, a rough, bullying kind of fellow, was going to empty a glass of wine over Bob's head, when the Ensign grasped his wrist, and overturned the wine upon him instead, and the wrist was black and blue from that squeeze for many a day after.
"About a month after this, one of our men, who used to have fits of madness every now and then, from an old wound in the head, came flying along with a big knife in his hand, slashing at everything within reach. Some cried to shoot him, but Bob said, quietly, 'A man's life is worth more than that: let me try.' And in a moment he had seized the fellow's knife-hand, and tripped him so cleverly that he was down before we could call out; and then some of the men came up and secured him.
"Of course we could say nothing against Bob's pluck after that; but all this was a trifle to what was coming. A few days later came one of the greatest battles of the war, and we were so hard pressed on the left (where my regiment was) that at last there was nothing for it but to fall back. We formed again under cover of some thickets, but even there we had enough to do to hold our ground, for the enemy had brought up several guns, and were giving it to us pretty hot.
"Suddenly, between two gusts of smoke, one of our wounded, lying out on the open plain, was seen to wave his hand feebly, as if for help. It was one of our Lieutenants, who had been harder than any one upon 'Gentleman Bob,' and his chance was a poor one, for it seemed certain death to try and reach him through such a pelt of shot, while if a bullet didn't finish him, the scorching sun was pretty sure to do it.
"All at once a man was seen stepping out from the sheltering thicket, and that man was 'Gentleman Bob.' He never looked to right or left, but went straight to where his persecutor was lying helpless, and tried to raise him. At first the French banged away at him like fury, but when they saw what he was doing, several officers called out. 'Ne tirez pas, mes enfants' ('Don't fire, my boys'), and raised their caps to him in salute. Bob lifted the wounded man gently in his arms, and shielding him with his own body, brought him back into our lines; and such a cheer as went up then I never heard before or since."
"And did that horrid Lieutenant die, uncle?"
"Luckily not," answered the Colonel, laughing, "for I'm sorry to say the 'horrid Lieutenant' was no other than myself."
"Oh, uncle! were you ever as naughty as that?" lisped a tiny voice, in tones of amazement.
"But what became of 'Gentleman Bob'?" asked an impatient boy.
"He's now my respected brother-in-law, and your papa," said the Colonel, exchanging a sly look with a fine-looking man on the other side of the room, who had been listening to the story with a quiet smile. "And now that you've had your tale, go and say good-night, for it's high time for by-by."
[THE STORY OF PALAI.]
BY E. MULLER.
Grandma Meronne sat in her garden, near Morges, on Lake Geneva, telling stories to Gustave Meronne and an American boy from the school at Geneva.
"Just out there," said Madame Meronne, pointing to the shining blue water, "there lived a boy a long time ago."
"Where, Grandmère?" asked Rob Grayson. "Over at Evian or Thonon?"
"No; just out there on the water. His house was built far out from shore, on a sort of wooden pier, with a long narrow pathway, on piles, leading to land. There was a whole village of such houses, built of logs, with piazzas all around, and carefully barred up on the land side to keep out the bears and wolves and hyenas."
"Hyenas! Oh, Grandmère! how can you?" exclaimed Gustave.
"Yes, hyenas. This was long ago, I said; and the boy's name was Palai. He was brave and hardy from his babyhood, and even when he could only creep, his mother had to tie a string to him, and fasten him to the house, or he would have crept on land or into the water, for he would not stay quiet a moment. When he could run about, his father showed him how to make a knife out of stone, and many an hour's hard work Palai had rubbing his knife on a great stone slab which lay in the middle of the house on purpose to sharpen things on. His father gave him a hollow bone of a deer to make a knife-handle, and then Palai was allowed to go on shore, and watch the cows and sheep at pasture. He was expected to keep off bears and wolves—yes, and hyenas, Gustave—with no weapons but a wooden club and this stone knife, which, by-the-way, was nothing like your knives, but more like a carpenter's chisel, as its sharp edge was at the end instead of the side. In summer Palai enjoyed his pasture-watching, and busied himself making more knives and spears, and pretty beads from bones and colored stones found along the lake.
"These were Palai's pleasant hours; but in winter, when the cattle were driven close to the lake, and Palai and other boys had to spend long cold nights watching for wild animals, it was not so pleasant. Palai's grandma—yes, Gustave, he had a grandma—used to tell him of the fearful beasts she had heard of in her youth, some of which her grandfather had seen. He had seen a bird so large that its legs alone were taller than he, and one of its eggs held as much as a hundred and forty hen's eggs. This was a Dinornis, and Palai wished he could have gone bird nesting after such eggs. Then there was a great dragon—the Labyrinthodont—which had been seen by Palai's grandma's great-grandfather; and the Dinotherium, a beast twice as large as an elephant, and many other fearful creatures. Palai never said 'Oh, grandma!' when she related these wonders. He had seen the huge bones of some of these creatures lying among the caves and rocks on the hills, and he wished constantly to meet and kill some great animal, for he was very brave. 'Never mind, Palai,' his grandmother said, 'these great beasts may have left this country, but there is always something great to be done, if one is brave.' When Palai was about fourteen, his father allowed him to go hunting with him to kill a cave-bear—an animal nearly twice as large as the bears we see now.
"Palai and his father each carried a club, tied to the waist by deer-skin strings, a knife, and a long wooden spear with a stone head. It was a great honor for a boy to be allowed to hunt the cave-bear; only very brave men attacked this beast, so Palai felt proud."
PALAI AND JURASSA.—Drawn by F. S. Church.
"But he knew the danger, and that he might never come home again, so he gave presents to all his friends and relations to remember him by. To his mother he gave a new distaff and stone spinning weights which he had made; to his grandmother he gave a wolf-skin to make a warm robe; and to his friend Jurassa—a nice little girl who lived in the next house—he gave a long string of pretty beads, which he had cut and polished just for her.
"'I won't forget you, Palai,' said Jurassa. 'But do something brave.'
"'I will,' said Palai.
"The country was not fair and smooth as it is now; great rocks were more frequent than grassy fields. The Bernese Alps were always covered with snow to their very base, as the top of Mont Blanc is now; and in the thick dark forests lived wild beasts which were as eager to find the hunters as the hunters were to find them.
"'Palai,' said his father, 'this bear is of the fiercest; it carried off two of our cows.'
"'I do not fear,' said Palai.
"'This is not play, like killing a wolf in the flock, or crossing the lake in your canoe. You must kill or die.'
"'I do not fear,' said Palai, who knew that his father was trying his courage, as was the custom among hunters.
"Two other hunters joined them, and before long they had climbed the hills, and found the cave-bear at home. Palai's dog, a thin wolfish creature, with long stiff hair, gave the alarm; but before they could throw themselves behind trees, this fearful monster sprang from his cave, and threw down Palai's father. Palai rushed forward, and struck the beast with his club, and the other hunters shouted and struck it with their spears, till it turned on them. Then they ran away. You can not blame them; they thought Palai's father was dead, and it was no use throwing their lives away. But Palai did not run. As the bear rose to grasp him, he threw himself under it, and stabbed furiously at its heart, killing it almost instantly, so that it fell upon him. When the other hunters saw this, they came and dragged Palai out, nearly smothered; and great was their rejoicing, till they found that Palai's father, for whom he had risked his life, was dead.
"Palai's father was a kind of chief among the villagers, so there was great mourning among the people, which prevented their being very glad over the death of the terrible bear. But as soon as their mourning was over, Palai learned that he was to be chief, young as he was, for no other hunter in the village had ever tried to stab a cave-bear by getting under it—and on his first hunt, too. Then all the people brought to his house presents of skins and grain, stone knives and kettles, bone beads, and woven cloths, and canoes, so that he was the richest as well as the bravest in the village. Then his mother and grandmother were proud of him, and so was Jurassa."
"And is that all?" asked Rob.
"That is all I know of Palai," answered Grandma Meronne.
"I never heard you tell such a queer story, Grandmère," said Gustave. "Half fairy story, and half made up."
"No, it is not half 'made up,'" said Grandma Meronne. "When you are old enough to read about the Lake-Villages of Switzerland, and how many things were found in one house, you will believe me."
"But the dragons, the Laby— Oh, Grandmère!" exclaimed Gustave, incredulously.
"They all lived, my Gustave, as surely as you do; but their lives were in the Neozoic Age."
A LONG-AGO BABY—Drawn by F. S. Church.
[HOW TINKER BRADLEY FOUND THE NORTH POLE.]
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
The winter had been a long one and very hard. The ice on Deacon Potter's mill-pond had been wonderfully hard, and had staid so until the first week in March. Then it began to grow slushy, and the skating was gone, but the winter hung round in one way and another until after the 1st of April.
It was just as all the old folks said, nevertheless. When so hard a winter as that was did at last break up, it went in a hurry, and the spring followed it like a ready-made coat, only needing to be picked out and put on.
That was the reason why the weather was so warm the second week in May that all the boys and girls in the class in geography at the Putnamville Academy were glad to hear Professor Hackleman talk about the Arctic Ocean. It was cooling and comfortable to know about such a deal of snow and ice. It was all the better, perhaps, to sit and hear about it with all the windows open, and a lost bumble-bee buzzing around the ceiling.
Some of the boys and girls in that class were young ladies and young gentlemen, and could sit still and be dignified without an effort—at least so long as Professor Hackleman turned his eyes so fast along the benches, and sent so many sudden questions flying here and there. More than half, however, were somewhere about the age and size of Tinker Bradley, and nobody had ever known him sit still so long as he did that morning. His mouth was open, too, and that was almost proof that he was thinking of something.
Perfectly still he kept until Professor Hackleman remarked, "The North Pole, my young friends, is a place where winter remains the year round, and where the ice and snow do not melt—not even in May."
Tinker Bradley's mouth shut like a steel-trap, but it opened again, almost instantly, with, "I know where it is, then; I found it last Saturday."
"Did you, indeed?"
"Yes, sir; there's three woodchuck holes on the side-hill."
"My young friend, if you have found the North Pole, and know where it is, you know more than any other living man," said the Professor.
"Yes, sir," said Tinker Bradley.
That was not the first time by a good deal that the vast extent of his knowledge had occurred to the mind of Tinker Bradley, and when, at the noon recess, a dozen boys of his own size asked him questions about it, he stoutly answered: "It's just what he said it was, and it's over in the hemlock woods north of our pasture lot. If you don't believe it, I'll go and show you right away after school. Show you three of the biggest woodchuck holes you ever saw, too, and a crow's nest, and a place where there's going to be cords of raspberries."
It was enough to spoil school for all of them on so hot an afternoon as that, and they were hardly let loose at three o'clock before there was a small army, with Tinker Bradley at its head, marching straight away across the green.
On they went, over the bridge and up the hill, and they were all puffing and nearly out of breath when they reached the bars that let down into Mr. Bradley's pasture lot.
"Now, boys," said their leader, "if we come across the brindle cow, don't you say a word to her. She's got a calf, and she gets mad the easiest you ever saw."
Each one of them made up his mind to let the brindled cow alone; and all would have been well if it had not been for Soddy Corcoran's dog.
They came across the cow, indeed, and her calf was with her; but they made a great bend to the left, and would have been safe if the dog had made the bend when they did. They had hardly noticed that he was with them, he was so very small, until Tinker Bradley shouted, "Soddy! Soddy Corcoran! there goes your dog—right straight for the cow!"
"Ape! Ape! April! coom here wid ye. She'll be the death of ye, sure."
"April? Did you name him—"
"That isn't the whole of it. I've only had him six weeks. Wait till you hear him bark. Hark to that now!"
It was not a bark; it was a growl. The little, grisly, wiry, bow-legged mite of a quadruped was almost hidden by the tuft of grass he was sitting in; but a bush twenty feet high could not have hidden that growl, or the short, hoarse, gruff, threatening bark which followed it. It was no wonder the brindled cow stopped feeding, and began to look around her.
"Did your dog growl that growl?" asked Tinker Bradley.
"'Dade an' he did."
"There isn't room in him for such a growl as that and such a bark. The cow can't find him."
"No more there is. When I got him I thought it was a bad cold he had, an' it wud lave him wid warrum weather, but he's only worse. He's an April-fool of a dog, and that's his whole name."
Again and again all that big sound was thrown at the head of the brindled cow, and she knew it came from somewhere in the grass. She saw the wiry-haired bit of a quadruped, of course, but she was an old experienced cow, knowing all about dogs, and she knew the bark could not come from him.
Those boys! She knew a good deal about boys, and she had never before seen so many at once in that pasture lot. Her calf could be left alone for a moment, with nothing to hurt him but a tuft of yellow hair in a bunch of grass. She herself went at once after that Polar Expedition.
It was already running, every boy of it, as fast as its many short legs could carry it, and the cow had no idea how triumphantly Soddy Corcoran's dog was galloping over the grass behind her. He had no doubt whatever but what he had scared the calf's mother, and was chasing her.
The boys made for the north fence, because it was nearest, but not all of them would have reached it in time if the cow had not hesitated for a moment just as she got almost among them. She stopped in her tracks, with her head down, and right behind her, almost under her heels, again arose that awful growl and the short hoarse bark. There was no room in that dog for a longer bark of that thickness, but it made the angry cow wheel to look for it.
"Woof! Ur-r-r-r-r! Woof!"
Right at her heels all the time, and nothing to be seen, however fast she might wheel, for Soddy Corcoran's dog was determined to sit in a safe spot, and the cow, after all, might have looked for half an hour without hitting so small a mark.
"Ape! Ape! Sure an' ye've fooled her enough for wanst. Coom along, now."
He might not have obeyed, but the cow either thought of her calf just then, or was frightened at having so near her what seemed to be a bark without a body, for she suddenly ceased wheeling after it, and galloped back across the pasture lot.
"Now, Tink, where's your North Pole?"
Three or four boys asked that question, one after another, but Tinker Bradley stoutly replied: "Come right along. We're in the woods now. It's only a little ways further. There's the first woodchuck hole."
There it was, sure enough, and the moment the boys saw it they began to have more confidence, for the cow had chased some of that out of them. In less than five minutes Tinker said, "There's the second woodchuck hole. Maybe you'll begin to believe what I told you."
Some of them would indeed have been nearly ready to look around for poles of some kind, but then the north pole—that was another thing.
The hill-side grew steeper and steeper, with great rocks and bowlders showing here and there among the hemlocks; and now Tinker Bradley shouted: "There's the third woodchuck hole! What do you think of that?"
They had never seen any hole in the ground made by any woodchuck that yawned upon them with so very wide a mouth, and it almost seemed as if the weather must be growing cooler. Still, nobody had ever heard of polar bears' being found in Bradley's woods.
"Here we are. I'll show you."
"Why, Tink, it's the Gulch."
"Come right along. Follow me."
So they did, and the whole procession disappeared, to its last boy, between the jaws of that deep, jagged, gloomy ravine. That is, it would have been gloomy if everything around it had not been so green, and if it had been evening instead of afternoon.
Away up to within twenty or thirty rods of the upper end of the Gulch, and then Tinker Bradley halted, with just enough of breath left to shout: "There it is! Didn't I tell you?"
Straight before them, as they turned their eyes to the right, where he pointed, was a great wide fissure, cloven in the rock. Above, it was almost closed over by a leaning crag, and the upper edges, sixty feet from the bottom, were thickly lined with hemlocks and cedar bushes. Nobody could guess how deep it went in, for it was packed full half way up with what was as nearly like ice as anything they had ever seen. No sunshine could reach it. The rocks and trees protected it. It was a great natural ice-house, and was doing its duty capitally.
"That ain't the North Pole."
"Then Professor Hackleman don't know, that's all. He said it was a place where the snow and ice didn't melt in May."
"Woof! Ur-r-r-r-r! Woof!"
Soddy Corcoran's dog was with his master again, and had seated himself in the shadow of a big stone to give his opinion of Tinker Bradley's discovery.
"You're right, me boy!" exclaimed Soddy. "That's one April-fool, and you're another."
"Isn't it all there—the ice and the snow? And didn't I show you the three woodchuck holes?"
"'Dade an' you did. It's worth comin' to see any day."
They each broke off a big piece of the North Pole to show to Professor Hackleman. That is, they all started for the lower end of the pasture lot, away below the cow, carrying as large a fragment of ice to each boy as he thought he could get home with. Every piece had to be broken smaller before they reached the bars, however, and by the time they got home they all knew that if the North Pole is to stay frozen, it must be left where it is, especially in May, for their share of it had melted.