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‘ l Ifiil'itil‘EH-I'x-mini‘\Ilflimlflnllinii
June 4. HM.

"IN-III Ivan..u;..;m, H , . s ‘
Copyrighted, 188‘, by BnnLI nu! Alums. Eulerml at lhn Punt Off!" at New York, N. Y., M Second Clnu Mull Mum.

W“ No. 21.

Published Weekly by Beadle 3nd Adml, n L .t
ve ‘en a.

$2.50
No. 98 WILLIAM 81.. NEW YORK.

VOL II. I Year.

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S.


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£1
9

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Boy Blown;

.  The Queen of the Arena.
" BY FRANK s. FINN.

CHAPTER I.
A FALL FROM THE TRAPEZE.
THE village of Frenchville
was in a fever of vaitoment.
The good people of that town

 

 

 

 

woke up suddenly one mornin to find
barns, sheds, stables and every am] able por-
tion of the village covered with huge posters
and’flaring pictures, announcing that
‘ “,COPENIIAGEN‘S
MAMMOTH omens ‘ >
AND. 'Monnr. MENAGERIE!"

was coming. To the Frenchvillers this was
an excitement, and long did they gaze at the
cuts of the sylph-like beings who almost
seemed to float through the air, or dance like
feathers rustled by the wind. How the
mouths of the youngsters did expand, and
to what an extent were their eyes opened at

 

former, and never abettcr appeared in the
sawdust ring. A fearlessness in his acts
charmed and held spell-bound all his audi»
ence. So much for an introduction to our
heiio, whose adventures we are about to de-
tai .

The probession wound its way through
the village until it came to the lot upon
which the tent was pitched. _

The peri'm'mcrs Went to their dressing—
rooms to doll their clothes. While Henry
was putting on his coat, a young man, the
juggler of the troupe, approaching and tap

, ping him on the shoulder, whispered:

“ Conic outside. I have something:r to it'll

the monster pictorial of the daring man who i you."

was rash enough to place himself in the den 1

of lions, and feed these denizens of the forest
with raw meat. It was almost as good
as the show itself to see those youngsters
stare.

Older heads were not exempt from this
fever. Although the shopkeepers thought it
was wrong for a show to come and take all
the money but of the place and make their
business had, yet they were going with the
rest of creation, and their families were going
along with them. It wasn‘t every day a
circus was to be seen, and when the chance
did occur it was thought best to improve it.

The long-wishedfor day came at last, and
the trou‘ entered Freuehville inmagnifi-
cent sty e. They strove to hide their jaded
looks caused by a hard night’s travel over a
rocky road, where the jolting of the teams
was anything but conducive to sleep. The
cavalcade was very imposing, representing,
as it did, scenes in history, and the glittering
armor, polished helmets and battle-axes shone
in the sun, fairly dazzling the eyes that
gaZed upon them.

Among the members of that company was
a youth of some fourteen summers. Almost
too. handsome were his features for a. boy,
while his form was one whichmany a sculp-
tor would have been proud of for a model.
Dressed in the fine. tight-fitting suit of a
 e, and riding his horse easily and grace-

ul y, he was the most observed of ,all the
artists. He seemed born to the saddle, and
tohaye , such a gentle yet firm control over
his horse; that it kept splendid time,to the
music of the brass band.

'This lad’s name was llenry Needhurst,
but, upon the bills, he (was announeed as
Henri De La Forest. His grandfather. fa-

ther and mother, all had been Circus-per:

rformers in their day. and it was but natural
that he should follow in their footstc s. ;As
a rmg equestrian, he was not '3'. won er, and

et, as we have said, in the streot‘groeessic’m'

13' achieved great triumphs. His jemé‘was
that of a gymnast, acrobat and trapeze per-

 

Thc boy finished his toilet, and taking
his friend‘s arm, they sallied forth into the
street.

“Well, Charley," said Henry, “and what
is it that is so important and which cannot
be spoken aloud?‘

"Perhaps you think me foolish, but. I
would advise you to, keepa sharp lookout
for Murker."

I “ Why, what‘s the matter with him?“

' “Some one has told the boss of his being
drunk the other night, and he swears it was
you, and that he'll come up with you some
time.” . '

” It looks very likely that I should tell of
him.whenI saved him from being thrown
off cart and dashed to pieces.”‘

‘SQI tell him, but he will not be con-
vinced.” » - -

“ I‘ve no grudge against Marker. and I've
urged him often enough to reform. but he
has so often called.me a temperance twaddler
that of late I have desisted.” _ -

.“Wcll, remember I have warned you. By
the way; who puts up the trapeze you per-
form on ?”

“ Marker, of course."

“Then I caution on not to go through
your not until you have tried every rope
and bar of it. Murker means mischief,
and you will find it out if you are not care—
ful."

\ They had-now arrived at their hotel and
dinner being ready the two went to the table
and the conversatlon was forgotten.

This Murkerwas a man who had changed
his occu ation every little while. and had
wandered) from one city to another until he
had come across the circus and applied for
work and was accepted. Drink was his
greatest enemy, and had caused him many
a discharge from other places. He was a
driver .of one of the caravan cages, and it
was but a. ni ht or two previous that he had
takenmo‘re iquor than was good for him.
and. forgetting where he was, he let the
reins loose from his hands and would have

 

‘ worth two of that.

The Boy Clown. i i 8’

fallen to the ground had not Henr caught
him. The next day the manager card of
Murker’s fit, and gave him notice to leave
when his week was up.

Murker never stopped to inquire who was
the informer, but, 'umping at the conclu—
sion that it was lenry, vowed ven cance
upon the lad, and fearfully and terrib y was
it carried out!

On the same day that Henry and Charles
held their conversation, this Murker was
putting up and arranging the cages, and
gave vent to the following sentence, heard
only by himself:

“ Master Henry thinks himself a paragon
of goodness, does he? Maybe he considers
himself handsome, and that nobody has so
good a form as he? Wouldn’t I like to
have him here and put him in this tiger‘s
cage! I reckon that would spoil his beauty
for him. lle'd look nice with his face al
mangled and bloody! But, I know a plan
Put him in this cage and
he’d not live. long, but the other way he'll
not only live but sufier. And I'll do it. too.
The man or boy who thwarts me shall not
go unpunished. I’ll play the saint with him
and throw him off his guard. My act ac—
complished, then hey for California! The
people of Frenchville will see a performance
not in the bills. Where will their graceful
and agile gymnast be? Henry Needhurst,
better had you been coiled in the embrace
of one of the cobras than turned informer
on Archibald Murkerl“

Another person approaching him, and
drawing him into a conversation, brought
his soliloquy to an end. Had Henry heard
the remarks we have noted down, he would
have gone to his duty with less lightness of
spirit. and been more cautious in his pro-
ceedings. The afternoon exhibition took
place without anything happening, and, by
the time Henry was dressin _ for the evening,
the warning of his friend 0 arles had entire-
1y passed from his mind. ~

At that evening‘s performance it would
seem as if every village within ten miles of
Frenchville had emptied itself for the pur-
pose of witnessing the circus.

Henry’s grand act took place at nine
o‘clock, and about half an hour before that
time Marker began preparing the ropes and
bars upon which the young athlete was to
perform.

Most, if not all, of my readers have at-
tended the circus once, if not oftener, dur—
ing their lives, and will remember that
beautiful and graceful, though dangerous
part of the performance called the trapeze
act, where the performer goes through many
wonderful evolutions suspended in mid-air
:by means of these ropes and bars.

l

 

The person whose duty it is to superintend \

the arran‘ ement of the apparatus, who is to
see that t e ropes are strong and safe, that all
pins are driven firmly andvknots tied secure-
ly, has a great responsibility, for he literal]
holds the life of the actor in his han .
Murker knew this only too well, and a close
observer might have seen a devilish smile
playing upon his coarse features as he began
his preparations.

For a few moments only was he busy
straightening the cords and arranging the
various pulleys, but even in that short time
the fiendish Work was done.

Close down to one of the blocks through
which the supporting tackle was rove he ap-
plied the kcen edge of a small knife which
he held concealed in his hand, nearly sever-
ing the rope. A single strand alone remained,
strong enough to bear the more weight of
the young athlete, but which would be sure
to give way when the violent evolutions, such
as swinging or jumping from the upper to
the lower bar, began.

At length the ring-master announced the
“celebrated trapeze act, by Mr. Henri De
La Forest,” and Henry came bounding into
the ring, his fair young face all aflush with
the excitement of the moment.

A deafening shout of applause greeted
him, which he acknowledged by a graceful
bow, and then, grasping the pendent line, he
drew himself up, hand-over—hand, to the
cross—bar, upon which he seated himself.
Then began those truly wonderful feats that
had gained him such well—deserved renown.

Now swinging by his hands, then whirl-
ing over and over with amazing rapidity,
then again letting go all holds, he appeared
to be falling headlong to the earth, but sud-
denly catching his toes upon the bar, he
swung, head downward, from the giddy
hight.

Still the frail strand held, and darker and
darker rew the brow of the assassin, Mur-
ker. as. mm a secluded spot, he watched
the performance, cursing himself that he,
had not cut deeper into the rope. Round
after round of applause had greeted each
difficult act of the daring athlete, and now
hp pill-epares for the last and most dangerous
0 a . -

lie is to drop from the upper bar upon the
lower. catching as before upon his toes, but
this time While being swung back and‘forth
the full limit of the ropes.

The assistant below grasps the 00rd that
Henry has fastened to the bar and thrown
down to him, and with a strong am he

swings the trapeze back and forth, each '

time causing it to make a wider sweep.
Calmly and with folded arms, the young
actor sits upon the upper bar, waiting for'
/ ,

‘ \

\,-

 

‘4 i I ‘ TheBoy Clown.

 

the proper moment to make the dangerous

in a sound is heard throughout that
vast audience, as, leaning forward, they
gaze with all-absorbing interest upon the

scene.

Suddenly, quick as a flash of light, the
agile form is seen to dart downward, per-
form an evolution in mid-air, and then the
firmly-set toes catch upon the bar and ar-
rest the fearful fall. But only for an in-
stant. Even as the shout of applause is
hovering upon the lips of thousands, ready
for utterance, it is changed to a cry of horror
that is heard and taken up by those upon the
outside.

'A quick, sharp map is heard, the level
bar upon which the feet rest tilts upon one
side, and then, as though thrown from some
powerful engine, the boy athlete is hurled
outward and downward to the earth.

Screams rent the air. Women fainted.
The employees and performers rushed into
the ring and took the body up to carry it to
the dressing-room. The performance was
not allowed to proceed. Henr was a favor
ite with all, an tears gatherc in many an
eye as they grouped around that form lying
[so cold and still.

"Dead! dead!” wailed several of the
women.

'But there was one who not only said
“ Dead,” but added, “Mercilesst mur-
dared!”

CHAPTER II.
Jnssm, 'rnn wannnnn.

AFTER Murker had accomplished his ven-
geance, he slid down from his perch and
made his wayas fast as he cOuld through

V ‘ the streets of the village until he arrived at

a lonesome and dreary part of it, where he
saw a small cabin erected, and from which

'- the smoke was seen issuing. Here he paus-

ed, undecided whether to ask fer admittance
or continue on until he had separated him-
self many a mile from the circus; for he
‘ well knew that retribution would overtake
‘him were he caught, as he alone would be
held responsible for the breaking of the
rope; '
“ Little chance of their finding me here, I
reckon,” thOught he; “they’ll be off to—
a night, and I can easily escape tomorrow.
I No one saw me do it, but there’ll be enough
to suspect I had a hand in it, and suspicion
is proof too often. I’ll try this place, at all
events, and if refused shelter, I can but go
elsewhere. ”
r Carrying his plan into execution, he gave a
,loud ra at the door.
A ' ‘of about fourteen years of age opened
it. is girl, although dressed in the coarsest

 

of rainment, was very lovely. Her hair,
which was inky black, fell in massive waves
down her neck. Murker was astonished at
seeing so beautiful abeing in so homely a
hovel.

The girl ushered Murker into the kitchen
and offered him a chair. Although it was a
summer's night, there wasatire in the lit-
tle cooking-stove, and there was a pot upon
it from which came a scent as though herbs
were cooking. The room was very poorly
furnished, and the floor much worn in
many places. The only occupant of this
room, as the man and girl entered it, was a
decrepit old woman who was spinning, and
crooning some old song. As the stranger
entered, the woman looked up as if wonder-
ing what his errand could be at that time of
night.

“Grandmother is very deaf, sir, and
you will either have to tell me your mes-
sage or speak very loud to her,” said the
girl.

“Jessie! what are you talking with that

strange man for? What is his business?" ‘

asked the old woman.

Murkcr told the girl he desired a place to
stop during the night, and asked if he could
be accommodated there. Jessie repeated
this to her grandmother, and, although the
old lady was at first reluctant to accede to
the request, she was final] overruled in her
objections by the sight 0 the dollar which
he offered in payment.

Murker at once made himself at home,
and fell to talking with the old crone, while
the girl, Jessie, busied herself about the
room, singing to herself in a low tone while
so engaged.

Her voice was very sweet, and at once
caught the car of the visitor, who, from
having heard so much singing in his circus-
life, was a more than ordinary judge of what
was good or bad. -

For a few minutes he listened in silence to
Jessie, who was all unconscious of his ad-
miration, and then suddenly turning to her,
he said:

“ Come, birdie, you have a rare voice.
Give me a song, and perhaps I can find the
mate of the piece I gave your grandame for
you. ’

Jessie at first hung back, but resently
overcoming her timidity, she sung t e plain-
tive ballad of “ Auld Robin Gray," with rare
sweetness and good taste

At the conclusion, Murker applauded
loudly, and then, as if struck with a sudden
idea, he muttered, under his breath:

"By Jove! this is a prize! Let me but
manage to get this , al in my possession
and my fortune is ma 0. Then for a life of
frolic and fun, with plenty of money in my

 
  

,__.. ,s

 
  

     
 

N .a. .W.. ,4

The Boy Clown; E

 

ocket, and liquor in abundance whenever
‘vc a mind to, and no questions asked. It's
Worth the trial, anyhow.”

As if the fates were plotting against the;‘ thin vs? I'

innocent girl and in favor of the villain. the
old hag began a series of complaints about
the hard times, and the difficulty she had in
feeding two mouths.

“And now,” she continued, “my darter
Melissy Ann’s a~c0min’ to live along with
me, and there‘ll be three ’stcad of two to
look arter. And then, you see, sir, though
Jessie calls me grandma, and thinks she is
my gran'darter, she ain‘t neither kith nor
kin to me. Thirteen years ago, she was
left at my door, and ever. since I‘ve had the
rheumatiz she‘s been rale good to me. But,
I don't see no way of keepin’ her longer 'n
a week more, and then she’ll have to scratch
for herself.”

In this manner the old crone went on
grumbling, until at length Murker spoke:

“My good woman," said he, “I have a

lan by which I can take her oil' your hands,
if you will consent."

"Why, what on yearth would you be
.wantin‘ of the gal?" cried the old hag.

“ Never ou mind. She shall come to
no harm. t he shall dress like a lady. and

be one, too," and then, as if thinking he had V

better explain, he continued: “I will have
her taught to be a great singer. Come, now,
what say you? I will give you twenty
bright new dollars, and take her off your
hands. Shall it be a bargain?”

“ Twenty dollars! That’sa heap of money,
and I’d never want for snuff or ’baccy.
Twenty dollarsl”

And thus, despite the tears and entreaties
of the helpless girl, the cruel bargain was
com leted.

“ ill you, can you, grandmother, send
me away with this man, of whom you know
nothing?” she asked, with tears streaming
down her face.

But the sight of the clinking coin was too
much for the old woman. She clutched the
money in her skinny fingers, and turned a
deaf ear to the girl’s prayers.

“Then hear what I have to sa ," said
Jessie, no longer weeping, but with icr eyes
flashing with anger and determination. “I
will not go with this man] "I would far
rather beg upon the highway than place my-
self in his power!" '

“ Hullo! young miss! I reckon you’ll stop
that nonsense when once you go with me!”
exclaimed Murker, coarsely.

“ Perhaps I may when I do go with on,
but that time will never come,” answere the
higlt'ilspirited young girl.

it rout paying further attention to Jessie,
Marker turned to the old woman.

“A bargain is a bargain," he said.
“You’ve got your money, and I take my
chance of retting the girl. Where are her

Ill just fix them up in a bundle
han v to carry.”

“ The gal's things are in that closet.
"ll‘ain’t much she's got, but they‘re’all in
t iar. '

Murkcr opened the door indicated, and
went into the closet when, quick as thou ht,
Jessie banged the door upon him and loc ed
it, taking the key with her.

This done, she rushed from the but and
fled away, she scarce knew or cared whlthcr,
so that she escaped from the power of the
villain she so much feared.

Where to go she knew not. She possess-
ed not a friend, even an acquaintance, other
than the old woman with whom she had so
long lived, in the whole world. But with a
brave heart she pressed forward until, at
length, utteer wearied out, she was on the
point of seeking a spot by the roadside
where she could sleep, when she saw a
number of wagons, drawn by horses, ap-
proaching.

Here, at least, she thought she might ob-
tain shelter and protection. and so waited
until they had come up.

In the mean While Murker, when he found
‘himself so cleverly caught in a trap, rappEd

many an oath, upon the old woman to let
him out.

But even had she been able to have reach-
ed the closet-door she could have aflorded no
assistance. for it will be remembered that
Jessie had taken the ke ; and Murker, get-
tin ' desperate, threw his weight against it.
an burst the fastenings.

With an oath he rushed from the place,
but had just passed into the larger room,
when a well-directed blow. dealt by some
unseen hand, felled him to the floor.

CHAPTER III.
A NIGHT ON THE ROAD.

BUT Henry was not dead, althou h life
was held by the thinnest fiber. and t was
some time before he opened his eyes to stare
upon a horror-struck crowd gathered around,
and gazing on him. He strove to move.
but it gave him agony to do so, and, as they
endeavored to lift him up, a pierceing scream
came from him, that penetrated the hearts
of those around him. ‘

Many a rayer went up in petition for '
that lad‘s li e, and they were heard and an-
swered.

“Ah, Mary!" said one of the women.
“there are many who believe that , ople -
in our profession never think of a higher

and better world than this. And I‘ve

 

 

and battered away at the door, calling. with -. K

 

Q The Boy Clown.

 

even seen in amagazinc that the perform-
ers inacircus are called ignorant and de~
rad "

g “Well, well, Sallie, let them talk. I be-
lieve, and I know you do too, that—we have
as near a right to heaven as they," answered
another.

“Whoever did this awful deed—for we
have found where the rope is cut—deserves
to swing for it. It‘s next to a miracle that
Henry wasn’t killed outright. i don't see
What saved him, falling, us he did, from so
great a hight.” .

“Yes, it was, indeed, next to a miracle,”
the woman said. “By some clmnce or
other the carpet, generally laid in the ring
for ‘ground and lofty tumbling‘ had not
been taken up, and this, in a measure,
thwarted a villain‘s lans."

‘ The physician 0 the village arrived in
good time, and aftera great deal of flourishes
and asking of questions not applicable to the
subject, proceeded to examine luspatient,
whom he pronounced to be badly, though
not dangerously hurt. At first he looked
upon the proposition of thc lad‘s going on
with the troupe as utterly impracticable.
But when he was told that there were skillful
nurses who would care for him, he finally
gave his consent, and preparations were at
once begun to render the journey as easy as
possible.

Alurgo feather-bed was placed in one of
the smoothest—going wagons. a careful driver
was detailed, and the Wounded boy‘s friend,
Charles, assumed the duty of watcher and
nurse by his side.

Everything possible was done, and then
the tron e started on their night journey.

The distance to the next town or “station.”
Where they had to perform on the following

' day, was some five-and-twenty miles, and as
they had got a late start it required steady
,rdriving so as to be up in time for the “grand
entree,” which. by many of the country
people, is considered the best part of the
show.

 country over which the caravan was
passing was fortunately level, and possessed

roads, though much of the way led
t ough dense forests. where, beneath the
over-arching trees, the darkness Was very

de'tip.

be precession was passin through one
of these woods, when, sudden y, the leaders
of the first van shied violently at something
on the roadside, and refused to advance, the
while snorting excitedly.

The driver leaped quickly to the ground,
having given. the reins to his companion, and
cautiousl advanced toward an object he
faintly d seemed crouching at the foot of a
large tree. A

 

‘ lightnin’."

A moment after he was bending ever the
form of Jessie, who, almost fainting with
fatigue. had sunk to the earth justas the

agon came up.

“Why, bless me; what have we here?"
exclaimed the man, raising her in his arms.

In a few words, broken b sobs, Jessie

told her story, and, in a timi voice, asked
for protection.

“And that '011 shall have, little one," rc—
plied the kint hearted man. “The villain,
to drive a poor girl from her home. By
Jinks! she sha'u‘t go back to the old hag if
[can prevent it. She‘s handsome enough,
as far as I can see, to make a pietcr in the
procession, and [’1] bet the manager-'11 be
glad of the chance. 1'” see."

This he accordingly did, and the manager,
with a quick eye to business, saw that it
would prove a good speculation, and at once
gave his consent.

The women were awakened, and Jessie
was given in their charge. and she, having
gone through such unusual fatigue and ex-
citement, was soon buried in profound
slumber, while the long train moved on

through the silent forest toward its dcstina,

tion.

As the night grew older 3. bank of black.
uugry~lookiug clouds loomed up in the
West, and presently the low muttering of
thunder came borne upon the l'rcshcning
breeze.

“()ld Jake," the man who had first dis-
covered Jessie. and afterward persuaded the
manager to take her along with the troupe,
predicted a storm, and no light one, before
morning.

Jake was one of the “characters” of the
company, an odd but kind-hearted man.
and Was universally liked and respected by
his assooiates. He always had a good story
to tell to pass away a tedious hour, and a
willing heart to assist any one who might
be in distress.

't This ’ere have been a night of adven-
ture,"he said, “and I misses my guess if
something more out of the usual don’t hap‘
pen aforc we gets to next station. You see
three is allus a lucky or onlucky number, as
the case may be; and when two things, out
of the usual, you know, happens in one
night, or day, either, thar’s sart’in to be an-
other to make up the third. Now there‘s
that boy Henry—God bless Milt—and Old
Nick take the villain Mu—but I won‘t
mention no names—he comes first. Then
there‘s the gal we picked up; she comes
second—and mark what I says, there’ll be
somethin’ else afore mornin’. What a row
there'll be among the aniinilcs when this
storm breaks! They don‘t like thunder and

 
   

   

     
 

.,.-vfi._»¢ ’..-. w . .. I

The Boy Clown. 9

 

The rain falling in huge drops put a stop
to his joking.

The storm was coming with all its fury,
and, ere long, the rain poured down in a
perfect deluge: Lightning flashed and play-
ed around the caravan, making the party
look like witches springing from the dark-
ness of that inky black night. The thunder
was heavy and frightful to heat.

The animals, maddened b the sounds
of the tempest outside, walked up and
down the limits of their cage, howling and
lashing their tails in rage at being thus con-
fined

The women huddled together, and at
every glare of lightning, peal of thunder, or
cry of the infuriated beasts, Would eower
down and tremble.

The men worked with all their power to
get their poor horses along, but, even these
animals had given way to fear.

And yet. through all this fearful din, the
young gymnast lay dreaming sweet dreams
of other days, while his watcher kept his
vigil silent] ', Well knowing that, should his
patient awa e and find him absent from his
post, it would sorely grieve him.

One of the women woke. Jessie up and
asked her how she could sleep in such a
tempest, but the girl said she was used to
storms, and that she loved to hear the thun-
der, for it lulled her to sleep, and man a
night had she lain in a cave by the sea is-
tening to its wild music.

The ' thought she was a strange child, and
tremb ed again as the lightning illumined
the sky.

Fiercer and fiercer raged the storm.
Faces and forms were undistinguis'hable, save
when revealed b the lightning, and then
onl ' shown to be hidden again in the black
pal. of the night.

Still, through all, the caravan toiled slowly
along. There was no time to halt, for there
was a duty to perform, and they must per-
form it or entail heavy loss upon the man-
ager. .
While the storm was at its very hight, the
train, leaving the open country over which
it had been passing for some time, again en-
tered the forest, at the foot of a. long hill,
over which the road wound.

The wearicd horses toiled painfullv‘ up
the steep grade, and at length reached the
level summit, where a halt was called to al-
low of a momentary rest before commencing
the almost equally difficult descent upon the
other side.

Upon either side of the road the tall forest
trees lifted their heads, their long arms
reaChing far out over the road, in some
plpees meeting and interlacing one with the
ot ier. ‘

It was in such a place that the vans con
taining the animals Were halted. '

1f the storm was violent in the valley be~
low, it was found to be much more so upon
the summit of the ridge, where the wind,
having full sweep, roared and crashed amid
the timber with fearful fury.

“Whew! what a night! And 'ust listen
to them animiles," said old Ja e, as he
crouched upon the box and drew his water-
proof more closely about his erson.

He certainly had cause or the last re-
mark.

EVen above the din of tlmnder. as peal
after peul, with hardly an instant‘s intermis-
sion, rolled from out the black, livld space
above, the horrid yells and screeches of the
animals, well-nigh maddened with terror,
could be heard.

“ I don‘t like the looks of that tree yon-
der," said Jake, pointing to an enormous
oak, whose leafless branches, seen by a
lightningtlash, told of the decay that was
sa ping its strength.

he words were scarcely out of his mouth
before a blinding tiash. instantly followed
by a report like that of a heavy piece of
ordnance discharged close by, told the
watchers that the bolt had struck in their
immediate vicinity.

“ Great Heavens! See there!" shouted the
watchful old man, pointing wildly toward
the dead oak. ‘ '

A quick, sharp snapping of seasoned wood
was heard, a louder crash, and then they
saw, by the fitful gleam of the lightning. the
great tree rushing earthward, and directly
across the panther’s cage, that unfortunately
stood in its nth.

With a cafening‘ roar, the might tree
struck the earth, but, fortunately, on y the
near end of the van was touched, but this
was cut ofl' almost as smoothly as though it
had been done with ax and saw. ‘

The panther, a huge and exceedingly
fierce animal of its kind, finding himself at
liberty by the destruction of its cage, although
sorely frightened, sprung from the opening.
and, with a roar of mingled terror and de-
light, bounded away into the surrounding
darkness. -

The situatiOn now became frightful, and
the alarm spread rapidly along the line.
The animal was known to be exceedingly
fierce, and it might reasonaby be expected
that it would soon recover from its moment-
ary fright and attack whatever might chance:
to attract its hungry gaze.

Besides this the other animals, especially
the large tiger and cage of lions, already
maddened by the storm, had, on hearing
the peculiar yell of the panther as he fourd
himself free, become entirely uncontrollable,

 

 

 

 

.‘a‘fAil‘fi—
V,‘w—_ w, ..,

 

e “ ' a The Boy clown.

 

and were using every effort to force their

1 dens.

Such flrearnis as were in the company
were be(knickly produced, and the men dis-
tribu alon the line of wagons to pre-
vent an attac upon the horses until the
broken van could be put in condition to be
taken forward.

Old Jake and his “ pardner” were stand-
ing beside their van, the former holding a
cocked pistol in his hand, talking over the
singular event that had just transpired.

“You see how it is. I knowed that the
third thing was bound to happen, and
now—”

Then abruptly pausing; as thou h struck
b a sudden thought, e as end enly ex-
0 'med:

“ Great Heavens! the boy; He is wound
ed and bleedin' yet, it ma , and that beast
will scent him a mile 0 . Stay here, Ned!
I must see to this!” and Without pausing fur-
ther, the brave old fellow ran rapidly back
to where the canvas-covered wagon that
contained Henry had halted, directly be-
neath a wide-spreading tree, whose thick
branches served in some manner to shelter it
from the driving rain.

As he approached the spot, a broad glare
of li htning momentarily lit up the scene,
and, instinctivel glancing up into the dense
foliage overhe he beheld a sight that al-
most trified him with horror.

In t at brief moment while the lightning
lasted, he saw the panther crouched upon
a limb directly above the canvas-covered
wagon. and just in the act of making his
spring! .

mck as thought he leveled his pistol, and
we ted for the next flash so as to make cer-
tain of his aim.

A moment later it came, blinding in its
intense brightness. and, as once before that
night accompanied by a crash of thunder so
powerfully load that he was stunned for an
mstant.

He saw the bright bolt as it lea ed from

the bosom of the black cloud, an darting

downward with inconceivable rapidity, bury
itself amid the dense foliage of the tree—top

.near which he stood. He heard the rending

of splintered wood, and instantly thereafter
adark object was hurled downward, striking
the earth almost at his very feet.

It was the dead body of the panther,

‘I', killed by the lightning which had struck the
. use: .

 

, ‘ CHAPTER IV.
m. nor cmwx AND ran annexes run
, v hams. ’
A man had now elapsed since the incident

in the last chapter occurred. Time has

\

 

brought its changes to our group of char‘
acters.

Again the scene of our story is in the
arena, where the crashing of the band, more
noisy than melodious, the clapping of hands,
the shoutings and bravos, rove thata tri<
umph has been achieved. oung girl has
gone through the ordeal of a rat appearance
in the ring, as an equestrienne, and has
passed it, nobly. ‘

“What beauty, grace and ele ance she
has!” is the exclamation of one an all.

Behind that curtain of rough canvas stood
one whom the fair young debutante was
more anxious to please than the crowded as-
sembly, and, when he clasped her hands,
and told her that she was, indeed, the Queen
of the Arena, a brighter color rlowed on her
cheek, and a more powerful 'auty passed
over her countenance

“Ah! Henry." exclaimed the girl, “this
Wit, to me, has long been a dreaded one.

0 could have guessed that, a year ago
tonight, I should now be a member of this
troupe, and that you would be the first one
to congratulate me on my triumph?"

“ You know not how happy it makes me
to do so, dear Jessie," replie our hero, with
a bri rht smile and hightened color.

“I ow strange, how very strange it all
seems,” said the young girl, musingly.
“This night. one year ago. they took me
from the roadside, a wanderer without home
or friends. And now I, have both, and am
80 .N

“ god, grant you may ever be so," said the
Boy Clown, for he was now dressed in the
points and bells, his remarkable talent in
that line having been discovered and quickly
developed by the shrewd manager.

Besides, I enry had taken a stron dislike
to the trapeze since that eventful nig t when
the villain, Marker. had sent him to the
earth, crushed and bleeding, and so it fell
out that the change was a very agreeable one
to the young performer.

“Oh! was not that a terrible night, that
of the storm, when the anther got loose?"
continued Jessie. “An to think how nar-
rowly on escaped, for your old friend Jake
says t at a moment more and the fierce
beast would have torn his way through the
canvas covering," and the girl shuddered at.
the memory. .

“Truly. I was in the hands of a good:
Providence that night," replied the Boy
Clown.

The snapping of the ring-master‘s whip,
and the cal from his voice of “ This way,
Mr. Merryman,” here interrupted the con,-
versation, and Master Henry, popping his:
head from the opening of the canvas, ex-
Cmms.z~ ,

r . The Boy Clown. 9

 

._._._,._ . ,.._.

“ Do you want the whole of me, or only
my brains, which I notice you are sadly in
need of?” The audience stamp and shout,
and ell'with delight.

“ ell, Mr. Ring-master, here I am; and
now what do you want of me?"

“I desire you to try to make a fool of

ourself.”

“ You had better do it.
have to try at all."

“ What’s that you say, sir?" with a snap
of the whip.

“I was merely remarking that I knew of
a young lad who would like to have you
for a husban very much."

“ How‘s that ‘2"

“Oh! I offered myself to her once, and
she refused, on the ground that she had re-
gistered an oath on the dictionary that she
wasn’t going to marry until she had seen the
biggest dunce in the country." ’

“ Well, air, and do you mean to imply
that I am that dunes?"

“ Can‘t say, precisely; only the other day,
you told me to go to the deuce, and then
wanted to know why I didn‘t come to you
when you called.”

“ You are an aggravating youngster, and
your saucincss nearly drives me out of my
senses.”

“That’s a very short drive, and wouldn't
require a very fast horse to go it with."

“ I tell you what it  if you use any more
of your insults. I'll swallow you alive.”

“You can‘t do it}:

“ Can’t? And why not, pray?"

“I'd hold on to your mustache as I was
goin down, and try to save myself.”

“ ‘11 shave it off.“

“ Then I suppose I must yield to fate; but
it will be a benefit to you."

“ How so?" ‘

“Why, you'd have more brains in our
stomach than you ever had in your he .”

It takes but little to make a country au-
dience laugh, and, if the clown can but get
the best of the ring-master, he is pretty sure
of being successfu .

Another rider now came upon the scene,
and every one’s gaze was riveted upon him,
for he was performing the scene of the
“Wild Indian ”—a performance which al-
most always is a “ sure card” with the circus
fraternity.

While this act was being gone through
with, Hen had a chance to look around
the vast get ering, and he endeavored to see
if there were any faces familiar to him.
There was one he knew too well, and, for a.
moment, the sight almost took away his
breath.

It was Murkerl .

He was there for no good, evrdently. Yet.

You wouldn't

I

 

was it not akin to putting his neck intoa
halter to thus place himself in Henry’s
power?

But, Murker had not come unprepared to
make good his cause. No one had seen him
out the re e on that fearful night; only posi-
tive proo could convict him, and that they
did not have.

But the performance is rogressin ,and
Murker’s eyes are fixed stem fastly on Jessie.
who is again in the ring, leaping over ban-
ners, flying like a spirit in the air, and then
sitting on her noble steed, while gracefully
acknowledging the applause so lavishly be-
stowed upon her.

The entire act over, the Boy Clown is
again at his part, jesting and 'okmg, and re-
marking on the topics of the (lay, sometimes
in rather a caustic manner, but his hits are
well made, and the people take them in good
part.

With reckless hardihood, Murker had
made his way behind the curtain that sepa-
rated the dressing—room from the arena, and
just at the proper moment for his desi us.-
folrf the first person he met was Jessie er-
se .

As the young girl caught sight of the
lowering countenance of the man she so
much dreaded, she started back with a slight
exclamation of alarm.

“ So you seem to remember me," said
Murker sneeringly. “Well, it is a good
thing that you do; I’ve come for you.”

“ You‘ve come for me?” repeated Jessie, as
though she had not heard aright.

“ Yes—come for you. Ain’t the words
plain enough? Go an’ get your traps and
prepare to leave this place,” said the tuition,
coarsely.

“ Never!" replied the girl, with flashing

es.

“Won’t you? Well,wc’llseeabout that!"
Several of the performers, attracted by
the loud talking. now gathered round. and
as more than one of them were with the
circus when the accident to Henry had oc-
curred, Murker found himself surrounded by
lowering faces, and heard mutterings that
boded no good to himself.

“What is this disturbance?" asked one of
the men. “And you. sir, how dare ou
show your face inside the canvas, much ess
the dressin -room?"

Murker s runk under the keen gaze and
stern tones of the actor, but he braced him-
self and answered boldly: ‘

” I‘ve come here to claim my daughter,"
and he pointed, with outstretched arm, to
Jessie.

“Your daughter! Impossible!” were 4
heard on every side from the astounded
crowd.

9?

 

 

 

 

Z stontly.

" this trifling!

410 The Boy Clown. .

 

“It is false!" cried Jessie, drawing back
with every appearance of disgust and dislike
in her manner. “ It is false! He once gave
the old woman with whom I lived twenty
dollars for her consent to take me away.
That failing, he now comes with this in-
famous story," and the young girl turned
awa with a visible shudder.

“ hat have you to say to this, sir?” stern-

. ly asked the actor who had been spokesman.

“She denies your claim, and we believe her,
and the sooner you—"

" But I have the proofs! I have the
proofsl'esgerly exclaimed Murker. “She
8 my child, and there is no power to prevent
my taking her from this place."

“Then produce your proofs,” said the
actor, “and see that they are proofs, or it
may fare the worse for you. We know you,
'an I think there is not one present but who
would be lad of the chance to give you a
sound drub ing.”

“ They shall be forthcoming at the pro ,r
moment." Then. turning to Jessie, Mur or
continued: “ It is useless for you to resist.
Your mother is dead, and you are left an
heiress. Your property will be in my
char-fix
“ e story bears falsehood on its face.
But, if it is true, take the money—all of it——
use it' as you like; anything so that you
leave me in peace and ta e your hateful per-
son from my sight." .

“You go with me.” replied Murker.
“ You may as well give in.” Then
drawing nearer, so that his words might be
heard only by the girl, he hissed in her ear:

,“ You want to stay so that you can be near

Henry.” V

“And if I' do? He is my friend, which
is far more than I can say for you, even
though you are myfather,“ said J easie, with
infinite scorn.

“It is to sever you from this love-sick

outh that I came. I hate him! Do you

car? I hate him."
- “ Have you not done him injury enough
already?”

“It matters not. He has wronged me,
and I never forget an injury. But, cease
I have proofs with me that
you are my lawful daughter, and the law
gives me control of your person. Will you
go guietl , or must I use force? Speak

ui: ly; have no time to waste." and

e brute glanced triumphantly around the

group. . _
. At this moment the curtain was drawn
aside, and another person appeared upon

« the scene.

> It was the Be Clown. The assassin was
fin face to see with his intended vic-

CHAPTER V.
'rms VILLAIN‘s TRACKS.

BACK into the past we must now retrace
our steps, to where. just one year ago, we
left Murker l in , stunned by the unknown‘s
blow, upont e oor of the old dame‘s cot-

tagle.

he stroke, dealt by a strong and willin
arm, had fallen upon the villain’s bare hea
with terrific force, and had hurled him,
senseless to the earth.

“By me sowl, but I helave I‘ve kilt the
vill'in intirely!" were the words that fell
upon the wounded man’s car as he came
back to sense and feeling. “ If ye are (lead,
why the divil don‘t ye say so, and not he
throuhlin‘ folks to fetch ye around ‘3" and, for
the third or.fourth time the speaker, a stout
Irish lad, dowsed a tin dipper full of water
upon the already saturated victim.

Stru gling to his feet, Murker glared
savage y around, and catching sight of the
Irish boy, he made toward him in a hostile -
attitude.

“Oh, be the powers, ain’t ye got cnou h
of it? Well, thin, come on, an’ by t.
Pathrick, but I'll feed ve wid me buck-thorn
till yer belly's full. Whoop, now! an’ have
at ye!"

But Murker had got enough, and when he
saw the shillalah whirling about in the air
he quickly retreated behind where the old
crone sat, and put up both hands for quar-

r.

“ Hold off, you young devil," he said. “I
want no more thumps on the head. Why
did you strike me at all?"

“An‘ it‘s why did I sthrikc ye? Well,
‘pon me sowl, but ye’re a cool one! Wasn’t
ye a-cavortin' around jist, nn‘ liattherin’ the
ould woman‘s shanty all to smithcrcens,
and warn‘t the poor crathur a-yowlin' bloody
murder as hard as iver she could pelt?
And waru't your ugly top‘knot the first one
I see?”

“And so you struck me simply because
my head was the most convenient thing
about?“ asked Murker, in a rage.

“Jist listen till him! how he guesses!
Ye‘ve hit it, by Saint Pathrick! But ye‘ll
betther be a-bathin‘ iv it an’ stop waggin'
your jaw while I give the ould dame the
bit iv a letther I‘ve fetched."

For several minutes the Irish lad fumbled
in his various pockets and rents in his gar-
ments, and then suddenly bethinkin him-
self of his but he snatched it off, an , from
the lining thereof, produced a letter.

"There, ye divil! I’ve found 0 at last!"
he exclaimed, holding the missive toward
the old crone, who, seemingly not under-
standing it was for her, made no motion to

 

take it.

The Boy Clown.

11

 

“Here’s a lctthcr for ye, ould woman,
and mavbe there's a fortin’ inside iv it for
yees. llould on, ye spalpeen!" he con-
tinued. turning fiercely upon Marker, who
had reached out his hand to take the packet,
“The lctther‘s for the ould woman, an’ not
for the like iv 0.”

With trembling, palsied hands the old
dame opened the letter, and then letting it
fall upon her lap, gazed helplessly upon it.
as though waiting for it to speak.

“And 0 can't rade, is that it? No more
can I, ha luck to the schoolin’ I niver got.
0h, rnurtherl but it‘s beautiful to be able
to rade writin‘ whiniver ye loiks. and the
man tould me that the ould dame must
have the letther right away Maybe it's
yerself that can rade, ye backguard?" he
said, turning abrupt] to Murker.

The latter declare that he could, and the
letter was handed to him.

At first the man read carelessly, cvident~
1y wishing to get through with the task as
soon as possible; but present] he began to
manifest more interest, and be ore the con-
clusion his whole manner became excited,
his dull eyes kindled; astonishment, in-
credulity and triumph, each in turn. dwelt
upon his countenance. By a strong effort,
however, he managed to su press his feel-
ings, but not, however, an eiently soon to
escape the keen eye of the Irish lad, who
exclaimed:

“Be the sowl iv me grandmother! but
yeeslook as if the letthcr was for yerself,
and not the ould womanl”

With a hand trembling under the strange
excitement caused by the letter, Murker
handed the missive back to the crone.

“ A lucky blow that will prove to me if I
can only carry the plan out," he muttered
to himself. “Strange chance, and to think
that it should turn up here after all these
years. Now, then, my fine fledgling, it will
go hard but I cage you, and once caught,
then to strike for the greater prize. But I
must get that letter; it may be needed."

A few minutes later the Irish lad depart-
ed, leaving Murker at the cabin.

With him out of the way it was an easy
matter to purloin the letter, and this being
done, he likewise left to immediately com-
mence his search for Jessie, whom it was now
all-important he should possess, as on that

, possession depended the success of his newly
and scheme.

The young girl in her flight had left no
trace behind by which he might obtain a
elew to her whereabouts.

It never once occurred to him to look
amid the followers of a traveling circus for
the girl he sought.

He knew her to be totally without

 

friends, never once admitting the possibility
of an overruling Providence raising them
up for her in the hour of need; and so, trust-
ing to a first impulse. he sought out the large
cities, and there began the search in earnest.

There must have been some very powerful
reason actuating the man to such unusual
labor and expense.

It was morally impossible that Marker had
fallen in love with the mere child, and it
was not at all likely that any feeling of re-
venge for what she had subjected im to.
would furnish cause sufficient to impel this
persistent pursuit.

For months Murkcr persevered in the
seemingly hopeless task, never flagging or
growing despondent, but always ener ctical,
hopeful, as though he felt sure of u timate
success.

On several occasions he fancied the right
clcw had at last been found, and each time
he scarcely slept or eat until he had exhaust-
ed the thread that he had been following
only to find that it had led him wrong.

he man's tenacity of purpose was truly
wonderful, and clearly showed how deeply
important he considered the discovery of the
young girl.

At last he chanced to stumble, by the
merest accident, upon the right trail, and, .
like a well-trained hound, he took the scent
and was ofl.’ for the far-away place when she
was said to have been seen.

One night, while sitting in a low groggery
in one of the great eastern cities. a rou h- '
looking man came in, and all other tubes
being occu ied by parties engaged in drink-
ing or car playing, he took a chair on the
opposite side of the one at which Murket
was seated, and called loudly for his drink.

For some time the man drank silent] ,
but Murker observed that every time 8
raised his glass to his lips he would glance
furtivcl at him over the edge.

80 o ten did this occur that Murker, who
was irritable and cross, finally said, snap-
pishiy:

“ hope you’ll know me the next time you
see me. You ought, anyway.” r

“Beg yer parding, comrade!" said the
man, good—naturedly. ” but, yer see, as how
] knows that mug 0‘ yourn, though, cuss it
all, I can’t place yer.’

“Well, sir, if you do know me, which I
doubt, that is no reason you should stare a .
man out of countenance!” exclaimed Mur-
lter. while a dark scowl settled’upon his

ace.

“Thar! I know yer now b that grum<
my look onto yer han'some‘p izahogomy.
Yer Marker,” said the man, in high lee.

“W311, and if I am, what then?” nquired
Marker, uneasily. -

 

 

5 z

 

 

' the boy hurt hisself.

‘took a likin’ to her from the start.

' canvas-man.

18

“Nothin’ pertiokeler, only it was funn
that I should come a ‘in’ you here. Dont
reekoleck me, eh? ell, I knows you.
Mebby yer don‘t mind the night as little
Henry was hurted by that rope a-brealct'n' on
the tra eze." .

“W at have I to do with that?“ said
Murker, gloomily. “Who are you?"

“Dillson, canvas-man with the Copen—
hn n Circus. l left it ’way down South.”

' tfirst, Murker was reserved, not feeling
sure of the man Dillson's true sentiments
toward him; but, as glass after glass of li-
quor was drank they grew more and more
intimate.

Dillson had been telling him of events that
had transpired since he (Murker) left the
com ny.

“ 6 had rare good luck one night, by
George! It was the werry night as you—as
e was travelin‘ to
next station, and a awful storm a—blowin'.
when, all at onc’t old Jake‘s leaders shied
at somethin’ on the roadside, which some-
thin’ turned out to be as han’somc a young
gal as ever yer seen. Well. the manager jess

and
’twan’t lon before she was the favorite of
everybody in the troupe. I never see a gal
l’arn to ride like that ‘un! She seemed like
as if it was nateral for her to be a-settin' or
standin’ on the pad, and though she ‘ain't
been in the company quite a year yet, she
can jump a banner, bu’st a balloon, or take
the big hurdles ’long with the best of ‘em."

{At the first mention of the girl, Murker
waswide awake, and full of eager curiosity
to learn more.

, “What is her name?" he asked. almost
breathlessly.

“ "'hy, man, what's the matter? Nothin',

.ehf? Well yer look like a good deal was the

matter. What do yer want to know the gal’s

.name for?" and the man looked keenly at

his companion. ,

“ Pshawi Hang it, there's' nothin’ in it!
Ain't it natural that an old member of the
company should want to know all about
what’s goin on, and who does it?"

“The gal’s name is/Jessie,” growled the
“She's a sweet critter, and
the vill’in as would do her hurt had better
keep clear of the company, that's all."

, But Murker had heard all he wanted, and
scarcely waiting to settle his score at the bar,
he was away. , . \

That night, he boarded a Southern-bound
train, and in five days stood in the town

‘ v where the circus had performed some weeks

before.
Here be satisfied himself of the correct-

, ness‘of his surmisos by obtaining minute

description of Jessie, and then pushing for-

.‘g . w

The Boy Clown.

 

ward in the track of the caravan, he finally
overtook it at the town where we left him,
in the dressing-room of the circus, con~
fronted by the youth he had so injured,
and whom he was preparing to deal a yet
more deadly blow.

CHAPTER Vl.
PLANNING AN ESCAPE.

“ WELL, Murker,“ exclaimed Henry,
“ what do you want here? Would you like
to make another attempt on my life?"

“ I don’t know what you mean," answered
Murker; “ I have come to claim my daugh-
ter."

“ Your daughter?
like to know?”

“Would you. indeed? Then your high-
ness shall be gratified. She stands beside

5’

Where is she, I would

you.

“What! Jessie?“

“Yes, Jessie."

“I can not believe him, Ilenry," spoke
up Jessie; “and et, he says he has proofs
that I am his chil ."

“If he has proofs, which I am much in-
clined to doubt, let him produce them," an-
swered Henry.

“You shall see whether I cannot make
my claim good. If you feel inclined to lis-
ten to my story, Iwill narrate it to you,"
replied Murker. : '

“ Proceed "

“Fifteen years ago, I fell in love with a
lady whose parents were wealthy, and, as l
was poor, they looked upon my suit as an
unfavorable one; but, the lady loved me. so
that [cared little about gaining their con-
sent. We met clandestinely for over a year.
and our love for each other was honest, true
and pure. I begged of her parents to be—
stow their child upon me, but they were
deaf to all my entreaties. Finding that it
was useless for us to sue further, we eloped
and were married. We lived happily fora
couple of years, and had a child born to us
—Jessie here; but, I took to drink, and,
though I am almost ashamed to say it,l
treated my wife illy. One night. I came
hometo find my wife had fled from me.
taking the child with her. From that day
until last year, I lost all trace of them, but
this letter comes from the parents of my
late wife; I will read you a few lines of
it. ’ «

He took from his pocket 3. large letter.
and read a portion of it. It was addressed
to the old woman in whose char eJessic
had been left, and told that the chi d's mo-
ther was dead; that before her death, her

 

parents had repented of their harshness, and,

.35

 

 

wishin to atone for it as best they could,
desire to make Jessie their heiress, and that
if her father were living he would be re
ceived as their son.

It was all a mystery to llenry, and he re.
garded it with incredulity.

“This does not go to prove that Jessie is
your child," llenr ' said.

“Just look at he letter, and see the hits
band's name written out—Archibald Mur-
ker—and I believe that is my name."

“It is, doubtless, all a forgery,”
Henr .

" forgery or no for cry. I shall take Jes-
sie away with me, an no one has a right
to stay me from my purpose. Tomorrow,
I will bring legal measures, which cannot be
resisted." '

Jessie clung to Henry, in despair.

Murker left the tent, feeling elated with
the misery he was causing two honest and
he ful hearts

he exhibition over, Ilenry, as was his
wont, aceom anied Jessie to her hotel.

“ Henry, dlb you believe this man's story?"
asked Jessie of her companion.

“No, I do not. He has proved himself
equal to committing a murder, and such a
man would not hesitate to utter a lie, or
forge a letter,” answered Ilenry.

“And yet, I fear him, Henry. Oh! so
much. lie may be able to prove I am his
daughter," sohbed the girl.

Don‘t weep, Jessie. Suppose Murker's
story is true. would you not be, happier to
live a life of ease rather than be one who
is at the mercy and eapriee of a changeable
public?"

No,_ Henry. I have something to tell
you. but you must not [months it to a single
soul. I am going to run away."

“ Run away?"

“Yes, to escape from this man. I am
going to-night, when all is still and quiet I
never—never can live with him."’

' Where would you go ‘2"

"Po the woods, the swamps. I have
heard of hunted runa 'ay slaves secreting
themselves there, and why not I? Any
fate’is better than to be given into his keep-
mg.

You would perish in the swamps. You
must give over this wild idea and endeavor
to cheer up. Affairs may not turn out so
badl as you anticipate."

“ dare not wait, Henry. I have deter-
mined upon leaving this place, and to-night;
for 1303c that now is 'm only chance of es-
cape. Tomorrow I willbe in his hands "

,“ Then I shall go with you." ’

V‘- You will?” ‘

“Yes, Jessie. 1 will.

replied

You will 'need a

 Protector, and though I am young yet I will

I

The Boy Clown. 13

 

try to he as good a friend as I can. Will
you not let me go?" -

“Oh, so cheerfully! But I cannot take
you away from a life that you are. fond of.

hat claim have 1 upon you that you should
make this great sacrifice?"

“The very best of claims, namely, the
duty one dear friend always owes to an-
other. Do on think for a moment that. I
would quiet y remain here and know that
you were. roaming the world without friend
or protector?" replied Henry, his tine face all
aglow. '

And so they made their plans together. It
was decided that the escape should be made
at midni ht. Everything was got in readi-
ness for t to departure. -

Murker was gloating over his success, and
little thought that his bird would be flown
ere he had a chance to catch it. ‘

Ilis dream was a strange one that night.
He dreamed he was a man many years
vounger, and that he was assing through a
lone and dismal forest. histling to keep
his courage up, for it was 'a lone] ' path he
was taking, suddenly he thought t e air was
filled with birds of a rapacious nature. He
was astonished at the st ht, et he was still
more so when he foun ,lying at his feet,
the fast-decaying body of a man. He stoop-
ed to look at it more closely, and found, In
the pockets of the coat, letters, notes, and a.
small roll of bills. These he took possession
of. He thought to turn them to account
some day. It was a cruel deed to rob the
dead as he was doing. When he emerged
from that wood it seemed as though he was
an entirely different man—as if he had *léft
his former self in the dread past. He also
secured a small locket, in which were placed-
two miniatures: one was the counte art of
himself, while the other bore a resem lance
to the girl, Jessie. Marker murmured in
his sleep. “ After long ears of waitin , how'
amply am 1 repaid. t is worth 211 these-
years or wandering to be so rewarded in the
end.” Then there came before him a vision
of a pale woman, with a leading face and
piteous voice, crying, “ rong not the or‘
p an!"

The scene chan ed, and Murker was in-
the woods again, eeing for life, to ones I
the clutches of a grim skeleton, who was n"
pursuit of him. On and on they fled. the
pursuer and pursued, and inst as the skele-
ton was about to place its ong hands upon
Murker's neck, the latter awoke with a loud
scream, and covered with a profuse perspirar-V
tion! '

“ What a fool I was to be frightened by a.
dream,” he exclaimed. ' ',

He did not dare to close his eyes again“

 

that night, but got up and litthe lamp, read-

~ r.

 

 

 

 

 

I‘death

. 0931s lgarly

I“ The Boy Clown.

 

hand upward, be grasped the weapon, and
cautiously drew it out.

The next moment the blade was open,
and then, with a single bound over the
sleeping form, he stood between it and dan-
ger.

He was not a second too soon, for even as
he alighted. the reptile launched itself for-
ward, striking him full on the breast with
rfiuch a force as to almost knock him off his

eet.

But that blow was his salvation. Had he
stood his ground an instant the coils would
have been about him; but, in staggering
back, he got beyond the reach of the tail that
whizzed past his face, while at the same time
he instinctively made a slashing sweep with
his knife.

He felt the blade come in contact with a
,mding substance, and knew that fortune

favored the stroke.

Such, indeed, was the case. The reptile,

a moment before so formidable, now lay,

writhing and twisting with horrible contor-
tions upon the ground at his very feet, the
body nearly severed a short distance from
the head.

With a joyful cry Henry quickly stooped,
and raising Jessie in his arms, bore her be-

yond reach of the terrible thrashing of the,

snake.

“Where am I? What is the matter,
Henry?” exclaimed the young girl, wildly.
and then catching sight of the wounded
reptile, she uttered a piercing shriek of ter-
ror.

“ It is powerless to do you harm now,
Jessie,” said Henry. striving to calm the
frightened girl. “You have had a narrow
esca 8, but, thank God, [was permitted to

, ave the danger.”

“Oh! how fearful it looks!" exclaimed
Jessie,zdraWing still further back. “If it
had bitten me, I would have died a horrible

“No, I think the bite of this species is not

isonous. It is one of the consm'ctors, and

s its pre or enemy by crushing it in the
folds or coils of its body." ‘

“ Gould any thing be more horrible than to

.have such a monster coiled around your
throat, and slowly strangling you to death?‘

0h! Henry, what do I" not owe you?" and
Jessie placed both .hands in those of her
companion. The tears streamed from her
eyes, but they were tears of gratitude, and,

, lover-like, Henry strOVe to kiss the pearly
- - drops away. '

. ‘Love in these two young hearts was devel-

ave 'aften thought I have had warn-
ings, Henry,” said Jessie, speaking as if just

' coming out of a lOng reverie.

 

 

“ I-Iow, Jessie?”

“It all seems very indistinct to me, but
you and Murker are always mixed with
them."

“That is not so very singular, considering
that we have been so much associated with

cu."

“I know that, Henry, and yet there is a
sort of skeleton ever separating Murker
from me, and cautioning me to beware of
him.”

“You are nervous, Jessie. I think we
ought to banish these superstitious feelings
from us. and have a more firm reliance in
the good Providence that guards the pure in
heart.”

The clown was preaching like a minister.

“I do believe in a Divine oversight,
Henry.”

While they were speaking, birds in large
multitudes were flying in their direction. ut-
tering shrill notes of terror Rabbits rushed
along, squirrels scampered past them, all
as though they had been frightened from
their burrows and nests.
tives were inclined to think pursuers were
after them.

Henry and Jessie looked about them, and
saw, far above the tops of the tall trees,
thick volumes of smoke making their way
up to the heavens, and soon the heat be-
came oppressive; the very air was hot, and
they gazed at each other in amazement.

- The smoke grew denser and the heat more
intense. v

At last, the horrible truth flashed through
the brain of the Boy Clown, and be ex-
claimed:

“ Merciful Heaven, the woods are on fire!”

 

CHAPTER VIII.
A FIEBY FURNACE.

TEE fierce and rapacious element of fire
was on its devastating march, and, like its
many former raids. seemed as though he
would not leave, until he was a conqueror.
The situation to Henry was a most trying
one. With the frightened and fainting girl
in his arms, his chances for escape did not
look of a very promising nature.

Were they to end their lives in the deep
woods, and was the skeleton seen in J essie‘s
dream to be theirs?

The situation was truly appalling, and
well calculated to shake the nerves of even
the strongest and bravest. .

Upon every side, look where he might, he
could see the fire climbing the huge trunks
or leaping from limb to limb, while over all
great masses of black smoke were whirling,
almost entirely obscuring the rays of the
morning sun.

At first, the fugi- .

‘ The Boy Clown. 17

 

The air was tilled with flying brands and
einders, while ever and anon a deafening
roar was heard, marking.I where some mighty
tree, sapped of its strength, had fallen to the
earth. '

There seemed uo mode of escape, for the
fiery wall encircled the spot where the two
wanderers stood, while each moment the
circle grew smaller and the atmosphere more
difficult and painful to breathe.

Ileiir saw that something must be done——
some et ort made; and although it seemed al-
most hopeless, yet the brave boy did not all-
together despair.

Not far otl’ he discovered a small brook
that ran through the wood, and thither he
bore the now uneonseious girl, and placing
her upon a grassy mound close to the edge,
he dipped his eap full of the cooling liquid,
and with it bathed Jessie‘s brow and tem-
ples. ,

Leaving his charge here, he ran rapidly
down the course of the stream, it having suds
deiily occurred to him that by following it
he mi flit perehaiice find an opening for es-
cape mm the fiery furnace.

le dared not remain absent long. and af-
ter proceeding souie. little distance he deter-
mined to return to Jessie, and taking her in
his arms, should she still be insensible,
make the attempt to reach open ground
He quickly retraced his steps to where he
had left his charge, but, what was his sur-
prise and alarm to find that Jessie had dis-
appeared!

At first he supposed that she had recov-
ered, and missing him, had wandered off
a little way; but, after calling her name
repeatedly and receiving no reply, he became
very much alarmed, and ran hither and
thither, wildly calling upon her to answer.

Onl the echo of his own voice, mingled
with t ie roar of the flames, and the deafening
crash of falling trees, came back to him.

There was now but a scanty time left for
him to think and act; with terrible strides
the tire was closing in upon him, and al-
though nearly wild with anxiety on_Jessie’s
account, yet the instinct of self-preservation
asserted itself, and after one more look
around with the faint ho e that she might
yet be seen, he dashed 0 down the rivulet
at the top of his speed. He knew that his
remaining in the place he had just left could
not possibly afford the lost girl any aid, and
there was a shadow of hope in his heart that
she might have escaped.

As he was running swiftly along the bank
of the stream his eye chanced to fall upon
a cave in a rocky ledge upon the further
side, and quick as thought li- determined to
Seek shelter here, trusting to that kind l’ro-
videnee, which had hitherto saved him from

 

 

death, to bring him safely through the pre-
sent impending danger.

In a moment he crossed the creek, and
pushing aside some bushes that grew about
the entrance, entered the cavern and made
his way back into its gloomy depths.

The place was much larger than Henry
had thought, judging by the narrow mouth
through which he had been compelled to
crawl on hands and knees, and without dif~
tieulty, other than the profound darkness,
he crept still further back as the smoke from
without began to pour in.

Soon the air of the cave grew to be stifling,
and it became necessary that he should rt-
treat yet more, and this he did, feeling his
way along the rugged walls step by step.

In this manner he proceeded some half a.
hundred yards. when, on suddenly turning
a corner caused by the eave's making an ab-
rupt bend he felt a breath of pure, sweet
air, I'm/ling from the depths beyond, fan his
cheek.

How very grateful this was to the op-
pressed lungs of the young man can be im-
agined, and it brought with it not only re.-
lief, but renewed hopes as well, for Henry
knew that there must. be another opening or
outlet to the cave, else whence came this
now strong current of air.

Strengthened by the thought, Henry con-
tiiiued to feel his way, and was presently
rewarded by seeing, apparently a great, way
off. :i gleam of light that looked like a star
shining in the midst of surrounding dark-
ness.

Henry had left Jessie‘s side but a few
moments, when she recovered from her faint
attack, to find herself lying on the mar in
of the brook. Looking u to see Where er‘
companion was, she saw or peril at once.
She tried to scream, but her power of utter-
ance seemed gone. Nature was too much ,
overtasked, and she fainted again. ,

There was another personage in these
woods, unknown to our hero and heroine, a
brawny-armcd, but good-natured and honest
negro, named Pete Morgan. lie-had the.
reputation of being afraid, of naught. .He
had been away on a visit, and was returning,
when he encountered Jessie. -

As the girl was in no condition togive
an account of herself, the negro took her
up in his arms, and stepping into the brook,
he waded along up the stream. He was a
muscular fellow, and as his burden was light,
he made rapid progress, stop ing onl to
wipe the drops of perspiration rom his 0 -
head.

It was at a most palatial residence he
stopped, one of the many so famous at.
the South, Elegance was its real charac-
teristic. Luxury was seen at every portion ‘

 

 

_14

ing, writing, and plottin mischief against
an innocent child. An for what? The
idol, gold, for which many a human being
has bartered his soul.

 

CHAPTER VII.
'rna DEPARTURE.

Tim Boy Clown slept but little that night.
He was too intent over his plans, which
were _ not of a very definite nature. He
thought Jessie extremely unwise in what
she was intending; but he knew the nature
of the girl, and felt assured that, as she had
made up her mind to escape, it would take a
great amount of urging to turn her from her
purpose.

" It isa great sacrifice I shall undergo,"
he said, “for I do love this wandering life;
and the laughter and applause of the audience
are to me very attractive. It is my duty to
o with Jessie. I feel it to be a wrong step
or both of us; yet I will not let her go
alone. What good will come of it? Likely
we will starve in the woods. We may wan-
der on until we come to some farm-house,
where work can be obtained. Right or
wrong, I feel that it is my duty to be a pro-
tector to Jessie. May God direct us aright,
and my good in the end come from where
bad is in the beginning.”

The clock struck twelve, and, as the last
stroke vibrated on the night. Henry heard a
light tap on the door, and a gentle voice ex-

“ Henry, are you ready?"
The boy answered the summons, and
after arranging the few things they deemed

necessary or their flight they took their
_ _ re. It was a lovely night. Beauty
was to be seen ever here. The lofty trees,

with their beautifu covering of green; the
moon, shining" in all its brilliancy. made the
scene one of enchanting loveliness. Henry
and Jessie forgot for a moment their troubles
as they sto ped to admire it. They were
veritable ha in the woods. They seemed
toimagine that their trails were almost at
an en ‘, when, indeed, they were only just

mug. _

“Why are you so silent, Henry?" asked

essie.

“ I did not mean to be; but I do not con-
sider the step we are taking to be the right
one " answered her companion.

‘ I feel it to be right, Henry. -But I can
not bear to have you accompany me. That
is the “only thing which does not seem
right".

“Age you‘afraldto trust yourself to my

f'No, Henry; I know you to be a good

 

The Boy Clown.

and faithful friend. You have no cause to
fly, as I have. You are losing nearly every-
thing by thus espousing my cause."

"Jessie, I once heard a. preacher read
from the Bible these beautiful words:
‘Whither thou goest, there will I go, and
where thou dwellest there will I dwell; thy
people shall be me peo le, and thy God my
Go .’ It is thus feel or you. I have given
you my word, and I will not break it."

Strange words to come from a clown,
were they not, and yet could they be
nobler?

“Jessie, I have been thinking that after
the search for us has been given over, we
had better beg for work at some farm-house,
and in the quiet round of duties forget all
trials and troubles.”

“ Will not Murker find us out?"

“ No, for We can change about, and rove
from place to place."

The rumbling of wheels caused the runa-
ways to turn, and discover a team coming
behind them. The driver, noticing lIenr
and Jessie, asked them to take a ride. I e

roved to he a peddler, and, though travel-
ing in a Southern State, had all the peculi-
arities and inquisitiveness of a Yankee.
They accepted the invitation, and a conver-
sation at once commenced.

“Where might you be traveling at this
time of night?" asked the wagoner.

“ Not far,” was the evasive answer.

“ Was you to the circus to-nightt”

“ Of course.”

“Wasn‘t it prime fun? The fellow that
acted out the clown was a smart you ’un.

He'll make his fortin', 1’11 be bound. on’t
you think so?"
“ Perhaps,” answered Henry. " How did

you like the lady rider?"

“0h, she was Jn‘cttv enough to be the
queen of Englan . If I wasn't a married
man, with acouple of squalling youngsters
in the cradle to home, I might take a notion
to shine up to her myself. But, I guess that
Boy Clown will be after her, one of these
days. He kinder looked at her loving like
when he held the ropes for her to jump over.
I seen it, plain as day.”

Even under the paint of red and white,
Henry’s hey love for the charming Jessie
could be read in his face. Ah! this love is
a sad tell-tale.

“But,” continued the peddler, "I allus
like the clown part best. It‘s in my nature
to laugh. and it makes me feel ten times
better when I can have a hearty guflaw.
My wife is one of the uiet kind, and calls
my laughing, howling. y the way, young-
ster, don‘t you know of some song to cheer
us on our way? It 'll keep us awake, and
I‘m near asleep now.” '

The Boy Clown.

13’

 

“ I’ll try to," answered Henry; ” but it
will not be a very sensible one."
“ Never mind that as long as it‘s funny.”
80 Henry rattled off the following jingle:
Swi leton, Swag leton
“giggling Jane' E ‘
Hi etou, Haggleton,
s i at: insa name;
w K9. . wa 'e
Mgtheryand LEE y.

El 'gerty, Raggert
t apiece 0t Kiddiwink pie.

Lickerty, Lockerty,
Mother's old hen;
Kickerty, Kockerty,
Laid a old pen.
Hickery, ockery,
Mgzil’s golt";1 a lieau,
1c er oc ery
And his name's Joe.

Turketum, Torketum,
. He kissed her so nice;

Smurketum, Smorketum,
Once and twice, thrice.

Jingletum, J angletum,
Look in the sky,

Kissingtum, Kassington,
-Nobody’s by.

Fingletum, Fangleton,
Sal's an old mai ;

Strln letum. Strgfilewn,
We 1 who's at ?

Sackleback, Sickleback.
She‘d marr a Jew;

Huckleback, icklebaclr
There, I’ve got through.

This seemed to satisfy the peddler, for he
stamped with a gusto that showed he was
well pleased. It was now time to leave
their new-found friend, and, as they saw a
lar e piece of woods not far distant, Henry
an Jessie stopped the driver, and, telling
him that they had but a short walk before
them, left him, bidding him goodnight, and
thanking him for the ride they had been

‘ treated to.

The peddler drove off one way, as Jessie
and Henry took the path to the woods.

It was a warm night in the midst of sum-
mer, consequent] our young hero and
heroine did not eel those inconveniences,
which they would have done, had it been
winter. Jessie was tired, and after finding a
soft place to sleep, threw herself upon the
ground, and was soon lost to all conscious-
ness. Henry was too much excited with the
events of the evening to allow him to close
his eyes, so that the girl had a watcher.

Jessie slept calmly on, and her regular
breathing indicated ‘that she was peaceful
and calm in her dreams.

And so the night passed, and the gray of
dawn was cree ing a the eastern sky be-
fore the faith ul sentinel thought of relin-
quishing his post for the purpose of catch-
ing‘an hour or so of sleep. a

he spot selected for the night’s rest was
beneath the wide-spreading branches of _a

 

huge oak~tree. over which a large grape-vine
had circled its man folds, thus making still
more dense the lea y canopy that served to
shelter them from the dew.

A short distance from where Jessie lay
sleeping, the main, or largest stem of the
vine had taken root, and as Henry turned to
take a glance at the sleepiéié: girl, to make
sure that his movements h not disturbed
her, a slight—very slight motion, of what he
at first thought was the hanging vine, at-
tracted his attention.

It was but a hasty. careless glance, but it
rested long enough for him to see that it
was something else than the vine that had
moved.

Another and longer look through the
gloom that still pervaded beneath the heavy
oliage, and instantl a low cry of terror
burst from the parted, lips of the almost par-
alyzed youth.

Around and around the brown stem he
saw the folds of an enormous serpent twined,
and heard, as if in- answer to his cry, the
sharp hiss that tells the reptile‘s anger has
been aroused, while at the same instant the
broad, flat head shot forth, nearly reaching
to where the unconscious girl lay, and be-
gain a slow, wavering motion from side to
si e.

The light grew stronger each moment,
and little by little the true size of the rep—
tile, with its flashing tongue and glittering
eyes, became revealed.

Henry had a brave, stron heart and cool
head, but in the face 0 this appalling
danger, not to himself, unfortunate y, be
thought, but to the helpless girl 'who slept
on unconscious of peril, he stood complete-
ly unnerved. But he soon recovered, and, I
instantly prepared to offer his life if neces-

sai .

'a’ithout changing his attitude, he glanced V

around in hopes of seeing a stout stick that
might be used as a weapon of attack, but
unfortunately there was none at hand, and
when he made a motion as though to go
in search of one, he immediatel saw that
such a step would at once prempitate mat-
ters. .
Even the almost imperceptible movement
he had already made, aroused the Serpent
to the utmost fury, as if the creature was
aware of his intentions, and hiss after hiss
cut sharply 0n the silence. '

What weld he do? He could not ho
that the attack would be much longer e-
ferred, and there, in easy reach of.t e fell
stroke, lay Jessie, with her fair white throat
fully exposed. .

Suddenly he remembered that his knife,
a strong, serviceable weapon, With keen,
edge, was in his poeket. Slowly stealing his

 

 

 

 

 

l

18 ‘ . The Boy crown.

.1

 

of the mansion. The negro carried his
charge into the kitchen, and much to the
consternation and astonishment of the cook,
Dinah, placed her in a chair.

“LorsPete,” exclaimed Dinah, “‘what
has ye got dar?"

“ Spec’ it‘s afainted gal. Dinah, dc worl’s
all aflre. It’s a-roarin' an’ a—ravin'; we's all
a— oin‘ to be burned up."

inah said nothin r, but put aside the
dough she was knea iug, fell on her knees,
and commenced to croon some ole-fashioned
hymn.

“Get up, Dinah! It won’t burn up until

ou gets troo makin' your bread. The woods
is on fire. Didn‘t you smell no smoke?”
said Pete. .

“Lor’s, yes,” replied Dinah, rising, "but
I didn’t pay no heed to it. But whar did
you come across de gal?"

“ She was a-lyin’, sweet and pretty, along-

‘ side of the brook, and she looked so helpless

that I was boun‘ to save her, even if I got
sizzled myself.”

‘,‘Yon’s a Christian, Pete; bress your
brack skin. You did what do good Lor’ tole

p us to do. He said, when we did good to one

on His children, we was doin’ it to Him.
Scriptur’ says it better, but you know what
it means.”

"‘ Yes, Dinah, and don’t Seriptur’ tole us
to love one another?"

“ Well, I‘m sure I allus tried to; don’t I

‘ Pete?"

“You may try to, but you don't allus do
it.. Don’t you ’member how I wanted to
make you my wife, and you said you could-

- n’t love me well enough for dat‘?”

r

" I didn’t know on was a Christian, den.
’coz you didn’t ex iort at the camp-meetiu’;
but I wouldn‘t refuse you now.”

80 Pete was an acce ted lover of the dark

' Dinah, and they both id all that lay in their
,.-power to restore the young suflerer to con-

seiousness.
At last Jessie rewarded their endeavors by
opening her eyes and looking around.

. " Don‘t you be afeard, miss; ou’s in

hands,” said the thoughtfu Dinah.
“Pete, here, found you on de brooksidc,

' and toted you home."

 

, “ Is Henry here?" exclaimed Jessie.
“ Who does you mean, miss?"
“Ayoung boy who was with me in the
woods. I ainted away, and when I came

'to in self he was gone.”

“ hen he mus’ be cl'ar burned u , for de
woods blazes as though de drefiu day oh
judgment was come,” said Pete.

“.Ohi cannot some one go and save him?”
pleaded Jessie.

“It would be a temptin‘ 0’ Providence to
rush into dat fiery furnace,” answered Pete. ‘

. 7

 

“Then you might to have ‘left me there,
too,” said Jessie.

“ It‘s cl‘ar wickedness to talk so, hone .
Remember, dar‘s One who holds us in e
holler ob his hand," said the pious Dinah.

“ Was de young man your brudder‘!” ask-
ed Pete.

“ No; he was 0 1y :1 friend, but he was a
sincere friend. e both belonged to a cir-
cus; but there was a bad man said he was
my father, and was going to carry me off,
so we ran away together to escape from
him.”

“You was naughty children to b'long to a
circus; you was naughtier still to run away
wid a boy, and it‘d surve him right to be
sulfumcated,” burst forth from the excited
Dinah.

“Dar, now, Dinah, dat isn't Christian
feelin’," broke in Pete.

“ 'Wal, Lor' forgive me; I’se sorry!" and
Dinah threw her colored apron over her
head.

At this moment the kitchen door 0 ened,
and a handsome, middle-aged lady, ressed
in deep mourning, entered. The sable ser-
vants made their “respects” to her, and re-
peated Jessie’s story.

The lady listened, with astonishment.

“M poor child," she said, taking Jes-
sie’s ‘nd and drawing her to her side,
“yours has, indeed, been a rough path for
one so young; but, here you may rest, safe,
I think, from pursuit, while we see what
can be done toward finding your young com-
panion.”

“Ohl dear lady, you are indeed kind;
but, alas! Li'ear that harm has befallen
Henry, and he was so good, so kind and
brave!” and Jessie covered her face and wept
bitter] .

\Undber the soothing words and kindly ca-
resses of the good lady of the mansion,
who persisted in asserting that a young and
active man had no need to perish in the
forest, and, therefore, that Henry must still
be alive and safe, Jessie gradually recovered,
and was soon able to give Mrs. Atkins, for
such was the lady‘s name, a more detailed
account of all that had ha )pened, than the
simple-minded negroes had one.

“A. strange story, my child," said Mrs.-

Atkins, aloud: an then turning slightly
away, while a look of deep sadness stole
over her face, she murmured:

“How like is her sweet face to that dear
one we have lest.”

The more Mrs. Atkins regarded Jessie,
and it seemed that it was impossible that
she could refrain from doing so, the stronger
some impression, or belief, seemed to fasten
itself upon her mind.

She made the young girl repeat the story

 

of her early life more than once again, and
plied her with questions as to her earliest
memories.

These were few and faint and seemed to
afford the lady no light upon a subject that
she was evidently much interested in.

While this was going on in Mrs. Atkins’s
own room, for thither they had gone, Pete
and Dinah were engaged, in the kitchen, in
spirited debate, Dinah, as usual, doing most
of the talking. ’

“ 'Fore dc goodness grashious, Pete, I
’clar' it most took my bref when I fust see
dat chile. She so much favor our Miss Liz‘
zie what’s dead and gone,” said Dinah, who
was busy at the dough-trou h.

"Dari I done knowed hab see some-
body dat gal look like. You’s tole dc trufe
dis time, shua. Goll l she like ’nough to
be our young misses own darter, and, Di-
nah,”-—here l’ete's voice sunk to a low, mys-
terious tone, and he leaned over toward his
sable swuethcart—“you knows Miss Lizzie
had a little pickaninny what got losted."

“ Lor‘, Pete! s’posen dis gal was—”

“.llush, Dinah; missus heah you, and den
de debble of a bobbcry be raised," said the
cautious Pete.

“My child.” said Mrs. Atkins, after she
had exhausted all questions, “ you are
strangely like one who was very dear to me,
and who now sleeps peacefully beneath the
sod! My only child, who went away and
died among strangers. She left a child, a
daughter, aswe ascertained, who, if she be
alive, would be of your age. My heart goes
out to you asit has never done to another
since she left us, and the dead seems to speak
to me through your voice. Stay with me
here. Your home shall be a happy one after
the trials and hardships of your life, and,
should it prove that the secret promptings
of my heart are false, you shall always find
in me a true friend."

These words, while the astonished Jes-
sie no little, were, nevert 1eless, very sweet
to her, and she might have been completely
happy, but for the terrible suspense that
hung around the fate of her young friend,
Henry.

 

CHAPTER IX.
THE PLANTEn’s HOME. ,
THAT little gleam of light was to Henry
as a guiding star, and .with his eyes
fixed hopefully upon it, he pushed

forward, now and then stumbling, it
is true, and sometimes bumping his ead
severely against pendent stalactites or
projectmg corners, but, all the time
, nearing the end of his wearisome jour-
ney.

 

The Boy Clown.

 

 
 

1/9

The outlet, for such it proved tobe,
was at last reached, and, climbing over
the great rock that lay just within, he
emerged to find himself upon the very
brink of a wide and swiftly-flowing
river.

Above his head and upon either hand,
the tire raged, and even where he stood,
Etc air occasionally felt hot and sti-

in r.

e boy’s ready wit at once showed
him the 0111 mode of escape. He must
go thence y water, and as he was a .
piood swimmer, he at once prepared for ,
t to venture. . -

Removing his shoes and Jacket, he
made them into a com 1; bundle,
which he fastened secuer upon his
shoulders, or, rather, back, and thus
watching until a lo , of which there were
many afloat, sho (1 pass near enough
in, he. finally fixed upon one, and, enter-
ing the water, struck boldly out from
shore.

He soon reached the drift, and after
several attempts, succeeded in getting
astride of it, and in this manner he float-
ed down the stream, safe at least from all
danger of perishing by fire from the burn~
ing forest.

The log floated steadil —that is, with-
out rolling—and, presen , after round-
in a. curve in the stream, he saw with»
de ight that he was nearing the outer
limits of the confl tion. .
1 Belgw the hen ,uthe wood became

ess ense, gradua y growmg more
mth "‘23" 8 th ly’ iindt'h aligns, lime
w 1e toge er, an e o

cotton-fields lay upon either side. pen

The young voyager now be to
think of, landing; and casting iii-:9 a
about on the surface of the water, 9
was fortunate enough to discovers.
short stick floating within reach of his
hand.

This he secured, and using it as a pad-
dle, he slowly turned the head of Mars.“
siioreward, and gradually workedhiniself
ll. .

When within a rod or so of the bank,
a clear, strong voice hailed, and, glanc-
ing u . Henry saw a young man, prob—_
ab ya ut his own age, standing near
the edge of the water intently regarding
his movements.

“.Boat ahoy!” shouted the s

L get.
“Be the powers! {but will yees'

“f?

f,

  

 » kins that Pat alluded, and thither the

   

 

20 The Boy Clown.

ther tellin’ a teller the name of that
craft, and where the divil ye are bound
to? -

‘ “ I’m bound for that bank there,”
called Henry, laughing; “but my pro—

elling power is deficient, and I’m afraid

’11 have to land further down !" .

“Not a. bit iv it!" shouted the Irish
lad, for such his brogue pronounced him
tobm “Not a bit iv it. Put in yer
sthrokes foinly an’ sthrono'ly on the aff
side "iv the crathur, an’ I’ll jist help ye
a bit with her head 2”" and before Henry
knew the other’s intent, he had his coat
off and was in the water swimming with
quick, strong strokes out to where he
was.

In five' minutes, the log grounded in
shoal water near the bank, and Henry,
getting off, stepped ashore.

“An' now that ye are safe an’ sound
on terr —firmy, would yeez be tcllin’ a
chap W ere the blazes ye’ve been floated
from on that ould log?” asked the Irish
lad, whose curiosity was strongly ex-
cited. ,

“ From above the bend yonder. I
was caught in the woods by the fire,
and this was my only way out,” replied
Henry.

7 “ An’ a foin way it wur, be the sowl av
me‘l Ye was in them burnin’ woods!
Sure ye must ’a’ been born to be hung,

_ meanln’ no offinse.”

“Why should I be hanged?” inquired
our hero, with a smile.

“Why? Wh , shure, nether wather
nor fire could nish ye, an’ they says
that whin that’s the case the man’s bound
to be hung, 'ist,” replied Pat. “But,
come wid me, ’ he continued. “ I’m on
me Way down to the big house beyant,
an’ there’s Where ye can dhry yer gar"~
mints, an’ maybe the grand folk ’11 give
lye a drop iv the crathur, that’ll put life

‘ into our bones an’ body.”

r‘.‘ ere do you mean, my friend?”
asked ,Henri.
“To the ig house, beyant the clump

r iv trees ye sees acrass the field. Och!

but it’s a foin place, an’ the lady isa lady,

, iv’ry inch iv her, from the soul of her

urty foot till the top iv her head, God

less her!” I
It was to the mansion of Mrs. At-

; «two lads took their way across the

Dinah opened the door in answer to
the somewhat formidable rattle made
upon it by the Irish boy’s shillalah. but,
no sooner had she done so than she
uttered a loud cry, and, throwing her
apron over her head, fled in dismav to
the kitchen” where she informed ete,
(‘1‘ Dal);y dc debble hisself was out dar at de

00’.

Indeed, Henry, withhis blackened face,
and singed halr and garments, did not
present a bed )icture of “de debble“~
that is, to Dinah’s distorted vision; but
there Was one within the house who saw
and recognized him through all his dis—
guise.

Jessie had caught sight of our hero
through an open window, as he came
up the gravel walk, and, in her impul-
isiye way, rushed to him and embraced
um.

“Well, if he is the divil, there’s the
swatest, purtiest angel out of heaven u-
hugging of him to death. Faith 1 I’d like
to be a. divil myself to be hugged in that

waly.”

he meeting of Jessie and Henry was
a mutual surprise, for each had looked
upon the other as dead. The love and
sympathy which had for so long a time
lain dormant in the heart of Mrs. Atkins
was rekindled, and she looked after the
welfare of her young visitors with all
the care and tender solicitude of a
mother.

Mr. Atkins agreed with his wife, that
the wanderers should be lodged at his
house, and they, accordingly, had beds
provided for them.

 

When Murker arose next mornin , and
found that Jessie had gone, his rage new
no bounds. He cursed his own stupid-
ity, and at first resolved to send out
scouts in all directions in ursuit of the
fugitive. But, wiser secou thought sug-
gested to him a far better course.

Having in his possession certain proofs
that would, he ancied, make‘good his
claims as the father of Jessie, and also
the letter written by the Atkinses to the
old woman who had reared the young
girl, he determined to at once go down
to them at their lantation, never dream-
ing that he won d find Jessie there, and
at lonce boldlydeclare himself their son-
m- aw.

 

field.

v l,;.......ag_,..‘.u..~m.‘_r. .. ,__....e_._. ,. .

  

Having done this, he would induce

 
  

 

The Boy Clown.

21

 

them to participate in the search for the
missing girl, and thus, if possible, throw
the burden of any expense that might be
incurred upon their hands.

Marker carried his resolve into exe—
cution, and, late in the evening, present-
ed himself at the Atkins mansion. Here
he had a longr interview with the family,
and so conclusive did his proofs seem,
that, unwilling as they were to acknowl-
edge it, they were forced to believe that
Marker was the missin husband of their
dead Lizzie. It scenic strange to them
that he had so altered since the time
when they first knew him, but. he had
the same looks, and as he had all the
documents necessary to establish his
claim, the memory of the (lead Lizzie
caused them to overlook his brusque and
rouorh manners.

e man promised to lead a better life
in the future, and made a thousand pro-
testations of penitence for the past.

It was a bitter task for Jessie to ac-
knowledge the man as her father.

Pat Daley, the Irish lad, might have
handed in his evidence, in regard to
\Murker’s reading the letter in the old
woman’s hut, for it was he; but the lad
arose and left so early, that he did not
know of his presence. Thus it is through
life; often a deed of wrong might be

revented by a sin rle word, and yet,
gate decrees that WOI‘t should remain un-
spoken.

A week later, Henry announced his
intention of leaving. Mr. and Mrs.
Atkins desired that he should make a
home with them, but his heart craved
for the excitement and busy life of the
circus-performer, now that Jessie was

one. He started forth to rejoin his
ormer companions, who Were not dis-
tant many miles. Here he was Welcomed
by one and all.

Again he was in the circus-ring, chat—
tering away like a young Yorick, while
the ring-master was 0in d to make
many a crack with his whip to keep him
in order. He made sport of his adven-
ture, telling his audience that the cave
in which he had concealed himself was
loaded with gunpowder, which, taking
fire, caused him to be sent up into the
air, his head and bod going one way,
and his legs and feet t e other. A bal-
loon sailing through the air caught the
former, while an eagle clutched the other.

 

He offered the eagle five dollars for
the remainder of his furniture, which
the eagle accepted and carried to the bal-
loon. Here a lightning bolt shivered his
floating vessel, and threw him into the
sea; an alligator was close at hand, and
on this he landed. A ride of a few
miles brou rht him to the camp of a war-
like tribe 0 Indians; they cast lots as to
whether he should live or die, and it was
decided that it would be a saving of pro-
visions to have him depart to the hapfiy
hunting-grounds of the Kickapoos. e
was accordineg tied by the cord—which
universally accorded with the interests of
the noble re(l-men-—to a stake. The
fagots were heaped around him, when a
volce from the crowd threw a hatchet at
his head, and—

“ And what?” demanded the "ring-mas—
ter.

“To be continued in our next,” was
the Boy Clown’s reply.

Lau hter filled the tent, and Henry
wasgic owledged to be “ a smart young
un.

His dissertation on love was re arded
as especially unique. Love, he sai , was
a blessin to tailors, dressmakers, per-
fume-dea ers, and to those who orna-
mented the outer man and woman. It
was a great wear and tear on vests—for.
the palpitation of the heart inst them
wore them out. As for imself, he
thought people never did fall in love;
they sunk gradually into it. What good
was it for men to run after other men’s
sisters, when they had sisters of their
own? He had heard of broken hearts-—
broken for love—but, it was his opinion,
there were more cracks in their brains
than breaks in their hearts.

The return of Henry to the circus
made its manager‘s fortune.
treme peril and marvelous escapes gained
the sympathy of all, and thousands of
gople rushed to the tent when the Boy '

own appeared. It was gratifying to
Henry, but. amid all his trium hs, he
missed the fair form of Jessie, an often
pnd often did he wish she could be with
um.

The summer season came to an end,
and, as the cold nights came on, the
man r located his circus in one of the
theaters in New York city.' Henry was
to make new triumphs here, but he bore
them in a modest and becoming manner.

 

His ex-. '

 

 

 

The Boy Clown.

 

Emulation pleased him, but did not make
him vain.

The theater presented a. gay appear-

ance, with its finely dress audience,
who Were never tired of laughing at
Henry’s jokes. It was on Christmas eve,
and Henry having got through his
night’s work, muffled himself up in his
winter clothing, and took his way home-
ward.
It was a bleak night, and the snow was
falling fast. Persons were busy in the
streets, buying resents, while others
were decorating t e churches, so that the
morrow would find‘them ready to cele-
brate the birth of the Prince of eace.

Sweet voices were caroling Christmas
hymns, and the r beggar was implor-
ing “charity” from the passer-b , so
that she could “live to see the b essed
Christmas moon.”

Henry was obliged to pass through a
dark street, ere he could reach his home,
and as he entered it, he saw it was quite
deserted, save from the presence of a man
who seemed to be struggling with a, girl-

ish ti re. .
‘9 ou’ve t to come alon With me,
my pretty little dear, so out play

shy. You’d better not make a noxse,
or I’ll choke you on the spot,” said the

man. ,
/ “We‘ll see about that,” said Hen-
r . “It takes two to make abargain
0; that kind,” and he planted his fist
straight between the eyes of the ruf-

The blow told with terrible effect, for
the man reeled and fell headlong to the
pavement. I

Released from the ruflian, the girl
rushed into Henry’s arms. The lad drew
her to one of the gas-lamps and looked
into her face.

He started with amazement! It was
Jessie, but, oh! so pale and careworn!

' “Jessie!” he said, “what does this
' . mean? Why are you here? Oh! answer

me!” .

“Oh! Henry, I wish I was (lea ,” was

her only answer.

CHAPTER X. .
FOUND AND nos’r.
“ You must not talk of dying, Jessie,”
said Henry; “ But, tell me why you are
’ not with your grandparents? why have

you left your father?” .

 

‘ “Oh! Henry, I can never believe him
to be my father. I am wretched with
him,” answored J cssie.

“Take my arm and walk along with
me, and tell me all about your troubles,”
replied Henry.

Jessie did so, and as they threaded the
streets that Christmas eve, the poor child
poured such a tale of sorrow into the boy's
ears, that he could not refrain from weep-

m . .

g‘ For some time after you left us,
Murker pretended to he a perfect saint,
and did so much for Mr. and Mrs. At-
kins that the were well leased with
him. But, 0 1! he talke so cruelly
against you, and accused you of being
vicious and bad. I used to go up to my
chamber and hide, to esca. hearing him
talk so. One day, he tol Mr. and Mrs.
Atkins that you doubtless left me in
the woods to burn alive. I burst into
tears, and told him he was telling a. wick—
ed and sinful he. This seemed to madden
him, for he arose from his seat, and came
to where I was sitthig, and struck me
with his hard hand.”

“ Shame on him!” uttered Henry, with
his teeth clinched.

“If that had been the worst, I would
not have cared so much, but, one ni rht
he came home in a. drunken fit, and, .-
cause I would not do just as he wished,
he threw a wine glass at me, and it cut
my neck. I did not dare to tell of him,
for he said if I did he would kill me. I
knew of no other way to do than to run
ofl’. I heard that you were here, and I
knew that you would aid me.”

“Will not Mr. and Mrs. Atkins protect
you from Murker?"

“They might. But, I have kept my
troubles to myself. Dinah and Pete
loaned me some of their savings to get
here.”

“ Do you believe the Atkinses to be kin
of yours?” *

“ Yes; I firmly believe them to be my
grandparents, but MurkerI will never be-
lieve to be my father.”

“ But, the proofs he had?”

“He probably came to them by
fraud."

“ It is a strange affair, look at it in all
its lights. But what do you intend doing,
Jessie?” '

“Going back to my old life—become a
circus-rider again.”

The Boy Clown.

 

“ Are you not afraid Murker will sus-
pect our design, and find you out?"

“ gut I must do something.”

“The landlady with whom 1‘ board is
also a dressmaker, and she was saying at
dinner to-day that she would like to take
a young girl as an apprentice. Here you
would be secluded, and it is ten to one if
Murker ever thinks of looking for you
here. What say you?"

“Oh! that would be far better than
the other plan, for then he could not find

“Then I will speak to her this very
night. She will find you a room, I am
sure.”

They had arrived at Henry’s boarding-
house, and Mrs. Smart was made ac-
quainted with Jessie, as well as given a
brief account of her trials and her (le-
sires. Mrs. Smart, like a. good motherly
being, agreed to all, and for a time at
least Jessie was safe.

Christmas da dawned clear but cold.
The snow, whic fell on the night prece-
ding, afforded fine sleighing. Holiday
time circus ople have to work, for it is
then that th: are patronized the most;
consequently Henry was obli d to be
away from Jessie all day. at, all of
that time there was a feeling that the girl
was unsafe where she was. He wished
he had time to run home between the
performances, but he had none. To
others this was, indeed, a. merry Christ-
mas, but to the Boy Clown the hours
passed heavily.

He gladly hailed the time when he had
finished his duties and started for home.
He was the last performer to leave the
theater, and, as he (lid so, he encountered
a woman crouching on the paVement,
who cried, “ For the love of the Blessed
Savior, who was born this da , and by
the honor you have for His B essed Mo-
ther, spare me a few cents.”

Henry, always having pity for the suf-
ferm ,thrust a crisp one dollar green-
back into the woman 8 hand.

“ Heaven’s blessing on you, " exclaim-
ed the woman. “Tell me your name,
that I may remember it. in my rayers.”

“I am called Henry De La. crest.”

“ Then, thank God! I can be of help
to you; I can save your life!”

“ Save my life. What do you mean?”

“A short time since, as I was sittin
here, I saw two men drawing near. I

 

did not like their looks, and shrunk fur-
ther into the shade, to avoid them. They
(lid not see me, but commenced a conver-'
sation, in a low and guarded voice. They
made a Ian to meet a person to-night
and way ay him.”

“ Who was this person?” .

“,They called him Henry De La For-

“ Did you learn what object they had
for committing the deed?”

“One of them said ou knocked him '
down last night. T ank Heaven! I
have been spared to warn , on!”

Henry thrust another bill of a larger
denomination into the woman’s hand,
and pursued his homeward way. He
was careful to avoid the shady side of the
street, and felt partially secure, when
suddenly he was seized from behind, tied
and gagged. He was about giving him-
self u as lost. His assailers were so oc-
cupiet with him that they did not notice
a person who was on their track. While
gloating over their good success, and
thinking how easily they had secured .
Henry, a heavy whack from a thick club
on each of their heads felled them to the
pavement.

Henry’s g was removed from his
mouth and llS hands untied.

“ I‘ll bet the rogues know that an
Irishman’s muscle was made to be 
Faith, as Barney Williams says 111
‘Shandy Maguire,’ cried a well-known
voice:

“ ‘We mav be duped, we won'tbe dared,
More flt‘to rnctice than to plan, _
But if the lie (I of fame be lost,‘ "
It shn'n't be by an Irishman.

“Why, Pat, how came ou here?”

“I came to look for wor .”

“What, in this street?” I

“No; I maiieeén lYorl'k pity.”

“ Have on n no (y _

“ Not enhugh to bmglaboutin I tried to

t a situation as a p ay'ac _r. or my
gfothes were as ragged as Billy Flor-
ence‘s, and my brogue as fine as Dan
Bryant’s, but the managers failed  see 
my wonderful talents. Then I went into
the new5paper line, but I couldn’t make
money at that, for I tried to sell yester-
day‘s news for tomorrow’s.” _

“You have been unlucky, surely. But,
do you remember the girl we met at the
South?" ' ,

“ As an Irishman never forgets a purty

 

 

 

"I .tobebaflied bya girl.
' 3 jectured that, as she had run away, she

‘24 1 The Boy Clown.

 

face, when he sees one, it’s not for the
likes of Pat Daley to be an exception to
his countrymen.”

“ Well, she is here."

“ What do you mane?” ‘

Then, as they walked along together,
Hen told his friend the whole story,
and at let a little light in upon the dark
subject, and told about Murker’s reading
the letter at the old hut.

They were met at the door of the
boarding—house by Mrs. Smart. She
drew back in astonishment and exclaim-
“Good gracious! You! In the land
of the living!”

“Why, what do you mean?" asked
Henry, m surprise.

“ A man came here this evening and
said you had met with an accident at the
circus. Jessie was so frightened that she
put on her things to seek you.”

“Jessie ne! ’

_ “ Yes. idn’t she find you at the cir-
ens?”
“ No. There has been more treachery

practiced here. Is that r girl never
to have rest? Where in t is mighty city
can I search for her?”
, Ayl Where could he look? Have not
.people been missing in the great metro-
~ , .Ehs for years, and yet never discovered?
ay not their bones be bleaching not far
from where you now stand? The streets
and alleys of New York could tell many
a. taleof wrong and suffering, misery and
crime.

Henry was uneasy. He wanted to be
doing something to trace out the lost girl,
. but it seemed so ,hopeless a task, that he
was almost persuaded to abandon it.

It is not to be supposed that a man of
Murker’s disposition would allow himself
He rightly con-

would immediately seek Henry. Of
course he was well aware where Henry
w and thither he bent his tootsie .
e soon found out all he desi , and
, he knew that nothin short of danger to
Henry would draw er from the house.
His ruse succeeded, and the girl fell too
readily into the trap laid for her. The
carriage, into which she was pushed, pro-
, meded on its wa at a rapid pace, and it
was not until it ad stopped at a low and
miserable dwelling, that she was aware
’ of her danger;

v

 

“You may scream and kick to our

heart’s content. This house is a ong
way from any other, and you’ll waste
your ,br eath in trying to make others hear
you.’

Jessie drew away from her persecutor.
She could see no way of escape.

“ Well, and what have you to say for
yourself ?” asked the man.

“ Only this,” answered Jessie: “ I am
a. weak girl, thrown in your power.
What I have done that you can treat me
so. I cannot tell. Who are you!”

The man lit a match, and )y its light
revealed his features. It was no one she
had ever seen. He lit a lamp, and, after
placing some provisions before her, left
ier presence. When he was gone she
tried doors and windows, but all were
heavil bolted and barred. She threw
hersel on the outside of the bed, and
wept herself to sleep.

hen Henry had once fully deter-
mined to pursue the search for Jessie,
despite the seeming hopelessness thereof,
he threw himself into the work with all
the ardor of his generous and impulsive
nature.

Every hour, when not engaged in the
ring, was devoted to the search, and the
great city was ransacked from one end to
the other by the rsevering lover.

In many of t ese wearisome 'aunts
Henry was accompanied b Pat IDaley,
whose ready tongue and een Wit not
only O ne the way man times, but
saved t 1cm both, on more t mn one on-
plasion, from assault, and perhaps mur<

er.

When Henry was engaged at the circus,
Pat would frequently pursue the search
alone or rather he would. while traver-
sing the city in the capacity of rag and
bottle gatherer, his only employment,
keep constantly on the watch for some
indication of the poor girl’s whereabouts.

One day, while slowly traversing a
lonely street in a distant part of the city,
sounding his monotonous cry of “Any
ould rags for to sell '3” he chanced to stop
in front of an old, dingy-looking house,
and, without knowing why, be 11 in-
specting its front, examining eac close—
ly-shuttered window in turn. ‘

“ Whist! What the blazes was that?"

A slight noise from above attracted the
Irish lad’s attention, and runnin his

eyes quickly over the several win ows,

  

  

   
 
 

   

i

.. -»J‘I 

 

The Boy Clown. 38

 

he fancied he saw the outlines of a figure
behind one.

“ Is that you, Pat?” asked a voice from
behind the shutter.

“ Yes, it’s me, Pat! But who the—
Oh! murdher! but I do belave it's the
girl herself. Miss Jessie!” he called,
raising himself on tip-toe and gazing
eagerly upward. “If it’s yer-self, pl'ase
s ke, an‘ be Saint Patrick but I’ll have
t e ould shanty down!”

“Yes, Pat, it is I. I am a prisoner

here. Convey the intelligence to Henry,
that he may come and-J” But the voice
suddenly ceased, and the figure disap-
peared from the window.
“And it’s there ye are, bless 'er urty
face! Be the powers but it‘s ’at Baley
that‘ll take We out iv that, and be hanged
to the murd nerin’ blaekguanl, ould Mur-
ker.” And Pat forthwith began casting
about for means of access to the house.

CHAPTER XI.
AVENGED!

MASTER PAT’S daring deed was easier
contemplated than carried out. The odds
were greatly against him. The house
was there, and so was the girl, but he
wasn't so sure of there not being others
who were guarding Jessie. If he endea-
vored to make an entiwice—though by
what means he could scarcely say—he
might, himself, be taken a prisoner, and
that would be like getting out of the fry-

ing-En into the fire. ,
‘ t’s rayson the matter over abit,
and see what decision Pat and me is like—
1 to come at. Pat’s courage says, ‘ Take
the gal away, by all manes, and be a.
hero of immo fame.’ Pat’s prudence
tells him, ‘It would be better to inform
Mr. Henry of his gal’s whereabouts.’
Courage says ‘ Act like a fool,’ and Pru-
dence es. s, ‘ have like a true son of
ould Ire and’s sod.’ So I’ll foller Mr.
Prudence’s advice, and save the gal’s
n as well as my own, while my legs
remark that it’s best for me to let them
trot with their full force to the theater,
and see Mr. Clown.”

And away he went, much to the grief
and disgppointment of poor Jessie, who
an '11 her deliverance was close at

an .

Henry had 'ust come from the ring
when Pat met im and informed him of
his news. At first our young hero was

 

 

overpowered with deli ht at the glad tid-
ings; but, looking at t 1e case in a seri-
ous light, he could see but little he could
do. 'le had no right to release Jessie;
for, if Murker was her father the man
had certainly the law on his si e.

Speaking of the law put it into his
mind that, maybe, there was a way
Murker could be intimidated. Yet how?
The memory of that awful night, when .
he came near losing his life, came vivid-
ly before him, and he felt that the time
had arrived for action.

To the courts of law he would carry the
case. Henry finally decided to place
these matters before iis own enemy and
that of Jessie, and give his promise not
to pmsecute, if the assumed father would
resign all claim to the girl, and allow her
to remain with the Atkiuses, in peace
and uiet. If Murker proved himself
unwil ing to accede to Hen ’s plan, then
the boy resolved to have iin arrested.
He felt assured he would be proven
guilty, and might be Sentenced to a. term
of imprisomnent until Jessie became of
age and was her own "fistulas.

“ And what do you think of that plan,
Pat?” asked Henry.

“Faith, the ould haythen might dare
yez to do your worst, and be axin’ afther .
yer )roofs,” was Pa ’8 reply.

“ should think the evidence of his
rufiianism and his character were
enou h to convict him.”

ile these two lads were conversing
together, poor Jessie watched the ther-
ing clouds wondering all the wh' e why
the Irish boy did not make an effort to
save her. And where was Henry? Had
all her friends deserted her?

Had she argued the dangers as well as
had the Irish philosopher, she would not
have blamed them so much as she did;
but we are very apt to censure our best
friends while they are domg all that lies
in their power to aid us. Jessie was rest-
less. She would walk up and down the
little room in which she was imprisoned,
and then lie down, only arising to have
another walk. Many times a day did she
try the fastenings of her door and win-
dows, but she always found them secure.
Yet in her trial she did not f0 t to ask
the aid of the Omnipotent e, and,
while she knelt in 1prayer, forget her
deep griefs and troub es.

In the lower portion of the building,

 

 

A w, <

a w 2—» z 543‘

9:21-11:45 =.- .

  
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
    
   

l:
 I
i:
l,

r,
in

5.
p

p

’ dressin persons by their proper names."

‘ ried and changed it.”

- is a retty geod one. Some years back

- ha iness. ,But the serpent had money,
' think he was

‘ ther—who was never a wife ~and a babe,

I was faithless to me.”

*I‘don’t‘ know what kind of a memory you

26 The Boy Clown.

/

 

 

Murker and his tool, Gregson Shorebird,
the man who had abducted Jessie, were
in conclave. The dim light of a flicker-
ing tallow candle made these two men
look as though they were evil 3 irits.

“Well Gregson, you have one your
work we . How much are you coming
down on me for? Don’t be hard on a
man. now,” said Murker.

“Well, seeing it's you, I shall let you
off easy with only live hundred dollars,”
answered Gregson. .

“ What?”

“ Only five hundred dollars.”

“ Phew!” whistled Murker.
gether too much.”

‘31 don’t think so. You yourself ac—’
knowledge that the work was well i
done.”

“Well, don’t get excited about it. !
Here, take aglass of this brandy; it‘s.
just the thing to warm up the cockles of
your heart this bitter night." i

“Come, now, none of your tricks on ;'
me, Mart Hincklcy, for I won‘t stand!
them.” |

"What do you mean by calling me
Mart Hinckley?”

' “Onlya playful habit I have of ad-

‘ ‘ rhub-

 

“We 1! That isn’t mine.”
“ Isn’t 1t? Perhaps you have got mar-

‘ “ What the deuce are you talking
about?”

“ Since you seem ,to be so desirous for
information, I don’t mind telling you.

are blessed with but I do know that mine

there iv a young girl who was the idol
of. her mother’s heart, and it seemed
mighty hard that a vile serpent should
drag its slimy body into that abode of

an having a  tongue, made the girl

he pretended to be.

‘What was the end of it? There’s a Ino-

whose father was avillain, lying in the
graveyard.”

“ I am not accountable for her death.

I saw her meet a man one night. She

.“Who was speaking about you? I
thought your name was Archibald Mur-
0P

 

‘zPshaw! I said that but wtry you."

“What a mi hty good joke that is.
Maybe you’d ma e afortune on the stage,
or in the circus-ring, although I scarcely
imagine your witty sa ings would please
everyl y. But, wil tell you one thing,
and that is, Bessie Ashton was not un—
faithful to Mark Hinckley. The man he
saw her meet was her own brother.“

“ It is a lie.”

“ I swear it to be the solemn truth.”

“She had no brother.”

“ She had, but you—I mean Mart
Hinckley knew not of his existence, for
he was obliged to keep in hidingr to save
himself from prosecution for debts he
had contracted, but which he was unable
to pay.”

“Again I say, a lie.”

“And again I say it is the solemn
truth. Mart Hinckley, villain that you
are, look on me. For years 1 have pray—
ed for this time to come, to get you once
in my power. I have sworn an oath
upon the Bible, while .I knelt at my sis
tor‘s grave, to have your life‘s blood.
Beware the vengeance of Carlton Ash-
ton !”

Murker, who had been trembling
through this interview, arose to his feet.
For the first time in his life he felt him-
self to be a coward, and wouldhave made
for the door, but a bullet from the pistol
of his adversary brought him to the
ground. He staggered to his feet, and
with what strength he had left, drew a
dagger, and drove it to the hilt into the
heart of the man who was the brother of
the girl he had so wronged.

The man fell dead without a groan.

The blood, flowing from the wounds of
these two men, trickled underneath the
door, and made red spots on the white
snow.

Jessie heard the pistol-shot, and, in an
agony of fright, screamed aloud. There
were two voices sounding on the night
air—a man’s and a girl's. And both
cried: “Murder!”

CHAPTER XII.
SUNSHINE THROUGH SHADOW.

THE doors of the house were burst
open, and Henry, Pat, and a policeman
made an entrance. A strange scene met
their gaze—a scene to cause the blood to
stagnate in the veins. The dead man
lying on the floor. with his glassy eyes
fixed upon the ceiling, while his mur-

 

 

  
    
 

 
  

 

derer was fast 8}) )roaching the world of
shadows. The po iceman strove to stanch
his wounds and raised his head; his hour
of death was drawing near, he knew.

Henry and Pat made their way to the
chamber where Jessie was concealed and
released her. The three then returned to
the lower room.

“ Murker, you have not long to live in
this world; if you have aught to repent
of, confess it now, and thus relieve your
uniscienee,“ said Henry.

“Oh! I have loads to tell, if my life
is but spared me,” was Murker’s answer.

The policeman opened his notebook
and took down the confession. Hinck-
ley told them that his name Was not
Murker, and also of the bad treatment of
the girl named Bessie Ashton, and his
murder of her brother.

“ Years ago I fled my countr , and ar-
rived in this land. My way led, through
a large forest. \tht to do and where to
go, Iscurcely knew. 1. had not gone a
great way when l beheld, lying on the
ground, a ghastly skeleton. The. clothes
it had on were dropping to )ieces. I
looked them through, and found in them
letters, notes, and a roll of bills. I found
the name of the man to have been Archi-
bald Murker. There was a small locket,
which I opened, and my surprise knew
no bounds when I found that one of the
pictures was the very image of myself. I
resolved that I would be Archibald Mur—
ker, and see what luck would have for
me under a new title. Water, water!"

Murker had got to this part of his story
when he was overtaken with great thirst,
which was relieved by Henry giving him
water. ,

A pause of a few moments, and Hinck-
lev continued. He had but little more to
tell. . He had found nothing to come of
the changing of his name, until he had
arrived at the but of the old woman, and
read Mr. Atkins‘s letter, which was
brought to her by Pat Daley. It all at
once entered into his mind that he could
make use of that letter, and with Jessie
pslmed off as his daughter, have a home
With ththkinses. His lans had fallen
throu rh m_a measure, on what had the
broug t him to but a, miserable en ?
Passmn had often urged him to do many
a deed, as, for instance, the cutting of the
trapeze rope, the abduction of Jessie, and
his cruel treatment of her. Asking for-

 

  

Tho Boy Clown. 8”

giveness of Henry and Jessie, and with a
prayer—the first he had uttered for years
—for pardon; the guilty mun fell into
that dark, mysterious river we all must
cross, to meet—what?

The boys, with Jessie, left the police—
man to look after the bodies while they
proceeded to hunt up u. coroner, whom
they found, and who innnediately went
to hold an inquest.

It was now past midnight, and as they
ascended the steps of Henry‘s boarding-
house, they were sm'prised to see lights
in the parlor. As they entered it they
saw Mr. Atkins sitting there, together
with a fine-looking stranger, a man who
was the counterpart of Hinrkley.

The boys told all that the reader is in‘
formed of.

Then come another startling discovery,
at least to Jessie, for Mr. Atkins intro-
duced the stranger to Jessie as her own
father! His story was a most singular
one.

” You will pardon me, my dear sir, I
know, but did not the man who called
himself Murker find all his proofs on the
body of the skeleton? If the skeleton was
not that of Jessie’s father, how came the
documents on it?” asked Hem .

“The night 1 left home, Went in
search of work, and had secured a. place
as a porter in a store. 0n returning
home, I was caught in the arms of some
midnight ruilians, who seized eve 'ng
of value I had. I was left for dea upon
the wharf, stunned and unconscious.
Some sailors, who had been out for'a. visit,
in returning to their ship, espied me; and,
thinking me to be under the influence of
liquor, carried me on board, and placed
me in one of their own hammocks.

“The next morning the ship set ‘sail,
with me on board. It seemed the sailors
had been indulging in 1i nor too freely
the previous night and . ad forgoth
about me. When lregained conscious-
ness, I heard that the captain, seeing my
injuries, had paid me every attention, as
he saw in me one of his old school-
mates.

“We met no vessel coming home,
whereby I could send a message, and,
thou h I tried to bear my fate manfully
and c eerfully, the thought of poor Liz-
zie caused me man a sorrowin hour.
We had an old sai or aboard, w 0 was
always saying I had no faith in a Higher

  

 

  

 
 
  

88 The Boy Clown.

 

 

Power, or else I would not grieve. One
ni ht a terrible storm arose, and the ves-
was in danger of goin to pieces every
moment. We all worke our bravest to
save our lives. At last we perceived she
was sinking, and had to take to the‘boats
—there were two of them, but only one
rewhed the shore, and that one carried
.  the old sailor and myself. It was on an
i’, island we found ourselves, and, after fall-

’ ing on our knees, and giving thanks for

 

;-  our deliverance, we ooked about us,
. it 3 and discovered the place to be unin-
. [If habited.

I W”: ‘ “Havin heard and read of persons

 subsisting in such a. situation, we remem-
bered the means they used, and profited
b them. We were subjected to the
c ges of the weather a great deal, and
suffered not a little.”

“ You were quite Robinson Crusoes,"
said Henry.

‘ “ Yes,” answered Jessie’s father; “but
without the pleasures he had to render life
endurable. To be sure, we had no savage
V foes to contend with; yet, the yearning to
5/ see home and the loved ones again, was
' ‘ phreying on our spirits. The old sailor was
6 most cheerful of the two, but I seemed
, to rebel and thought my life could not be
more wretched than it was. I soon get
punished for my wicked repining.

“ One morning, old Ben came into our
'hut, complaingfi of a faintness, and lay
down on our . Toward afternoon, he
got delirious and wandered in his mind.
At sunset he became sane again and, call-
ing me tothe bedside, said: ‘ Messmate, I
am ing to leave you. The captain,
Dea , is coming for me, and his orders
are not to be disobeyed; a short voyage,
and, maybe, if my life hasn’t been too bad,
‘ I’ll reach the heaven] port.’

“ ‘Oourage, Ben,’ whispered.

“‘Ay, a , sir,’ and with these words,
Ben' away, 'ust as the sun sunk
behind the hill, an I was alone. Alone
with the dead, in a far-off island—and
here was my punishment. Hard as my
lot had appeared before, it was now ten
times worse to bear. I missed old Ben’s
voice and his kindly words. Sometimes
I was even so wicked as to wish that I,
too, had been taken awa . The days

aWay, solemnly an slowly, and
I as I went listlessly about my accustomed
 I duties, I seemed to hear Ben’s voice
' X whispering in my ear. If I pined for

   

 

home, he appeared to be telling me to
bear up a ittle longer. This inspired
me, and I resolved to be no more cast
down, or allow myself to be despoudent.
If it was God’s pleasure that I was to re—
main upon the island for my lifetime, I
must submit to His will; but, if He saw
fit to have me taken from it, He would
do it in His own good time."

“Your story is 8. ve wild one, and
sounds like a novel,” sai Mr. Atkins.

“It is a true one; and, as I told you
how I was unished for Inurmuring, I
must now tell you how I was rewarded
for my submission. One day, as I was
reading over Ben’s old scrap-book, I came
to the passage: ‘ When you are in trou-
ble, remember that the Lord will provide.’
I looked u , and saw a vessel coming
directly to t e place where I was sitting.
The captain, on hearing my story, was
surprised. Taking me on board of his
ship we sailed for home.

‘ On the vessel was an old gentleman
who was returning home from India, to
spend the remainder of his days among his
kindred and friends. 011 the voyage,
which was a stormy one after I came on
board, the old man was taken ill, and, as
every one else was engaged in handling
and taking care of the Vessel during the
storm, it devolved upon me to nurse and
flake the invalid as comfortable as might

“This I cheerfully did, waiting upon
him day and night, administering his
medicines, reading to him during the
long days, and relating for his amuse-
ment the adventurous story of my ship-
wreck, and how I lived on the island.

“But, all was to no purpose. The
thread of the old man’s life was run out;
and one day, after being left alone with
the captain and another passenger, who

roved to be a lawyer, for several hours,
8 sent for me, bade me good-by, and in
a few hours was dead.

“After the burial, the ca tain sum-
moned me to the cabin, and isplayed a
will, by which I was made the sole heir
to all the old man’s wealt .”

“And you have all this property?”
said Jessie.

“Yes, all; but the dearest ropertyI
have now is you, my dar ing girl.
Would to Heaven your angel mother
could have been s to see this day.”
“For that you must blame me,” an-

       
    
  
 
 
 
 
 
   
 
  
 
  
  
  
 
  
  
   
   
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
  
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
    
 
   
   
     

.,......_._.....' . .s-

 

   
 
    
 
    
  
  
   
  
  
   
   
   
  
  
 
    
  
 
 
  
  
  
  
   
   
 
    
 
  
   

 

   

The Boy Clown. 89

 

swered Mr. Atkins. “Had it not been
for my selfish and foolish pride of caste,
this might have been prevented.”

But Jessie’s father replied, “ Let the
dead t bury its dead.”

“ litskelemn in the woods still re-
mains a mystery to me,” said Henry.

“ And until the last great day must re-
main so. The only conclusion I can ar-
rive at is this: The man who robbed me
must have been going through the forest,
when he was seized with a. fit,” answered
Jessie’s father.”

“Faith and I’d like to find a father
Wid a heap 0’ money," said Pat. ,

“Your kindness to Jessie must never
be for otten, and a home with me Iyou
shall ways have," replied Mr. Mur er

“If I wasn’t a youngster, and you
wasn’t the true gintleinan that ye are,
I’d be afther calling you ‘a broth of a
Wyn? ”

‘ Pat is‘a noble fellow, and it is to him
that we owe Jessie‘s preservation," said

en .

Mil-3: Smart had her house full that
night, and her guests were visited with
calm and pleasant dreams.

The two men whose lives had been so
suddenly terminated, wereburied the
next day. Their lives had not been good
ones, and we can, without regret, dis-
miss them from the scene.

CHAPTER XIII.
EXTINGUISHING THE LIGHTS.

WHENCE this clapping?——whence these
loud bravoes? It is indeed a _ala ni ht,
and the —— theater is eramm from oor
to ceiling. It is the benefit and last ap-
pearance of the “Boy Clown.’_’ Yes,
after to—night, he retires from 1118 public
life.

Mr. Atkins has offered Henry a. home,
which has, this time, been accepted.
Perhaps the knowledge that _Jessxe’s
father has purchased a plantation ad-
iiloining it, has had something to do With

is decision.

The time had come for Henry’s fare-
well speech, and as he was re ring to
utter it the manager, in belief of the
company, presented him with a magnifi-
cent ld watch and chain.

“ ind friends,” said the Boy Clown,
“ let me thank you, one and all for your
kindness. What is life, after all, but a
circus-ring? We are continually striv-

 

ing for some great end. We leap over
banners, either to fall on the ground of
poverty, or land safely and firmly on the
good steed, prosperity. As a circus must
always have a clown, so must life have
its fosters, and as John Owens says in
‘So on Shingle,’ ‘ It's 'est so!’ ”

The Boy Clown‘s tas was over, and as
he throw off his motley suit, he ave a.
sigh, as though he repented of w lat he
was about to do. But, the thoughts of

in search of his part , who were waiting
for him in front of t 1e theater.

Early the next day Atkins, Murker,
Jessie, Henry and Pat started for their
Southern home. Pete and Dinah were
the first to notice their arrival and many
were the bows and courtesies bestowed
upon them. Mrs. Atkins had many a
start of fright when she learned all that
had ha pened but she said she always did
doubt JEssie’s being Hinckley’s daughter.
There was a visit to the churchyard by
all our group, and man a tear fell on
the tombstone marked “ izzie.” Perhaps
her spirit watched them and was leased.
Who can tell? Lizzie’s life ha beena
sad one. Cast away from home, she had
wandered with her child, until she reach-
ed the hut of the old woman, where she
left the infant. She was made to believe
3133mm her husband and her child were

But why linger over these sad scenes?
Lizzie is in a ha pier land, where she
will be joined by t ose she loved.

Pete and Dinah had a grand wedding,
and Pete “’clared to oodness dat he

chickens,” and “ dat dem geese never had
better hands laid on dem dan Miss
Dinah’s.” '

“Lor‘s, Pete, you make dis nig r
vain, 'and vanity is a cryin‘ evil an a.
sin. Dem geese hain’t got no feelin’s,
for if dey had I wouldn’t be so cruel as
to hurt dem," answered Dinah.

“Well, Dine, you didn’t seem to keer
how cruel you treated me once, when you
’fused to hab me.”

“You oughter opened your testiment
and found consolidation (consolation)
dere.”

“ So I did, Dine, so I did, but de ood
book said, ‘ it is not ood for man to ive
alone,’ and dat boo allers speaks dc

 

trulfe. ”

Jessie cheered him. He dressed and went .

never tasted better fixm’s to de geese or -

 

        
       

 

 
 
  
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
  
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
  
  
 
 
  
  
 
  
  

V set her cap for the peddler, but he fol-

Tho Boy Clown.

 
   

 

“Well, you’s got me now, and you

’ ougclriter be satisfied.”

hile they were dancing and feasting,
a w' n drove u , driven by our friend
the peddler. He ad been traveling, and
learning that his once-com nions‘were
staying at the Atkinses’, 11' made them
a. call. He brought them the news of the
death of the old woman who had the
care of Jessie. Her “darter with the,
pension,” was there, and endeavored to l

lowed Sam Weller‘s advice, and “be-
wared of the widders.”

Our young Irish lad, Pat, worked on
Mr. Murker’s plantation, as he said he was

' “ bound to aim 1118 board."

One day, Henry received a letter from
his former friend, Charles Morton, in-
forming him of a. severe illness. Henry
at once Wrote for them to come and make
him a visit. He had not forgotten his
midni ht vigil.

“ l Charley,” said Henry, as they
were together. “I little thought that
day when you told me to beware of
Hinckle , so many ills and perils would
surroun me. Pat will insist that, as]
have escaped from death so many times,
I’must have been born to be hung.”

“I scarcely think his prophecy will
turn out a true one. Perhaps Jessie is
the one to hang but it will be around
your neck, and that kind of a chain you
wouldn’t mind.”

Henry blushed.

“ Whyshould you blush. Henry? Jes-
sie .is a good girl, and you are a good
 You love her, and she—~"

‘ Does she love me?”

“Of course; why should she not?”

“I’ve sometimes thought, since you
have been here, that she came over to see
you ver often.”

“Jea us. Henry? You have no need
to be. She loves none but you, and I
ho  get well enough to dance at your

 

w ding. So you needn’t let the green-

.THE END.

eyed monster attack you again. She is
an an 1 of s pathy and kindness. She
feels riends ii for me-nothiug more;
but it is love 5 ie has for you.“

Charles was right. Young as they were,
they had each deserved the other’s love.

A little more to say, and our story is
done.

Peter and Dinah are the the jolliest
couple out, and if you desire to see two
sets of shining ivories. just get Henry to
tell a few of his circus jokes to them (of
course I mean the owners of the ivoriesl.
Pat is a great favorite on the plantation.
and he has caused many an unmarried
wench to fast on midsummer‘s eve. and
at midnight lay a clean cloth, with bread
and cheese and ale, sitting down as if
going to eat, the street door being left
open, solemnly assuring them that the

erson they were to marry will come

into the room, and drink to them by
bowing, afterward fill the glass, make
another bow, and retire.

Charles is rapidly improving in health.
and, at his own desire, will rejoin his
circus. Mr. and  Atkins lindin their
son-in-law a noble and upright man, and
proud of him they are. too. He is as-
siduous for their welfare, and his care of
the grave of the dead Lizzie proves how
he loved her.

Jessie is loved by all, espwially by
Henri .

And of that young gentlenum. who
serves as a title to these gathered threads!
Does he not deserve a happy lifel He
has it now. But, in the future, he sees a
vision of leading Jessie to the altar as
his bride; and between you and me, kind
reader. the vision will prove a true one. The

- Boy Clown‘s record is done! He has had

many an adventure, and if the narrator
has failed to de iet his career as would
an abler pen, be enient and criticise not
too harshly.

The circus is out.

Extinguish the lights!

__n_ &

 

 

 

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