[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
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VOL. II.--NO. 98. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, September 13, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
$1.50 per Year, in Advance.
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[Illustration: ARRIVAL OF THE FIRST STEAMBOAT.]
A TWO-HEADED FAMILY.
A TRUE STORY OF WHAT TWO BOYS DID.
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON.
Everybody talked, of course, when it was known that Bob Towne had run
away, and had taken his brother Ned with him, and everybody said it was
a shame. By everybody I mean all the people in the little Mississippi
town in which Bob's mother lived. They did not know why Bob had run
away, and they did not know where he had gone; but they talked about it
all the same. They said it was a shame for him to leave his widowed
mother, and worse still to take his little brother with him, though not
one of them could have suggested any possible way in which Bob could
have helped his mother by staying. Bob was "curious," however, and
people never think well of persons whom they do not understand. Bob was
fond of books, for one thing, and because he read a great deal, and did
not "sit around" in the village, they said he was morose; and so when
the news spread that Bob had gone away in the night, and had taken his
brother with him, everybody said, "I told you so," in a tone which
indicated that that was the very worst thing they could say.
Bob's mother had a letter, however, which convinced her that her boy was
not heartless at any rate. She said nothing about this letter--found in
Bob's room--but she read it over and over again, and cried over it, and
even kissed it sometimes in secret. The letter was brief and simple. It
said:
"MY DEAR MOTHER,--Please don't feel badly at my going away: it is
my duty. When I found, after father's death, that the estate was
worth so little, and that you had almost nothing except the house
you live in, I made up my mind that I must be the head of the
family, although I am only fourteen years old. After a good deal of
thinking, I have hit upon a plan to make some money, I think, and
as Ned wants to join me, I'm going to take him with me. Neither of
us can earn anything here, but I believe we can where we're going.
At least you won't have us to feed. We shall work for you and for
our little sisters, and if we make anything, it will all be yours.
If we don't, we will at least have tried. When we succeed we'll let
you know where we are. We hate to go away without kissing you and
little Kate and Mary and Susie, but we must, else you will never
let us go. Good-by, and God bless you, mother!"
That was all the trace Bob and Ned left behind them, and nobody could
guess where they had gone.
Two days after their disappearance the boys presented themselves to a
gentleman who had been a friend of their father, living fifty miles
away, and after exacting from him a pledge of secrecy, Bob introduced
his business.
"You said last year at our house that you would let any man who chose to
get up your swamp land use it for ten years, or something of that sort."
"Yes, I said this: I have ten thousand acres on the Tallahatchee; part
of it was under cultivation before the war, but it has grown up in cane
so that it is worth almost nothing now to sell, and I haven't the
capital nor the energy at my time of life to get it up again. It is
superb land, capable of yielding three bales of cotton to the acre, and
if it was under cultivation again it would sell for fifty dollars an
acre. What I proposed was to let young Bowling go there and get up as
much as he pleased of it, cut and sell all the wood he chose, use the
land rent free for ten years, and at the end of that time receive from
me a bonus of five dollars an acre for all the land brought under
cultivation. But what of it? Bowling didn't accept the offer."
Bob explained his own purpose to accept it in a small way, going into
the swamp country, and making what money he could with his own hands,
for his friend knew he had no capital.
"But, my dear boy," said the gentleman, "a white man can't work in the
swamp, and you have no money to hire negroes with."
"Did any white man ever try it?" asked Bob.
"Not that I ever heard of."
"Besides," said Bob, "we're not white men; we're only white boys, and we
won't be very white either, after we've been at work a few months."
After a good deal of explanation and discussion, Major Singer consented
to let the boys try their plan, though he had no confidence in it.
"I'll do this," he said. "You may go into the swamp, cut and sell all
the wood you can to steamboats when they come up, and cultivate all the
land you choose to grub, without any charge for rent. I'll give you a
mule and a cart, and enough bacon and meal to last you for a month or
two. By that time you'll be tired of the experiment, and you can return
the mule and cart on your way home."
Bob asked for the privilege of paying for the mule and cart out of the
proceeds of his first crop, and, laughing, the Major consented, naming
one hundred dollars as the price.
Five days later the boys ate their supper of bacon and ash-cake on a log
on the banks of the Tallahatchee River. It was a lonely, desolate swamp
region, and the log on which they sat was twelve miles distant from the
nearest human habitation. They were a trifle lonely there in the wild
woods, but they had a camp fire and courage, and those go a long way.
The next day they set to work and built a hut to live in, with a rude
bunk for a bed. Then Bob "prospected." Much of the land about them had
once been cultivated, and there were no trees of any considerable size
upon the parts which had been fields; but the growth of cane and
brush-wood was appalling.
"Never mind," said Bob. "It is only September now, and we'll get a few
acres cleared by spring. Our first work must be to cut a big pile of
wood to sell to the steamboats when they come up; if we don't, we can't
buy ploughs or food for our farming operations."
"When will the boats come?" asked Ned.
"Late in the fall or in the winter, whenever the river gets high enough.
It isn't navigable now, but when it rises, the steamboats come up to get
loads of cotton."
With brave hearts the boys set to work chopping and hauling cord-wood.
They made very little progress the first day, but after they had
practiced for a few days they became more expert, and at the end of a
week they found by measurement that they could together cut and haul
about a cord each day. One grown man would have accomplished more than
this; but the boys were satisfied. They had brought a grindstone and
some iron wedges with them, and there was no reason to doubt that they
could maintain their average of a cord a day. The mule kept in good
condition on swamp grass and young cane.
Bob laid out, next the river, the little field which he hoped to get
ready for cultivation, and before attacking the timber land he took care
to cut into cord-wood all the trees in that little patch which were big
enough for the purpose. Then the young pioneers went into the woodlands
a little further up stream, and there made rather better progress. The
fall was unusually dry. No rain fell, and the river got steadily lower.
Meantime the wood-pile had grown by the last of November to more than
sixty cords--enough to pay the boys well for their work whenever the
steamboats should come. But when could they come? This question was
giving Bob a good deal of uneasiness, because his bacon and meal were
running low, and he had spent all the money he had for the axes and
other implements. If the river should not rise before the meat gave out,
what should he do? Bob did not know, and the fact troubled him.
In one way the dry season served him well. It parched the swamp, and one
morning, Ned, who had shrewdly observed this, went out and applied a
torch to the dried-up grass and leaves. The fire swept fiercely over the
projected field, and when it had burned out, a good deal more than half
the work of clearing that field for cultivation was done. But this did
not help the boys to live through the winter, and that was a perplexity.
If they could not manage it, all their work would be thrown away; and
Bob passed many anxious hours thinking and planning, but with no other
result than to make him sleepless.
Still it did not rain, but one morning Ned came in from observing his
water-marks, and reported that the river had risen about three inches
during the night. This puzzled Bob, and he carefully watched the water.
At noon it had risen two inches more. During the night it rose fully a
foot. Then Bob began to suspect the truth.
"I have it, Ned," he said.
"Well, how is it? Where does the water come from?"
"From the Mississippi River. That river is high from rains in the north,
and it has broken through one of the passes into the Tallahatchee. We'll
have steamboats here yet."
"Well, I hope they'll come soon," said Ned. "I've fried our last slice
of bacon, and we have only a few pounds of meal left."
"We can eat the mule," said Bob, "rather than starve; but we'll wait on
short rations and hope."
There had been a great crop of cotton grown on the Tallahatchee that
year, and the dry fall had enabled the planters to pick it more
thoroughly than usual. Knowing this, the owners of steamboats at
Vicksburg were watching the reports of the water in the Yazoo and
Tallahatchee as eagerly as Ned and Bob were watching the water itself,
each anxious that his boat should be the first to go up the river.
On the 12th of December Ned cooked the last of the meal. The boys went
to bed that night out of food. The next morning they had no breakfast,
and had begun to think of killing the mule, or making a journey to the
nearest plantation, when about noon a boat appeared. She blew her
whistle, and stopped her engines.
"What do you ask for your wood?" shouted the Captain.
"Three and a half," answered Bob.
"Give you three and a quarter, and take all you've got," said the
Captain.
"Will you throw in a decent dinner?" asked Bob.
"Yes."
And with that the boat made her landing, and the wood, sixty-three
cords, was measured. Then the boys went on board to dinner. There they
learned that in consequence of the prolonged dry season all the people
along the river had been too busy picking cotton to cut any wood, and
hence the boat had been obliged to send her own men ashore twice to chop
wood for her engines. Knowing that other boats were coming, the Captain
of this one had made haste to buy all of Bob's wood, meaning to take a
part of it at once, and the rest on his way down the river. He had
driven a sharp bargain, under the circumstances, but Bob was well
satisfied when he received $204.75 for the pile. His first care was to
buy of the Captain a good supply of provisions; his next to write a
letter to his mother, inclosing a fifty-dollar bill, and, without
telling her where he was, giving her news of his own and Ned's health,
and promising to write again at the next opportunity. This letter the
Captain took to post at Vicksburg.
The mule was saved, and the problem which Bob and Ned had set out to
solve was in a fair way to be worked out. They had money enough now to
buy necessary ploughs, etc., which they ordered from Vicksburg by the
next trip of the boat, and some cash to spare for emergencies. They went
to work with a will at their clearing, and before spring opened they had
a field prepared which was two hundred yards long and one hundred and
fifty yards wide. Its area was therefore somewhat greater than six
acres, and it was land of the very richest sort. Bob made a journey to
the nearest plantation, and brought back a cart-load of cotton seed,
together with the seeds of a variety of vegetables, for which beds were
made around the hut.
The summer's work was very hard and very hot. The rich land produced
weeds as well as cotton, and Ned remarked that "weeds never go to
picnics or take Saturday afternoons off."
In this the boys imitated the weeds, working early and late in their
crop, barely giving themselves time to hoe out their kitchen-garden
occasionally. They had distinctly overcropped themselves, but that was
better than the opposite mistake. In August the bolls began to open, and
the boys to pick cotton. It was not long before they discovered that
they had grown more cotton than they could pick, and that they must
either have help or lose a part of their crop. So one day Ned mounted
the mule, and rode across the Yalabusha River, and out of the swamp into
the poor hill country. There the scanty crops were easily picked, and as
he was able to offer money wages, he easily secured some half-grown
negro boys as pickers. Their wages amounted to comparatively little, and
their help secured the whole of the boys' crop.
Bob had no gin or cotton-press, but there were both on the plantation
twelve miles down the river; and when the picking was over, the boys
built a raft, and loading their whole crop of cotton on it, floated it
down to this neighbor's gin.
They had not made the three bales per acre which the land was said to be
capable of producing under good cultivation, but they had made twelve
bales, worth--at the high price which cotton at that time
commanded--somewhat more than one thousand dollars.
Bob and Ned now closed their hut, turned the mule out to browse, and
took passage for Vicksburg on the boat that carried their cotton.
One morning the rumor ran through their native village that "Bob and Ned
Towne had come home, ragged, and looking like tramps."
But there was one woman and there were three little girls in that town
in whose eyes Bob and Ned looked like anything but tramps. Their clothes
were worn, indeed, but they were hugged and kissed by their mother and
sisters just as heartily as if they had been the best-dressed youths in
the village.
"Now you'll stay at home, won't you, you naughty runaway boys?" said
their proud and happy mother when they had fully recounted their fifteen
months' experiences. "I want my boys."
"We can't, mother," said Bob. "We're the two heads of this family, you
know. I'm one head, and Ned has fairly earned the right to be the other;
and we've got property interests now. We stopped at Major Singer's on
the way home, and have made a new bargain with him. We've bought a
plantation."
Then Bob explained that the Major had agreed that they should mark off a
tract of four hundred acres where their hut stood, and take it at five
dollars an acre--quite all that it would sell for then, because of the
difficulty of getting labor for clearing land. They were to have their
own time in which to pay for the tract, but they meant to work the debt
off within a year or two by hiring one or two hands for their crop, and
thus increasing their force and their earnings.
"So you see, mother," said Bob, "we've got to go back to our
plantation."
"Very well," she replied; "and we are going with you. The family mustn't
be separated from its heads, and I want my boys, and I think my boys
want me too when they are lonely down there in the swamp."
"Indeed we do," exclaimed both boys. "Hurrah for mother!"
Three years later, as I happen to know, the last dollar of debt on the
plantation was paid. The boys have built a good house there, which
their mother has made a home for them. They have now, after a dozen
years' work, a gin-house, a cotton-press, twelve mules, a good many
cows, and Bob has a baby of his own, having found a wife on one of his
business trips.
The people of his native village, when they heard that he had actually
bought the plantation, said again that "Bob Towne _always was_ a curious
boy."
THE COUNT OF CORFU.
[Illustration: PRINCE GEORGE OF GREECE.]
Prince George of Greece, the second son of King George I. and his wife
Olga, is known as the Count of Corfu. He was born at Athens August 2,
1868. His father is only thirty-six years old, is the son of the King of
Denmark, the smallest of the European kingdoms, but very intelligent and
interesting. Hamlet wandered on its shores--Shakspeare's famous
character. Poets and sculptors have made Denmark renowned. Prince
George's mother is Olga, a cousin of the Emperor of Russia. She is about
thirty. The young King and his wife live in a fine palace at Athens, and
have two other children. The government of Greece is a limited monarchy.
Athens, the capital, was once the most famous and beautiful of all the
ancient cities. Even now its ruins are finer than any other remains of
past ages. It was once the home of all the chief writers, painters, and
sculptors of the world. The young Prince George has been educated in the
same scenes where Socrates and Plato taught, and the Greek King and his
fair wife and children would seem to be happy in their pleasant capital.
One danger alarms them. War is threatened between Greece and Turkey. The
Greeks have gathered an army of seventy thousand men at Athens to take
possession of the part of Epirus and Thessaly given them under the
Berlin Treaty. They are resolved to march to the frontier and defend
their countrymen. It is feared that the Turks will resist their claims,
and war must yet break out. The Greeks can defend themselves by land,
but on the sea the Turks have a powerful fleet that may ravage all the
coasts of Greece. The Turks are savage and brutal. They may attack
Athens, and batter down its palace and its ruins. But it is hoped that
the war may be averted, and King George and his young family live in
peace among his people.
[Illustration]
CAUGHT IN A SHOWER.
BY MRS. MARGARET SANGSTER.
On, where did it come from, I wonder?
There wasn't a cloud in the sky,
And the first thing I heard was the thunder,
The first thing I did was to cry.
There goes a bright flash! there's another!
I was never caught this way before.
I wish I was home with my mother,
And out of this terrible pour.
[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2.]
TIM AND TIP;
OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG.
BY JAMES OTIS,
AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," ETC.
CHAPTER VII.
TIP'S HURRIED LANDING.
Tim went below, where Bobby was waiting for him, and the sight of his
tear-filled eyes, and face red with the marks of the whipping, told the
young gentleman from Minchin's Island that there were very many
positions in the world more pleasant than that of Captain's boy on board
the _Pride of the Wave_.
"What is the matter, Tim?" he asked, in a half-whisper.
"Nothin'," was the sobbing reply; and then the boy ran to the only
living thing he knew that would sympathize with him in his grief.
Bobby stood back in astonishment as he saw Tim lie down by the side of
that wonderful hunting dog, and, pouring out his grief in indistinct
words, sob and cry in deepest distress.
"What _is_ the matter, Tim? Don't cry so, but tell me what ails you."
It was some time before Tim would speak; but when once he did open his
heart to his newly made friend, he told the entire story from the time
he ran away from Captain Babbige's house up to this last whipping he had
received. When he had concluded, he said, in the most sorrowful tone, "I
jest wish I was dead, Bobby; for there don't seem to be anybody in all
this great big world who wants to have me 'round, 'less it is to lick me
when they ain't got nothin' else to do."
"I wouldn't stand it, Tim: that's what I wouldn't do," said Bobby,
indignantly. "I'd jest leave this old boat the very first time she
stops."
But Tim had more wisdom now than he had the day he ran away from Captain
Babbige, and he said, mournfully: "Where could I go if I did run away
again? Nobody wants me an' Tip, an' we've got to have somethin' to eat."
This way of putting the matter rather confused Bobby; he had never known
what it was to be without a home, and Tim's lonely position in the world
opened his eyes to a new phase of life.
"I'll tell you what you can do; you can come to my house, an' stay jest
as long as you want to."
Tim shook his head; he remembered the invitation given by Sam Simpson,
and how it had been seconded by his parents, and he did not care for
more of the same experience.
"But you can't stay here, an' let Captain Pratt knock you 'round."
Tim assented to this; but still he did not see how he could prevent it,
unless he was willing to risk suffering in another form.
"I s'pose I'll have to go up stairs an' show the Captain that I ain't in
bed," he said, as a shudder of seasickness came over him again. "It must
be as much as ten minutes since I was there."
"I wouldn't go," said Bobby, stoutly; "I wouldn't let him think I was
afraid of him."
"But I am afraid of him, an' so would you be if he was to beat you once
the way he has me;" and then he started for the deck again.
This time he did not attempt to enter the wheel-house, but stood by the
rail outside, where the Captain could see him, and leaned over the side
until it seemed to him that everything he had eaten for the past month
was thrown to the fishes.
It was impossible for him to have waited on the Captain at the table
that day, even if he had been called upon so to do; but Mr. Rankin had
told him that he need not come into the cabin until he had recovered,
and he was truly thankful for that permission to remain away.
The steamer had sailed at eleven o'clock in the fore-noon, and by two
o'clock Tim was so sick that the very worst punishment Captain Pratt
could have devised would not have troubled him in the least.
The vessel tossed and plunged as if she were bent on going to the bottom
of the sea at the first opportunity, and Tim, in his berth, with the
faithful Bobby at his side trying to cheer and comfort him, felt that he
would not raise his hand to help himself even though he knew the _Pride
of the Wave_ was foundering.
During the remainder of that day, and all the night, Tim lay in his
berth wondering why it was he did not die, since he was so sick, and
expecting each moment that the steamer would go to the bottom. He almost
forgot Tip, save once or twice when he asked Bobby to see whether the
dog was feeling as badly as he was, and when he was told that Tip was
apparently enjoying very good health, he felt a sense of injury because
his pet did not share his sickness with him.
When Tim awakened on the following morning--for he did get some sleep
that night--the steamer was yet pitching around wildly as though she was
mad, but he had recovered from his sickness, and felt weak and hungry.
He looked as pale as though he had been confined to his bed for a week,
and he imagined that he was so thin the sun would shine right through
him; but in this he was mistaken.
Of course his first visit was to Tip, and after he had petted him to his
heart's content, given him a hearty breakfast--thanks to old Mose's
generosity--he went below to report to Mr. Rankin for duty.
There was plenty of work to be done, and now that he had paid his
"tribute to the sea," the steward showed that while he could be kind
when there was reason for it, he also believed in making boys useful.
During the morning he had not once caught a glimpse of his friend Bobby
Tucker, nor, indeed, had he had time to look for him. He had asked old
Mose where Minchin's Island was, and when the steamer would arrive
there; but although Mose could give him very little geographical
information, he knew certainly that the _Pride of the Wave_ was due at
the island about noon.
Tim was impatient to get through with his work, so that he could talk
with Bobby a few moments, and when Mr. Rankin told him that he was at
liberty until dinner-time, he went at once to Tip's narrow quarters,
believing he would find the boy from Minchin's Island there.
Nor was he mistaken, for there was Bobby examining the dog very
carefully, measuring his legs and the stump of his tail, in order that
he might give accurate information regarding him to his friends at home.
Although the boys were very glad to see each other, the meeting was not
a particularly affectionate one.
"Hello, Bob," cried Tim; and Bobby answered,
"Hello, Tim."
"What are you doin' to Tip?"
"I was only kinder lookin' him over, to see if he was all right for the
bears when he an' you come down to see me."
"Oh, he can take care of the bears fast enough, but I'm afraid he won't
get down to your house."
"Oh yes, he will," was the confident reply. "The very next time the
_Pride_ comes to the island I'm goin' to get father to make the Captain
let you come ashore, an' father's one of the selectmen, so I guess
Captain Pratt can't help hisself."
The idea that Bobby's father was one of the town officials appeared to
put the matter in a different light, and Tim began to have great hopes
that the visit might really be made.
Then the chance of catching a bear, or of getting near enough for Tip to
catch one, was discussed. Tip was unfastened in order that all his
beautiful proportions might be seen more distinctly, and the boys grew
so excited over the subject that they forgot the flight of time, until
the steamer's whistle aroused them from thoughts of bear-killing.
"Gracious!" exclaimed Bobby, "here we've got home, an' I'd forgotten we
was so near."
"Was it Minchin's Island the boat was whistlin' for?"
"Yes. That's the first place she stops at after she leaves the city.
Come quick, so's we can get my valise out of the kitchen."
Bobby's valise with its precious contents was still in the care of Mose,
its owner not having looked after it more than once each hour, and now
he was very uneasy lest he should not be able to get it in time.
Tim was so excited by his companion's fears that he fastened Tip as
quickly as possible, not noticing in his haste that the knot was only
half tied, and could easily be unloosened.
The valise, with apparently as much in it as when it was intrusted to
the old darky's care, was soon in Bobby's possession, and the two boys
went on the upper deck, from which the landing was to be made.
Here, standing by the rail, Bobby pointed out the various objects of
interest on the island, not forgetting the woods in which he was
positive Tip would one day roam in search of the ferocious bear.
Captain Pratt was standing near them, but he was so much engaged in
giving orders for the proper landing of the boat that he did not notice
his cabin-boy, who was breaking one of the rules of the steamer by
loitering on that deck.
The boat was still quite a distance from the shore, and Bobby was
pointing out his father's house, when they heard a furious barking, and
before they could turn, Tip was jumping up around them. He had found no
difficulty in escaping from the half-tied rope, and after that was done
it was an easy matter for him to find his young master.
Captain Pratt had heard Tip's joyful greeting also, and as he turned to
see the cause of it, the dog, who was in such high spirits at having
escaped from his imprisonment that he was ready to show his good-will
for every one, left the boys, and fawned upon the Captain as if he was
his best friend. Captain Pratt showed very little consideration for the
dog, even while he thought he belonged to one of the passengers, and
gave him such a kick as sent him half the length of the deck, changing
his note of joy to loud yelps of pain.
The place in which Tip had been confined was anything but a clean one,
and as a natural consequence, when he jumped upon the Captain, he left
the muddy imprints of his paws on the clean blue clothes in which the
commander of the _Pride of the Wave_ had that day arrayed himself.
"Whose dog is that?" roared the Captain, as he surveyed the damage done.
"He's mine," answered Tim, who, at the first blow struck his pet, had
jumped toward the poor brute, and taken him to his bosom to soothe him.
[Illustration: CAPTAIN PRATT THROWS TIP OVERBOARD.]
Then it was that the Captain first saw his cabin-boy on the forbidden
ground of the upper deck, and it is positive that if he had had the time
just then he would have given him a painful intimation of the mistake he
had made. As it was, he walked up to Tim quickly, seized poor Tip by the
neck, and flung him as far as possible into the water.
"Now you go below," he said, in a low, angry tone, to Tim, "and after we
make this landing I'll settle with you."
Tim paid no more attention to the Captain's words than if they had been
uttered by a boy smaller than himself, but rushed frantically to the
rail as if he was about to jump after his pet.
The steamer was already so near the wharf that Captain Pratt had no time
to see if his order was obeyed, but was obliged to give all his
attention to the management of the boat.
It was fortunate for Tip that the Captain was very angry when he threw
him into the water, since he, using all his strength, had tossed him so
far from the steamer's side that he was in no danger of being drawn
under the wheel, as would have been the case had less vigor been used in
the cruel deed.
Tip acted like a very sensible dog under the circumstances; he held his
head up and struck out boldly for the shore, urged on by a crowd of boys
on the wharf.
Tim was almost frantic with grief, believing his pet was perishing
before his eyes, and he powerless to save him. It is quite possible that
he would have obeyed his first impulse and leaped into the water to try
to save Tip, if a passenger had not taken a firm hold of him.
"It's a wicked shame. I'd jest like to take that Captain an' do to him
jest as he has done to Tip, an' he such a nice bear dog too," said
Bobby, who stood by Tim's side watching Tip's battle for life.
"Do you s'pose he'll drown?" asked Tim, the great tear-drops rolling
down his cheeks.
"I dunno," was the cautious reply. "It seems to me his legs is rather
short for swimmin' very far, an' then, you see, he ain't got any tail to
steer hisself by."
Tim was just giving way to a fresh outburst of grief at these words,
which seemed to sound Tip's death-knell, when a gentleman said:
"There isn't the slightest danger of his drowning. It will take him some
time to reach the shore, for he's not swimming directly toward it; but
he'll come out all right, and it won't do him the least harm."
"An' jest as soon as I get ashore I'll run 'round an' call him in, an'
bring him to you," said Bobby, anxious to do something toward saving the
life of an animal as valuable as he believed Tip to be.
The dog was yet some distance from the shore when the boat was made fast
to the wharf, and Bobby rushed on shore, going toward the point where
Tip must land, wholly regardless of his parents, who were waiting to
greet him.
Tim started to follow him, bent only on saving his pet, and forgetting
that there was such a person in the world as Captain Pratt, when he felt
a heavy hand on his shoulder.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
FRIENDS IN NEED.
This is another "once upon a time" story, only that it was not such a
very long time ago that old Grandma Sparrow, Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow, and
three little Sparrow children lived on Bird Alley, only three doors away
from Mr. Jack Rabbit's house.
When the Sparrow family first moved into Bird Alley the weather was
warm, and Mr. Sparrow had not the slightest difficulty in doing his
marketing, for food was plenty in the streets, and he knew of as many as
a hundred cozy places where water could be found.
So all the summer long this family had three good meals each day simply
by going a short distance for them, and when it was very stormy some of
the children brought grandma's dinner to her, which showed that they
loved the old lady very dearly.
They were as industrious a family as ever lived in that alley, the
children doing exactly what their parents desired without ever once
crying to go out and play marbles, or to have a new doll, and they
always minded their own business, instead of idling around to see what
the neighbors were doing.
They knew that just around the corner the Rabbits lived, for several
times, when they had been out for food, the Sparrows had seen them at
the window, but the two families had never visited each other. Perhaps
they were not acquainted, because Mr. Rabbit and Mr. Sparrow had never
been introduced, or perhaps politics had something to do with it; at all
events, they were not acquaintances, and paid very little attention to
each other during the entire summer.
But one morning they awakened very early shivering with the cold,
grandmother shaking worse than all. The children were very much
surprised, for they had never had any experience with cold weather; but
the old folks looked worried, and Mr. Sparrow, without even stopping to
read the morning paper, said to his wife:
"I shall have to go out and see if any crumbs have been left for us. You
take care of grandmother, and keep the children in the house until I
come back."
The baby--for one of the children was so much smaller than the others
that they always called her the baby, even though she was only two days
younger than the oldest--cried to go out, and was so naughty that
grandma had to explain to her what the winter was.
She told her that Mr. Frost came each year on a visit, and locked
everything up in ice and snow that he could get hold of, which made it
very bad for Sparrows, unless some kind people left bread-crumbs where
hungry birds could get them.
The baby was not exactly satisfied with the explanation, because she
could not understand how it was that food should be so scarce then, when
it had been so plenty the day before; but she was naturally a good
little sparrow, and therefore did not grumble at being obliged to remain
in the house, even if she could not understand what her grandmother told
her.
It was late, and every one was very hungry, when Mr. Sparrow came back.
From the look on his face it was easy to see he had not been successful;
and after he had warmed his nose and his toes, he told them of the long
journey he had taken without finding a single chance for them to get
breakfast. Everything out-doors was frozen solid, and it seemed as if
the frost had found its way into the hearts of the people at the same
time, for not a crumb was to be seen anywhere.
Of course he knew that they must have something to eat, and he said to
his wife, much as if he was sorry at being obliged to come to such a
decision:
"Every bird in the alley is in the same plight we are, and I don't
believe any one of them has food enough in the house for a decent-sized
lunch. If it wasn't for grandmother and the children we could go hungry
for one day; but they must have something, and I have decided that I
will go over to Mr. Jack Rabbit's, and tell him just how we are
situated. He always has plenty of oats and barley in the house, and
never would miss the little we should eat."
Mrs. Sparrow did not like the idea of begging for a breakfast, and she
proposed that they should offer to pay for it by giving the Rabbit
family a concert--a plan of which Mr. Sparrow thought very highly.
It did not take them long to dress, for each one had his winter coat on,
and in a few moments after they were all sitting on a trough in front of
Mr. Rabbit's house.
Grandmother was still so lame that she could hardly sit up straight, and
the two older children felt so bashful at having all the young Rabbits
looking them straight in the face, that they got over at one end of the
trough where they could not be seen so plainly. But the baby sat up
between her mother and father as pert as possible, all ready to join in
the chorus as soon as the concert should begin.
Old Mrs. Rabbit was so surprised at the sudden appearance of visitors
when her house was not fully in order, that she stuck her head out
between the bars as if she wanted to smell of them to make sure they
were alive, and the children crowded so rudely that Mr. Rabbit was
obliged to look over his wife's head in order to see his guests.
Mr. Sparrow began the conversation by saying that he was sorry at thus
intruding on strangers, and then told of the condition of affairs in his
household, concluding his story by saying that nothing save absolute
hunger would have induced him to ask such a favor as that of something
to eat.
Then the baby spoke up, and would have told just how hungry she was, but
that her mother stepped on her toes to remind her that it was much
better for little folks to be seen than heard.
Mr. Rabbit stroked his whiskers sagely while Mr. Sparrow was speaking,
and after the baby was hushed, he said, kindly:
"I'm very sorry for you, neighbor, very sorry, and I will take especial
pains to have grain enough for your wants pushed out through the cracks
of our dining-room when we have our meals. I have always thought that
you Sparrows were not treated exactly as you deserved. In the summer the
children watch your funny ways, and think you're very nice, while some,
I am sorry to say, even steal the eggs from your nest. But when winter
comes, they seem to think it too much trouble even to throw out a piece
of bread where you can get it when the ground is covered with snow. I
shall speak about that same thing to certain parties I know, and next
winter I hope it will not happen."
Then Mrs. Rabbit apologized because she had no napkins to give her
guests, but Mrs. Sparrow begged of her not to feel badly about that,
since they were all so hungry that they would not even stop for plates
or forks, and in a few moments the Sparrow family had eaten all they
needed.
Mr. Sparrow, anxious to repay his neighbors for their kindness, started
a song, and all joined in the chorus, while the Rabbit family clapped
their paws until it was repeated over and over again.
These two families became firm friends after that first call, and during
all of last winter the Sparrows ate at the Rabbits' table; but Mr.
Rabbit says that when the cold weather comes this year he firmly
believes his friend the Editor of YOUNG PEOPLE will do all in his power
to induce his young acquaintances to see that their bird friends, who
have done so much for their amusement during the summer, are provided
with a liberal supply of crumbs during the cold winter months.
[Illustration: THE SPARROW FAMILY VISIT THE RABBIT FAMILY.]
[Illustration: ELVES IN THE PICNIC GROVE.]
LAVINIA'S LAWN PARTY.
BY JOSEPHINE POLLARD.
"Lavinia Dean!"
"Well, what?"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!"
"What for? What am I doing, I'd like to know?" and Lavinia looked out
from between the hands that framed her face with an expression of anger,
annoyance, and surprise.
Gussie Turner laughed, took off her hat, brushed up her bangs--for it
was a warm afternoon--and sat down on the porch beside Vinnie Dean,
imitating her very attitude. Lavinia frowned, for she disliked being
made fun of; but Gussie was such a jolly girl that it was impossible for
any one to be provoked at her for any length of time.
"What's the matter?" asked Gussie. "Why do you sit like a squaw, with
your elbows on your knees, and your chin on your hands? Is there trouble
on the war-path?"
"No," was the snappish response.
"My!" exclaimed Gussie. "I had no idea you could be so savage. May I
inquire to which tribe you belong?"
"I don't belong to any tribe. Do stop your nonsense."
"Don't belong to any tribe? Then why have you put on the war-paint and
feathers? Ah, I have it! Eureka! Alabama! The white man has entered your
camp and stolen your humpty-dumpty little pappoose. Come, let us prepare
for revenge;" and Gussie slipped her arm tenderly round Vinnie's waist.
"I ain't much of a fighter myself, but I have a brother who thinks he is
equal to a whole tribe of Indians, and if there are any scalps to be
taken, we'll send for Tad Turner."
Vinnie found it impossible to resist Gussie Turner; and although she
still maintained her humped-up position, her face gave token that the
war cloud was almost if not quite dispelled.
"It's about my birthday," said Vinnie.
"What? Wish you'd never been born?" inquired Gussie, with a comically
anxious expression. "Dear me!"
"No," said Vinnie, clasping her knees with her hands, "not so bad as
that; but I do wish I had been born in the winter."
"Why?" asked Gussie, fanning herself with her hat.
"Well, because I might have had a party then, and music and ice-cream
and all the nice things that other girls have. I think it mean to be
born in the summer, when it's too hot to do anything, and lots of folks
are away."
"Except mosquitoes," said Gussie, striking Vinnie a blow on the shoulder
that would have killed a mosquito as large as a grasshopper. It had the
effect of rousing Vinnie from her attack of the doldrums; and although
she was rather inclined to be angry and resentful, she was soon restored
to a more peaceful frame of mind.
"It was a mosquito, really," said Gussie; "but I didn't mean to hit him
so hard."
"Hit _him_?" said Vinnie, rubbing her shoulder. "Hit _her_, I should
say."
"Yes, the females do all the biting," said Gussie, "and that's all I
know about them. My birthday is in December," she continued, as if there
had been no interruption in the discourse.
"Oh, that's nice!" exclaimed Vinnie.
"No, it isn't," said Gussie. "It isn't nice at all to be born on the 23d
of December, for then it's so near Christmas that nobody takes any
notice of it."
"But you could have a party."
"We don't have parties at our house, you know," said Gussie, with a
change of tone which reminded Vinnie that Mrs. Turner was a nervous
invalid, and had to be kept quiet and as free as possible from every
annoyance.
Gussie Turner when out-of-doors was an entirely different creature from
what she was when in the house, and those who called her a "tomboy" and
"hoyden" should have seen her when officiating as head nurse at her
mother's bedside. She had a great flow of animal spirits, and was
naturally the leader in all out-door sports, which kept her from being
cross and cranky. Besides, she had a taste for reading, and was as
interested in her brother Tad's adventures as any girl could expect to
be, and went fishing or boating with him whenever she could get a
chance.
Tad said she was "as good as a boy," which was a very great compliment,
I can tell you, and Gussie was better skilled in boys' sports than she
was in girls', because she had no sisters to play with. Parties she had
no fondness for; they were stupid affairs at best, and she never had
been to one that she did not feel as if all her clothes were made of
whalebone.
"I'd like a lawn party," she said to Vinnie. "They must be nice."
"What are they like?"
"Oh, I don't know! There's never been one here," said Gussie, "but I've
read about them. They're all out-doors. Splendid for summer."
"I should think so," said Vinnie. "But--"
"Well, as Tad would say, what have you butted against now?"
"The lawn. We haven't any;" and Vinnie looked as if she were nearly
related to White Cloud or Sitting Bull.
"No," said Gussie, eying the small patch of grass in front of the house
almost concealed by the tall shrubbery. "It's too bad. But--"
"Now you've butted against something," exclaimed Vinnie, catching the
infection of Gussie's merriment.
"No, I haven't," was the reply. "I've butted over the fence, and have
the bull--no, the goat--by the horns. We have--a--lovely--lawn!"
"Gussie!"
"Fact."
"But your mother?"
"I think she'll like it. Tad'll help us. We'll combine our birthdays,
and have a royal good time." Here she seized Vinnie around the waist,
and waltzed her about to the tune of the "Racquet Galop" until both were
out of breath.
Mrs. Turner and Mrs. Dean were consulted, and gave their hearty consent
to the proposed plan, and Tad saw a good chance for distinguishing
himself. He and Gus had been reading about lawn tennis, and had seen so
many illustrations of the game that they were sure they could play it if
they had a chance.
Vinnie's birthday was on the 12th of August, and she was to see that the
invitations were sent out and the guests invited to her house. The rest
was to be kept a profound secret, and as neither Tad's nor Gussie's
friends were in the habit of collecting near the house, on account of
the known sensitiveness of Mrs. Turner's nerves, it was easy to make all
the necessary arrangements.
Tad rigged a fish-net on the lawn, following the exact directions given
in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and was wonderfully well pleased with his
success. Vinnie and Gussie encouraged him by their presence, and admired
the ease and skill with which he drove the posts and fastened the
guy-ropes.
"It's splendid!" exclaimed Vinnie. "Is that all? I don't know much about
the game, but I'd like to learn it."
"It's easy," said Tad. "We'll practice before Thursday, if--"
Here Tad gave a comical look toward Gussie, who returned it with a shake
of the head. Vinnie caught the signs, but could not interpret them.
"What is it?" she asked. Tad walked off with his hands in his pockets.
"It's an _if_, and you must tell me, Gussie, or I'll be real angry."
"It's mean," replied Gussie, her bright face in an unusual snarl. "We
need the racquets and balls, and Tad says they'll cost at least two
dollars."
"And did he suppose I'd let him buy them?" asked Vinnie, an indignant
color flushing her cheek. "Why, this is _my_ party, you remember!"
"Yes, but it's _our_ lawn, don't you know, and we mustn't have the wrong
kind of a racket on it."
Vinnie failed to appreciate the joke, not having much acquaintance with
the game. But she talked the matter over with Mrs. Dean, and on
Wednesday morning, when Tad was busy picking up the sticks and stones
about the lawn, an express wagon drove up to the gate, and a parcel was
handed him marked
_Mr. Thaddeus Turner._
Tad never felt quite so important in his life, or much better pleased
than when he found it contained two handsome racquets and two balls, so
that the worry was over about the game of lawn tennis.
There was a note with the parcel from Mr. Dean, which ran thus:
"_Mr. Thaddeus Turner:_
"DEAR SIR,--I have no idea what the expense would be of hiring a
lawn, but the inclosed may to some extent cover the ground and
relieve from any feeling of indebtedness.
"Yours very truly,
HARRISON DEAN."
"He's a gentleman," said Tad, folding the note and tucking it away in
his vest pocket. "If he is ever up for Congress, I'll vote for him."
It would make too long a story to tell of all the wonderful preparations
that were made for the party which was to be the event of the season, or
how much Vinnie was benefited by the intimacy with the Turners, who were
the nicest kind of people.
The important day arrived, and the girls and boys met at Vinnie Dean's
about four o'clock in the afternoon, and were received in the
sitting-room, where they laid aside their hats and fixed their frizzes
(the girls did), and were prepared to have a good time.
Mrs. Dean had asked Tad to be master of ceremonies, as Arthur was too
young for such service, and Tad proved himself equal to the emergency.
He was a great mimic, and amused the company with imitations of Dutch,
French, and Irish characters, and was so clever in giving the dialect of
each that his anecdotes were received with uproarious laughter.
After an hour of such fun, the merry boy covered his face with a comical
mask, and requested "dat all de congregation would jine hands by twos
and twos, and peramberate around de kentry for de benefit ob dem fokes
what ain't in der percession."
Laughingly they obeyed his command, Gussie and Vinnie taking the head of
the column, their eyes dancing with merriment, and their actions
betraying that they knew more than they were going to tell. Tad turned
the mask around to the back of his head, took a whistle out of his
pocket, and began playing "The Rogue's March," which started the
"congregation" of twenty off at a lively pace.
Imagine their surprise when they entered Mrs. Turner's grounds and saw
the arrangements made for out-of-door sports.
Mrs. Turner was in an easy-chair on the porch, and gave them a smiling
greeting, which Tad in a moment returned by getting his troops into
line, and giving her a military salute. And then the fun began.
Everybody was anxious to learn lawn tennis, and for an hour or so little
was heard but the batting of balls and the cries that are a part of the
game. Some enjoyed the swing, and others sat on the grass under the
trees, or walked about with arms interlaced.
Gussie was everywhere, and at a signal from her, six of the larger girls
took their places on the lawn, facing the house, and ready to have a
"fan drill." This was a surprise to Vinnie Dean and her mother, who sat
beside Mrs. Turner on the porch, and for the time being the lawn tennis
court was abandoned.
The six girls were in white; three of them had red fans, three blue.
Gussie acted as Captain, and her fan was of both colors, her dress being
also red and blue. The orders were given so nicely and obeyed with such
precision that even Tad was surprised. He had no idea that girls could
be so smart, or had so much knowledge of military affairs.
As they stood in line each girl held her fan closed at her side.
"Carry fans!" said Captain Gus. The fans were brought to the shoulder.
"Present fans!" They were struck on the left hand with a unanimous
sound.
"Open fans!" They were spread with a rush.
"Rest fans!" They were closed with a snap, and returned to the right
side. Then there were the "bashful flutter," "angry flutter," "scornful
flutter," and a variety of other movements not set down in any military
tactics.