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WHAT ROBIN SAID.

BY FRANCIS 8. SMITH.

 

Oerburden’d with sadness, despondent and weary,
I sought the cool shade of an old maple tree,

And I said, as I seated myself, “Ob, how dreary,
How vapid, how dull, is this great world to me!’’
Just then, a blithe rebin, with downy breast glowing,

Broke into a song from his pereh en a bough,
And I cried, “Oh, sweet robin, with joy overflowing,
What would I not give to be happy as thou!”

He ceased his glad warbling, and looked down upon me,
As though he were gifted with wisdom profound—
The sly minstrel knew that his music had won me,
And feared not to jump from his perch to the ground.
Then he hopped to my feet, and he cunningly eyed me,
And gave a sly wink and a twist of his head,
As though, while he trusted me not, he defied me,
And this, in his bird talk, was what Robin said:

“You envy, poor grumbler, my lot and condition,
‘Because you are troubled by worldly affairs—
How simple you are! how short-sighted your vision1
Do you think that a bird has no sorrows or cares?
My mate and myself only last week were sleeping,
One night, with our brood, in a snug little nest,
When a hurricane fierce through the tree-tops came sweeping,
_ And ruthlessly tore the dear ones regny breast.

“But God sent the storm that produced this disaster,
And, although it filled me with sorrow and pain,
I knew that it came from a merciful Master,
And I tried to forget it and warble again.
And even in winter, when hunger assails me,
And frost chills my frame, I endeavor to sing;
Iam thankful for life, and the hope never fails me,
That comfort and joy will return with the spring.

“The truth is, my friend, when you sit down and grumble,

And take of this life such a cynical view,

Instead of invoking a spirit that’s humble,
It is not the world that’s to blame, it is you.

All are subject alike to both blessings and crosses;
So cease your mad race after power and pelf;

Be thankful for gains, and resigned under losses,
And you’!l find that most troubles are made by yourself.”

Thus spoke little Robin in bird language plainly,
Aad pluming his wings, he returned to the tree;
And I know that he thought he had not spoken vainly,
From his satisfied air as he looked down at me.
And, indeed, I’ll confess, as I thought the thing over,
When garrulous Robin had taken his flight,
That I in his lesson no fault could discover,
And that his deductions were certainly right.

The Boy Wrestler.

By Roger Starbuck,

Author of “RED HELM,” “THE BOY DIVER,”
‘ etec., ete.

(“The Boy Wrestler” was commenced last week. Ask your
News Agent for No. 44 and you will get the opening chapters. }

CHAPTER VII.
THE ABDUCTION.

[bless you, sir!” exclaimed Pound, grasp-
and of North, ashe sprang from his
the side of the rescued lad, whom he
had now lightty dropped upon his feet. “You
have saved my reputation!”

“IT have saved the boy, which is better yet,” an-
Te oa : ve :

“It was we one, upon my word!” cried the
delighted Pound, rubbing his hands. “Instead
of hurt me, it has done me good, and the
trick sh now be practiced so thatit may be
done prrgein i

“T don’t ink the lad would care to try it,”

lt North, smiling with grim humor upon the

boy. «

#Anything I ean do for the good of the cir
cus,’ answered Crip, “I am willing to try, butI
hope I'll be able to do this thing without quite so
res ar as I ia ae ae I should eee tea

gir,” he turning gratefu
North, “pat for your rescuing me as you did.”
a jae did the thing happen

ip ” inquired Pound,
oT hardly know myself,”

. answered the latter.
e were wrestling and the first thing I knew I
went over th s

 

 

 

tail Mla inatii ere

no way for him to defend himself, and even had
there been, had not his hands been fastened, he
would not have known in what direction to strike,
as he could not see his assailants. _

What were they going to do with him ?

He felt himself lifted between two persons,
evidently strong men, and carried out of the hip-
podrome. Then he found himself in a carriage,
which was the next moment driven off.

CHAPTER VIII.
IN THE GARRET.

“Strange the boy doesn’t come home,” said old Timo-
thy, on that night when the lad had volunteered as watch-
man for the hippodrome.

It was already two o’clock, and the old man, an hour
before, had persuaded little Fanny to go to bed, for she
had kept awake anxiously awaiting the return of Crip,
for whom she had conceived a great liking.

Timothy was not well on this night. There was a
strange feeling of dizziness in his head, and his heart beat
more rapidly than usual.

At length the clock struck three. The old man rose,
and opening tie little garret Window, which commanded
asidelong view of the street, he looked out. It was a’
clear night, but he could see nothing of Crip.

“Something has happened to the boy,’”? muttered the
oid man. “J must go and see the manager at daylight.”

He shut the window, and moved toward the chair he
had previously.occupied, but ere he could reach it he
Staggered, failing heavily upon his bed, where he lay per-
fectly motionless.

The old man’s time had come! Poor Timothy was dead!

And, as he lay there, litte Fanny slumbered on, uncon-
scious of the presence of death in that room.

Not until about eight o’clock did she wake. Then she
raised herself on her elbow and looked round the room.

“Crip not come yet!? she muttered.

Then her gaze suddenly became riveted on the old man
lying there so still and pallid,

She rose, and creeping to his side looked down on him
in surprise. J

Surely he had never looked that way before? What
could it mean?

She laid a hand on his brow, and then, for the first
time, a comprehension of the truth seemed to break on
her mind.

“Be is dead!’ gasped the child, ‘O, grandpal’’—for
thus she had learned to call him—“‘can it be you are
dead ?”?

A long time she knelt there, watching the corpse; then
she rose, went down stairs, and knocked at the first door
she saw.

The door was soon opened by an old Italian woman,
whose eyes, though sunken deep in her head, still seemed
to retain much of their fire and brightness,

She was short of stature, and though bowed, looked as
if she possessed a great deal of strength. She was a very
repulsive woman, however, with yellow shriveled skin,
long, large hands, and dirty fingers, resembling the claws
of a beast.

At sight of the child a peculiar expression crossed her
face, and there was in hereyes alook of unmistakable
greed. It was perhaps under the impuise of this feeling
ep ong stretched out her claw-like hands, as if to grasp
she girl.

“What you want?’ she inquired, as the little one drew
back.
es

’
dead.”?

‘Dead ?? croaked the woman.

She spoke calmly and a chuckle escaped her.

“Well, well, I?ll be therein a minute.”

The woman shutting and locking her door, now accom-
panied Fauny up stairs, aud walked boldly into the gar-
ret.

Upon the old man she casta glance of indifference;
then she looked round the garret with an air of disap-
pointment, and shrugged her shoulder.

Littie Fanny, stooping by the side of the dead. now
gave way to her grief with sobs and tears.

‘*Where’s the other one ?’? inquired the old woman,

“ie didn’t come back,’ auswered Fauny. ‘‘We ex-
pected him last night.”

There was another gleam in the woman’s eyes.

“Well,’? said she, ‘‘you will come and live with me.’?

“Live with you?’ exclaimea@ Fanny, drawing back.

“Yes; what will become of you, if yeu don’t? You
cannot live on air, and I'll give you plenty to eat.”

“But Crip will take care of me,’ said Fanny.

“Yes, if he comes back; but I think something has hap-
pened to him. Oh, yes,’? added the old woman, with a
dismal croak, ‘‘something must have happened to him or
he would have come back before now.’

At this Fanny’s sobs broke fortii afresh.

‘Don’t whimper,” said the woman; ‘‘you mustn’t do
that. If you do, when you live with me, I shall have to
scold you. Comel’?

She took Fanny by the hand, as she spoke, and rather
dragged than led her down stairs.

That afternoon a coroner’s inquest was held over the
body of old Timothy, and on the next day he was buried.

Not a soul attended the funeral of this poor man, who
— once been one of the most prosperous merchants in

re City. f

On the next night the Italian woman left the Roosevelt
street tenement leading Fanny by the hand.

CHAPTER IX.
ORIP’S NEW QUARTERS.

 

come quick!? was the answer. “Grandpa is

 

“TI was watching you,” said North, “but you
little sooner than I thought you

be vets here said nothing abont Jack’s haying
trod on his hands. He could not, in fact, exactly
determine in hisown mind whether this ha
been purposely done or whether it was a mere

e boys’ performance having been complet-
ed, they were told that they might go. "
Jack was the first to leave the circus.

He uot proceeded far, however, when he
was overtaken oy Crip.

“Weil,” he said, turning round and confronting
his rival, “what is it? for I see you want tosay
something to me.”

“Yes, I have something tosay,’ Crip answered,
decidedly. “I want to know why you stepped on
my hands, as you did in the circus, while I was
hanging to that platform ?”

“Do you mean to say you tnink I did it a pur-
pose ?” growled Jack, frowning.

“T don’t say you did—1 only ask if you did?”

“Well, I didn’t then, if you want to know,” an-
swered the other, telling a downright falsehood,
“and I don’t like to be accused of it.”

“Lhave no more tosay, then,” replied Crip

PaEee, he pursued his way homewar

a light heart and step, as he thoughtof his
rescue by the gatlant North, who had thus en-
abled him to continue to earn a livelihood.

Day after day found Crip at the circus. Ina
few months he had attained a degree of perfec-
tion in wrestling which made his services inval-

e to the ers. They increased his wa-

, and published his name in their bills and al-
so in the newspapers.

Jack meanwhile was losing favor with his em-
ployers. He had taken to drink, and was often
ps from the circus when he should have been

ere,

Mr. Pound endured it for awhile, and then told
him that ne must be more punctual or he would
be obliged to discharge him and get somebody
to take his place.

Several weeks after, perceiving that Jack still
was ar in his attendance, Pound dis-

na m.

J said not a word, when told he was no lon-
ger wanted, but there wason his face a look
which the manager did not like.

The latter had already found a boy to take his
place; a quiet youngster, who, however, was
very smart for hisage. This boy was put under
the charge of Crip, who soon posted him in some
of the tricks of wrestling.

The affairs of the cireus continued to prosper
so that Pound at length suggested to the owner
the feasfbility of building a wooden hippodrome.

This was done as soon as possible.

Crowds nightly attended the performances, in
which the two wrestlers were a great attraction.

One night the watchman was taken sick.

“What shall Ido?” said Pound to Crip. “The
Cee ought to be watehed.”

‘Tll stand watch to-night,” the lad promptly
answered. "

Pound smiled.

“I can do it as well as anybody else,” said Crip.

“I don’t know but you can, after all. You are
a match for any man at wrestling, and a burglar
would find it hard to cope with you.”

“I can at least promise I would in such a case
do my best,” replied the boy.

“All right then, you may stand watch,” said
Pound. “Hereis ‘a weapon for you,” putting a
revolver in the lad’s hand.

Soon after Mr. Pound departed, leaving Crip in
charge of the cireus. :

The boy for several hours walked about among
the empty benches, keeping as near as possible to
an apartment in which the costly uniforms of
many of the performers were hung, and where
there were also some silver ornaments.

Suddedly the lad thought he could hear a sin-

rscraping noise at one end of the hippo-
rome, Thither he walked, and was about open-
asmall window to look out and see who the
intruder was, when he was seized from behind
by a of strong arms, while a gag was thrust
into hismouth, and a bandage tightly pulled
over his eyes.

So ow was this done that the boy had not

time to ery outor to evenstruggle.
revolver had already been taken from him,
and his hands tied behind his back; there was

 

 

As already stated, the carriage, in which Crip had been
so rudely thrust, was driven rapidly off. The boy, of
course, could not determine the direction it took, but he
could perceive that it was driven througa many different
streets,

At last, in the course of an hour, it stopped, when Orip
was pulled out and conducted into what seemed a narrow
passage-way.

Soon a long flight of steps was descended, and the boy
now became aware that he was being led through an
apartment of some sort smelling of brandy and tobacco.

At last nis conductors opened the door, and, pushing
him into another room, they took the bandages from his
eyes.

The boy now beheld those who had led him to the place,
two forbidding-looking ruffians, witi: low brows and bru-
tal faces.

From them the lad’s glances wandered about the room.
It was aiong apartment, with a low, dirty ceiling, and
with benches ranged along the sides of the cracked walls,
while not a window was to be seen, the piace being Hght-
ed by a lamp stuck in a niche of the wail.

“What does this mean? inquired Crip? “Why have you
brougiut me here ?”?

The two men, however, made no answer, but, exchang-
ing glauces, broke out into a coarse laugh.

Crip repeated his question, when a door at one side of
the apartinent opened, and a large, masculine woman,
with dark eyes and hair, entered. She had a coarse
mouth, a large nose, and a forehead which seemed to
bear upon its wriukled front the dDlack impress of crime.

“We have brought him,’ said one of the men, looking
at the woman as she entered.

“Yes, Mother Grimes, we have brought him, and a
tough customer you'll find him, if you ain’t careful,” said
the other,

“I can attend to him,’’ she answered, giving the lad a
fierce glance. “Did you ever yet see the person, man,
woman, or child, I couldn’t manage, eh ??

And as she spoke she advanced and shook her clenched
fist in Crip’s face.

“Why ave I been brought here?? Crip inquired, hop-
ing that now, at least, he would obtain an auswer.

“You'll find that out before long,’? auswered the wo-
mau, whose voice, naturally as coarse a3 that ofa man,
now sounded like the growling of a bear.

“Well, Mother Grimes, seeing as we have brought him,
I hope you’ll give us what you promised.”

“You are ina mighty hurry for your money,” said the
weman.

“We have to be,’? answered the man, ‘especially whea
we have done such a risky job.”

“Wea, kere’s your cash, and now you can either stay
and take drinks or be off.”

“So saying, Mother Grimes drew from her pocket a

leather purse, and, pulling out several gold pieces, pre-
sented tiem to the man.

“All right,” said he.
do in your line ?”?

“Nothing else now,’ she replied.

The men then departed, and Orip found himself alone
with the woman,

“Well, boy,” said she, ‘what is your name?”

“Orip,’? he answered.

“And you are a great wrestter, elt???

“IT am good in that line.”

“Wel, if you are good here and beliave yourself, it may
be to your advantage; if not’)—here her eyes flashed
flercely—‘‘i{ not, you had better be in the lower regions.’’

“I should eertainly like to get away from here,’’ Crip
frankly answered.

‘You kad better try it,’? answered Mother Grimes.

Then she stamped heavify on the floor, when a low
eo was heard, seeming to come up through the plank-

ng.
“What was that? inquired the boy, his curiosity ex-
cited in spite of his strange situation.

“You will find out soom enough if you don’t behave
yourself,’? was the reply. “Come this way,’ she added,
moving to the door through which the men had passed.
Here, the door being opened, a flight of stone steps lead-
ing downward was disclosed.

The woman conducted Orip by this way into another
apartment, occupied by a group of men, all of whom
seemed to be enjoying themseives after the usual manner
of drani-drinkers,

The men were waited on by a short, humpbacked man,
with but one eye and a dark, sinister countenance.

Crip looked round him at the persons among whom he
now found himself. They were of all ages, from twenty
to fifty, and were a roug)i-looking set, most of them wear-
ing red and blue shiris, with heavy boots and old sou’-
westers.

“Yes, Tom,’’ one was saying to another, when Crip and
his Companion entered, “that was a good ‘cracking job,’
and you ‘emptied the till’ very well,”

“Hush,” said the other, as the boy came nearer, ‘be
careful.”

“Oh, you mustn’t mind him,” said Mother Grimes,
“hell be one of us before long, I take it.”?

‘“*Where did you pick him up, and what is he?” inguired
a bluff, red-faced man, peering into Crip’s face,

‘‘Never mind, you’ll soon know,” was the woman’s re-
piy, ‘‘there’ll be rare fun for youall here, soou, and you'll
fiud the ‘crib’ more attractive than ever,”

Crip, as may be imagined, born and “brought up)? in
the city, Was not long puzzled as to the character of these
people. They were burglars, thieves, and pickpockets,

‘‘Have you anything else for us to

 

<< THE NEW YORK WEEK

and Mother Grimes’ place was evidently a rendezvous
er “erib” where they resorted when not engaged in crim-
inal proceedings.

From the hints she had already let drop, he now ifer-
red that he had been brought there to render the ‘‘erib”’
yet more attractive to these lawless characters, or, in
other words, to exhibit his “wrestling powers’ for their
entertainment, ;

The woman had glided behind the bar, but her sharp,
biack eyes never once left the face of the iad.

Crip, more than once, glanced toward the door, won-
dering if he could not contrive to escape from the dis-
agreeable place.

It seemed to him that he might manage to do so, and,
therefore, he suddenly made a dart toward the door.

Ere he could reach it, however, the humpbacked man,
Springing from belind the bar, elutched his shoulder in
an iron grip.

‘Not so fast, youngster,’’ he exclaimed.

The boy turned, and, determined to use every effort to
make his escape, even though he might not prove suc-
cessful, he grappled with the man, and in a moment had
dexterously tripped him, so that he fell with a crash to
the floor.

The next instant, however, the muscular arms of Moth-
er Grimes were thrown about his neck, and he feund
or on hemmed in by halfa dozen of the frequenters of
the crib.

“Lock the door, Dook,”? screamed the woman, andina
second the humpback. who, with clenched fists, had ad-
vanced threateningly toward the boy, had obeyed.

“A slippery customer, eh? said the woman, now let-
ting go her hold of the lad. “And so you’d get away,
would you???

“I do not want to stay here,’ answered the boy.
brought me here against my will.’

“You'll have to stay here, youngter,” said the woman;
“and if you try that game again Ill have you horse-

whipped.” ae
CHAPTER X.

THE WRESTLE.

“You are a fool to want to get away,” exclaimed one of
the men. ‘Mother Grimes wants you here, and will give
you good pay; won't you, mother ?”’

““Yes,’? she answered, “‘if he behaves himseif. ‘I'l give
him more than he got in the cireus,”?

“Il don’t want your money,” said Crip. “It hasn’t been
honestly earned, and I won’t have such money.’

“Be careful, boy,’’ said one of the men. ‘Look ont how
you talk here. You were not bronght here to preach
tous. We'd rather see you throw Dook again.”

“Thats the talk; let’s have some fun; let the boy ex-
hibit for us,’? cried one of the others,

“That he shal,’”? said Mother Grimes, resolutely. ‘‘Olear
the way, and he shall wrestle for you.”

“Til not wrestle again,’ said Crip.

“Won’t you,’’ cried the woman. ‘We'll see about that.
Clear the way, I say.”

At this the men all seated themselves, and waited for
the amusement which they expected was to follow.

“Now,” said the woman, “get a horsewhip, Dook, and
let the boy have a taste of it.”

he humpback shrugged his shoulders, and reluctantly
procuring a horsewhip, commenced applying it about the
boy’s legs,

This was more than the patience of the high-spirited
lad could brook.

He flew at the man, and, seizing him, threw him to the
floor, the spectators roaring out and clapping their hands
in applause.

“Do it over again!’ exclaimed several of the spectators.

Dook, atasign from the woman, advanced reluctantly
With the horsewhip and again applied it, to bea third
time hurled to the floor, ;

Striking his head as he fell, he rose, amid the thunders
of applause that followed, and commenced rubbing his
skull vigorously. ; °

“Once more,” said Mother Grimes, whose counteuance
glowed with delight at the amusement she was affording
her profitable customers. -

But Dook now shook his head.
aoe glaring at Crip, he rushed at him with elenched

ts.

“You

Tn a moment, however, the woman had thrown herself
between him and the boy. ;

“None of that]? she exclaimed. ‘He isa good ‘card’
for my place, and you must not thrash him, Dook.”’

“T won’t use the horsewhip again, that’s aH,’? growled
the man, as he drew back. “If you want that done,
you’ll have to get somebody else to do it.’

The woman did not insist, but allowed Dook to retreat
behind the bar.

“The boy iga regular trump!’ cried one of the men.
“Oome, iad, and have a drink,” he added, stepping up to
the bar and motioning to Crip to follow.

The boy, however, shook his head.

“Go and drink,’ said Mother Grimes, .

“1 die first,’ replied Crip. .

“Never mind, mother,” said the person who had invited
him; ‘‘he’li come to it after a while.”

“Well, men, have you seen enough for to-night?’ in-
quired the woman.

“No” and ‘‘yes*’ were shouted on all sides.

The yeas, however, predominating, the woman turned
to Crip and bade him follow her.

The boy, who 6ould do nothing less than obey, was then
conducted up a high flight of stairs to a smali apartment
eg waxed walls and low ceiling, in which there wasa

“You oan go to sleep now,” said Mother Grimes, as she
passed out, locking the door after her.

The lad sat down on the edge of the bed, smarting from
the blows of the horsewhip.

“So, then, there is no way I can get out of this,’? he
muttered. ‘How strange it all seems. And what. will
poor Fanny and Timothy think of my being so long ab-
sent ?’

He now glanced round the room, noticing at one side
of it a-window. :

Might this not enable him to make his escape?

He went to the window, and raising it, Jooked out, to
behold through the partial gloom a blank wail right oppo-
site. Far beneath him he could see a paved alley-way,
but to reach this it was necessary le should have a rope.

He looked carefully round the room, but could find no
such article.

So he shut the window and again seated himself on the
edge of the bed,

lt was several hours ere he eould compose himself so as
to obtain sleep.

He was waked early in tie morning by some_ person
shaking him by the shoulder.

“Is that you Timothy ?”? were his first words; but as he
rubbed his eyes and his vision became clearer, he saw the
face of Mother Grimes.

“Breakfast is ready,’’ said the woman. “Come and see
What a niee breakfast I have for you. 1 hope it will make
you feei contented with your new quarters,”

Crip rose from the bed and followed the woman down
Stairs into a small room, where there was a small tabie
contaiuing a tempting repast.

There were two plates, so Crip guessed he was to have
the company of the woman at breakfast.

Such proved to be the case.

She was evidently anxious to please the boy, who would
prove such a benefit to her house. She poured out his
coffee for him, and was careful to sweeten it exactly to
lis taste.

Crip usually had an excellent appetite, and such was
the case this morning. He did full justice to the meal.

The woman patted bim approvingly on the head.

“IT see you liked your breakfast,’? suid she.

“Yes, Lliked the breakfust,” answered Crip, emphasi-
zing the last word, as he hastily drew himself away from
the touch of the speaker’s hand, which almost made him
shudder.

The woman’s black eyes flashed angrily, and she shrug-
ged her shoulders.

“Once for all I ask you,’ she said, in a hoarse voice,
‘if you will be contented with your new quarters?”

‘“‘And [answer no,’ stoutly replied Crip. ‘I can never
be contented here.’

“Iam sorry,’? said the woman, “‘both for your sake
and my own. As you refuse to be as I want yon to be, I
must deal with you accordingly.”

So saying she rose and took from the mantel a small
bell which she at once commenced to ring.

Amoment later the door opened admitting Dook, the
humpback, and another man—a rough, broad-shouidered
fellow, with a low, villainous forehead and a pair of small
cunning eyes.

“How is Brunus to-day? he inquired of the hump-
back’s companion.

‘He is rather bad.
agree with him.”

‘‘Have you given him his meat to-day?”

*Yes, ma’am.”?

‘Has le been any quieter since ?”’

‘A little, but he’s worse to-day than usual.”’

“Well,” said the woman, glancing toward Crip, “I
want youto put this boy duwa there, as he'll otherwise
use the first chanee he can get to escape from here.”?

“He'll never get away froin the vault, ma’am.’?

‘dare say not,’? said Mother Grimes, clenching her
teeth; “better people than le is have tried that to no pur-
pose. Away with him)?

“Come, youngster,’ said the man, seizing Crip firmly
by the shoulder, while Dook took held of him on the
other side. .

They led the boy down stairs through the same apart-
ment into which he had first been conducted into an-
other. At one side of this room there was a door.

It was partly open, affording Crip a view of the very
alley he had seen from the window of his hedroom.

A sudden desire for liberty took possession offiim. The
door was open—the alley doubtless Communicated with
the street. Why could he not suddenly disengage him-
self from the elutches of the two men who now, it seemed
to him, did not hold him very hard, and make a rush for
that open door?

Acting on this thought, he broke away from the twain
and darted toward the door,

Instead of his being pursued, this movement on his
part was greeted with aloud shout of coarse laughter
from his guard, who, it was. now evident, lad purposely
jet him go, thal they might tantalize him with faise hopes
of escape.

In fact he had not taken six steps when he felt a trap
give way beneath him, and down he went, falling some
distance.

Then something seemed to go crashing through his
brain and he lost all consciousuess.

CHAPTER XI.

FANNY’S FATE.

The Italian woman, who had taken charge of Fanny,
and whom we left Jeading the little girl by the hand, kept

The damp air of the vault doesn’t

 

LY.

 

Atlast she paused before a smali wooden tenement,
which leaned so far over that it seemed ready to tumble
into the middle of the street.

“Come along,’ she said, roughly, as Fanny, who felt
tired and hungry, reeled upon tie slippery walk. “Come
on, you young wretch!’

The little gir] shuddered and turned pale, while her lip
quivered. She was not used to being treated in this man-
ner, and it grieved her to the very heart.

“Are we going in here? she inquired, half-drawing
back as the woman led her into a dirty entry.

“Yes, this is where we are going. What do you think of
it?’ she asked, noticing a policeman, who, a8 he passed,
scrutinized the two closely. ;

The little girl, not understanding the sudden change in
the woman’s manner, looked up surprised. But the po-
liceman having now passed, the old woman almost jerked
Fanny’s arm outof joint, as she hauled herupa dirty
pair of stairs. At the top of the stairs she knocked at a
door, which was opened by one of the most repulsive-
looking men the girl had ever seen. He was of dwarfish
stature, with shoulders hitched far up toward his ears, a
pair of bandy legs, a broad, square, dark, dirty face, low
brows, and small, snaky black eyes.

“Who you brought here ?’ he inquired, in a harsh voice,
looking down at the child.

“She’s worth something—this gir) is—no?’’ said the
woman.

“Well, not too much, me no tink.
for him ?””

The speaker was evidently a Portuguese, for the woman
now said, quickly:

“Oh, you not fit to have good one. You had best go
back to Portugal, and not try to make your living in coun-
try like this.”

“Me will buy,” answered the man, “but, of course, me
no want too much to pay. She not look very strong,’ he
added, glancing down at the tired child, who was looking
up wonderingly.

‘All the better that for you. Make the people more
quick to give out money. Come, say what you give me,
so that I may know whether toleave her or take her
away.

“Well,’”? said the man, again looking down refiectively
at the girl, ‘‘me tink she werth about three dollar.”

‘Three dollars ?"? exclaimed the woman, aghast. ‘You
expect to get a child like that for three dojlars? Better
keep her myself,”
ao ee four, then—me give dis for him.

ike ??

“Six dollars, and not a cent less,’ was the answer.

The Portuguese scratched his head.

“Me ne see how me give you six dollar for dechild.
Me like to have, but me no can afford six dollar. Too
much—too much,”’

“Nota centless. Come, if you don’t want to give it say
so, and I'll take her right away. ‘There's plenty of other
— but I heard you say the other day that you would
like—— .

“All right. You rob me—you rob me, but me will give
you six dollar, and de child is mine.” .

The woman grinned and held out her bony hands, as if
in a hurry to clutch the money. -

‘Me keep him in other room,” said the Portuguese.
“You wait and me bring him to you.” ‘

So saying, he went intoan adjoining apartment, a mere
box ofa room, where he slept, and there, having care-
fully shut the door, he unbuckled from his waist a belt.
Turning it up, he carefully unfastened one of the ends
aud held it above his hand, when aclinking sound was
heard, as some silver pieces slipped out.

Having procured the requisite amount, he replaced the
belt, = returned to the Italian woman with the money
in hand.

‘Me have to look a long: time to get so much,’ he said
toher. ‘You rob me—you rob me. Me have but seven
doliar in the world, and now me only have but one,”?

The woman grinned as she pocketed the coin; then she
turned toward the child.

*“@ood-by.”?

“Good-by,’’ faltered Fanny, and the woman, descend.
ing the stairs, left the girl alone with the man, who, draw-
ing her into the room, shut and locked the door.

Then he seated her in a chair, and placed himself oppo-
site, taking @ good survey of his purchase.

“What dis your name???

“Fanny,’? sobbed the child.

“Well, don’t cry. My name is Joe Rikert.
call me papa Rikert—do you me understand?’

Yes, butI don’t waut to stay here. I want to go
away.”?

“No, no, you must not talk 80; me no like to hear you.
Me been buy you for six dollars. You belong to me.”

“But you had no right to buy me,’? sobbed Fanny. ‘I
didn’t want youtobuy me. Theold woman who sold
me wasn’t my mother.’?

“You right there. She wasn’t yourmother. Now what
you Go alone in street? Better you stay with me, and me
take care of you, and if you good girl, me give you plenty
to eat. Ifyou no good girl this is what me must do.”

He went into the other room and procured a stick.

“There, you see him,’ he exclaimed, shaking this in
her face. “He hurt hard if me use him. How you like
me whip you—whip you black and blue with him.”

And the man contorted his face into a terrible grimace,
while his eyes seemed to burn like live coals beneath his
low forehead.

“No, nol’ cried Fanny, drawing back in extreme ter-
ror. ‘O, you must not beat me—no you must not!’

‘Will you be good then, and do everything [ tell you?”

*O, yes, yes; anything that isn’t wrongl”’

The man hitehed his hunched shoulders still higher
above his ears.

‘‘Wrong! wrong!’ he muttered, with an indescribable
expression of face. “She talk to Rikertof wrong. Me
almost forget what that word mean.”

He Jooked at the girl a moment.

There was upon the sweet, gentle face an expression of
resolution he did not like.

‘Perhaps she not do as me want,’’ he muttered.
he said aloud to the girls

“You must me obey in all things. Understand—no?’

“Except wrong,’? answered the child, her face still
beaming with that resolute exression the man had already
remarked,

“Wrong or right !? he said, scowling.
as me tell you.”

“Pll never do wrong,’? answered the child, firmly.

“T suppose you will be telling people how you came to
be with me???

“I think I shaH,’? Fanny truthfally answered, ‘for I
would rather not stay with you.’

‘“Umph!? grunted Rikert, and then he sat a long time
looking atthe child, his chin resting on the palm of his
hand,

‘Better me do it,’? he said at length.
do it.”” ‘

Then he rose, and going to a cupboard, he placed food
on the pine table in the room,

Fanny ate heartily, although the meal consisted only of
black bread without butter, and some weak tea.

“My, how the child eat!’ said Rikert, when she had
nearly finished. ‘Me have to make her work to pay for
her board. Can you sing?”’

“Yes, a little,’ answered Fanny.

‘Sing away, then; me like to hear you.”?

‘Not here—not here!’ said the girl, ‘indeed, I do not
feel like singing here.”

“Do as me tell you!’? cried Rikert, fiercely, picking up
his stick, and with it dealing her a smart blow across the
shoulders,

.Fanuy writhed with pain; then as he raised the stick to
strike her again, the frightened child retreating to the
other side of the room, commenced singing an innocent
littie song, her voice trembling so, however, that the
words were hardly distinguishable.

“Never do—never!”’ said Rikert, frowning, ‘no, never!
Peep! Peep! where you be? Come out here and box Fan-
ny’s ears!’?

As he spoke he opened the door of the room already
mentioned, and out of which a miserable monkey, whose
hide looked as if it had been singed all over with a hot
iron, came with a bound imto the middle of the room.

Its Httle eyes, wandering cunningly from side to side,
were at length turned toward Fanny, when, wrinkling its
nose, the animal, at a sign from its master, jumped upon
the caild’s shoulder, and cammenced dealing her stinging
blows on the side of the head.

Much frightened, she, with cries of dismay, ran from
one side of the room to the other, until at last Rikert er-
dered the monkey down.

How much you want

How you

You will

Then

“You must do

“Yes, better me

 

CHAPTEK XII.
THE HOT IRON.

The moment the creature jumped from the girl’s shoul-
der, the man, seizing it by its tail. slung it into the other
room, bidding it stay there.

“You no can’t sing atall,” said Rikert to Fanny. ‘Me
atraid me made a bad bargain.”

«Send me off! Let me go! O, let me go.”

‘Who pay me my six dollars??? said the man, fiercely.
“You think me want to lose my money?” -

“I will earn it some time and pay you,” answered
Fanny; ‘I willindeed! You need not be afraid of losing
it.’?

“No, me don’t let you off that way-—0O, no!’’ said Ri-
kert.

Then he looked at the red-hot stove, and from this his
glance wandered to Fanny.

Yes, me will doit! Me mest do it!?

So saying, he thrust the red-hot poker into the grate of
the stove. ’

When the end of it had become red-hot, he pulled it out,
looking toward Fanny.

“Come here,’ said he.

“What are you going to do?” asked the little girl, look-
ing with dismay at the heated iron.

“Nothing; me only want you to come and see how pret-
ty this iron look.”’

The girl, trembling, slow!y approached the man, who,
now impatient, sprang up, and seizing her, held her
firmly with one hand, while with the other he held the
heated poker.

“Tongue! tongue!’ he exclaimed; ‘‘me want to see
your tongue!’

“What are you going to do?’
screamed.

Rikert did not answer, but, pulling down her chin with
a strong hand, he thus opened her mouth, when he lifted
the iron as if about thrusting it in between her lips.

The cnild struggled frantically, but he held her ina
grim grasp, aud she felt the tot iron grate against her
teeth.

Suddenly he uttered an impatient exclamation.

“The iron is outl’ he cried, and pushed the giri away
from him.

But he again put the end of the poker into the stove.

he little girl almost

 

onurtil she reached Mulberry street, down which she
turned, Walking several blocks.

“Oh, no,,don’t! don’tl? screamed the frightened child,
“Don’t burn mel?

 

5

 

 

Sheran to the door and endeavored to open it, but,
finding it locked, she sprang for the window. hatine the
sash she stepped on a chair to spring out.

“Hey! hey! donkey!’? shouted Rikert, bounding toward
er.

But he was too late. The girl throwing herself out of
the window feli to the pavement, a distance of eleven feet,
where she lay bruised and senseless,

Rikert ran down stairs and was soon at her side.

“Poor thing!’ he said, hypocritioally, as he lifted her in
his arms,

This was to deceive the people who had now collected
on the spot,

“Ite you what itis, Joe,” said a sturdy blacksmith,
who had emerged from his shop near by, ‘don’t go to
coming any of your games over that little thing; if you
do, Pll report you to the police.”

“Report me, and why report?” inquired Rikert, with
an air of pretended innocence. ‘The girl belongs to me.
The poor thing was without home, and me take her to
take care of her. You can tell police that, and me know
they do nothing to me,”?

“You cannot deceive me,’? answered the blacksmith.
“I know what you did to that other poor, haif-starved
young one you had, and who died a few weeks ago. You
scarred her face all over with a hot iron before that, so
that nobody could have told she was the same one whom
you brought to your house one night, stolen, I dare say,
from its parents,

‘Me steall’? exclaimed Rikert, with an air of injured
innocence. “You make great mistake bout that, Meno
steal. The child me took from woman, who no want long-
er to take care of her. Same with this one—just the
same,”?

‘‘And how about scarring her face?’ said a polieeman,
who had been standing by.

“It not so,”? answered Rikert; ‘she fall one day on hot
stove, and that the way her face get scarred.”

The policeman stared hard at the speaker, Then he
looked Keenly at the little girl in the man’s arms,

“‘Weill,’? said he, as the child now opened her.eyes, ‘‘we
can all see how she looks, and we'll know if there’s any
change in her appearance after, and if there is,” he add-
ed, shaking his club in the face of the Portugese, “the
Nag shall be looked into, do you see, and you'll suffer

or it.

“Take me away from him—oh, take me away!’ was
heard issuing froin Fauny’s lips, as Joe carried her up
Stairs.

He now locked his door securely, and took the precau-
tion to fasten the window. He had seated the giri on tiie
floor, holding her hands up over her bruised face,

Fortunately, having fallen ona bundle of hay, one of
many which a neighboring groceryman was currying in-
to his shop, she had escaped severe injury.

“You will not’burn mel” she said, piteously to Rikert,
who had seated himself by the fire, glaring at the poker,
“No, you will not!? ‘

mies shrugged his shoulders, and uttered a grow! like
a bear’s,

“No,’”? he said, shortly, “I won't burn yon—that is, if
you no say nothing to anybody about me trying to,”?

“I promise,’? answered Fanny, almost beside herself
with terror. ‘I promise not to say anything about it.’

“Well, then, I won’t burn you,’ said Rikert.

But he scowled fiercely, and in his rage, stamped his
foot on the floor,

He had been backed in his purpose, which had been to
so burn the girl’s tongue and disguise her face, that she
coukl not speak, and would not be recognized by any per-
son who might previously have seen her. In faet the
blacksmith’s and policeman’s warning had been sufficient
to prevent the accomplishment of his cruel intention, the
result of which would be discovered by these men, should
he now ¢arry it out,

He walked the floor with rapid strides, now and then
glancing at his stick in the corner, and resolved to punish
wie A the child who had escaped the cruelty he had med-
itated.

It would not do now, however, to punish her; in fact
he doubted if it would ever do in this house, as the girl’s
cries would at once attract attention after what had
passed,

“Miserable jade!’ he cried, turning toward her, and
gnashing histeeth. ‘You will ruin me business, But me
pay you for it, yet,’’ he added, shaking at her his clenched
fist, ‘yes, me pay you yet.” “

[fO BE CONTINUED.

 

haa FO

Pearl of the Prairie;

SCOUT AND THE RENEGADE.

By Hon, W. F, Cody,

(BUFFALO BILL.)

 

[She Pearl of the Prairie” was commenced in No. 40. Back
Nos. can be obtain from any News Dealer in the United Btates.]

CHAPTER XXI,.
AMBUSHED. .

Slowly the hours passed to the watchers in the strong-
hold, but on the evening ofthe second day the approaching
band was discovered far off upon the prairie.

Instantly the stronghold became as quiet as possible,
and in an hour’s time the head of the column was as-
cending the steep pathway.

Bertram rode at its head, his face stern, scowling, and
wearing a cruel smile. The commandant of Fert Kearney
had refused to grant his terms, and he had returned to
wreak his vengeance upon Fred Hazleton.

“Well, fellows, what have you been about during my
absence??? said Bertram, as he reached the stockade
where stood Hard Shelland Pious Ned, who could jli
suppress the joy they felt at the anticipated surprise of
their former commander.

‘“‘We been behaving better than ever before in
lives,” significantly answered Hard Shell.

“Ill find out if you have,” retorted the chief, and then
he asked: ‘‘Has that deserting sergeant proved treaciier-
ous as did Antonio ?””

“Oh, no, sir! he’s allright, and he'll meet you on the
hill,” returned Pious Ned, who sincerely appreciated the
joke to be played upon Bertram.

Scowlingly the outlaw chief rode on, the last man
passed through the stockade entrance, the village plateau
was reached, and Bertram turned to ride toward his
cabin, when a deep roar burst from under the hill, and
echoed far and wide, A hundred voices uttered the war-
cry of the Pawnees, and a hundred rifies flashed torth
flames of fire, while numbers of the frightened renegades
fell from their horses, and those unkurt turned to fly—but
whither?

From every direction poured lines of painted savages,
from every quarter flashed deadly rifles, while above the
din rose the wild war-cry of Lone Star, the Scout.

Surprised, maddened, though Bertram was, his pres-
ence of mind did not forsake him, but on the contrary lus
courage arose, and the ruling thought in his mind was
revenge.

‘Treachery, by Satan!) he yelled, and then his stern
voice was heard crying: ‘‘Rally around me men! this
way! form fours and we’ll cut oar way out of this cursed
hole.”’

Trained to obey, his men rallied around him, a score in
number. Leading the way, Bertram charged back as he
had come, and ere his mad career could be checked he
cut through the lines that surrounded him and was dash-
ing widly down the pathway toward the stockade, his
men following rapidly behind him under the hot fire
Ga upon them by the pursuing Pawnees with Lone

tar at their head.

Coming up the pathway were Hard Shell and Pious
Ned, who had left the stockade to join the combatants on
the plateau. Observing them, and ere they eould turn
aside, the chief cried:

“Hal traitors! you shall diel’ and he fired full in the
face of the man nearest to him, who fell dead iu his
tracks.

It was Hard Shell, who had thus ended his days at the
hands of his betrayed ehief.

Another shot was fired at Pious Ned, but that worthy
nimbly scrambled out of reach, and the chief passed on
atone, for not one of his band lived to follow him. Lone
Star had sent shot after shot from his unerring rifle. after the
fugitives, and the few remaining followers of Bertram had
either fallen or cried for mercy. But no mercy was shown
them by the terribly aroused’ Indians, who soon turned
the battle into a massacre.

They had not forgotten the many warriors slain by the
renegades, or the indignity put upon the pride of their vil-
lage, the Pearl of the Prairie.

Suddenly a shrill, loud call was heard, a neigh amswer-
ing it, and Flying Arrow, with bridle-rein and stirrups
wildly flying, came whinnying through the crowd. He
had heard his maste1’s call for him and obeyed it,

In an instant Love Star was in the saddle, and the Paw-
nees scattered from his path like frightened birds, as he
dashed down the steep pathway in pursuit of the renegade
chief.

‘‘Pale-face scout catch chief he kill him,’? volunteered
Spotted Horse, trying his English on Fred Hazleton, who
stood near.

“Yes; I never beheld such amad rider, or a man so
fearless,” replied the young officer.

“Ugh!? was the answer of Spotted Horse, as he walked
away Lo count the scalps taken by his young warriors.

Fred Hazleton gave a few orders about the burial of the
dead, expecially regarding Hard Shell, and leaving Pious
Ned to attend to the matter, he walked toward the cabin
where he had left the Pearl of the Prairie, from whom he
had extracted a promise not to leave the shelter until after
the battle.

“Strange, and yetitis true, how thoroughly in love [
am with this Indian girl, I do not believe she is Indian.
Her features are too regular, her skin too white, in spite
of its deep sunburn, Anyhow, be she Indian or pale-face
girl, | love her, and if I can Vl] marry her. But what
will old Rupert say to my slighting his daughter? He'll
be as mad asa hornet, Lhave no doubt, yet l verily be-
lieve his danghter will be glad, for I have my suspicions
that she loves the Lone Star. And what will my proud
family and iny fashionable friends say to my marrying an
uptutored maiden? Whocares? I don’t. Iam the one
that will be doing the marrying, and a year or two of
schooling, a little polish, and the Pearl of the Prairie will
be a diamond of society.”

Thus soliloquizing, Fred Hazleton reached the cabin,
and was greeted by the Prairie Pearl, looking most lovely
as she raised her beautiful eyes to his,

“Well, my Indian Pearl,’ he said, taking her hand, ‘‘we

 

our

 

have been victorious; all of the renegades are either dead

 

|
|

al

 

 

2 ae

   

@