that all the boys and girls in the class in geography at the Putnamville
Academy were glad to hear Professor Hackleman talk about the Arctic
Ocean. It was cooling and comfortable to know about such a deal of snow
and ice. It was all the better, perhaps, to sit and hear about it with
all the windows open, and a lost bumble-bee buzzing around the ceiling.
Some of the boys and girls in that class were young ladies and young
gentlemen, and could sit still and be dignified without an effort--at
least so long as Professor Hackleman turned his eyes so fast along the
benches, and sent so many sudden questions flying here and there. More
than half, however, were somewhere about the age and size of Tinker
Bradley, and nobody had ever known him sit still so long as he did that
morning. His mouth was open, too, and that was almost proof that he was
thinking of something.
Perfectly still he kept until Professor Hackleman remarked, "The North
Pole, my young friends, is a place where winter remains the year round,
and where the ice and snow do not melt--not even in May."
Tinker Bradley's mouth shut like a steel-trap, but it opened again,
almost instantly, with, "I know where it is, then; I found it last
Saturday."
"Did you, indeed?"
"Yes, sir; there's three woodchuck holes on the side-hill."
"My young friend, if you have found the North Pole, and know where it
is, you know more than any other living man," said the Professor.
"Yes, sir," said Tinker Bradley.
That was not the first time by a good deal that the vast extent of his
knowledge had occurred to the mind of Tinker Bradley, and when, at the
noon recess, a dozen boys of his own size asked him questions about it,
he stoutly answered: "It's just what he said it was, and it's over in
the hemlock woods north of our pasture lot. If you don't believe it,
I'll go and show you right away after school. Show you three of the
biggest woodchuck holes you ever saw, too, and a crow's nest, and a
place where there's going to be cords of raspberries."
It was enough to spoil school for all of them on so hot an afternoon as
that, and they were hardly let loose at three o'clock before there was a
small army, with Tinker Bradley at its head, marching straight away
across the green.
On they went, over the bridge and up the hill, and they were all puffing
and nearly out of breath when they reached the bars that let down into
Mr. Bradley's pasture lot.
"Now, boys," said their leader, "if we come across the brindle cow,
don't you say a word to her. She's got a calf, and she gets mad the
easiest you ever saw."
Each one of them made up his mind to let the brindled cow alone; and all
would have been well if it had not been for Soddy Corcoran's dog.
They came across the cow, indeed, and her calf was with her; but they
made a great bend to the left, and would have been safe if the dog had
made the bend when they did. They had hardly noticed that he was with
them, he was so very small, until Tinker Bradley shouted, "Soddy! Soddy
Corcoran! there goes your dog--right straight for the cow!"
"Ape! Ape! April! coom here wid ye. She'll be the death of ye, sure."
"April? Did you name him--"
"That isn't the whole of it. I've only had him six weeks. Wait till you
hear him bark. Hark to that now!"
It was not a bark; it was a growl. The little, grisly, wiry, bow-legged
mite of a quadruped was almost hidden by the tuft of grass he was
sitting in; but a bush twenty feet high could not have hidden that
growl, or the short, hoarse, gruff, threatening bark which followed it.
It was no wonder the brindled cow stopped feeding, and began to look
around her.
"Did your dog growl that growl?" asked Tinker Bradley.
"'Dade an' he did."
"There isn't room in him for such a growl as that and such a bark. The
cow can't find him."
"No more there is. When I got him I thought it was a bad cold he had,
an' it wud lave him wid warrum weather, but he's only worse. He's an
April-fool of a dog, and that's his whole name."
Again and again all that big sound was thrown at the head of the
brindled cow, and she knew it came from somewhere in the grass. She saw
the wiry-haired bit of a quadruped, of course, but she was an old
experienced cow, knowing all about dogs, and she knew the bark could
not come from him.
Those boys! She knew a good deal about boys, and she had never before
seen so many at once in that pasture lot. Her calf could be left alone
for a moment, with nothing to hurt him but a tuft of yellow hair in a
bunch of grass. She herself went at once after that Polar Expedition.
It was already running, every boy of it, as fast as its many short legs
could carry it, and the cow had no idea how triumphantly Soddy
Corcoran's dog was galloping over the grass behind her. He had no doubt
whatever but what he had scared the calf's mother, and was chasing her.
The boys made for the north fence, because it was nearest, but not all
of them would have reached it in time if the cow had not hesitated for a
moment just as she got almost among them. She stopped in her tracks,
with her head down, and right behind her, almost under her heels, again
arose that awful growl and the short hoarse bark. There was no room in
that dog for a longer bark of that thickness, but it made the angry cow
wheel to look for it.
"Woof! Ur-r-r-r-r! Woof!"
Right at her heels all the time, and nothing to be seen, however fast
she might wheel, for Soddy Corcoran's dog was determined to sit in a
safe spot, and the cow, after all, might have looked for half an hour
without hitting so small a mark.
"Ape! Ape! Sure an' ye've fooled her enough for wanst. Coom along, now."
He might not have obeyed, but the cow either thought of her calf just
then, or was frightened at having so near her what seemed to be a bark
without a body, for she suddenly ceased wheeling after it, and galloped
back across the pasture lot.
"Now, Tink, where's your North Pole?"
Three or four boys asked that question, one after another, but Tinker
Bradley stoutly replied: "Come right along. We're in the woods now. It's
only a little ways further. There's the first woodchuck hole."
There it was, sure enough, and the moment the boys saw it they began to
have more confidence, for the cow had chased some of that out of them.
In less than five minutes Tinker said, "There's the second woodchuck
hole. Maybe you'll begin to believe what I told you."
Some of them would indeed have been nearly ready to look around for
poles of some kind, but then the _north_ pole--that was another thing.
The hill-side grew steeper and steeper, with great rocks and bowlders
showing here and there among the hemlocks; and now Tinker Bradley
shouted: "There's the third woodchuck hole! What do you think of that?"
They had never seen any hole in the ground made by any woodchuck that
yawned upon them with so very wide a mouth, and it almost seemed as if
the weather must be growing cooler. Still, nobody had ever heard of
polar bears' being found in Bradley's woods.
"Here we are. I'll show you."
"Why, Tink, it's the Gulch."
"Come right along. Follow me."
So they did, and the whole procession disappeared, to its last boy,
between the jaws of that deep, jagged, gloomy ravine. That is, it would
have been gloomy if everything around it had not been so green, and if
it had been evening instead of afternoon.
Away up to within twenty or thirty rods of the upper end of the Gulch,
and then Tinker Bradley halted, with just enough of breath left to
shout: "There it is! Didn't I tell you?"
Straight before them, as they turned their eyes to the right, where he
pointed, was a great wide fissure, cloven in the rock. Above, it was
almost closed over by a leaning crag, and the upper edges, sixty feet
from the bottom, were thickly lined with hemlocks and cedar bushes.
Nobody could guess how deep it went in, for it was packed full half way
up with what was as nearly like ice as anything they had ever seen. No
sunshine could reach it. The rocks and trees protected it. It was a
great natural ice-house, and was doing its duty capitally.
"That ain't the North Pole."
"Then Professor Hackleman don't know, that's all. He said it was a place
where the snow and ice didn't melt in May."
"Woof! Ur-r-r-r-r! Woof!"
Soddy Corcoran's dog was with his master again, and had seated himself
in the shadow of a big stone to give his opinion of Tinker Bradley's
discovery.
"You're right, me boy!" exclaimed Soddy. "That's one April-fool, and
you're another."
"Isn't it all there--the ice and the snow? And didn't I show you the
three woodchuck holes?"
"'Dade an' you did. It's worth comin' to see any day."
They each broke off a big piece of the North Pole to show to Professor
Hackleman. That is, they all started for the lower end of the pasture
lot, away below the cow, carrying as large a fragment of ice to each boy
as he thought he could get home with. Every piece had to be broken
smaller before they reached the bars, however, and by the time they got
home they all knew that if the North Pole is to stay frozen, it must be
left where it is, especially in May, for their share of it had melted.
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 80, May 10.]
SUSIE KINGMAN'S DECISION.
BY KATE R. McDOWELL.
CHAPTER III.
[Illustration: ELECTING THE MAY-QUEEN.]
There was about five minutes of quiet, only broken by the scratch of
pens, and then Mr. Gorham went round and collected the papers.
Susie's face was very bright. Florence saw it, and bent her own still
lower, saying, inwardly: "No wonder she's happy, knowing that she'll
have every vote except the one she has written for me. If uncle could
only understand how hard it is for me to make friends, and how--"
But all thoughts were interrupted by Mr. Gorham's rising from his seat.
His face bore a surprised expression, and he looked again at his paper
to assure himself no mistake had been made.
"Oh," groaned Florence, "he thinks it strange that out of the _forty_, I
should have only _one_! If uncle wouldn't keep nodding to me!" But there
the Squire sat, gently hitting the floor with his cane, and looking one
moment at Mr. Gorham, and the next at his niece, with a most-hopeful
expression.
At length there was perfect silence in the room. The Squire had stopped
tapping with his cane, and now held it firmly down with both hands on
the heavy gold top, with his face turned toward the teacher's desk.
"I find," announced Mr. Gorham, "on counting the votes"--every ear was
strained to catch the result--"that Miss Florence has twenty-eight, and
Miss Susie twelve. Therefore Miss Florence will be our Queen." And he
turned to the astounded girl with a cordial word of congratulation.
The Squire nodded more vigorously than ever, and pounded away in a
regardless manner with his cane, but nobody heard it in the general
uproar. Some were clapping their hands, others had flocked to Florence's
seat, and were congratulating her. The young girl's face was radiant
with delight, and Susie's quite as much so.
"You bear defeat bravely," said Mr. Gorham, in his kindest tone, to
Susie. "The Squire is asking to see you."
"Ah," said the Squire, as Susie came forward, "we can't all win, you
know, my dear. I hope you don't bear Florence any ill-will?"
"Far from it," answered Susie, earnestly. "I wouldn't have it
otherwise." And she sent a loving glance toward Florence, which was as
quickly returned.
Squire Tracy motioned to Mr. Gorham, and they both stepped aside, and
after a few moments of subdued conversation the latter came forward and
rang the bell.
"Squire Tracy," said he, "has kindly offered his grounds for the May
party, so our fête will be held at Maplewood instead of the grove."
At this announcement the buzzing was louder than ever.
"Fifty times better than those old picnic grounds, where we've been all
our lives," said Josie.
"I've always been wild to get in Squire Tracy's grounds," put in Stella,
longingly.
"Oh, they're grand," said Sadie. "They have four gardeners all the year
round. I went once with papa when he was attending the Squire. That's
the advantage, girls, of having one's father a doctor." And she threw
back her head playfully.
"Or a minister," added Susie, "for I've been two or three times with
papa."
Both speakers were immediately beset with questions regarding the beauty
of the Squire's surroundings, and nothing else was talked about all the
way home.
"Well, I got my reward pretty soon," thought Susie, as she waved her
school satchel to Baby, who was throwing kisses from the nursery window;
"for I should enjoy a day at Squire Tracy's more than anything I can
think of, and I shall never forget Florence's expression when Mr. Gorham
announced the good news. I never felt so like crying, but I kept back
the tears for fear Florence would think I was terribly disappointed."
And what were Florence's thoughts at the same moment?
"To think the girls really like me!" as she passed up the broad and
softly carpeted staircase; "and Mr. Gorham, too, seemed so pleased! Oh,
_how_ I shall study now! And to think uncle really patted me on the
head, and said, 'I'm delighted with you, my child!' That was the best of
all. What _will_ Bessie say when she hears it? I must begin a letter to
her this very moment," and the happy girl hummed a lively air as she
opened her portfolio. "There! I hope uncle didn't hear me." Then opening
a letter: "I must read again just what he wrote to Aunt Rebecca, and
keep it constantly in mind: 'If Florence comes to live with me, she must
be studious and quiet, for I have lived so long alone that I can not
bear the thought of a romping girl setting things topsy-turvy.' Well,
I've been that to the very letter, 'studious and quiet,' but I feel
to-day like opening the piano, and pounding away on it every college
song Ray ever sang for us; but no, 'studious and quiet,' 'studious and
quiet,'" and her pen ran noiselessly over the sheet before her as she
wrote the following letter:
"MY DEAREST SISTER,--I have time for a few words before dinner, and
I never wrote you in so happy a frame of mind. You know I told you
how all the girls disliked me, and that I didn't feel any more
acquainted with them than I did the first day. Well, I made a
mistake, for _twenty-eight_ out of the _forty_ voted for me to be
Queen of the May. And my opponent was Susie Kingman, the one I
wrote you all the girls were crazy over, and who reminded me of you
more than any one I ever saw. It seems even now as though there
must be some mistake; but no, I remember how cordial the girls
were, and that they didn't seem particularly surprised when Mr.
Gorham read the result. But, Bessie, the best thing of all was that
_uncle was there_! When he came into the room, I trembled from head
to foot, for I only expected one vote. Dear me! the tears are
falling all over this, but they are joyful ones. Well, uncle was
delighted, called me 'My child,' and talked to me about school in
the kindest manner all the way home--talked more in that quarter of
an hour than all the rest of the time I've been here. Bessie
darling, this is what I've prayed for--that uncle would care for me
if only a very little, for it is dreadful to be in the house with
mamma's own brother and have him take no notice of me, except by
giving me money and presents; but that 'My child' was worth them
all. The bell is ringing for dinner. I haven't told you half how
happy I am. Uncle has offered his grounds for the affair, which
comes off the last day of school. Will wonders never cease? Your
ever loving
"FLO."
Ah! if Susie could have seen that tear-blotted letter that was kissed
and cried over by the little absent sister, she might well have said, "I
have my reward already."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
PINAFORE RHYMES.--(_Continued._)
[Illustration]
As I walked on the beach at sunset
A ship sailed over the bay;
And a little girl with a poodle
Was on the sands at play;
But when I came back an hour later
They all had gone away.
* * * * *
My beautiful ball has gone down in the hole,
And lies there in the cellar amongst the coal;
We shall never be able to fish it out,
And the rats and the mice they will roll it about.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Little Annie,
Little Fannie,
Dance a charming minuet,
Make a cunning little set,
While their little sister plays,
And the dolls' admiring gaze.
They go tripping to and fro,
Till their blood is in a glow,
Turning round and round about,
That is lots of fun no doubt
Both for Annie
And for Fannie.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Why, what has my pretty one found--
An old shoe lying there on the ground?
And what does she think she will do
With such an old castaway shoe?
It is in such a terrible plight,
The cobbler would laugh at the sight.
To drop it's the best one can do
With such an old castaway shoe.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
What is the matter with greedy Jim,
That he should blubber and roar?
Because he has eaten a peck of plums.
And can not eat any more.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
HELENA, ARKANSAS.
My uncle takes YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I am very much interested
in it.
Last summer mamma and I went to Grand Isle, in the Gulf of Mexico,
where we had fine sailing, fishing, and plenty of shrimps, oysters,
and crabs. We sailed over to the place where it is said that
Lafitte, the pirate, used to keep his treasures. It is a beautiful
spot, with groves of oranges, beautiful oleanders, and quantities
of grapes and melons. I like the bathing, and I gathered beautiful
shells and gulls' eggs. I like Louisiana better than Arkansas,
because there we have sea-bathing, and lots of sugar-cane and
oranges.
My brother is breaking a pony for me to ride, and I have another
brother in Europe. He is a midshipman, and he sends me beautiful
things, and writes to me about the pictures and palaces and ruins.
His last letter was from Rome.
I am ten years old, and until this spring mamma taught me at home.
Now I go to school, and my sister gives me music lessons, and mamma
teaches me French.
OLIVE H. O.
* * * * *
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA.
I am twelve years old, and can not walk. I have been in bed for
nine months with inflammatory rheumatism. A great many pleasures
come to me, though, and one is YOUNG PEOPLE. Papa has bought us
every number published; and through all my sickness I have read it,
or had it read to me by mamma. I read all the letters carefully,
with much interest, and sometimes I hear of a little boy or girl
afflicted as I am. I assure you I know how to sympathize with them.
Mamma is writing this for me, as I have very little use of my
hands.
I have ten chickens. They are all named. A yellow one I call
Coachie; she comes into my room every morning and lays an egg
behind the coal-box. I can tell which hen lays every egg; then we
write the name on the egg, and date it. Last week papa took an old
rocking-chair and put wheels on it, and now every day I can be
taken to the back door and see all my chickens fed. I enjoy it,
after being in one room for so long. My papa used to be a doctor,
and he says when I get stronger I will be able to walk again. I
have two sisters older than I am, but no brothers.
A. MAUDE N.
* * * * *
WAKENBY, KANSAS.
I think I have the earliest chickens. We have twelve that were
hatched on March 4. We call them our inaugural chickens.
My auntie, who lives near, has two beautiful tame antelopes. We
have lots of fun playing with them.
We have been gathering wild flowers here ever since the middle of
March, and to look out on the prairie now is just beautiful.
JENNIE MAY M.
* * * * *
WEST CHESTER, NEW YORK.
Now that summer is near, I thought that some of the readers of
YOUNG PEOPLE would like to know a way to dry plants. The plants to
be preserved should be gathered when the weather is dry. The end of
the stem only should be placed in water for a single day. Then
arrange the plant between several leaves of stout blotting-paper,
and pass gently over it a large flat-iron, slightly heated, until
the moisture is gone. This will fix the color of the plant.
Succulent thick-leaved plants require more heat than others.
These preserved specimens should always be kept in a dry place, as
dampness destroys them at once. They should be neatly mounted on a
card, or on the leaves of a herbarium.
W. E. B.
* * * * *
MASON VALLEY, NEVADA.
I like YOUNG PEOPLE so much, and the little letters are so nice! I
have not seen any from this place, and my sister says she does not
believe they are real letters, but I think they are.
We live twenty-five miles from the Piute Indian Reservation at
Walker Lake. There are a great many Indians here, and they work for
the white people. I am nine years old.
ROSA BELLE B.
* * * * *
CLYDE, IOWA.
I felt so sorry for Phil, in the story of "Phil's Fairies," for I
am a cripple too. I am not so bad as he was, because I can walk. I
think he had a nice time when the fairies came to see him. I wish
they would come to see me. Can anyone tell me how to make a harp
like Phil's? My sister says it is called an Æolian harp.
CARRIE M. K.
Directions for making an Æolian harp were given on page 310 of HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE, Vol. I.
* * * * *
SPRINGFIELD, MASSACHUSETTS.
I am going to tell YOUNG PEOPLE about our parrot. She acts as
though she knew as much as any one. She will whistle, and call the
dog, and will sing and cry, and call all the children by their
names. One time we lived near a lady who had a little boy named
Georgie. He used to run away a good deal, and his mother would go
out and call him. In a little while Polly would call Georgie, and
it sounded just as if the lady was calling. Polly plays out in the
grass with us when we play tag, and enjoys it as well as we do. She
will run after us, and halloo and scream. If any one happens to
cough, Polly will cough and cough as if she had a bad cold.
When I went away last summer, mamma said that Polly went up stairs
and all around, calling and looking for me, and when I got home she
followed me everywhere, out to the gate, and even on to the
sidewalk. Every morning when I come down stairs she says, "Halloo."
She came from Australia, and is about twenty-five years old. She is
green, and has yellow on the top of her head. If anything should
happen to her, I should feel as bad as Toby Tyler did when Mr.
Stubbs was killed.
K. L. H.
* * * * *
ELIZABETH, NEW JERSEY.
I think I am right in guessing that the pet of Iris and Myrtle
Brockway is a piano.
We, too, have a pet in our house. It is often quite musical, and
always a great joy. It is our new little sister Maggie.
NELLIE P. H.
* * * * *
STANSTEAD, CANADA.
I was seven years old in April, and mamma gave me the bound volume
of YOUNG PEOPLE for my birthday present. I like "Toby Tyler" very
much, but I think it was real mean to make Mr. Stubbs die. I have
named my new little kitty Toby. I live one hundred miles from
Montreal. We make lots of maple sugar here.
CHARLIE W. H.
* * * * *
ROCK ISLAND ARSENAL, ILLINOIS.
I have had so many applications for my stamps that I know how to
sympathize with Percy McDermott, I have received over sixty
letters, and I only had stamps enough to exchange with eight or
ten. I have increased my collection considerably by the exchange,
but my stamps are exhausted now. Still the letters keep coming, but
I beg correspondents not to write any more.
CLEM FLAGLER.
* * * * *
HAMPTON COUNTY, SOUTH CAROLINA.
I want to tell YOUNG PEOPLE about our Newfoundland dog. Our aunt
sent it to us from Columbia, 160 miles, by express. It is named
Bruin, because it looks like a huge black bear. It is such a smart
dog. When it hears a certain hymn sung, it comes in, lays its head
on papa's shoulder, and howls. It won't howl for any other tune.
One day mamma told the cook she wanted some eggs, and Bruin trotted
off and brought one in its mouth from the nest without breaking it.
It always brings us something, if only a pine burr, when we come
home. I take YOUNG PEOPLE, and like it very much. We live near the
coast in South Carolina, and we go fishing in a river near us
called Coosawhatchie. A great many places here have Indian names. I
have one sister, and no brothers. I am nearly ten years old.
JAMES TILLINGHAST M.
* * * * *
MILKS CITY, MONTANA TERRITORY.
I thought I would write and let YOUNG PEOPLE know that somebody is
living away out here. We are only two miles from Fort Keogh, which
is a very pretty post. There are lots of Indians camping around.
They are Sioux and Cheyennes. They come to town every day, painted
up in all colors, to sell their bows and arrows. There are about
five thousand in all.
We have twenty-eight cows, and almost all of them have calves. Two
of the calves are great pets. One is a little spotted fellow, and
we named it Tulip. Then we have two buffaloes and seventy-five
chickens.
FLORA C. B.
* * * * *
OMAHA, NEBRASKA.