(marked on the map as the Ural Mountains), where we had to get out and
walk whenever we went up hill, and to hold tight to the sides of our
wagon, for fear of being thrown out and smashed, whenever we went down
hill. Then we got out on the great plains, where we came upon a
post-house of dried mud (the only house there was) once in three or four
hours; and here we used to change horses by sending out a Cossack with
his lasso to see if he could catch any running loose on the prairie; for
there are no stables in that country.
Next came a sand desert, where we harnessed three camels to our wagon
instead of horses. Here the people lived in tents instead of mud houses,
while a hot wind blew all day, and a cold wind all night. One fine
evening we had a sand-storm, which almost buried us, wagon and all; and
the sand stuck so to my Tartar's yellow face that he looked just like a
peppered omelet.
After this came a "rolling prairie," where the people lived in holes
under the ground, popping up like rabbits every now and then as we
passed. Beyond it was a large fresh-water lake (called by the Russians
"Aralskoë Moré," or Sea of Aral), where the mosquitoes fell upon us in
good earnest. Here we were both boxed up in a mud fort for seven weeks
by a Cossack captain, on suspicion of being spies, like Joseph's
brethren. When we got out again, we had to go up a great river (called
the Syr-Daria, or _Clear_ Stream, though it was the dirtiest I ever
saw), fringed with thickets, and huge reeds taller than a man, where the
mosquitoes were doubled, and we had the chance of meeting a tiger or two
as well. Then came some more deserts, and then some more mountains; and
so at last we got to the capital of the country--a big mud-walled town
called Tashkent, or Stone Village--I suppose because there is not a
single stone within twenty miles of it.
All this while, Murad (for so my Tartar was named) had been like a man
of stone. He never complained; he never smiled; he never got angry. When
our food and water ran out; when the sand-flies and mosquitoes bit us
all over; when we lost our way on the prairie at midnight in a pouring
rain; when the jolting of our wagon bumped us about till we were all
bruises from head to foot; when we had to sit for hours upon a sand-heap
waiting for horses, with the sun toasting us black all the time; when
our wheels came off, or our camels ran away--honest Murad's heavy,
mustard-colored face never changed a whit. At every fresh mishap he only
shrugged his shoulders, saying, "It is my _kismet_" (fate); and when he
had said that, he seemed quite satisfied. I never even saw him laugh but
_once_. That once, however, I had good reason to remember; and this was
how it happened.
On getting to Tashkent we took up our quarters at a native hotel
(_caravanserai_ they call it there), where we were kindly allowed a
stone floor to sleep on, provided we brought our own beds and our own
food along with us. However, we were pretty well used to that sort of
thing by this time; so I got out my camp-kettle, and proceeded to make
tea, while Murad, like Mother Hubbard in the song,
"Went to the baker's to buy him some bread."
By this time our daily mess of food had become a _mess_ in every sense.
Bumped and jolted about as we had been, it was no uncommon thing for me
to find my bottle of cold tea standing on its head with the cork out, my
soda powders fraternizing with the salt and pepper, and my brown loaf
taking a bath in the contents of a broken ink-bottle, the splinters of
which would be acting as seasoning to the mashed remains of a Bologna
sausage. I was not surprised, therefore, to discover a piece of
chocolate half buried in my last packet of tea, and by way of experiment
I decided to boil the two together, and try how they agreed.
But apparently they didn't agree at all, for I had hardly taken a sip of
my first tumbler[1] when I became aware of the most horrible and
astounding taste imaginable, as if a whole apothecary's shop had been
boiled down into that one glass. The second tumbler was, if possible,
even worse than the first; but this time I noticed a white froth on the
top, such as I had never seen upon any tea before. A frightful suspicion
suddenly occurred to me. I emptied out my camp-kettle, and
discovered--with what emotion I need not say--that the supposed
chocolate was nothing less than a piece of brown _soap_!
Just at that eventful moment in came my Tartar. One glance at the soap,
my distorted visage, and the froth in the glass, told him the whole
story; and the effect was magical. To throw himself on the floor, to
kick up his heels in a kind of convulsive ecstasy, to burst into a
succession of shrill, crowing screams, like a pleased baby, was the work
of a moment; and he kept on kicking and crowing, till, provoked as I
was, I could not help laughing along with him. Then he suddenly sprang
up and stood before me with his usual solemn face, as if it were
somebody else who had been doing all this, and _he_ were utterly shocked
at him. But he never afterward alluded to the occurrence, nor did I ever
again see him laugh, or even smile.
FOOTNOTES:
1 The Russians drink tea in tumblers, with lemon-juice instead of milk.
[Begun in No. 17 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, February 24.]
BIDDY O'DOLAN.
BY MRS. ZADEL B. GUSTAFSON.
CHAPTER IV.
Little Katy Kegan had the blackest hair and eyes you ever saw, and she
was very pretty, with color like the cream and red of the lady-apples
packed in tempting pyramids in the fruit stalls. She was the kind of
girl who keeps you always expecting, without your knowing what it is you
expect. Katy was very bright, quick as a dart in her motions, but as
rough and sharp as a prickly-brier if things didn't go to suit her. She
had all the bad habits which friendless little children learn from
living on the streets, with no one to care what they do or how they
feel. She was saucy and bold, and used very bad words, and thought it
smart to steal fruit and pea-nuts when she could; and she would tell a
lie about her thefts, or indeed about anything else, as glibly as a toad
swallows a fly. If you ever saw that done, you know that it is pretty
swiftly done; and just as a toad, when it has swallowed a fly, looks as
if it had never so much as heard of such an insect, so Katy, when she
told a lie, would look straight at you, and smile with an air of such
innocence that you would find it hard to not believe her. These sad
faults were Katy's misfortunes. She did not know how wrong they were.
But you can see, if you think a moment, that such habits would be a
great trouble in the way of her finding a home, because good people
would not like to take a little child with such naughty ways into their
homes, to be with their own dear children. Still, Katy's pretty face and
bright mind, and the love she was so quick to give to any one who was
kind to her, made people feel like trying to see what they could do for
her.
Three times Mr. Kennedy placed Katy in good homes, in the care of noble
people, who wished to help him in such work. In each instance Katy had
been loved, because she was so bright and sweet and lovable when she
felt like being so; but her sudden fits of anger, and the strange and
naughty things she would say and do, made her new friends feel anxious
and troubled. Yet Katy had never been sent away from these homes.
Perhaps she might have been, but she never waited for that; she ran away
of her own accord each time, without saying a word about it, and nothing
that Biddy or Mr. Kennedy could say could make Katy agree to go back
when once she had run away.
One day Miss Kennedy, who had thought a great deal about this willful
child, said to her brother, "Don't be discouraged about Katy; you and
Biddy will save the dear little thing yet."
"But I do feel a little discouraged," said Mr. Kennedy. "You see, she is
so uncertain; she's tricky as a kitten, and you can never tell what
she'll be at next. If the trouble only all came to us, you know, we
would be glad to bear it, for there is something very dear about little
Katy that pays for care and bother. But how can I go on asking our
friends to put up with such a little harum-scarum? And she _will_ take
things that don't belong to her, and she will deny it. I really don't
know what to do."
Biddy sat sewing, but she listened, and looked very earnest. Miss
Kennedy smiled.
"I've thought of something, Phil," said she. "I think we have been
making a mistake all along in fixing things too easy and pleasant for
Katy. I think she needs to have a weight put on her."
"A weight? How do you mean?"
"Well, I mean this. Katy is very loving, and she is more full of active,
bounding life than any one I ever saw. I don't think she wants to have
things done for her; I think she wants to do things herself. I think she
needs to feel that some one, in some real plain way, depends on her,
needs her, so that she can not do without her. I have seen feelings in
Katy that make me think a weight of this kind would hold her."
Mr. Kennedy looked pleased, and sat some moments thinking. Then he
asked: "Well, sister, how will you find such a weight for Katy? I
wouldn't like to have her bright wings too closely clipped."
"I've thought of that, Phil, and I've thought it would be well to let
Biddy--Katy loves Biddy with all her warm little heart--to let Biddy
coax her to go to Mrs. Raynor."
"Mrs. Raynor!" cried Phil.
"I know you are thinking of such a madcap as Katy in Jenny Baynor's
sick-room. But that is just my reason. I've talked with Mrs. Raynor, and
she is quite willing to try Katy, if we can only get her there to be
tried. If there's any one in this world who can tame Katy's wild humors
and turn them to good uses, it is Mrs. Raynor. And Jenny needs some one
to care for her all the time. Katy can not help loving them, and between
them I think they will find a way to hold Katy till she grows to see
what a little girl's life means."
The very next day Biddy went out to look for wayward Katy, for it was
Katy's having run away again from her third home which had led to this
talk between Mr. Kennedy and his sister. Biddy found Katy sitting on
some steps on Fulton Street, eating pea-nuts, and tossing up the shells.
She looked so happy that Biddy felt a new wonder about her. She
remembered how she had longed for a home, and here was Katy liking
nothing so well as to run about the streets, and seeming to think home
was a great bother. Suddenly a thought came to Biddy, and made her say,
quickly, as she reached Katy, "Oh, Katy, did you ever have a doll?"
"Hallo! that you?" said Katy. "Want some pea-nuts? No, I never had no
dawl--don't want no dawl--seen lots of 'em--think they're silly. Dawls
is only pretendin'--Hallo! catch 'em;" and she tossed a handful of
pea-nuts to Biddy.
[Illustration: "BIDDY SAT DOWN ON THE STEPS BY KATY."]
Biddy sat down on the steps by Katy, and told her as kindly as she could
that she wanted her to try once more to like a good home. She held a bit
of Katy's skirt in her hand, for fear Katy would run; but she did not
think Katy knew she had hold of her dress, till Katy said, "No need to
hold on to me--ain't goin' to run."
"Oh, Katy, what have you done with your pretty shoes?" exclaimed Biddy.
"Guv 'em to gal 'at wanted 'em--likes to go barefoot," said Katy,
promptly; then she turned her black eyes on Biddy with a queer, sharp
look, and said, "Needn't ask no more queshshuns--sha'n't answer."
After a little more talk, in which Katy insisted that she didn't think
she could stay in a home, though she was willin' to try, 'cause she
liked to see insides of houses, they started off together.
The Raynors lived in a larger and more beautiful house than the
Kennedys, and a well-behaved maid showed the children into a room which
was so dark that Biddy and Katy could hardly see anything at first.
Biddy felt Katy twitch at her hand as if she would dart off and rush out
into the merry sunlight again. All the way up stairs Katy had been
making droll faces at the maid, who went on before them, and mimicking
her walk in the funniest manner. Biddy had not seemed to notice, though
she had found it hard not to laugh right out at Katy's mischief. Now
Biddy held fast to the little hand that wriggled in hers, and as their
eyes grew used to the dimness, they saw a large bed with folds of lace
hanging around, but drawn away at the sides, and in this bed lay the
whitest little girl they had ever seen, with soft eyes looking at them
kindly, and close to them was a tall, handsome lady. But what ailed
Biddy?
She looked at the white-faced child in the bed, and she looked at the
lady. A flush came in Biddy's cheek, and her eyes opened so wide they
were almost as round as marbles. It was the most puzzled little face
Mrs. Raynor had ever seen.
"I expected you, and I'm very glad to see you," said she.
In an instant Biddy turned and threw her arms around Katy, who stared,
and looked as if she would "cut," as she called it when she ran away.
"Oh, Katy! Katy!" said Biddy, with a queer little quick shake in her
voice, "it's the hospital lady, and the hospital little girl that gave
me the flowers!" Jenny Raynor's eyes were getting to be as round as
Biddy's had been. "Oh, don't you remember the little bit of a girl that
was run over, and lay in the hospital on Christmas-day, ever and ever so
long ago?" cried Biddy.
Biddy stopped, as had always been her way when feeling became very
strong. Mrs. Raynor made her sit down by the bed, and then put out her
hand to Katy, who stood so still in the centre of the room. All the
bright color had gone out of Katy's cheeks, so that her black eyes
looked darker than ever. She staid just where she was, she put her hands
down in her apron pockets, raising her small shoulders in doing so. She
was the picture of a little elf that might vanish if any one stirred.
She looked at Biddy, and said, "Is that gal in the bed the hospital gal
what guv ye the flowers?"
Biddy said, "Yes."
"What's matter of 'er?"
"She has been sick a long time," said Mrs. Raynor.
"Stay in bed all time?" asked Katy, still looking at Biddy.
"Oh yes; I shall never get up any more," said Jenny Raynor. "Will you
come up here, close to me, little girl?" Katy came forward a little.
"Miss Kennedy says you like to run about a great deal," said Jenny; "I
used to like that very much."
Katy came close to the bed. She took her hands out of her pockets; they
were full of pea-nuts. She laid them on the bed, and nodded to Biddy.
"I'll stay here," said she.
And Katy Kegan kept her word. She didn't get over her faults right off.
She had a hard fight with them; but for the first time in her life she
tried hard to get rid of them, and soon showed she had great strength to
do what she had made up her mind to do.
But Miss Kennedy was right. All Katy had needed was to _be needed_. This
was her "weight."
She was the very best thing that could have been brought into Jenny
Raynor's sad and shut-up life. Jenny was a good little girl, but no
little child can be easily content and cheerful who can not go out into
the sunlight, and enjoy the sweet full life of the birds and flowers,
and the merry games with other little girls and boys. It is very hard
for a child to lie always in bed, and be shut out from all other
children's lives. Now Katy Kegan was so wild, so merry, so constantly
full and running over with bright ideas of how to get fun out of
everything and anything, that she was a whole play-ground in her one
little self; and she brought all this life into the room where Jenny
lay, and made a new world for Jenny there. Katy was as good as a
theatre, for she imitated people, and did it quite wonderfully, so that
Jenny could tell just whom she meant; that is, if she had ever seen the
person Katy was taking off. And Katy would show her all that she had
seen or noticed on the street, in just this way by imitating, so that
Jenny seemed almost to make new acquaintances with people whom she had
never really seen, by means of Katy's droll mimicry. When Katy saw how
all her pranks and fun made Jenny laugh and look so pleased, she took
good care to find out some fresh thing to amuse her with whenever she
went out.
When Jenny Raynor gave the flowers to poor Biddy in the hospital so long
ago, she could not know that the little kindness would come back to her
a thousandfold through another little girl whom she had then never seen
at all.
Least of all would you imagine that an old broken-armed doll fished out
of an ash-can could be the means of doing so much good, and leading to
so much happiness in so many lives. For the good that began in these
little things goes on, and may reach into countless lives in time to
come. Nothing stops, and nothing stands quite apart by itself from other
things. You will find this out, and think of it more and more, as you
grow older. As for Biddy O'Dolan, she is quite a young woman now. Of
course she does not play with her doll any more. But she keeps it. No
money could buy it, with that little wooden arm on it which Charley
made. She calls it her first friend, and I think it was a very good
friend, don't you?
THE END.
[Illustration]
ALICE'S QUESTION.
Softly, gently upward
A strain from the organ floats,
And the children at play in the nursery
Listen awhile to the notes,
Stop, and are silent a moment--
They are almost tired of play,
And the shadows of evening are falling,
Making twilight out of the day.
Then down the broad old staircase
Comes the patter of little feet,
And in through the open doorway,
Drawn by the sounds so sweet.
Then close to the organ stealing,
With awe-struck eyes they gaze
At the player, and listen mutely
To the deep clear notes of praise.
Then drawing nearer and nearer,
Made bold by the twilight gray,
Little Alice looks up, and whispers,
"Did God teach you how to play?"
THE CARE OF PARROTS.
Parrots are among the most intelligent of household pets, and much
attention should be bestowed upon them. So large a bird suffers if kept
constantly confined in a cage, but a parrot is so destructive that it is
impossible to allow it the liberty of a house, as chairs, carpets, in
short, every article of furniture, will soon show the marks of its
strong beak. If there is a garden, the parrot should be given a daily
promenade during warm weather. It is a necessity to this bird to
exercise its beak, and if kept in a cage, it should often be given a
chip of wood to tear to pieces. A parrot will amuse itself for hours
biting a chip into small fragments. The cage and feed dishes should be
thoroughly cleaned every day, and fresh gravel kept in the bottom of the
cage.
Parrots are fond of canary and hemp seed, and should always have fresh
water, in which a little cracker may be soaked. A little sweetened weak
coffee and milk, with bread crumbed in it, may be given about once a
week. Apples, pears, and oranges are healthy food, and should always
have the seeds left in, as a parrot will eat those first, carefully
peeling them, and devour the meat afterward. A slice of lemon and a
small red pepper should be given occasionally, also English walnuts.
Cleanliness is essential to the health of a parrot, and as it will not
bathe itself like most other birds, it should occasionally be stood in a
pan containing an inch or two of tepid water, and its back sprinkled
gently. The bird will scream and rebel, but will feel better after it.
It should be left in its bath for a few moments only (as it easily gets
chilled), and then placed on its perch, where it can not feel any wind,
to dry and plume itself. During a warm summer shower it is well to stand
the cage out-of-doors for a short time. The parrot will usually spread
its wings to receive the drops, and scream with delight, as that is its
natural way of bathing. Parrots have very tender feet, and they often
suffer if their claws are not kept perfectly clean. The perch should on
this account be wiped dry every day. Meat, or anything greasy, is
harmful to a parrot, and parsley will kill it, although lettuce, and
especially green peas in the pod, are healthy diet.
Parrots are almost always savage to strangers, but so affectionate to
the person who tends them that they fully repay for the care bestowed
upon them.
PENCIL DRAWING, No. 2.
[Illustration]
Simple as it may seem to draw _leaves_, there must be care, and
patience, and faithful effort. After a while, the young student who
_succeeds_ will go on to _flower_ drawing, which is more difficult, but
very delightful, and will be illustrated by-and-by.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
At present we must try _easy leaves_. I make a few illustrations, enough
to begin with. Nos. 1, 2, and 3 are fuchsia leaves; No. 4, oxalis. These
may be drawn again and again. A whole page of fuchsia leaves of
different sizes is very pretty, and so of any leaf. By a skillful hand
they may be arranged with artistic grace.
[Illustration]
Attention to a few points will give a precision and interest to the
drawing. Let the drawing be _lightly_ rather than heavily done. Learn to
draw the _double lines_ of _stems_ and _veins_ with great correctness.
Make a darker line on the under edge of leaves, and on one side of the
stems. By turning the leaf on the wrong side the veins can be distinctly
seen, and easily drawn. Do not be discouraged, but _persevere_. Begin
to-morrow, or to-day: these beginnings may help you to become a skillful
sketcher, and will give to you a delightful occupation that will grow
dearer to your heart every day of your life.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
This number of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE completes the thirteen issues
promised to subscribers to HARPER'S WEEKLY for 1880, and is therefore
the last number to be sent out with that paper. Any one of our little
friends who may thus be deprived of a weekly visit from HARPER'S YOUNG
PEOPLE, and who wishes to continue acquaintance with us, may receive the
remaining thirty-two numbers of our first volume, which will conclude
with the number dated October 26, 1880, by sending One Dollar to the
publishers, who will, on receipt of that amount, forward these numbers
weekly, postage free, to any address in the United States or Canada.
Those who wish the back numbers, as well as the remainder of the volume,
should send One Dollar and Fifty Cents, the price of a year's
subscription. The publishers renew their assurance that they will make
every effort to please their young patrons by providing weekly an
attractive and instructive variety of illustrated reading.
* * * * *
LOCKPORT, ILLINOIS.
I saw in YOUNG PEOPLE a letter from Edwin A. H., telling about his
cabinet. Although I have been collecting only three years I have
quite a cabinet. It contains a sea-cow, which measures fourteen
inches from the tip of its tail to the nose. It is larger than any
I have ever seen either in Chicago, New York, or Canada. That and
a sea-horse came from Cuba. I have also some fine specimens of
different corals and sponges; a box of agates and other stones
from Africa; some beautiful specimens of quartz from the Rocky
Mountains; a specimen from the Matanzas Cave in Cuba; a collection
of Indian arrow-heads; a variety of petrifactions, among them a
very large, perfect trilobite; a few very old coins, four of
which, I think, are from Pompeii; a collection of foreign stamps;
shells from California, Cuba, and other places; and other things I
have no room to mention. Can any one tell me how I can obtain some
really good specimens of minerals? And is the whale that arrived
at the New York Aquarium last summer alive yet?
L. H. N.
Are any correspondents informed about the health and present condition
of the whale?
* * * * *
TALLAHASSEE, FLORIDA.
I write to tell you about my collection of minerals. I am now ten
years old. I commenced to collect when I was nine. My minerals are
very fine, and I took the three-dollar premium for them at the
fair.
WILLIAM L. BETTON.
* * * * *
CINCINNATI, OHIO.
I am a little girl thirteen years old. I live in Ann Arbor,
Michigan, but I am spending the winter in Cincinnati. I take YOUNG
PEOPLE, and like it very much. I am collecting curiosities, but I
have no Proteus.
GRACE D. HALL.
* * * * *
MACON, GEORGIA.
I will write and tell you what a warm winter we have had. There
were strawberries and peach blossoms in January, and now we have
many kinds of flowers blooming in the gardens. I am writing St.
Valentine's Day, and I and my two sisters, Bessie and Kate, have
had several pretty valentines.
LAURA C. PARMELEE (9 years).
* * * * *
"BAY CLIFF," LONG ISLAND.