Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved.

THE COPPERTOWN "STAR" ROUTE.

BY W. G. VAN TASSEL SUTPHEN.

The Happy Thought, as will be remembered by those who have read "The Longmeadow Toll-Gate," was a new departure in bicycle construction. Although provided with pedals that could be used in an emergency, its real motive-power was derived from naphtha applied through a pair of cylinders built upon a modification of the hot-air principle, and working directly upon the rear wheel. The oil was admitted drop by drop to the cylinders, mixed with air, and then exploded by a spark from an electric storage battery. The speed was regulated by the flow of oil, and the operator had only to touch a hand-lever to get any rate he wanted from one up to thirty miles an hour. The power could be instantly shut down either by closing the oil valve or by cutting off the electric current. Finally, the machinery had but few working parts, and was therefore not liable to get out of order, and in its operation it was absolutely safe, there being no boiler, and consequently no possibility of an explosion.

The Happy Thought, which had been built by Mr. March for his son Fred, was a double machine, the steersman occupying the front saddle and the engineer sitting behind. In general appearance the Happy Thought resembled the ordinary "tandem," the only noticeable difference being in its huge pneumatic tires, which were fully four inches in diameter. The idea was that they would ride more easily over rough roads, would not slip in mud nor sink in sand, and would be less liable to puncture.

It was nearly a year since that memorable night when Fred March and his partner, Jack Howard, had run down the bank robbers, and the Happy Thought had saved the Jefferson Court-House Bank $20,000 in hard cash. Within the last six months copper of fine quality had been discovered in the hills west of Fairacre, capital had been attracted, a smelting plant was in process of erection, and business was booming. The works of the Copper Company were situated some thirty miles away, and a large force of men were working night and day to get the plant in running order. The company were building a branch road to connect with the railway that ran ten miles to the east of Fairacre, but at present the only means of communication with the outside world was the wagon-road, which had been constructed over Razor-Back Ridge. The government had been persuaded to establish a "Star" mail route from Fairacre to the copper camp, and Fred, with the assistance of his father, had succeeded in obtaining the contract for himself and Jack. It was a semi-weekly route, the trip days being Tuesdays and Fridays, and for two months the Happy Thought had run regularly between the two places, leaving Fairacre at one o'clock in the afternoon and returning the same night.

It was shortly before one o'clock on Friday, the 31st of August, and the Happy Thought was standing in front of the Fairacre Post-office, ready for her regular run. Jack, oil-can in hand, was giving a last look to the bearings, while Fred, with the mail-bag strapped to his shoulders, stood by occasionally glancing at his watch. It was almost time to start, but the boys were also agents for the express company, and Mr. Simmons, the Fairacre agent, seemed to be in no hurry about making up his consignment.

"One o'clock," growled Fred. "I don't believe he has anything for us to-day;" and then catching sight of a beckoning finger through the dusty window-pane, "Come on, Jack, he wants to see us both."

"This way," said Mr. Simmons, briefly, leading the boys to the back room. The room looked into an enclosed yard, but Mr. Simmons drew the curtains carefully. Then going to his safe, he unlocked it, and took out a thick square package. "To-morrow is pay-day at the works," he said, slowly, "and there's wages for three months coming to the men. The company always has it sent up by express from the city, and $10,000 is a tidy little sum," he concluded, tapping the package gently with his knuckles.

"Of course we'll be careful," began Fred.

"In course you mean to be," interrupted Mr. Simmons, gravely; "but I know what boys are, and you're awful careless about your receipts."

Fred blushed as he remembered an entry on the Tuesday book for which they had somehow neglected to obtain the necessary signature that acknowledged delivery.

Mr. Simmons slipped the package in the express bag, locked it, and handed it to Jack. "Good-by and good luck," he added, "and be sure you get your receipt."

The bag with its precious freight was quickly strapped to Jack's back, and a few moments later the Happy Thought was ploughing down the dusty road at twenty miles an hour.

The distance to the copper-works was a trifle over thirty miles, but at least twelve miles of it was steady up-hill work. Once across Razor-Back Ridge, it was better travelling, and the Happy Thought generally made the whole trip in a few minutes over two hours. The road was reasonably smooth and hard, but the afternoon sun was hot, and the boys thought longingly of the cool woods that covered the further side of the ridge. However, the Happy Thought pushed steadily along, and they had nothing to do but to keep her on her course.

"Fifteen minutes late," said Fred, as they slid gently over the summit, and slowed down to oil the working parts. "But it's an easy run, now, and we'll be in Coppertown by half past three—that is, if nobody stops us on the way," he added, with a short laugh.

"But you don't think—" exclaimed Jack, looking up.

"Of course I don't; but there may be more persons than one who know of the money that's going through to-day. There isn't a house between here and Coppertown, and you know that 'Smooth Jim' broke jail ten days ago, and is with his gang again."

Jack looked disturbed.

"But I don't expect to see the gentleman, and anyway we can run if we can't fight—eh, old girl?" and Fred gave the Happy Thought an affectionate pat as he sprang into his saddle.

"I suppose it's what we're carrying that makes me feel nervous," thought Fred, as they rolled smoothly along in the cool dense shadow of the beech-wood. "There's half-way," he muttered a few moments later, as a blasted pine-tree flashed past. "We are doing better now, and the machinery is working like a watch. That was a great improvement to muffle the sound of the exhaust; we run along as quietly as a cat walking on velvet."

There was a touch on his shoulder, and the Happy Thought came to a dead stop.

"Against orders, I know," said Jack, leaning forward and speaking under his breath, "but look back there."

The dead pine-tree was still visible some four hundred yards away, but there was something fluttering from one of its branches—a piece of red flannel rag.

"A signal," said Fred, shortly, "and it means that somebody is after us—after that," and he pointed to the express bag. "We've got to go on, for some one is certainly behind us. We can't stay here and be gobbled up, and a rabbit could hardly get through that laurel scrub. Besides, there's just a chance that it doesn't mean anything, after all. We'll run ahead carefully, and if it comes to the worst, we'll cut everything loose and make a dash for it. There's nothing short of a rifle-bullet that can catch us."

"Let her go," returned Jack, briefly.

A quarter of a mile further, and the boys began to breathe easier. They were on Breakneck Hill now, and there was nothing suspicious in the look ahead. Half-way down, and as they swung around a curve Fred's heart suddenly seemed to leap up into his mouth. His eye had caught the momentary gleam of something moving in the thick foliage that bordered the road at the bottom of the hill. He recognized it in an instant—the silver mounting of a pistol. He turned and shouted to Jack.

"Crack! crack!" and Fred felt the wind of a bullet as it sung past. "Crack! crack!" but that was wider of the mark. The Happy Thought under full speed had bounded down the hill, and the danger-point was passed. He could hear faint shouts behind him and the short quick tramp of horses' hoofs. Was it possible that they had escaped?

With fingers tightly clutched on the handle-bars Fred kept the Happy Thought in the middle of the road. The road-bed was smooth and hard, but the front wheel was acting oddly. There was something that looked like a white patch on the tire, and, yes, there could be no doubt about it, it was leaking badly. Evidently the tire had been cut by a bullet, and in a few seconds more the air would be out of it. Just ahead was a curve which for the moment would put them out of sight; they must stop in time to take to the woods. In his excitement Fred put his hand behind him and shut off the oil. The Happy Thought stopped just around the curve, and Fred jumped off and looked around.

Jack and the express bag had disappeared.

In his bewilderment and dismay Fred hardly knew how he managed to get himself and the Happy Thought under cover before the pursuing horsemen swept by at a slashing gallop. There were four of them in all, heavily armed, and with their faces half concealed by clumsy masks. Fred recognized "Smooth Jim" in the leader of the party, and the sight was not reassuring, even though he was now looking at that gentleman's back. Half mechanically he got out his repair kit, and began to patch the leaking tire. "Where was Jack?" was the question that seemed to dance in letters of fire before his eyes. Could he be lying back there in the road with a bullet in his head? Was he a prisoner?

But wait a moment. If Jack was in their hands, why had he been chased? The money was in the bag strapped to Jack's back, and the money was what they were after. But wait again. Was he sure that the horsemen were pursuing him? Might they not have been making their own escape, having secured their booty? In that case Jack had been left behind, wounded or dead. There was but one thing to do, and that was to steal cautiously back and find out.

It had taken Fred some ten minutes to mend the tire and come to this conclusion. At the point where he had made his way into the thicket a small brook, locally called a "branch," crossed the road, and he had been sitting on its bank. As he rose to his feet he happened to glance upstream. There was something floating down with the current. Only a piece of bark. But stop! The little craft carried a miniature mast made from a hazel twig, and in the cleft at its top there was something white—a bit of folded paper.

A signal! A message! Fred watched it eagerly as it came nearer. Twice it grounded against an overhanging branch, but the current swung it clear again. A moment more, and it was in his grasp. A note, and in Jack's handwriting. Fred tore it open.

"Make no noise. Don't go out on road. There is a scout on each side of you. I am a hundred yards upstream with a sprained ankle. Can you get the H. T. up here without noise? Have a plan.

"Jack."

A few minutes later and Jack was telling his story. He had been pitched off his seat by a sudden lurch just as the Happy Thought began her headlong rush down the hill, but had alighted unhurt in a clump of laurel. Seeing that Fred had safely run the gauntlet, he had made his way into the scrub and worked cautiously down the hill, keeping parallel with the road. On coming to a little bluff that overhung the stream he had caught sight of Fred in his covert by the road-side, and also of the horsemen who had started in to beat the bushes. A shout would have betrayed them both. He must creep down and give Fred warning. Unfortunately, in descending the bluff he slipped and sprained his ankle. Capture seemed certain. And then came a brilliant thought. The water that flowed past him also ran by Fred. Might it not carry the warning message? The rest you know.

Jack had spent the time in making for himself a rough pair of crutches, and was now able to hobble along.

"A quarter of a mile further upstream there's an old wood-road," he went on, in answer to Fred's eager query. "I can manage to take care of myself if you can get the machine up there. The road will take us straight into Coppertown, and we'll save the money yet."

It was difficult work up the stony bed of the branch, but it was finally accomplished, and the Happy Thought was again under way, though at a reduced speed, for the wood road was not in very good repair. Three, five, ten miles, and the boys began to breathe freely. It looked as though fortune had turned in their favor at last.

"It seems to have grown hazy," said Fred, a few moments later, "and the sky and the sun are as yellow as gold."

"My eyes are smarting," returned Jack, with a cough. "I believe it's smoke; and look there!"

A number of birds were flying over their heads, chattering and squawking wildly.

"They fly as though they were frightened," said Fred, soberly. "Why, there are all kinds—quail, blue-jays, wood-cock, and even a couple of crows."

A deer burst from the thicket and came galloping past them, with eyes starting in terror and dilated nostrils. The woods seemed suddenly alive with rabbits and other small game, all fleeing as though for their lives.

"The woods," gasped Fred—"they are on fire!"

From their position of the moment they could get an extended view around. To their dismay the fire was already on three sides of them and rapidly closing in. They could not go back, the wind was driving the flames directly across the road behind them. The only chance was ahead, and it was full two miles to the open. In any event they would have to make a final dash through the flames.

It was little that Fred could afterwards recall of that wild ride. The smoke came in thick eddying, blinding, suffocating gusts, and cinders, first black and then redly alive, fell thick about them.

"Another half-mile," thought Fred, desperately, as the Happy Thought bounced along over the rough road, now lurching to one side and now to another, but keeping her feet like a circus acrobat.

A turn in the road and he could see the open, but it was a flaming curtain that hung between; the fire was across the road. And what was that that lay directly athwart their path, and in the very centre of the fiery furnace? It was a log some eight or ten inches in diameter.

It was a snap decision, but Fred recognized that it meant certain death to stop. To put the Happy Thought straight at the obstruction, like a steeple-chaser at a hurdle—it was a slim chance, but the only one. He could feel the hot breath of the fire on his cheeks, the pungent smoke was gripping his throat like a vise. "Hold hard!" and at thirty miles an hour Fred felt the Happy Thought strike the rounded surface of the log fair and square. The slightest possible shock, and they seemed to be sailing on, on, on, into endless space.

When he opened his eyes he was lying on the counter in the Copper Company's office, with the superintendent bending over him.

"All right, my boy?"

"Where's Jack—and the Happy Thought?"

"Safe and sound. Your partner could steer the machine from his seat, you know, and you were so wedged in that you could not fall. And I was driving past and saw you."

"And the money—it's safe?" Fred sat up and pointed to the package lying on the counter.

"That! Why, that's some porous plasters I ordered from the city. Glad you brought them up for me."

"Porous plasters!"

The superintendent laughed. "My dear boy, you brought the money with you on your Tuesday trip. I thought you didn't know it, for you forgot to take my receipt. I've just signed for it now."

"That's what Mr. Simmons meant by being careful," put in Jack. "He never actually said that the money was in this package."

"Well," said Fred, after a pause, "there were some other people that got fooled too—'Smooth Jim,' for instance."

"And we've got him," returned the superintendent, grimly. "We were looking for a job of this kind, and that is why the money was sent up Tuesday. The fire drove them out of the woods plump into the sheriff's arms."

"Tell me," said Fred to Jack, when they were alone, "how in the world did the Happy Thought ever jump that big log?"

"Big log! Why, Fred, you're dreaming. Wait a minute; I do remember going over a bean-pole just before you fainted."

"Oh," said Fred, shortly.

"I declare," grumbled Mr. Simmons the next day, as he looked at the express-book, "you boys are awful careless. You never got a receipt for them porous plasters."

FRIENDS.

Never a flower so debonair,
And full of a gallant grace,
As the golden-rod that on ledge or sod
Seeks but a foothold's spare.
Asking not for the garden's bed,
Shelter or care at all,
Standing with pride by the highway side,
Or climbing the mountain wall.
Ever beside her own true knight
The dear little aster lifts
Her purple bloom, in light or gloom,
Clothing ravines and rifts
With a royal robe that is fair to see,
While she answers back the nod,
Queenly and bright, on vale and height,
Of her lover, the golden-rod.
Margaret E. Sangster.

THE NATIONAL SOCIETY OF THE CHILDREN OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.

Patriotism, that powerful and ennobling sentiment, has always in America taken a deep hold upon the hearts of its people, and to-day the love of home and country is as strong and permanent there as in the early colonial period or the thrilling times of '76.

MRS. D. LOTHROP.

Within the past few years the formation of the many patriotic orders of men and women has done much to rouse afresh and to extend the feeling of national pride and devotion, and now the children of America are to have this same impetus, for the National Society of the Children of the American Revolution is already founded, and rapidly gathering within its hospitable doors the children and youth from all over the land. And the best part of it is that although only lineal descendants of colonial and Revolutionary ancestors may become regular members, an invitation and warm welcome are extended to all children of no matter what ancestry or nationality, to join in the public gatherings of the society, and to enjoy its pleasures and benefits. In this way the true spirit of patriotism may reach every boy and girl, and there is no limit to the society's scope or influence. This movement may thus be said to be one of the broadest and most beneficent yet started, and one that will tend to popularize the work of the public schools toward patriotism and good government.

At the age of eighteen years the girls may pass into the ranks of the Daughters of the American Revolution, while their brothers at twenty-one enter the Sons of the American Revolution.

The idea of having a young folks' organization first originated with Mrs. Daniel Lothrop, known in every household numbering children as "Margaret Sidney," author of that much-loved book Five Little Peppers, and a score of others. Such a happy and far-reaching scheme was sure to be the thought of just such a woman as Mrs. Lothrop, for her warm heart and fertile brain have always been busy in helping boys and girls.

THE ROOM AT "WAYSIDE" WHERE THE FIRST CHAPTER WAS ORGANIZED.

At the last Continental Congress of the Daughters of the American Revolution, held in Washington in February, Mrs. Lothrop, who is Regent of the Old Concord Chapter of that society, laid her plan before the feminine representatives gathered from all parts of the Union, and they unanimously voted that such an organization should be formed, with Mrs. Lothrop at its head. Later she was elected its president for four years, with power to organize the society in accordance with her own judgment and regulations.

Thus on April 5, 1895, the new association was founded in Washington, its permanent headquarters, and six days later was incorporated under the Laws of Congress. It will soon be in full swing, for a vast number of big and little boys and girls all over the country are enrolling themselves as its members. And what a delightful vista opens before these juvenile representatives!

MARGARET L. MANN,
Daughter of Sec. N.S.C.A.R.

They say in their constitution: "We, the children and youth of America, in order to know more about our country from its formation, and thus to grow up into good citizens, with a love for and an understanding of the principles and institutions of our ancestors, do unite under the guidance and government of the Daughters of the American Revolution in the society to be called the National Society of the Children of the American Revolution. All children and youth of America, of both sexes, from birth to the age of eighteen years for the girls and twenty-one for the boys, may join this society, provided they descend in direct line from patriotic ancestors who helped to plant or to perpetuate this country in the Colonies or in the Revolutionary War, or in any other way. We take for objects in this society the acquisition of knowledge of American history, so that we may understand and love our country better, and then any patriotic work that will help us to that end, keeping a constant endeavor to influence all other children and youth to the same purpose. To help to save the places made sacred by the American men and women who forwarded American independence; to find out and to honor the lives of children and youth of the Colonies and of the American Revolution; to promote the celebration of all patriotic anniversaries; to place a copy of the Declaration of Independence and other patriotic documents in every place appropriate for them; and to hold our American flag sacred above every other flag. In short, to follow the injunctions of Washington, who in his youth served his country, till we can perform the duties of good citizens. And to love, uphold, and extend the institutions of American liberty, and the principles that made and saved our country."

THE McKEE CHILDREN.

The membership fees are fifty cents the first year, and twenty-five cents each succeeding year.

The young members are forming into many local societies or chapters, under their own control, but each one guided by a president chosen from among the Daughters of the American Revolution, who has only the good of her young charges at heart. In this way the latter will learn how to rule a body of individuals, old or young, according to parliamentary law, just as the United States Senate and House of Representatives are ruled. It will also teach them to be just and logical in their words and actions. Then they are going to strive above all else to be God-fearing young citizens, to reverence and uphold the fundamental truths of their country, and to respect each other's rights.

After these first sober considerations will come the amusements. One of the society's vice-presidents, Mrs. James R. McKee, daughter of ex-President Benjamin Harrison, has proposed the idea that the members be regularly taught by a professional musician to correctly sing by heart all the national hymns. Such a training in childhood would inspire the young heads and hearts for a lifetime with a profound love and loyalty for the spot which is home to them all, whether by inheritance or adoption.

LUCY H. BRECKENRIDGE,
Sec. Capital Society.

MARGARET M. LOTHROP,
Sec. "Old North Bridge Society."

Perhaps the best way to gain an insight into the future work and recreation of the society is to glance at the doings of the first local society, founded May 11th, at Concord, Massachusetts, the town of the "Old North Bridge," by Mrs. Lothrop herself. On the 18th of June a reading circle was formed on the grounds of "The Wayside," Mrs. Lothrop's home, and the former abiding-place of Hawthorne and Louisa M. Alcott, where the latter lived "Little Women" with her sisters, and wrote it. Three or four young ladies and gentlemen lent their services, and read history to the children. They all meet every fortnight for a couple of hours in the afternoon and read the Life of Washington, John Fiske's American Revolution, or any appropriate historical book or sketches connected with the early history of the nation. A committee of boys and girls is elected to select the readers for each meeting, and also the games to be played. Then excursions are made to different historical spots; one was to Sudbury, where Longfellow's Wayside Inn stands. The children had the Tales of a Wayside Inn read to them before starting, and spent several hours on the spot, taking luncheon along, and going over the old house leisurely. This fall a party of the children under Mrs. Lothrop's care are to make a series of historical trips to Old Boston and its vicinity. Sometimes the Concord Chapter draws up a plan as if going on one of these journeys, and then with maps and books and little speeches the children have an hour or two of pleasant travelling without actually taking the tour.

In each local society the youthful members may put their heads together and originate all sorts of delightful and enterprising ways of promoting their serious aims, while leaving time for pleasant diversions.

The nation's worthiest and most distinguished men and women are lending their personal aid and encouragement to the young society. In each State the Governor and his wife with other leaders along various lines stand as its sponsors.

Already many youthful descendants of America's early heroes have flocked to the society's standard, among them the grandchildren of Mr. and Mrs. John W. Foster, little Mary Lodge and Benjamin Harrison (Baby) McKee, and Robert John Walker, great-great-great-great-grandson of Benjamin Franklin.

It is hoped and believed by all interested in the organization that its aims and endeavors will tend to indelibly impress on the minds of youthful Americans the great lessons of national importance that have made the country what it is, and that before the society stretches away a future of usefulness almost incalculable in the possibility of its issues.

KING KALAKAU'S ARMY.

Old King Kalakau I., of the Sandwich Islands, had an army that numbered by actual count thirty men, and was so proud of his formidable battalion that he obliged it to go through its drill twice daily under the palace windows. On every possible occasion he had his phalanx parade, and was supremely happy when visited by commanding officers of the different cruisers in the Pacific, for it gave him an opportunity to receive them at the landing-place with all his military force drawn up in honor of his guests. One day an English man-o'-war entered the harbor, and the flag-officer on board sent word to his coffee-colored majesty that he would pay him a visit. Instead of waiting in his palace to receive the officer, the King sent to the barracks, had his army hunted up, and at their head marched down to the quay, where he formed his legion in line, then sat down on the edge of the dock to await his coming guest.

Now in some way the old King had just obtained a number of blue cloth army overcoats, together with a lot of spurs, flint-lock muskets, and big bear-skin hats, such as are worn by drum-majors. Under the broiling tropical sun his warlike host stood, two ranks deep, the heavy overcoats about them, spurs strapped on bare feet, and their heads supporting the enormous hats, while their muskets were pointed in every conceivable direction.

At last the Commodore's barge was seen to leave the ship and make for the landing. The King hastily took his position in front of his army, and as the English officer stood up in his boat to leave it, the King called out to "fire and present arms."

Then the funniest thing of all happened.

The men in the rear rank did not elevate their muskets sufficiently, and the consequence was that the next minute the air was full of fur and remnants of bear-skin hats blown away from the heads of the soldiers in front. In another moment the disgusted and angry King was chasing his demoralized and panic-stricken army up the dock, belaboring every one of them that he overtook with his royal mace.

The scene was too much for the dignity of the English Commodore, who fell back in the stern-sheets of his boat almost strangled with laughter.

SEA RANGERS.

BY KIRK MUNROE,

Author of "Road Rangers," The "Mate" Series, "Snow-shoes and Sledges," etc.

CHAPTER III.

ADMIRAL MARLIN BECOMES A RANGER.

esides being a Ranger, Tom Burgess had recently joined a canoe club, and, like all young members of such associations, was most enthusiastic over the new sport thus opened to him. His club was to camp on an uninhabited island near the eastern end of Long Island Sound for two weeks during the summer, and the plan that he now unfolded to Will Rogers was that the Rangers should also go into camp on the island at the same time.

When, according to his custom, Captain Will called a meeting of the band, and laid this proposition before them, it was received with such an outburst of enthusiasm as left no doubt of its popularity.

Although these inland boys were totally ignorant of the sea and all that pertains to it, save for such knowledge as they had gleaned from books, and the very queer ideas of a seafaring life acquired from the extraordinary drama in which most of them had recently taken part, they believed themselves to be pretty well posted in nautical matters, and were most anxious to test their theories by practical experience. So the motion to become "Sea Rangers," and participate in the proposed "salt-water range," as Captain Will called it, was unanimously carried. Then the meeting was hastily adjourned that the members might at once lay the gorgeous scheme, just unfolded to them, before their parents, and strive to gain their consent to its being undertaken.

Alas, that such enthusiasm should be dampened! But true it is that, on the following morning, in spite of bicycles and many other blessings, the Ready Rangers were the most disconsolate-looking boys to be seen in all Berks. Not one of them had succeeded in persuading the senior members of his family that the plan, which appeared to him so simple and easy of accomplishment, was either wise or practicable.

"She wanted to know how we thought of going, and how we expected to raise money for the trip, and who was going to take care of us, and all sorts of things like that," remarked little Cal Moody, sadly, in reference to his interview with his mother. "She said she never heard of anything more foolish, even from the Rangers, and that there was no use in even thinking about it, for it couldn't be considered for a minute."

"As if a fellow could help thinking about a chance that may not be offered again in a lifetime," said Cracker Bob Jones. "But my folks talked just that same way."

"Mine too," added boy after boy, mournfully.

"I don't, see," argued Sam Ray, "why parents are never willing to own up that some boys at least are perfectly well able to take care of themselves."

"They might give us just one chance to prove whether we are or not," broke in Mif Bowers; "but they won't even do that. They just say, 'No, and that's the end of it.' I declare it's enough to destroy all a fellow's ambition," he added, bitterly.

The canoe club to which Tom Burgess belonged had chartered a small steamer, that was to take them from New York to the island selected for their encampment, leave them there and call for them again at the end of two weeks. As the Berks boys contrasted their own prospects with those thus outlined for their city friends, they felt more and more sorry for themselves, and longed for the time when, with advancing years, they should throw off the shackles of boyhood.

So the summer wore on, school closed, the first month of vacation was passed, and as the time arrived for the canoe club to go into its sea-side camp, the Rangers, to whom the topic was still one of constant conversation, became more and more depressed and inclined to take gloomy views of life in general.

Suddenly, as though by magic, everything was changed, and in a twinkling the darkness of disappointment was dissipated by the golden light of realized hopes. All opposition to their cherished scheme was swept away in the space of a few hours; and while they could still hardly credit their good-fortune, the Rangers found themselves working like beavers to make ready for their salt-water cruise. They were to do the thing up in a style that would beat that of the canoe boys out of sight, too. Oh! it seemed incredible, and they had to reassure each other of their wonderful good-fortune every time they met in order to believe in its reality.

It all came about through their friend Admiral Marlin, who, according to promise, visited Berks to determine its desirability as a place of summer residence. Of course he renewed his acquaintance with Will Rogers, and was taken to the engine-house, where he admired the "Ranger," and met the rest of the band. Of course, too, the bluff old sailor at once won their hearts and their confidence to such an extent that they unfolded to him all their longings for a seafaring life, and their recently shattered hopes in that direction.

The Admiral took their part at once, and said it was too bad; that every boy in the country ought to know something of the sea, and that the more he knew in that line the better it would be both for him and the country. Then he went to call on his old shipmate, Mr. Redmond Cuddeback, who, through his invention, had now become a large stockholder in the Berks Mills.

From that visit the big-hearted old sailor returned with a beaming face and the air of one who is charged with an urgent mission. That afternoon, in company with Squire Bacon, he drove from house to house until he had held a personal interview with the parents of every Ranger in Berks. Then he desired Will Rogers to call a special meeting of the band for that very evening, as he wished to make them a communication of the greatest importance.

Never had the Rangers found their parents so smiling and also so reticent as at supper-time. The very air seemed filled with a pleasant mystery, and when the members of the band reached Range Hall they were fully impressed with the idea that something big was about to happen. Nor were they disappointed, for they found Admiral Marlin occupying Pop Miller's one particular chair, and so impatient to address them that he could hardly wait for the formal preliminaries with which their meetings were always opened.

As soon, therefore, as he was invited to speak he plunged at once into his subject as eagerly as though he were a boy himself, by saying:

"It's all right, lads, and you can go on that salt-water cruise just as quick as ever you have a mind."

"Hurrah!" shouted Will Rogers, who was the first to grasp the full meaning of this astonishing statement.

Then how all the others did cheer, and clap their hands, and give utterance to various expressive though unintelligible exclamations of joy! During this demonstration the Admiral smiled and bowed, and beamed upon them as though his happiness were fully equal to theirs.

When quiet was at length restored, he continued: "Yes, boys, it's all arranged. I've applied to the several heads of department, and obtained leave of absence for every one of you, with permission to cross the sea. But it's to be a regular cruise instead of a mere camping frolic, and although you will visit the canoe club island, and have a chance to join in all that is going on, you will live on board ship, which is to my mind a much more sensible arrangement."

"Of course it is!" shouted Jack Jackstraw and the "midshipmite" both together.

"The ship," continued the Admiral, only smiling at this interruption, "is the good sloop Millgirl that recently came up the river with supplies for Berks Mills, and is now lying about five miles down-stream, at the head of navigation, waiting for a return charter. She has been pressed into the service by my old friend Mr. Redmond Cuddeback, who, through me, tenders her to the Rangers for this cruise."

"Three cheers for Mr. Cuddeback!" cried Si Carew, and they were given with such heartiness as to be heard more than a mile away.

"I have examined Captain Crotty, her commander," added the speaker, "and find him to be a good seaman. He is therefore well fitted to take charge of a lot of reckless young landlubbers like you, and will keep an eye on you all the time you are away. He has orders to maintain strict discipline, and to give you such instruction in seamanship as the length of the cruise will allow. So now, lads, what do you say? Are you prepared to ship for the voyage, sign the articles of war, become Sea Rangers, and show these New York lads the difference between sailing under canvas and travelling in a tea-kettle, betwixt living aboard a ship that will rock you to sleep like a cradle every night and camping on a 'dull, unchanging shore'—as the poet chap rightly calls it—between handling a sea-boat and paddling about in a toy canoe? I'm waiting for an expression of your sentiments."

"Hi-ho, Ranger! Hi-ho, Ranger! Hi-ho, Ranger! Berks! Berks! Berks!" answered the boys, springing to their feet in uncontrollable enthusiasm, waving their hats, and delivering the Ready Ranger cheer with such unanimity and vehemence as left not the slightest doubt of their willingness to become Sea Rangers then and there.

"I move that Admiral Richard Marlin be elected to honorable membership," said Hal Bacon.

"Second the motion!" shouted every member present.

"All in favor—" began Captain Will.

"Aye!" came the unanimous response, as though from a single voice, even before the question was wholly presented.

"Carried without dissent," announced Will, who was becoming very expert in the use of parliamentary terms.

In thus adding a retired Admiral to their ranks that already held an Annapolis cadet, the Rangers felt that their organization and the United States navy were about as good as one and the same thing.

CHAPTER IV.

LITTLE CAL AND HIS MERMAID.

Two days after that on which the gloom of the Rangers was so miraculously changed to extravagant joy, the keel sloop Millgirl hoisted her well-patched sails, and began to drop down with the current of the river. From her tall top-masthead fluttered the red-axe flag of the Ready Rangers, while on her deck was gathered the most remarkable-looking crew ever seen off the stage of a theatre. Without a doubt as to its being the correct thing, every boy who had borne a part in Blue Billows now appeared in the costume he had worn in that realistic sea-drama; while those who had not been thus fortunate had made such alterations in their every-day garments as seemed to them most nautical and appropriate. Thus Cracker Bob Jones's tall figure was arrayed in the white duck trousers, short blue flannel jacket, patent-leather pumps, and straw hat with long ribbon ends of Jack Jackstraw. The effect of little Cal Moody's midshipmite costume of blue jacket and trousers, ornamented with gilt buttons, was somewhat marred by the big rubber boots that his mother had insisted on his wearing for this trip. Abe Cruger, still sustaining his character as Bill Bullseye, also wore rubber boots, a rubber coat, and an old sou'wester hat that was several sizes too large for him. Will Rogers wore his bicycle uniform, except that the knee-breeches were replaced by white duck trousers, similar to those worn by the others. The remaining members were coatless; but all were arrayed in gaudy flannel shirts with leather belts and sheath-knife attachments. The gorgeous uniform of Sir Birch Beer, which part had been taken by Reddy Cuddeback, did not figure on this occasion, as the newest active member was prevented by his duties at the mills from taking part in the present expedition.

"Waal, I'll be blowed!" exclaimed Captain Jabez Crotty, as the Sea Rangers tumbled out of Squire Bacon's big wagon that had brought them down to where the Millgirl was moored, and boarded the sloop with a rush.

"Good-morning, noble skipper. I trust that you are all ready for skipping!" cried Will Rogers, at the same time making a profound bow, and scraping his foot in front of the master of the sloop.

"For he is the skipper, and we are the ship
Our ship is the bold Skipparee.
And we ship with no skipper
Who'll not skip with his shippers,
Whenever the wind blows free,"

sang the Sea Rangers in chorus, at the same time joining hands and dancing in a circle about the bewildered sailor-man.

"Waal, I will be blowed!" he gasped for the second time. "They're as crazy as flounders, every last one of 'em. An' I've got' em on my hands for two hull weeks."

"We're ready for duty, sir," announced Will at the conclusion of the song and dance, with another scrape and a pull at his forelock. "You'll find us brave and able seamen, and if you'll only issue your orders we'll gladly obey them."

"Oh, ye will, will ye? Waal, then you can break out the chain-cable and polish it till it shines, clean the barnacles off'n the ship's bottom, keep a lookout aloft for the Flying Dutchman, and another over the bows for mermaids, practise all hands at boxing the compass backwards, get eight bells from the sun, and keep out of my sight till we're away for fear I'll murder some of ye."

"Ay, ay, most gallant skipper," answered Will, with a grin; and then, hitching their trousers as they went, the whole boisterous crowd tumbled down below to examine the interior of the strange home they expected to occupy for the next two weeks.

As soon as they had disappeared, Captain Crotty and Jabez his son, commonly called "young Jabe," a lad of seventeen, who represented the sloop's crew, cast off the mooring-lines, and got their clumsy craft under way.

The Rangers were delighted with the accommodations prepared for them in the hold, which was fitted up with temporary bunks for their use. Each boy made a rush for the bunk that seemed to him most desirable, and scrambled into it to test its comfort as well as to make good his claim by possession.

"But I thought sailors always slept in hammocks," remarked Mif Bowers, in a disappointed tone.

"Oh, pshaw!" replied Abe Cruger. "They're no good, for I tried it at home and nearly broke my neck tumbling out the minute I got to sleep. I expect hammock is only a sailor's name for bed, for no one could really sleep in one; and then, you know, they always call things different at sea. But I say, Will, isn't old Crotty a daisy? And didn't he seem surprised to find us looking so much like regular sailors! What did he mean, though, by the things he told us to do?"

"I don't exactly understand myself," replied the Ranger Captain. "I suppose, though, we've got to try and do them, because it'll be mutiny if we don't."

"And in a mutiny everybody gets hung, don't they?" asked Cracker Bob Jones.

"He said he'd murder us, anyhow, if we didn't keep out of his sight until he got away, though I don't see how we're going to do it," chimed in little Cal Moody, upon whom this threat had made a deep impression.

"That's all right, Cal," laughed Hal Bacon "He won't murder you if he don't see you, so just lie low and you'll be safe. I say, though, I saw a compass in the cabin as we came through. And we might begin work right off by boxing it. I suppose he wants to send it off somewheres. I don't know what he meant by 'backwards,' but I guess upside down will do."

So the boys got the compass and began to make a box for it from some bits of board left over when the bunks were built and what few nails they could pick up. They got an axe out of the "kitchen," as Sam Ray called the galley, and made such a racket pounding with it that young Jabe hurried below to see what was up. The moment he appeared they pounced on him and demanded the bells.

"What ever do you fellers mean?" he queried, at the same time trying to shake himself loose.

"The eight bells that Skipper Crotty said we were to get from his son," they shouted; "and if you don't give 'em to us we'll report you, and you'll be cat-o-nine-tailed for neglect of duty."

"Cat-o-nothing," retorted young Jabe, in a disgusted tone. "You can report all you want to. Same time I'll do some reporting myself; and when the old man hears what you're a-doing to his best compass I rather guess there'll be somebody besides me in danger of the cat."

"He told us to box it."

"We're only obeying orders."

"Guess we know what we're doing."

So shouted the Rangers; and when young Jabe started to report to his father the state of affairs in the hold, they all sprang after him, determined to present their side of the question, and utterly forgetting that they had just decided to keep out of the skipper's sight for a time at least.

The sloop was running dead before a light breeze, with its big mainsail away out on the starboard side, and Captain Crotty was just then doing some very fine steering in trying to clear a sharp bend in the river without gybing. The sudden rush of young Jabe and the excited boys, all shouting at the top of their voices, and bearing down on him with frantic gestures, so startled the skipper that for a single moment his attention was drawn away from the big sail.

"They're stealing the compass!"

"He won't give us the bells!"

As the opposing factions uttered these cries there came a mighty sweep of something over their heads. The next moment young Jabe and Cracker Bob Jones were overboard and struggling in the river, the skipper, Will Rogers, and several more of the Rangers were flung to the deck, and the sloop, left to her own devices, was rounding into the wind with such a slatting of sails, sheets, and blocks, as caused those boys who were still below to imagine that she had been struck by a cyclone. The mainsail had gybed over, and though the boom was, fortunately, so lifted, that it cleared the heads of those who stood on deck, the sheet had tripped them, and flung two of the number overboard.

CAL MOODY'S MERMAID.

Mercifully no one was injured by the mishap; and as the vessel lost her headway, the two who were overboard managed to clamber into the small boat towing astern. They had hardly gained this place of safety when Cracker Bob again sprang into the water after his beribboned straw hat which was jauntily floating away. Glad as he was to recover this bit of property, he was heavy-hearted at the loss of his highly prized patent-leather pumps, which had been kicked off and lost in his first plunge.

By the time these two had clambered aboard, with river water running from them in streams, the others had regained their feet, and were examining their bruises, while the skipper, after assuring himself that no serious damage was done, was jamming the helm hard down, and getting the sloop once more on her course. He did not utter a word until this was accomplished, when, with a mournful shake of his head, he exclaimed, "And this is only the beginning of the cruise!"

Then, as though remembering that authority must be maintained at all hazards, he sung out:

"You Jabe, go for'ard and wring yourself. As for you other young pirates, you stay on deck and don't get out of my sight for a single minute, or I'll murder ye all."

At this awful threat little Cal Moody sincerely wished himself once more safely at home, though the others minded it so little, that it in no wise lessened the interest with which they watched the sleeves of Cracker Bob's flannel jacket shrink as they slowly dried in the hot sun.

Finally, bethinking himself of a duty that he might perform, and perhaps thereby win his way into the skipper's good graces, Cal slipped away forward, and hung over the bluff bows of the sloop to watch for the mermaids, in whose existence he believed as firmly as in his own. As he gazed down at the parted waters swiftly streaming backward, the little chap became so oblivious of his surroundings, that when a great fish rushing up from the green depths leaped into the air directly beneath him, he uttered a startled cry, made a sudden move, and took a header into the very waters that were closing above the fish.

[to be continued.]

OAKLEIGH.

BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.

CHAPTER XVI.

But Neal would not "give in." Cynthia's renewed entreaties were of no more avail than they had been before.

"I will not come," he repeated again and again, and at last Cynthia gave up asking.

He got out of the canoe just below the Oakleigh landing, and where he was hidden from the house.

"I hope you won't be ill, Cynthia," he said. "I am sorry I made you come out such a day; it will be my fault if you take cold. One more bad thing I have done. My life isn't a bit of good, anyhow; I've a good mind to go and drown myself— I'm half drowned now."

He laughed somewhat bitterly, as he looked down at his drenched clothes.

"Cynthia, I'm a brute. Hurry in and change your things. I'm off to Pelham; I'll take a train there for Boston. I'll let you know where I go; and I say, Cynth, won't you write to a fellow now and then? I don't deserve it, I know, but I'd like to hear from you, and I'll want to know how Edith gets along."

"Yes, if you will let me know your address. Good-by, Neal," she said, sadly.

"Good-by."

He stood and watched her. She rounded the curve where the boat-house was, and waved her hand as she disappeared. She was only a few yards away, and yet he could no longer see her. He could easily imagine how it would all be.

A man would come down from the barn and help her with the canoe. She would go up the hill and follow the path to the side door behind the conservatory. There would be exclamations of dismay when she came in, all dripping wet. Hester and the servants would hurry to help her, and she would be thoroughly dried and warmed; his sister would see to that—his sister, who thought him no better than a common thief!

And then Cynthia would tell how she had met him, and that he would not come home. How astonished Hester would be to hear that he was so near! He turned abruptly when he thought of this, and sprang up the bank to the road that lay between Brenton and Pelham. He crossed the bridge, and with one more look at the dark river, struck out at a good pace for Pelham, the nearest railway station.

He glanced back once at the chimneys and white walls of Oakleigh when he reached the spot from which they could be seen for the last time on the Pelham road. Then, bidding good-by to his past life, he hastened on.

The road that runs from Brenton to Pelham is very straight after one has passed Oakleigh. There are but few houses—nothing but meadows, trees, and bushes on either side. Neal, tramping over the broad expanse of gray mud, had nothing to distract his mind from the thoughts that filled it. At first they were very desperate ones.

"Cynthia had no right to come and rant the way she did. The idea of calling me a coward, and telling me I was like a boy in a dime novel because I ran away! It was the only thing to do. They had no business to suspect me. They— Confound it! I won't put up with such treatment. I'll stick to my resolution and drop the whole concern. What a long, straight road this is, and how I hate the rain!"

At last he reached the end of it and entered the little town of Pelham, uninteresting at the best of times, and doubly so on such a day as this. The inhabitants were all within doors; not even a dog was stirring.

"Every one is dry and comfortable but me," thought Neal, miserably, as he went into the station.

Fortunately, the next train for Boston was soon due, and it did not take long for him to reach the friend's house in one of the suburbs at which he had left his possessions.

A merry party was staying there for the Easter holidays, and Neal was the subject of much speculation and concern when he appeared, weary and wet, in their midst. Every one supposed that he had gone to Brenton to visit his sister, and they wondered why he had come back on such a stormy day.

Though the story of Neal was well known in Brenton, oddly enough it had not yet reached his friends in Boston, and he did not enlighten them. He went to his room and staid there for several hours. With dry clothes he came into a better frame of mind.

Poor little Cynthia! How good she was to come to meet him such a day, when she must have wanted to stay with Edith. And how badly she felt about him; much more so than he deserved. He was not worth it. How she had fired up when she told him that he was a coward! He must prove to her that he was not. He would never give in and go back there, never! But there were other ways of proving it; he could go to work and show her that he was made of good stuff after all. He should not have frightened Cynthia by saying that he would "go to the bad." But, then, he had been abominably treated. He could not go to college now, for he would never accept it from Hessie, who had been willing to believe he took the money. He lashed himself into a fury again as he thought of it. He was utterly unreasonable, but of course he was quite unconscious of being so.

Finally the better thoughts came uppermost again, and he decided what to do. He would go to Philadelphia and ask his guardian to put him in the way of getting some work. He would tell him the whole story. Fortunately, he did not remember that Cynthia had said her father went to Philadelphia; if he had he would not have gone, thinking that his guardian would have been prejudiced against him by his brother-in-law.

He packed his valise and started that night, though his friends urged him to stay longer. He felt a feverish impatience to be off and have things settled. With it was a feeling of excitement; he was going to seek his fortune. Thrown upon a cold world by the unkind and unjust suspicions of his nearest relatives, he would rise above adverse circumstances and "ennoble fate by nobly bearing it!"

It was a very heroic martyr that bought a ticket for Philadelphia that night.

He did not engage a berth in the sleeping-car; he was a poor man now and must begin to economize. Besides, upon counting his money he found that he had but just enough with which to reach his destination.

He was very tired with the adventures of the last two days, and the night before, spent in a shed, had not been comfortable, so he slept well, notwithstanding the fact that he was not in a Pullman sleeper. He did not wake until it was broad daylight, and the train was speeding along through New Jersey. The storm was over, the sun was shining down upon a bright and rain-washed world, and Neal Gordon was entering upon a new life.

"So this is the 'Quaker City,'" he thought, as the train glided over the bridges and into the huge station. "I wonder if every one is in a broad-brimmed hat! And now to find cousin William Carpenter. He's a Quaker of the Quakers, I suppose; I can never get into the habit of saying 'thee' and 'thou.'"

He did not see much of the Quaker element in the busy station, nor when he went down stairs and out on to Broad Street. He was on the point of jumping into a hansom to be driven to his cousin's house, when he remembered that he had not a cent in his pocket with which to pay for it. It was a novel experience for Neal.

He inquired the way to Arch Street, and found that it was not very far from where he was, and he soon reached the designated number.

"Not a broad-brimmer have I seen yet," he said to himself, as he pulled the bell-handle. He looked up and down the street while he waited. It was wider than some that he had passed through, and rather quiet except for the jingling horse-cars. It was very straight, and lined with red brick houses with white marble steps and heavy wooden shutters.

He looked down, as he stood on the dazzling steps, at his boots splashed with Boston mud, and he shuddered at the effect they might have on his cousins. He should have had them cleaned at the station; but then he did not have five cents to spend.

The door was opened, and he walked into the parlor and sent up his card. It was a large room with very little furniture in it, and the few chairs and sofas that there were stood stiffly apart. Not an ornament was to be seen but a large clock that ticked slowly and sedately on the marble mantel-piece. There were no curtains, but "Venetian blinds," formed of green slats, hung at the windows. It all looked very neat and very bare, and extremely stiff.

It was not long before Neal heard a step in the hall, and an elderly man entered the room. He was very tall, and wore a long, quaint-looking coat that flapped as he walked. His face was smooth, and of a calm, benign expression that Neal afterwards found was never known to vary. He came in with outstretched hand.

"Thee is Neal Gordon. I am pleased to meet thee again, cousin. Come up stairs to breakfast; Rachel will be glad to see thee."

Who Rachel was Neal could not imagine, as he followed his host up a short flight of stairs to the breakfast-room. He supposed she must be a young daughter of the house, for although William Carpenter was both his kinsman and his guardian, the relationship had until now been merely nominal, and Neal knew very little about him or his family.

Sitting at the table, behind the tall silver urn and the cups and saucers, was an old lady in a close white cap and spectacles. A snowy kerchief of some fine white material was folded about her shoulders over a gray dress. Her face, also, was calm and sweet, and wore the same expression as did her husband's.

"Rachel," said he, "this is our cousin, Neal Gordon. Neal, this is my wife, Rachel."

"I am glad to see thee, Neal," she said, extending her hand without rising; "sit down. Thee'll be glad to have a cup of coffee, doubtless, if thee's just arrived from the train, as thee has the look of doing." This with a glance at his travel-stained clothes.

Neal, very conscious of his muddy boots, thanked her, and sat down at the table, where a neat-looking servant had made ready a place for him. It seemed funny that they took his arrival as a matter of course, but he supposed that was the Quaker way. At any rate, they were very kind, and it was the best breakfast he ever ate. Even if he had not been so hungry, the coffee would have been delicious, and all the rest of it, too.

His cousins asked him no questions, but after breakfast he was shown to a room and told to make himself comfortable.

"But I would like to speak to you, sir," he said to his host—"that is, if you don't mind. I came on to Philadelphia on business." This with a rather grand air.

"Verily," said William Carpenter; "but I have no time now. I go to my office every day at this hour. Thee can come with me if thee wishes, and we will converse there."

Neal agreed, and hastily brushing his clothes and giving a dab to his boots he set out, much amused at the new company in which he found himself. Mr. Carpenter wore a tall beaver hat, of wide brim and ancient shape, which he never removed from his head, even though he met one or two ladies who bowed to him.

"They don't all seem to be Quakers, though," thought Neal, as, leaving Arch Street, they took their way across the city, and met and passed many people of as worldly an aspect as any to be seen in Boston—in fact, his companion's broad-brimmed hat seemed sadly out of place.

The houses too were different in this locality. Easter flowers bloomed in the windows between handsome curtains, and there were not so many white shutters and marble steps—in fact, with a street band playing on the corner and the merry peal of chimes that rang from a neighboring steeple it seemed quite a gay little town, thought Neal, with condescension.

His cousin pointed out the sights as they walked.

"There are the public buildings," he said, "and beyond is the great store of John Wanamaker. This is Chestnut Street, and yonder is the Mint. Thee will go there and to Independence Hall while thee is here, and to Girard College, that is, if thee has a proper amount of public spirit, as I hope to be the case."

Neal humbly acquiesced, and then remarked upon the distance of his cousin's place of business from his house.

"Do you always walk?" he asked.

"I HOPE THEE IS NEITHER EXTRAVAGANT NOR LAZY?"

"Always. I have found that exercise is good, and the car fare worth saving. 'A penny saved is a penny gained,' I have made my motto through life, and for that reason I have never known want. I hope thee is neither extravagant nor lazy?"

This with a keen, shrewd, not unkindly glance from beneath the level gray eyebrows.

Neal colored and hoped he was not, knowing all the time that these were two serious faults of his.

They had passed through the fashionable part of the city, and were walking down a narrow, low-built street. In the distance was a huge space filled with great piles of boards that came far up above the high fence which surrounded the whole square.

"This is my office," said Mr. Carpenter, as he opened the door of a small low building in the corner of the great yard. "I am in the lumber business."

It was some time before he could say any more to his cousin. There were letters to be opened, his head clerk to be interviewed, men to be directed.

Neal sat at a window that looked out on the yard, and watched some men that were loading a huge dray. There were boards, boards, boards everywhere. How tired he should get of lumber if he had to stay here! He hoped that his business, whatever it might prove to be, would be more exciting and more in the heart of things than this remote lumber-yard. He thought from what he had heard that he would like to be a stock-broker, as long as he was barred out of the professions by not going through college.

He was just imagining himself on 'Change, in the midst of an eager crowd of other successful brokers, a panic imminent, and he alone cool and self-possessed, when his cousin's voice rudely interrupted his reverie. It sounded calmer than ever in contrast to Neal's day-dream.

"Cousin, if thee will come into my private office I will listen to thee for fifteen or twenty minutes."

Neal obeyed, but found it difficult to begin his story. It is a very hard thing to tell a man that you are suspected of being a thief.

"I don't know whether you know," he began, rather haltingly, "that I—that—in fact, I've left Hester for good and all. You are my guardian, so you must know all about that conf—that abom—that—er— well, that will of my grandmother's. Hester didn't give me a large enough allowance—at least, I didn't think it was enough—and I got into debt at school. It was not very much of a debt for a fellow with such a rich sister."

He paused, rather taken aback by the quick glance that was shot at him from the mild blue eyes of his Quaker cousin.

"What does thee call 'not much'?"

"A hundred dollars. I knew they would think it a lot, so I only told Hessie and John fifty, and she gave it to me. Afterwards the fellow I owed it to came down on me for the rest, and wrote to John, Hessie's husband. In the mean time I had got hold of some money in a perfectly fair, honorable way, and sent it to the fellow, and he wrote again to John Franklin and said I had paid up. Then, just because a present one of the Franklin children expected at that time didn't come, they accused me of taking it. They had no earthly reason for supposing it except that I paid fifty dollars in gold for the money-order I sent, and the child's present was fifty dollars in gold."

"And where did thee get the money?"

The question came so quietly and naturally that Neal was taken unawares, and answered before he thought.

"Cynthia Franklin lent it to me. I hated to borrow of a girl, and I made her promise not to tell; afterwards I was glad I had. If they choose to suspect me, I'm not going to lower myself by explaining. And I will ask you, as a particular favor, Cousin William, not to tell any one. I didn't mean to mention it."

His cousin merely bowed, and asked him to continue.

"Well, there's not much more, except that I was suspended from school before that for a scrape I wasn't in, and it put everybody against me, and now I want to get something to do. I am going to support myself, and I thought I'd come to you, as you're my guardian and a cousin, and perhaps you would help me."

"Did thee know that thy brother-in-law, John Franklin, was here within a few days?"

Neal sprang to his feet.

"He was! Then he told you all this. I might have known it!"

"Thee may as well remain calm, Neal. Thee will gain nothing in this world by giving vent to undue excitement. John Franklin told me nothing, except that thee had left his home, and he had supposed thee was with me. He did not tell me of the gold, but he did say he feared thee was extravagant, in which I agreed with him. Thee has nothing to find fault with in what he said."

Neal felt rather ashamed of himself. After all, it had been generous in his brother-in-law not to prejudice his guardian against him.

"And now what does thee wish to do?" asked the old man, as he looked at his large gold-faced watch.

"I want to get some work," replied Neal.

"Is thee willing to take anything thee can get?"

"Yes, almost anything," with a hasty glance at the piles of lumber without.

"Does thee know that times are hard, and it is almost impossible for even young men of experience to get a situation, while thee is but a boy?"

"Ye-es. I suppose so."

"Thee need not expect much salary."

"No, only enough to live on. I'm going to be very economical."

William Carpenter smiled, and looked at the boy kindly. He was silent for a few minutes, and then he said:

"Neal, as thee is my ward and also my cousin, I am willing to make a place for thee here. We can give thee but a small stipend, but it is better than nothing for one who is anxious for work, as thee says thee is. Thee will not have board and lodging to pay for, however, as thee can make thy home with Rachel and myself. Our boy, had he lived, would have been about thy age."

This was said calmly, with no suspicion of emotion. It was simply the statement of a fact.

"Oh, thank you, cousin William, you are very kind! But—do you think I could ever learn the lumber business? It—it seems so—well, I don't exactly see what there is to do."

"Thee is too hasty, by far. Thee could not be expected to know the business before thee has set foot in the yard. But thee must learn first that it is well to make the most of every opportunity that comes to hand. Will thee, or will thee not, come into my home and my employ? It is the best I can do for thee."

And after a moment's hesitation, and one wild regret for the lost pleasures of the Stock Exchange, Neal agreed to do it.

It was thus he began his business life.

[to be continued.]

It is enjoyable to read a good story of the biter being bitten, and the following one may not be amiss:

A class of students, holding a grudge against one of the professors, tied a live goose to his chair. Upon entering the room the professor saw the goose, and calmly walking up to the desk, addressed the class as follows:

"Gentlemen, as you have succeeded in getting an instructor so much better qualified to direct the bent of your ideas, I beg you will pardon me for resigning the chair."

BY ROWAN STEVENS.

This is the tale that was told to me
By a man with a tarry queue,
Who sat with a spy-glass in his hand,
And gazed on the waters blue;
His hair was white, but his eye was bright,
And straight was his ancient form,
And his brown old face bore many a trace
Of the battle and the storm.

I.

Ay, she was a ship! She showed her heels
To the swiftest of them all;
She weathered many a raging gale
And many a roaring squall.
And he—our Captain—of all the men
That ever sailed the sea,
There was never a one like Isaac Hull
To handle a ship, said we.
It was in one pleasant summer-time
That the Constitution lay
A cable's length from an English ship
In the bight of Lisbon Bay.
Between that British crew and us
The looks were grim and glum,
For we thought of the war a few years back,
And hoped for a war to come.
The officers, though, were friendly still;
They'd meet some day in war,
And they knew they'd show their mettle then
As they'd shown it well before.
Yes, even the Captains, they were chums—
Our own old Do-and-Dare
And Dacres of that royal ship,
The saucy Guerrière.
And many and many a time I've seen
The two walk down the quay
With their yard-arms locked and their chapeaus cocked,
To gaze on the ships at sea.
But Dacres turned to Hull one day
And said: "They'd make a rare
And even stand-up single fight,
Those two ships lying there.
Now what say you—if the war does come,
As I think right well it may.
And the Constitution and Guerrière
Should meet in single fray,
I'll bet you a hundred pounds or so—
A thousand, if you like—
The Constitution that blessed day
Will run or sink or strike."
But Hull said: "I am too poor a man
To bet a sum like that.
Yet just for the sake of the stand you take
I'll wager, say, a hat."
The Captains laughed as the bet was made,
And the ships soon sailed away
From their peaceful, pleasant anchorage
In the bight of Lisbon Bay.