CHAPTER I._Chatterbox, 1906

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Janet Blenkinship and the

Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Chatterbox

FOUNDED BY J. ERSKINE CLARKE, M.A.

Boston: DANA ESTES & COMPANY, 212, Summer Street.

PRESSWORK BY COLONIAL PRESS; C. H. SIMONDS & CO. BOSTON, U.S.A.

CONTENTS.

1906.

Page

About the Ash 250

About Topiaries 99

A Brave Answer 43

A Brave Lad 309

A Chinese Solomon 15

A Generous Act 99

A Gentle Donkey 378,

390, 398, 402, 410

A Good Comrade 159

A Hasty Judgment 375

A Humorous Punishment 70

A Hundred Years Ago 15,

54, 74, 107, 155, 179, 211, 250, 282, 307, 347

A Modern Wizard 394

An Artful Jack 162

An Eastern Puzzle 355

Anecdotes, 6,

30, 34, 43, 51, 66, 147, 179, 190, 218, 227, 235, 323,

341, 355, 371, 378, 382, 395, 407

An Intruder 269

A Pincushion Factory 91

Apples or Thistles? 267

A Seasonable Answer 11

A Silent Reproof 331

A Story of the Unforeseen 190

'As You Please' 277

A Turkey's Costly Diet 302

Average 395

'A Will of Her Own' 279

A Wonderful Weighing Machine 203

Barnacles and Geese 238

'Billikins' 239

Catching Birds under Water 323

Caught by a Tree 218

Chinese Physic 182

Clothed in _Chatterbox_ 348

Conquered by Love 214

Conscience and the China Figures 178

Counting 238

Crébillon and the Rat 291

Crocodiles in Central Africa 75

Crowded Out 403

Curious Granaries 292

Cutting It Down 278

Elephants attacking a Granary 46

Ethel's Golden Offering 22

Eva's Kitten 333

Faithful to Duty. 83

Famous Roses 326

Feathered Friendship 53

Flowers and Colours 262

Flowers of the Night 118

Fred's New World 62

Forgetful Fanny 26

Gas-light Insect-hunting 395

Glimpses of Hedgehog Life 141

Graham's Last Practical Joke 162

Grey-skin's Adventures 221

Hare _versus_ Pheasant 214

Haydn's Drum 34

His Master's Hat 15

How Gordon Kept Shop 238

How the Arabs Bake their Bread 357

How to Obtain Food 139

Huge Birds 403

In Harvard Museum 350

Iron-smelting in India 285

Jess 397

Jock's Collie 351

Long Lived 83

Long Tom's Gratitude 13

Marvels of Man's Making 2,

42, 78, 126, 148, 187, 218, 243, 282, 316, 405

Mary's Reward 77

May Day 175

Movable Roofs 253

'Mr. Harold' 349

Muriel's First Patient 327

Not Afraid 407

Not Guilty 251

Now 237

Old Oxford Castle 230

Old Sarum 342

Olive and the Bees 109

One Thing at a Time 175

Peeps into Nature's Nurseries 11,

37, 59, 75, 100, 131, 134, 164, 203, 235, 275, 299, 339,

371

Ping-Kwe's Downfall 303

Plants with Signs 347

Ploughing in Syria 315

Puzzlers for Wise Heads 15,

51, 75, 115, 147, 179, 214, 254, 286, 323, 371, 395

Rosie 165

Round the Camp-fire 19,

26, 34, 66, 82, 98, 130, 154, 194, 205, 226, 258, 338, 354,

386

Saved by a Gipsy 243

Sir Ralph Abercromby 174

Sowing and Reaping 18, 123

Spider Runners 382

Stories from Africa 30,

46, 58, 60, 106, 138, 170, 210, 242, 266, 290, 330, 362

Strange Nesting-places 324

Tabby's Ghost 389

Taking It Literally 132

Teaching Him a Lesson 410

Telegraph Wires in Central Africa 164

The Arbalist, or Crossbow 212

The Barberry 147

The Brave Countess 379

The Broken Promise 365

The Captain's Pudding 258

The Count and the Dove 254

The Cow-waggon 363

The Dead Watch 115

The Duck-billed Platypus 181

The Duke's Ruse 299

The First Tea 159

The Force of Labour 390

The Giant of the Treasure Caves 6,

10, 22, 30, 38, 47, 50, 63, 70, 74, 87, 94, 102,

110, 114, 123, 134, 142, 146, 157, 166, 172, 182,

186, 198, 202, 214, 222, 230, 234, 246, 254, 262,

270, 274, 286, 294, 298, 310, 314, 322, 334, 342,

346, 358, 367, 370, 382

The Groaning Tree of Baddesley 235

The Honest Sailor 122

The Hoof-mark on the Wall 171

The Kestrel's Eggs 196

The King of Persia 396

The Ladybird and the Caterpillar 306

The Last Time 3

The Leopard's Looking-glass 380

The Little Old Woman 373

Themistocles and the Greek Generals 331

The Misunderstood Poets 286

The Moles and the Mountain 54

The Multiplication Table 26

The Music of the Nations 21,

51, 69, 115, 147, 172, 195, 229, 261, 292, 324, 380

The New Zealand Glow-worm 334

The Penguin 277

The Picture-cleaners 139

The Policeman's Joke 301

The Prairie Dog 61

The Ptarmigan and Pine Marten 66

The Reward of a Genius 142, 151

The Riddle of the Year 155

The Rosemont Grotto and the Petchaburg Caverns 396

The Self-heal 267

The Sensible Hare 374

The Shadoofs and Draw-wheels of Egypt 43

The Sloth 93

The Soldier of Antigonus 291

The Story of Rock-salt 302

The Sugar Maple 294

The Symbols of Japan 214

The Timid Mouse 348

The Trials of Leckinski 306, 319

The Union Jack 348

The Way to Command 62

The Yak 125

Think This Out 222

'Those Horrid Boys' 207

Too Much for the Whistle 54

To the Rescue! 261

True Happiness 310

Umbrella Treason 18

Union is Strength 189

Waits 166

Well Repaid 355

Where there's a Will there's a Way 387

Wild Animals in Captivity 18

POETRY.

A Butterfly's Wing 207

A Mermaid's Song 182

A Studious Elf 235

A Tale of Bremen 101

A Thoughtless Daisy 351

Cloud Pictures 374

Dream-time 310

Fairy Pictures 163

'Fire!' 243

Fire Pictures 258

For the Little Ones 159

Going to Bed 126

Heart's-ease 387

Little Things 62

Little Workers 190

Looking Up and Looking Down 299

Lying Awake at Night 115

Made Beautiful 379

Mornin' 339

Mr. and Mrs. Brown's Journey in the Family Coach 406

My Dreams 147

My Garden 291

Night and Day 396

No Harm Meant 6

Perhaps 110

Santa Claus 358

Santa Claus's Postman 171

Stop Thief! 227

The Almond and the Raisin 83

The Bee 54

The Daisy 75

The Disappointed Hen 26

The Disobedient Mouse 213

The Fairies' Night 363

The Fairy Queen's Gift 34

The Fountain 319

The Glow-worm 195

The Grumbling Rose 276

The Little Blind Linnet 254

The Moon-ship 70

The Mysterious Visitor 139

The Night before My Birthday 94

The Pedlar 407

The Princess has Come 286

The Shepherd Moon 131

The Singers Yet To Be 218

The Singing Bird 402

The String of Pearls 384

The Undecided Travellers 43

The Wrong Wind 18

Time Flies 257

Two Little Drops of Rain 326

ILLUSTRATIONS.

COLOURED PLATES.

Close on His Heels, _Frontispiece_

The Boy Doctor, facing p. 64

A Fight to a Finish, facing p. 128

Opportunity Makes the Thief, facing p. 192

'Chorus, Please!' facing p. 256

Tent Pegging, facing p. 320

Page

A Brave Lad 309

A _Chatterbox_ Costume 348

A Clay Grain Storehouse 293

A Contest with the Longbow 213

A Cow Waggon Encamped and on the March 364

'All went well at first' 392

'A Madi village being removed' 253

An Arab Bakery 357

'A native lay at the foot of a tree' 129

'A terrible sight met their view' 289

'A wren built its nest in the pocket' 325

'By waters still in sweet spring-time' 388

'Charlie Eccles half lay, half sat upon the ground' 97

'Colonel Smith emptied the glass' 361

'Concealment was impossible' 137

Crossbow and Arrows used for Sport 213

Egyptian 'Sakiveh' 44

Egyptian 'Shadoof' 44

'Fast Asleep!' 301

'Father, is that my present?' 377

'Fire!' 244

'Give me back my money' 356

Grain Huts 293

'He finished by backing hard into the small wooden gate' 400

'He handed John an official paper' 180

'He has a winning tongue' 408

'He placed a sovereign on the counter' 121

'He placed the "drum" on a chair, and practised diligently' 33

'He ran out just as he was' 84

'Here is a nice little bit of work for you, my lad' 268

'He sat silent, waiting for the reply' 265

'He seized one of the ladders' 85

'He staggered forward and reached the landing' 240

'He swung himself off the ground' 329

'He was chaired all round Covent Garden' 156

'He was greeted by a jet of water' 152

'His shoulder caught me as he passed' 153

'Hold hard there!' 197

'I held a long stick for him to hook on' 93

'In his despair he clenched his fist' 4

Iron-smelting in India 285

'I say that he is a French spy!' 305

'Is the bird alive or dead?' 277

'I struck furiously at the brute' 385

'I struggled up' 260

'It became necessary to descend the shaft' 41

'It is only the masterful calf 269

'It's Captain Halliard!' 393

'I was received with joy' 205

'I will come with you at once' 365

'Just then a man on horseback appeared' 25

'King Louis leaped fully armed into the sea' 29

'Let me have a doll to play with' 208

'Lieutenant Fegan led a gallant resistance' 241

Loading a Military Crossbow 212

'Mag raised her shrill note of warning' 53

'Managed to upset a wooden watch-house' 108

'Mother, this chair was full of gold pieces!' 56

'Mr. Merry was just leaving the house' 389

Muriel's First Patient 328

'My partner being the lamp-post' 337

'No room for Jealousy' 404

'One at a time, they found themselves pinioned' 105

'One of the largest pounded upon the wall with his tusks' 45

Peeps into Nature's Nurseries (Illustrations to), 12,

37, 60, 76, 76, 100, 101, 132, 164, 165, 204, 233, 237,

276, 300, 340, 341, 372

'Piggy lifted the heavy lid to feed upon the cheese' 141

'Please, sir, will you--would you buy a pincushion?' 92

Ploughing in Syria 316

Plymouth Breakwater 188

Prairie Dogs 61

'Scores of angry bees came buzzing round her' 109

'See! A Matabele!' 193

'Set to the hardest and most menial work' 57

'She was floating away in the midst of the stream' 280

'Some one is lost in the snow, and Lassie knows it' 373

'Soon the two little mischief-makers were busy at

work on the pictures' 140

'Stalked while I myself stalked the water-buck' 36

'Stepping down from the vase and crowding round Hugh's bed' 177

'Stop thief!' 228

'The African beauty was greatly taken with Lander' 209

'The bear would eat and drink in a truly dignified fashion' 249

The Birmingham Water-works 317

'The carpenter took off his coat' 281

The Cooking Lesson 77

'The crowd drew him along in triumph' 308

'The dog darted after the bat' 16

'The dog gave the horse the turnip' 160

'The dog took kindly to her foster-children' 17

The Duck-billed Platypus 181

The Egg Poacher 65

The first Passenger to cross the Brooklyn Bridge 1

The first Railway Journey in England 80

The Forth Bridge 245

The Giant of the Treasure Caves (Illustrations to), 8, 9,

24, 32, 40, 48, 49, 64, 72, 73, 88, 96, 104, 112, 113,

124, 136, 144, 145, 157, 168, 173, 184, 185, 200, 201,

216, 224, 232, 233, 248, 256, 264, 272, 273, 288, 296,

297, 312, 313, 321, 336, 344, 345, 360, 368, 369, 384

The Great Eastern 149

'The great work was soon accomplished' 120

'The head of a snake thrust out close to him' 169

'The kitten at once began lapping' 333

'The lad emptied the pail over his employer' 133

'The luckless fugitives were dragged forth' 89

The Manchester Ship Canal 281

'The most wily and cunning black pig that ever made his escape' 192

'The motor came to a standstill' 401

The Music of the Nations (Illustrations to), 21, 52, 69,

116, 148, 172, 196, 229, 261, 292, 324, 380

'Then came the difficult task of bringing down the little lad' 13

The Nile Dam at Assuan 220

'The pike seized the stoat' 161

'The precious picnic-basket rolling down the turf' 376

'The promise of a thousand songs' 217

'There, still on the boulder, was Collie, barking' 352

'The thing exploded in the air' 225

'The third time he collapsed, and was pulled back 353

The Union Jack 348

'The weight of the two birds had the desired effect' 189

The Words of Command 117

'They began to examine the damaged axle' 332

'They were passing a field of ripe corn' 409

'They were playing with me as though I were a big mouse' 68

'This is a present which your uncle has sent you' 397

'Three yelping, delighted dogs' 28

'Throw your bad temper overboard' 304

'Tim pressed up the lid with his head' 412

Victoria Falls 128

'"Watch him!" said Douglas' 252

'What a feast I had!' 221

'What did the strange beast mean by gazing at him?' 381

'What do they want with me?' 320

'"What is the matter?" I asked him' 81

'Who's that that dares to serve me so?' 5

'Why don't you take off your hat to me?' 176

'Why not start, a round of story-telling?' 20

Yaks 125

'"You have found me out," said the captain' 257

Chatterbox.

[Illustration]

MARVELS OF MAN'S MAKING.

I.--THE BROOKLYN SUSPENSION BRIDGE.

[Illustration]

When two large cities stand opposite to one another on the banks of a

river, it is not likely they can do very well without a bridge to

connect them. Yet the citizens of New York and Brooklyn were obliged to

manage as best they could for a good many years before they had their

bridge. There were many difficulties in the way. For one thing, the

river is very broad; for another, the tall-masted ships ply up and down

so frequently that it would never do to build anything which would

obstruct their passage; and to overcome these difficulties would mean

the expenditure of a vast sum of money. But the folk who earned their

daily bread in New York and lived in Brooklyn grew thoroughly tired of

spending chilly hours in foggy weather on the river-side piers, waiting

for the ferry-boat to come and take them across, and at last they began

an agitation which resulted in the Brooklyn Bridge.

The engineer who made the first design was Mr. John A. Raebling; but he

did not live to see it carried into effect; for one summer day in 1869,

when selecting the spot at which the great work should be begun, he met

with an accident which caused his death a few days later. His son, Mr.

Washington Raebling, then took the lead. Plans were carefully drawn and

submitted to the Government, who, after much consideration, ordered that

the bridge should be five feet higher and five feet wider. This

apparently slight change added about 172,800_l._ to the cost of

building, for little changes in big things mean more than big changes in

little ones. The original cost was to be 10,800,000 dollars, or about

2,160,000_l._; but in the end it amounted to nearly 3,100,000_l._

Before we talk of the trouble and labour, let us look for a moment at

the great things the engineers have accomplished.

The Brooklyn bridge is five thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine feet

long and eighty-five feet wide. The huge cables that support it stretch

like the strands of a monster spider-web from the tops of two towers,

each two hundred and seventy-six feet high and standing one thousand

five hundred and ninety-five feet apart. The above is the length of the

central span; the two other spans, from the land to the towers, are each

nine hundred and thirty feet long in addition. The roadway, one hundred

and thirty-five feet above the river, is divided into five parts. The

two outside ones are for vehicles, the middle one for foot passengers,

and the remaining two for cable trams. The footway is eight feet higher

than the others, so that an uninterrupted view is gained from it. The

four cables supporting this heavy structure are anchored at both ends in

blocks of masonry weighing sixty thousand tons each; so that there is

little fear of their being dragged from their moorings. The bridge was

opened amid a blaze of fireworks on May 24th, 1883.

On May 7th, 1870, the tower on the riverside at Brooklyn was begun, and

completed just five years later; its companion on the opposite side was

a year behind it. The foundations of these great towers lie in solid

rock seventy-eight feet below the high-tide line on the New York side,

and only a little less on the Brooklyn side.

The towers once completed, the task of laying the cables across from

summit to summit engaged the thoughts of the engineers. This was no

ordinary case of swinging a steel rope across a river, for the gigantic

size and weight of the cables made it impossible to use ordinary means.

First of all it would be necessary to make a communication from tower to

tower. To accomplish this, one end of a coiled steel rope was carried to

the top of the Brooklyn tower and passed over until it dangled into the

river beneath. Here a steamboat dragged it across the river to the foot

of the New York tower, where it was hauled up, and having been passed

over the top, was carried down to the masonry anchorage already

mentioned. Here it was wound round a revolving drum or pulley, and

started back again to Brooklyn in the same manner, thus forming an

endless band along which material could be carried by revolving the

pulley at either end.

Though this rope was three-quarters of an inch in thickness, it was

almost invisible to the people on the river, two hundred and seventy-six

feet below. Yet it was the first 'stitch' in the great web, and

thousands of eyes were turned towards it on August 25th, 1876, when the

very first passenger crossed along it from shore to shore. This

passenger was Mr. Farrington, one of the engineers. He wished to

encourage his men by a good example, for over that terrible gulf it

would soon be necessary for many of them to go. His seat was a small

piece of board such as we use for a swing in a playground, and it was

attached to the wire by four short ropes. The perilous journey took more

than twenty minutes, and the people below watched almost breathlessly as

the slender thread swayed up and down with the weight of the traveller.

To their eyes it appeared at times as if he was soaring through the air

unsupported, so thin was the line by which he hung.

And now the weaving of the cables began, and this was perhaps the most

remarkable undertaking in the construction of the great bridge. To the

endless band by which Mr. Farrington had crossed, there was fixed what

is called a 'carrier.' This was to grip the end of the first wire (as

the eye of the needle takes the thread); bear it across the river over

the tops of the lofty towers; 'stitch' it to the New York shore (or

anchorage) and bring it back again.

And that is what it did. This new wire (only one-eight of an inch

thick--thinner, that is, than the first wire, on which Mr. Farrington

had crossed) was two hundred miles long, and it had to perform the

journey many hundred times before the first 'skein' was complete. Thus

you will see that a single 'skein' stretched from shore to shore,

consisting of nearly three hundred separate threads. These were bound

tightly together at frequent intervals, and when a bunch of nineteen of

them had been made, the first cable was ready for completion. But this

was a matter of great difficulty. You will easily understand that it was

necessary for every wire to do its share in bearing the weight of the

bridge. Therefore, they must all be at an equal strain from tower to

tower. Now you know that on a sunny day a bar of steel is longer than it

is on a cloudy day, for the metal expands with heat. Consequently, when

the sun came out to see what they were doing at Brooklyn, the wires upon

which it shone became longer than those in the shadow behind them. Of

course, in a short distance this would not be noticeable, but it made

such a difference in the work we are describing, that the strength of

the cable would have been greatly lessened had the strands been bound

together in the sunshine, while some of the wires were slack, and some

were tight. Even the wind interfered sadly; but by choosing dull, still

days, when all the wires were subjected to the same temperature, they

were at last successfully bound together.

Notwithstanding the perilous nature of this cable-weaving, it was

attended by only one serious accident, and that was when one of the

'skeins' broke loose from the New York shore, and, leaping like the lash

of a giant whip over the tower top, plunged into the river below. It

narrowly missed the ferry-boats and other craft.

The effect of the temperature on such vast quantities of metal is shown

in many ways. By shortening and lengthening the cables, it heightens and

lowers the bridge, which is consequently slightly higher above the river

in winter than it is in summer. At the tower-tops the cables rest on

huge iron saddles, which are placed upon forty steel rollers, so that

the cables may move more freely in expanding and contracting. Again, the

bridge itself is not made in one piece, but is severed half-way across

and provided with a sliding joint, so that all shall act obediently to

the dictates of the ever-changing weather.

Thus you see there is more in building a bridge than appears to those

who do not remember that a knowledge of nature's laws must guide the

architect's hand when he is drawing his plans, and govern the engineer's

tools when he is carrying those plans into effect.

JOHN LEA.

THE LAST TIME.

'You might do it for me, just this once, Barton,' said Lopes in a tone

of anxiety not often heard from a schoolboy. 'Your father is a rich man,

and you can always get all the money you want from him, and if you will

only lend me this, I will never borrow from you again. Do ask for the

money at once!'

Barton looked much perplexed at this appeal, but he answered firmly: 'I

can't do it, old fellow! I have given my word to my father never to be

mixed up in any betting transaction, and I cannot ask him for money to

go to a bookmaker.'

'Then I'm ruined!' said Lopes, passionately, 'and much you care, though

you and I have been chums together ever since we first entered the

school!' and in his despair he clenched his fist and seemed almost as if

he were going to strike his friend.

Barton put up his arm to shield himself as he said in a low voice, 'Look

out, Lopes; don't shout so! we don't want all the kids to know about

this matter;' for just at this moment a trio of merry lads came round

the corner of the Fives Court, whooping and shouting at the top of their

voices. 'Come to the garden; we shall be quiet there, and can talk over

matters, and see what can be done;' and Barton closed the book he had

been studying and led the way to the nut-walk which was sacred to the

Sixth Form.

Lopes followed gloomily. 'It's no good talking, if you won't help me,'

he said as they reached the quiet path.

'But I want to help you,' said Barton, 'and I think I see a way out of

this scrape.'

'Oh, do you?' said Lopes eagerly. 'If only I could pay off this man and

have done with him, I would never bet again. I see now what a silly fool

I have been. Tell me your plan, Barton.'

'Go and tell Mr. Arundel all about it. I don't believe bookmakers have

any right to tempt boys like us to lay money on horses, and---- '

'Mr. Arundel! one of the masters! He would go and tell the Head straight

off, and I should be expelled,' said Lopes bitterly. 'I thought you had

some better plan than that!'

'Mr. Arundel is a gentleman,' said Barton quietly, 'and what you tell

him in confidence will go no further, you may be sure of that; I believe

he could help you.'

'I wish I could think so,' sighed Lopes. 'I can think of nothing, and

settle to nothing with this debt on my mind.'

'Go to Mr. Arundel,' urged Barton. 'I know you will not regret it.'

'Well, I will,' at last said Lopes. 'I will go at once before my courage

fails me.'

'I will come with you,' said Barton, taking his friend's arm.

'You are a good chap, Barton; you don't desert a fellow when he is

down!' said Lopes gratefully. 'I wish I had taken your advice at first,

and thrown the bookmaker's letter on the fire.'

* * * * *

There is no space here to tell of all Mr. Arundel said and did to help

Lopes out of his ugly betting scrape. Though the master did not fail to

show Lopes how wrongly he had acted, he had a real pity for the boy who

had been so tempted by the bookmaker's letter, and he determined to let

that gentleman know what he knew of him.

So a very strong letter was sent off by Mr. Arundel, telling the man

that unless he released the schoolboy from all his so-called debts, he

would have him publicly shown up and prosecuted for dealing with a

minor.

[Illustration: "In his despair he clenched his fist."]

By return of post came the desired release from the bookmaker, and Mr.

Arundel handed it to the boy with a pleasant smile. 'You are free,

Lopes; you will hear no more of this man, I can promise you, and you

must promise me never to bet again.'

'I will--I do, sir! and thank you most deeply,' said Lopes earnestly. If

this had reached my father's ears, it would have broken his heart. Oh,

thank you so very much! You do not know how miserable I have been.'

[Illustration: "'Who's that that dares to serve me so?'"]

Lopes kept his word, and that bet was his last one. He had learnt that

honesty and straightforwardness get rid of any difficulties.

NO HARM MEANT.

Two puppies with good-natured hearts, but clumsy little toes,

Were feeling rather sleepy, so they settled for a doze;

But underneath the very ledge on which they chanced to be,

A large and stately pussy cat was basking dreamily.

A short half-hour had hardly passed, when one pup made a stir,

And stretching out a lazy paw, just touched the tabby's fur;

'Twas nothing but an accident, yet, oh! the angry wail!

The flashing in the tabby's eye, the lashing of her tail!

'Who's that that dares to serve me so?' she cried with arching back.

'I'll teach you puppies how to make an unprovoked attack!'

One puppy started to his feet with terror in his eyes,

The other said, as soon as pluck had overcome surprise:

'I'm really very sorry, ma'am, but honestly declare

I hadn't any notion that a pussy cat was there.'

But just like those who look for wrong in every one they see,

She left the spot, nor deigned to take the pup's apology.

HOW MANY?

The Spartan King Agis was asked shortly before a battle: 'How many

soldiers can you bring into the field?'

'As many as will suffice to rout the enemy!' was the Spartan's curt

reply.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

By MRS. MULLIKEN.

CHAPTER I.

'You don't think they will come to any harm?' said the young governess.

When Miss Leigh spoke in that plaintive tone, Lady Coke knew that she

was tired out with the noise and wilfulness of her young pupils, and

that a 'row,' as Alan called it, was likely to follow.

'No,' said Lady Coke, smiling; 'they are accustomed to the management of

the boat, and Thomas shall go with them. He knows the coast well, and is

a first-class boatman.'

Her nephew, Colonel De Bohun, laughed. 'He is A.1. at his oar, but very

deficient as a gardener,' he said. 'Your kindness in keeping him, my

dear aunt, is a marvel to us all.'

'His mother is very poor,' returned Lady Coke, with a sigh. 'I wish he

were a better son to her. He is her great trouble, I fear.'

'And yet you are not afraid to trust the children with him,' murmured

Miss Leigh, in surprise.

'He is quite to be trusted on the water!' replied Lady Coke, with some

decision. 'Children must have something to do to carry off their extra

energy, and---- '

'"A boy is the most difficult to manage of all wild beasts!" So, at all

events, an old writer tells us,' said the Colonel, with a smile. 'I am

afraid, Miss Leigh, you find the girls are not much better. You ought to

be glad to get rid of our noisy pack of youngsters for an hour or two.'

'Oh, if you are not afraid,' began Miss Leigh, in an injured tone.

She considered that her anxiety on behalf of her pupils was not being

properly appreciated, and felt hurt. But further conversation was cut

short by the boisterous rush of four children round the corner of the

shubbery.

'Thomas can come!' shouted the eldest boy, who was racing ahead of the

noisy party. 'I just managed to catch him as he was sneaking off up the

Wilderness.'

'What?' exclaimed the Colonel, surprised.

'Sneaking off!' repeated Lady Coke. 'Alan, what a way of speaking! What

do you mean?'

'He ran away as soon as he saw we wanted him,' said Georgie. 'He tried

to hide in the bushes, and I am sure he did not want us to see him.'

'He _was_ sneaking off. We could all tell that,' added Marjorie, a tall,

handsome girl of thirteen. 'But what does it matter? If he can come with

us now, it is no business of ours what he was doing.'

Meanwhile, Estelle, a small, slender child of eleven, who looked much

younger, was clinging to her great-aunt's hand, and murmuring

continually, 'Are we going, Auntie? I do so want to go on the sea!'

'Here is Thomas,' said Colonel De Bohun, as the young gardener came

towards the group, with a sulky expression on his red face.

'I want you to take the children out in the boat, Thomas,' said Lady

Coke. 'I hope you are not particularly busy this afternoon?'

'I am at your service, my lady,' he replied. 'I will get---- '

'I will help you!' cried Alan, eagerly. 'We will have the boat ready in

a jiffy.'

With an awkward touch of his cap, Thomas moved off, his sulky face

revealing the wrath which was surging within. But no one was looking at

him, nor was a second thought given to Alan's laughing assertion that he

had been seen 'sneaking off up the Wilderness.' The wild joy of the

children, and the many cautions as to their behaviour when on the water,

which their elders impressed upon them, together with the preparations

for the trip, made them all forget Thomas's queer manner. They were

destined, however, before long, to remember it for many a day.

Colonel De Bohun made Alan fetch some cushions, that the boat might be

made more comfortable for his cousin and his sister, and Lady Coke,

drawing Marjorie aside, begged her to look well after Estelle, who was

not so used to boating as she and her brothers were, and might endanger

the safety of the young party by some sudden movement. Marjorie was to

remember how easily a boat was upset.

Estelle had never till now lived near the sea-coast. Her life had been

spent in the Highlands of Scotland, at her father's old castle, Lynwood

Keep. Her uncle, Colonel De Bohun, had often begged the Earl of Lynwood

to allow her to spend her holidays with her cousins, but the Earl could

not bear to part with his little girl even for so short a time. Instead,

he gladly welcomed the little cousins to Lynwood Keep, where Estelle was

allowed to do everything she desired for their pleasure and

entertainment.

The great sorrow of his life, the loss of his young wife when Estelle

was five years old, had changed him completely. From being a cheerful,

open-hearted, open-handed man, he had become silent and reserved, seldom

seeing anybody, and keeping aloof even from his brother's children when

they paid their yearly visit to Estelle, and the delights of her

Highland home.

To only one person did he unbend. Estelle had become all in all to him.

He felt he could not do enough for her. He must be both father and

mother to the little motherless child, and to him she must look for

everything. Except when she was at her lessons, he loved to have her

with him, and wherever he went, on visits to his tenants, or walking

over the property, she was always his little shadow, as well known and

beloved as he. In the evenings they would sit together, talking over

their uneventful day, or recalling that memory of wife and mother which

was so sacred and so tender to them both, and which Lord Lynwood desired

should never fade from his little girl's mind.

Such a life was by no means a healthy one for Estelle, as Lord Lynwood's

aunt, Lady Coke, discovered during her visits to Lynwood Keep. She

noticed how sensitive and excitable Estelle was growing. If Lord Lynwood

came down in the morning looking worn and depressed, Estelle would watch

him for a few minutes, and unconsciously put on the same look. Slipping

her hand into his, and gazing up into his face with sympathetic eyes,

she only increased his gloom; Lady Coke saw it, and felt sorry for them

both. Any other child would have been spoilt by the indulgence which

gratified every wish, but Estelle's gentleness and her great desire to

be to her father all that her mother had been, prevented her from being

either selfish or naughty.

She was not a strong child, and the accounts of her health and spirits

which her governess, Mademoiselle Vadevant, gave Lady Coke, did not

satisfy that dear old lady. She did not like to hear that Estelle was

apt to cry on the slightest excuse; that she had no energy, no appetite;

that she was listless in her play, never happy except when with her

father, and soon grew tired with the least exertion. Every breath of

wind appeared to give her a cold, and she slept badly. Lady Coke said

little, but she thought deeply about all she heard and saw.

A few weeks after this visit of Lady Coke's, Lord Lynwood, to his great

surprise, received a letter from a very influential quarter; his past

services to the State were spoken of in the most flattering manner, and

he was urged to accept office again. An appointment to the Court of

Austria was offered to him in terms which made refusal almost

impossible. Lady Coke was delighted when he showed her the letter, and

warmly begged him not to throw away what had been offered to him in such

a kindly spirit. She did not betray her own handiwork in the offer.

'It is the best thing that could have happened!' she exclaimed, smiling

and pleased. 'The very best thing for you and Estelle.'

'Best for the child?' he repeated, blankly.

'Yes, even for Estelle,' replied his aunt, with decision. 'She ought to

have many things which you cannot give her, with all your love; her

mother would have understood. She must live in a warmer, sunnier

climate. She ought to have the companionship of other children; some one

to play with, and some one to work with as well as play.'

'Ah!' said the Earl, feeling as if a trap had been sprung upon him. 'And

where is she to have all this?'

'Let her live with me,' replied Lady Coke, smiling. 'Her cousins are

quite close, and she will be with them every day. I am sure you will

soon see how greatly this plan will benefit the dear child, and will not

grudge what will do her good.'

'I should not mind so much leaving her if she were with you,' admitted

the Earl, after a long pause. 'But are you sure it will not be too much

for you, dear aunt, to have so young a child with you always? Will she

not tire you?'

'You little know how young I am still,' she interrupted with a merry

laugh. 'I love the child, and you could not give me greater pleasure

than by leaving her with me.'

The more the plan was talked over the more pleasant and possible it

became, and when the Earl saw Estelle's delight on hearing that she was

to share in Marjorie's lessons, and have her cousins to play with every

day, he became reconciled to the parting with his little girl.

But when the day came for saying good-bye he almost repented. Estelle

cried and clung to him till Lady Coke and Mademoiselle had great trouble

in getting her away. They hurried her up to her room, where Mademoiselle

gave her brilliant descriptions of how busy her father was going to be,

and how happy she would be in his absence with her cousins. She would

grow up to be a comfort to him, and must do all she could that he might

not be disappointed in her on his return.

Then came the bustle of preparation for her own journey, and the

excitement of her arrival at the Moat House. All three cousins were

there to greet her, and she was welcomed with so many kisses, and such a

chorus of delight, that for the moment everything else was forgotten.

Each of the cousins had his or her favourite pet, or particular spot in

the garden to show her, and Estelle felt herself at home at once.

Lady Coke's plan had worked well. The joy of the children, their perfect

contentment when together, and Estelle's improved health and spirits

were proof enough. The gardens of the two houses, which joined, the

woods, the rocks, the sea, were more than enough to keep them all happy

and occupied; and to Estelle was added the keen pleasure of an only

child to whom everything was new.

(_Continued on page 10._)

[Illustration: "Thomas moved off."]

[Illustration: "Marjorie distinctly saw a man's figure."]

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 7._)

An afternoon to be spent in rowing along that grand coast, in scrambling

among the rocks, or visiting the numerous caves, was to Estelle the

height of delight. As the boat pushed off from the sandy beach, and

Thomas swung himself into the stern, she gazed about her in silent but

deep enjoyment.

The sea was as smooth as glass. The sun shone clear and hot. The white

sails of distant boats dotted the horizon. Beautiful as was the sea

itself, however, her whole attention was given to the frowning cliffs

which towered up in great headlands and boulders. Hovering about every

ledge, or over the surface of the water, were white-winged gulls, diving

or preening their feathers in the warm sunshine. Masses of jagged rocks

stretched far out from land, making a wide sweep necessary in order to

get round the Point. Steering was Marjorie's special duty, and long

practice had made her very skilful in avoiding dangerous spots, and

tacking against cross-currents. She it was, too, who begged Estelle not

to jump about in the boat, and so imperil the lives of the party by her

delight in the new world about her.

'Ripping, isn't it?' said Alan, joining in Marjorie's laugh at their

little cousin's restlessness.

'Oh, it's lovely!' cried Estelle, eagerly. 'But, look, Alan! What is

that dark patch in the cliff?'

'Oh, _that_ isn't anything!' he returned. 'You will soon see a far

bigger hole in the cliff than that. There are heaps of caves about here;

some quite shallow like that one; others very deep and high and dark,

and some---- '

'Some to which we have never been able to find the way,' interrupted

Marjorie, as Alan hesitated. 'I know there used to be---- '

'Thomas,' said Alan, also interrupting, as he looked over his shoulder

at the man behind him, 'do you know the way from the cliff into the

Smuggler's Bay?'

'What makes you think that, sir?' asked the man, sullenly.

'You were a fisherman once, weren't you? At all events you went out with

the fishing fleet as a boy,' said Marjorie, 'and Aunt Betty says you

know the coast better than anybody.'

'And did you smuggle once?' demanded Georgie, looking up from the

preparation of a bent pin for some attempts at fishing.

Thomas gave a hoarse laugh. 'What I know, I know,' he said,

mysteriously. 'It isn't fit, and my lady would not like it, if I was to

tell you all I know.'

'That means you know a great deal,' exclaimed Alan, triumphantly. 'Now I

am sure of what I only guessed before. There is a way down, and I will

find it out somehow without you telling me a word.'

Thomas's face reddened with anger at his meaning being caught up so

quickly, but before he could reply Marjorie broke in.

'Tell me when to turn in,' she said, as they left the shelter of the

headland, and the cool briny air fanned their cheeks.

The water was rougher, and the little boat danced upon the swell as they

rounded the outlying rocks. Estelle was on the look-out for dangers, but

Marjorie understood her business too well, and they glided along without

even grazing a single jagged point. The gulls, startled from their perch

on the heights by the approach of the boat, rose, flapping and

shrieking. It seemed as if hundreds were circling about the rocks, only

to settle down again as the little skiff drew away from them into the

bay.

Estelle's quick eyes saw the great gap in the cliffs as they came nearer

to the shore. It was forty or fifty feet above the beach, and from it a

small stream of water flowed in a thin shower.

'That is the place Alan spoke of,' said Marjorie, as her cousin pointed

to it. 'There are all sorts of stories about it, but I don't believe

anybody knows much. Some say there used to be a passage to it from our

old ruined summer-house, and smugglers were hauled up, and their

treasure too, and nobody could find out what became of them.'

'It seems a tremendous height,' said Estelle, in a tone of awe.

'It was only used at high tide,' said Alan. 'There were the caves down

below when the water was out. But here we are,' he added, as Thomas ran

the boat up the beach. 'Come along, and I will show you the only cave

worth looking at.'

The children were out of the boat in a moment, Georgie alone remaining

behind the others to 'lend a hand,' as he called it, though hindering

rather than helping Thomas to pull the boat out of reach of the tide.

'I can't think, Alan,' said Marjorie, when they had gone some way up the

beach, 'how you could give yourself away to Thomas so.'

'What do you mean?' asked Alan, flushing, and inclined to be angry.

'About the path, of course. If there is one, and if he really believes

that you intend to hunt for it, he is as likely as not to put all the

hindrances he can in your way.'

'Why should he?'

'I don't know, but there was something in his face that made me think he

had some secret, and a reason for keeping it. Let us make our own

discoveries without---- '

'You will have just about a hour, perhaps a little less, before we must

start back again, Miss,' said the voice of Thomas behind them.

Alan and Marjorie turned quickly. How much had he heard? He had

evidently followed them, and Alan could not believe that it was merely

to give a piece of quite unnecessary information, for they were within

calling distance anywhere in that small bay.

'Are you not going to stay with us all the time?' he exclaimed, in a

tone that showed a little annoyance.

'No, sir,' returned the man, with a wily smile, which somehow increased

Alan's anger. 'I thought I would sit inside the cave a bit. It's hot in

the sun.'

It sounded reasonable enough, and there was nothing to say against his

doing as he wished, but both the elder children somehow distrusted him.

They were at the entrance of the cave by this time, and their attention

was drawn away from the gardener by Estelle's fear of the gloomy shadows

which loomed upon them as they entered. There was not much to see, and

before long they came upon masses of broken rock and stones, up which

Alan insisted on dragging Estelle, while Marjorie helped Georgie. At the

top the cave narrowed into little more than a moderate-sized passage,

but here it was so dark that progress was not easy. Estelle became

frightened, and Georgie begged for a return to daylight. But this did

not suit Alan at all.

'Stop a bit,' he said, striking a match. 'You sit here, you two, while

Marjorie and I light up.'

He brought a piece of magnesium wire out of his pocket, and for a few

moments the dazzling flame lighted up the cave till every corner stood

out clear. Georgie was delighted, and Estelle wished it could always

remain alight. Marjorie laughed at the remark, but the laugh died away

in her throat the next moment; as the second bit of wire was flaming she

distinctly saw a man's figure disappear behind a rock. A sudden terror

seized upon her, making her feel she could not remain a moment longer in

the cave. She had not seen enough to be certain whether it was Thomas or

not, and the uncertainty startled her.

'We've been here long enough, Alan,' she said, hurriedly.

'Do try and give us some light while I get Georgie down the slope. Can

you manage for yourself, Estelle?'

'What's the matter?' whispered Alan, as they reached the entrance to the

cave once more. 'You know I have been round every bit of those rocks at

the end of the cave,' he went on, after hearing all that Marjorie had to

tell him, 'and not an opening did I find. I am sure Father had every

passage closed, and unless Thomas has discovered where they were, and

reopened them, what you saw must have been fancy. What could Thomas want

here? There is no smuggling now.'

Meantime, Estelle and Georgie, glad to get once more into the daylight,

were racing each other over the sands and into the numerous clefts in

the cliffs, with shouts of laughter. Suddenly Estelle stopped, panting.

'It tires me so to run,' she said, with a little laugh of shame at her

weakness. 'Shall we get the spades out of the boat and dig instead?'

Georgie readily agreed, and saying he would fetch them, set off down the

slope. Estelle threw herself down on the soft sand, intending to rest

till Georgie returned. All was very quiet and still in the bay; the

gentle lapping of the waves as the tide rose was the only sound. As she

glanced round her at the gulls and then towards the cave, where Alan and

Marjorie still lingered, she became aware that the tide was coming in,

and that Thomas was nowhere visible. She was always timid, and a real

terror seized her now. With a frightened glance to see how near the boat

was to the water, she sprang up and rushed over to where her cousins

were standing.

'Alan! Marjorie!' she cried. 'See how high the sea is getting! Isn't it

time to go back? Where is Thomas?'

In another minute that question was exciting all the children. They

called to him, they searched the caves as well as it was possible for

them to do, but Thomas was not to be found, nor was there any answer to

their shouts.

(_Continued on page 22._)

A SEASONABLE ANSWER.

A seasonable answer was given by the minister Cyneas to the ambitious

Pyrrhus, King of Epirus, when that great conqueror began to speak of his

designs (B.C. 280).

'Well,' said Cyneas, 'when thou has vanquished the Romans, what wilt

thou then do?'

'I will then,' said Pyrrhus, 'sail over to Sicily.'

'And what wilt thou do when that is won?'

'Then we will subdue Africa.'

'Well, when that is effected, what wilt thou then do?' asked Cyneas.

'Why, then,' said Pyrrhus, 'we will sit down and spend the rest of our

time merrily and contentedly.'

'And what hinders thee,' said Cyneas, 'that without all this labour and

peril thou canst not now do so beforehand?'

PEEPS INTO NATURE'S NURSERIES.

I.--THE LIFE-HISTORY OF THE COMMON FROG.

How is it that people as a rule have such a dislike for frogs? Many

people, even those who live in the country, credit them with the power

of spitting poison, and even those who do not share this belief, regard

them as creatures to be shunned. Perhaps this short outline of the

life-history of these poor creatures, so unjustly 'sent to Coventry,'

may gain for them at least a favourable hearing. Frogs make most

charming pets, and I am never without a few on my study table. From

their lives these facts are taken.

Let us begin from the very beginning--the hatching out of the eggs.

Frogs' eggs and birds' eggs are really not so unlike as they seem at

first sight, for though the frog's eggs have no shell, yet, just as in

the bird's egg, there are two essential parts to be distinguished--the

formative material out of which the young frog grows and the yolk on

which the growing animal feeds. By the untrained eye nothing more can be

seen in the frog's egg than a small black ball enclosed within a clear

jelly-like substance. At the time the egg is laid this outer jelly is

hardly noticeable, but it soon swells up, and thus forms a soft, elastic

covering to the growing frog, effectually protecting it from injury.

This black ball, by the way, answers to the yellow yolk of the hen's

egg: it differs from the yellow yolk in that it is colourless

internally, and black externally. The black outside coat apparently

serves to attract the heat of the sun, and thereby to bring about the

hatching process, which the hen does by the warmth of her own body.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.--A to G: Stages in the growth of the Tadpole,

greatly magnified.]

These eggs are furthermore remarkable in that they are laid, not one by

one, as a hen lays, but in thousands, and in water, forming an enormous

speckled mass. Take a portion of such a mass and watch it. Day by day

you will see the black spot gradually assume a distinct shape (fig. 1,

A): a little later a head and tail can be made out.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.--Mouth of Tadpole, greatly magnified.]

In a few hours more little black buds grow out on each side of the head,

and these soon become branched. They are the future gills. At this time

you will notice slight movements within this glassy cradle; and soon

after this the young frog, or tadpole, as we must call him now, escapes;

that is to say, as soon as he leaves his cradle he becomes a tadpole. At

first he does nothing but hang on to bits of weed, or the broken remains

of the covering of the egg, by a sticky substance formed by a special

pair of suckers placed just behind the mouth, as shown in our

illustration (fig. 2).

[Illustration: Fig. 3.--Gill of Tadpole, greatly magnified.]

Soon signs of life become apparent in the shape of a slow curving of the

body from side to side. In a very short time, however, these movements

increase so rapidly that the tail can hardly be seen, and at last, in

one of these violent wriggles he finds himself actually swimming! During

all this time he has swallowed no food, but has lived on the remains of

the egg within him; swallowing, indeed, has been out of the question,

for as yet his mouth is sealed! But now, at last, the little jaws are

unlocked, and he begins to eat ravenously, at first delicate green weed,

and later, flesh, when it is to be had. I give my tadpoles small pieces

of beef, but in the ditches where they swarm, animal matter is to be had

in plenty as a rule.

The mouth at this time is a very different structure from that which is

found in the adult frog: it is fringed by a pair of broad fleshy lips

armed with rows of tiny horny teeth--a curious place for teeth; the

mouth itself is furnished with a pair of teeth--also horny--resembling

the beak of a parrot.

[Illustration: Fig. 4.--Tadpole, showing breathing-tube, magnified.]

During this time these tiny little creatures bear a really close

resemblance to the young of many fish. In both young fishes and

tadpoles, for some time after leaving the egg, breathing is done by

means of very delicate branching gills, standing out on each side of the

head. One of these branches, highly magnified, is shown in fig. 3; at C

(fig. 1) the gills are shown in their natural position. If you can

manage to place a tadpole at this stage under the microscope, you will

see the blood, in the shape of little oval discs, coursing through the

blood-vessels of these gills. These breathing organs, however, are a

source of danger, for they are easily injured, so that, in the tadpole,

as in the fish, they are soon replaced by gills enclosed within a little

chamber on each side of the head. Breathing now takes place by drawing

water in at the mouth, passing it through the chambers and over the

gills, and expelling it through a small hole which opens in the form of

a short tube on the left side of the neck (shown in fig. 4), if a neck

can be distinguished in an animal where the head passes insensibly into

the body! But yet another change in the breathing apparatus takes place.

During the time that the gills are being changed, a pair of lungs are

being developed, and the first hint that they are growing is given by

the frequent journeys to the top of the water for the purpose of sucking

in air.

(_Concluded on page 37._)

[Illustration: "Then came the difficult task of bringing down the little

lad."]

LONG TOM'S GRATITUDE.

'You are a silly, you are; fancy wasting a brand-new shilling on a

circus kid!'

'Nonsense!' was the elder boy's answer; 'first you nearly get run over

by dragging her away from the horse's hoofs, and then you go and give

her all your pocket-money--I've no patience with you.'

Secretly, Dick Chilcote admired the plucky action, but he was too proud

to say so. But Phil, knowing nothing of this, looked very downcast.

The two lads were standing in the road which overlooked the meadow where

'Bagster's World-renowned Circus' had put up its huge tent, the place

having a fascination for them.

'Those sort of people,' went on Dick, who was a bit too fond of hearing

his own voice, 'have no gratitude.'

'Haven't they, young master?' said a voice in their ears.

It was Tom Venner--otherwise known as 'Long Tom, the Stilt-walker'--who

spoke.

'It strikes me they have, only they never get a chance of being quits.

Look here, youngster'--this to Phil--'it was my little girl you saved,

and one day, if ever I get a chance, I will show you that Long Tom is

not ungrateful.'

Phil grew rosy, and more nervous than ever.

'What's your name, I'd like to know?' went on the man.

'Phil Chilcote,' answered the little lad. 'And what's yours, please?'

'Tom Venner, at your service,' was the reply. 'And now I must be off;

but I shan't forget you.'

Shortly after this, the dinner-hour being near, the two boys wended

their way homewards.

* * * * *

The night which followed this incident was exceptionally wild and

stormy, and, for the first time within memory of living man, the whole

of the lower part of the village of Radwell was flooded by the tide. The

wild rush of waters had swept away the sea-wall as though it had been a

mere plaything, and widespread destruction was the result.

It was a terrible night for man and beast, and Tom Venner, as he drove

his caravan along the lonely road towards the adjoining town, found it a

very difficult matter to make headway in the teeth of the warring

elements.

Presently the clouds cleared away from the face of the moon, and then it

was that a strange scene met the man's eyes. All the land to the right

of him was one wide area of waters, upon which boats were making their

way towards a higher level of land. Curiosity prompted him to drive

nearer, and presently the sound of voices showed that one boat-load had

reached dry land in safety. By the time Tom Venner was on the spot, a

second craft had also come in.

'You have got Phil with you, of course,' he heard a man say. It was Mr.

Chilcote who spoke, a strange ring of anxiety in his voice.

'No,' was the startled answer of a lady who was hushing a baby to sleep.

'Oh, Maurice, you don't mean to say you left him behind!'

'What!' ejaculated the man, hoarsely. 'Nurse said that he was with you.

What shall we do?'

Well might Mr. Chilcote's heart fail, for his home was flooded all

round, and in danger of collapsing altogether.

The mother of the little lad gave a cry of bitter distress, a cry which

went to Tom's very heart. 'My Phil! my little Phil!' was all she

moaned.

'Do you mean to say it's little Phil Chilcote in danger?' shouted Tom,

his mind reverting to the only 'Phil' he knew.

'Yes,' was the reply from several voices.

'Then I will save him if mortal man can,' was the plucky response.

'But his window is out of reach, and the stairs are under water by this

time,' said the poor mother, despairingly.

Then a brilliant thought struck Tom, and he told it at once to Mr.

Chilcote. The result was that in a few moments Tom, with his stilts on

either side of him, was being rowed by trusty oarsmen, one of whom was

Mr. Chilcote himself, to the Manor House.

'That's the window, my man,' said Mr. Chilcote, when they reached the

house; 'do you think you can manage it?'

'Aye, aye, sir,' was the reply. 'Don't you fear!'

But it was a more difficult task than even Tom Venner expected. However,

his stilts were soon in working order, and whilst the watchers held

their breath for fear, the man accomplished his task. Smashing a pane of

glass, he roused the little sleeper, who, owing to the terrible mistake

of a well-nigh distraught maid, had been left alone in the Manor House.

A frightened cry came from poor Phil's lips at the sound of the breaking

glass. In a few words, however, the man calmed his fears, and explained

what had happened. In another moment, little Phil was out of bed, and

the window was unfastened by his trembling fingers.

'Have you got a bit of cord handy?' asked Tom Venner of the child.

'Yes; nurse's box-cord is here,' was the reply; 'I use it for my reins.'

'Oh, well, that will do--give it me, quick.'

Tom steadied himself on his stilts as firmly as he could, and then came

the difficult task of bringing down the little lad. How he did it Tom

could scarcely tell you himself, but certain it is that a few minutes

later Phil was safe in his father's arms.

* * * * *

'I say, I am awfully sorry I talked all that rot about--about

ingratitude, you know.' So said Dick Chilcote, looking with shamed eyes

into Tom Venner's face.

'All right, young master, don't bother your head about that,' was the

reply; 'it was a little mistake, that is all.'

Dick was too moved to answer, his ready speech having entirely failed

him.

'As for mistakes,' went on Tom, as--the adventure being over--he

prepared to mount his caravan, 'I have made plenty of them, and I shall

be making another if I don't hurry up after the boss. Good-night to you,

my lad.'

'Good-night,' echoed Mr. Chilcote; 'you will be hearing from me, my good

friend, in the course of a day or two.'

And so Tom did--a letter which made him open his eyes to their widest

extent. Not only did the envelope contain a letter of heartfelt thanks,

but a good large cheque.

A CHINESE SOLOMON.

Foo Chow, a Pekin magistrate, once showed great wisdom and ingenuity in

detecting a thief. A man was brought before him charged with stealing a

small but very valuable jewelled table. The prisoner denied the charge.

He said that he was weak and feeble with long illness. For that reason

it was impossible for him to have carried off a piece of furniture.

The judge listened very gravely to his story. After hearing of the poor

man's misfortunes, he professed great sorrow and sympathy for the

sufferer.

'Go home and get cured,' said he kindly; 'and as you are poor, take with

you that bag of cash'--heavy Chinese coins--'as a gift from this court.'

The prisoner bowed, quickly threw the heavy bag over his shoulder, and

departed, while every one wondered. But he had hardly got outside the

door of the court, when he was arrested. The judge remarked that if he

could easily carry off a heavy sack of money, he would have no

difficulty in stealing a light table.

H. B. S.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

1.--NARRATIVE ARITHMOGRAPH.

5 raised the 6-7-4-3-2-11-13 and looked out. The 1-2-5-8-3-2-5-13 was

about to start. '2-8-5-6-11-9,' 5 cried, '3-4-5-2-8 and 10-12-11-8 lie

before me. 4-2-5-8 13-12-10 lady at my shabby 6-12-2-3 2

13-2-10-5-12-13's eyes follow me. 11-13 this 6-7-4-3 8-9-10-11-13 letter

my instructions are written; armed with 11-10 5 2-1 9 happy 1-2-13.'

C. J. B.

[_Answer on page 51._]

A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

True Tales of the Year 1806.

I.--'THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL.'

Just a hundred years ago the well-known poem, 'The Butterfly's Ball and

the Grasshopper's Feast,' was published, and we reproduce it here

because it is not always easy to get a copy of it nowadays, and some of

our readers may never have seen it. The author, William Roscoe, was a

noted historian and critic, and he wrote these verses to amuse his

little son, Robert, who is supposed to be telling how he saw the

wonderful ball. The lines about little Robert, however, were not in the

poem as it was when it first appeared, and other alterations were made

here and there. The poem soon became famous, and a great many imitations

of it were written. It came to the notice, too, of King George and Queen

Caroline, and they had it set to music to amuse the little Princess

Mary.

Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste

To the Butterfly's ball and the Grasshopper's feast:

The trumpeter Gad-fly has summoned the crew,

And the revels are now only waiting for you.

So said little Robert, and pacing along,

His many companions came forth in a throng,

And on the smooth grass, by the side of a wood,

Beneath a broad oak, which for ages had stood,

Saw the children of earth and the tenants of air

To an evening's amusement together repair.

And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,

Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back;

And there was the Gnat, and the Dragon-fly too,

And all their relations, green, orange, and blue.

And then came the Moth, with her plumage of down,

And the Hornet, in jacket of yellow and brown;

Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring,

But they promised that evening to lay by their sting.

Then the shy little Dormouse peeped out of his hole,

And led to the feast his blind cousin, the Mole;

And the Snail, with her horns peeping out of her shell,

Came, fatigued with the distance, the length of an ell.

A mushroom the table; and on it was spread

A water-dock leaf, which their table-d'hôte made.

The viands were various, to each of their taste,

And the Bee brought the honey to sweeten the feast.

Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise,

The Frog from a corner looked up to the skies;

And the Sparrow, well pleased such diversions to see,

Mounted high overhead, and looked down from a tree.

Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine,

To show his dexterity on the tight line.

From one branch to another his cobwebs he slung,

Then quick as an arrow he darted along.

But just in the middle, oh, shocking to tell!

From his rope in an instant poor Harlequin fell.

Yet he touched not the ground, but with talons outspread,

Hung suspended in air at the end of a thread.

Then the Grasshopper came with a jerk and a spring;

Very long was his leg, though but short was his wing;

He took but three leaps, and was soon out of sight,

Then chirped his own praises the rest of the night.

With steps most majestic the Snail did advance,

And he promised the gazers a minuet to dance;

But they all laughed so loud that he drew in his head,

And went in his own little chamber to bed.

Then as evening gave way to the shadows of night,

Their watchman, the Glow-worm, came out with his light:

So home let us hasten, while yet we can see,

For no watchman is waiting for you or for me.

So said little Robert, and pacing along,

His many companions returned in a throng.

HIS MASTER'S HAT.

Not long ago, a fine collie dog was running happily after an omnibus, on

the top of which his master was seated. Every now and then the man

turned round to encourage the dog, and at last, as he did this, a gust

of wind blew off his hat, which went careering down the road by the side

of the omnibus. Quick as thought, the dog darted after the hat, chased

it and 'rounded it up,' as if it were a stray lamb or sheep, and by the

time his master had descended from the top of the omnibus to get his

lost property, the dog was waiting for him, wagging his tail, with the

hat safely in his mouth.

[Illustration: "The dog darted after the hat."]

[Illustration: "The dog took kindly to her foster-children."]

WILD ANIMALS IN CAPTIVITY.

Notwithstanding all the care which is now bestowed upon wild animals in

our zoological gardens and menageries, nearly all of them suffer a

little in some way or other by confinement. When we think of the great

difference which exists between the surroundings natural to a free wild

animal, and those of even the best zoological gardens, we cannot but be

surprised that so many animals from all parts of the world can be kept

alive and in good condition in a climate so changeable as ours. Every

effort is made by the keepers to copy as far as possible the natural

conditions to which each animal is accustomed.

It was usual, for instance, to deprive all the flesh-eating animals of

one of the greatest travelling menageries of food during one day in each

week. It was found by experience that the animals were healthier when

they suffered periods of fasting like this, than they were when they

were fed regularly every day without a break. The explanation of this

was very simple. These animals, when they were living wild in the

jungles, forests, deserts, or ice-fields, obtained all their food by

hunting. When game was scarce or difficult to catch, they were compelled

to go hungry; and this occurred so often as to be a natural condition to

which they were well accustomed. When, therefore, they were placed in

cages, and were fed as regularly, though not as frequently as human

beings, their health was more or less impaired.

Animals in confinement often undergo slight changes even when no

alteration in their appearance or falling-off in health is noticeable.

Many of them, for instance, rarely have young ones, and even when they

have, the young are seldom as healthy and robust as if born in a wild

state. The keepers have frequently the utmost difficulty in rearing

animals which are born in menageries and zoological gardens. Yet if

these animals were born in their own countries and under natural

conditions, they would grow up healthy and strong, without receiving any

more care than a kitten receives from its mother.

An incident which occurred in the Zoo not long ago affords a striking

illustration of these facts. A wolf had an ordinary family of eight

young ones. The keepers, probably thinking that these were too many for

the captive wolf to bring up alone, divided the family. Four of them

were left with their mother, and four of them were placed in charge of a

collie. The dog took kindly to her foster-children, and reared them

successfully with her own. This was only what the keepers expected. But

when they placed the young ones together again, and compared the

collie's family with the wolf's family, they were surprised to find that

the four which had been nurtured by the collie were stronger and better

animals than their four brothers and sisters. The best explanation of

this result is that the collie was living a healthy natural life, while

the wolf, though to all appearance quite well, was not enjoying the full

vigour which results from a free and active life.

W. A. ATKINSON.

UMBRELLA TREASON.

Some little time ago, there was what the newspapers described as

'unrest' in the West African colony of Lagos; telegrams were dispatched

between that country and Great Britain, governors and deputy-governors

were interviewed, and it was with difficulty that a native war was

averted. The cause of all this commotion was an umbrella!

Now, in our country, as we all know, an umbrella is looked upon as a

harmless possession--but not so in West Africa. There, amongst most of

the native tribes, the umbrella is regarded as an emblem of royalty, and

its possession is strictly confined to the chief or king of the

tribe.

Therefore the indignation was intense on the part of one of these kings,

when he found an inferior chief setting up an umbrella of his own. The

king at once took a journey to Lagos, to lodge a formal complaint of the

chief's treasonable conduct with the British Governor.

* * * * *

An African king's umbrella is a very elaborate affair, and it often

costs large sums of money. Most of the umbrellas for Ashanti and the

Gold Coast are made in London, and are of gigantic size, some of them

when open measuring ten feet across.

The coverings of these umbrellas are of coloured silk--the brighter the

better, with very deep fringes. The largest umbrellas are carried over

the heads of chiefs, by bearers, while other bearers steady the umbrella

by cords attached to the uppermost parts.

One state umbrella had for its apex a silver eagle standing on two

silver cannons, whilst another umbrella had a gold hen on the top, the

hen being surrounded by numerous chickens, to represent the chief and

his tribe.

A cheap umbrella for a small chief can be had for ten pounds, but such

state umbrellas as we have described are not to be had for less than

sixty or even seventy guineas.

THE WRONG WIND.

A breeze from the South made the rose-bushes quiver,

And what did the South Wind say?

'I met with an accident, crossing the river,

The ice-covered river, to-day.

''Twas frozen; and yesterday morning the skaters

Were there in no end of a crowd,

While Timothy Tubb in his scarf and his gaiters

Was looking uncommonly proud.

'So, early this morning, on reaching the river,

I looked at its surface and cried:

If Tim, on that ice, can show skating so clever,

Now why shouldn't I have a slide?

'But though I'm so light (oh, the thought makes me shiver),

Crack! Bang! And from shore unto shore

The water jumped out; I was half in the river,

And don't mean to slide any more.

'Yet--isn't it strange?--in the coldest of winters

Tim Tubb can go skating with glee;

While bang! goes the ice, and it cracks into splinters

'Neath the foot of a South Wind like me.'

ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.

By HAROLD ERICSON.

I.--A SCRAMBLE WITH A BEAR.

On a splendid night in the cool of the year, three men sat out in the

Veldt in South Africa, talking and laughing over their camp fire. A few

Kaffir drivers and huntsmen were similarly engaged at a second fire at

some little distance. The light of the burning wood revealed fitfully

the shape of the great waggon in the background, and the sound of

munching behind it told of the presence of the team of oxen which had

dragged it northwards from Bulawayo. Later on, when they trekked up into

the lion-zone, the district in which lions and other dangerous beasts

might be expected to visit them by night, if the way were left open for

them, it would be necessary to encircle their camp with a ring of

thorn-bushes or some other obstacles; but at present the party was only

on the way to the hunting grounds, and it was still safe to run the

risks of lions.

The three men were all English, or at least British, and all fairly

young. Their names were Captain the Honourable Edward Vandeleur, Bobby

Oakfield, an Indian civilian on a year's furlough, and Ralph Denison, a

rich young man with nothing to do except to indulge his love of sport,

whether fox-hunting, salmon-fishing, grouse-driving, or, as now,

big-game shooting in any part of the world where large beasts were to be

found.

Vandeleur, commonly known as Teddy, seemed to be the chief speaker this

night; he was, at the moment of our introduction to the party,

explaining a suggestion which he had just made to his friends. This is

what he said:--

'We are likely to have longish watches over our camp fires, and perhaps

we may get a bit tired of conversation night after night, with nothing

much to talk about; now why not start a round of story-telling, each to

spin a yarn in turn, one every evening, unless we should happen to feel

more inclined for a talk, in which case we miss a day. Anybody who can't

think of a tale must pay a fine of a shilling, the winner to take the

total at the end.'

'Yes, but who is the winner?' asked Oakfield, laughing, 'The one who

tells the best yarns?'

'Oh, no! who would be judge? The one who has had to pay the fewest fines

takes the prize,' Denison said with a laugh.

'Good old Teddy!' he cried, 'he has a large collection of yarns all

ready up his sleeve, Bobby, and he wants our shillings! Well, you shall

have them willingly, old chap, if you keep us amused! Start at once--go

on!'

'Why not draw lots for first yarn?' suggested Bobby, and the others fell

in with the suggestion.

So lots were drawn, and it fell to Bobby himself to entertain the

company.

'Start away at once, old chap. I'm tired of talking, and longing for a

nap,' laughed Denison. 'If he makes it too long, Teddy, have we the

right to ask him to finish it "in our next?" He might go on all night.'

'Certainly, any story may be split; if any fellow can entertain us for

two nights on end, why, so much the better!'

'Off you go then, Bobby,' said Denison--"once upon a time"--fire ahead!'

Bobby Oakfield sat silent for a few minutes.

'I believe you are inventing,' said the irrepressible Ralph: 'is that

allowed, Mr. President?'

'_Real_ experiences, as far as possible!' Vandeleur decided.

'Oh, it's real all right,' said Bobby; 'I was wondering whether to tell

you first of a wolf adventure or a little meeting with a bear I once

had--think I'll begin with the bear.'

* * * * *

This is the story of my first bear (began Bobby); the first I ever went

out to hunt, I mean, though as a matter of fact he had more right to

call me 'his first man,' than I to dub him 'my first bear,' for I fancy

he was nearer getting me than I him. Which of us was most frightened, I

hardly care to say! He must have been terribly alarmed if he suffered

more than I did!

It was during one of my visits to Russia, and the season was early

autumn. I was staying with a cousin, who was either part or sole

proprietor, I forget which, of a big 'shoot,' some twenty miles out of

town; and one day he received a letter which we both thought rather

funny. It was from the head-keeper of the shooting club, and read

something like this:--

'Most merciful lord' (my cousin was not a lord, but that's a detail; he

would have made a very good one, I dare say), 'if your lordship's heart

contains pity for humble fellow-creatures who are in distress, listen

and be merciful. A bear has appeared here and is eating the uncut corn

of the peasants. We have tried him with the usual methods, but they have

proved useless. Come down and save us, merciful, for the appetite of the

beast is very large; there is room in him for the whole of our harvest,

therefore come quickly.'

'What are the usual methods?' I asked my cousin, and he replied with a

laugh that probably the man meant that the elders of the village had

pronounced a curse against the animal, or perhaps the _guaharka_ of the

district, the 'wise woman,' had woven a spell, for these pagan customs

survive even in Christian Russia.

'I'm afraid I'm too busy to go just at present,' said my cousin; 'I

suppose you could not take on the business for me, could you?'

Well, I had not the slightest objection; indeed, I was delighted with

the prospect.

'What am I to do?' I asked; 'hide myself in the standing corn and ambush

him?'

'Leave it to old Michael, the keeper.' said my cousin. 'I will wire that

you're coming to-morrow, I can telegraph within three miles of the

lodge, and the message will be sent on.'

So my preparations were hurried forward, and I was ready and anxious to

be off early on the following day.

[Illustration: "'Why not start a round of story-telling?'"]

'Be kind to my dogs,' said my cousin; 'there are three of them there,

red setters, beauties--Michael keeps them for me; have them into the

room and pet them a bit, if you don't mind, for they have a dullish time

down there, and I like them to see English folk now and then--it does

them good!'

(_Concluded on page 26._)

THE MUSIC OF THE NATIONS.

I.--THE 'KING' AND 'OU' OF THE CHINESE.

[Illustration]

Five hundred years before the birth of Christ, Confucius declared that

'Music gives finish to the character, which has first been established

by its rules of proficiency.' Moreover, he said, 'Wouldst thou know if a

people be well governed, and if its manners be good or bad, examine the

music it practises.'

When we reflect that the speaker was the most famous sage of the

Chinese, to whom temples are built in every town of the vast empire of

China, and to whose memory the Emperor himself offers homage twice a

year at the Imperial College in Pekin, we may understand what weight his

opinions have carried in his own country.

Long before his time, however, music had been studied there as a

science. It was imported by the first invaders of the Celestial Empire,

who hailed from the borders of the Caspian Sea. The Yellow Emperor, or

Huang Ti, who reigned two thousand seven hundred years before the

Christian era, established a fixed base note from which musical

instruments were to be measured, much as in the modern musical system we

take a key-note and found our chords and scales upon it. The connection

between musical and State affairs was so business-like in those days

that the precedence of the various classes was fixed according to the

musical grade: F, the base note of the oldest known scale, represented

the Emperor; G, the Prime Minister; A, the loyal subjects, and so on.

[Illustration: The "Ou" and playing stick.]

Five hundred years later another Emperor, of a practical turn of mind,

ordered that music should follow the sense of the words, and be simple

and free from affectation, and he appointed a censor to see that his

instructions were carried out. The latter, 'Couci' by name, declared

that when he played upon his 'king,' the animals ranged themselves

before him spell-bound by his melody.

[Illustration: The "Tse King."]

We hear elsewhere of another ancient musician of China, whose music was

'so sweet that the very stars drew near to listen.' Later on in the

history of the world we find this idea of the effects of music on

animals and stars entertained both in Greece and India. The attention of

the starry bodies can only be regarded as a beautiful myth, but the

writer of this paper personally tested the animal love of music some

years ago, when surrounded by a formidable herd of wild cattle in the

Rocky Mountains.

The instrument known as 'king,' from which Couci drew such delightful

sounds, is of very ancient date, and is made of a stone called 'yu,'

which is of many colours, and looks like marble, being probably a form

of agate intermixed with iron. The wonderful clearness and purity of the

tone are supposed to result from long exposure to the sun and air.

'Yu' is most valuable when of whey colour; then light blue, dark yellow,

orange, dark red, and pale green follow in order of merit. In all the

colours it is essential that the stones be free from streaks or flaws of

any kind. One of the chief attractions of the 'king' is that it always

retains its pitch, not being influenced by cold, heat, damp, or dryness.

In construction the 'king' consists of sixteen stones hung in two rows

of eight in an ornamental frame. Nowadays these stones are cut in oblong

shape of varying thickness, tuned by slicing narrow shavings off the

back and ends; but in former days they were fashioned like fishes,

animals, or other quaint devices. The art of making 'kings' was lost for

many centuries, but about 32 B.C. a specimen was fished up from the

bottom of a pond which served as a model, and now every temple of

importance has its 'king,' just as every church with us has its organ of

some kind or other.

A smaller instrument of the same kind is also used in religious

ceremonies, the 'the king,' made of one large block of 'yu,' suspended

from an upright. It is played like the real 'king,' by being struck with

a special stick or plectrum, and the tone, though less varied than that

of the larger instrument, is equally deep and full.

Another curious Chinese instrument is the 'ou,' which is made of wood,

and fashioned like a crouching tiger. It is hollow, and along its back

run metal teeth, which are played with a small stick or brush. The 'ou'

stands on a hollow pedestal, also of wood, which serves as a sounding

board and increases the tone.

HELENA HEATH.

ETHEL'S GOLDEN OFFERING.

'Granny,' said Ethel Day, one Sunday, 'there was a lady in our seat at

church that I never saw before. She was not very grandly dressed, but

she must have been as rich--as rich as the king.'

'Why do you think so, Ethel?' asked Granny, smiling at the child's

eagerness.

'Because, when the plate was passed to her--for the collection, you

know--she put in a piece of gold money--real gold, I am sure it was. Oh!

I should like to be rich enough to give as much as that.'

Granny was silent for a minute or two; she seemed to be thinking of

something pleasant. 'I know of a golden offering that my little Ethel

could make, if she were willing,' she said presently.

'Tell me what it is then, Granny: I shall be sure to be willing,' cried

Ethel.

'The money the lady gave,' went on Granny, 'was for the poor sick people

in the hospital. Look out of the window, Ethel, and you will see another

kind of gold--a kind not counted so precious, perhaps, but really quite

as beautiful.'

Ethel looked out: she only saw the flowers in her own garden. Lovely

autumn flowers they were, for Ethel's father was a gardener, and he

often gave his little daughter choice roots, or cuttings, for her plot

of ground. But Ethel was accustomed to the sight of her flowers: dear as

they were to her, and yellow as gold though they might be, Granny surely

did not mean to compare them with the lady's half-sovereign.

That was Granny's meaning, however. 'There is a sick woman in the

village,' she told Ethel, 'who cannot go to the hospital. She is so ill

that, although she may live many years, she can never be cured, and so

they cannot take her in. Because her illness has lasted so long, people

have almost forgotten to be kind to her. I have been thinking, Ethel,

that if you could spare a bunch of your flowers for poor Mary Ansell, it

would be a real golden offering.'

It was Ethel's turn to be quiet now; her flowers were her most cherished

possessions, and to pick a good bunch for Mary Ansell would make her

little garden look bare and shabby. Granny knew that; she knew that

Ethel's flowers would, in their way, be quite as costly a gift as the

lady's golden coin.

But she was not much surprised, on the following morning, to find the

best and brightest of the blossoms gone, and when next she went to see

Mary Ansell, the poor woman still had the flowers in a jug by her

bedside.

'You cannot think how it cheered me up,' said the invalid. 'That dear

little girl, with her bright face, and the posy in her hands, was like a

sunbeam coming in. She did me as much good as a mint of money.'

'Ah!' thought Granny, who knew how much real self-sacrifice must have

been in the gift, 'I felt sure that Ethel too could make a golden

offering.'

C. J. BLAKE.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 11._)

'What will become of us if Thomas has gone away?' asked Estelle. 'Does

the sea cover the beach very quickly? Will there be time for him to come

back, or can we get away without him?'

'No, no,' cried Georgie, clinging to Marjorie; 'we can't go in the boat

without Thomas! We shall all be drowned. Oh, I don't want to be---- '

'Shut up!' exclaimed Alan, impatiently. 'We are not drowned yet, and we

are not going to be. You are frightening Estelle with your noise. It is

all right, Estelle. Don't you be afraid. I can get the boat back all

right with Marjorie's help if Thomas is not here in time. But there is

no danger for an hour yet.'

'All the same, we had better find Thomas,' said Marjorie.

Neither she nor Alan had any serious belief in there being much mystery

about Thomas's movements. They liked to imagine themselves in romantic

positions, and were fond of weaving stories about any little event that

attracted them. But the gardener's sudden disappearance, together with

what Marjorie had seen in the cave, did seem strange.

'There's only one way of finding him,' remarked Alan, after he and

Marjorie had stared at each other in silence for some moments. 'You see,

he is nowhere in the cave. Now, what do you think has become of him?'

'Do you mean he has found a way up the cliff?' she asked, slowly, with

what Alan called 'the pondering look' in her eyes. 'I wonder if he

wanted to go into the woods when you saw him in the Wilderness, and

if--if he has managed to get there now?'

'I never thought of that,' exclaimed Alan.

'If he has,' went on Marjorie, while Estelle and Georgie watched Alan

anxiously, 'what do you mean by "only one way of finding him?"'

'Well,' returned Alan, hesitating as if his mind were not quite made up,

'we know of no path up, so there is nothing for it except to climb the

cliff. I am sure I can do it, and who knows what I may find out?'

This proposal did not meet with favour from anybody. Marjorie declared

it was impossible, and too dangerous to try--the cliff was far too

steep. Alan and she could manage the boat quite well on a calm day. It

would be less of a risk.

Estelle suggested they should go as far into the cave as possible--for

Alan had told her that the end of it was above high-water mark--and

remain there till the tide went down. It would certainly be very horrid,

but it was better than going alone in the boat, or Alan trying to climb

those terrible cliffs.

All her cousins laughed.

'It will be hours and hours before the tide is low again,' said Alan.

'Everybody would think we had come to grief, and there would be a pretty

to-do. Aunt Betty would be wild, fancying you were lost. No, that will

not do. It must be the cliff, and nothing but the cliff.'

Without waiting for further discussion, he went slowly along the beach,

examining the great wall of rock. The other children followed,

frightened into silence by his determined face and the dangers of the

attempt. To Estelle there appeared to be no foothold possible in all

that broad, dark surface; but Alan's keen eyes were not long in

discovering a part which he might attack with some hope of success.

Pulling off his coat and tightening his belt, he took firm hold of the

only projecting piece of rock he could find, and drew himself up to the

first narrow ledge. There he paused to look back triumphantly, but such

a row of anxious faces were staring up at him that he called out,

impatiently, 'Now, do go and play. I am all right, and it is a jolly

good thing to have a place to stand upon. Don't look at me all the time.

You will make me nervous, and there will be an accident.'

But it was impossible for the other children to turn their eyes away as

he crept up and up, hoisting himself by strength of arm in one place,

seeking a foothold in another. Sometimes it appeared as if he were

hanging literally by his fingers, and the lookers-on shuddered in terror

lest he should fall. At other places he seemed to move along with more

ease, and then they feared he would become careless.

It was well for Alan that his head was so steady, and that he did not

attempt to glance down from the height he had already reached. Not for a

moment would he dwell on the dangers of the ascent. Rather, he took a

delight in matching himself against the stern rocks. With all his

courage, however, it sometimes seemed to him as if his difficulties

would never end. Three times he nearly as possible fell. The strength

and fitness he had acquired in athletic sports and gymnasium at school

stood him in good stead now.

Fortunately for him the ascent became far easier as soon as he got above

high-water mark. The face of the precipice grew more and more uneven,

offering greater support to his hands and feet, and by-and-by he was

able to assist himself by the tufts of grass.

'He has reached the bushes!' cried Estelle, at last, with a cry of

relief. 'He will be all right now, won't he?'

'Yes,' replied Marjorie, her voice still tremulous.

'And how's he coming down again?' asked Georgie, his fears by no means

gone. 'And what are we to do if he doesn't come?'

Georgie and Estelle were gazing at Marjorie as if her words and her calm

alone prevented them from breaking down. If she gave way to fear, what

effect might it not have upon them? It was her duty to encourage and

raise the spirits of the younger ones, and put aside her own misgivings.

With an effort she forced herself to speak in cheerful tones.

'It is useless to think about it,' she said, 'and the best thing we can

do is to amuse ourselves till it is time to go. Look, the boat ought to

be pulled up higher. Let us see if we can manage it between us.'

Meantime Alan had reached the coastguard path which ran along the edge

of the cliff. No one being in sight, he determined to take the narrow

track which lay through a wooded hollow. It was part of the Moat House

property, and he desired to see whether he and Marjorie had been correct

in their guess that it was to this wood that Thomas had wished to come

when he was seen in the Wilderness.

Scrambling over the queer stone stile, he descended the rugged pathway,

where the thick brushwood and high trees shut out sky and sunlight. As

he advanced the track became narrower and more mossy, while here and

there the ground was broken by rocks. Now and again high mounds of

earth, mossy and green, rose on either side, and the wood grew denser.

He was uneasy, and half wished he had kept to the edge of the cliff,

where the way was clear, for he seemed to have left the world behind

him. There was something uncanny in the dead silence, and he quite

startled when a rabbit jumped across his path into a hole. But the next

moment, boy-like, he wished he had had the dogs with him that he might

give chase.

(_Continued on page 30._)

[Illustration: "Alan paused to look back."]

[Illustration: "Just then a man on horseback appeared."]

FORGETFUL FANNY

'Now I will tie you to the garden gate, and pretend I have put my horse

in the stable,' Fanny said to her little brother Dick, with whom she had

been playing horses until she was hot and tired.

Her mother had gone to the market town, and would not be home until the

evening, and so Fanny was left in charge of her brother.

Dick thought it was rather interesting to be tied up in a stable, and so

he was quite happy when Fanny said that she wanted to run down the road

to see her friend, Dora Barnes, for a few minutes.

At first Dick pretended to eat oats out of a manger; then he thought he

would lie down and sleep. But that was dull, so he got up and pranced

and kicked with impatience; and presently the time began to drag more

and more slowly, and he wondered when Fanny would come back again.

'These knots are so tight, I cannot undo them, and I am so tired of

playing at being a horse tied up in a stable,' he said sadly to himself.

After a time he gave up trying to pretend, but curled himself up and

fell fast asleep. And still his sister did not come; but somebody else

did.

In the meantime, Fanny had found her friend, and had heard the splendid

news that a circus was just going to pass through the village.

This was enough to drive everything else out of Fanny's head. The two

little girls started off to see the fun, and poor Dick was quite

forgotten.

There were ladies riding in golden cars, and little piebald ponies, and

an elephant, and all kinds of marvellous sights. Fanny and Dora followed

the procession to the field in which the tent was to be put up, and it

was growing late before they thought of setting out for home.

Then there suddenly came into Fanny's mind the remembrance of the little

boy she had left fastened to the gate.

'I forgot all about him,' she said to Dora. 'I do hope he is all right.'

But when they reached the cottage, no Dick was to be seen!

'Perhaps he managed to untie the cords, and is in the house,' Dora

suggested.

They hunted high and low, but no Dick was to be found, and Fanny burst

into tears.

'Oh, Dora,' she cried, 'perhaps the circus people have been here and

stolen him! You know they do steal little boys sometimes, and make them

walk on tight-ropes. And they may be unkind to Dick. Oh! what shall I

do?'

At this moment a man on horseback came down the lane, and there, riding

in front of him, was Dick!

Fanny thought her worst fears were realised. The man must be a circus

rider, and how could she hope to rescue her brother if the man chose to

turn and gallop away!

She rushed to meet them. 'Oh, please, sir, don't carry Dick away!' she

cried. 'He is so little, and he is too fat ever to learn to dance on a

tight-rope!'

'Why, I am bringing him home,' the man said; 'and what have I to do with

tight-ropes?'

Then Fanny recognised the gentleman as a friend of the Squire's, who was

staying with him at the Hall.

'I beg your pardon, sir; I thought the circus people had stolen him,'

she stammered.

'They have stolen a little girl's wits, I think,' said the gentleman,

smiling. 'I found Dick all alone and very forlorn, so I took him for a

ride, and am now bringing him back to see if there is any one here to

take care of him. Are you the sister who was left in charge?'

'I forgot all about him,' Fanny confessed, blushing and hanging her

head, 'and I was so frightened when I came home and did not find him

here.'

'Well, look after your little brother better another time,' the

gentleman said, as he lifted Dick down and rode away.

And forgetful Fanny remembered this lesson, and tried not to be so

thoughtless again. M. H.

THE DISAPPOINTED HEN.

'Oh' what a terrible mistake!'

Cried Mrs. Brahma Hen;

'I'd set my heart on yellow chicks,

And these are black again!'

She ran at once to Dr. Goose,

'What can I do?' cried she.

'My charge for giving good advice

Is fifteen worms,' quoth he.

It was such hot work catching them,

It nearly made her faint:

And fifteen worms'-worth of advice

Was 'Buy some yellow paint!'

A. KATHERINE PARKES.

THE MULTIPLICATION TABLE.

A village schoolmaster in Germany one day did something at which the

parents of one of his pupils foolishly took offence. On the following

morning, the angry mother of the lad entered the schoolroom during

lesson-time, and began to scold and rate the master. He knew what was

coming, and, as she began, called out, in a tone of command, 'Children,

the multiplication table!'

At once the whole school began to repeat the table in chorus. The woman

stormed and raged, while the scholars only shouted the harder, and the

master quietly laughed to himself. Speechless with anger and surprise,

the woman at last went away, and the teacher was left master of the

field of battle.

H. B. S.

ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.

I.--A SCRAMBLE WITH A BEAR.

(_Concluded from page 20._)

The hunting lodge proved a delightfully comfortable place, and old

Michael was a splendid game-keeper. He seemed disappointed that my

cousin had not come, for apparently he regarded Jack with great

confidence. To me, however, he was very courteous and polite, and I

think he did his best to hide his disappointment.

The bear was a big one, he said; he damaged as much corn as he ate, and

since his inside was 'as large as a barn' (so Michael said), the

unfortunate peasants were in great trouble with regard to their crops.

By this time I had learned enough Russian to keep up a simple

conversation, in which of course grammar had no part whatever; I could

make myself understood if my companion happened to be a person of sense,

and this old Michael was. To my inquiry as to how the bear and I were to

become acquainted, he replied that he had made all arrangements.

'There is flesh placed in an open space in the forest which he crosses

sometimes,' Michael said; 'his tracks pass over it several times. When

it is dusk I shall guide you to the place, and you shall climb a tree

and pass the night in it; at early dawn he will come and eat, and then

you will shoot.'

I liked the plan; it was something quite new--rather a chilly

experience, perhaps, but one must put up with a little inconvenience in

the pursuit of bears 'with insides like barns'! I would dress warmly.

I remembered Jack's request that I would be kind to his three lovely red

setters, Duke, Monarch, and York, and during the rest of the day they

were with me, noon, afternoon, and evening. They vied for my special

favour; they could not make enough of me. 'It is so delightful to see an

English face again,' they told me as plainly as if they could speak 'and

we do like you so!' They ate most of my lunch; they walked out in the

afternoon with me; they fought one another for my attention; they shared

my dinner. We spent a short evening together; I grew dearer to them

every moment, and when I said good-night to them, and they were locked

up in Michael's stable, their howls were so loud that one might have

supposed the greatest possible disaster had overtaken each one of them.

I heard them howling and barking very miserably as I walked away with

Michael into the forest, and for a mile their distressed voices were

audible--really it was very flattering to me, I thought!

Arrived at the spot where Bruin's repast had been laid out, Michael

pointed out to me the tree which he had selected as my ambush. It was

indeed the only convenient one, standing as it did close to the place

where the bear must stop to eat the supper arranged for him. So I

climbed up into the branches, old Michael handing up my warm coat and

rug, and settled myself as comfortably as possible in a place where a

natural couch in the fork of the tree seemed to offer an inviting spot

for slumber, while Michael bade me good-night and went off. I heard his

footsteps for ten minutes as he tramped away into the darkness and

silence of the forest; then these died away, and I was left alone with

my thoughts and with the stillness and ghostliness of the night.

Things get a bit on one's nerves under these circumstances, and I felt

very far from being sleepy. I started when a gust of wind caused some

pine-tree to utter a groan; every rustle of twig upon twig sent the

blood to my pulses--was the bear coming? Nevertheless, I did eventually

fall asleep unawares, and it must have been early morning, about two

o'clock, when I awoke with a start. A sound had roused me--what was it?

I listened: undoubtedly the bear was here and busy over his meal; there

was a gobbling and grunting, and the noise of greedy satisfaction. I was

not nervous now; my sleep had done me good. If only I could see the

brute, to point my rifle at him! I could just distinguish in the

darkness a black mass which might be he, but it would be useless to risk

a shot. So I waited with what patience I could muster, which was very

little, and listened to the gobbling beneath me, and longed for

daylight.

And as I sat and listened a new sound suddenly reached my ears--as I was

a born Briton there were those wretches, Duke and Monarch and York,

still crying for me in Michael's stables, maybe two miles away! How

sounds do travel in the silence of night-time; probably a gust of wind

from that direction had brought me this tale of their devotion to their

new friend! Well, if so, they must be a terrible nuisance to the

village, thought I, if this has been going on all night!

I continued to listen, and the yelping barks of the dogs came with

marvellous distinctness to my ears, indeed, the sound seemed to grow

more distinct. Was the wind rising? the tree-tops against the skyline

seemed to be quiet enough. Surely the brutes--but no! they had been

securely shut up in Michael's stable....

The bear appeared to be listening also; there was gobbling and a pause;

more gobbling and another pause--oh! if he should grow nervous and bolt

before I could get in a shot! A great change came over my feelings

towards those dogs. I had thought them charming animals last night; now,

as I listened to their yelping--it was growing more distinct, not a

doubt of it!--I began to hate them bitterly. They were loose and were

following my track through the forest! The splendid opportunity of

scoring my first bear was trembling in the balance! The sounds came

nearer and nearer. I tried to point my rifle at the dark opaque mass

below me, but it was useless.

Then suddenly came a crisis. The bear had been gobbling less and

listening more--did he mean to bolt? If he moved, I should risk a shot.

Of a sudden there was a moan, a snarl, a shuffle; he had taken fright,

he was off!

Wildly I raised my rifle, I tried to catch a glimpse of him--oh, for a

ray of light! But for the life of me I could not distinguish even his

big body; I could have wept for anger, for in another instant my

opportunity would have gone.

Then came one of the few shocks, really bad ones, from which I have

suffered during a fairly peaceful life; in one instant and without the

slightest warning I became aware that the great brute was climbing my

tree! My tongue was paralysed with horror, I could not even shout; I

endeavoured to point my gun downwards, but the barrel caught against a

bough; I gasped, attempting to shriek. I heard his panting breath close

beneath me; then I felt that his claws had caught the end of my long fur

coat, and all the pent-up horror I felt found vent at last in a shriek

of anguish.

[Illustration: "Three yelping, delighted dogs."]

Apparently this caused Bruin quite as much terror as he had caused me,

for he fell back to the ground like a stone, and since his claws were

attached to my coat, I fell with him. For one horrible moment we rolled

together on the ground--I remember the animal smell of the brute to this

day--and then he was gone! and coming in his place three yelping,

delighted dogs were jumping about on me. I'm afraid I called those

setters names which they must have thought very rude; I kicked at them

and abused them; gradually they realised that I was not quite the nice

fellow they had thought me.

[Illustration: "King Louis leaped fully armed into the sea."]

I learnt later that a furious neighbour of Michael's, annoyed by their

night-long barking, had opened the stable-door and let them out. But the

bear--alas! I never saw him again; he left the place in sore

dudgeon--so that the peasants saved the remains left to put up with

certain rude remarks from my cousin Jack. I believe he thought these

remarks humorous, but I assure you they were not in the least funny.

STORIES FROM AFRICA.

I.--THE STORY OF A CRUSADER.

[Illustration]

A very long time ago a wise man said that there was always something new

to be found in Africa. The Africa he knew was only that fringe of the

dark continent into which the Roman arms had penetrated, but in our

days, as in his, there is a charm about the stories from that mysterious

land of which we have even now so much to learn. There are the

travellers' tales of men who went where no white foot had trodden before

them, fighting tales of men who won honour at the sword's point, and

tales, just as stirring, of those who carried only the message of peace.

The names of Livingstone and Gordon, Mackenzie and Hannington, should be

household words in every English home, and there are others less known

of whom there are stories worth the hearing.

And our first tale is told by an old French baron, aged eighty years or

more, ending his life peacefully on his fair estate in Champagne. No

doubt he liked to look back to the stirring days of his youth, and I

dare say the young folk who gathered round his hospitable hearth knew

the Sire de Joinville for a good story-teller, who could beguile a

winter evening with tales of that luckless Crusade in which he bore his

part, and of his hero and leader, sovereign, saint, and soldier in one,

Louis, the cross-bearing King of France; and, happily for us, before the

stories died with the teller, the young Queen, Jeanne of Navarre,

prevailed upon him to set down his recollections.

Five and fifty years is a long time to look back upon, but doubtless it

seemed but a little while to Jean de Joinville since he gathered his

vassals and kindred to follow King Louis to the East. He remembered the

farewell banquet, when, standing at the head of his own table, perhaps

for the last time, he bade his guests speak if they had any grudge or

quarrel against him, and then courteously withdrew that they might say

their minds more freely. And then, when they had no fault to find, he

rode away at the head of his gallant company, not daring, he tells us,

to turn his eyes lest his courage should fail him at the sight of his

fair home and the thought of his two bonnie boys. It required courage

indeed to set sail in those days, when the travellers knew so little of

the lands whither they went, and our Crusader wondered how any man dared

trust himself to the ocean with unforgiven sin upon his conscience, not

knowing at night where the dawn of day might find him.

But after some delay from contrary winds, and a long wait at Cyprus, the

French army landed in Egypt, where the first attack was to be made; King

Louis leaped, fully armed, from his galley into the sea in his eagerness

to reach the shore. The Saracens fled at first before the invading army,

and the city of Damietta was taken almost without a blow. There the

Queen, who had followed her husband, as our good Queen Eleanor did a few

years later, was left with a sufficient garrison while the army moved

onwards up the Nile.

But now the tide of war began to turn. If the valour and devotion of

their leaders could have given victory to the Crusaders, they must have

carried all before them, but De Joinville himself owned that King Louis

was more of a dauntless soldier than a good general. The Saracens

harassed the troops with their terrible Greek fire, which, De Joinville

says, looked like a fiery flying dragon, and destroyed the wooden

defences, to make which the Crusaders had broken up their boats. The

King's brother, the Comte d'Artois, was killed in a desperate struggle

when fording the Nile. Worst of all, sickness was abroad in the camp,

killing more than the swords of the Saracens. Louis himself was

stricken, but refused to be removed to more comfortable quarters, with

the reply of a true king, 'God helping me, I will suffer with my

people.' He mounted his horse for a last desperate attack, the good

knight Geoffroi de Sergines riding at his bridle-rein, and, as the King

told De Joinville afterwards, cutting down the Saracens who attacked him

as a good servant brushes away the flies that annoy his master.

When the King could no longer keep his saddle, the brave Geoffroi

carried him into a house inhabited by a good burgher-woman from Paris,

and there laid him on the ground with his head on her knee, hardly

expecting that he would live to see another sunrise. And here, dying as

it seemed, Louis was taken by the Saracens, and his soldiers, on the

false report of an order from their leader, laid down their arms.

(_Concluded on page 46._)

CHARLES KINGSLEY'S KINDNESS.

Charles Kingsley was a very kind-hearted, man, and could not bear to see

anything in pain. One Sunday, as he was preaching his sermon in church,

he stopped in the middle of it, stooped down, picked up something, and

went into the vestry. He soon returned and went on with his sermon.

After the service was over, some one asked him why he had stopped in the

middle of his sermon. He answered that he had seen a butterfly lying on

the floor, and he was afraid that he might tread upon it and kill it; so

he picked it up and let it fly out of the vestry window.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 23._)

Alan was just beginning to wonder whether it was not foolish to go on

any further inland into the valley--indeed, whether it was any use to

hunt for Thomas any longer--when he caught the sound of muffled voices

coming from behind a group of trees near which he happened to be

passing. The soft moss had prevented his footsteps being heard, and, as

he drew closer, he caught the gruff tones of Thomas's voice.

What was Thomas doing down there? To whom could he speaking? There must

be something up when two men got away into a lonely wood in order to

talk. His curiosity roused, Alan crept closer still to the trees, but

the undergrowth prevented his seeing any distance. He was sure, however,

that it was Thomas speaking, and he could now distinguish the words, in

spite of the muffled tones.

'I don't seem to see how it is to be done,' muttered the gardener,

sullenly. 'It's not easy, I tell you.'

'What's the matter, man?' came in a voice with a foreign accent, which

Alan did not recognise. 'The thing is possible enough if you choose to

do it, and I'm sure I am making it worth your while. It isn't every day

as you will get such an offer. Come, don't you be a fool, and throw your

chances away.'

'I'm not throwing anything away,' returned Thomas, sulkily. 'But the

risk---- '

'Well, what if it is a bit risky? You are well paid for the job. Do it

quietly, take them unawares, and the risk will be nothing. But if you

are going to be afraid of your own shadow I'm off with my bargain.

That's the long and the short of it.'

A rustle made Alan think the speaker was moving away.

'If you cut up rough you will be the loser a great deal more than I,'

replied Thomas, coolly. 'This job isn't to my taste, and if I do it, it

will be in my own way. I must wait till my chance comes. It shall be

done--that is, if it can be done at all--you may depend on it. I'm not

going to back out. Don't be afraid. The risk is bigger for me than for

you, and I'm not going to be copped--no, not for anybody.'

'Do it in your own way, man. I lay down no laws. All I want is that you

get it somehow. We can do nothing without that. Do you understand? It is

worth hundreds. I have known £500 and £600 given for a new specimen. And

this is the only one of its kind, as yet. Now that you know what we

want, we had better separate. We must not be seen together.'

'I'll be getting back to the boat, then,' returned Thomas, in a more

cheerful voice.

Peering through the bushes, and listening intently, Alan was nearly

caught by the sudden movement of the men towards him. He had just time

to slip behind a great pine when Thomas slouched into view. The sturdy

figure of a Dutchman followed. Alan could not get a glimpse of his face;

he swung away at too rapid a pace, and was lost among the trees.

With lips pressed together, and ears strained, Alan had heard every

word. Now he remained motionless, wondering. What did it mean? What

could the men want which was worth so much money--hundreds of pounds?

Was it hundreds? Could it mean robbery--jewels, plate, money? Thomas,

too! Was it possible that Thomas was about to help, and be paid for

helping? Alan knew that his mother, Mrs. De Bohun, and his great-aunt,

Lady Coke, both possessed very valuable jewels; and his cousin, Sir

Leopold Coke, had left some priceless heirlooms in his mother's care at

the Moat House. Perhaps Thomas had heard somebody speak of these

treasures, and his greed had been excited. He required help in his

enterprise, too; it must be of some difficulty, therefore he had spoken

of it to his friend. Together they had planned how the burglary was to

be carried out, and were only waiting till Thomas obtained all the

information he needed.

Alan thought deeply on the subject, as he slowly followed Thomas.

Supposing he decided to do anything, what should it be? First of all, he

was not sure that robbery was what was intended. It was quite possible

he was on the wrong tack altogether, and if this was the case, how

foolish he would look with no evidence to bring forward except this

strange offer of 'hundreds' to Thomas! How his father would laugh at

him, and even Aunt Betty would smile incredulously! He might be asked

uncomfortable questions, and have to tell about the climb up the face of

the cliff. No harm had come of it, except frightening the girls, but his

father might not regard the feat in that light.

No; on the whole he thought he had better keep his own counsel till

something more definite turned up. He would have his weather-eye open,

especially on Thomas, but otherwise let things take their usual course.

He made up his mind he would not speak of what he had heard even to

Marjorie. She might tell Estelle, and then it would be sure to leak out.

Girls could never hold their tongues, especially when there were two of

them. He had just come to this determination when, to his amazement,

Thomas, on whose broad back his eyes had been steadily fixed,

disappeared. Where? How? Was the whole thing only a dream? Thomas was

certainly in front of him only a moment ago, and now he had suddenly

gone with the rapidity of a flash of lightning.

* * * * *

It had required much self-control for Marjorie to put aside her anxiety

so entirely as to calm the fears of the two younger ones, and devote

herself to their amusement. But she was a girl of strong character, and

perhaps nothing so proved it as her quiet and cheerful manner during

that trying time of waiting.

She threw herself into the children's play, made fun of all their

efforts to pull the boat up the beach, helped with the digging of a huge

sand castle, and suggested a rampart of stones to fortify the deep moat

round it. Georgie and Estelle were delighted with the windows and doors,

the gardens with shells for flowers, the drawbridge, and the paved way

through the ramparts. Georgie even proposed to find some sea-anemones to

place among the shells as an additional ornament, and Marjorie was in

the act of explaining that it would be cruel to pull the poor things off

their rocks for such a purpose, when she was cut short by an exclamation

from Estelle.

The little girl was toiling up the beach, her hands, holding up her

overall laden with stones for the castle. It proved a heavy load for

her to carry, and she looked hot and tired. It was purely a labour of

love, for the castle was nearly complete, but the idea of keeping the

sea out of it as long as possible had taken her fancy. About half-way

she was forced to sit down and rest, and as she did so she caught sight

of Thomas calmly smoking under the shadow of a great boulder.

(_Continued on page 38._)

[Illustration: "Alan had heard every word."]

[Illustration: "He placed the 'drum' on a chair, and practised

diligently."]

HAYDN'S DRUM.

'What is to be done? Nothing could be more inconvenient. Easter-time,

and so much new music to be played!'

Master Frank Haydn, Master of the Orchestra at the parish church of

Hamburg, in Southern Germany, all but tore his brown wig in his despair,

at hearing of the death of the man who played the kettle-drum in his

orchestra.

'I know of no one to take his place at such short notice,' he went on,

though there were only his wife and little nephew to hear him.

The nephew, Joseph Haydn by name, had only lately come into the

choir-master's family. He was a child of six years old, but had already

shown such wonderful musical genius, that his parents had decided to

place him with his uncle, where he would have great opportunities for

musical study.

The little fellow now looked up from an old music book, for he could

read music perfectly, and said timidly, 'I think I could manage the

kettle-drum, uncle, if you would just show me a little how it should be

played.'

'You, Joseph?' said the choir-master in surprise, as he looked down at

the serious little face. 'It is not a violin, you know; if it were you

could manage well enough, but you know nothing of kettle-drums.'

'Let me try, Uncle!' pleaded Joseph. Before long he had his wish, and

both were in the big room over the church porch where the practices

always took place.

Joseph's little fingers seemed to hold the drum-sticks as if to the

manner born, and after a short rehearsal of the music to be played on

the festival, the old man felt an immense load lifted off his shoulders.

'Capital! capital!' he exclaimed. 'I shall not miss poor Schmidt now;

your touch is crisper than his!'

Then the door of the room was locked, and uncle and nephew returned

home.

Joseph, however, as Easter drew near, became very anxious, and longed

for an opportunity for further practice on the drum. His fingers might

not be skilful enough: he could be sure of the notes without practice,

but could he handle the sticks properly? He dared not ask his uncle for

leave to go into the choir-room, and he had no drum in the house. What

could he do? Practise he must, or he would never feel sure of himself.

'I will make a drum!' said the little fellow; 'I have an idea.'

There was a round basket in the out-house. It was generally used for

flour, but it happened to be nearly empty now, and Joseph seized on

this, as it was the shape of a drum; over it he stretched a clean

dishcloth, fastening it as tightly as possible with string.

'It makes a beautiful drum!' he said joyfully, as he beat it with two

sticks, and carrying his 'drum' into the parlour, he placed it on a

chair, propped the music up in front of him, and practised the fingering

diligently and noiselessly for an hour or more, till he felt quite sure

of himself.

Alas, for Joseph, however! He had been too absorbed in his drumming to

notice the small quantity of flour which had been left in the basket.

It was shaken out with each beat of the drum-sticks, and now lay thick

on the velvet cover of the chair. Joseph got a whipping for his

thoughtlessness, but that was nothing uncommon for children in the

eighteenth century, and was soon forgotten.

Easter arrived, and the little fellow played his drum so well, that for

many years after he played that instrument in the choir.

'Little Joseph' in after life became a famous musician, and wrote many

oratorios, of which the 'Creation' and the 'Seasons' are the most

famous. He visited England several times, and was often at the Court of

George III. Every one in this country did their best to honour the great

musician. He died in 1809 at Vienna, full of years and honours.

FOR HOME USE ONLY.

A Cambridge Professor once asked one of his friends to lend him a book

which he wished to consult. The messenger returned with the following

answer: 'I never allow my books to be taken out of my study, but if you

like to come there you are welcome to read as long as you please.'

Some days after this, the friend applied to the Professor for the loan

of his bellows. Remembering the refusal he had lately met with, he

replied: 'I never allow my bellows to be taken out of my room, but if

you choose to come there, you are welcome to blow with them as long as

you like.'

THE FAIRY QUEEN'S GIFT.

The Queen of Fairies passed last night,

The greenwood dancing through;

I watched her from my window-pane,

The round moon saw her too.

Her light wings fluttered airily,

A casket she did hold,

And lo! she scattered strings of pearls,

And shining beads of gold.

At break of day I hurried down,

To gather them with care;

Yet nought I saw but buttercups

And daisies lying there.

So now, I think the buttercups

And daisies in the green

Are jewels from the treasure-store

Of the kind Fairy Queen.

ROUND THE CAMP-FIRE.

By HAROLD ERICSON.

II.--DENISON'S HALL-MARK.

'Now look here, you fellows,' began Denison, whose turn it was to

entertain the company at the camp-fire the next night, 'don't you go

laughing at the story I'm going to tell you, and pretending that you

don't believe it's true, for that would hurt my feelings, and I might

burst into tears, and you wouldn't like to see a strong man weep!'

'Go on,' said Bobby, rudely, 'or perhaps one of us will give the strong

man something to weep for!'

Denison eyed the speaker with contempt, but plunged into his tale at

once. 'See this mark?' he said, turning up his sleeve and showing a scar

upon his forearm, 'and this?' he indicated a mark on his neck; 'Well,

you're going to hear how I came by these. Do you know what a Hall-mark

is? A lion stamped on good metal; that's it, isn't it? Well, these are

Hall-marks: the stamp of a lion; only Stationers' Hall didn't stamp

them: the lion made his own mark on me. I've got more of them on my arms

and legs.'

* * * * *

It was like this: I was antelope-shooting with a friend not so very far

from the spot we are now in, though a bit farther north. My friend,

Thomson by name, had been a trifle off colour, and just now was quite on

the sick list, so that we had not moved camp for some time, and I spent

my days in trying to get a specimen of water-buck for my collection of

antelope heads.

One morning, to my joy and excitement, I came upon the spoor of a herd

of them, I was alone and some miles from camp; our cleverest Kaffir

hunter was on the sick list as well as Thomson, so that as a matter of

fact I had been obliged to go alone--a kind of veldt influenza had got

hold of the other two, and neither of them felt worth two penn'orth of

toffee. I came in sight of my little water-buck family when I had

scouted after them for about an hour; they were grazing peacefully in a

plateau half a mile away, quite unsuspicious of my presence and evil

intentions with regard to them. I was scouting against the wind, of

course, and had hopes of getting my shot in--the first I had ever fired

at this particular species. I made for a boulder which lay between

myself and the herd, and creeping most cautiously and slowly (for I was

really keen to succeed), I reached it without alarming the timid

animals, which were now scarcely four hundred yards away. Very carefully

I raised myself from the snake-like attitude in which I had made my

advance, in order to risk a peep over the edge of the rock, for I must

lay my exact plan of campaign, so that I might make sure of another

couple of hundred yards, which distance gained, I was going to fire my

shot.

I had risen from my crouching attitude, and was about half-way to the

upright, when all of a sudden the world seemed to come to an end and

break up into stars and giddy whirlings, accompanied by sharp pains in

the back, flights through space, and terrific thunderous sounds in my

very ears. I was conscious of turning a double or triple somersault, of

alighting face-down on the long grass, of a heavy weight leaning upon my

neck and spine, of pain, stiffness, semi-consciousness, of a continuous

noise as though a motor-car lay and throbbed and whirred on the top of

me. What had happened?'

I lay and wondered for a few minutes. Had there been a volcanic

eruption? Were bits of it lying upon me and pinning me down? Would there

be another upheaval in a moment; more steely-blue stars and another

flight, and then--the end? If so, I wished it would come quickly and not

leave me in suspense, and, oh! if only the horrible whirring noise at

my ear would only stop for a minute. My head ached as though it would

burst. I opened my eyes, but could see nothing but the stalks of yellow

grass in which my face was buried.

Was I sufficiently alive--had I energy enough to move, to raise my

aching head a little way in order to look around a bit? For a few

minutes I could not summon sufficient strength to stir a finger; I felt

paralysed and utterly bereft of the power to set my muscles working.

Gradually, however, I began to feel a little better, the noise at my ear

ceased and let peace in; a delightful calm followed, and with it

consciousness gradually returned.

I raised my head a few inches; instantly something came in violent

contact with the back of my skull, dealing me a stunning blow; at the

same time a crash of thunder reverberated at my ear, and again I lay

still, conscious only of the horrible whirring sound which had begun

again and continued without ceasing. I think I entirely lost

consciousness at this point, and lay, it might have been a few minutes,

it might have been an hour, lost to every sense of fear, of wonder, of

pain.

When I awoke, on regaining consciousness, I still lay upon my face, but

my brain felt more capable of coping with the situation. I lay and

reflected. Something had happened to me: was it a stroke of paralysis? I

moved the muscles of my face: they were all right on both sides. I

turned my head slightly first one way and then the other--no, I was not

paralysed. I tried to raise myself, but found that some heavy weight

upon the small of my back prevented me. That was odd. Could there have

been an earthquake, and had some rock rolled over upon me--a most

unlikely thing, yet what else could it be? I wriggled my back in order

to discover, if I could, the nature of the incubus. Instantly there

recommenced that abominable sound, close to my ear, which had so angered

me before; now that my brain was once more in working order I was able

to listen with understanding. The sound was the growling of some great

beast; the weight upon my back could be nothing else than its paw which

held me down; I was, in a word, at the mercy of a savage animal,

doubtless a lion, for the weight of the paw proved that it could be no

smaller beast. I had been knocked down from behind: stalked while I

myself stalked the water-buck; I was in the position of a mouse which

has been caught by a cat.

My brain remained wonderfully clear, though I expected that my reason

would leave me in that moment of terror. It did not. On the contrary, I

lay there and thought more keenly and quickly, I believe, than I had

ever thought before. How long ago had the brute sprung upon me? Surely

an hour, at least, must have passed since I fell, or was it that time

passes very slowly in these terrible moments? I counted thirty

slowly--well, that was half a minute; nothing happened.

'Why doesn't he eat me?' I wondered. 'There must be a reason for the

delay. Is he waiting for his mate?' He certainly was waiting--while I

lay and thought, another minute or two had passed.

I longed to screw my head round so that I might at least catch a glimpse

of the brute in whose power I lay. I wondered where my rifle was--if

only I could see or reach it! There was a skinning-knife, I knew, in my

belt, and the recollection gave me a moment of joy. A knife is not much

of a weapon with which to engage a lion in battle, especially if one

could not get at it; but where there is a knife there is hope. Something

hard was in my right hand--what was it? Why--what--it was my rifle! It

might as well, of course, be a hundred miles away at the present moment,

for I dared not move a finger to draw it towards me, and my arms were

both stretched at full length in front of me; but still, when the fatal

moment should arrive it _might_ come in useful, and the thought

encouraged and cheered me.

[Illustration: "Stalked while I myself stalked the water-buck."]

Meanwhile, was the beast falling asleep? Oh, if only he would, I

thought! The idea almost stopped my breathing, so fearful was I lest

anything I might do should keep my foe awake! I believe he did doze a

little. The pressure of the great paw upon my back seemed to relax a

trifle. I waited what seemed to me a quarter of an hour; then--my heart

in my mouth--I tried a tiny little wriggle. In a moment the pressure

increased, a roar rent the air, I thought my last moment had arrived and

a prayer came to my lips. I felt my left shoulder or upper arm seized.

'Heaven help me!' I muttered aloud--my head swam--I think I fainted for

a second. When I recovered consciousness I was being dragged through the

long grass.

(_Concluded on page 68._)

PEEPS INTO NATURE'S NURSERIES.

I.--THE LIFE-HISTORY OF THE COMMON FROG

(_Concluded from page 12._)

We come now to the final stages in the life of the tadpole babies. These

are indicated by the appearance of a pair of tiny buds on each side of

the base of the tail; day by day they grow longer and longer, and

finally assume the form of the hind-leg of the adult. But as yet there

are no fore-legs. If, however, the little beast be carefully examined,

the missing limbs will be found tucked away under the throat, and in a

day or so the left arm is thrust through the breathing-hole, to be

followed shortly after by the right, which has to rupture the skin to

gain its freedom. As soon as this takes place, in a wild state the

tadpole comes of age, so to speak, and creeps ashore to assume his new

dignity of frog-hood. For a little while longer, however, he carries the

evidence of his infancy about with him, in the shape of a short, stumpy

tail; but in a very brief space the last remnant of this disappears, and

now, save in size, he cannot be distinguished from his parents.

There is a common belief that at a certain time the tail of the tadpole

falls off. Nature is not so wasteful. This tail, when it has served its

purpose as a swimming organ--that is to say, as soon as the hind legs

have developed enough to take up their duties--is gradually absorbed.

And this fact recalls another. It will be remembered that it was pointed

out that for some time after leaving the egg no food was taken at the

mouth, because there was no mouth, but life was sustained by the reserve

of yolk within the body, the remains of the egg, in short. Similarly, we

have a second period when no food is taken, and this takes place while

the tail is being used up, and the mouth is being transformed. Exactly

how this using-up process is effected cannot be easily explained here;

but it forms what is known as a reserve store of food. In a similar way,

dormice, squirrels, and bears grow very fat before they retire to some

snug hole to sleep out the long winter. The gradual waste of the body

which goes on during the long sleep is made good by slowly using up the

fat which was accumulated during the summer and autumn.

At last, then, the tail of the tadpole disappears, and with this several

new features become apparent. These are the new breathing arrangements,

a new mouth and system of catching food, and shorter intestines.

[Illustration: Common Frog, showing tongue in action.]

About this new breathing. In ourselves this is done by means of our

ribs, which alternately rise, increasing the cavity of the chest and the

capacity of the lungs, and fall, or rather are pulled down, decreasing

the chest cavity, and pressing out the air from the lungs. The frog

pumps in air by that curious movement of the throat which the ignorant

suppose to be a preparation for poison-spitting. When the throat is

depressed the mouth cavity is increased, and air rushes in through the

nostrils and fills the chamber. When the floor of his mouth is raised

again the cavity is reduced, and the air is forced down the windpipe

into the lungs, being unable to escape through the nostrils, because

they are closed by special valves.

The mouth is now toothless, and of great size. The young frog feeds on

living prey, which is generally caught by the tongue. For this purpose,

the tongue in the frog and toad is fixed to the front of the floor of

the mouth, so that the tip of the tongue points _backwards_ towards the

throat! In capturing, say a fly, the frog creeps as near his prey as he

can manage, and then, with a lightning movement, darts the tongue

forward on the unsuspecting victim. The tongue being covered with a

sticky substance, the fly adheres to the trap and is drawn in a

twinkling into the cavern, from which return is impossible. The working

of the tongue may be seen in the illustration.

The shortening of the intestine follows in consequence of the change to

more nutritious diet. In the young tadpole it is long and may be seen

coiled up like a watch-spring through the skin of the abdomen; in the

adult these coils disappear.

Such, then, is the brief outline of the life-history of one of Nature's

water babies. We have traced it from the egg to the grown-up form: and

here we must stop, though all that is of interest does not end here. I

could tell you of the curious way in which the frog changes colour to

suit his surroundings; of how he changes his skin; of his wonderful

vocal powers, and a hundred other things. But meanwhile, try and

discover it for yourselves by keeping a few frogs as pets, starting, as

I did, with the spawn taken from a ditch in spring.

W. P. PYCRAFT, F.Z.S., A.L.S.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

(_Continued from page 31._)