'Have they ever found the man who injured Dick?' asked Alan, as Lady
Coke's story came to an end.
'No,' replied Lady Coke sadly, 'never. Not a trace of him ever came to
light. Shall I tell you why--or perhaps one of the chief reasons
why--the search was discontinued? It is the grandest part of poor Dick's
story,' continued Aunt Betty, putting down her knitting and looking
earnestly at the children's interested faces. 'Dick alone knew who did
the cruel deed. During the delirium of illness his nurses were keenly
attentive to every word he uttered, hoping he would mention the name of
his assailant. But no! All through the dangerous fever, and all through
the suffering, he never gave the smallest hint as to who the man was, or
what the quarrel (if there had been one) was about. On recovering his
senses he made his father and mother understand, in the halting speech
which was all he could manage, that he wished to keep the name of the
man a secret; that, should he have mentioned it during his fever, he
begged they would respect his desire, and not permit the name to escape
them. 'Give him a chance,' he said. He always feared that the knowledge
of what he had done might some day drive the man to desperation, and
make him become more wicked through horror at his own action.'
'Don't his father and mother know even now who did it?' asked Georgie,
with wide-open eyes of wonder.
'No, as Dick never told them, they will not press him to do so against
his will.'
'I could have understood it,' said Alan, 'if the man had fought him
fairly, face to face. But to set on him unawares! That's what the
scoundrel seems to have done!'
'Yet Dick forgives him!' replied his aunt, gently.
'I don't think,' said Marjorie, 'that Dick is quite right all the same.
It is fair enough that Dick should forgive injuries to himself if he
chooses, but it is hardly just to his father and mother not to have that
man punished as he ought to be.'
'I can't see how it would help Peet even if the man were caught' said
Estelle, thoughtfully. 'If he is a sailor, he would not have enough
money to pay any of Dick's doctor's bills. I thought sailors were so
poor, Aunty?'
'They generally are, dear, and most probably this man was. We know
nothing about him, however, nor what it was that led to the terrible
thing he did. Let us hope, as Dick does, that the unhappy fellow has
repented.'
'Then he would have to come back to say so,' said Alan.
'I don't know that. First, he may think he has killed Dick, and be
afraid to show himself. Or he may not be able to find Dick now that Peet
has left Cornwall, without betraying why he was inquiring for him. A
deeply repentant man would give himself up to justice, certainly; that
is, one would think so. But we know absolutely nothing to help us in our
judgment of him, and can but hope and pray for him as Dick does.'
Lady Coke was silent for some moments, then, with a smile, she said:
'Now we have talked enough. Go and have your play, my dears.'
'I like what you said, Aunt Betty,' said Alan, as they all got up, and
prepared to set off on their games; 'and I, for one, mean to try to
follow Dick's example, and be as good as he is.'
* * * * *
The story of Dick's misfortune had greatly excited the sympathy of the
children. Alan and the two girls allowed Peet's caustic remarks to pass
without reply. They even tried to avoid annoying him by a too free use
of the lawns and shrubberies. Georgie, whose youthful fancy had soared
to greater heights of pity and sympathy, had at once glorified Peet into
a hero, and, to the wonder of the gardener, would stand staring at him
with respectful admiration. One day, unfortunately, his feelings
carried him so far as to make him offer to help his former enemy in some
work in the hothouses, over which Peet appeared to be very busy.
'There's no way for you to help me,' was the gardener's surly answer,
'except by taking yourself off, Master Georgie. Children ought not to be
about when there's serious work going on.'
Peet's hero-stage passed away on the spot. Georgie was deeply hurt, and
came to the decision that Aunt Betty had been taken in. Peet was not at
all the person she thought him. He was nothing but a very disagreeable,
rude old man, and he wished that his aunt would 'send him away.'
Nevertheless, Peet _had_ improved. It was not all imagination on the
part of the children. Lady Coke had sent for him after her talk with the
young people, and the result of the interview was good for all parties.
Peet's chief reason for soreness, as regarded the three children from
Begbie Hall, was that they made as much use of the grounds of the Moat
House as they did of the gardens of Begbie Hall. Estelle's arrival
appeared to him to make the state of things worse, since she was the
excuse for the whole party to tear about _his_ neatly kept lawns, and
climb _his_ trees, instead of confining themselves to those of Begbie
Hall, and worrying their own gardeners. He had not dared to express as
much as this to Lady Coke, but she was too quick not to discover the
true cause of his discontent, though she only alluded to it by saying
she desired all the children should play together, whether in her
grounds or elsewhere. Kind as she was, Peet understood that he had a
mistress who must be obeyed. He was devotedly attached to her, and
grateful for her goodness to him and his. This, perhaps, more than
anything, made him exercise self-control. He was more than ever careful
in hiding the key of the ruin, and would not allow even the other
gardeners to enter it on any excuse whatever.
Another reason for the calm which prevailed was, perhaps, that Marjorie
and Alan were fully occupied in trying to discover why Thomas was making
so much effort to get into the ruined summer-house. It seemed a
delightful thing to be mixed up in a mystery, and each hoped to have a
share in solving it. Such a puzzle made constant private talks
necessary, in order to think out a clue. Estelle took an almost painful
interest in their conjectures, but shrank from all part in their
wanderings round the ruin, or down to the cliff walk. Alan had shown
Marjorie where the secret entrance to the cave was, and called it the
Smugglers' Hole, for want of a better name. Together they had penetrated
to the foot of the slippery, broken steps. Each had carried a bicycle
lamp to make their footsteps clear, and great was the rejoicing when
they finally arrived at the sandy beach of the bay.
But the young, active spirits were too restless to remain long there,
where nothing was to be gained by lingering. The cave itself was more
full of interest than the beach, and they devoted the remainder of the
afternoon to hunting about among the crevices and chasms, and peeping
into gaps and fissures till they almost forgot the time.
(_Continued on page 114._)
[Illustration: "'Children ought not to be about when there's serious
work going on.'"]
[Illustration: "The daylight was streaming through a great opening."]
THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.
(_Continued from page 111._)
When at last Alan and Marjorie had turned their steps homeward from the
cave, and had climbed the greater number of the rough steps, they came
quite unexpectedly upon a most important discovery--one which, without
their lamps, would have entirely escaped their attention.
They had reached a sort of landing, when Alan, looking keenly at the
rocks, suddenly perceived a narrow opening, almost entirely concealed
behind a projecting spur of limestone. Calling to Marjorie, who was in
advance of him, and already some way up the last flight of steps, he
held his lamp high, and examined the gap till she joined him.
'There is something more than a mere attempt at a cave here,' he said.
'We _must_ see what it is.'
'It's very late,' hesitated Marjorie, doubtfully. 'If we are asked where
we have been, what shall we say? All our secrets will come out, and then
good-bye to all fun.'
'Oh, this won't take us long,' returned Alan, who did not intend to give
up investigations just as he appeared to be on the verge of scoring the
greatest success of the day.
As it turned out, it was fortunate indeed that the quest was not given
up, for something happened only a few days later which made their
discoveries of the utmost importance.
The narrow cleft led them, after some winding, into a comparatively wide
passage, into which the daylight was streaming through a great opening
to the right. In some excitement they ran to look out, and found, to
their delight, that they were standing at the hole in the cliff which
they had seen from the beach in Smugglers' Bay. Sure enough, there was
the stream of water flowing at their side which made the thin cascade.
'I do believe we are in the passage which leads to the ruined
summer-house!' cried Marjorie, breathlessly.
Alan was for trying it at once, but here Marjorie's counsels did
prevail. She pointed out how low the sun was, and that probably they
were very late for the schoolroom tea already.
'Right you are,' said Alan, looking longingly up and down the passage
and walls, which stretched away into deep but--to him--alluring gloom.
'We will come again to-morrow. We must slip away directly after
breakfast; and mind we don't let anybody see or follow us. It will be a
feather in our caps if we can get into the ruined summer-house without
troubling old Peet for the key.'
'But,' said Marjorie, after a long pause, during which she was thinking
deeply, 'what if Thomas knows of this way in?'
'He can't,' returned Alan, 'or he would have been before, and got all he
wanted.'
'Then,' replied Marjorie, after another pause for thought, 'you may be
sure there is some reason: something that prevents his going up the
passage, and will prevent our going too. Thomas is sure to be up to all
dodges.'
This idea was so distasteful to Alan that he required a good deal of
persuasion before he gave up his determination to explore further.
Marjorie did persuade him, nevertheless, but next morning he could not
refrain from reproaches for having yielded to her. It turned out that
Colonel De Bohun had some business to do in the neighbouring town of
Matherton, and told Alan at breakfast that he was to go and see if
Estelle would like a ride. He intended to take the three elder children
with him.
'What a nuisance!' exclaimed Alan, as he and Marjorie stood a moment on
the doorstep before he started off on his father's mission. 'Why should
father have ordered the horses just to-day? We can't make an excuse
either, for we are all supposed to be keen on riding. If only the horses
could go dead lame for an hour or two!'
Marjorie sympathised, but there was no help for it. More provoking
still, there appeared to be things for the children to do for the next
two or three days. A large garden party for young people, given by Mrs.
De Bohun, took up most of one day, the children being required to help
in the preparations for the entertainment of their guests. A picnic with
friends, to a distant ruin by the sea, fully filled another day, and it
was not till these and a tennis party for children at Lord Gallway's
were over, that a free afternoon left the brother and sister at liberty
to carry out their plans.
They had intended to set off immediately after breakfast, but an
exciting rumour had come that a strange vessel was to be seen hanging
about in rather a suspicious way. The coastguard had been on the
look-out, but the result of his investigations being as yet unknown, the
Colonel asked the children if they would like to accompany him to the
cliffs. The proposal was hailed with delight. The whole morning passed
only too quickly in talking to the coastguard on duty, peeping through
his telescope, and staring at the vessel. The sailor gave it as his
opinion that it was a French boat, though something in the rig made him
not quite positive. It cruised about in a queer manner, 'just as if she
was on the watch for something,' as the man said. However, towards
mid-day she drew out into the offing, and they saw her sails slowly
disappearing below the horizon.
The excitement of this incident only died down in the children's minds
when, after lunch, they started off for the Wilderness. Alan and
Marjorie had other ideas concerning the ship, and were determined to
watch for its return. There would be plenty of time for that after their
search in the cave was over. Meantime it was certain that neither
Estelle nor Georgie must be allowed to accompany them. Happily for all
parties, Estelle had promised to read a new fairy story to Georgie, and
had settled to go to the top of the ruined summer-house for the purpose.
The air was fresher there, and the shade of the trees seemed cooler than
anywhere else on that hot August day. Estelle sat lazily comfortable on
some rugs, her back against the coping, while Georgie stretched himself
at full length on the iron seat close to her. Here Alan and Marjorie
left them, feeling sure that Georgie would be asleep in the twinkling
of an eye. They begged him, nevertheless, to keep that eye, as long as
it _was_ open, on Bootles, the fox-terrier. Georgie gave a lazy assent,
without troubling himself to keep either eye on the dog. Estelle was
quite as capable of attending to such matters as he. Accordingly, she it
was who drew the dog to lie down near her, keeping a hand on his collar
till Alan and Marjorie were out of sight. Alas! they little knew what
would be the result of her care.
(_Continued on page 123._)
PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.
5.--ARITHMOREM.
Substitute Roman figures for the Arabic numerals, and transpose the
letters. The initials will give a woman's name.
1.-- 300. A T S R A U A.
2.-- 560. R E A N E A.
3.-- 100. B E G R R N O A O.
4.-- 50. Y 0 E N.
5.--1050. R T A I E.
6.-- 500. A N I I.
7.--1500. N N Y R O A.
8.--2000. E T E.
1. An early British prince.
2. A very great king.
3. An inventor in the middle ages.
4. A small town in Buckinghamshire.
5. An English bishop who suffered martyrdom.
6. An extensive region of Southern Asia.
7. An ancient province of France.
8. A small insect
C. J. B.
[_Answer on page 147._]
* * * * *
ANSWER TO PUZZLE ON PAGE 75.
4.--Quick-lime.
THE DEAD WATCH.
In the eighteenth century, when watches were less common in country
districts than they are now, a Highland soldier gained one as part of
his share in some plunder after a great battle. The watch was going well
and ticking merrily when he received it; but naturally, at the end of a
day or so it ran down and stopped, because he knew nothing of how to
wind it.
The man had never seen a watch before, much less possessed one, and he
was greatly alarmed at this sudden silence. But he determined to do as
well as he could with the treasure that had fallen to his share, and so
offered it to a comrade in exchange for some really far less valuable
article of jewellery. His friend, not being so ignorant, was curious to
know why he parted with it so cheaply.
'Why,' said the other, with a proud look, as though he had got the
better of the bargain, 'why do I want to get rid of it? Because it died
last night!'
LYING AWAKE AT NIGHT.
'Good morning Mr. Sun!' Jack said,
As by the blind he stood;
'All night I lay awake in bed
And thought you'd gone for good.
The white moon kept me company
From ten o'clock till two:
Then in the darkest hour of night,
Behind the hill she slipped from sight
To go and look for you.
'I thought and thought of lots of things
As in my bed I lay;
The whole long list of English kings
From Alfred till to-day.
I thought of bats and bicycles,
Of stilts, and tops that hum,
Then turning to the window-pane,
I thought of _you_, and sighed again:
"Whenever _will_ he come!"
'The house was still as still could be,
But on the stair-case near,
The big clock seemed to talk to me
In whispers hard to hear.
"He's coming! Tick! He's coming soon!"
I thought I heard it say:
"Look, look toward the window-blind,--
Tick-tock, tick-tock--and you shall find
The darkness growing grey."
'But as it spoke, a gurgle low
Towards me seemed to float,
As though the poor old clock, you know,
Had something in its throat.
And then it chuckled: "All is right,"
And loudly chimed with glee:
"Oh, what's the time? Oh, tell me, _do_!"
I cried, and counted one and two,
And then I counted three.
'But after that I fell asleep,--
At least, I think I did,--
For soon the sun began to peep
Beneath a sleepy lid.
Then bright and brighter grew the ray,
And o'er my bedroom cast
A glow that chased the gloom away
From every corner where it lay,
And morn had come at last.'
THE MUSIC OF THE NATIONS.
IV.--THE JURUPARIS OF SOUTH AMERICA, THE MEXICAN WHISTLE, AND THE
CHINESE HINEN.
Of all the so-called musical instruments of the world, that known as the
Juruparis, used by the Indians of the Rio Negro, seems to involve most
misery to humanity in general. To women and girls the very sight of it
means death in some form or other, usually by poison, and boys are
strictly forbidden to see it until grown to manhood, and then only after
a most severe preliminary course of fasting.
The Juruparis is kept concealed in the bed of some stream far away in
the gloomy forest, and wherever that river may wander, or however
brightly its waters may sparkle in the sunny glades, no mortal who
values his life may cool his parching lips with its freshness, or bathe
his aching limbs in its clear depths. Only for solemn festivals is the
Juruparis brought out by night and blown outside the place of meeting,
and it is restored to its forest home immediately afterwards.
The word Juruparis means 'demon,' and it is supposed that its mysteries
date back to some pre-historic Indian tradition, as various tribes
inhabiting the vast forests round the Amazon district practise weird
ceremonies in honour of the demons.
[Illustration: The Juruparis in casing.]
In form the Juruparis is a slender tube from four to five feet long,
made from strips of palm wood. Close to the mouth is an oblong hole, and
when the instrument is to be used a piece of curved Uaruma or Arrowroot
wood is inserted into the opening, which is then nearly closed with wet
clay.
When not in use, the Juruparis is wrapped in a great-coat made of strips
of the tough bark of the Jebaru-tree, which are wound round and round
the sacred instrument and held in place by a rough framework of wood. In
the museum at Kew Gardens a Juruparis in its outer casing may be seen.
In ancient days the Indians of the American continent seem to have been
more clever at making musical instruments than of recent years.
The Aztecs held pipes and flutes in great respect, and they were played
at all religious ceremonies. At the great yearly festival of
Tezcatlepoca, who was always represented as a handsome youth, a young
man was sacrificed to the god, and a chief condition of the selection
was that the selected person should be a really fine flute-player,
presumably so that he might amuse Tezcatlepoca in another world. As the
victim ascended the high mound on which the sacrificial altar stood,
facing the rising sun, it was his duty to break a flute on every step.
[Illustration: Mexican Whistle.]
The whistle shown in the illustration is made of burnt clay and painted.
Instruments were shaped like all kinds of grotesque animals, birds,
fish, and so on. Some have finger-holes, enabling the pitch to be
altered and give different tones, others have a little ball of clay set
loosely in a hollow place, so that when the air is set in motion a
shrill whistling sound is emitted.
Whistling with the mouth, by the way, is strongly disapproved by the
Arabs, who call it 'El Sifr,' and say that Satan must have touched any
one before he can whistle, and that it takes forty days to purify the
mouth which has so defiled itself. The Burmese were, up to a very late
date, ignorant of the art, and expressed great astonishment when an
American whistled an air, exclaiming that 'he made music with his
mouth.' The natives of Tonga Islands, in Polynesia, consider whistling
most disrespectful to their gods, and even in European countries it is
objected to at certain times. In Northern Germany peasants say that
whistling in the evening makes the angels weep, and in Iceland the
feeling is so strong that even swinging a stick or whip, which may make
the air whistle, is supposed to have an evil effect.
[Illustration: The Hinen.]
The curious little instruments called by the Chinese 'Hinen' are of very
ancient construction. They are made of baked clay with five
finger-holes, three in front and two behind. They are wind instruments
blown by the mouth and tuned in what is called the Pentatonic scale,
which sounds much as the scale of C Major would if F and B were omitted.
HELENA HEATH.
[Illustration: "FALL IN"]
[Illustration: "THE MARCH PAST"]
[Illustration: "HALT!"]
[Illustration: "ATTENTION"!!!]
[Illustration: "STAND AT EASE"]
[Illustration: "THE MESS BUGLE"]
FLOWERS OF THE NIGHT.
People often speak of flowers going to sleep at night, and it is
perfectly true that many of them do close up their petals when it is
dark. Some, indeed, sleep very early--our British wild plant, the goat's
beard, is also called 'Jack go to bed at noon,' because the tops close
about mid-day. We have other plants, such as the daisy and the
dandelion, which shut their flowers early in the evening. But numerous
are the blossoms that are open all night, both wild and garden kinds,
affording food to night-flying insects. Then, again, we have flowers
which are usually closed by daylight, but open after sunset, and which
we should call 'flowers of the night.' Most of these are garden species,
though there are a few wild ones. Often we are drawn to them by a
fragrance which is wafted upon the evening air.
Perhaps the best known of all, a flower which seems to be at home even
in a city garden, is the evening primrose, an American plant, which does
not belong to the family of the true primroses. But the flowers have a
primrose tint, and they are slightly fragrant, opening usually about six
or seven in the evening, though an occasional bud may expand during the
day. The flower has little hooks upon what is called the calyx, and when
the petals open they burst the hooks with a snapping noise. One of the
garden varieties has snow-white flowers. Another name for the plant is
'evening star.'
The most splendid of all the flowers of darkness is the cereus, the
blossoms of which begin to open at seven or eight o'clock in the
evening, and are fully out when midnight comes. Before daylight arrives
the flowers have generally decayed, so rapid is their progress. So huge
are these that they quite surpass the largest blooms found on the
sun-flower, being nearly three feet in circumference. The outer portion
is dark brown; the inner shades range from yellow to a pure white. When
a dozen or so happen to expand at the same time the effect is startling.
They also give out a fine scent.
One of these plants of the night caused such wonder when it arrived in
England, that folks called it the 'marvel of Peru.' It is not at all
uncommon now amongst the choice garden plants of other lands. The
flowers are of several colours and open when the sun has set; the most
conspicuous kind has long, dull, white flowers, which have a scent like
the orange blossom or the heliotrope. One kind, however, opens earlier
in the afternoon, and so that is known as the 'four-o'clock flower.'
They are plants fond of warmth, but they do well out of doors during a
hot summer.
One of the jessamines is named the night-flower, because it opens
towards evening; and that grand species of lily called the Victoria
Regina comes amongst the flowers that prefer night to-day.
We have in Britain a family of wild plants named the 'catch-flies.' They
do not catch flies or other insects by their flowers, as some plants
can, but they take them by the stems, which are sticky, and insects
coming against these are entangled. The Latin name of Silena arose from
an old legend that it belonged first to a young man whom the goddess
Minerva employed to catch flies for her owls. She found him one day
idling about, and in her anger turned him into a plant which should be
always catching flies. Yorkshire has a night-flowering plant of this
kind, with pale flowers and a forked stem. Then there is the white or
evening campion of our hedgerows, which opens generally in the twilight,
sending forth a perfume. Another, rather rarer, is the 'dame's rocket,'
also a night flower. Yet another well-known evening flower in gardens is
the tobacco plant, which has a white flower and a very strong, sweet
scent.
SOWING AND REAPING.
The day had really been very sultry, and it was not to be wondered at
that Miss Allan had not explained the lesson quite so clearly as she
generally did. The children, too, had been troubled by the heat, and let
their attention wander, so that a few of them went home with very vague
ideas about spring-time and harvest, sowing and reaping, planting and
watering. Ella and Willie Hope especially had their heads full of ideas
which would have greatly surprised any farmer had he heard them.
'Dead things become alive in the earth,' said Ella.
'Little things grow big underground,' declared Willie.
One thing turns into many if we bury it,' continued Ella.
They walked on in silence for some time, then Ella's face began to
shine. 'Just think, Willie,' exclaimed she, eagerly, 'if I bury my doll,
it may turn into a real baby.'
'Yes,' assented the boy, 'and if I bury my box of tin soldiers, before
long I shall have a regiment of strong men to fight the Russians with.'
'And--who knows?--if Mother were to give us her purse, we might make a
whole tree of sovereigns grow! How happy Mother would be if she could
have money without Father tiring himself so much to gain it!'
A moment's pause to enjoy the thought of such happiness, and then Willie
remarked, a little doubtfully, 'Ella, don't you think that if it were so
easy to make live soldiers and trees of gold grow up, people would have
thought of it before now? I don't understand why nobody has ever tried.'
Ella wrinkled her brow, and looked very serious indeed. The remark was
not to be slighted, and yet she felt quite sure that no real objection
could be made to the conclusion at which they had arrived. Indeed, her
brow soon cleared again, and, turning to her brother with a triumphant
air, she exclaimed, 'Now I know! Of course, if we have ideas that other
people never think of, it means we are _geniuses_! Most people never
think of the plainest things till some genius has done so, and then it
all seems so easy. I remember what Miss Allan said when she told us the
story of Christopher Columbus. Any one could have taken a ship and
sailed away to Africa---- '
'America,' murmured Willie, timidly.
'Well, America, then; it's all the same,' went on Ella, with an
impatient shrug of her shoulder. 'But nobody did. There were no
geniuses except Columbus, and he thought, "People are stupid not to go
to America, but I will show them the way." What did he go for, Willie?
Do you remember?'
'Cousin Jack said he went to find the egg conjurors play with, but I
think he was joking.'
'Well, anyhow, he was a genius, and that's why we read about him in our
school-books. Wouldn't it be fun, Willie, if children were to read about
us at school?'
Willie looked doubtful. 'I don't think they'd like us,' he answered.
'People in school-books are often not nice.'
'Well, it doesn't matter much,' said Ella.
Then the children went home in silence with all their wonderful plans
dancing wildly in their brains. What grand things they would do, what a
marvellous garden they would have, and how every one would try to
discover their secret! They were rather old for such fancies; but they
had not begun lessons very early in their lives, owing to both being in
rather weak health.
Unhappily there was no one at home to whom they could tell their plans.
Mother was away, Father was too busy to listen to all the stories of his
children, and their elder sister, Mary, had laughed at them too often to
be taken into their confidence. But, after, all, they concluded it was
better so. Their secret would remain a real, real secret, and so, at the
right moment, all the world, even the world of home, would be struck
with surprise!
That night nothing could be done; they had too many lessons to learn,
too many toys to put away, too many tiresome questions about school to
answer. Besides, there were so many important things to think about
before beginning the great work. In what ground, for example, would it
be best to plant the soldiers, and was not the season too far advanced?
It would be such a pity if any stupid mistake should spoil their
beautiful plan, for then nobody would believe they were geniuses.
'I tell you what,' said Ella next morning, 'we must begin with only one
thing. Let us try your soldiers first. If they grow well, then I will
plant my doll. If she turns into another doll, then we will tell Mother,
and she will give us her money to sow. How many soldiers have you,
Willie?'
'Only one boxful,' answered Willie, sadly. 'Perhaps we had better sow
our pennies first, and then, when the tree of sovereigns comes up, we
can buy whole regiments of soldiers.'
But Ella shook her head. 'No,' said she, seriously. 'You forget that the
Japanese are losing a lot of men at the front. Father said so this
morning, and they must not be kept waiting for two harvests. You have
sixpence, I have twopence; with that let us buy all the soldiers we can,
and plant them at once; then they may reach Port--Port Alfred--in time.'
'Port _Arthur_, Father said.' murmured Willie, timidly, feeling,
however, that Ella was decidedly a genius. Yet he had still an objection
to make. 'The soldiers should be Japanese,' said he. 'When I asked
Father why our soldiers did not help the Japanese, he answered that we
were at peace with the Russians, and the army dared not go without the
permission of the Government. So, even if the soldiers grew, they would
have to stay in England. Perhaps it would be better to send the boxes
there to the Japanese. They could put the soldiers into the ground and
use them as soon as they come up.'
'No, stupid!' exclaimed Ella, rudely. 'You'd give our secret away if you
did that. Besides, if you planted a turnip in a cabbage-field, that does
not make it a cabbage. The men would be English just the same. Instead,
we can buy a box of Japs and paint those you have, so that no one will
ever think they are English soldiers. Mind you plant them with all their
arms, so that they may grow up all ready for the war.'
'And, Ella, what do you think?' asked Willie, a little hesitatingly;
'should I plant one of my ships too, so that they may sail away at
once?'
'Do!' replied Ella, enthusiastically. And Willie felt his spirits
return.
That evening, in the twilight, the roses were awakened from their dreams
by the sound of children's voices, and by strange movements at their
roots. If ever roses were indignant, I am sure these were so then. What!
Their sweet, fragrant, dewy earth invaded by rough soldiers! The soil
around their roots violently scraped away to make room for Willie's
ship! What did the fair flowers know of war and the Far East? How could
they guess that Ella was a genius? The Wind, it is true, told them many
things he saw in his wanderings, but he did not care to talk about
violence and bloodshed to things so sweet.
But the children did not hear the roses' sighs, and did not try to
explain. Had they done so, perhaps they would have heard some murmured
words, 'Sow seeds of peace! sow seeds of peace!' The moon saw the
children and smiled, thinking perhaps that they ought to have been born
in her land. Anyhow, the great work was soon accomplished, and the
children stole back to their room full of hope and excitement.
A sudden thought made Ella tremble as she ran along the passage, 'Oh,
Willie!' she exclaimed, catching him by the arm, 'if the soldiers come
up little by little, they will be seen by everybody, and if they spring
up all at once, they will frighten every one. Fancy the garden full of
armed men, and nobody knowing where they come from!'
'They are sure to grow up, all at once,' replied Willie, after a
moment's reflection. 'Just like mushrooms, you know. They are men toys,
not baby toys, so they must spring up men. But they _will_ frighten
everybody; what shall we do, Ella?'
Poor Ella! Even her busy brain was puzzled for a moment. But, of course,
being a genius, she found a solution even to that difficulty, and Willie
was obliged to admire her more than ever.
'Let's write a letter to the General,' suggested she a little while
before they went to bed, 'and ask him to go away quietly, without
frightening any one. If we bury the letter beside the soldiers, as soon
as they become alive they will find it, and read it. We can ask him to
come secretly into our room and salute us before he goes.'
(_Concluded on page 122._)
[Illustration: "The great work was soon accomplished."]
[Illustration: "He placed a sovereign on the counter."]
THE HONEST SAILOR.
Many years ago, a young sailor entered a shop in Glasgow, to make a
purchase. As he was about to leave, he placed a letter upon a counter
near the window, and was sticking a postage stamp upon it, when he
clumsily knocked his elbow against the window and broke one of its
panes. The poor fellow was much confused when he saw the damage which he
had done. He had no money to pay for a new pane, as he had spent his few
last coppers in preparing this letter for his mother. He apologised to
the shopkeeper as best he could, and promised to pay for the broken
square when he returned from his next voyage. The shopkeeper accepted
his promise, though he may very well have doubted whether he would ever
see the sailor again.
Months and years passed by, and the shopkeeper forgot all about the
sailor and the broken square of glass. One day, however, a seaman came
into the shop, and looking the shopkeeper full in the face said, 'Do you
know me?'
The shopkeeper replied that he did not.
'Well, I am the lad who broke that square,' said the seaman, pointing to
the window. 'I have been to China and the Indies since then, but I have
not forgotten my debt. Here is the money.'
He placed a sovereign on the counter, and having received the change
which was due to him, went out of the shop with the light heart and
cheerful face of a man who has got rid of a heavy 'obligation.'
SOWING AND REAPING.
(_Concluded from page 119._)
Willie was startled by the roll of drums, and a sharp call of 'To arms!'
He sat up hastily in his bed, and returned the salute of the Japanese
General standing at the foot of his bed. 'Sire,' said the gallant
soldier bravely, 'the moment has come. Our country expects that every
man this day will do his duty. We depart with your permission, and when
we have taken the Czar prisoner, we shall bring him to you in chains.'
Another roll of drums and the room was filled with soldiers, all of whom
greeted Willie with profound respect. They waved their swords in the
air, and with a loud 'Hurrah!' which sounded very English indeed, they
whirled rapidly out of the room, leaving the little boy quite dazed.
The roll of drums and the blowing of trumpets continued, and Willie
thought he heard the sound of cannon, but he was quite unable to leave
his bed, something seeming to hold him there. So, with those warlike
sounds in his ears, he fell asleep again, and only woke up when Ella
rushed into his room all flushed and excited, holding in her hand a tin
soldier, like those they had buried the night before. 'Oh. Willie!' she
exclaimed, 'wasn't it dreadful? However did those horrid Russians find
their way here? I'm quite sure we didn't bury any of them in the garden.
What a dreadful battle! And how strange that only you and I should know
anything about it! But the Japanese won! This morning I found this
soldier on the ground, but he is quite a toy again, and has not a single
wound. I'm afraid he's a coward!'
'I don't understand, Ella,' said Willie, quite dumbfounded. 'I didn't
see any battle. The General came to salute me before leaving for
Japan--for where the war is, I mean--but the troops left quite quietly.
Oh, no! I remember now, I did hear the sound of cannon, but somehow I
fell asleep. Anyhow, I am sure--quite sure--that I saw no battle. Tell
me about it, do!'
Ella looked at him indignantly. 'I hate boys who don't tell the truth,'
exclaimed she indignantly. 'As if you hadn't fought yourself last night!
Why, you killed a Russian as easily as if he had been a fly!'
'Where is he?' asked Willie, half convinced. 'I really don't remember,
but I'd like to see him.' Then, hesitatingly, 'Is he really dead, Ella?'
'I know nothing about him,' answered she, quite snappishly. 'The Japs
are very ungrateful and have gone away without a word, and there is not
a sign of them, either in the house or in the garden.'
'We told them to go away quietly,' said Willie; 'perhaps they will
telegraph from Port Arthur. Do tell me about the battle.'
'Nonsense!' replied she, pettishly. 'You saw the battle as well as I
did. Be quick and come into the garden, and you'll see that the soldiers
are no longer under the bushes.'
It was quite true. The earth bore signs of having been moved, and
neither soldiers nor ship were to be seen.
'Then it is quite true,' murmured Willie, awe-struck, 'and the army has
gone to the Japanese. But I really can't remember about the battle.
Ella, how do you think the Russian soldiers came here?'
'That's why I'm so cross,' confessed Ella. 'Of course, there must have
been another genius at school, who likes the Russians, and who wanted
them to win. So he, too, buried a box of soldiers, and when they became
alive, they met ours. Anyhow, ours won. Isn't it funny that there's no
sign of the battle?'
'Shall we try again with your doll?' asked Willie.
'No,' replied Ella, decidedly. 'If some one else has had the same idea I
don't care to have anything more to do with it.'
Some days later, while the children were at breakfast, their father read
of a great Japanese victory. The two young ones looked up proudly, then
triumphantly told their strange story to their father. He listened with
a quiet smile, and gently remarked, 'Did you give any of your soldiers
to Tim Jones, or a ship like the one you buried?'
'No, never,' they replied, surprised at the question.
'Well,' continued he, 'I saw him playing with some very like them,
to-day; and I have been told he was seen on the garden wall the very
night Ella dreamt of the battle.'
Poor Willie! Poor Ella! They were quite astonished to hear such an
explanation of the mystery, and rather sad. But their father, talking to
them kindly and wisely, comforted them, and explained that nothing made
by the hands of man can grow in the earth, but only things produced by
Providence in the earth itself, from living seeds fallen from living
plants. He led them into the garden and showed them the plants and the
roots, and explained how from the living seeds spring up the living
plants. He showed them, too, the dead trunks and dry branches, and
explained how from them nothing could ever spring any more.
'Well, I'm glad I didn't kill the Russian,' confessed Willie. 'And it
did seem all too easy as we had thought of it. I suppose the battle and
all that was only a dream.'
'But I believed we were geniuses,' owned Ella, with a little blush; and
then Father laughed. Oh, how he laughed!
THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.
(_Continued from page 115._)