form in the tree, and gasped, "A panther! See his eyes! Shoot him,
Hank!" I was nearly beside myself with fear by this time, and my hair
stood on end, like wire.
Hank looked at the tree for a moment, then turning to me, fairly
shouted, "A panther! Why, you--" and here he burst into a roar of
laughter. "A panther! Why, it's--" and again he laughed so heartily that
he had to hold on to a tree for support. At last, when he had recovered
himself somewhat, he went to the tree, and reaching up into the crotch
he took down a--blue army coat with brass buttons. As he unrolled it and
gazed at the holes made by my bullets he burst into a fresh fit of
laughter. Every bullet had taken effect, and as Hank remarked, "It was
of no use except for the top to a pepper box." Here Uncle Harry stopped
and laughed at the recollection of the scene, then he added, in
explanation, "You see, children, the coat was rolled so that two of the
brass buttons showed and glittered in the fire-light like the eyes of
some wild animal. I promised Hank a new coat and unlimited tobacco if he
would say nothing about it; but the story was too good to keep, and all
the way home I was teased with sly hints about my panther hunt. Hello,
it's ten o'clock. Come, off to bed every one of you," added Uncle Harry,
looking at his watch.
"You didn't save the skin of that panther, did you, Uncle Harry?" said
Charlie, as he left the room.
[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 94, August 16.]
PENELOPE.
BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.
CHAPTER II.
To any one unaccustomed to serving in a shop the duties seem very
perplexing. Left alone, Nora sat down behind the counter feeling
decidedly confused by the novelty of her position. There was a glare of
gas-light in the window above the fancy articles, and Nora watched the
faces of the passers-by who peered in, sometimes pausing for a more
critical survey, sometimes hurrying on with absent-minded glances, but
it seemed to her as if a real customer never would appear. Finally, with
a rush of frosty air, a small boy appeared who wanted some needles; then
a bevy of girls who had wools to match, and drove Nora wild with their
questions. These were followed by a cross old gentleman, who had
evidently been induced by his wife to match some silk, and who vented
his ill-humor on poor little Nora, scolding her about the silk, and the
change she made, and everything she tried to do for him. To his visit
succeeded an interval of solitude, and then the pleasant figure of Mrs.
Bruce came hurrying in, her face glowing from the night air, and a
tempting parcel of Cambridge sausages in her hands.
"Now, my dear," said Mrs. Bruce, "what do you say to stopping another
'arf an hour, and then trying a bit of supper? Why, wot's on your mind?"
For Nora's face had suddenly colored.
"Dear Mrs. Bruce," she exclaimed, "I have such a favor to ask of you.
You sell fancy articles, and I know we have one or two things that might
fetch something. Oh, _could_ I put them in your window?"
"Why, of course," said Mrs. Bruce, cheerily; "why not? Here, run and get
them. I'll wait a minute."
Nora flew up stairs, but on reaching the upper room found her mother
sleeping so peacefully she had not the heart to disturb her. But she
felt sure her purpose could not be disapproved, and so she opened a
small trunk, searching among their few possessions for the articles she
had referred to. There was a sandal-wood box which Nora knew from
childhood, in it were a few of Mrs. Mayne's girlish treasures, and
opening this Nora drew out a pretty, old-fashioned hand screen, just
such as fashion, tired of novelty, is bringing back to use. The faded
colors, the delicate scent, the decoration, all would have made it
valuable to the bric-à-brac collector of to-day. And there, painted
fancifully across the back, was the name
[Illustration: Penelope.]
Nora held the little screen carefully in her hands, puzzling over the
name, unknown in her family she was sure, yet bringing back to her mind
the wintry morning when she had seen the Deanery gate open, and that
pretty, unknown "Penelope" come out in the clear crisp sunshine of the
morning. "Oh, if she were only here to buy it!" thought Nora, hastening
down stairs with her treasure. Mrs. Bruce approved highly of it.
"You see, people are buying the old things now," said the good woman.
"So put it in the window, and we'll see what it will do."
[Illustration: THE OLD-FASHIONED HAND SCREEN.--DRAWN BY E. A. ABBEY.]
Nora tremblingly chose a place for the little screen. She tried to be
very conscientious, and interfere with none of Mrs. Brace's wares, but
she contrived to hang the screen so that the name "Penelope" shone in
the glare of the gas. Then she sat down, feeling as if she were awaiting
a Fate. People came and went; a few customers who were more troublesome
than profitable; some of the hurrying glances were bestowed upon Nora's
screen, but no one asked to examine it. The savory odors from Mrs.
Bruce's kitchen were finding their way into the shop, making poor Nora
hungrier than ever, when she noticed a tall young man in passing look
critically at the screen, and then turn back, and finally open the door.
Nora's heart throbbed.
"Will you let me see that screen, miss, if you please?" he said,
politely.
Nora unfastened it from the line with rather nervous fingers. The young
gentleman held it up in the light, f examining it carefully. It was a
moment of suspense that to Nora seemed an hour. Then she heard him say,
half under his breath, "Penelope--queer--"
"Yes, sir," said Nora, earnestly; "it _is_ an odd name. I don't know how
it came there; it--" Then she stopped short, remembering there was no
necessity for explanation to this stranger.
The young man seemed, however, scarcely to have heard what she had said.
He continued his inspection of the quaint little screen, finally lifting
his eyes with a look of amusement or pleasure in them, as he said:
"How much is this?--it is wonderfully good."
Nora hesitated.
"What do you think it is worth?" she asked, timidly.
The customer looked surprised.
"Is there no fixed price?" he asked.
"Oh, sir," exclaimed Nora, "it is mine, you see. Mrs. Bruce let me put
it in the window. I--we--my mother--"
Her cheeks were crimson. She stopped, not knowing how to continue the
explanation. The young man looked at her very kindly. Something in the
care-worn little face, the pathetic eagerness of the eyes, told Nora's
story.
"I think," said her customer--"I think it is worth about two pounds."[1]
[1] Ten dollars.
Nora's eyes glistened. Two pounds! She could scarcely believe her
senses. Was it possible!
"Oh!" she whispered. "Is it _really_--do you want it so much?"
The young man laughed good-naturedly.
"I want it very much," he answered. "I have a cousin named Penelope."
And almost before the young girl could realize her good fortune her
customer was gone, the evidence that she was not dreaming being the two
gold pieces shining in her hand.
Mrs. Bruce was delighted; but when Nora wished her to accept the money
in payment for the room--the rent of which was long overdue--she stoutly
refused. "Give me ten shillings," she said, busily making the change.
"There, now. I've a cozy bit of supper ready for your mother, if you'll
carry it up to her." A nice plate of mashed potatoes and steaming brown
sausages was ready in the little parlor. Nora could hardly express her
appreciation of the good woman's kindness. She carried the little tray
up stairs with a grateful heart. Her mother was awake, and, putting down
the supper, Nora hastened to tell her story; but to her surprise her
mother listened in dismay.
"Oh, Nora!" exclaimed Mrs. Mayne. "What have you done, my darling? I
would rather have parted with _anything_, before that little screen. It
was my one relic of the past!"
Poor Nora! her heart swelled with grief. She was tired and worn with
anxiety, and looking at her mother piteously she burst into a flood of
tears.
* * * * *
The Deanery at Nunsford is a large old house full of beautiful rooms,
each, it seems to me, setting the charms of the next at defiance. There
is a wide long hall leading to the dining-room, with deep windows
fronting the garden, and in winter-time their seats are always full of
flowers: roses clambering against the old lattice-work panes; hyacinths
filling the air with odors; and pots of yellow primroses, which so early
star the borders of every Devonshire garden.
On a certain January morning one of these bright windows was made
brighter still by the figure of a tall, brown-haired young lady who had
stopped to open a parcel on her way to breakfast.
"Penelope--Penny!" called half a dozen voices further up the hall, where
the Dean's children were grouped about the fire. "Do come; we won't go
in to breakfast without you."
"I _am_ coming," said Penelope, slowly. "I've got a birthday present
from Lionel," she added. "Poor boy! he is far enough away now." And
still looking at her gift, Penelope Harleford, the Dean's niece, made
her way toward the eager little group just as the Dean himself appeared
in the dining-room door.
"Lion has sent Penelope a present," said Joe, the youngest boy. "Look,
papa; it is a funny old fan."
"No," said Penelope; "it is a hand screen, and it is so quaint and
pretty."
And the little screen, which at that moment Nora Mayne would have given
a great deal to possess again, was put into the Dean's hands.
"Mayn't I show it to Aunt Letitia before breakfast?" pleaded Penny, with
a coaxing air. "I know she would be so interested in it; she dearly
likes old things."
"As you like, dear," said the Dean, giving her blooming cheek a pinch.
"Hurry back, though; we don't see so much of you, now that Aunt Letty is
back again."
Pretty Miss Penny laughed and ran away, holding her treasure tightly,
stopping half a minute in a bend of the old staircase to look at it
again, and to whisper, "Poor dear Lion--poor Lion!" and then hurrying on
to a door, before which she paused, knocking lightly.
The "Come in" was in a sweet low voice. Penelope opened the door leading
into a beautiful room rich in color and arrangement. A crippled lady,
the same Nora Mayne had seen carried to the Bath-chair, was seated near
the window.
"Well, my love, have you breakfasted already?" said the lady, holding
out a thin white hand.
"No, aunt," said Penelope, kneeling beside the invalid's chair; "but I
want you to see Lion's birthday present to me. Poor boy! He put it up
the night before he sailed for India. Isn't it charming?"
Miss Harleford, Penelope's aunt, took the screen rather carelessly in
her hands, then she uttered a quick, sharp little cry.
"Penny," she exclaimed, "where did Lion get this? I have not seen it in
over twenty years, but I remember it perfectly."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Illustration]
FLORRY'S HOOPLE.
Isn't it dreadfully horrid,
Caught in this hoople again?
Here with the sun on my forehead,
Ever so far down the lane.
Caught in this hoople again;
Nurse didn't know I was skipping
Ever so far down the lane,
Hope I'm not in for a whipping.
Where is my bonnet, I wonder?
I think I have dirtied my dress;
Just like a hoop-skirt, ain't it?
Makes me look grown up, I guess.
Yes, I _have_ dirtied my dress;
Pity to vex mamma so;
Yet if I get in a mess
She will forgive me, I know.
Pity to vex mamma so;
Think I'll go home and be sorry;
She will forgive me, I know.
And call me her dear little Florry.
And it is dreadfully horrid,
Here all alone in the lane,
With the hot sun on my forehead,
Caught in my hoople again.
[Illustration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]
CHICORICA PARK, BATON, NEW MEXICO.
I am going to tell HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE about a flood which we had
here July 27. It was caused by the breaking of a water-spout, and
nearly drowned mamma's gray pony Sally, which was picketed near the
creek. It happened in the afternoon. Mamma was reading to us. We
could hear the sound of the water coming, but thought it was the
rain on the hills. Sarah, our nurse, went out for something, and we
followed her and when we got to the door, we saw Sally in trouble,
and Sarah ran to see what was the matter. There was Sally in about
eight feet of water; she had run down in a gully when she saw the
water coming, but she broke her rope and got out, without being
hurt much, though the force of the water rolled her over several
times. Mamma and Pleasance went further down, and saw the wave
coming, and mamma said it was like a great column of muddy water.
The flood lasted about twenty minutes, but it did not do us any
harm. It took a tub and a hen-coop away, and moved a great many
large stones, besides destroying a bridge.
MARIAN BEATRICE M.
* * * * *
EBENSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA.
I live in Alleghany City, Pennsylvania, but we came up here in the
mountains for the summer. It is very cool and pleasant here, and I
like it very much. I have been an invalid for two years, and have
to walk on crutches. I can not walk far at a time. I have a chair
on wheels in which I ride when I am tired of walking. My brother
and I have a pony that we call Daisy. I have a phaeton to drive out
in.
I like "The Cruise of the Ghost'" best of all the stories so far. I
like the Wiggles very much; mine have appeared in three numbers. I
can draw quite well, and I am learning to paint in oil colors. When
in the country I try to sketch a little.
WILFRED H.
* * * * *
SWAMPSCOTT, MASSACHUSETTS.
As so many little boys and girls have told about their pets, I
thought I would tell about mine. I have a white mouse named Pippo;
he is very tame, and I have taught him to jump through a ring. I
have a cat named William A. Bolus, and a dog named Dottie Dimple,
besides numerous hens and chickens, and a few pigeons. I have a
goldfinch named Bright Eyes. Having no brothers or sisters, I think
a great deal of my pets.
LILIAN C.
* * * * *
CLARKSTON, MICHIGAN.
I live on a farm, am twelve years old, and have lots of chickens
and turkeys, a pet deer, and a pet lamb. We have thirteen cows, and
sell cream. The pasture is a distance from the house, so I
sometimes go after the cows on horseback. Once, lately, my horse
stuck fast in the mire, and another time the horse and I rode
straight into a bees' nest. Sometimes I have great trouble in
driving home the cows.
JOHNNIE E. B.
* * * * *
QUINCY, ILLINOIS.
I am twelve years old. I am a little cripple, and have not been out
of bed for six months, with the hip-disease. I can not move except
as others move me. Will some of the young people who read your
paper send me something to read, as that is the only amusement I
have? We used to live in Chicago, where my father got me books from
the public library, but there is no public library here, so I have
nothing to read. I shall be very much obliged if some of the little
boys and girls who can run about will send me something to amuse
me. I have no mother, and my sister takes care of me.
ALFRED JUDD.
* * * * *
CENTRE DALE, RHODE ISLAND.
I read all of "Toby Tyler," and am very glad Mr. Otis is writing
another story. I liked "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" and it reminded
me of a boat my brothers and I made last summer. We built a raft
seventeen feet long and four feet wide. We made oars, and went
rowing after pond-lilies; and when we reached a place in the river
where we could dive, we would jump into the water, and have a good
swim. I am ten years old, and am learning to ride. I like to read
the letters in the YOUNG PEOPLE, and so thought that perhaps some
little boys would like to read what I have written.
J. C. B., JUN.
Your brother Walter's letter came safely with yours, but we could not
give space to both.
* * * * *
BARABOO, WISCONSIN.
Having seen a letter from Blanche P. in No. 92, I thought that I
too would send a letter from our town.
I went yesterday to the Devil's Lake, which is about three miles
from here. It is surrounded by bluffs. On one side of the lake
there is a large hotel called the Cliff House, where a hundred
guests from all parts of the country are being entertained. But the
other side is generally chosen by picnickers. It is called
Kirkland, because it is owned by a man whose name is Kirk.
Arriving at 7 o'clock A.M. at Kirkland, we went over to Sandy
Beach, a place famous for bathing. From there we strolled to Alaska
Grotto, which is a kind of little cavern in the rocks, where it is
as cold as ice. In the afternoon we went in bathing, and had a ride
on the lake in a row-boat to a little log-cabin owned by a club of
gentlemen.
At Kirkland there are four cottages, and a large house called the
Pavilion, all of which are furnished with dishes, cot beds, etc.,
and rented to persons who wish them at so much a week.
SADIE H.
* * * * *
CORTLAND, NEW YORK.
We live a mile from the village. We have a great black curly
Newfoundland dog named Bruno, who is very nice, but runs off to the
village whenever he can get a chance. We have two canary-birds, two
cats, two horses, and a colt.
ALLIE B.
* * * * *
HUNTSVILLE, ALABAMA.
I have wanted to write a letter to YOUNG PEOPLE ever since I first
subscribed to it, but mamma thought I wrote too badly. I am very
glad that another story is to be published by the author of "Toby
Tyler," as that is my favorite story. My little brother has the
smallest pony I ever saw. It is so gentle that he can easily catch
and ride it, though he is only seven years old. I am nine, and have
never yet been to school.
ELLEN W. W.
* * * * *
LUZERNE, SWITZERLAND.
A hard trip we had across the English Channel from Southampton to
Havre, and then we had a half-hour trip in a steamboat over to
Trouville. We staid a week there, till we found a pretty chalet in
Villers-sur-Mer, called "Chalet des Bosquets," where we kept house
for three weeks, and went to the beautiful beach every day, and
found shells and petrified things. The Normandy peasants were great
fishers; even the women were out in deep water catching shrimps and
crabs. The summer weather coming on, we hurried through Paris to
Switzerland, spending one night in Bâle. We are in Luzerne for five
weeks, and have been all over the place, have seen the old walls,
the bridge of the "Dance of Death," Thorwaldsen's "Lion," in memory
of the brave Swiss guards slain in defending Louis XVI. in 1792. We
read Schiller's "William Tell," and have seen his chapel on the
lake, as we visited Seelisberg, high up on a high hill, with
beautiful pine forests, and a lovely view.
HARRY G.
* * * * *
GRAHAMVILLE, FLORIDA.
Every winter flocks of paroquets fly about, and last year we had
one for a pet. We fed him on cockle-burrs and sugar-cane, and cold
mornings he would sit under the stove with the cats. Sometimes he
would slip away, and once he staid out all night. In the morning we
heard him calling, went out, and brought him in. We have had ripe
figs this summer. They are very nice when eaten fresh from the
tree. I was eight years old last May.
E. PEARL F.
* * * * *
NEW YORK CITY.
I am eleven years old, and my brother is seven years. I had a sweet
little baby brother, and he was so pretty and cunning that every
one loved him. He had golden curls, and could say everything,
although he was not yet two years old. He died on the 19th of July
last, and we all miss him. I think "Tim and Tip" promises to be
splendid.
JOHN H. B.
* * * * *
LYNN, PENNSYLVANIA.
I think I ought to write something for HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE,
because I look just like Toby Tyler. My hair is red, my face is
freckled, and I have an Uncle Dan'l, only I don't live with him. I
have a black cat; its name is Tish, and it has two little kittens.
I have three big brothers. One of them has been to Colorado. He
came home last winter, and brought nearly a trunkful of specimens.
I liked "Toby Tyler" the best of any of the stories, but I think
Jimmy Brown is cute, and I was sorry he made such "A Terrible
Mistake." My sister writes this for me, because I'm too small to do
it.
DANNIE D.
* * * * *
HILLSBORO, MISSOURI.
My sister and I take YOUNG PEOPLE, and love it dearly. We always
look for it on Thursday. We enjoy reading the letters in the
Post-office Box. My sister is twelve, and I am nine years old. We
have three brothers younger than ourselves. I saw a letter in one
of our papers written by a little boy who signed his name Frankie
Thomas, which is the very same name as that of our youngest
brother. We have talked a great deal about it, and we wonder if he
is as sweet and pretty as our dear little Frankie is.
ESSIE T.
* * * * *
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.
I am a little girl six years old. I can not read very much yet, so
my mamma reads YOUNG PEOPLE to me. I have a little brother Arthur;
he is in the country now. _I_ would rather stay with my mamma.
Before we moved to the city we had a black dog named Prince, who
would play "hide-and-seek" with us, and would always find us. I had
a dear little pussy named Flossie, but she died. She used to curl
herself up in my hat and go to sleep. I have four dolls, and lots
of _treasures_. When I am old enough I will write a letter myself.
GERTRUDE.
* * * * *
In the little letter which accompanied the stanzas which follow the
writer said:
My mamma has written some verses for my little brother and sister
and myself, and I think they are very sweet. Mamma has been very
sick, and not able to read or write for eight years, and she had to
write these verses by FEELING, as she can not look over and write
them. I am eight years old, and my home is in Eatonton, Georgia. My
name is
MARRIBEL E.
RICHARD'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
I drove them down to the meadow,
Dolly and Dilly and Kate,
And my steps like theirs grew quicker
As we neared the pasture gate;
For beneath the shade of a cedar,
Where no clover ever grew,
I had built a MASTER bird-trap,
And set the trigger true.
I knew a little redbird
Whose feathers every one
Were as bright as the juice of a berry,
Or the stain of the setting sun.
My heart went patter, patter,
As I thrust my fingers through
The trap that held a captive
Where the gnarled old cedar grew.
My heart beat like the rain-drops,
And (the redbird in my thought)
I felt a fluttering winglet,
And cried, "You're caught! you're caught!"
But alas for the dreams of childhood!
The bird was only gray;
And with angry frown and feature
I tossed it far away.
That night beside my mother
I told my grief with tears,
And I've not forgot her answer
Through all these weary years.
She said: "Oh, little Richard,
The bird with the homely coat
Has all the sweetest music
Of the forest in its throat!
"And never forget, my darling,
As life you travel through,
That some of its sweetest blessings
May gray-coated come to you."
* * * * *
LITTLE COMPTON, POINT SEACONNET, RHODE ISLAND.
I wanted my mamma to write to you when I was in Troy, but I had not
any pets to write about, and my mamma told me to wait till I got to
the sea-shore.
Now we are here. The ocean is all around us except on one side. We
are on the lowest part of Rhode Island, on a point reaching away
out into the ocean. I am almost the only little girl, as there is
only one other here. She is May Kempton, and she lives here always.
May has five kittens. One kitten has double paws, and three kittens
have two to three toes more than they ought to have, and one kitten
is like all other kittens. There are a great many interesting
things about here, but my mamma says I must not tell about too many
at a time. Captain Williams is the lobster man, and once in a while
he takes us out sailing in his vessel. It will hold about twelve
people. His arms are all tattooed, and he tells very nice stories
about shipwrecks. I am trying to learn the names of all the sails,
and to "box the compass." I am going to a Rhode Island clam-bake.
In my next letter I will tell you about some real live decoy-ducks.
NETTIE SPENCER A.
* * * * *
We wish the little folks who read the letter which Mrs. Richardson has
sent to this number of Our Post-office Box would begin to think how nice
it would be to save a little _money_ to send her, so that the
school-house which she so much wants could be built. As she will give
the land and the timber, and Pete and the other men will perform most of
the labor, it will take but a small amount of money. Who will do without
a pretty ribbon or a pound of candy, and help to raise this little
school-house under the grand old pines at Woodside?