said Humpty Dumpty, gratefully; and he looked quite happy once more, as
the good old lady nodded "good-by," and proceeded on her way, while the
gander waved a yellow webbed foot in farewell.
"I will set off one cracker before breakfast, one at noon, and one
to-night," thought Humpty Dumpty, as he tumbled out of bed bright and
early next morning; "as I have so few, I must make them go as far as
possible."
So as soon as he was dressed he ran into the yard and prepared to salute
the "Glorious Fourth."
"Mother Goose said I must make a wish first, so here goes: I wish for a
pop-gun, and no end of fire-crackers and torpedoes: now shoot away."
Touching the string with a match, there was a sharp report, and Humpty
Dumpty was obliged to dodge, for the air was instantly filled with
flying objects. A square package hit him on the nose, a round one landed
in his open mouth, while a pop-gun thumped him rudely on the back; and
by the time the cracker had burned itself out, he was standing in mute
amazement, gazing upon the fulfillment of his wish far beyond his
wildest expectations.
"Oh, jolly!" was his first comment, and he soon found courage to stuff
his pockets with the crackers and torpedoes until they stood out like
balloons, and made him look fatter than ever, when he walked down toward
the green, popping at every cat and dog on the way, the envy and
admiration of every other boy in Gooseneck.
Humpty Dumpty was a generous lad, however, and shared his treasures with
all his friends, although he would not tell where he got them; and by
noon every cracker and torpedo was a thing of the past, and each boy had
had a "pop" with the pop-gun.
Meanwhile Humpty Dumpty had been thinking of his second wish, and at
last decided to share it with Bo-peep, of whom he was very fond, and for
that purpose asked the little shepherdess to walk with him to the large
oak-tree on the edge of the village, and while resting in the shade of
its green boughs said,
"If you could have whatever you wished for, what would you choose,
Bo-peep?"
"Oh, some blue ribbons, and candy," said Bo-peep, "bolivars, and
chocolate drops, and such things."
"Then wish for them, and fire off this," said Humpty Dumpty, handing her
a cracker.
Bo-peep looked surprised, but did as she was bid; but to the boy's
surprise and disappointment, it only "fizzed," and went out.
"It is a poor one," said Bo-peep.
"We will make a squib of it," said Humpty Dumpty; and he quickly broke
it in two, and applied a match; and what a squib it was!--for in place
of the usual stream of fire, there issued forth a shower of such
sugar-plums and bonbons as neither of the children had ever even dreamed
of, and yards and yards of blue ribbon, the very color of the summer
sky.
Bo-peep clasped her hands, and sat down suddenly on the grass, but
Humpty Dumpty calmly heaped her lap with goodies, and twined the ribbon
in her sunny hair, and round the neck of her favorite lamb, which had
followed them from the village, and while they regaled themselves with
the confections under the oak-tree, told her of the wonderful gift given
him by dear old Mother Goose.
That afternoon the good people of Gooseneck were startled out of their
accustomed quiet by an invitation from Humpty Dumpty to an exhibition of
fire-works that evening on the village green; and John Stout, Nimble
Dick, and a number of other boys were engaged to build a platform for
the occasion.
"The boy must have gone out of his mind," said Mrs. Dumpty, when she
heard the news. "I'm afraid that last fall has affected his brain;" and
all the villagers shook their heads doubtfully.
They were all on hand, however, at the appointed time, Mother Goose
occupying a reserved seat in front; and loud was the laugh and many the
jokes made on Humpty Dumpty when he appeared on the platform carrying in
his chubby hand one small fire-cracker.
"Have we all come here to see a fat boy set off that little squib?" they
asked.
"Wait," said Mother Goose.
And in a few moments their ridicule was turned to wonder; for as the
cracker went off, a confused medley of rockets, pin-wheels, Roman
candles, blue-lights, and other fire-works fell with a loud noise upon
the stage.
"Magic!" "magic!" sounded on all sides, but changed to ohs! and ahs! as
a beautiful rocket flew through the air, and burst into a hundred golden
balls.
Oh, that was a Fourth of July long to be remembered, for such fire-works
had never been seen in Gooseneck before; and when the last piece of all
was displayed, showing a figure of Mother Goose herself, surrounded by a
rainbow and a shower of silver stars, the delight of the spectators knew
no bounds, and cheers for Humpty Dumpty rent the air.
He came forward, his round face all aglow with pleasure, as he bowed and
said, "Your thanks, my friends, do not belong to me, but to our beloved
Mother Goose, who, to make a poor boy happy, gave him her three magic
fire-crackers."
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 34, June 22.]
MISS VAN WINKLE'S NAP.
BY MRS. W. J. HAYS.
CHAPTER III.
"Au printemps Poiseau nait et chante,
N'avez-vous pas oui sa voix?
Elle est pure, simple, et touchante,
La voix de Poiseau dans les bois."
So sang Julie Garnier, as she trudged with weary little feet up the
mountain-side, listening to the birds, and in search of the squaw in
charge of the doors of Day and Night. The pretty Indian legend had
bewitched her. Here she was wandering away from all who cared for her,
to see an old woman who cut up the old moons into stars; and already
twilight was making the woods more dusky. The slanting sunbeams made a
golden green in the young underbrush; the birds were seeking their
nests; night would soon wrap the world in darkness; then what would
become of Julie? The good God would protect her, she felt sure. But she
was undoubtedly hungry, and yonder, where the road turned, was a great
flat stone; on it she might rest, and eat a little ginger cake she
happened to have in her pocket. To it she hastened, and what a world of
beauty lay before her! It was at the head of a ravine, one of those deep
mountain gorges lined with pines and cedars, through which rushed a
rapid stream, but beyond this and over it were the dark defiles of the
mountain range sweeping away to the north in purple shadows, while the
sun tipped the tops of the nearer forest with gold and crimson. Here
Julie paused, overcome with the grandeur and beauty her young eyes
beheld. She sat down and listened to the noise of the stream beneath,
and she watched the birds skimming over the ravine. Then remembering her
cake, she took it from her pocket and nibbled it daintily, for it was
all the food she had, and she must make it last until she came to the
old squaw's wig-wam, where, of course, she would be hospitably regaled.
She pushed her daisy-wreathed hat from her head, and leaned against a
pine-tree; the soft breeze fanned her hot little head, and played with
her brown curls; she drew her knees up and clasped her hands about them,
watching the sky change from one bright hue to another. The stream's
voice was a lullaby, and slowly, softly fell the fringes of her eyelids;
till the bright eyes were closed, and Julie was asleep.
She was so wearied and in so deep a slumber that the approaching
stage-coach with its freight of tourists did not disturb her; and so
eager was every one to see the famous view, that no one apparently
noticed the little sleeping wayfarer, but behind the stage came in a
more leisurely manner a private conveyance with only four occupants--a
lady and gentleman and two children, all evidently foreigners. The
elders were indeed occupied in gazing at the glorious picture Nature
here displayed, but the eyes of the children were equally sensitive to
smaller objects, and when they beheld a sleeping child, they at once
drew the attention of their parents to this interesting incident.
The gentleman bade the driver halt, and assisted his pretty little wife
from the carriage. She went hastily forward toward Julie, but as she
neared her she stopped, clasped her hands, and turned toward her
husband. Her face grew so white that he became alarmed, and asked,
"What is it, ma chere? Are you ill?"
"No, I am not ill; but look at this child--quick! Who is she like?"
The gentleman glanced at Julie, nodded his head, pulled his mustache,
and said, briefly, "Yes, I see a resemblance."
"To whom, Max?--say, to whom?"
"To your poor little sister, Marie."
"Yes; is it not strange? Oh, how marvellously like Julie! I must waken
her. Is she not lovely, the dear little creature, sleeping so
innocently? Oh, Max, perhaps--perhaps--"
"Waken her, Marie. Ask her name."
The lady touched Julie gently, but the tired child slept too soundly for
the light touch to arouse her, and it was not until she had kissed her
on the cheek--the little red and brown cheek--that Julie opened her
eyes. Then the lady gave a hysterical scream, not very loud, but enough
to frighten Julie, whose eyes grew bigger and browner every moment.
"Oh, those eyes are Julie's!" said the lady.
"Of course they are, madame," replied Julie. "And are you the squaw?"
"Am I what? Is the child dreaming? What is your name, mon enfant?"
"My name is-- But why do you ask, madame? and where am I? Oh, I know: I
am on my way to see the old Indian squaw who lives up here in the
mountains, and it is getting late. I was very weary, and I fell asleep."
"Your name, my child--tell me your name, that I may know if you are
Julie Garnier's child."
"Yes, madame, I am Julie Garnier." With that the little lady embraced
her so warmly, and gave her so many kisses, that Julie strove to get
away from her.
"Children," said the lady, "come here; this is your cousin, little Julie
Garnier, whose mother is my dear sister, from whom I have long been
separated. Max, we must take the child home."
"Where are you staying, little one?" asked the gentleman, in a heavy
voice, which made Julie shrink toward the lady.
"I am staying with Quillie Coit at Mr. Brown's," was Julie's answer, for
she dared not now urge her errand, and was much perplexed by all this
agitation. The children were standing beside her, gazing curiously, but
not unkindly; the little lady was wiping her eyes; the gentleman was
holding a consultation with the driver. It ended by their all getting
again into the vehicle, Madame Von Boden taking Julie in her arms, and
pouring into her astonished ears sweet caressing words, in her own
beloved language, about Julie's own dear mother; their home in France;
her marriage to a Prussian; the marriage of Julie's mother to a
Frenchman; the dreadful war; a separation; a long silence, in which they
had heard nothing about Madame Garnier, who was so proud in her poverty;
fears that she was dead; the certain knowledge that her husband, Julie's
father, was really dead; and now this happy discovery. It was almost too
much for Julie, coming as it did in the midst of her own strange
adventure, and she could hardly believe it to be all true; but she
submitted with a good grace, stifling her regret at not accomplishing
her purpose, since this kind little aunt seemed to be so overjoyed. The
driver knew where Mr. Brown lived, and just as Mr. Brown's tired horses
were being harnessed, and nurse in weariful anxiety was listening to the
comfort which Quillie was trying to whisper to her, this strange vehicle
was heard coming down the lane. Every one rushed to the gate--Mr. and
Mrs. Brown, the farm hands, the kitchen folk, nurse, and even Quillie in
her night-gown; for there was Julie at last--poor tired little
Julie--drooping, faint, and tearful.
No one scolded, not even nurse, who had been most sorely tried; and
Madame Von Boden, with many mistakes in her use of English, and with
much excitement, related her adventure. Of course it was considered
wonderful, and the travellers were prevailed upon to remain at Mr.
Brown's overnight.
[Illustration: A GOOD TIME IN THE BARN.]
You would not have supposed that following day, when all the children
were having a good time in the barn--swinging, feeding the horses,
gathering eggs, giving the hens a double supply of corn, and in every
way making the most of a barn's generous resources--that one little
maiden among them was a heroine of romance, a very tired little heroine,
quite contented to watch the swallows and pigeons, and gaze at the
far-away mountain-tops. But so it was, and so it often is; for, as the
French say, "'tis the unexpected that happens;" and when Madame Garnier
heard that her little Julie had found her aunt Marie, and that the
little cousins were all housed under one roof, and having much happiness
together, her own joy was great.
Julie promised faithfully never to undertake any more expeditions
without the consent of her guardians, and she begged Quillie never to
say anything more about the squaw; but Fred was allowed, by special
grace, to call her Miss Van Winkle; for Fred had a funny way peculiar to
himself which seldom excited wrath.
Later in the season, when Madame Garnier was able to join Julie, and Mr.
and Mrs. Coit came up from the city, the Von Bodens gave a pretty _fete_
to all the children, and at the conclusion of it Quillie was invited to
accompany Julie and her cousins, and spend the winter in Paris, which
was so nice an opportunity for Quillie to acquire a good French accent
that her father and mother felt obliged to accept.
Artie and Will had a great talk about this, and Fred said he wished Miss
Van Winkle would just take another nap in the woods, to see what else
might happen; possibly next time he would get an invitation from the
Prince of Wales to go yachting.
But Miss Van Winkle took her naps at home after that, though she still
thinks of the old squaw every time she looks at the moon.
THE END.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
The following gratifying communication comes from the librarian of a
large public library in Illinois:
May prosperity attend your most excellent YOUNG PEOPLE! I keep it
on file in the reading-room, and it is pleasant to note the
eagerness with which its pages are devoured by the boys and girls
who daily throng our rooms. The paper is doing a noble work among
them, not only in amusing them, but by giving them solid
information upon a great variety of subjects in a most delightful
way, thus giving them a taste for a class of reading almost always
pronounced "dry" by the youngsters. It supplies a long-felt want
in juvenile literature. Again I say, success to your noble
enterprise!
* * * * *
SUNDERLAND, VERMONT.
I am eleven years old, and I live in the country. Papa has a very
large farm.
I have three sisters. The oldest is in Philadelphia at school. I
am next to the oldest. My sister Annie and I have the care of the
chickens and turkeys. We have doves which are so tame they will
fly and alight on our hands to get corn. We had a little pet crow,
but it died last night. We are going to get another one. We have
wild strawberries. They are very plenty this year.
JENNIE G.
* * * * *
THOMPSONVILLE, CONNECTICUT.
I take YOUNG PEOPLE. I think the engravings are so pretty. After I
went to bed last night, I could hear the people down stairs
talking. After a while papa began to read to mamma. I listened,
and soon made out that he was reading from YOUNG PEOPLE about "The
Boys and Uncle Josh." Papa laughed so that he had to stop reading
several times. I am twelve years old.
MINNIE S.
* * * * *
SWEETWATER, TENNESSEE.
I like YOUNG PEOPLE very much, and I read all the letters from the
children. I have been going to school, but we have a vacation now.
I am not as well read as S. Cassius E----, but I am a year
younger. I have read some poems of Tennyson and other poets, and
the whole of Goodrich's _History of Rome and Greece_. I have a
crippled sister who has read a great deal, and she tries to make
me read more, but I spend most of my leisure time in practicing
music. I am learning to cook, and I am going to try some of the
recipes sent to the cooking club. I am going to my grandma's soon,
and I expect to have a nice time. She lives in a shady dell, and
we call it "Dell Delight."
SUSAN M.
* * * * *
CHAPEL HILL, GEORGIA.
I am a little boy eleven years old. My aunt in New York sends me
YOUNG PEOPLE. I like the stories and the letter-box very much. I
live twenty-five miles from the city of Atlanta. We have had
whortleberries, plums, and mulberries this summer. I go to school,
and I walk there every morning. It is a mile and a half away. I
have but one pet, a dog named Rover. My sister Addie has three
cats. One of them catches chickens, and my dog sucks eggs.
G. F. A. V.
* * * * *
EAST CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS.
You can hardly imagine how much I like YOUNG PEOPLE, and how
anxiously I wait till it comes. I have two canaries. Dick is
yellow, and Bill is linnet green. Dick is tamer than Bill.
FRED L. Z.
* * * * *
NEWPORT, KENTUCKY.
I am eight years old. I go to school, and am in the Second Reader.
We have all the numbers of the YOUNG PEOPLE, and papa is going to
have the first twenty-six bound. Mamma liked it so much that
New-Year's she took it for my cousins.
When we lived in Illinois papa was Adams Express agent, and we had
a horse named Adam. When my brother Charlie was four years old he
went to Sunday-school, and once when the teacher asked the class
who was the first man, Charlie yelled out, "Adams Express man!"
The first thing I read when my paper comes, are the little letters
in the Post-office Box.
WILLIE W.
* * * * *
NEW YORK CITY.
If any of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE have pet turtles, this is
what they can feed them with: Mine eat flies, bugs, worms, and
fish. One of mine is so small that a large three-cent piece would
cover it. Bull-frogs will eat these same things too.
I think YOUNG PEOPLE is splendid. The story of "The Moral Pirates"
is the best yet.
LYMAN C.
* * * * *
SCHUYLERSVILLE, NEW YORK.
YOUNG PEOPLE is the best paper I ever saw. I like the story of
"The Moral Pirates" best of all, and I hope it will be a long one.
I have two brothers, both younger than I am. We do not go to
school, but study at home. I would like to know whether you are
going to have a binding for YOUNG PEOPLE. I read the letters in
the Post-office Box over and over, and enjoy them very much. We
raise a good many chickens, and I have lots of pet ones, all of
which have names.
KEBLE D.
We have already stated in the Post-office Box that an ornamental cover
will be ready when the first volume is concluded.
* * * * *
NIAGARA FALLS, NEW YORK.
I like YOUNG PEOPLE very much, especially the story of "The Moral
Pirates." I always read it the minute it comes from the
post-office.
J. M. P.
* * * * *
NEW YORK CITY.
I am twelve years old, and a constant reader of YOUNG PEOPLE. I am
the boy who was buried under the snow, in the story called "Ned's
Snow-House," in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 18. I was very much surprised
when I read it, and it was some time before papa found out who
wrote it. I was nine years old when it happened.
WARREN S. B.
* * * * *
TAIOHAE, NUKAHIVA, MARQUESAS ISLANDS.
I am the only white girl in this place that can talk English. I
have two brothers and one little sister. I am the eldest, and am
nearly twelve years old. It is very wild out here. In one of these
islands the people eat each other. There is no school here, and
mamma teaches me my lessons. Papa gets HARPER'S WEEKLY, and YOUNG
PEOPLE came with it. I send now to subscribe for it.
ISABELLA F. H.
* * * * *
NEW ORLEANS, LOUISIANA.
I am seven years old, and I like YOUNG PEOPLE so much! I often go
out to Spanish Fort, on Lake Pontchartrain. They have a pair of
goats and a little carriage there that children can ride in for
five cents a round trip.
I have a pet dog named Jack, and four pet chickens; and I had a
little canary, but it got sick and died. My dog chases my chickens
all day long, so that I have to whip him.
CHARLIE S.
* * * * *
BUTTEVILLE, OREGON.
I live on the banks of the Willamette River. We are having lots of
rain here now. I thought I would write and tell you how much I
liked the story of "Across the Ocean." I liked "The Story of
George Washington" too. I am eleven years old.
W. B.
* * * * *
MEXIA, TEXAS.
I have had a present of a little canary, but it does not sing. The
lady who gave it to me said it had been a beautiful singer, but it
became sick. She gave it castor-oil, and it recovered, but has
never sung since that time. The little bird has a nice cage,
always fresh water for drinking and bathing, bird seed, fish-bone,
and plenty of green leaves and grass. I wish some one could tell
me how to make it sing again.
ADELE M.
It is not easy to restore song to a silent canary, and as you will see
from a letter in this "Post-office Box," you are not the only one
seeking a remedy for this trouble. The companionship of a singing-bird
will sometimes arouse a canary to display its own musical talent. Your
bird may be silent from overfeeding, as too much green food, like
lettuce leaves, makes a bird grow fat and stupid, and less likely to
sing. Try to place your bird near singing canaries for a few weeks, if
you can, and if that does not affect it favorably, we fear nothing will.
* * * * *
Cora R. Price and Mamie E. Evans both send the following legend of the
forget-me-not, in answer to the inquiry of "A Constant Reader": Some
flower seeds having been cast away by a traveller from a distant
country, they fell by the edge of a lake. Some time afterward two lovers
were wandering by the lake's side, and the lady, seeing the strange
flowers, entreated her companion to gather some. As the gallant knight
reached to pluck the blossoms, he fell in a quicksand, and was drawn
into the treacherous pool, flinging the flowers at the maiden's feet,
and crying, "Forget me not," as he disappeared forever.
Here is still another fanciful legend, sent by Ethel Sophia Mason: When
Adam and Eve were driven from Eden, the flowers all shrank away from Eve
with the exception of a little blue blossom, which Eve had named
"heaven's flower," as its color was so much like the blue sky. As Eve
passed, it seemed to murmur, "Forget me not," and she gratefully
gathered it, saying, "Henceforth, dear flower, that shall be thy name."
It was the only plant transplanted from Paradise, or that survived the
flood. It is said to have the power of speaking at midnight, and telling
the legend of its sweet name.
* * * * *
TROY, NEW YORK.
I am very fond of natural history and botany. The other day I was
out walking with my teacher, and I saw a caterpillar, or, as my
little friend Ada says, a pillarcat! It had a black body, with a
red stripe running along its back. I wish some one would tell me
what kind it was. I would like "Wee Tot's" address.
LENA.
The address of "Wee Tot" was given with her letter in Post-office Box
No. 26. Walter H. P., who wrote about caterpillars in Post-office Box
No. 31, can perhaps tell you the name of the caterpillar, and what kind
of butterfly or moth it produces, although you describe only its color.
Had you stated its size, length, and other peculiarities, it would be
easier to give you its name.
* * * * *
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.
I like to read YOUNG PEOPLE very much, but I like the pictures
best of all. I have shown the paper to the boys in our
neighborhood, and have got a good many of them to take it. I never
drew any Wiggles before, but I like them. I am twelve years old,
and I work for a dentist.
HENRY B. A.
* * * * *
SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS.
I am very much interested in the Wiggles, and I read all the
poetry in YOUNG PEOPLE. I like the Letter-box better than
anything. I get my paper from the bookstore here. I wish you would
tell me where I can buy a cannon, a real cannon, so I can shoot on
the Fourth of July.
M. L. J.
* * * * *
SAN BERNARDINO, CALIFORNIA.
I am twelve years old. I have a little dog and a big cat. They
play together all the time. Sometimes when they are playing they
get so tired that they lie down together and go to sleep. My
sister had a wax doll. One day she left it on the table, and my
dog got it, and tore off all its hair.
WILLARD H. H.
* * * * *
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA.
We have three cats. One is black and white, and it jumps into
mamma's lap every time it comes into the room. And we have a dear
little colt one month old. When the man puts it in the field it
races all around, and seems to enjoy itself so much. I am nearly
ten years old.
BERTHA E.
* * * * *
SHERBURNE FOUR CORNERS, NEW YORK.