the railroad gits through the barrn?"
"Oh, you get eout! You don't want any coffee."
"Don't I, thin? I don't belave ye know any more about a railroad than I
do meself. Come on, b'yes. He's been humbuggin' ye."
Rube Hollenhouser afterward stood up manfully for Dolf Zimmerman's
reputation as a traveller, and all the cows in Prome Centre went to
their pastures very early the next morning. That was Friday, and it was
to be the last day of the mortal life of Squire Cudworth's big barn, and
there were a good many older people, as well as very young ones, who
were willing to hurry through their breakfasts, and walk over to see
what the Squire was going to do about it. Everybody knew more or less
about the quarrel between him and the railway company, and there was not
a doubt in the minds of his fellow-citizens but what he had beaten the
corporation in every point but the one of keeping his barn.
There he was, when Rube and Bun and little Jeff Gates, and a crowd of
other boys and their brothers and sisters, and some of their fathers and
mothers and aunts and uncles, began to swarm around and look at him.
There was the Squire, indeed, and his face was redder than ever, and Bun
Gates remarked,
"I say, Rube, how he does jingle!"
"Yes, but haven't they made that railroad jingle? They've nailed down
the rails 'most up to the stable-door on each side. If an engine should
come now, it could run its nose against the barn."
"They've got to do it, Rube. They've got to smash it right through."
"I say, Bun, the stable's full of men. They're working at something.
Hear 'em hammer?"
"There's another lot around outside. See 'em?"
"Hear 'em in the barn! Wonder 'f they'd let us in."
"Guess not. I don't want to go in, neither. Hey! What's that?"
Every face in the gathering crowd was suddenly turned toward the north,
as if one pull had fetched them all around at the same instant. Not that
they saw anything, but that the deafest man among them could hear the
whistle of the coming locomotive. It would be the first of its kind ever
seen in Prome Centre, and now it was gathering itself, they all knew,
for a rush down that track at Squire Cudworth's barn.
More boys were coming, and they all asked questions the moment they
could get their breaths after they reached the crowd and had one look at
the barn. It was there yet, and so was the Squire, but there had been
another awful whistle, up north, beyond Pop Simmons's orchard.
"Rube," said Bun, "those fellows are just a-jerking that stable out of
its boots. They're h'isting the roof off now."
"Hear 'em hammering inside? There's something going on. Don't they just
swarm, though, and can't they work!"
It was a simple fact that the railway company had sent a good many men
to take care of the last obstacle in its way, and Squire Cudworth's joke
lasted to the very end. He began to grow redder and redder in the face.
Then he jingled more than ever for a minute, and then he stopped
jingling altogether, for just then it seemed as if the whole side of the
stable was stripped off at a push or two. The roof was already off. One
minute more and the ends were gone, doors and all, and a well-dressed,
gentlemanly person stepped out along the track.
"Boys!" shouted Rube. "There's the railroad now. Inside the stable."
"If they haven't put down a track right where the floor was!" said Bun.
There sounded another tremendous shriek from beyond the orchard, and a
cloud of smoke and steam began to move along over the tree-tops.
"Here she comes, boys!"
"She's a-coming! She's a coming!"
"Hark, Rube," said Bun. "What's that man saying to Squire Cudworth?"
They heard him, and he said it very politely.
"Quick work, eh, Mr. Cudworth?"
"Sharp. Far as you've gone. Think you'll get the whole of it off
to-day?"
"Off? Oh no. Don't you see? We're making a station-house out of the main
barn. Just the thing. Set it up a little higher; that's all. Quite a
saving of money to the company."
"Bun," said Rube, "did you ever see old Squire Cudworth look so angry as
he does now? Guess they must have got the joke on him somehow."
"It'll make him sick if they have."
"Hey! She's 'most got here!"
They were all holding their breaths for the next minute or so, for there
was the first locomotive they had ever seen outside of a picture, and it
was whistling and coughing and ringing its bell and backing and starting
and doing everything but dance, right through where Squire Cudworth's
stable had been.
"Rube, they're not going to pull down any more of the barn."
"Tell you what, though, they never'd have got through the way they did
if they hadn't laid some track inside and knocked the doors down."
"Course they wouldn't. I say, old Squire Cudworth's going home."
"Hear the 'cademy bell! Did you know it was nine o'clock? What'll we say
to Miss Eccles?"
"I don't care so much, Rube. She won't get a roomful till this crowd
gets there. There's about as many girls as boys."
"Black marks all 'round. She's seen a railroad before, or she'd have
been here herself. I ain't so sorry as I was about that barn. Do you
know what's a station-house?"
"I guess I do, but we'd better stop after school and ask Dolf
Zimmerman."
At the supper table that evening, Bun Gates heard his father say to his
mother: "Squire Cudworth? Oh yes, he got a good price for his barn. What
made him sick was the railway superintendent thanking him for building
them so nice a station-house, just where they wanted it. He tried to
laugh, but he couldn't, and everybody else did."
[Illustration: "GOOD-MORNING!"]
AN UNDER-GROUND ESCAPE.
BY W. W. FENN.
Snap, my little fox-terrier, was the most affectionate and devoted dog I
ever remember. It mattered not where I went, he was sure to be close to
my heels, and the thicker the crowd, the closer he kept to them. For the
three years that I lived in London, in all our wanderings I never once
missed him or had any trouble with him.
As far as possible, dogs are prohibited from travelling on the
under-ground railway; but as I had constantly to travel by it from
King's Cross to Paddington, and Snap's habit of keeping close being well
known to the officials, they winked at his accompanying me.
On a certain afternoon, being, as usual, on my way to Paddington, and a
train being due at King's Cross, I made a rush for it, and reached the
platform just as a train was coming into the station.
Jumping into a compartment, I looked to see if the dog was with me, but
to my dismay, as a porter slammed the door and the train began to move,
I observed Snap on the platform, running wildly up and down looking for
me. Suddenly he saw me at the window, but it was too late; and as we
entered the darkness of the tunnel, I heard him give a despairing bark.
I felt angry with myself for not looking after him more carefully, and
resolved to get out at the next station and go back for him. But how had
he missed me? I could not understand it, for he had never done such a
thing before. Five minutes brought us to Gower Street, and a train then
due took me back in another five minutes to where I had started from.
"Have you seen my dog?" I asked of a porter there who knew me.
"Your dog, sir?" answered the man. "Oh yes, to be sure. You left him
behind, didn't you? Well, as the train went into the tunnel, I saw him
jump from the platform and follow it."
"What!" I said; "he wasn't following it when we reached Gower Street."
"Wasn't he? Then I expect he's still in the tunnel. The train went too
fast for him to keep up with it."
"He'll be run over!" I exclaimed, very nervous for Snap's safety.
"Tell you what, sir. I'll go and get permission, if you like, from the
inspector to take a lantern and see if we can find him."
I thanked the man, and he started off to get the necessary permission,
which the inspector gave, after saying something about people having no
right to bring dogs into the station. Together the man and I then went
into the tunnel.
The unaccustomed darkness, to say nothing of the perils of such an
expedition, inspired me with considerable dread, and I kept tight hold
of my guide's arm. When we had advanced some two or three hundred yards
along the under-ground highway, or rather "low" way, the lights of an
up-train became visible. As it went by and we stood still for a minute,
the roar and rattle were not calculated to dispel my nervousness. They
were terrible--deafening. Immediately it had passed, the porter cried
out,
"Look there, sir--look; there he goes!"
He was pointing toward the red danger light at the tail of the receding
train, and there, sure enough, was Snap scampering after it at a pace
which no one could have given a fox-terrier credit for. I began to call
and whistle as loudly as I could, but my voice was drowned by the
hissing whir and rattle going on. Just then another engine hove in sight
on our line of rails, and we had rapidly to step back into one of the
recesses, or man-holes, as I believe they are called. When this second
train had shot past us, there again, to our astonishment, was Snap
galloping after it. He had not observed us, of course. We then walked on
some little way further along the tunnel, and in a minute another
up-train passed us, and there once more was the dog behind it.
"How ridiculous," I cried, "and yet how painful, to see the poor little
beast tearing to and fro for dear life in this way! He will surely be
run over before long."
But the reason was obvious: he could not keep up with the speed of the
train, and by the time it had distanced him, another probably passed in
the opposite direction, when, confused by the noise and turmoil, he
turned immediately and pursued that. It seemed to me simply marvellous
that he had escaped the wheels even so far in these agonizing efforts to
find me.
As the lights of the next engine came in view, I resolved to give the
last carriage just time to pass, and then to rush out, and, if possible,
to intercept my poor pet, for I expected him again to return with that.
I was not mistaken, and as I slipped from the man-hole in front of the
dog, the porter held his lantern so that its light fell full upon my
form. Snap instantly recognized, me, and with one bound and a breathless
yelp landed on my breast, and clasping me tightly round the neck with
his two fore-legs as if they had been the arms of a loving child, he
rubbed his wet nose excitedly against my face. Terrified well-nigh unto
death, gasping and exhausted, and all the time uttering a plaintive
little wail of delight, he lay almost motionless in this position for
several minutes, while his affectionate heart beat like a small
sledge-hammer against mine. This simple but intense demonstration of
canine devotion, in the gloomy depths of the under-ground, with only the
faint rays of the porter's lamp to illuminate the scene, was very
touching.
"You have got a noble little chap there, sir," said the man, as he led
the way cautiously back to the platform. "He was worth a bit of trouble
to find, and no mistake."
"Quite true, my friend," I answered, "and I'll take good care for the
future to pop him under my arm when I travel on the Metropolitan Railway
again."
"I reckon he won't give ye the chance, sir," said the man. "I know a bit
about dogs, and I shouldn't wonder if he fights shy of the stations
altogether after this."
The man was right, for never since that day have I been able to induce
Snap to come within yards of the head of the railway station stairs.
Coax and cajole him as I will, he always resists. He looks up at me with
such a pitiful expression, as much as to say, "Why, you wouldn't risk
losing me again, would you?" That I have at last conceded the point to
him you will readily understand, for I need hardly add that if I had a
strong regard for my dog before, it has grown into a real and strong
affection now.
[Illustration]
THE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD.
BY ELLA WHEELER.
Come, cuddle your head on my shoulder, dear--
Your head like the golden-rod--
And we will go sailing away from here
To the beautiful Land of Nod.
Away from life's worry and hurry and flurry,
Away from earth's shadows and gloom,
We will float off together to a world of fair weather,
Where blossoms are always in bloom.
Just shut up your eyes and fold your hands--
Your hands like the leaves of a rose--
And we will go sailing to those fair lands
That never an atlas shows.
On the north and west they are bounded by rest,
On the south and the east by dreams.
'Tis the country ideal where nothing is real,
But everything only _seems_.
Just drop down the curtain of your dear eyes--
Your eyes like the bright bluebell--
And we will sail out under star-lit skies
To the land where the fairies dwell.
Down the river of sleep our bark shall sweep
Till it reaches that magical isle
Which no man has seen, but where all have been,
And there we will pause awhile.
I will croon you a song as we float along
To that shore that is blessed of God.
Then, ho! for that fair land, we're off for that rare land,
The beautiful Land of Nod!
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
BEAUCLERC, FLORIDA.
I want to tell you about a visit to Mayport, at the mouth of the
St. John's River. My brother and I left here at two o'clock on a
hot day in July, on the steamer _Pastime_. Arriving at Jacksonville
at three, we had an hour to wait, but at four we stepped on board
the _Water Lily_, and were soon on our way. We sat on deck,
enjoying the sail. At half-past six we reached Mayport, where we
met mamma.
Early the next morning I took a dip in the river, as I have learned
to swim. It is easier to swim in salt-water than in fresh. The
ocean is only two miles from Mayport, and we picked up on the beach
quantities of sea-weed and shells. My brother found a beautiful
jelly-fish washed far up on the shore.
They are building a great jetty here, but it will not be done for
ten years. Immense granite blocks are brought from New York for the
purpose. There were several kinds, all glittering with streaks of
mica. When the jetty is finished it will be fourteen or fifteen
feet high, or above high-water mark. It will then be cemented all
over the top and sides. The channel is nearly in the middle, and
about two hundred yards wide. The intention is to confine the water
inside, and let it flow only through the channel. Mattresses of log
and brush are first sunk, and then stones are placed in layers on
top of them.
F. C. S.
The orange blossoms came safely. I fear the magnolia seeds of which you
speak in your postscript would not thrive and germinate in the cold
Northern climate. Your description of the jetty, or projecting pier,
which you saw building shows that you go about with your bright eyes
wide open.
* * * * *
TURIN, NEW YORK.
I do not now go to school, as it is vacation, but school commences
the 1st of September. I take music and painting lessons. I have
painted but one picture, as I have taken only a few lessons yet. I
went to Lyon's Falls yesterday. There was a large picnic there from
Utica. The falls are very pretty, and there is a story about them
that a long time ago an Indian was chasing a white man, and when
they came to the edge of the falls, or just above (there is just
above them quite a narrow place), the white man leaped over, but
the Indian did not dare to follow. I did not like the way "Toby
Tyler" ended, and I do not like the way "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" ends
either.
L. S. R.
P.S.--Will you please tell me what Wiggles mean?
Wiggles are lines forming portions of the _outlines_ of pictures. When a
new Wiggle is given, it is a line which forms part of the outline of a
picture already drawn by our artist. Those who try to solve the Wiggle
problem draw a picture containing this line. Sometimes a little girl or
boy happens to draw a picture which closely resembles the one which was
the artist's idea when he drew the Wiggle which all are attempting.
We must ask Mr. Otis to make his next story end so happily that you and
the other little women who complain of him will be pleased and
satisfied. But we think that both stories conclude in a very natural
way.
* * * * *
FITCHBURG, MASSACHUSETTS.
I am five years old. My birthday was the 28th of May. I live on a
farm in summer, and have nice times blueberrying and playing in the
sand-heap which is near the house. My sister picked two quarts of
berries the other day. My papa goes to Boston every morning, and
comes home at night. Wednesday nights he brings home YOUNG PEOPLE,
and I am very glad to see it. I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" very
much, and I think it was too bad the monkey ran away. My sister is
writing this for me, because I can only print. I have two sisters,
and they go to school a mile and a half from here. It is very dry
here, and a great many things are dying.
PHILIP SIDNEY W.
* * * * *
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
I have no pets to tell about, not even a kitty, for my mamma
dislikes both dogs and cats, and is afraid they may become mad, so
she will not let us have them in the house. I suppose she knows
best, because she is so much older and wiser than we children, but
we can't help feeling a little bit sorry. We once had a pretty
little yellow canary, but my uncle Horace took it to visit his
canary and to help it build a nest. His cross old bird pecked off
all our little pet's feathers, and it died. I suppose the old bird
was jealous because ours could sing so well, and just killed it as
Cain killed Abel. Though we have no birds or pets of any kind in
our house, I am glad there are plenty of animals in Lincoln Park,
and lots of birds there in the trees. Cruel boys sometimes frighten
these birds and rob their nests. Can anything be more wicked than
this conduct in boys? A great many sparrows make their home in some
Virginia creepers that cover the front of our house. On Sunday last
there was a great commotion in the vines, and we found after a
while that it came from some old sparrows which were trying to make
their young ones go out of the nest and earn their own living.
By-and-by the young sparrows fluttered out of the vines to some
trees near by, and then the noise stopped--and so must my writing,
or you will think my letter too long to print.
CECILIA A. B. M.
* * * * *
Such letters as the one which follows are received with peculiar
pleasure by the publishers of YOUNG PEOPLE:
OHIO STATE LIBRARY, COLUMBUS, OHIO.
Though HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is intended for that class of persons
only, yet I trust it will not be unseemly for one of "older growth"
to give expression to the entertainment and instruction derived
from its pages. My interest, from the issue of the first number,
continues as zealous as that of any boy or girl who anxiously
awaits the coming chapters of "Mr. Stubbs's Brother." Not only are
its serials intensely interesting, but each issue imparts also much
useful knowledge. No greater or better source of instruction and
amusement can be introduced in the family circle.
Wishing you continued success in this pioneer of children's
literature.
I remain very respectfully yours,
MARY C. HARBAUGH.
Assistant Librarian.
* * * * *
I want to tell you how much pleasure I get from your paper. I am
twelve years old, and live on a homestead. I have no brother nor
sister. I go two miles to Sunday-school, and papa teaches me at
home. I help papa on the claim, picket the stock and water them
twice a day, seven head of them. I shoot with a rifle or shot-gun,
and kill plenty of duck, but have not hit a wolf or antelope yet.
If the buffalo were as plenty as their bones are, I would have a
splendid time.
I like all the articles in our YOUNG PEOPLE, but don't know how to
wait for the continued stories. Sometimes I get more circus than
Toby Tyler does. I ride the old cow or an ox, have a dog that
understands a good deal of English, and like to work with my papa.
I will send agates or petrifactions, for 2 ounces of maple-seeds,
or beech-nuts, or basswood-seeds, or for 1 ounce of barberry-seeds.
Seeds to be sound, and fit for planting. I want a few pine-seeds,
for minerals.
I ought to say that my HARPER's is a Christmas present, and it
makes my Christmas last one year.
DANNIE D. SHARP.
Olivet, Hutchinson Co., Dakota.
* * * * *
OLNEY FARM, HARFORD COUNTY, MARYLAND.
I am a little boy ten years old. I have a very little pony, about
the size of a sheep, and it is perfectly white. I also have a
kitten and squirrels. I have three brothers, and this summer they
have all gone to Europe. My brother John has left me his pug Scamp
to take care of, and that brother has given me HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE for my Christmas gift ever since it began. I have been sick,
and I can hardly wait to hear the stories.
J. ALEXIS S.
* * * * *
ACTON, CANADA.
I am a little boy seven years old. I was born in New York State,
but we came to Canada to live four years ago. My papa is a
clergyman, and has a parish here in Acton, but when I get to be a
man I am going back to the States to live. I go to school. Please
don't give Toby a new hat; we like him just as he is best. My papa
says we would not know him with a new hat on. My brother Frank and
I have a pet dog and a rabbit. We went on a trip to a beautiful
lake last summer, and one day, when out in a boat fishing, my papa
saw a little black bear come down to the water to get a drink.
REGINALD P.
You see, dear, the artist thought just as you did, that Master Toby
Tyler was quite jolly enough in his old hat.
* * * * *
TORONTO, CANADA.
I am a boy ten years old. I like "Mr. Stubbs's Brother" very much.
I go to the Upper Canada College; I like it very much. We have five
horses; their names are Jumbo, Billy, his brother Jean, Ted, and
Duke, the largest and gentlest. When the driver goes into the
stall, Duke puts his head on his shoulder. If you give Jumbo an
orange, he will eat it. I like cricket and foot-ball best of all
the games. I am drilling at school; we have a sergeant to drill us.
I like boating and swimming; I can swim pretty well now. I think
fencing is splendid fun. We have a Zoo here. There is a man who
puts his head into the alligator's mouth. Then he goes into the
bear's and panther's cages. There is the largest Russian bear in
the world here. We had no sleighing here last winter, but I went up
to Owen Sound, and had some there in my Christmas holidays.
ARTHUR V.
* * * * *
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.
I am a little girl ten years old. On Friday last mamma, papa, and I
left, with some friends, on a trip to Mount Diablo. We started at
eleven o'clock in the morning. Part of the way we went in a
stage-coach, and had four horses. We went to a hotel that had been
shut up for a long time. There were beds, but no bedding. It was
after ten o'clock at night before we went to get dinner, and after
one before we got to bed. We took blankets, as we thought it would
be cold in the mountains, but, instead it was 110° in the shade. We
went to the very top of one of the highest mountains of California.
NANNIE D.
* * * * *
CLAREMONT, MINNESOTA.
I love to read HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, it is so interesting. I am
nine years old, and have been at school nine terms. I like to go to
school. We have a dog by the name of Watch, I have some doves, and
we have a cat. We have a great many flowers here. We have some up
at school. I like to pick flowers. Do any of the little girls ever
pick lady-slippers? They have a very pretty flower. I have a swing;
it goes up pretty high. I like to swing. My brother put the swing
up. My sister is my teacher this summer.
GERTRUDE L. G.
Take care not to swing too high, nor too long at a time. Lady-slippers
are pretty, and are prettily named, too.
* * * * *
C. Y. P. R. U.
WHAT TO READ.
DEAR POSTMISTRESS,--What books would you read if you were fourteen
years old, had never been away from home, and were very fond of
exciting novels?
JOHN C.
It is a great pity that you should have formed a taste for exciting
novels at fourteen, but if I were you, I would overcome it by reading
interesting and entertaining books which are true. Fact is often
stranger and more thrilling than fiction. As you have never been away
from home, why not take up books of travel? You can sit at ease in your
own room, or perched in a crotch of the apple-tree, or half hidden in a
heap of fragrant hay, and go with Miss Bird to Japan, with Arthur Arnold
to Persia, with Miss Cumming to the Feejee Islands, or with Du Chaillu
to the Land of the Midnight Sun. There is hardly an out-of-the-way
corner of our globe to which some brave traveller has not gone, and
while reading the story of adventure or peril which the traveller
relates, you will learn a great deal, and will cure yourself of a love
for that sort of reading which is a mere waste of time.
* * * * *