roamed aimlessly about the farm. He would not go near the barn. How
could he look upon poor doomed Mephibosheth?
Once he thought of going to his father, and pleading with him for his
pig's life. But Romeo Augustus was shy, and somewhat afraid of his
father, who was a stern man. So he kept his grief to himself, and
meditated.
Elias unconsciously deserted him at this time of need, and curdled Romeo
Augustus's blood by asking twice for pork at dinner. Ask for pork? Why,
speaking coarsely, Mephibosheth was also--_pork_. How could any one eat
pork with such a relish? Romeo Augustus shivered, and kept his own
counsel. All that afternoon he pondered. Then the darkness of night came
on.
The next morning off started the man-servant with his load of little
pigs.
"Have you all?" asked Romeo Augustus's father.
"I would ha' swore, sir, there was thirteen, but it seems there was only
twilve. Yes, sir, I has 'em all;" and away he drove.
As for Romeo Augustus, a change came over him. Far from shunning the
barn, he hung about it constantly. Moreover, he was always present when
the cows were milked, morning and night. He had a playful trick of
dipping his own tin cup into the foaming pail, and scampering away with
it full to the brim. Nobody objected to that. If he chose to strain a
point, and drink unstrained milk, he was welcome to do it.
"And if you see fit to save half your dinner, and give it away, I am
willing," said his mother, who was busy, and hardly noticed what Romeo
Augustus asked her. "But you must _not_ soil your jacket fronts as you
do. This is the fifth time within a week I have sponged your clothes."
Soon after this, Philemon and Romeo Augustus were out in the barn,
rolling over and over, burying themselves in the sweet-smelling hay.
Suddenly Philemon pricked up his ears.
"What's that?" quoth he. "I heard a little pig squealing. Where can he
be?"
"Philemon," said Romeo Augustus, earnestly, "let's climb to that top
mow, and jump down. Hurrah! It's a good twenty feet. Come on, if you
dare!"
If he dare! Of course he dared. It was great fun to launch one's self
into space, and come whirling down on the hay. There was just enough
danger of breaking one's neck to give spice to the treat. How Romeo
Augustus did scurry about, hustling Philemon whenever he stopped to
breathe, and urging him on, shouting at the top of his lungs,
"One more jump, old boy. Hurrah! Hurray!"
Philemon had no spare time in which to wonder if he heard a small pig
squeal.
That very night, when all the family was wrapped in slumber, Elias felt
a hand on his shoulder. Another hand was on his mouth, to prevent any
exclamation.
"Come with me," whispered Romeo Augustus; and he held out Elias's jacket
and trousers. Elias took the hint, also the clothes. Down the stairs
crept the two. Out the front door, which would creak, into the moon-lit
yard stole they. Elias's eyes were snapping with excitement; for, as I
said, Elias was poetical, and, like all poets, he was always expecting
something to turn up. At this present he was on the look-out for what he
called "the Gibbage."
Elias himself had grown to believe the marvellous stories he told his
brothers. He had full faith in the Lovely Lily Lady, who lived in the
attic; in the Mealy family, with their sky-blue faces and pea-green
hands, in the cobwebby meal chest under the barn eaves; in the Peely
family, who inhabited the tool-box in the shed, and whose heads were
like baked apples with the peel taken off; in the big black bird, which
came from the closet under the stairs at night, and flew through the
chambers to dust the boys' clothes with its wings.
And now Elias had suspected in his own mind that there existed a
creature, somewhat like a mouse, somewhat like a red flower-pot, which
glided around during the night-watches to sharpen slate-pencils, smooth
out dog-ears from school-books, erase lead-pencil marks, polish up
marbles, straighten kite strings, put the "suck" into brick-suckers, and
otherwise make itself useful. If there were not such a creature, there
ought to be, and Elias became daily surer that there was. He called it
"the Gibbage."
Perchance Romeo Augustus had caught a glimpse of it. No wonder Elias's
eyes snapped as he was hurried across the yard, and led back of the
barn, where there was a space between the underpinning and the ground.
By lying flat one could wriggle his way under the barn, and when once
beneath, there was room to stand nearly up-right.
"Elias," said Romeo Augustus, breathlessly, "I keep Mephibosheth under
here."
"Sakes and daisies!" gasped Elias.
That was a very strong expression. When somewhat moved, Elias often
exclaimed, "Sakes!" but when he added, "and daisies!" it was a sign he
was stirred to his inmost depths.
"Sakes and daisies!" said Elias.
"Yes," Romeo Augustus went on, "I heard father say he didn't want the
trouble of raising him, so I concluded I would. But nobody must see him
till he's raised, and Philemon he heard him this very day. I must take
him somewhere else. Where, Elias, oh, where can I carry him?"
Elias frowned and pondered. He was grieved not to have discovered "the
Gibbage," but he would do the handsome thing by Romeo Augustus.
Half an hour later the jolly old moon nearly fell out of the sky for
laughing. There were Elias and Romeo Augustus straining and tugging,
coaxing and scolding, trying with might and main to stifle the
expostulations of Mephibosheth, as they bore him down to an unmowed
meadow.
The ox-eye daisies opened their sleepy petals to see what all the stir
was about. The buttercups and dandelions craned themselves forward to
peep.
Down in the meadow the boys drove a stake, and to it they fastened
Mephibosheth. It was no joke taking food to him now. The unmowed meadow
was in sight of the house, and it seemed as if one or another of the
boys was always at the window. But Elias aided Romeo Augustus, and
between them Mephibosheth got his daily rations. Surely he was safe at
last. Far from it.
"Who has been trampling the grass in the north pasture?" asked Romeo
Augustus's father, a fortnight later. "I followed the path made by feet
that had no right there. At the end I found a stake. Tied to the stake I
found a--"
Solomon and Isaac looked surprised. John and Philemon shook their heads.
They knew nothing of the matter. Elias and Romeo Augustus quaked.
"At the end I found a--" repeated their father, gazing sternly round the
table--"I found a--"
"_Pig_," said Romeo Augustus, in the smallest possible voice; and he
fled from the table in an agony of tears. His labor had been in vain.
After all, Mephibosheth must die. How could he endure it? He dared not
glance out of the window of the chamber where he had taken refuge, lest
he should behold Mephibosheth led to slaughter. It seemed as if his
heart would break in two.
But listen! What is that noise? A clatter as of falling boards. There is
a sound as of hammering. At first it seems to Romeo Augustus like
Mephibosheth's death-knell. Thud, thud, thud, go the blows. Drawn almost
against his will, Romeo Augustus stealthily approaches the window. He
glances fearfully out. What does he see? His father pounding busily,
making--what is he making? Can it be? It is--it is a _pen_.
"Father!" gasps Romeo Augustus.
His father looks up and smiles. "Your pig must have a house to live in,"
says he. "I can't have my meadow grass trampled."
Before noon Mephibosheth was in his new quarters. There was a parlor
with two pieces of carpet on the floor; there was a chamber with plenty
of straw, whereon Mephibosheth could repose; there was a dining-room,
with what, in common language, might be termed a trough.
Such a life as that pig led! He was cared for tenderly. He was washed
all over every morning, and put to bed every night. He was not a very
brilliant pig as far as his intellect went, it must be confessed. He
could do no tricks with cards; he could not be taught to jump through a
hoop.
One year passed; Mephibosheth was large. Two years went by; Mephibosheth
was wonderful. I would I could say he was _plump_; that word does not
begin to express his condition. It would be pleasant to call him
_stout_; that would not give the glimmer of an idea of his size.
_Corpulent_ would be a refined way of stating it. Alas! corpulent means
nothing as far as Mephibosheth is concerned. That animal measured _seven
feet and twenty-two inches_ round his body. He weighed--truth is great,
and must be spoken--he weighed _five hundred and fifty and two-third
pounds_.
He could not walk; his legs were pipe-stems under him. He could scarcely
breathe. That is the excuse for what happened.
One day Romeo Augustus came home from school. Mephibosheth's pen was
empty. Mephibosheth's pen would be empty for evermore. That is a gentle
way of telling the story. In vain it was explained to Romeo Augustus
that Mephibosheth's life had become a burden; that common humanity
demanded his departure. In vain Philemon offered three fish-hooks and a
jackknife by way of solace. In vain Solomon was sure his father would
present a calf to the mourner for a pet.
Elias was the only one who gave the least comfort.
"We will make a tombstone, and I will write an epitaph," said he.
Soon he brought a board, on which were drawn an urn and a couple of
consumptive weeping-willows (for Elias was an artist as well as a poet),
and underneath were these lines, which being written partly in old
English spelling, were so much the more consoling:
Sacred to the Memorie
of
MEPHIBOSHETH.
Kinde Reader, pause and drop a teare,
Y^e Pig his bodie lieth here;
Y^e Auguste third of fiftie-nine
Was when his sun dyd cease to shine.
He broke two legs, which gave him wo;
He doctored was by Romeo,
Who cherished him from yeare to yeare,
As by this notice doth appeare.
He fed him till he waxed soe big
He was obliged to hop the twig.
Y^e friends do sadly raise their waile,
And fondly eke preserve his tayle.
"And here's his tail," said Elias, presenting the pathetic memento.
"The only trouble is in the line, 'Y^e Pig his bodie lieth here,'"
sobbed Romeo Augustus. "It doesn't lie here. He's been sold to a
butcher."
"It's Elias who '_lieth_ here,'" remarked Isaac.
That was a heartless joke. No one was so low as to laugh at it.
"They often have monuments without the--the--the body," said Elias, with
great delicacy.
Romeo Augustus was content.
He is a grown man now, but to this very day he keeps Mephibosheth's
monument. It is nailed on the wall of his chamber. He sometimes smiles
when he looks at it, but he does not take it down.
[Illustration: HAVING A LITTLE FUN.]
THE TAILOR AND THE WOLVES.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN.
Ever so long ago there lived a tailor's apprentice, a merry,
light-hearted fellow, but with a large hump, so that he always looked
like a country-woman going to market on a Saturday, carrying her goods
on her back.
One night, as he was returning from some festivity in the town, he had
to go through a thick wood, in which it was so dark that he could not
see his hand before his face. As he was dawdling along quite merrily,
and whistling the tune of the last waltz that he had danced, he lost his
way, and fell into a deep pit, so that sight and hearing forsook him,
and he gave himself up for lost. But when he found out that he was
unhurt after the fall, he began to cry pitiably and to call for help,
till he suddenly heard talking not far off.
In the pit, which sloped sideways far down into the earth, lived a large
wolf with his wife and two little ones, and when they had heard the
tailor's fall and screams, the old wolf said, joyfully, to his wife,
"Be quick, my dear, hang the pot over the fire; I think we shall have
something good to-night."
These words reached the ears of the tailor, who, in the deepest anxiety
for his life, became as still as a mouse.
But the wolf opened the door of his den, put a lamp in his paw, and
peered all round till he had discovered the tailor, whom he then seized
by the legs, and, without more ado, dragged into his sitting-room.
When he was about to be killed, the poor fellow cried and bemoaned
himself in such a heart-rending manner that the wife, who was a good
soul, put in a word for him to her husband.
"Well, then," said the wolf, "he may live, but he must never return to
men, or he would betray us; he must stay here and become a wolf."
"Most joyfully," said the tailor, "for I would rather live as a wolf
than be cooked and eaten as a man."
Whereupon the wolf fetched one of his old furs out of the cupboard, and
his wife had to sew the tailor into it.
So the tailor staid with them, soon learned to howl perfectly, and to
walk on all fours; besides which, he became quite expert in catching
rabbits.
One day, when they had all gone out hunting together, it happened that
the King of the same land was also hunting in the wood. As soon as the
hunters came near the wolves, they and the tailor took to their heels.
They ran into a neighboring thicket, and hid themselves behind some
bushes, when the old wolf whispered to the others to keep quiet, without
fear, for he had seen no dogs, and without their help no huntsmen would
find them.
He spoke truly, for it so happened that a wild boar had killed every
single dog.
Then it occurred to the King to take a pinch of snuff; after which he
sneezed violently.
The tailor, who had not yet lost his knowledge of polite ways, said,
respectfully, "Your health, sire!"
When the King heard these words he rode toward the bush, and all his
huntsmen followed him.
Here they perceived the wolves, and the King and his companions set up a
loud shout of joy. They threw their spears so well that only the old
wolf could escape; and the tailor was the last to be seen, because he
had hidden himself so well, but before the huntsmen could aim at him, he
had rolled himself, howling piteously, toward the King, saying,
"I beg your pardon, sire; I am really a tailor's apprentice, and only by
accident among the wolves."
Then they all began to laugh, and a huntsman cut him out of his skin. A
horse also was brought, that he might ride by the King's side and relate
his tale.
"Tailor," then said the King, very graciously, "you have caused me much
amusement, and if you like you may remain with me."
This speech pleased the little man right well, and he rode straight away
to the castle, where he lived in joy and luxury for some time, as the
King's court and private tailor.
But the old wolf, who had escaped with his life, felt raging anger
against all human beings, especially toward the tailor, who had been the
cause of the death of his wife and children, and he determined to
revenge himself.
So he lay continually on the watch, and any man who appeared in his
sight was a child of death. The whole land was full of grief and sorrow,
for hardly a day passed in which at least one human being did not meet
with a sorrowful end in the grip of the fierce old wolf.
But he said, "It is not yet enough; they must all come to it; and the
tailor shall suffer the most for bringing about the death of my wife and
children, because he could not hold his tongue."
Saying which he went to the castle, where the tailor was just looking
out of the window smoking a pipe.
"Fellow!" said the wolf, "you must die, or I can not rest."
Terror seized the little man, and he told the King what the wolf had
threatened.
"Wait, tailor," answered the King; "it is now high time that we should
catch this wretch, even if it costs me my only daughter. He has not even
respect for the court tailor; so what will such conduct lead to? And
besides, he is eating up all my subjects, which I can not allow; for if
I have no subjects, I can no longer be a king."
He spoke, and caused it to be proclaimed through the whole land that he
who brought the wolf alive should be his son-in-law.
The tailor had not dared to leave the castle for days, for fear of the
monster; but at length he could sit still no longer, and went into the
garden one bright summer's day. Suddenly the wolf sprang from behind a
tree, caught the poor fellow by the tail of his coat, and dragged him
far into the wood, in spite of all his wriggling and screaming.
"Rascal of a tailor!" said he; "you have brought me into misery,
therefore you must die."
Then, in his dire need, a cunning, artful idea occurred to the tailor,
and he exclaimed, "Look! there come the huntsmen!" and as the wolf
turned round in alarm, the tailor leaped on to his back, and held his
hands tightly over the creature's eyes.
Then the wolf ran as he had never run in his life before, so that each
moment he thought his hated rider must fall to the ground.
And as the creature could not see, the tailor guided him toward the
castle, to an open stable door; there got down, pushed him into one of
the stalls, and then bolted the door on the outside.
The King was highly delighted that the tailor was such a cunning fellow,
and consented that the betrothal to his daughter should take place at
once.
The wolf was hanged, and his skin, which the tailor received among his
wedding gifts, has been preserved to the present day, and just now lies
under the table, belonging to the author of this little tale.
[Illustration: AN EASTER EGG.]
[Illustration]
THE TALE Of A TAIL.
There was a rat lived in a mill--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
If she's not dead, she lives there still--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
This rat she had a great long tail--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
One day she caught it on a nail--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
[Illustration]
She pulled so hard she pulled it out--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
And then she turned herself about--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
At home I've got a little babee--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill;
I wonder if she will know me--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
[Illustration]
Oh, mother! mother! where's your tail?--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
Yonder it hangs upon a nail--
Heigh oh! says Tidley Pill.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
It gives us the greatest pleasure to receive all the pretty favors which
come to us by every mail from all parts of the country. Those
communications which we think will be of interest to other children we
print whenever we can make space for them, and all, without any
exception, are carefully read, and their receipt acknowledged. These
letters give pleasant, satisfactory glimpses into many homes, and we see
the group of eager young faces watching, as they tell us, "for papa to
bring our paper." Do not be disappointed, any of you, when you fail to
find your pretty letter, which you have written so carefully and neatly,
printed in the Post-office Box. We can not print all. If we did, you
would have no stories to read, no pictures to look at--nothing but
letters; for your busy little brains and fingers would fill the whole
paper every week if we did not crowd some of you out. But keep on
writing, for we like to hear what stories please you best, and in what
subjects you are most interested. In that way there is always a mutual
understanding between us, and our acquaintance is more likely to be
intimate and lasting. We are also very much interested in what children
write about the seasons in different regions of the country, showing how
spring advances from Texas up into the far northern State of Oregon.
Such letters are always interesting and instructive. One request we
would make, that is, always write your signature very distinctly. Often
we can not make out even your initials, and your name may be misprinted
in our acknowledgments.
* * * * *
WARREN, OHIO, _March 1, 1880_.
The robins and the bluebirds came here about the middle of
February, and if it does not get colder, willow "pussies" will be
out in a few days. Please tell me what the "wind-flower" is. I do
not think, as Bertie Brown does, that people ought to send the
Indians something to eat, for mamma had an uncle who lived in
Minnesota, and he used to feed them whenever they came, and they
killed him and three of his children. So I don't like Indians.
D. J. MYERS.
The wind-flower is found in the early spring growing among dry leaves
and in sunny nooks by old stone walls, sometimes in open pasture lands
where the soil is damp. The blossoms, which are pale pinkish-white, grow
on a stem from two to four inches in height. There is only one drooping
flower on a stem. This plant is more properly called _anemone_, from
_anemos_, a Greek word signifying wind. It is interesting to know that
it was called anemone by the ancient Romans. Pliny alludes to it, and
says it was called wind-flower because it opened its petals only when
the wind blew.
* * * * *
FAIRFIELD, ALABAMA.
My heart is gladdened once a week when papa says, "Daughter, here
is your paper." I am far away in the South, but Uncle Sam's mail
arrangement is so grand that it finds us all. I was eleven years
old last month, and had a nice birthday party. I go to school, and
love my teacher very much.
MAMIE JONES.
* * * * *
ATLANTA, GEORGIA.
I have lived in the South two years, although I was born in Ohio.
There is never any snow here, and I long to get back North on
account of winter sports. Atlanta is surrounded by beautiful
scenery, and also by many traces of the war, such as intrenchments
and breastworks. In answer to Edwin A. H., I will say that I have
a cabinet, but have not so many specimens as he. I have minerals
and other things from many parts of the far West, collected by
myself, and also dried flowers from New Zealand, and a nut from
Vancouver Island.
JOHN G. WILSON.
* * * * *
MONMOUTH, OREGON.
I thought I would drop a line to you, and let you know that I am
one of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE. I like it very much. I am nine
years old. I have a little brother who has some pet rabbits. I
left Wales with papa and mamma when I was three years old. Then I
could not speak a word of English, but now I don't remember a word
of Welsh. We are having lots of snow here this winter.
DAVID FOULKES.
* * * * *
WRIGHTSTOWN, PENNSYLVANIA.
I live in a very quiet little village. Just across one field from
our house stands a house which was Washington's head-quarters at
the time of the Revolutionary war. About one-quarter of a mile
away there is a tree, more than a century old, under which
Washington stood just before he started for Trenton on
Christmas-night, 1776. He crossed the Delaware six miles east of
this place. Near this village is a barn two hundred years old.
ROSE W. SCOTT.
* * * * *
ERIE, PENNSYLVANIA, _March 3, 1880_.
About five weeks ago a lady in this place found two pansies in
bloom in her garden, and last week a man told my papa he saw a
large flock of robins in some cherry-trees in his yard. If they
were looking for cherries, they were disappointed. Had they come
into our yard, they would have seen a large bed of bright yellow
crocuses. I am eight years old.
CARRIE L. WILLARD.
* * * * *
JACKSONVILLE, FLORIDA.
In YOUNG PEOPLE No. 13 Joseph P. writes that he hatched a chicken
by putting the egg in ashes. I tried it. I put the egg in a
tobacco-box, and put it by the stove. Mamma's servant built a hot
fire, and the egg, instead of hatching, baked.
EDDIE E. PADDOCK (8 years).
* * * * *
PETERSBURG, INDIANA.
I am a little girl seven years old, and I live on a farm with my
grandpa and grandma. My dear mamma died last December. It was very
hard to part with her, but I am not destitute of friends. I have
three uncles, who are very kind to me. I have a little
canary-bird. He is a beautiful singer, and is company for me. And
I have a large dog that plays with me every day. I call him Watch.
I can read in the Third Reader, although I never went to school
but one week in my life, on account of ill health. I have had the
chills for five years--not all the time, but very severe.
ANNA SHANDY.
* * * * *
Answers to S. R. W.--including, however, no new words--are received from
Polly Pleasant, Ethel S. M., Herbert W., Mamie E. F., Maud Chase, F. E.
Bacon, B. E. S., Connie, Frank N. Dodd, Carrie S. Levéy, R. W. Dawson,
"School-Children," C. B. F.
* * * * *
SALEM, NORTH CAROLINA.
Mamma takes YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I like it very much. I made a
Soapboxticon to-day, and had trouble with it at first, but now it
works nicely. I hope all who try to make one will succeed as well
as I did.
A. H. PATTERSON.
* * * * *
George F. Powers, Willie G. Lee, Frank Shennen, M. Paul Martin, and Fred
A. Conklin report trouble with the Soapboxticon, but if they persevere,
and carefully follow directions, they will soon have a pretty toy.
* * * * *
ATHENS, ALABAMA.