were turned up to the old time-piece in the corner.
"It's dreadfully nice," said Lucy, cuddling up to Aunt Nancy for a
good-night kiss. "Oh, I'd love to sit up all night and study."
"Hold out to the end," said Mr. Smith; "that's what will tell." And off
the three children flew to their nests, to dream of George Washington
dancing a war-dance on Bunker Hill, while Pocahontas read the
Declaration of Independence.
* * * * *
It all went very well for two days. The children got up early in the
morning, and otherwise made the most of their time. Then Harper's great
friend Chuckie Bronson, who had received a wonderful dog from an uncle
in the country, waxed so enthusiastic over the various tricks that the
little spaniel performed that Harper couldn't help catching the fever.
And it came to be quite the natural thing that when the little history
class gathered around the big table, one of their number was missing,
and Harper's book-mark remained stationary for many a long hour. And
then, unfortunately for poor Lucy, who eagerly grasped every second from
play-time to spend among the text-books and atlases, which by this time
had become exceedingly fascinating, for her came one evening the final
hour of study, and the last hope disappeared of her ever winning the
coveted "First Prize." Hateful little red spots blossomed all over
Lucy's face, as if by magic, so suddenly that no one noticed, until Joe,
glancing up to find a word in the dictionary, discovered them, and
nudged Aunt Nancy.
"Mercy!" said that individual, looking keenly over her spectacles at the
little student--"if you haven't broken out with measles! Shut your book,
child; it's dreadfully bad for the eyes. Now you mustn't read another
word."
If Lucy was red as a rose before, now she was pale enough. All of the
hateful little red spots seemed to run right in at the command, and hide
their heads.
No more study! How could she give it up? Oh! and there were still ten
days before the glorious Fourth!
With all Joe's sorrow for his little afflicted sister, with all his
kindness of disposition, he couldn't help but rejoice just one wee bit
at being sole conqueror--just for one minute, though. The next he said,
"See here, Lucy. I'll read 'em to you--every one of the questions, you
know. There, don't cry, puss. And then you can learn the answers, and
say 'em over and over; and--goodness me!--why, you'll learn a heap that
way."
"I can't," moaned poor Lucy, screwing her fingers into her smarting
eyes. "It'll put you back; you might be studying all that while, Joe. Oh
dear! dear!"
"That's very true," observed Aunt Nancy, whisking off something very
bright from her cheek; "and that wouldn't be quite right, Lucy. It's all
the same a good thing in you, Joe, to want to. There are some things
better than prizes, or knowledge even. But I'll read to you, Lucy, and
if you can have the patience to learn that way--it'll be much harder,
you know--but if you can do it, why perhaps you'll come off better than
you think--who knows?"
* * * * *
So Lucy, with her father's old silk handkerchief tied over her eyes, sat
on her little stool patiently day after day, while Aunt Nancy went over
as much ground as could be covered in that slow way; and on the unequal
battle waged.
"Of course I don't expect any prize," said Lucy, with a very big sigh,
when the eventful evening of the 3d of July arrived; "but I know a
little something, and that's nice. But, oh! to think of Joe!"
"Where's Harper?" said Mr. Smith, when the little circle was formed
around him.
"Here," said a doleful voice from underneath the table. "I don't know
anything, an' I ain't a-comin' out."
"I shouldn't think you did," said Mr. Smith, gravely. "Ah, Harper, my
boy, play is pleasant enough at the time, but I tell you it hurts
afterward; that is, if it's _all_ play."
"And now," exclaimed Aunt Nancy, bringing them back to order, when a
delightful hour of questions, anecdotes, and rapid answers had fairly
whirled by--"the result."
"The first prize, of course," said Mr. Smith, smiling down into the two
upturned, eager faces before him, "belongs, without doubt, to Joe; but
if ever a prize ought to go, as fairly earned under difficulties, there
should be one for my little girl!"
He put into Joe's hand a brand-new ten-dollar bill that crinkled
delightfully; and then he took hold of Lucy's little hand, and opening
it, he laid within one just like it.
"You've got one too!" screamed Joe, perfectly delighted. "Oh, Lucy, do
look and see!"
"Have I?" cried Lucy, poking up one corner of the old handkerchief to
see. "Oh, Joe, I have, I _have_!"
"And here is _my_ part of the Fourth-of-July pie," cried Aunt Nancy,
rattling down on them a goodly shower of silver quarters. "There! and
there! and there!"
"The Fourth of July forever!" sang Joe, jumping up on the table, and
swinging his arms. "Three cheers for the _Encyclopaedia of Events_ I'll
get!"
"That's no better than the Histories I'll have!" crowed Lucy,
triumphantly.
"And I," said a dismal voice under the table, "shall begin now for next
year. Yes, I will."
MR MARTIN'S SCALP.
BY JIMMY BROWN.
After that game of mumble-te-peg that me and Mr. Martin played, he did
not come to our house for two weeks. Mr. Travers said perhaps the earth
he had to gnaw while he was drawing the peg had struck to his insides
and made him sick, but I knew it couldn't be that. I've drawn pegs that
were drove into every kind of earth, and it never hurt me. Earth is
healthy, unless it is lime; and don't you ever let anybody drive a peg
into lime. If you were to swallow the least bit of lime, and then drink
some water, it would burn a hole through you just as quick as anything.
There was once a boy who found some lime in the closet, and thought it
was sugar, and of course he didn't like the taste of it. So he drank
some water to take the taste out of his mouth, and pretty soon his
mother said: "I smell something burning goodness gracious! the house is
on fire." But the boy he gave a dreadful scream, and said, "Ma, it's
me!" and the smoke curled up out of his pockets and around his neck, and
he burned up and died. I know this is true, because Tom McGinnis went to
school with him, and told me about it.
Mr. Martin came to see Susan last night for the first time since we had
our game; and I wish he had never come back, for he got me into an awful
scrape. This was the way it happened. I was playing Indian in the yard.
I had a wooden tomahawk and a wooden scalping-knife and a bownarrow. I
was dressed up in father's old coat turned inside out, and had six
chicken feathers in my hair. I was playing I was Green Thunder, the
Delaware chief, and was hunting for pale-faces in the yard. It was just
after supper, and I was having a real nice time, when Mr. Travers came,
and he said, "Jimmy, what are you up to now?" So I told him I was Green
Thunder, and was on the war-path. Said he, "Jimmy, I think I saw Mr.
Martin on his way here. Do you think you would mind scalping him?" I
said I wouldn't scalp him for nothing, for that would be cruelty; but if
Mr. Travers was sure that Mr. Martin was the enemy of the red man, then
Green Thunder's heart would ache for revenge, and I would scalp him with
pleasure. Mr. Travers said that Mr. Martin was a notorious enemy and
oppressor of the Indians, and he gave me ten cents, and said that as
soon as Mr. Martin should come and be sitting comfortably on the piazza,
I was to give the war-whoop and scalp him.
Well, in a few minutes Mr. Martin came, and he and Mr. Travers and Susan
sat on the piazza, and talked as if they were all so pleased to see each
other, which was the highestpocracy in the world. After a while Mr.
Martin saw me, and said, "How silly boys are! that boy makes believe
he's an Indian, and he knows he is only a little nuisance." Now this
made me mad, and I thought I would give him a good scare, just to teach
him not to call names if a fellow does beat him in a fair game. So I
began to steal softly up the piazza steps, and to get around behind him.
When I had got about six feet from him I gave a war-whoop, and jumped at
him. I caught hold of his scalp-lock with one hand, and drew my wooden
scalping-knife around his head with the other.
I never got such a fright in my whole life. The knife was that dull that
it wouldn't have cut butter; but, true as I sit here, Mr. Martin's whole
scalp came right off in my hand. I thought I had killed him, and I
dropped his scalp, and said, "For mercy's sake! I didn't go to do it,
and I'm awfully sorry." But he just caught up his scalp, stuffed it in
his pocket, and jammed his hat on his head, and walked off, saying to
Susan, "I didn't come here to be insulted by a little wretch that
deserves the gallows."
Mr. Travers and Susan never said a word until he had gone, and then they
laughed till the noise brought father out to ask what was the matter.
When he heard what had happened, instead of laughing, he looked very
angry, said that "Mr. Martin was a worthy man. My son, you may come up
stairs with me."
If you've ever been a boy, you know what happened up stairs, and I
needn't say any more on a very painful subject. I didn't mind it so
much, for I thought Mr. Martin would die, and then I would be hung, and
put in jail; but before she went to bed Susan came and whispered through
the door that it was all right; that Mr. Martin was made that way, so he
could be taken apart easy, and that I hadn't hurt him. I shall have to
stay in my room all day to-day, and eat bread and water; and what I say
is that if men are made with scalps that may come off any minute if a
boy just touches them, it isn't fair to blame the boy.
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 34, June 22.]
MISS VAN WINKLE'S NAP.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS.
CHAPTER II.
"Now, nurse, what is it?" cried Quillie and Fred and Will and Artie, as
they rushed from the deck of their odd craft, and after a hasty
brushing, and a dip into the clear spring water, they made their way to
the breakfast table.
"Yes, nurse _cherie_," echoed gypsy Julie, "please be so good as to
inform--describe-- Oh, what is the word?"
"Tell, tell--that is the word, little Frenchie," said Fred.
"Thanks, monsieur," said Julie, gravely.
Quillie whispered softly to Fred that his manner was rude, whereupon
Fred, with a nonsensical bow, turned to Julie.
"My sister 'informs, describes' me as rude; am I?"
"A little, I think," said Julie; but she turned eagerly to hear what
nurse had to say.
"Mr. Brown says that he will bring in his first load of hay to-day, and
as many as choose can go to the 'Look-out' field and help him, and
afterward he will give you all a ride."
"Splendid!" "Glorious!" said the boys.
"Won't it be nice?" said Quillie to Julie.
"Charming!" replied Julie; "but why is it called the Look-out field?"
"Because there is so fine a view from it of the mountains."
"The Catskills?"
"Yes, where old Rip Van Winkle slept for twenty years."
"Did he, truly?"
"So the story goes. Every time it thunders, we think the queer old
mountain men are playing nine-pins."
"Do you?" said Julie, with eyes still wider open. "I should like to see
them."
"The Indians used to say that an old squaw lived on the highest peak of
the Catskills, and had charge of the doors of Day and Night. She hung up
the new moons in the skies, and cut up the old ones into stars."
"Oh, Quillie, would it not be lovely to seek her, and find out more
about the moon and stars?"
"Pshaw!" said Quillie, with scorn. "Do you believe such nonsense,
Julie?"
"I don't know," said Julie, "but I think I should like to believe it."
Then they all concluded that they wanted no more breakfast, and there
was another rush; for the trunks had come, and each desired some
particular treasure--a garden tool, an old hat, a sun-bonnet, a tin
pail, or a fishing-rod.
Nurse was too good-natured to refuse, and so the trunks were opened, and
ransacked very thoroughly, until Mr. Brown summoned them; then, like
swallows at twilight, they were again all on the wing, darting hither
and thither. But in one little brain was a thought like a butterfly
emerging from its chrysalis.
To Julie this jaunt from the city to the country had been the
realization of a dream, or as if she had walked into a page of her
story-books, and found the things and people all living and true. The
scent of the sweet clover, the twittering of the birds, the deep blue of
the sky and the deeper blue of the mountains, the snow-white daisies and
the yellow buttercups, were things she had read about in the many lonely
moments she had spent while her mother was out giving lessons; but in
all her little life she had no actual experience of these things; and
now here they were, and in addition it was the land of romance--a place
where people could sleep for twenty years, a place where queer hobgoblin
people played nine-pins. That squaw Quillie had told her about was
fascinating; perhaps it was true that she still was living, and oh! how
she should like to see her! Perhaps if she walked all day, she might
reach the top of that great blue peak, and find in some strange little
wigwam that old creature who cut up the old moons into stars, and then
what a wonderful tale Julie would have to tell! It would be like
visiting the old woman who swept the cobwebs from the sky. There would
be no harm in trying. She had often been on errands alone in the great
city, where everything was so confusing. Perhaps the squaw would be
pleased, and give her some wonderful talisman; or she might relate to
her stories of Indian life, which she (Julie) would write down and make
into a book; and then no one, not even nurse, would be angry with her
for daring to do so courageous a thing.
* * * * *
[Illustration: RIDING HOME FROM THE HAY FIELD.--DRAWN BY W. M. CARY.]
Who would have imagined that, as the children tossed about the heaps of
fragrant hay, this wild scheme was brewing beneath the brim of a tiny
straw hat wreathed with daisies? And who thought to count the merry ones
on the top of the wagon-load as it turned homeward? Not nurse, who was
sewing beneath a tree, and who gathered up her work and went after her
charge in blissful ignorance that one lamb had strayed from the fold.
With eager, hurrying steps Julie had left the meadow and sought a clump
of trees; from these she emerged upon a road which seemed much
travelled. It was very steep and dusty where it was not rocky, but she
was not to be daunted at the outset; so on she went as rapidly as
possible, for fear that, being missed, she might be over-taken, and
prevented from accomplishing this great feat. At first she could hear
the voices in the field beneath her, but as she hastened on all became
silent but the stirring of the summer breeze in the tree-tops, and the
far-away cackle of an industrious hen. The road, at first very sunny,
had now wound itself beside huge crags, which made a welcome shade, and
Julie saw with delight a little water-fall come tumbling down a narrow
fissure, plunging into a pool below, and crossing the path. Warm and
thirsty, she stopped to refresh herself and listen to the gurgling of
the brook. But she must not dawdle, or night might come on, and then it
would be hard to find the old squaw, who was perhaps at this moment
cutting glittering stars out of the old moons. The difficulty of hanging
them up did not once occur to her. Possibly the moon and the stars were
not like tinsel, but she had no doubt of the squaw. She had heard that
squaws made baskets: would it not be a nice thing to buy a little one
for Quillie, and a great big one for nurse?--she would pick out the very
prettiest. And so she scrambled on, getting very much heated and soiled,
catching her clothes on the briers, getting bits of stone in her shoes,
but neither frightened nor concerned about those from whom she had
wandered.
Meanwhile Quillie, from her high perch on the hay, began wondering why
her little companion was so silent. She supposed Julie was behind her,
but, fearful of tumbling, she had been still as a mouse. She twisted
about now, a little uneasily, and called Julie, but there was no
response. Then Mr. Brown helped her to dismount, and still no Julie was
to be seen. So she went into the house, procured a book, and sat on the
piazza. Presently nurse came in.
"Where's Julie?" cried Quillie.
"Where?--was she not with you?"
"No, she was not on the hay-cart."
"Then she must be with the boys."
"No; they are in the barn."
"Then she is hiding. Go and look for her. I must get your rooms in order
now." So nurse went in.
Quillie tried to read, but her thoughts were like thistle-down. Where
could Julie be? She sought her all about the house; peeped into all
sorts of corners. Then she went to the barn. Had the boys seen Julie?
No; and they were whittling, making a boat, and couldn't be bothered.
"I wish, Fred, that you had not been so rude to Julie."
Fred looked up, surprised. "Rude! when was I rude?"
"You called her 'little Frenchy,' and imitated her."
"Did I? Oh yes, I remember something of that sort. But she isn't huffy,
you know; she's a bright little chick."
Quillie thought so too, and was getting very lonely.
As the afternoon shadows lengthened, and the great conch shell was blown
for the men to come in to their early supper, nurse came down to summon
the children in to tidy themselves; and when she found Quillie crying in
a corner, and no Julie yet to be seen, she too became uneasy. Where
could the child have gone? She questioned everybody. No one had seen
her. All remembered the little brown hat with its wreath of daisies.
Fortunately the farm was a safe place; there was no water to fear.
Perhaps she had fallen asleep somewhere. All would hunt for her after
supper. And all did hunt, but no one found her.
The moon, like a silver sickle, hung in the sky; the frogs croaked; the
soft sweet air puffed out the muslin curtains, and brought in the
fragrance of the new-mown hay. The children, too tired to be much
alarmed, went to their beds without their usual gambols. Mr. Brown
hitched his weary horses, and declared his intention of remaining out
all night unless he found Julie. Poor nurse was in a fever of anxiety.
She reproached herself in many quite unnecessary ways. She had talked
the matter over with Mrs. Brown until both were exhausted, and now she
was pacing the piazza in weary restlessness.
Quillie, unable to sleep, came trotting out in her night-gown, and
seeing poor nurse's sad face, went up to her, and whispered something
about "God being able to take care of little Julie wherever she might
be," when far away came the sound of wheels.
"Hark!" said nurse, "is that wagon coming here?"
"Yes," said Quillie, listening, "it is coming here."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Illustration: STABLE TALK--DRAWN BY FRANK BELLEW, JUN.]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
PORTLAND, CONNECTICUT.
I have both wild and tame pets. This spring a pair of brown-headed
birds built their nest in the _Akebia quinata_. The old birds have
grown so tame that they will come up to my feet to eat crumbs.
Their young are fully fledged now. The robins have a brood in the
apple-tree, and now another pair of small birds have begun to
build in one of our evergreens. My tame pets are a pair of jonquil
canaries, Nedy and Barbra. They hatched four eggs, but all the
little birds died. Now Barbra has a nest of five eggs, and
yesterday one bird was hatched, and to-day another. I have a few
choice varieties of roses and other plants. The roses and
honeysuckles in the garden are in bloom. I am ten years old.
ALTIA R. A.
* * * * *
GENEVA, NEW YORK.
We have four old canaries, and one of them, named Fanny, laid two
eggs, and now there are two little birds. They keep Dick busy
feeding them all the time. We give them bread and milk and boiled
egg. This spring we had a pair of twin lambs, and the mother sheep
did not like but one, so we had to feed the other. My brother
Herbert is the one who feeds it, and it will follow him
everywhere. The other day it walked into the dining-room after
him. It will not come to me. We have over forty little chickens,
and twelve turkeys. The turkeys are just as pretty as they can be.
GRACE ELEANOR.
* * * * *
JERSEY CITY, NEW JERSEY.
I am ten years old. I would like you to know how much I like YOUNG
PEOPLE. I do so love to read the letters from the little girls and
boys. I have a canary named Beauty, and a cat named Charlie.
LILLIE C. L.
* * * * *
GRANVILLE, OHIO.
My papa subscribed for YOUNG PEOPLE for my birthday present. I am
just getting over scarlet fever, and I look forward eagerly every
week for my paper, for my playmates are afraid to come to see me,
and it is the best young friend I have. I am eight years old.
MAY A.
* * * * *
PORT REPUBLIC, MARYLAND.
I saw the letters in YOUNG PEOPLE about pets, and thought I would
write about mine. I have two dogs. One is named Topsy and the
other Frank. But best of all is my horse, named Ella. I am eight
years old.
"LITTLE BROTHER."
* * * * *
I live in the northwestern part of Minnesota, in the town of
Detroit. I think I must be one of the most northern subscribers to
YOUNG PEOPLE in the United States. This winter has been very
severe. The snow staid on the ground nearly five months. We have
no spring here, only a winter and a summer, with a very short
autumn. Two years ago I saw a flock of Bohemian wax-wings, which
are very rare in the United States. I would like to know if any
other correspondents have ever seen them. They are pretty birds.
Some honeysuckles and blue, white, and yellow violets grow here in
the woods.
JAY H. M.
* * * * *
CRUGERS, NEW YORK.
My aunt sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and I like it very much. We have a
squirrel round our house that is pure white, but its mother is a
common red one. We think that is very odd. Our gardener calls the
young one a dandy. The squirrels and rabbits in our yard are very
tame, and do not mind people a bit; and a little wren builds its
nest in the horse post by the stoop every year. We never frighten
or hurt our wild pets.
PHILIP P. C.
* * * * *
TULLAHOMA, TENNESSEE.
I am very sorry we had to leave Frank Austin so soon, and I hope
we are going to hear how he went back to his mother and sisters. I
think if all Young America had as much pluck as Frank, there would
be no such thing as "fail."
I caught a little rabbit a week ago, but it got away before I had
made a cage for it. I have a turtle that weighs about ten pounds.
But my best pet is a large dog named Andy. He is a good jumper. He
can jump a very high fence.
My father has been a subscriber to HARPER'S MAGAZINE ever since
1859. I think I shall take YOUNG PEOPLE as long--and longer too.
My brothers take HARPER'S WEEKLY. The illustrations are so pretty!
My brother Abe, who is six years old, says he is going to be a
"picture man," like Mr. Nast, when he grows up.
Have any of the correspondents a tame crow? I would like to know
how to pet one.
"LONE STAR."
* * * * *
WEST CHESTER, PENNSYLVANIA.
My brother has a young pet crow. When it is hungry it "caws" till
we go out and feed it. The other day it ate three mice and a mole.
It can not fly yet. I have a dear little kitty, and if it goes
toward the crow, the bird will open its mouth and hop away
sideways. I like to make Wiggles and Misfits very much.
ANNA M. J.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.
I caught a dragon-fly the other day. It was three inches long, and
its wings spread five inches. Its head was transparent. I have a
cat named Lion. My brother takes YOUNG PEOPLE. I like to read the
letters in the Post-office Box.
CARE G. DE M.
* * * * *
MILTON, VERMONT.
The last of April, when I went after May-flowers, I brought home
some frogs' eggs in my basket. They looked like hemp seed in lemon
jelly. In about a week each egg separated from the main part in a
little ball. It took two weeks for the pollywogs to hatch, but
when they did, it was very comical to see them swimming about. If
we scared them, they would run to their balls, or homes, as we
called them. I put them in the brook, and afterward when I went to
look for them, I could not find them. I suppose they had developed
into little frogs, and hopped away. I brought a toad home last
night, and put it in the garden. It dug into the ground until it
was nearly buried, and this morning I could not find it. Perhaps
it got homesick--if toads ever do.
ALICE C. H.
* * * * *
SMITHFIELD, NORTH CAROLINA.