been accumulating for many years, and mingling with the decaying leaves
dropped from the oak, had formed a rich soil, and into this soil the
Wind planted the last seed of the catkin. And lo and behold! it took
root there, and the next spring two tiny green leaves came up and looked
wonderingly about them, to be followed by more green leaves, and still
more, until at the end of the summer a slender young tree--not yet high
enough to be seen from the street below, but already welcomed by the
oak, whose topmost branches waved a little above it, and the birds who
stopped ever and anon to rest a while on the gable roof on their way to
the country--swayed gracefully to and fro as the breeze passed by it.
And when winter came, the kind old Oak threw over it a covering of
leaves, and dropped a withered branch or two upon them to keep them from
being scattered when the North Wind was in one of his tempers. And so,
snug and warm, the little tree waited for returning spring, and then it
burst through its leaf cloak, and went on growing and growing, until it
could look down and see all that was passing in the square. And in a few
years it became so stout and tall that people began to look up at it in
wonder, and its fame spread abroad, and many came from afar to gaze upon
the marvellous thing, growing, as it were, in the air. And as it got
taller and taller, it began to be prouder and prouder.
"Was ever tree so high as I?" it called to the Oak one day. "I can peep
into the chimney; I tower above you, and yet they call you the King of
trees."
"If you do," replied the Oak, "it is through no merit of your own.
Chance placed you at that dizzy height, which is, to tell the truth,
very much above your proper station. But to my mind it were better for
you to be held fast by the honest old earth, as I am."
"Nonsense!" cried the young Willow, bowing to a crowd that had gathered
on the other side of the street to look up in amazement at it. "You are
envious, old fellow. I should be myself if I were you. Soon _I_ shall
reach the sky, while still your head will only touch my feet, and I
shall be the friend and companion of the sun, moon, and stars. Never was
tree so exalted as I!"
But ah! that very afternoon came a great hurricane. The window-shutters
banged, and the window-panes smashed, the sparrows flew screaming to
their nests, and the people in the streets were driven like flocks of
sheep before the wind. And the young Willow, after battling fiercely a
moment or two with the storm, was uprooted and flung down at the feet of
the Oak.
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 66, February 1.]
PHIL'S FAIRIES.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS,
AUTHOR OF "PRINCESS IDLEWAYS," ETC.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE NEW COMPANION.
Miss Schuyler was a very active, industrious lady, and her time was
fully occupied. She had her house and grounds to attend to, her business
affairs, her domestic duties, and her poor people--for paradise or
fairy-land, whichever Phil chose to call his present abode, was not
without its poor--and so, during the day, Lisa was mostly with Phil; but
he and Miss Rachel had always a pleasant chat after breakfast; and in
the evening many a long talk made known to Miss Rachel more of Phil's
character than he had any idea of; and the more she knew of the boy, the
warmer her heart became toward him, and the more thankful she was that
she had been able to do for him just what was wanted, and just at the
right time.
Already there was a little color in his pale cheeks, and an eagerness
for his meals. He could endure more fatigue, and he suffered less pain.
Indeed, Dr. Smith, who lived half a mile off, had promised to send his
son, a lad of twelve, down to see Phil in his stead. "For," said he,
"Graham does not know one bone from another, and will soon help Phil to
forget all about his, or whether they ache or not."
And so Graham Smith, a ruddy-cheeked fellow full of life and spirit,
came to see Phil.
It was a warm June day when they first saw each other.
Phil was sketching, and Lisa was sitting beside him sewing. Joe was
Phil's model, standing patiently by the hour to be made into studies of
heads, arms, trunk, or the whole man.
Suddenly there was a loud bark of welcome from Nep, the Newfoundland
dog--who greeted tramps with growls--and Graham Smith came up the garden
path, followed by Nep, leaping frantically upon and about him.
He nodded in a brusque way to Lisa and Phil, and without a word bent
down over the sketch, gave a long, low whistle, and said, "Isn't that
bully?"
"If I knew what bully meant, I could answer you, perhaps," replied Phil,
gazing up with admiration at the brown and red cheeks, the clear blue
eyes, and the tough, hardy-looking frame of his new acquaintance.
"I'm not sure I can tell you; only you can beat all the boys I know at
this sort of work," said Graham. "Where did you learn how to do it?"
"Oh, I have not learned yet; I am only just beginning."
"Haven't you had lessons?"
"No; it comes naturally to me to draw. I wish I could do it better,
that's all," said Phil, with a little sigh.
"I wouldn't want to do any better than that," said Graham.
"Oh yes, you would," replied Phil, very much pleased, however, with such
heart-felt admiration of his drawing.
Just then Nep made another leap upon Graham, and the two, after a
friendly tussle, had a race down to the lake, where Graham tossed a
stick, and sent the dog after it.
"That is something _I_ can not do," said Phil, as the boy came up to him
again, "and yet you do it as easily as I draw."
"What?--shy that stick off on the water? Then you don't play ball?"
"I don't even walk," said Phil.
Graham seemed both astonished and sorry, so he turned it off with: "But
you are going to, you know, when you get well--and you can do more than
any of us now. Let's go out on the water. May we?" he asked, turning to
Lisa.
"Oh yes," said Lisa; and Joe was glad to get the _Flyaway_ ready for a
start.
Phil was placed in the stern, where Graham promised to show him how to
steer. Phil was an apt scholar, and delighted to be of use. Joe
addressed Graham as "Captain," and complimented him on the fine
feathering of his oar. The lad was a good oarsman, and made the boat
respond to her name.
"Where shall we go, mate?" asked Graham of Phil.
"The Captain must give orders," was Phil's reply.
"Have you been down to Point of Rocks?" asked Graham, directing Phil's
eyes to a distant promontory.
"No, I have not been so far yet."
"There are lots of water-lilies there."
"Oh, do go there, then! I want some to copy."
"All right. Pull on your starboard oar, Joe; there, that will do. Now we
will soon reach it."
It was a lovely little nook where grew the lilies, after they had turned
around the jutting stones which gave a name to the spot, and Phil soon
had his hands full of fragrant buds. The water was so clear that he
could see their long green stems away down to the black mud from which
they sprang. They moored the boat, and Graham got out to ramble,
returning with ferns and mosses and wild flowers for Phil.
"Now," said he, "if you don't mind, I'm going to have a swim just around
the rocks here where the water is deeper and not so full of weeds. I
wish you could come."
"So do I," said Phil, watching with admiration every movement of his
lively companion. Besides admiration, too, there was a twinge of envy,
which he really did not know to be that hateful fault; but it passed in
a moment, and he laughed loudly to see Graham's antics in the water.
The bath over, they turned homeward. Miss Rachel was entertaining guests
in the parlor. Lisa had gone off for a walk. Graham had to go home, but
promised frequent visits; and, as Phil was tired, Joe carried him up and
laid him on his bed, putting his mosses on the table, and the
water-lilies in an oblong vase which was usually filled with fragrant
flowers. The wind harp was there too, and as Phil, with closed eyes, was
resting in the half-twilight made by shut blinds, there came from it a
little murmur, which grew into a long, sad monotone. He dared not move,
and would not speak, but between his eyelids, partly raised, he thought
he saw the familiar little winged creature who had comforted and
entertained him in his wretched city home.
"How little people know what they are doing when they pull up ferns and
mosses in the woods!" said the soft voice. "I was sleeping soundly on
the nicest bed imaginable, having travelled far for just a whiff of
water-lily odor that I thought might refresh a poor little hospital
patient tossing with fever in the city, when with a violent wrench I
found myself borne off from my sheltered and dusky resting-place, and
tossed into a boat in the blinding glare of the sun. Fortunately I had
wrapped myself in some broad grape-vine leaves, and was mistaken for a
moth cocoon; else, dear Phil, I had not been here."
"I am so glad, so very glad, to see you again!" murmured Phil, softly.
"And I am so glad you are in the country! You could not have lived long
in the city. What are you doing now?"
"Getting well, they tell me."
"Do you ever think of the ones who can not do that?"
"No, I have not," said Phil, in some surprise.
"Ah, there are so many! I see them often--little creatures who are
friendless and helpless. You should not forget them."
"It is not that I forget, I do not think of them at all. I suppose I
would if I saw them."
[Illustration: FAIRIES IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL.]
"Well, you must think of them, and do something for them. Oh yes, I know
you do not believe you can, but the way will come if you try. All that I
do is to whisper soft songs in their ears, or give them a little waft of
summer freshness, but it sometimes stops their painful tossing, and
brings sleep to their tired eyes."
"I will think; I will try," said Phil.
"That is right," replied the fairy. "Now I will call some of my friends,
the flower fairies, hidden in these water-lilies, and you shall see them
dance." She clapped her hands softly together, and out of each lily
crept a tiny shape of radiant whiteness and lily-like grace, so pure, so
exquisite, that they did indeed seem to be the very essence and spirit
of the flower. And now began another of those fantastic movements which
Phil had before witnessed. Now in wreaths, now apart, and again in
couples, they swayed about in an ecstasy of mirth, and the wind harp
gave out strains of wild and melodious sound. They nodded to each other
in their glee, and Phil could hardly tell whether they really were
fairies or flowers, for they looked just as the flowers might when blown
about in a breeze. As he gazed, his eyelids began to droop. He was very
tired. The music grew fainter and fainter. He seemed to be again in the
boat, listening to the water lapping its sides, and Graham seemed to be
with him, reaching out for lilies; and then all faded, and Phil was fast
asleep.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
ON ROLLERS.
BY CHARLES LEDYARD NORTON.
For a number of years it has been more or less generally known that
there were such things as roller skates. New York, Boston, Philadelphia,
and other large towns, have had their rinks, while here and there some
enterprising boy with skates has made his appearance on the public
streets. As a really popular amusement, however, roller-skating was
unknown, and the rattle of wooden wheels was an unfamiliar sound on city
sidewalks.
How it all came about is one of those queer things that nobody can
exactly explain. Some time during the past winter New York suddenly woke
up to the fact that her streets were alive with skaters. As the morning
drew on toward nine o'clock, boys and girls might be seen, with their
satchels on their arms, skating to school, and the concrete walks in the
parks were fairly alive with them when school hours were over in the
afternoon.
The policemen knew long ago what was their duty in the case of bicycles,
and they looked with great suspicion upon this new species of vehicle;
but as no orders were issued from head-quarters, nothing was done about
it, and now boys, who never willingly come within half a square of a
policeman when on foot, skate defiantly past under his very nose, and
are not cuffed over the head, even if they deserve it.
The other day the writer saw a little tot, with an absurdly small pair
of skates on her tiny feet, all alone in one of the parks. So little was
she that quite a crowd of the passers-by stopped to look, half fearful
that she might fall and hurt herself. So little, that it is doubtful if
she fairly knew how to walk, and yet she managed to scuffle along the
concrete, evidently thinking it great fun, and neither falling down nor
running over any one of the numerous pedestrians.
[Illustration: A POPULAR AMUSEMENT.--DRAWN BY T. DE THULSTRUP.]
To those who have visited the great rinks this street skating seems a
rather awkward performance. The fact is, the notion of ice-skating has
so firm a hold on the feet and legs of American youth that, unless they
are told otherwise, they try to "strike out" as their fathers and
grandfathers did before them, and consequently they lose half the fun of
roller-skating, and make it awkward and laborious, whereas it ought to
be one of the most graceful and easy of movements.
The skilled roller skater moves by swaying the body rather than by
pushing with the foot and leg. A kind of sliding step is taken, the
weight being thrown somewhat forward, the step is repeated with the
other foot, and so with sliding steps, one after another, the body
swaying gently from side to side, as the weight is thrown on one or the
other foot, the skater moves easily forward. The moment striking out
begins, all ease and grace vanish, and the skater presents the
appearance of a windmill in active motion as to arms, and is, to say the
least, ungainly as to the rest of the person.
The writer does not wish to be understood as saying that roller skates
can be made to go up hill without rather more striking out than is
needed on the floor of a rink or on a level sidewalk; but depend upon
it, the swaying motion is the thing to be aimed at by every one who
desires to become a good skater; and if skating is worth learning at
all, it is worth learning well.
There are various patterns of skates; those most generally used having
four wheels, two at the toe and two at the heel. The best are fitted in
such a way that the irons to which the rollers are attached can move a
little from side to side. These are considerably more expensive than
those with firm roller fixtures. The cheaper sort, however, are the most
popular, and answer every purpose of ordinary work.
Our artist has shown the interior of one of the large rinks in this
city, where, on a fine afternoon or evening, the scene is indeed
charming and full of interest, even to those who do not skate. The
gently swaying, swiftly gliding forms of ladies and gentlemen, of girls
and boys, moving gracefully round and round the large floor, arrange
figures for dancing, and, barring the accidents that happen to awkward
beginners, all goes on as easily and smoothly as clock-work. The
professional attendants are ready to assist and instruct learners; there
is generally a band of music on hand, and everything is done to make the
rinks safe and pleasant resorts for all.
Nevertheless, the sidewalks are the great popular rinks. On Murray Hill
and along the fashionable streets, little Miss Millionaire may be seen
practicing on her rollers, attended by her French maid, and the
pavements of the lower wards are not unacquainted with the rattle of
rollers. A dozen newsboys or boot-blacks may "chip in" and invest in a
pair of skates, to be enjoyed by each in turn, or by two of them at
once, each having the jolliest kind of a time with one skate apiece, and
one of the city parks for a rink.
At last city boys and girls have an out-of-door sport in which they have
the best of their country cousins. The country is far ahead of the town
for the enjoyment of life in general, but when roller skates are in
order, some kind of a floor or pavement is necessary, and the skate has
yet to be invented that can be used comfortably on country walks.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
All exchanges, puzzles, and other communications for the Post-office Box
should be addressed to the Editor of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, Harper &
Brothers, Franklin Square, New York City, N. Y. Puzzles must always be
accompanied by complete answers, and by the full name and address of the
sender. They must be free from slang and from obsolete words.
Exchanges are printed in the Post-office Box free of charge.
The addresses of exchanges should be written very clearly, in order to
avoid the possibility of mistakes. The name of the county, as well as
that of the town and State, should be given, as in some instances the
names of towns are repeated in different sections of the same State.
The exchange itself should be very clearly expressed, so as to leave no
doubt of the writer's intention. The article to be exchanged should be
mentioned first, in all cases. Thus, if you have minerals, and wish to
obtain postage stamps for them, you should write, "Minerals, for
stamps." This is the way the editor understands the offers; but in some
cases it has proved that the youthful exchanger means just the opposite,
and wishes to obtain minerals instead of giving them. Now remember this:
the article you possess is to be named first, and your offer must be
clearly expressed. Read it over carefully before sending it, to be sure
that no little words are omitted so as to change the meaning of the
sentence.
No offers to buy or sell curiosities or other articles will be published
in the Post-office Box or Exchange Department. Such offers can only be
received as regular advertisements.
We would also request our young friends to be considerate, and not send
repeated requests for exchange. If the space given to the Post-office
Box was elastic, we could make room for them all, but as it is limited,
we must give the preference to those whose names and addresses have not
already appeared.
A large number of boys, after a few weeks of exchange, find their stock
of stamps, minerals, or other curiosities, exhausted, but they continue
to receive packages from different localities. Now if any one has
nothing to return, and no reasonable expectation of getting anything, he
should faithfully send back to the owner everything for which he can
give no equivalent. This should be done in every case, whether the
articles be stamps, postmarks, minerals, or any other curiosities. In
this way, although the correspondent may be disappointed, the exchanger
will maintain a character for honesty and fair-dealing, and will be
remembered with pleasure.
All exchanges which the editor considers unfair or unwise will be
omitted.
The editor regrets that, owing to the great increase in the number of
letters received, it will be impossible hereafter to acknowledge those
favors which are not printed. We trust our little correspondents whose
letters are omitted will not be disappointed at not seeing their names
in print, but that they will persevere in writing. Their turn will be
almost sure to come in time, and they will be better pleased to see
their letter in full than to find their names merely in a long list.
* * * * *
BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.
Last Saturday afternoon papa took mamma and my little sister Millie
and myself to Coney Island. A good many children will think it is a
funny time of the year to go to a beach, and we thought so too; but
we wanted to see the wreck which had been washed ashore there, so I
teased papa until he said he would go.
When we got there it did not seem a bit like winter. The snow was
all gone, and the sun was shining as bright as summer, only it
looked funny to see only a few people walking up and down in the
places where we had seen such crowds.
We walked along on the sand, looking at the blue, quiet sea, and
we could hardly believe that only a little while ago the water had
been full of struggling, drowning men, and the great waves rushing
ashore and tearing everything to pieces. It was an Italian vessel
that was wrecked. She came all the way across the ocean, and just
as she was within sight of New York she struck on a big sand bar
about two miles from Coney Island beach. The night was very dark
and stormy, and the big waves tore the ship all to pieces. The
captain and all the sailors but one were drowned; that one clung
to a piece of the wreck, and the tide carried him toward Coney
Island. The people who were watching at the life-saving station
there saw him away off in the water, and they got the life-boat
into the surf, and rowed out, and brought him safe on shore. I
guess the poor man was glad when he found himself on land among
kind people.
The piece of wreck to which he clung was washed up on the beach
afterward. It is a piece of the deck, with a broken mast sticking
in it. I climbed all over it, and put my arms round the mast right
where the poor sailor had clung, but mamma said I could not tell
anything about how it would seem to be clinging that way all alone
on the dark, stormy sea, expecting every minute to be washed off
and drowned.
After we had seen the wreck, we walked along to see all the
mischief the ocean had done in the winter. The nice plank walks in
front of some of the big hotels, where Millie and I used to run
races last summer, are nothing but a heap of broken boards and big
logs. We saw lots of big barrels mixed up with the broken stuff,
and papa said they were a part of the freight of the wrecked ship,
which the waves had washed on shore.
It does not look now as if we could have any fun at Coney Island
next summer unless we stay right on the sand, but papa says they
will build everything up again before warm weather.
HERBERT D. N.
* * * * *
SLATE MILLS, VIRGINIA.
A long time ago I wrote a letter for YOUNG PEOPLE, but was afraid
it would be dropped into the waste-basket, and did not send it.
Since that time I have read so many letters from boys and girls
that I thought you might put mine in your good little paper. I
think it is so nice to have a paper where we young folks can talk
to each other. I am thirteen years old, and live among the
mountains of Virginia. We have a grand view of the Blue Ridge from
our house, and a small stream flows at the foot of the cliffs near
us. We boys have splendid times in the summer, fishing and
swimming, and we have had good skating this cold winter. I have
caught a great many rabbits, and sometimes a 'possum gets into the
trap. One of the colored boys caught about twenty-five musk-rats
last summer and fall. We sell the skins to the country store, and
generally get powder, shot, and fish-hooks in exchange.
The big snow that we have had this winter has been very
destructive to the game. It has been very hard on the partridges,
for it gives the hawks such a good chance to pick them up, as they
can see the birds so far on the snow. I have seen some rabbits
that were shot lately, and they were very poor and lean. I expect
many of them starved to death. The deep snow was so unusual in
this part of the country that we got tired looking at the white
fields. But we had some good sleigh-rides, and lots of fun
coasting. The snow was so heavy on the trees and bushes, and
especially on the pines and other evergreens, that it bowed them
over so that they had a very singular appearance, particularly in
the moonlight, and one could imagine the shapes of animals,
people, etc.
I must tell you old Uncle Joe's experience. He is an old colored
man that we all think a great deal of. He is very small, not
bigger than I am, and is very superstitious, and imagines he can
see all sorts of things at night, especially when he has been
listening to ghost stories at the store.
Uncle Joe started home rather late one night, and I expect the
stories had been more weird than usual. While passing through a
lonely glen, just as the moon came up over the tree-tops, the old
man began to see sights. No doubt the bushes, trees, and rocks had
a queer look, and all kinds of queer things put in an appearance.
If all the curiosities he thinks he saw could have been got
together, Joe would have had quite a respectable menagerie. Uncle
Joe insists upon it that he saw them all, and at first sight would
have turned back, but he had gone so far into the show that when
he turned around "it looked _wus_ _behind_ than it did _befo_," so
he kept right on, and "he don't know how he ebber got home." He
said "he could hardly keep his hat on, his har ris up so,"
notwithstanding he had two cotton handkerchiefs, a pair of socks,
and some other things, in his hat.