A TRUE STORY.
BY MRS. KATE UPSON CLARK.
"Baa! baa! baa!" sounded in noisy, frightened chorus underneath Parson Darius Miller's windows one cold April morning about fifty years ago.
So loud and so persistent was the chorus that Parson Miller's three sturdy boys were awake and on their feet before it had grown light enough to distinguish anything in the gray outside.
"Father! father!" shouted James, the second boy, clattering down the stairs in his heavy boots, "what ails the sheep? They're all huddled up close to the house, right under your window. Don't you hear them? Say, father, wake up!"
In response to all this outcry, good Parson Miller, who was a hardworking farmer as well as a parson, and slept the sleep of the just, gave forth a feeble and only half-intelligent "yes." Presently, however, he joined the boys, and then discovered that not all the sheep were huddled together underneath the windows, but that two of them were missing, and that large dangerous-looking tracks were all over the light snow—a regular "sugar-snow"—which covered the ground outside.
"I'll bet it's a wolf," ventured Daniel, the eldest boy.
"Guess it's nothing but a wild-cat," said the parson.
"Too big for a wild-cat," said Tom. "A great deal bigger than the one Squire Taylor caught in his trap."
Tom was the quiet boy, but somehow, when Tom spoke, even the older ones paid attention. Tom's eyes were always on the alert, and though they were of a gray and by no means beautiful color, and were set in a sallow and "peaked" little face, Tom was considered a vastly good-looking boy by all of the family and his intimate friends, on the principle of "Handsome is that handsome does."
Just then Squire Taylor, their next neighbor, came tramping hastily across his field, his two boys, of about the same age as James and Tom Miller, following after him.
"Wolf tracks all around my barn," said the good Squire, excitedly, before he had come near enough to see the sheep lying on the snow.
"There!" cried Daniel, nodding significantly to Tom.
"Where's the fellow gone?" queried little Tom, who was only fourteen, and who didn't look so old as that by reason of his small stature.
"That's it! that's it!" cried the Squire, slapping Tom approvingly on the shoulder. "Where's the varmint gone? Let's track him, to be sure. Hullo! there's Uncle Zed."
Sure enough, old Zadok Cummings, familiarly known as "Uncle Zed," was hurrying along through the fields toward them, and carrying his old shot-gun in his hands. The news had evidently travelled fast.
"Seen him?" shouted the old man, all on fire with excitement, while drops of sweat ran down his russet face, in spite of the chilly weather. "Jest tell me what direction he's took, 'n' I'll ketch him! The critter! I'll ketch him; oh, I'll ketch him!" And Uncle Zed looked so fierce and funny that all of them began to laugh. But they finally succeeded in convincing the old man that he couldn't possibly "ketch him," for a few moments at least, and that the case was too serious for them to decide at once on the best course to pursue.
"He'll be around to-night too, and bring some more with him, if we don't ketch him," put in Uncle Zed, whenever a good chance occurred.
Two or three had started out to follow the trail of the wolf, and they came back to report that the tracks ended in Squire Taylor's woods.
"We must make a ring right around the woods, and hem him in—that's the way," said the Squire, quickly.
Tom, standing back behind his brothers, was seen to nod approvingly, whereupon the other boys did the same. Indeed, the proposition seemed to commend itself to the entire company, and they started toward the woods, those who had not brought guns hurrying off to get some.
"I could do it jest as well alone," muttered Uncle Zed. "They hain't ben no wolves around here for several years now, but I hain't forgot how to ketch 'em. I guess I hain't."
The men were disposed, and then everything was profoundly quiet, excepting for the sound of the beating of the bushes, or of a stray shot, when some overconfident hunter was "sure he had him."
At last Uncle Zed heard a low growl in a thicket, and he had hardly time to raise his gun when out sprang an enormous wolf, and came directly toward him. The old man, almost paralyzed with fright, pulled the trigger, but his hand trembled so that his shot went a yard above the wolf's head, and the animal bounded past him unhurt. Uncle Zed shrieked, "Wolf! wolf!" and a half-dozen men were soon in hot pursuit of the discovered game.
Tom Miller, feeling very disconsolate because he hadn't any gun, had not accompanied the rest; but his mother, who felt no fear for Tom, and sympathized deeply with the courageous little fellow, had advised him to go to a certain neighbor's and see if he couldn't borrow one. It was necessary to go quite a distance, but Tom had made it on old Sorrel, the mare. He had come back in a wonderfully short time, bringing a trusty little shot-gun with him, and was making his way up the hill just as the wolf dashed out of the woods, heading in his direction.
Tom's heart came up in his throat, but he ran for a clump of bushes close by that he thought would afford a good position for a shot, stationed himself among them, and waited.
The cries of the men in pursuit came nearer. Then the gallop into which the wolf had broken from its quick trot when it left the woods seemed to shake the very ground under him. Spring—spring—spring, came the terrified brute. He was in sight. Tom steadied his gun and fired. The wolf uttered a cry, half bark, half screech, and giving a few lame and wounded leaps, lay bleeding on the ground. Then shot after shot from the men behind was poured in upon the poor creature, until he lay thoroughly dead. Tom Miller was quite the hero of the day, and it was voted unanimously that the wolf-skin belonged to him.
"Well, Uncle Zed, why didn't you 'ketch him,' as you said you were going to?" inquired Squire Taylor, jokingly, as the men were separating to go to a late dinner.
"Don' know what in thunder ailed my gun," complained Uncle Zed, rapping that unfortunate weapon crossly; "but, after all"—straightening up proudly—"you'd never have ketched that wolf if it hadn't 'a ben for me."
"How's that?" asked the Squire.
"Why, goodness gracious! didn't you hear me holler? I hollered an' started you all up. My!" continued the old man, reflectively, as he turned away amid a general laugh, which did not appear to damp his spirits in the least, "how I did holler!"
[CORAL REEFS.]
BY SARAH COOPER.
The attention of seamen and navigators has long been attracted by the number of circular islands in the warm parts of the Pacific and Indian oceans. Generally each one of these circular islands contains a lake of quiet water extending almost to its outer shores, so that the island looks like a fairy ring of land floating in the ocean, and adorned with tropical trees and plants.
Happily for the boys and girls of the present day, this subject, with other equally fascinating branches of science, has now been studied by naturalists, who give us the rich results of their labors. It seems scarcely possible that the dainty beautiful corals which we examined not long ago in Young People can have anything to do with the making of islands, but so it is. Coral reefs are vast masses of coral which have grown in warm oceans. Their formation must have been slow, yet they sometimes extend hundreds of miles. Florida and many other parts of our solid continents are known to have been formed from coral reefs.
Let us now try to picture to ourselves the beginning of one of these reefs, and by following its growth step by step we may at least understand how it has been formed. There are hills and valleys on the bottom of the ocean as well as on the land. We will fancy that some young coral polyps which have been swimming about in the sea settle on the sides of one of these hills, and begin to grow and spread all around it. They will increase also by the deposit of eggs until they form a circular wall.
As the coral wall grows, the lower polyps and the inner ones die, their skeletons forming a solid foundation for all that grow above them. There may be only about an inch of living coral on the outside of the reef.
Fig. 1.—a, a, Surface of the Water; b, Natural Red of the Ocean; c, c, Coral Formation; d, Lagoon.
These walls rise nearly straight, and you will see that in doing so they inclose a circular basin of quiet water, and now you can understand why it is that a coral island mostly has a lake in the centre, as is shown in Fig. 1. The lakes are called lagoons.
The bottom of the wall is formed of brain-coral and other solid kinds which live only in deep water, and they die when a certain height is reached. The formation of the new island does not stop with their death, however. The wall having now reached the proper height to suit branching corals, which require shallower water, their young polyps will settle upon it, and finish the structure. We might suppose a reef formed of branching corals would be open and unsubstantial, but in their growth the branches are thickly interlaced. The spaces between them become filled with substances floating in the ocean, and with pieces of coral which are broken from the reef by the fierce dashing of the waves. The whole forms a solid mass, stronger, perhaps, than any stone masonry. The fragments of coral suffer no serious injury by breaking, but if lodged in some favorable spot they continue to grow.
The outer edge of the wall is steep and abrupt. Soundings taken just outside show very deep water. In this portion of the wall the corals live and thrive, always supplied with clear water. The breakers dash against it with such fury that apparently the hardest rock must in time yield to the tremendous force of the waves. But, strange as it may appear, the soft jelly-like bodies of the polyps give to the reef the power of resisting the billows.
The inner surface of the wall slopes gently to the land, and being washed by quiet waters often containing sand and mud, it is not favorable to the growth of polyps. Still, there are certain kinds of coral which thrive within the lagoons; some of them are exceedingly brilliant and beautiful.
The coral polyps die before they reach the surface of the ocean, as no corals can live out of water. The remainder of the island is built up by shells, pieces of broken coral, sea-weed, and other floating materials which are washed upon it, raising the wall higher and higher. The never-ceasing action of the waves grinds up these shells and broken coral, until at last they form a soil of sand and mud which is now ready to receive any seeds that may float on the water or be brought by the winds and the birds. The seeds take root in the new soil, and young plants begin to appear on the glistening white surface. Floating cocoa-nuts often lodge on the shores, and cocoa-nut-trees are among the first to grow upon them. As the plants drop their leaves and decay, the soil is enriched little by little, and fitted for the home of various animals and birds, which in some mysterious manner find their way to these lonely spots far out at sea. In time our coral reef may become a beautiful tropical island fringed with waving trees and plants, and inhabited by man.
Fig. 2.—An Atoll.
Circular islands seldom form complete rings. There is generally an opening into the lake on the side most sheltered from the wind. A safe harbor in mid-ocean is thus made, in which vessels may take shelter, but it requires an expert navigator to pass the perils at its entrance. To anchor on the outer shore would be impossible. In Fig. 2 is a pretty little coral island with ships in its lagoon. If a lake is entirely inclosed by the coral wall, it may in time be changed to fresh water by the rains that fall into it.
Coral reefs often extend to a depth of three hundred feet below the surface of the ocean, and formerly persons were puzzled to know how they could have grown in such deep water, as no coral polyps can live at a greater depth than twenty or thirty fathoms. This puzzling question was settled by the late Charles Darwin, who first showed that coral islands occur where there has been a gradual sinking of the bottom of the ocean. As the reef rises in height, the sinking of the foundation partly counteracts the upward growth of the coral; consequently the proper depth of water is secured, and the reef appears to be stationary, whereas it is really growing upward.
Whenever a coral reef rises above the surface of the ocean, we may know that the coral, which grew under water, has been lifted above the level of the sea by a rising of the ocean-bed.
These circular reefs are called "atolls." They are quite different from the "fringing reefs," which extend along the shores of continents and islands. There are usually openings or breaks in fringing reefs directly opposite the mouths of rivers and fresh-water streams, as the corals can not endure currents which carry mud or sediment. Perhaps the grandest reef to be found in any part of the world is the one extending along the northeast coast of Australia. It is nearly one thousand miles in length, and proves to us that the helpless coral polyps have played no trifling part in the formation of our earth. All they have accomplished has been done merely by their living and growing.
WINTER.
[THE BOY'S STORE-KEEPING.]
BY C. M. ST. DENYS.
I.
Across the way from the Stanley boys' home a new house was being built. A pile of lumber lay just outside of the sidewalk in front of the new building, and it was piled so irregularly that the upper boards extended out considerably beyond the lower ones, thus forming a sheltered spot below. The ends of some of the lower boards, too, projected in such a way as to make little shelves at different heights, and even a rude seat and table. The boys had often gathered under this shelter for a chat, and when John and Bob Stanley announced that they saw in it the making of a fine store, all the other boys groaned inwardly, and said to themselves, "Why did not I think of that?"
Of course Bob and John did not plunge into the risks of business without first counting the cost. The plan was well digested. They had talked it over fully three days before it was publicly announced.
The chief difficulty was about the amount of capital to be invested. John had been saving up his money for a long time toward buying a bicycle, and Bob—well, Bob was not so thrifty; there was not much "save" about him, though when it came to needing the money to set him up in business, he saw clearly that he must mend his ways.
"I declare, John," he said, gloomily, "I don't believe I can rake up twenty-five cents toward starting the store. I wish I'd thought of it before. It was only last week I bought ten cents' worth of marbles."
"Put them in stock, and sell out at an advance," suggested John.
Bob shook his head. "The boys aren't going to pay me more for marbles than they can get them for at Thompson's. Besides, I was dunce enough to show them off at recess, so the boys would call them second-hand, and want a reduction."
"That's true. But you had better lose on them for the sake of getting some cash in hand that you could lay out in something you could make money on."
"But I don't see how we are to make money, anyhow. The other boys can buy as cheap as we can."
"No; Thompson would come down in his prices if we told him we were buying to sell again. Buying at wholesale, you know, they always do."
"So they do;" and Bob's face brightened. "You have a lot of money to put into the business," he said, admiringly.
"I sha'n't put all my money in," said the prudent John. "It's too much risk. I'd rather begin small; and then I could get my bicycle even if we failed in business."
For it must be admitted that, like reasonable beings, they looked forward to failure as the most probable ending to their enterprise. Nine men out of every ten who start in business for themselves fail; and why should not they close in this exciting and approved manner? As far back as the time of Macbeth such things were not unknown; and the boys said bravely to themselves, "'If we fail, we fail'; and so much the more interesting."
"But how much capital are you going to put in?" persisted Bob.
"Well, now, really, Bob, if we are to be even partners, I can't put any more money in than you do. It would make the thing too complicated, and not be fair to me, you know."
Bob sighed. "Only half a dollar to start the business! It will look mean. I wish I had not got so many glasses of soda-water this season. It's worse than marbles for running away with money."
"We might take in some more partners," said John, after a thoughtful pause.
"But Dick says he don't care about it, and every cent of Sam's money goes for his bantams and pigeons."
"What do you say to asking Tom Fleming?"
"No," said Bob, decisively. "When a gold mine opens before you, keep it all in the family, I say."
But the difficulty of the small capital still remained. Their anxiety lost the boys at least an hour's sleep that night, and when they woke in the morning, the same burden at once took possession of them.
"Let's tell Aunt Sue about it," said Bob.
Aunt Sue was much pleased with the plan. She thought the effort to conduct the little business would give them business habits and tact. She made suggestions that helped them greatly.
"You won't need much money to start with," she said. "Look over your closets and boxes, and see what you have already that you would like to dispose of. You have a good many toys and other things that you will never use again, and you might sell them for something. Call your shop a new and second-hand store, and that will make it all fair. What kind of a stock were you thinking of keeping?"
"Oh, almost anything. Like a country store, you know. Marbles, and tops, and slate-pencils, and—"
"And chewing-gum," suggested Bob. "The boys and girls buy more of that than of anything else lately."
"I wouldn't keep it if I were you," said Aunt Sue. "It's a bad habit to use it, and you want to establish your business on good principles. I hope you'll keep bird-seed, though. You could count on me as a customer."
"Well, we will, and we'll give up the chewing-gum. But, Aunt Sue," and Bob assumed his most persuasive tones, "I'll tell you one thing we could sell like wild-fire, and it would not cost us anything, either."
"What?" asked Aunt Sue, smiling, but mentally bracing herself for opposition.
"Cookies."
"Not of my baking, Bob. You ought to know too much of the trouble and expense of cake-making to think of it. I can't undertake to supply the town with cookies."
Bob sobered at this reference to his prowess at cake-baking; but Sister Bess, regardless of his feelings, mischievously suggested,
"You might make molasses candy for sale."
"It's out of season," returned Bob, with dignity. "I guess we'll lay in a stock of sour-balls."
"I'll tell you what I'll do for you," said Bess, relenting. "I'll make you some button-hole bouquets."
"Well, but I don't know who'll buy them."
"They'll help to fill up the shelves and make the place look pretty, at any rate."
Bob and John began to feel that the store was going to be a success, and proceeded to overhaul the attic for salable articles.
The sign-board was a very important matter. Dick undertook to paint them one. But as it would take some days for the paint to dry, it was decided that they could begin with a sign chalked on an old slate.
There was not much to be done toward fitting up the store. A piece of canvas was hung on one side, and a loose board was laid across the entrance for protection against the rabble, for as the store was only large enough to hold the proprietors and their goods, the customers were exacted to make their purchases over the counter from the outside.
Saturday was to be "Opening Day," and the very earliest people on their way to market saw the two boys working like beavers to get the place to rights in good season. By the time the village boys and girls had breakfasted the new store shone out in all its glory, with the sign "Stanley Brothers" the most conspicuous thing about it.
The marbles and other small articles were arranged as neatly as possible in boxes on the irregular little shelves. Some old story-books with the boys' dictionary were piled modestly in the background, while the jar of sour-balls and the row of tasty little bouquets were paraded on the counter.
This plan, however, did not work well, for the boys found themselves obliged to keep a sharp eye on these attractive goods to prevent their being snatched by evil-disposed visitors, and it was very harassing. The business had been so well advertised beforehand, at recesses and on other occasions, that the whole juvenile population made a point of repairing thither in the course of the day. Most of them came only to look, but that was to be expected on Opening Day.
The boys had not thought of putting up a notice to the effect that it was no trouble to show goods; but if they had, that day's experience would have decided them against it. Some of the boys, and girls too, for that matter, were very provoking, and insisted on seeing everything that was in the store, when they had not the least intention of buying anything.
Some of them, too, were very frank in expressing their opinion about the stock. They would not open a store at all if they could do no better than that.
But the very worst of it all was that all the boys that did want to buy always wanted to trade off something else for the goods; and the girls were more unreasonable still, for they thought that Bob and John ought to be willing to sell everything for pins.
By noon the boys were beginning to feel quite dejected. To be sure, they had taken in a few cents for sour-balls; but then they had reason to believe that several had been feloniously abstracted while the throng was greatest—for part of the time the little counter had been lined three or four deep—so that, on the whole, they would probably lose on this most popular article. Bob and John each ate a sour-ball to restore their spirits.
"They'll melt in this bright sun," said Bob, "and the flowers are wilting. We had better put them back in the shade. What shall we put front instead?"
"Slate-pencils," suggested John.
"Pooh! Catch a boy buying a slate-pencil on Saturday."
The question was still unsettled when the welcome sound of the dinner bell was heard. Obeying the first impulse, both boys started for home. Then Bob stopped.
"I don't believe it's safe to leave the store alone," he said.
"No, of course not. You stay till I come back. I'm awfully hungry."
"I guess I'm as hungry as you are," returned Bob, but John was half-way across the street; so Bob, calling to him to hurry back, sat down, hungrier than ever, to nurse his provocation over that selfish John. There was no help for it; he must try if another sour-ball would stop the gnawings of hunger and sweeten his temper for the next customer.
It seemed as if the whole town must dine at the same hour, for Bob was left quite lonely for a while.
Then John came back, devouring a biscuit as he came, and making some remarks beginning, "Aunt Sue says," which Bob did not stop to hear, for the boys passed each other in the middle of the street like two oppositely bound locomotives.