1 prob n rese sites of ' doing laginal rhter OF vice, ? he rake ath by 1d tO N tu, Wit N of the 0 N t creat a n ane A re pony Jonsul . ‘ou ale WRK aN SS S S\N Bp: iO AS) a \ 5 RK see tht ee re « oH uy La = = arrel, Le ’ met) Bh | ! ) @ —Don.00— « oa Zp > — = pee eT) i} g = VERY: QU rs of 4% LAR) 2 Neg Entered According to Aet of Congress, in the Year 1891, by Slreet & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washingion, D. 0. — ) Entered as Second-class Matter at the New York, N. Y., Post-Office, July 25, 1891. 1d ] S NPA 00> 690% ,0% 0% o%neteeTac uaa eet tetas nate hue% oe teo cet etceteetae es Tectee eens tet eet tee etal tee tee tee peter tae estas te sates Hatter te ete tet eet et et ee teeta ste e ae netee ast eetng test tal Mattel ty tier teeng at ys tee tea teeta et eeta sas ee eel tert sthsttattas eer yetestesteetestestaaras*asmeerngrngtasteee year —— P Srreer & Smirn, Publishers, FIVE CENTS PER Copy. a Vol. 3. 31 Rose Street. P. O. Box 2734. New York, July 20, 1891. Subscription Price, $2.50 per Year. No. 64. er 0 er 2 Deere ee teat Set here emotes ote eet neta e tee teet et tal tate Mee hehe Mee tae ee ee eal Ha tal Mut ee Tee Ce tee we ae ae asMashash hao H etter tat Met e eee ne es neh Heth gage Re eRe e Seem ee a ehng eee ahh el heh tet Mee Mere hee tee ee ea tel Mal teehee hat Mee ee tee Meena tae nena tee tet se teehee tee tuetas ae wanes ter athat Mut hae har ae ee ae eaee = EX >. EAC -©O JOE: ted. s a A Story of the Life-Savers. lariat oye eee ea By LIEUT. JAMES K. ORTON, paral Author of ‘Between the Lines,” etc. sofin es oe : (i vill @ (“Bracu-Boy Jon” was commenced in No. 63. Back numbers can be obtained of all News Agents]. , and™ aaa a that the boy would he in a very disagree- |} ted & nae een able position, he could not refrain from ||) , noe THE RESCUE. watching eagerly the preparations made by the life-saving crew for the rescue of LTHOUGH Carl fully realized that | those on board the doomed schooner. his companion was in no slight! The men had dragged the carriage with | danger unless Captain Jarvis! its heavy load over the loose sand, and on should protect him, and even then' arriving at the very edge of the surf, ee] ——— 1 = oe te ee gin | WE MUST RUN NOW,OR HE LL sss \ eg 7. oa me!” HU MAKres S& . TIN’ y co! ow 7? naw GavuE 2 ae SA " THE MIDST OF THE ALTERCATION TIM BURST INTO THE ROOM, ORYING, “THERE'S A HEAVILY LOADED BRIG DRIVIN’ ON SHORE! NOTHIN’ CAN SAVE HER, AN IT CASE OF RUNNIN’ THE BOAT UP ! heeled over on her beam-ends, the waves |and the surf beat upon the doomed craft dashing against her with irresistible fury. | as against a ledge. r The Petrel was aground, and the time “It’s mighty nee oe ee ie ite j i iti : ’ e 2 al destruction very near at hand, | came ashore in this place, or they wou Past this posit last s were|“Now you’ll see what our crew can do.” | of her total destructi y >| a aac ite pare, and the biarant beat Tat into The words had hardly been spoken AA merce? mF ‘ eng one. fake as ind thee aan ag Epo mg wat vith st ce 7 he ‘:k gave a lurch forward, |Tim had predicted, was mé gZ itself | selves Dy} ie , ee re rolled heatily teeey side to ‘side, and then! felt in the increased weight of the wind, l to himself, and Joe asked: Ww neyo the truck around in such a man- “They’re off!” Carl cried, as the first Raded yt the bow of the life-boat was | heavy sea broke completely over the boat, or the water. and she rose like a duck to the second. to keep his head above water. alive. who he is, Joe?” - ment’s reflection. - somehow. 1010 GOOD NEW S85. “Will the life-boat get out in time?” “You can bet she will. The schooner must hold together half an hour, and before that our crew will be on their way back.” It was a sight well calculated to cause every nerve in the spectator’s body to binges and both the boys were aroused to the utmost pitch of excitement as they watched the efforts of the brave men on their errand of ae: “ At times the life-boat would be raised high out of the water on the crest of a wave, and just when it seemed absolutely certain she would be flung backward, her bow sank into the trough of the sea, and for several seconds she disappeared from view entirely. On, steadily on, the brave crew pulled, buffeted, and often driven back by the wind and waters; but each man worked as if the exertion was necessary in order to save his own life, and when the upper works of the schooner were giving way under the terrific pound- ing of the seas, the boat’s anchor was thrown over in order that she might drift down upon the wreck safely, for to board her would have been impossible. “They’ve gota line over!” Carl cried. “Now the sailors are making it fast, an’ it won’t be many minutes before all hands are safe.” “Tsn’t it time for us to go?” Joe asked, nervously. “It'll be a good while before they get back, an’ we might as well take it all in, *cause—Jiminy! There goes one of ’em iy asta wonder if he jumped or e bad From such a distance it was impossible to say if the unfortunate man was abie It was certain that the life-savers were in a posi- ' tion where they could not render him any aid, and more than probably he had gone to his last account. The boys remained at the window as if fascinated, until the last sailor had been taken from the schooner, and when the boat was half-way from the wreck to the shore Joe insisted that the time had come for him to escape from those whom he had every reason to consider his mortal ene- mies. “IT reckon you’re right,” Carl said, re- gretfully; “but I would have liked to see them come ashore. I tell you that’s a protiy sight when Captain Jarvis is at he helm,” “They’d see us, then, an’ know I was Come, now, for— Say! Who's that?” Joe pointed toward the beach, where a man was ‘just emerging from the water, having landed through a surf so heavy that one would have believed it was im- possible for a human being to gain the shore alive. “He must be the fellow who fell over- board. No, he didn’t fall, for he’s got a cork-jacket on,” Carl cried, as he looked at the new-comer. “Don’t you know “That’s the captain of the Petrel! We must run now, or he’ll see me!” “Hold ona minute,” and Carl caught the boy by the arm. “Tf you go out that way he’ll be sure to know you’re here.” “Where’s the other door?” “There isn’t any.” “Then what shall I do? What shall I} ni do? He’s coming straight here.” “Hide up stairs,” Carl cried after a mo- “Tt’s all my fault, an’ I’m awfully sorry I made you stay; but we'll manage to get out of the :scrape un, for that fellow is makin’ straight here!” Joe did not wait for further urging. He believed that his life depended upon his remaining undiscovered, and before the captain of the Petrel was within a hundred yards of the building he had dis- appeared up the narrow stair-way. : “Stay there till I call for you,” Carl cried after him. “I'll have a talk with ’ Tim when he comes ashore, an’ the thin will be fixed so’s you won’t be bothered. The man who had thus been literally cast up by the sea was but a short dis- tance from the building when Carl con- cluded, and the boy had barely time to turn before the door was opened. Despite all he had heard from Joe, it _ "was impossible to prevent a certain feel- ing of pity as the sailor staggered in, so nearly exhausted with his battle with the waves that he could walk only with the greatest ae i Hoa you in charge here?” he asked of arl. “No, sir. I only happened around est before the crew went out. Why sidet you wait till they took you off?” “T preferred to run my chances with a _life-preserver, for the schooner was going to pieces fast.” “Then you jumped over?” -“Of course; how else would I have reached here? But it was a narrow squeak for me, and there were mure times than a one when I believed it impossible to gain the shore. Isn’t there anything here’ in the way of stimulants for a man who is considerably more than half-dead?” “TI reckon so; but I don’t know where Captain Jarvis keeps it. He’ll be in soon, for the boat is mighty near the beach.” “What station is this?” “ Assateague Beach, a little more than a mile south of the light.” “T thought we were near Watchreague.” “That’s a good bit from here,” Carl re- lied, as the ora sank into a chair, ooking thoroughly exhausted. “How did you happen to lose your vessel?” “Everything was carried away in the gale last night, and we hadn’t so much as a square yard of spare canvas. Owners nowadays expect sailors to go out with about half stores aboard.” “The wreck looks as if she might have been a schooner, sir.” “So she was. The Petrel, from Portland for New Orleans, with a cargo of general merchandise, and then to load molassas and cotton.” Just at that moment Carl fancied he heard a slight noise from the floor above, and to prevent the captain from paying particular attention to it, he said, with a great effort at appearing perfectly at his ease: “Tt’s lucky that all the crew were saved.” “How do you know that?” “T've been watching from the window, an’ ’cordin’ to the looks of things all hands except you were taken off by our crew.” This information did not appear to be particularly pleasing to the captain, who should have rejoiced that no lives had been lost; but he made no reply, and Carl did not venture another statement until the life-boat was cp up on the beach, when he announced the fact. It was evi- dent, even to one who did not understand the case, that the captain of the Petrel would have been better pleased if he had been the sole survivor, for an ugly scowl came over his face at Carl’s announce- ment, and he growled rather than said: “It seems mighty strange that a country as big as this can’t make better arrange- ments for their nariners.” “Captain Jarvis is here now, an’ he will get you whatever may be needed,” Carl replied, as he slipped down from _ his seat at the window, and opened the door to a admit the weary crew and those whom they had saved from the sea. In a few moments the small room was filled with the rescued, and Carl was doing his best to attract Tim Clarkson’s atten- tion, for he wanted to get him outside the Rese iag without being noticed by the others; bu the old sailor appeared to be unusually dull. He either would not or could not see the signs made by the boy; but went from one to another of the saved, admin- istering to their wants, until Joe’s friend abandoned the vain attempt, and did his best to creep up stairs unobserved. In this he was finally successful, and there, hidden under one of the cots, he found the stowaway whose life had so nearly departed a few hours previous. “I heard all he said,” Joe whispered as his friend lifted the bed-clothes, “an’ ou must get me out of this mighty quick, or my story won’t be believed against s, an’ I’m bound to get the worst of it.” “Stay here till I can talk with Tim. He’ll know what’s best for us to do, an’ it won’t be long before I get him outside.” “Be as quick as you can, for I’m afraid some of the Petrel’s crew may come up here to sleep.” That Joe's fears were not without foundation was shown before Carl had time to reply. A noise on the stairs caused the boy who had so narrowly escaped with his life, to creep under the hangings of the covery suddenly, and he had barely done so when three men, under the guidance of Dan, entered the room. “You can sleep here,” the life-saver said, “an, by the time you've had a good snooze there'll be somebody come from the mainland to help you away from this desolate place.” Carl managed to get down stairs with- out attracting any unusual attention, and poor Joe was left to remain in his uncom- fortable hiding-place under the cot as best he might. ; Now that these men were cared for, the crew of the station had more time to themselves, and while the captain of the wrecked schooner was giving to Captain Jarvis the information necessary to admit of his writing a report on the morning’s work, Carl succeeded in making, unob- served by the others, certain mysterious signs, which had the effect of causing old Tim to walk out of doors. “What’s the matter with you, lad?” the sailor asked, as he took up his station at the rear of the building, where no one could over the conversation. “You t on this particular occasion |: must talk quick, for we’re bound to have plenty of work between now an’ night.” CHAPTER IV. AN INTERRUPTION. 7 en ARL glanced in every direction f ae something after the fashion of the traditional stage villain, and other- wise occupied so much time in get- ting ready to state why he had desired the interview that the old sailor lost all his small stock of patience, and asked, angrily : “Have you gone into the fool business, lad? What makes you dodge around like a cat-boat in a squall?” es lest the man in whom he was so eager to confide his secret should leave him before Joe’s story could be told, Carl said, wise ee into the sailor’s ear: “The feller we saved told me how he got in the water.” “Oh, he did, eh? An’ is that what you’ve got me out here for when it’s time IL should cover my beat agin?” “Jest wait a minute, Tim, till I can tell the story,” and without stopping to answer the sailor’s exclamations of surprise, Carl repeated all he had heard from Joe, ask- ing as he concluded: “Now, what shall he do? Some of the men from the schooner are in the same room with him, an’ if they should find out he was there I don’t know what would happen.” Tim was no longer so eager to resume his duties, and Carl could not complain that his story was received with indiffer- ence. “Tt’s a mighty serious charge the boy is makin’ ag’in the crew of the schooner, an’ one he’ll have hard work to prove, seein’s how they’d all swear he was lyin’ ,” the old sailor said, thoughtfully. “To tell the truth Iain’t so sureit ain’ta yarn. I’ve heard of folks turning crazy after being knocked around by the seas.” “Tt can’t be so in this case, for he told me what the wreck’s name was before you got to her, an’ knew the captain the minute he came ashore.” “That does kinder clinch it; but he mighter got knocked overboard durin’ the gale.” “But he couldn’t have lashed himself to the spar in the way we found him.” “You're right, lad. I'll take it all for the truth, an’ now the question is what shall we do about it?” “I thought you'd know. If I could have got him out of the station it would a been all right; but now he must stay till the men leave.” “There's one thing certain,” Tim said, after a long pause, “it won’t do to tell Jarvis yet a while,” “Why not?” ¢ “Because then it would be his duty to make a report, and try to detain the men till the matter could be looked into. “You see, lad, it’s not only that they may be guilty of wreckin’ their craft: but they’ve tried to commit murder, an’ it would go hard with the whole crowd if that could be proved.” “They'd jest about kill Joe if they knew he was here.” “T reckon there’s no question but what the job would be finished this time.” “How are we to keep him out of sight unless Captain Jarvis knows the whole aie “That’s somethin’ we've got to figger out. While I’m doin’ my share of patrol duty I’ll study inter the matter.” “But Joe is up stairs under the cot.” “He can afford to stay there a while, seein’s how he might be in a worse place if them pirates knew what we do,” the old sailor replied, grimly. Then he added, turning to go down the shore: “Hang around, Carl, an’ listen to everything that’s said, an’ we’ll fix matters for that beach-boy when I come back.” Carl had the most perfect confidence in the ability of Tim to perform whatever he promised, and as the old man walked away, he re-entered the station. In the scene which met his gaze there was nothing different from what could have been seen in the small room at any time after a crew had been rescued. Some of the schooner’s men, and it seemed to Carl as if she carried an unu- sually large crew, were i others were ek with those who had saved them, and the captain was yet in conversation with Jarvis, giving him more minute details as to the loss of his vessel. Carl looked from the window in the direction where he had last seen the Pe- trel: but she was no longer in sight. The sea had done its destructive work even quicker than usual, and save for the tim- bers that were being tossed to and fro by the waves, one could hardly have be- lieved that there had been a wreck in the vicinity. The weather appeared to be doing its best to prove that Tim Clarkson -was a weather prophet. The rain had already begun to fall, and the wind was whip- ping the boisterous waves into foam, lying down; 4 “Unless we have more important work it should be possible to save some of you cargo,” Captain Jarvis said, shortly after Carl entered the room. “I reckon thé biggert come ashore hereabouts.’ The captain of the wrecked schoone glanced toward the mate in a peculié manner; but made no reply. q Two of the life-saving crew, who wef off duty, left the house to go to the shore and all the new-comers looked at D other uneasily. a “If you boys feel able todo a little work, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to take’ turn around, for your dunnage should come ashore, if nothin’ else,” Captail Jarvis continued, and two of the me lazily proceeded tc act upon the sugges: tion; but the mate and master of the schooner remained inactive, as if thej bad no especial interest in the matter. | Carl now saw an opportunity to giv! Joe a slight respite from his anxiety, ané he went up stairs where, without ceré mony, he awakened the sleeping med) saying as he did so: 4 “The cargo from your wrecked vessel I comin’ ashore, an’ I thought you might like to help save some of it before tht wind gets so high that nobody but ot crew dares to go into the surf.” q “Where is the rest of the party?” on of the men asked, sleepily. 4 “Gone to the beach.’ i There was good reason, as Carl knew, why allof the new-comers should fe@ uneasy at the thought that somethin incriminating might be thrown up by til sea, and he was more gratified cea sul prised when they went downstairs wilt every appearance of anxiety. ; Listening at the door, he heard the? ask the captain a question, and the latté replied: 4 ‘It would be a good idea to watch ot for a while. Mr Samuels an’ I’]] be the before you get achance to do much in tH way of wrecking.” a Then the sound of footsteps told tht the men had left the house, and Cal went softly to Joe’s aaah PLATS = “T’ve been talkin’ with Tim,” he salé as the boy looked out from under ti bed-clothing, “an’ he’ll fix things rig? away; but you’ll have to stay here qul' a long time.” “TI won't say a word if pee 8 don’t fil me; but I came mighty nigh sneezin- few minutes ago, an’ if I had the? would have been out of the bag.” * “Squeeze your nose; that’s all you @ do, for there ain’t the littlest chance ' gettin’ outer the house now.” a . Then Carl repeated what the old saué had said, and the story was hardly # ished when the slamming of the outs! door told that others had gone to beach. : a Immediately afterward the hum * voices could be heard from the roo™ below, and Joe whispered: a “That’s Captain Rowe an’ Mr, Sal uels talkin’. Most likely they’re alom® an’ we oughter hear what they say.” | “I'll creep tothe head of the stalf an’ you stay here,” Carl replied; but % companion was not content to remain ” such a cramped position when there W® absolutely no necessity for so doing. ., He followed Car] to the door, thank* of an opportunity to stretch his lege crouching there, the listeners could be the conversation quite distinctly. 4 “That Jarvis is an officious old f00 Captain Rowe was saying, when the D@& gained their place of vantage, “and mig? make trouble for us if anything suspici? came ashore. I had madeup my mt that we would get out of this befd noon; but now it is necessary to W® until we know what may turnup.” 4 “Tt strikes me that our place is oD beach, where we might be able to 5” off too rigid an investigation. You ™ a mistake in saying that we had a ca” of general merchandise, for it will 12 queer if nothing of the kind com ashore.” a “I didn’t count on the old hoo® going to pieces so soon, an’ allowed, e well clear of this place before mappeass: ; , “Seein’ that what’s been done 7. only for the sake of gettin’ the in® ance, it strikes me our pens was tof here till everything had been seth” for it would be mighty unhandy to *% aay evidence turn up after we'd gi" out your yarn. 1 - “T’ll attend to that part of the busi?) seinen assistance from you, Mr. uels.” “Yes, an’ a fine mess you’]] mas, it if you don’t leave drink alone- agreement was that neither of us 8?) so much as touch a drop until the W ‘i matter was settle7, an’ yet'the last before comin’ ashore, an’ the first landing, was to fill up. You're sheets in the wind already.” ee “It’s alie; but even if it was true, business is it of yours?” i * ood deal, seein’s how I’ve allow myself to be dragged as deep in the? as youareinthe mire, If we had? ortion of the lighter stuff will “4 GOooDdD NEWS. e loss of the schooner to answer ouldn’t be quite so bad; but that this mornin’, which you might pped is——” listeners were literally holding their ath in suspense at this point; but they stined not to hear the remainder remark, for at that instant the as opened suddenly, and Captain and Dan Carlton entered. ere’s a good deal of wreckage ashore now,” the former said, in iar tone. iy of our dunnage, or nothin’ but 0?” the former master of the Pe- ed, carelessly. ; mostly planking, an’ one or two id make the underwriters’ eyes stick i they could have a squint at ’em.” could not see the two men who thus indirectly accused; but from Se he knew they leaped to their if in surprise, and motioning Joe urn to his hiding-place, he went Y down the stairs. Mate and master of the wreck were feet as if expecting personal vio- when he reached the room; but made any reply to Captain Jar- the latter continued : interrupted by the hurried en- Tim, who cried, as he burst room: e’s a heavily loaded brig drivin’ about a mile north of the light! can save her, an’ it’s a case of the boat up.” ’ the captain cried, the men hastened to their sta- he added to his guests, “I must you stay here until this matter we were speakin’ can be set- of who are only unfortunate do not Y because of such silly talk as ave been making,” the mate re- "We will stay, or do what we ard helpin’ you to rescue those now in the danger we were in'‘a me ago.” ic ask that you remain here,” was d response, and as the life-saver rl the liveliest apprehensions. (TO BE CONTINUED.) ee Oo Will Not be Published in Book-Form.} LANDCARE of the Birch-Bark Cruisers, “Ory of the Maine Wilderness. _ By W. B. LAWSON, ft “The Young Duck Huters,” “Shift- ing Winds,” etc, _—_ e —_—_—. Dun ekD Camp-Fire” was commenced in No, 60. can be obtained of all News Agents]. —_ e—_— CHAPTER XIII. ‘NG” THROUGH THE WILDERNESS. Noon on the following day the 40S were pronounced ready for © rough journey, and a short € later the whole party had q.2 Moving down the stream. pp... Was overcast, and threatened i tation, but, as is often the tin held off hour after hour, “ ‘had really forgotten the threat- ‘Poet of the sky. a; hot been able to entirely get Ae Us uncle out of his mind, . ever breathed a’ word of his , °his comrades. He looked to ne those two men before the he 5, Sed, for Arnold Crawford was 4,° 60 be balked by fate—he would it thing as long as he had life, tritting by the cozy fire, poor thoughts were far away, and in- 9 2Ying the funny stories of the if g in with his friends, 1; dering whether those men Hes in the deep shadows cast y peerin pines, the spruce, the gE loc , and what would be ptances under which he would mabe or it never occurred to ot that they must meet again «06 have had it otherwise, ity was excitted by the fact Ving a paper which he was See © boy should sign; and " the’ that if he could only lay eth;-* document he would find 1k about his mother. these thoughts came to him : and he believed the time il, ng when the meeting should ts he said nothing of it to his ne down while they slept, * eae tt Pink” 1017: meant business. It was still drizzling when they got upin the morning, but upon putting it toa vote, they determined to push on, as the season was too late to loiter, with a cold spell apt to rush down upon them at any time. This day was marked with trouble, for they were now making a bee-line across to another stream, and had to work along a rivulet that at times was so shal- low they could not paddle, and were com- pelled to resort to “tracking,” which meant that they pulled the heavily laden canoes through the scant water, over the rocks, and around many fallen trees that stretched their gaunt arms out in the way. This was a kind of cruising two of the boys had never experienced before, but they did their share of the work without a murmur, exciting the admiration of the guides. During most of the day this sort of business was kept up, and when night came all of them were glad to go into camp. They were wringing wet, cold, and hungry, so it can be understood that when seated around a blazing fire, engaged in demolishing a hearty supper, they felt mighty well satisfied with themselves. om Brown took advantage of Davy being engaged at another part of the camp to draw near Aleck. is face had a serious look upon it, and the other glanced wonderingly at him. “Aleck, have you any idea as to what that rogue of an uncle ‘of yours will be up to next?” he asked, meaningly. “Tom, have you seen him?” asked Aleck, quickly. “Come, you jump at conclusions too quickly, my boy.” “T know it is so. Don’t think you will frighten me. I have been expecting this for some time. Tell me all about it, Tom.” “Wait till I get my breath again—you knock it all out of a fellow. You see, I was behind a good part of the day, and that gave me a fair chance to catcha glimpse of those worthies. They are sneaking after us like so many red In- dians. Now, what are you going todo. As for my part, I’d like to tell Dan and Se- battis all about it,.and then we can lay a trap for the rascals.” “What would you do with them?” “Leave that to the guides—they know how to treat such scoundrels to back- woods justice.” “T would rather you said nothing about itas yet. Wait and see. If they try to harm me once more, then do as you please.” Tom mbled something about locking the stable door after the horse was stolen, but he finally let Aleck have his way, though it was not many hours ere he felt that he had done wrong to give up so easily, and against his good judgment. As the rain was still coming down at intervals, they had erected their rude shelter tent, under which the whole of them could crowd in an emergency like this, though, as a general thing, the two guides disdained to sleep under it, and simply made beds of hemlock browse near the fire. Aleck could not sleep—there seemed to be something stirring him up, and his thoughts were of the mother whom he had only the faintest memories of—the mother his heart had called for many a time when he saw other boys happy at home, and whom he firmly believed this uncle had secreted from him. Would he see her soon?’ Was she alive, as his loving heart had so often declared in his hours of deepest thought? Time passed. The fire burned low, and as the guides seemed to be slumbering heavily after their hard day’s work, Aleck crawled out to throw some fresh wood on the coals. This he had done, and was standing there, looking at the flame greedily snatching at the fuel, moralizing, perhaps, when he heard a slight sound near by, and turning his head, saw, to his sur- prise, the figure of his uncle leaning against a tree. Although somewhat startled at the sight, Aleck was too brave a lad to show any fear, and immediately walked toward the man who had been so long plotting against his happiness. “What do you want here, Uncle Arnold? These men would do you serious injury if I gave the alarm.” “But you won’t call on them. I’ll tell you why—it’s because you wish to know something about your mother, and I’m here to give you a last chance to learn. Once set these men on me, and my lips are sealed forever.” “What do you want me to do?” | | “Come with me, and I swear to tell you all you desire to know of your mother —vour past, and my connection with it. Will you trust me?” 5 “One question,” breathlessly, “is my mother alive?” ; “Yes. choose this minute—to know al) or nothing.” Aleck threw caution to the winds, and inadripping way that picked up a gun. “Lead on,” he said, quietly, “I will follow. But be careful how you deceive me.” CHAPTER XIV. FACE TO FACE UNDER THE HEMLOOKS. a HEN Aleck threw the gun over YN his shoulder, and followed his rascally uncle from the camp, he knew what chances he was taking, but the wily plotter had put the alternative to him so strongly that he could not do anything else, and feel com- fortable afterward. He did not wholly trust his uncle, know- ing him to be tricky, and felt sure that the other was up to some game; but Aleck had become possessed with a wild hope that he might secure the information that had been promised him, and then make his escape from their clutches. His bravery could not be questioned, but his discretion was certainly open to objections. As he made his way after his uncle he pulled back the hammer of the gun, which was a pretty good evidence of the suspicion he entertained for the man. They stumbled at times, for the woods were dark, but the rain had ceased fall- ing and it was not as disagreeable as it might have been. Not a word passed between them as they walked on, until at least half a mile had been walked over since leaving the camp. The boy was on the point of refusing to go farther, when he saw his guide sud- denly halt, and lean up against a hem- lock tree,» much in the same manner in which he had done in the camp. “T reckon we are far enough away now,” he said, with something in his tone that made the boy shudder—it was as if the man gloried in having played a shrewd game. Had he coaxed him there under false pretenses? He had better take care—it was playing with fire to trifle with the sacred feelings of a son searching for his long-lost mother, and Aleck was just in the mood to prove his manhood by treat- ing the villain to a dose of shot. Somehow this man did not seem wholly human to him. Perhaps it was because he had suffered at his hands, and he be- lieved his mother also owed her trials to his plotting, that he had conceived a ter- rible feeling of dislike for him, and under less than ordinary provocation would be led to shoot at him. “Now tell me what you promised, Uncle Arnold,” said the boy, taking up a posi- tion some six or eight feet away from him, holding the gunina way that he could use it instantly, should his enemy try to put any treacherous game into exe- cution. The other laughed—and his laugh was nothing more than a sneer, that aggra- vated most people terribly. “Is it possible you have that good opin- ion of me—that you believed I would keep my word? By Jove! you see what it is to have a reputation for veracity. Jok- ing aside, Aleck, it pleases me to grant the request you have long made; about to tell you of the one you would like to hear of—your mother.” Aleck held his breath, and looked in- tently at the man before him. At the same time he was not put off his guard so easily, and kept his senses on the alert, ready to make use of the gun if the occasion warranted it. “Go on, then. You know how anxious Iam to hear where she is, and why we have been kept apart all these years.” “That is my doing. She married my only brother, late in life, after I had been led to believe all his property would come to me, and I’ve never forgiven her for stepping between fortune and myself. My old brother—your father—died two years after his marriage, leaving a wife and child. How I wished you would go, too, but there never was a tougher little brat, and I saw that if I expected ever to have a hand in the fingering of those thousands I must try some other plan. SE sessed great influence over my sister-in-law, which may be in part laid to the power of astrong mind over a weak one, and was able to do many thin with her; but she clung to her child with the same foolish regard that mothers gen- erally show, and I was at length led to believe that I would have to adopt some measures more harsh in their way in order to accomplish the design I had sworn to bring to pass, if it took all the ars of my life—and, truth to tell, it fon only reached the fruitful stage now. “Tt doesn’t matter just how I managed to work things—we will only speak of the results now. I had her lost to the world in a year’s time—she was hidden away in a place where no mortal could find her— not treated badly, and with everything that heart could wish, save the one thing she craved—her child—you.” “Wretch!” Aleck could not help say- ing. “inatena of getting angry at this word, the other seemed to take it as a compli- ment, for he laughed again, in his cool way, and went on as before. “So far all went well, but I found more trouble in trying to manage the other side of the house. When your mother ap- arently deserted you, there were some egal techniealities came that up, several officious men interested themselves in your welfare, despite my efforts tocontro] mat- ters, and just when I thought to have the whole thing in my grasp, it was snatched away from me. “Yes, for a time I was mad enough to kill some one, but my senses came back, and I saw that it would do no good to kick over the traces, so I waited all these years, hoping for the opportunity to are rive when I might attain my end. “When I aNd een start out on this trip, I made my mind up to one of two thin —the game should fall into my faunas within the next few months, or else you would never return to your friends. “T am now prepared to execute m plan. You have heard all there is to tell, and now listen tomy terms: Sign the paper I offered to you before, when you refused, and I pledge this—that you are united with her inside of a month.” “That is a great inducement, but I would like to know what is the nature of Pees Iam to sign.” “Can’t you guess?’ “It refers to the property?” “Certainly, and the question that now arises is whether you care most for the fortune, or your mother,” cunningly put the tempter. “My mother, above all else; but that does not prove that I would be right in doing as you say. I have _ her welfare, as well as my duty, to consider.” “Well, you may have ten minutes to think it over. Remember one thing, my. lad, I am determined to effect my pur- pose at any cost.” Aleck knew that meant even his life would not stand in the way of this des- perate schemer—the man who played for a fortune. { _to be restless, and several times sat up to look around, under the delu- © sion that it was morning. *y Would dawn never come, he thought, as for the third time, he rubbed his eyes, — gaping about him. e could just make out the forms of his companions along- side, and wondering why the shelter tent failed to be so crowded as it had seemed when he first laid down, he became aware of the fact that there were not so many © in it now as then. This was singular, and deserved inves- tigation, for Davy was not the one to let a friend make himself uncomfortable on his account, and if any of them had gone out in the rain he wanted to know it. So as eee as possible he pulled him- self out from the tangle of sleepers, and on hands and knees crawled out of the CHAPTER XV. SEBATTIS ON THE NIGHT TRAIL. ERHAPS Davy was slaying another moose in his sleep, for he appeared am | tent nt. ._ He had hardly reached the open air than he made several discoveries of im- ortance, the first of which was that it ad entirely ceased raining, and the worst of the storm had passedover. Then he found out that there were two of the former inmates of the tent missing, and what seemed strangest of all, he could - see nothing of them, even around the fire. ~ Davy took up an armful of fuel and tossed it on the fire, for there was need - of such attention, the embers alone re- maining of the once glorious blaze. When he had attended to this duty the boy again looked around him, under the conviction that he might now learn some- thing of what began to appear very like a mystery. There was not the slightest trace of the two, and he looked within the tent again to make sure as to their identity, when he found his first suspicions correct—the absentees were Aleck and the Maine guide, Dan Sickles. , Had they gone off gg ae Ded with some sort of an agreement hketween them, or at different times? This was a question that worried Davy, and he did not know whether he should arouse the others or not. As he stood there some one within the tent moved, and presently the Indian guide came crawling out, evidently to fix the fire. When he saw that this had been done, he cast a quick glance around to discover who had been before him on each occasion, for this was the second time thissame night he had awakened to keep the fire up, to find that his duty had already been done. Seeing Davy standing there, he smil and nodded, as much as_to say that the Southern boy was a lad after his own heart, and was then about to creep into the tent again, when a motion from Davy stopped his progress in that direction, 1012 “Do battis?’ “What, Aleck, he no in tent?” asked the Indian, who had evidently crawled out without casting a look around him. “See for yourself.” Sebattis bent hastily down and held the side flap of the tent so that the flash from the newly resurrected fire could find its way into the interior, when he was quick to make the discovery that not only was Aleck missing, but that his fellow uide did not lie in the spot he had seen Sire take when they retired. The face of the Indian was as emotion- less as that of the Sphinx, but Davy had means of seeing that the other was non- plused and soniewhat worried. He looked about the camp as though eager to solve the strange mystery. “You no see um, Davy?” The boy explained how he had made the discovery, and that when he came out of the tent the fire was low, needing at- tention badly, at which the other shook his head. “Dan he no man to let fire die down if him wake—me no get on to dis. P’raps we find out if look on ground, eh?” “What under the sun is all this grand pow-wow about out here? Here I wake up to find myself the only one left in the shanty. I say, it ain’t morning yet, is it?” and with these words Tom came crawling out of the tent. The whole matter was soon explained to him, and from the way in which his face clouded up, it was evident that Tom took it as a serious piece of business. Under his direction Sebattis went to work endeavoring to find out just how matters stood. The two boys could not bring themselves to believe that Aleck woeitt slip off with the guide in secret, in order to Nook for any game; and_ hence the affair assumed a phase that alarmed them b th. It did not take the keen-eyed fellow long to get at the kernel of the mystery, when once he set to work, for he was a chi'd of the forest, and used to reading the signs of the trail as the boys might a book. When he arose to his feet they saw that he had made a discovery, for his face beamed with the light of it. Eagerly Tom questioned him about it. “Him all right, Tom. No fear Aleck be . in trouble.” “Then they have po off together—I did not think that.of Aleck. What under the sun could they find to hunt on such anight?” . Ne o hunt dis time,” and Sebattis shook his head until the long, straight black hair swept about him like a vail. “See here, did Aleck leave this camp of his own free will, or was he pulled out of it? Answer me that.” “Him walk himself, maybe, but him no go alone.” “Of course not—Danny went along.” Sebattis shook his head decisively. “Dan he follow little way behind—no go long. Udder man with boy.” Tom and Davy exchanged glances. The words of the guide aroused sudden sus- picions, which alarmed them, “Come, Sebattis, tell all you have dis- covered.” “Just so. Aleck he come out and pile wood on fire. Den he see a man _ yonder by tree. I s’pose they hab talk, and Aleck step dis way to pick up gun, when he walk quietly after man into woods. Dan, he be watchin’ all dis while, and right away he creep after um. See, here Sees Dan crawl through de bushes on hin knees. No eber see nother pair knees like um—shuarp as snow-shoes,’ Here was a pretty kettle of fish, as Tom hastened to remark, and it was a puzzle to see their way clear. Under such cir- cumstances, what should be their duty? One thing comforted them—the fact that Dan Sickles haa gone on the trail of the two—was, in fact, following close at their heels, Sebattis declared. They talked it over, Tom and Davy, and came to the conclusion that their best policy was to remain in the camp. Since Aleck had left them of his own accord, and not by violent means, as on the former occasion, they must believe that he knew his business best, wanted no outside interference. - This determination was more readily reached because they believed he would be well looked after by Dan, who must have been very much astonished to see the young fellow go off with a stranger in the dead of night. __ However, Tom had taken advantage of an opportunity offered during the day to post the guides. He had not told them all, but enough to give them a fair ink- ting of the truth, so they knew Aleck had an enemy who was unscrupulous and determined. This Tom had done in order that the guides might not be taken in by Penobscot’s villainous enioren in case you know where Aleck is, Se- and they ever ran across him. Sebattis de- clared that all this bad occurred two! hours back, for it would take that long for the wood Aleck had thrown on the fire GOooDpD to burn away, as Davy had found it when he came out. Much might have Ranposee in that time. Surely Dan should have turned up again with at least a report of what had occurred, Could his plans have miscarried, and the enemy gotten the better of the lank guide? Tom mentioned something of the sort to the Indian, who showed his teeth in a smile, while he shook his head. “Me know Dan. Me don’t think there be man in Maine woods that get better out of him. You see, me right. No fear —take it easy—all come right. bimeby, sure.” It was evident that Sebattis had consid- erable faith in his fellow-guide, and some- how this fact comforted the boys more than they knew. One thing was certain—there was no more sleep for them that night, and the trio sat around the fire, talking and watching until the first streak of early dawn lighted up the east. Still no sign of the absent ones. It had grown quite serious now, and although Sebattis cooked a splendid breakfast, he was the only one who cared to touch it, the boys having lost their usually robust appetites in worrying over the strange affair. Tom stood it until even his patience had ceased to be a virtue, especially when he noticed that Sebattis was casting more than one anxious glance toward the for- est around them, and examining the trail, as though half-tempted to start off upon it. This settled the matter in the mind of the Maine boy. He called the guide toward him. “Get your gun, Sebattis.” “What for Tom do?” queried the other, as he tightened his belt as if he knew while asking the question, and then oe up the deadly rifle that was his nseparable companion. “Find Aleck. We will wait here. If he has been hurt——” “Yes?” eagerly, as he stood ready to dart away into the forest. “Bring that man to camp, to be dealt with—go, and goud luck to you.” The Indian waved his hand, turned, and plunged into the hemlock growth. CHAPTER XVI. DAVY FACES A PAIR OF YELLOW EYES, HE two young voyagers watched 1 >» the Indian, as, bending low, he made his way into the depths of the wood. It had been evident to both of them that Sebattis had been growing uneasy himself, though his sin- uglar pride would have kept him from acknowledging the fact that he might have made a mistake with regard to the invulnerable qualities of Dan Sickles, and that it was even possible for that worthy, great hunter though he was, to get into a tight hole occasionally. When their second guide had disap- ae they felt easier, and went about he duties of the camp with even some show of enthusiasm. -“T, for one, vote this thing a nuisance, The idea of that rascally uncle of Aleck’s a life a burden for him—it’s too ad.” “Yes,” echoed Davy, “and if I get the chance again I intend to make life a bur- den for him, the scoundrel. Besides, he’s spoiling our trip into the wilderness, for who can get any pleasure out of it when every night we lie down we ain’t sure but what we’ll wake up like the Irish- man, and find ourselves dead?” “T hope either Dan or Sebattis will give these fellows a lesson they’ll never get over, even if it is to whip them half to death.” Tom was not naturally vindictive, but the present case was too much of an aggravation for even his good nature. That the matter was more serious than! they believed became evident as hours passed away, and they heard nothing from any one of the absentees. The sky had become partially clear, and at times the sun peeped out, making nature look bright. Noon came and went, yet they did not put in an appearance. Strange, what could have befallen the whole of them! Time hung heavily on the hands of the two boys, thus left to guard the camp under such queer circumstances. Davy was especially restless, and —— up a dozen times an hour to go to the edge of the woods, as if he would pierce their secret, and learn the fate of poor Aleck. His nervousness annoyed Tom, who was himself in anything but a cheerful frame of mind, and he at four o’clock suggested that Davy take a little stroll around with a gun, and in this way work off some of the superfluous steam which seemed to be pent up in his system. Quick to avail himself of the pper nity, which he had somehow hardly cared NEWS. to suggest himself, not wishing to leave Tom alone in camp, Davy picked upa shot-gun, tossed it on his shoulder, and then sauntered out of sight. For fear lest he should be tempted to assume the task of following the trail, and get himself into difficulties, he took pains to leave the camp on the opposite side from that where the foot-prints of the missing ones were. At first Davy did not think of game, his only object being to get in motion, but after a time, when he was feeling better, the spirit of the hunter flashed u in his breast at sight of a noble buck that sprang out of a copse, almost at his feet, and sped away. Then he discovered that he had only the two shells that were in the gun when he picked it up, and which, when he came to examine them, he found were much too small for deer, being number threes, Davy himself having pushed them into the weapon many hours before, at sight of a duck that was swimming on the stream above them, but in which expectation of slaughter he had been dis- appointed. So he wandered on willing to take a shot at a partridge, if one came in the way of his heavy shot. Although he had not noticed it, the woods were now growing quite gloomy, and — crept on apace. Not a great while later this had become so strong that even negligent Davy had his atten- tion drawn to the fact, and he at once turned his face in the direction of home. He had not gone over a mile in all from camp, and as the stream was now close on his left there was no possibllity of his getting lost in the pine woods. On the way back he found new troubles awaiting him, however. The underbrush was more dense than he ever remembered seeing it in the forests of Maine, and put him in mind of the tangles he knew of in southern swamps, where the hunter has to bend forward, while astride his pony, and cut the mass of vines that would else prevent progress. Then again the darkness would seem to take especial delight in swooping down upon the scene, so that in a short time he was stumbling along like a drunken man, his only consolation being that every step was one in the right direction. Nor was this all he had to contend with. A sound came from the depths of the wildwood that brought Davy to a full stip, in order to examine the gun and make sure that it was in order for instant use, It was a peculiar noise. He had heard it before, and at the time shivered to listen, for there was something so fearful in the wild cry that it seemed to pierce to the very marrow. ‘ The Canada lynx was abroad, in search of food. Davy wondered if this was a mate to the other or the same. He hoped it would go its way peacefully, and come no nearer. When next he caught the cry it came from a point exactly in advance of him, and he gripped his double-barrel firmly, as the conviction was forced into his mind that the fates meant he should meet this ferocious animal on ground of its own choosing—alone. This time there would be no stalwart guide behind him, ready to be the death of the moose if he failed to slay it, All would depend on himself. Then another thought struck him with un- pleasant force—the charge in his gun was not buckshot, but only such as the duck hunters used. Could he change his course, and avoid the dread encounter? This thought he speedily cast from him as unworthy of his estabilshed bravery, and determined to push straight on: siend the bank of the stream as he had been doing. If the lynx came upon him, and insisted upon barring his path, then something would happen, and one of them get hurt—that was all. s He had gone about thirty» paces, and was congratulating himself that all was well, when the bushes infront of him crackled, drawing his attention to a cer- tain spot, where he instantly caught sight of two yellow, glaring eyes, that seemed to glow with all the sullen fires of a demon’s orbs. Davy had hardly time to raise his gun, when, with a screech, the lynx, or “ wood- aoe as they call it in Maine, sprang at him. (TO BE CONTINUED.) —_—__+- ee ___ EDISON’S TELSCR APH DISCOV- 4 4 . There was nothing about Edison’s out- ward appearance in his younger days to exe promise of future greatness. He was hen, as now, a plain, unpretentious man, who came and went without troubling any one with his conversation. The oper- ator who sat at the adjoining table, when Edison was a simple operator, tells rid tricks, how he made his first great discovery and i become expert. invention: “One day his wire g or went wrong Boston. my wire. explain this?’ He looked for a m and then remarked: ‘Why, that is by induction; the two wires are 1 each other.’ He went off, and afterwards came back seemingly I ‘Yes, that’s what | deep thought. it,’ he repeated. ‘I wonder if w devise a plan like that to make # cuits on one wire, so that two meni) send, and two others receive at thi time?’ And he went back to his! ment. Outof that little inciden vised the duplex telegraph system. followed the quadruplex, and thes saved the telegrapb companies @ of dollars.” — 6 Wine and Water Tricl ——4-———_ The game, or periment, or wha which is given here requires som and patience. You take two wine of the sat fill one claret other dark and th with wate don’t do it dinner ta all events while the cloth is | for unless careful, y? spill the and you that thos soil the cloth have the law Next you, the pee 0} with a ca ut it@ F own on t filled with so that the two brims fit exactl other. Then you move the | the glasses tout sufficiently to small opening between the two The water immediately begins into the wine, and the wine, whi@ lighter of the two fluids, mounts * glass on the top. a It takes rather a long time hour—to complete the experimé ou will then see that the wine ave exchanged places and the wé driven the wine into the “upper 2? Tricks for Home Us@ Balance a card on the tip of 08 finger, and on the top of it place # Hit the edge of the card a sharp”™ tal blow with some object, like # or snap it with your finger, if you, it directly forward without te drive the card up or down, and® will fly away, leaving the coin * on your finger ; Tr —" See wr wow en wm wwe wee Se eee ww ees Oe ew OK ewe Se we Ee ee So, Then try the coin and goblet © a a common drinking-gl own on two silver dollars 0” covered with a cloth. Place a © within, and ask the company “4 it without touching or dist apa This may be done by e cloth near the glass. a A deceptive experiment is t in water. Fill a drinking 3am brim with water, and then as pany how many coins can be ©: without spilling it over. Th@ will all be too small, for 4 4, number can_be put in if it is ©; A little practice with a?2, and the young beginne? © in some way. H working New Haven, I was opé He started to fix it, and | thus engaged his message came bat I called him—“Tom, ¢ a peel or trick, | ver you like to? ‘rere: os Soto ELE Boos GOOD NEWS. 21018 KEEP TO THE RIGHT. ep to the right,” as the law directs— or such is the rule of the road; to the right, whoever expects Curely to carry life’s load. P to the right, with God and His Word, or wander, though Folly allure ; P to the right, nor ever be turned 0m what's faithful, and holy, and pure. to the right, within and without, ith stranger, and kindred, and friend ; to the right, and you need have no doubt b all will be well in the end. ) to the right in whatever you do, claim but your own on the way; ) to the right, and hold on to the true, ‘0m the morn to the close of life’s day, —————_s—- ee —____—_ INDER SUSPICION, MARCELLES EUGENE. — swims naturally on finding itself in the water for the first time, and for these reasons its position is nearly, if not quite the same as on terra firma; the action of the limbs is almost identical with that employed in walking, while its barrel-like body, large in proportion to its head and legs, serves as a buoy to keep it afloat. The physical structure of man, the lord of creation, is not so favorably adapted for making his way through the water, his head being much heavier, in proportion to its size, than his trunk, while - has to make an entirely new departure, in aban- doning his customary erect position, and has to adopt movements of the limbs to which he has previously been unac- customed. Still, the specific gravity of the human body (particularly when the | cavity of the chest is filled with air) is! lighter than that of water, in proportion and calmly wait to get cool before enter- ing the water. \ UTIL — AWM | . “ : ” . in thee Minute 2— . Pick up that hat,” cried | beet” Ver pe Roy, “or I’ll wheel this nayil jar, illis. Whoa, horse about and ride right et over you.” be a thave talked on’t. _ “You can’t. Ill run “tima for sale?” into the school-house.” “T"ll ride him into the school-house, and over the teacher’s desk—he’s about the most reckless horse you ever saw—and not leave a bone in your skin big enough to shake ina rattle-box.” Roy said this with so resolute an air, and in so fierce a tone, that the ry? t. Willis—whoa ne} 0 Je Sa much bet- peMitro,.22n he looks— it i mpably you know ; oun and can see a ie acl. He’s been nen te a ana of a poor ope starved down to t Whee’ But there’s hat ¥ : Je kine Billy !"—Roy ) vals.” the reins to boy, frightened out of his d ann Start rite he judgment, picked uy the ft be holdin hat and handed it to him, ok ing 1) Q £ ° ; Hig, 4 subduing his in the midst of a storm of --pirds my a ere’s spirit we Ble He only needs som’ io Now, and a whizzing snow-balls, — ich now concentrated on im. robe Whoa, I fell vou | “Why don’t you ride ant May him up,” y over them?” shrieked the small boy. A will when I come back this way,” said Roy, kicking and slapping to move Billy out of range, “T havent time this morning.” Parsuing his journey, he offered the horse every- th Wh , jaine~ Re at ye ’xpect pale athe critter®” oe Be and 7. © ouching i at turning h Bie he? ny's points, = ne PU ¢ ad not ie =H jana pn ould have ted ae lars.” As it was, he put a i race fh. Ven varice,and answered, mod- where, and several times KOK P8tm—" dollars, Mr. Willis—a very f egg}, 4: AA fl 57M Z aco ZB came within an if or two ! ITassure you—hold still, 1 UE Ze) a yo LLP.) tay NE SEE : of selling him. — Our gut 2nother bargain won't Opie. NS : Meanwhile rider and fetouq toor every day in the week.” beast needed rest and x ett think not,” said Mr. refreshment. _ Nice He, I hold him in: let him Looking anxiously for some relief ®, °#®«Yant tosee how he moves to the pinch they were in, Roy asked te" Wh Tight» aman on the road who lived in the noth tl” cried R “Get —~ next house; for, like a first-class ld | Oy. eb up, Bal thoy =+__- tramp, he had learned the advantage Tic iP pat once, Se of knowing the names of people he vertd Iyytick, | called upon. “Caleb Lusk,” was the sopy. “He en i ‘ong Sat twice, may buy your horse; he has plenty of th kick pou brute |” WITH A SWIFT BLOW OF THE OTHER ARM, ROY SENT THE HANDCUFFS WHIRLING INTO|hay. But, come to think, he went to hay th Slap, slap! THE AIR. THEY STRUCK THE OFFICER’S HORSE, AND HE WAS OFF AT A BOUND. town this forenoon. i bat ly» Sete “x three times, groaned, Roy rode into the open farm-yard, and “on rs Over > rushed into the same extravagance if he; “Ye’se welcome intirely, Mr. Johnson,”! |eaying his horse under a shed, went cof HH Be ls yelffened ike a wel’. | bad had fiye dollars, { shalt tian hams (said Pat: ,| briskly to the door and knocked. ’ 0 phi ” kind, you see,” said Roy,|man waiting to be made happy by own-| “Who told you my name was Johnson?”| “Does Mr. Caleb Lusk live here?” he : )’ Ong” around, “Some horses held ing such a treasure.” Roy asked. | a toe asked, with the air of a person having ger-omt tea Would rear and pitch. He He next offered him for sale to an Irish} “Ah!” grinned the other, “an’ who} important business to transact. tor” fealan, pond pitch.” laborer he met on the road. tould ye my name was Pat? Being told what he knew before—that he fvey ged his cheek on one side “What will I be buyin’ a horse for?”| This set Roy to thinking about the| Mr, Tusk lived there, but was not at i sed: So Slightly on the other and said Patrick. name he should assume in his new char- | home—he feigned disappointment, say- re! ' 8 doe : “To ride,” said Roy. acter, and he said to himself as he rode ing: se ot DAT Byatt? Sn’t itch— “To ri n’ is it the likes of me to| on: “I wish to see him about something ve a hay” 3 Ke a pile” eee kart him be ra iteta = honest ockepation, and| “I have been Mr. Walker about long particulair,” upon which he was eae st €pe 7 7 go ridin’ over the counthry like a ginvle- enough; now I think Ja am entitled to] to come in and wait. “Thank you—per- By iat aig’ On how you keep him. | man takin’ his pleasure?” call myself Mr. Ryder. ict h haps—if I—can I put my horse in the i ‘Well die? oF a good deal; he’s a “No, no, but make him work for you. He sought out the “nager,” whom he | parn?9” ‘ old fy» Scipli se.” Put him in a cart.” found chopping brushwood at his, door, ea > c ? a wat by Raid the aa slccehing around| “Ah!” said Patrick, the brightness of | and saleet him if = ae buy Billy. Soteaat arte oe Lagsr et rhe by Yhich ng for spavins and ring- | the idea, and aredray of the sunrise light-| Thompson shook his hea 1. «more horses | fore his nose. Roy looked out for that, ite8 0 Be Te plenty, “I d’n know! ing up his countenance at the same mo-| “I can’tafford to buy u teen 4dih hn leteadinteetel’ tis tad aad at og ef ts hoa . ment. “It is what he is good for! Put/| for the dumb animals folks TOE atch el for Billy’s sake than his owe it ane With you see,” put in Roy.|himinacart, and get a better horse to and fine me for driving! = - “Now,” thought he, “Friend Lusk ma g aor’ To, & toogn the horse.” draw him!” “You don’t think they would seize this tat tnit ween, Tt beeen ae moa” By rite. “Look here, Pat,” cried Roy, “will you | horse?” exclaimed Roy. ‘ ld. if I|1 won't complain.” : of Fa, the fe blanket, and rope-girth | take him as a gift?”, They would, sure as the world, | ‘d| Th folk tteantivh ail ped Hy) "ds 5), renchman, Lizard, at the| Pat looked Billy and his_rider soberly {should be seen | working him,” sai ne > bce . a were oe a Shey » .. ayptn oy Das a whole harness he|all over, and then answered, with a hurt|Thompson, “Besides, I’ve sold my cart | affable toward the stranger, th ae a Pi yo0 tt Bt b giv heap.” expression : now, and I’ve no use for a horse. must ee peat NR very ee vane : Seven d ” sai il-| “What h Tad to yez that yer| “Who bought your cart?” SS __|ing a hing.to tell his business, on a ting ng the ae oni eet hana: dank tet ia arake cop 2 ast o that seniet” “A man name of Willis; he hain’t paid | acquaintdfce with the children and vé—that’s all I will| Roy did not find these answers very|me for it yet, and I don’t know as he|amused them for an hour by whittling flattering to his pride as Billy’s rider, ! ever will.” |playthings for them, and teaching them 1018 — little games, in the chimney corner. The dinner-time having arrived—the obliging Mr. Lusk being still absent—Roy was invited to, “sit by.” He wished to excuse himself, for he was really ashamed of imposing so far upon the hospitality of these good- natured people. He trembled, moreover, with dread of seeing Mr. Lusk return to surprise him in the midst of a meal ob- tained under—well, yes, false pretenses. The women urged him, however; his own hunger seconded their solicitations; and with appetite impaired somewhat by ap- prehensions, which he mistook for qualms of conscience, he paid his respects to the baked potatoes and fried bacon. Seeing him nervous and uneasy after dinner, the women thought to pacify him by the assurance that Mr. Lusk could not remain much longer away—that they were looking for him every minute. “So am I,” thought Roy, And he added aloud: “Perhaps I had better call ain.” ofthe were full of regrets that he had been detained so long, and kindly offered to give Mr. Lusk any message he might leave. He thanked them, but thought that he had better see the gentleman himself. He was now in so great a hurry to get off that he dreaded the delay of taking Billy out of the barn. He reflected, moreover, that if the family had not no- ticed the horse when he rode him in, they would be sure to do so when he rode him out. So he proposed to leave him until his return, which might be, he said, in the course of about an hour and a half. “Tf I return,” he exclaimed, aloud to himself, as he hurried down the road; for a perfidious thought had tempted him to pay for his entertainment, and at the same time rid himself of what had become to him rather a nightmare than a horse, by never returning at all. He had gone about half a mile and was chuckling nervously—and I am happy to add, somewhat remorsefully—over_ the astonishment of Caleb at finding muy rmanently quartered in his barn, an he mystification of the family—blushing, too, at the reputation be was so unfortu- nate as to leave behind him—whena fast- driven sleigh came at his heels. Having satisfied himself that the driver was not Drollers, he stepped aside to let it pass, when it pulled op suddenly, and - a mild-featured man said: “You have some business with me, I believe.” “Oh” said Roy, with a sickly sort of _ smile, “this is—Mr, Lusk?” It was Mr. Lusk, who, reaching home soon after the stranger left, had been thoughtful enough to drive after him, and learn his particular business. “TI have a horse to sell on Mr. Lusk,” said Roy, putting on a bold front. “A be just said he thought you would buy im.” eae “Mr. Lusk seemed rather surprised at that. “Whoever the man was,” he said, “Iam afraid he has put you to some useless trouble.” “Oh, I don’t mind that,” said Roy, “though after I was waiting for you two hours or more, 1 shall bea little dis- appointed if we can’t make a trade.” here was nothing else for him todo but to get into the sleigh and ride back with Mr. Lusk to the barn. At sight of Billy, Mr. Lusk looked puzzle amused. “The man was crazy,” he said, think I would buy a horse like that.” “Won’t you give something for him?” “Not acent! I wouldn’t have him on my premises. I should dread he’d give my horse the glanders.” I’m afraid you’re prejudiced against the horse,” said Roy. “A few. weeks at your well-filled mangers would make a very different-looking beast of him,” But his arguments availed nothing with Mr. Lusk, who, however, took the whole thing so much more good-naturedly than might have been expected, that Roy was glad to get off as he gid. © : Billy did not like to leave the stall and hay-rack; and Roy had a rather hard time getting him out of the yard. He kicked, and al apped: and scolded, till he was fiery-red in the face; and it was not soothing to his pride to feel Mr. Lusk smiling at Sinn from the barn door, and the faces of all the friendly women-folks staring at him from the windows. and “ to CHAPTER XXXIV. ROY DISPOSES OF HIS HORSE. HE, weather, which had been fine in the morning beame lowering in the | afternoon ; and night closed in early with a violent snow-storm, Finding that he could neither sell Billy nor give him away, Roy had made sev- eral attempts to abandon hingin some quiet manner that did not seem too in- human. Once he left him in the lee ofa straw stack, and was making off, when ! | GOOD NEWS. the owner of the stack came shouting at his heels, and ordered him to take “that gol-durned critter away.” Next he put him under a tavern shed; and having sat a while in the bar-room, was walk- ing off with an absent-minded air, when the landlord called rather sharply to remind him that he had forgotten some- he et something being the horse. Whenever he stopped at any place, he did not take the trouble to hitch sti hoping—alas, in vain—that he would take it into his head to run away. Any other horse would have been sure to do that; but he always found Billy patiently awaiting his return. Thus night and the snow-storm over- took him, while he was still traveling in company with his terrible, not-to-be-got- rid-of-fate, or phantom, in the form of a horse. The storm was in his face, and he was bending to it, blinded and deafened by its force, when a hand clutched his leg. He had lapsed into a sort of dreamy state; and for a moment he imagined that some farmer, at whose barn door Billy had been abandoned, had followed, in a fury, to tell him to take the beast away. But the reality was revealed to him at a glance. He was mounted on Billy’s back, and the man who had clutched him was Drollers. The constable had waited -all the fore- noon for his victim to show himself in the vicinity of the ice company’s office, when hearing from a Canadian that Roy had been seen early in the morning at the brick-yards inquiring for “a man of the name of Lizard,” he drove over to Liz- ard’s house, and so got on the fugitive’s track. “Drollers,” said Roy, “how are you?” “Considerably better for seeing you,” replied Drollers, holding him with a firm grip. “I'll trouble pan to get off this horse, and come with me in my cutter.” “Drollers,” said Roy, “you are incon- siderate Do you think I can bear to quit a beast I’ve become so attached to?” “Get off, or I’ll pull you off. You are my prisoner.” And Roy heard something rattle in the officer’s other hand. It was a pair of handcuffs. “Don’t put those things on me!” said Roy, sobered at the prospect. “I prom- ise to Ro with you, without any resist- ance, if you won’t. ‘Come, Drollers, you know I’m afellow of my word, whatever else I am.” “All I know is you’ve played me tricks enough, and I’m goin o make sure of you this time,” replied the constable. To avoid being ragged from the horse, Roy dismounted. he officer’s horse, which had been driven without bells, stood near by, dim in the driving storm. Drollers held one of the captive’s arms, and was about adjusting the handcuffs to the wrist, when, with a swift blow, of the other arm Roy sent them whirl- ing in the air. They must have struck the horse, for he was off at a bound with the cutter at his heels. os Drollers might have caught him, if he had not been embarrassed by his pris- oner. Roy did not accommodate himself to the constable’s motions, and almost in an instant the frightened animal shot out of sight and hearing. . You'd better have taken my prom- ise,” said Roy, quietly. “Now, where are your handcuffs?” Drollers searched the drifts, fumbling about and stamping with his great feet but no handcuffs were discovered, for the reason, which afterward appeared, that, alsociag from the horse’s hips, they had fallen over the dasher, and been carried off in the sleigh. But Drollers was not to be baffled by a pine accident, He hada SODE. cord in his pocket, with which he bound Roy’s hands behind him, drawing the knots till] he made him ery out. He had already taken away his knife. “Now,” said Roy, “you had better shoulder me, for with that cord cutting my wrists, | won’t walk a step.” ‘You shall ride, then,” said Drollers. “Take your choice, siton the horse, or be tied on.” Roy preferred to sit, and remounted Billy, with the constable’s assistance. Drollers then made a noose in the bri- dle-rope, oa it over his prisoner’s foot, tightened it on the ankle, and held it firmly, while he walked by Billy’s head—not in the direction he wished to go, but in that which his own runaway horse had taken. Roy’s situation seemed hopeless, and indeed he was so weary of vagabond life that he would not have objected very strongly to riding back with Drollers in a respectable way, and taking his chances in jailorout. But the treatment he was receiving from this dull-witted, coarse- handed officer angered him, and the cord hurt his wrists. Besids, his hands were cold, his mit- tens paying been removed, and it was peroabe, this fact which first prompted im to work his fingers under the skirt of his coat, Succeeding in this, he passed his wrists up over the flattened satchel, which he still carried there, out of sight, until he found the buckle of the strap which bound it to his back. On the sharp teeth of that buckle he began to saw the cord, wearing it away, fiber by fiber, thread by thread. It was a slow process, and often he cut his wrists instead of the cord. Now the strain and exertion made his arms ache so that he had to stop and rest, but it was only to begin again with fresh energy and resolution. In the course of time he could sever the cord, he was sure, and he rejoiced whenever Billy lurched, or heaved to, as he frequently did, until Drollers had learned not to pull him too hard by the bit. “Ah, Billy!” he inwardly exclaimed, “you are the horse for my money. Be slow—be blessedly slow! Take your time —deliberate, think about it—that’s a lovely Billy!” The cord was severed. Roy’s hands were now free; but Droll- ers still held him by the noose tightened about his foot. To slip his foot out of the noose with Drollers drawing so hard upon it, was impossible, and any noticeable attempt to free himself must meet with failure, as the hand that held the rope would catch the leg. Ah, had Drollers only left him his knife. Without that stratagem was necessary. Having disentangled the cord from |P his wrists, he reached down — while appearing to bend his head against the driving storm and made one end fast to the doubled rope just beyond the noose at his ankle. Then putting the other end under the rope-girth that bound on Billy’s blanket, he pulled it gently through close to his foot, drew it tight, and twisted it into a knot. While doing this, he had pressed his foot well back. Now gradually lifting it forward, he was gratified to perceive that Drollers, instead of drawing di- rectly on his leg, drew up on the knotted cord and rope-girth. All this time Drollers was bending his own head against the fury of the snow: laden gale, and storm and darkness united to conceal all suspicious move- ments on the part of his oo Still Roy could not pull his boot out of the noose. He soon made the discovery, however, that he could pull his foot out of the boot. This was done with extreme deliber- ation and care. It was then easy to slip the boot down out of the noose. The next thing was to pull the boot on again, ready for a race through the drifts. his, too, was accomplished without exciting the attention of Droll- ers, who was busy breasting the storm, urging Billy forward, and holding fast the rope which he believed still held the leg, of the prisoner. Drollers looked around occasionally to see the dim outline of Roy on the horse. But once—just as he was entering a small village, where he hoped to get news of his own horse and cutter—he looked around and saw no outline there. He made aclutch at the leg; the leg was yone, and only anempty noose dangled n its place. Every sound which might have be- trayed the prisoner’s escape was so lost in the whistling storm, or muffled in the new-fallen snow, that Roy had slipped away unperceived and fled, leaving only the horse, which he had been so anxious to get rid of, in the officer’s hands, (TO BE CONTINUED.) _ poten dn vend ABOUT MERCURY. ERCURY--commonly ealled quick- silver, because it looks like sil- ver, and flows Seas the s liquid at the Small! drops of Kit IN; “Tos only metal which common heat of the air. ure mercury are sometimes found, but t is usually obtained from an ore called cinnabar—the ae of mercury—made up of mercury and sulphur, The metal is easily procured by heating the cinnabar in close cast-iron vessels with quick-lime or iron filings. The lime ‘takes up the sulphur, and the mercury passes off as a vapor through tubes into a vessel con- taining water, where it is condensed into liquid mercury. Pure eT, is very heavy, as bright as silver, and is not tar- nished by air at. the common heat; but when heated it takes up oxygen from the air, and is converted into a red powder called the oxide of mercury. If the mer- cury is heated toa greater degree, the oxy- gen can be driven off again, and the mer- cury turned back to its fluid state. It does not become solid until exposed to a eat degree of cold—from 39 to 40 degrees low zero, Fahrenheit. Another method of obtaining it is to roast the ore in a specially constructed furnace, in which case the sulpher contained in the cinna- bar is converted into sulphurous acid, and the metal is collected in a condens- ‘ing chamber, ont TAL Si HE B H) BY ARTHUR SEWALL, E. G., New York City, writes: “I am 18] age. I work in a store and earn $8 a weé saved $100, which I have deposited in # bank. A few days agolI read in one of fects the advertisement of an Investi velopment Co,. which seemed to me& remunerative investment. I would like what you think about it. Do you think 10} Without any knowledge conce development company to which yd we must at the outset distinctly | to in any way indorse or oppose # terprises in the columns of Good It usually costs most men a nil thousands of dollars before they HI the right thing, and unless you # tive concerning an investment, JY! better leave it alone. a Savings banks in the Eastern 9! so guarded by the State authoril the chances of losing money in¥ very slight, and good Masisona bon! ay dividends, are asa usual th investments. If you are willing een money, the savings banks est offer greater inducements, | can count on from 8 to 10 per cent.1@ invested in such places as Color thence westward up to Washing® the trouble there is this, you do # how your interests are being P} whether the parties are trustwol! so on. Therefore, we would ae to continue with the savings ban L. §., Denver, Col., writes: “I am: age. At present I am collecting for a ata salary of $25a month. I am anxivu some trade, but have no talent for aby the circumstances, what would you a@ do? What trade do you think would be? able for me ?” 7 As we have repeatedly said, * ossible to recommend a trade, ou can read the “Short Tal the Boys” until you find some genial, and then take that should endeavor to save some mM invest it in real estate right in? town. ~s Not long since we saw lots # in South Denver for $200 and # Buy two such lots and then pul, houses on them suitable for me@ live in, and in time, with the 8 your city, you will find your considerable ELEY F We me? as a means of becoming rich wit” capital, and also asa busines® quired provided you do not find trade. a Perhaps at the outset the PY seems too great to handle, 1© lyze it. Say you select a lot® and pay $20 down, carrying bond and mortgage until paid.” years you ought certainly to ha” sufficient money to have become! of the land. If you can buy™ much the better. When the 1@™ clear, you can put up house%, either by joining some local buy loan association, or by wha) builder lien, which is equi " mortgage, so that you will trouble to erect he houses. 4 rent them you shall receive {1% per cent. return on your entire ™ so that by the time you are = ou will be the owner of two ho™ ng you a regular income. A Denver has not yet reache@ mum of growth. In 1880 its} was 35,629, now it is upware or an increase of 199.51 per assume that in 1900, the incre® much, then the increase in V8) property, independent of aD). will be 100, for it will hav Thus you see the opportunity | There are certain temper@ will appreciate this kind of ® profit by it. Ordinarily — should recommend a trade may be that you are unsuite@ ~ and hence such a propositio® — may appear to you as JM ing totake up. One grea), that you have is that you. the place itself, and cat changes that take place. yo know when to purchase and W, If you find out that you ba), the wrong part of the tow), dispose of your lots and buy, direction. Property in the, VY State House, now buildiD#y, a very high price, but iD ..¢ direction, across the river, 17 Finally, as we have so Ter” don’t give up your preset until you have something "yy give up asure thing for a? ~ GOoondD NEWS. b din the hand is worth two in the -E., New York City, writes: “I am almost 14 Of age, and will soon have to leave school. | Yery fond of newspaper reporting. When “hough, how can I obtaina place on a paper lat Capacity? When and how can I enter ber Institute ? What studies should I pursue ? U text-books should I read ?” *0u will find full information concern- ;Rewspaper reporting in the article Quad in Goop News of June June 20, 1890, on that subject. Order to secure a place you will have ‘£0 from one office to another until you “a paper where they need help. © enter Cooper Union, you will have Make direct application to Mr. L. C. Yordan, the assistant secretary; whom “Will find at his office in the Cooper On between the hours of 9 A. M. and M. He can be written to, but *Had better see him personally, and at - Same time procure a copy of the fdule of studies, from which you can a an idea of the branches that you to follow, and of the different courses. ly asses are pretty full at present, ‘YOu will not find it easy to gain ad- 10n, so that it will be well for you to “/ Once, and see about it. In the pros- you will find alist of the text- desired, which you can purchase. . >. P., Chicago, Ill, writes: “I am a boy 16 ie ane have long, limber fingers. I wish he artist—one that makes illustrations 'Y papers. Are there any books on that 4nd does an artist use tools and drawing “nts? How could I learn to be an artist, dT learn at home ?” udy art, you had better join the at the Art School of the Chicago itute, which is located in the itute building, at the corner of h avenue and Van Buren street. lterm will begin on September then, almost continuously, instruc- ‘given until June 13, through the 4nd spring terms. The expense is erm, and permits the pupil to at- Courses each day from 9 A. M. Each pupil is required to his own material, and that will the case of drawing about $4a course is impracticable, you can € studio of some artist, and learn Dy watching him. To a certain Ou will have to have an inborn for drawing, and unless you hatural knack of using a pen- a be undesirable to attempt to Ww. There are books on art by Go into any large bookstore Over their stock. No special fr than pencils, rubber, and aper are required to make illus- me pictures are made with and india-ink, but a knowledge rill come later, Archball, Pa., writes: “I would like 1©U. 8. Military Academy at West Point, “hot sufficient learning to pass the ex- in am not rich enough to go to college. KI could acquire the necessary learn- On a training-ship and serving until I twenty-first birthday. I am 17 years Can secure an appointment to it, Military Academy at West ite «Will be justified in securing net eruction, ‘to prepare you fo- “ution. You will find full in- mebout the military academy in »S of October 2, 1890, and No- 890. Also read the serial on Tey,” contained in the early is- i. l of the Goop News. ng the school-ship St. Mary, a description in the “Short the Boys” in our issue of Feb- Prot, and about the training 1, Sota in Goop News of March tty pm these sources you can gather hg, cor idea of the different insti- ot to We would distinctly advise fe to a training ship in order Self for the army. ind hardest thing to get is an .e and if you can manage that g to, You will find friends able and “to “S8sist you with the necessa At »P¥epare you to enter the acad- pest, however, the army is an ny piace for ‘an enterprising enters the ablest officers usually T other vocations. Boies: Kansas City, writes: “First. fees academy, institute, college, any VOY part of the United States, % Where: Spain, Ttaly, or in any part of psecong Ng girls are educated free of lateg ¢. Is there any institution in any Pduea ed where one could obtain a MBtituie es tree? Third. Is there not a eal edt Germany where poor girls are tition. Wea Fourth. By L e word » lodging, and board given You Please give all the information “) Way many of the State in- ny coll are free. Without har’ al book on the mab sect, *-) that at the University of California, the h sexes, = i Ow of none, but at near! ‘Ties of music in the worl there are free scholarships, which are free to worthy persons, showing talent. Thus, in the case of the National Conservatory of Musie in New York, their circulars dis- tinctly state that “to all persons showing aptitude for receiving instructions, tuition is given practically gratis,” and further- more, it is stipulated, in case of students taught free of charge, that “they shall aid others, as they themselves were assisted, by a contribution to the general fund for the first five years of one-quarter of the emolument they receive over and above $1,000 a year.” Ppa We are not acquainted with any such. Fourth. It is very improbable that such an institution exists. No matter where ou go, you will have to pay your own bites and the expense of that depends upon your own inclination, from $3 a week upward in this country, but of course cheaper in Europe. M. G., Craig, Miss.,writes: ‘I am a boy 16 years of age, and am at present clerking at $20 a month. 1 would like to take a commercial course, but have not the means. Would you please advise me in what manner I could make money to cover all ex- penses and at the same time permit me to go toa commercial college ?” We cannot undertake to tell you how you can make more money than you are earning at present. We all of us want to know how to make more money, but, unfortunately, we all have our limita: tions. If you cannot afford to go to a commer- cial college, you at least can purchase, or perhaps borrow, the text-books used there, and in a measure acquire by yourself what is taught in that school. It may be that you have friends there who will be willing asa favor, or fora small sum of money, to teach you what will be able to acquire a business educa- tion at a reduced rate. Such a course, to our mind, is more practical than any procedure that we can give you by means of which a larger income will come to you. You know better than we do the possibilities of your own town, and you know more about your own qualifications than we do. It may be possible for you to do book-keeping at night for certain of the smaller trades- men, or perhaps conduct the business cor- respondence of some firm during your leisure hours, as for instance during the evening. L. E. §., Pana, [ll., writes: ‘I ama boy 13 years old, weighing 95 pounds, and am 5 feet high. I want your advice about joining a theatrical troupe. I am property boy in the opera house of this city, and understand the call boy’s and property boy’s duties perfectly. My reasons for wanting to join a theatrical troupe are because the season has closed here, and 1 must have some work. Stage work is the only kind I understand.” We are afraid that we cannot help you very much, as we do not keep a list of places where there is a demand for such services as yours. It is natural that you should want to obtain work, and we are lad to see such an exhibition of ambi- ion, but we do not know how to direct. By consulting the various theatrical papers you will find a list of the different companies and their whereabouts, and you can place ee in correspondence with them. If you have any friends in the profession write to them, e would say ina general way that ou should have cultivated relations with he different managers who have visited your city in the t, and now you could apply to them, You are still very young, and it may be well for you to turn your attention to other pursuits, Is there no local industry for which you have a fond- ness? You ought certainly to be able to obtain work at home that would tide you over the summer months until the season begins again, and then look out for the managers who come to your opera house. ————~+_¢_e___——_- Uncle John’s Talk On Money, money?” This question was asked by a bright - eyed, plainly dressed country boy, of an uncle, who was an intelligent farmer, Us JOHN, how can I earn some broad - shouldered, “What does a boy like you want of money?” asked his uncle, with a smile, “Well,” said V “T want money to subscribe for Goc NrEws to read on the long winter evenings; then I want money to buy a small express wagon to do my errands; and again when I lose my jack- knife I don’t want to have to ask father to buy me a new one.” “Anything else?” asked Uncle John. “Yes,” replied Will, growing more earnest and manly, “I want money so I can get mother, Maggie, and Joe some- thing nice for Christmas. I want money so that Iean pay for my share of the’ books and papers I read in Sunday-school. Sometimes I would like to have money to buy a poor boy a pair of shoes or mittens. I want money for lots of things.” they are learning, and in that way you | “Did you ever try to canvass for a paper?” 1019 asked Uncle John, with a funny smile. “Yes,” said Will, with a disgusted look; “I tried three times, but the people either had no money or else they had all the papers they wanted, I can’t earn any money that way.” “Well, Will,” said his uncle, after a moment’s pause, “I know every boy wants to have a little money by him, and I think it is a good deal better for a boy to earn his money than to have it given him, so if you will promise to do so I tell you I will show you how to make some money and be useful. “T will speak to your father and have him make a little room in the southeast corner of the barn cellar, and in the room he must put a window so as to let in the warm sunshine. Then I am going to sell you six white Leghorn pullets; you can pay for them when you earn the money. ou must take good care of them, for the better care they have the more money they will bring you. “} think, Will, that the great point in neh ga 3 fowls is to give them the right kind of food, and plenty of it.” “What shall I give them?” asked Will. “In the morning,” replied his uncle, “give them a warm dough of boiled pota- toes mashed up withcorn meal and wheat bran; give them the same at noon, only heat it over; and in the evening give them grain—corn, wheat, and _ barley mixed—hens like variety. Once or twice a week give them meat; raw meat bones pounded up fine are good for them. Be sure and give them plenty of fresh water every day, and your hens will soon lay a lot of nice white eggs. I guess, Will, I’ve told you all you can remember this time.” Will took his uncle’s advice, and had a piace fixed up in his father’s barn, |brought home the pullets, and ——- |them in their new home. At first the shy | little birds were afraid of him; but when | he came to feed them he walked so softly | that they soon were quite friendly. In about two weeks they began to lay, and laid all through the stormy winter. | Will took the best possible care of them, | feeding them as his uncle had directed. | He also tied a cabbage up in the pen so |they might have green food; he saved ithe scraps of meat that were left at the meals; and he made a shallow box, in which he put sulphur and ashes for them to dust themselves. When spring came Will had paid for his hens, and had bought more. He set some eggs and raised a nice lot of chick- ens, and in the fall sold most of them. In the course of a year he had bought many useful things, and subscribed for Goop NeEws, which came to him every week full of pleasant and instructive reading. More than this, Will had been happier all winter than he would have been with- out his hens, for every day he had some- thing to think of and care for. Now that Will made so much by takin Uncle John’s advice, will not many of our young readers do the same? A 0 How a Circus is Moved About the Country. , | EY, Rube : 4Pr2]. Hundreds of rough and ready 4. _ men gaine to the call, whatever the occasion may be, whether a fight or a frolic, whether to break heads or to break camp, to eat, sleep, or work. It is the warcry of the circus on the road, Every performer, groom, canvasman, and driver knows the call. He does not know the meaning of the call—no more does any one, as near as I can find out— but he does know that it demands his im- mediate presence, and he gets there forth- with, as the legal papers say. There is now but one circus, and that circus is Barnum’s—beg pardon, Barnum & Bailey’s—though the second name does not come easily yet, despite the “equal owner” proclamations and the “our sur- viving partner.” One year’s trip is much like another in the system observed, each season marked by small but valuable improyements. Mr. Bailey and his assistants know just what’s going to happen and just how everything is to be done. ; The great public knows of the show only in its glitter and magnificence. You and I will travel behind the scenes, or canvas rather, and look at the homely and workaday side of things, and let’s take a glimpse too at the home life these circus folks enjoy. 5 To begin with, it is no small job to move a big circus from town to town. The Barnum show this year carries over 1,300 people, over 200 horses and I don’t know how many animals. Just think of it! It’s like moving an army every night and keeping it fresh for dress parade every day. All this requires lots of money, experience, and es No long stops are made anywhere. With a | but a few exceptions the circus stays in a town but one day. There are just five towns in the country where the show can afford to stay a week, and only seven towns in which it plays two days. Although it cannot afford to stay long in alarge city it can afford to visit a smaller village than can a theatrical com- pany. This is because all railroads make excursion rates for the circus for 150 miles, and because the majority of the farmers will flock to the circus eaten they wouldn’t give ten cents to see Booth or Bernhardt. For instance, there is a little village up in Vermont. It consists of the railroad station, a coal shed, a combination store and post-office, and two houses. Many is the weary hour I have put in there wait- ing for trains and wondering what the possible use of the railroad station was, and yet the Barnum show always draws about $9,000 out of that desolate wilder- ness in one day. That is theaverage daily receipts of the show on the road. Two es are always given each day. he biggest daily receipts was in Roches- ter, and amounted to $17,200. The small- est which the books show was some $400. Mr. Bailey was not in good temper that day. Giieagn is the best paying city in the country for the circus. The city has blown into the Barnum treasury as high as $91,000 in one week. Boston and Phil- adelphia come next, each having reached the $79,000 mark in a week, while the New York receipts average about $50,000 for a week, and in New York the expenses is much greater. The circus paid $30,000 rent for the Garden for eater ae days, which was the length of its last engage- ment. Then, in New York the expense of having stables for the horses is necessary, and the employees are all boarded at ho- tels. Thus the expenses run beyond the receipts. But to join our friends who help draw the dollars and leave the thousands to the tender mercies of the treasurer. It is nine o’clock at night. The per- formance is at its height, horses are dash- ing around the track, the “Nero” girls bending and kicking, running and twirl- ing in a graceful maze of color, and the band is blending it allin a brassy har- mony. Under the big canvas it’s all life and light and noise. Outside, down by the stable tent, a gruff voice says: “Hey, Rube! strike the canvas.” Two hundred men emerge from the shadows of the different tents: and there is a brief and quiet roll-call. They are the canvasmen, and their day’s work has just begun. They form a circle round the mess tent. Each man stands by a rope. “Let her go!” : : The canvas falls to the ground. In ten minutes the various sections are unlaced and packed in the canvas wagon which the teamsters have hitched up and drawn alongside. They work. like bees, these fellows. Nobody says a word but the head canvasman, and he does not indulge in any “airy persiflage.” Big torches on long poles are stuck in the ground round about and illumine the scene with a weird light. The poles are taken down, the tent pins pulled up, and all the other furniture is packed away in the big wagons, which rumble off to the railroad station drawn by six horses each. In the same manner all the other tents go down and are carted away, except the side shows and the “big top. : By this time the performance is over and the concert which follows it has be- gun. While thatis in progress at one end of the big tent the seats are being taken out of the other. Everything is made to be taken apart expeditiously in convenient lengths for packing. Meanwhile the performers have washed the paint off, dressed themselves, and gone down to the sleeping cars. The “Nero” people have to be quick about it or their dressing tents would go down on their heads. The concert over, comes the hard work of the night, the lowering of the big top. The seats, stages, and rings fall apart as — if by magic, and are spirited away by > scores of ee and material spirits, Then the side walls are peeled off. There is a big crowd outside watching all this, for the audience is loath to leave while any kind of free show is going on. It is a scene that would enchant the most prosaic. The big tent looms up double its size against the black night; the torch- lights flare and dance as the wind blows them about and light up a busy spectacle. There is a shrill whistle, a creaking of ropes, a flapping and soughing in the night air like the wings of some monster bird, and down comes the big top, 550 feet long. It falls slowly to the ground and lies flat, leaving the six center poles standing. They are taken down one ata time, and each carried off on the shoul- ders of eight men to the pole w : ; Nothing is left on the ground but pro- mmes, sawdust, and peanut shells. — Off at the station, a mile distant, the railroad men have not been idle either, 1020 GoonD NEWws. There are four trains of sixteen cars each lying on the side tracks. At nine o’clock the first train, the “canvas train,” is gotten ready. It is made up of flat cars, like the ordinary flat cars, except that they are a third larger. Thisisa CARRYING THE POLES, shrewd move on the part of circus folks to beat the railroads. The railroads charge so much per car, and as it costs no more to haul a sixty-five foot car than one measuring forty feet the cars are built just as long as eo will allow. The open space between each car is bridged over by an iron plate, so that the train is one continuous platform. A “skid,” or inclined plane, is placed at the end of the last car. As the wagons come down the teams are unhitched, a long rope fastened to the tongue and up they go, drawn by eight horses on either side of the train. In a surprisingly short time the train is loaded. Meanwhile the animals have come down and the cages have been loaded in the same way. The canvasmen do not go in the passen- er train, but stick to their wagons. tather unique berths they are, and not without a spice of attraction either. Two hammocks are strung from axle to axle under each wagon. In these the men sleep. They are rocked in the cradle of the railroad and sleep the sleep of the hard worked. The wagon serves as a shelter, and in fine weather it’s all very pleasant, barring some occasional cinders. Once in a while, too, a frolicsome tramp will happen at the roadside with malice in his heart and a stone in his hand and proceed to land the stone on the sleeping canvasman’s stomach. Then the sleeping canvasman will fall out of his hammock and say things of which only a canvas- man is capable, regardless of the sanctity of the beautiful night and the full moon. But whisking through the country on a rainy night in such an open way is even less attractive, and then the canvasman lets down the tarpaulin which covers each wagon to the ground, and completely shuts himself in from the storm. Only the “railroad gang,” some twenty- five men, stay awake all night. The passenger cars are ordinary Pull- man sleepers. They are divided into three classes. The “women’s car,” “men’s car,” and “married car.” The principal per- formers and heads of departments have a car to themselves. Mr. Bailey also has a private car, with a cook and dining-room, refrigerator underneath, brass bedsteads, and a very business-like looking office in it, as well as a sitting-room. This is al- ways the last car of the whole sixty-four. AIRY SLEEPING ACCOMMODATIONS, The chorus girls and chorus men are packed in their cars like sardines. Every one knows what a sleeper is like, two berths in a section. In the circus train the berths are made fast and never shut up, while for chorus people two extra berths are put in, making four in a sec- tion. In that way double the usual num- ber of pecpie are crowded in a car. On warm nights it is a little close. There is a monitor or monitress in each car, and the strictest order is preserved. _In_ the contract which each employee signs is a setof forty-five rules. Rule No. 14 is as follows: PENALTY $1 TO $5.—No employee or other member of the company will go to bed in the cars with their clothing or boots on, thus soiling or destroying the bedding. Rule No. 42 is as follows: PENALTY $5—A]1 employees of every kind are strictly enjoined from using alcohol, oil, or other kind of cooking apparatus on any of the sleeping or other cars of this company under the above penalty. In each end of the cars are four wash basins where ablutions are performed, and each person has a hook in a closet for ee, hanging up clothes. The use of these wash basins is compulsory, too, for rule No. 12 says: PENALTY $5.—All employees or other working menu who board at camp must conduct themselves in an orderly, quiet, and gentlemanly manner, keeping clean; wash and comb before meals. None al- lowed to sit at table without coat on. In this train the omnipotent porter reigns supreme as elsewhere, for the man- agement compels each occupant of a berth to tip him twenty-five cents a week. For this he blacks the shoes every morning, attends to the laundry, and makes up the berths. The bedding, by the way, is sent ahead three days ra washed every week. The ersonal laundry is done in a single day. he agents ahead make contracts by MEN’S SLEEPING CAR. which the laundries in certain towns abandon all other work and devote their entire energies to the circus washing. They call for it early in the morning, and are obliged to deliver it back “done up” at the cars before midnight. This is done every other day, so that the washing will be as small as possible. It isabout one A. M. when the trains start. The average distance from one “stand” to another is sixty miles. It is at: for the show to make ninety, 10wever, and so it is usually between five and seven when the trains arrive at their destination the next morning. As the canvasmen are the last to go to bed they are the first to get up. They are prompt about it for this reason: PENALTY $1 TO $5.—All employees must arise every morning instantly on being called once only. The cook tent is the first to go up, and the cooks immediately set to preparin breakfast. It takes just one hour an three-quarters to put up the big top, and then the canvasmen go to breakfast. All this canvas up, they have nothing more to do until nine orcldoke at night. The meals are served in relays so that the cooks are kept busy pretty steadily. The animals and wagons safe on ground, the teamsters go to breakfast; then the railroad men, after the cars are side- tracked, and the grooms; then the chorus people, and lastly the performers. A boatswain’s whistle calls the men to- gether, and they march in to their meals in a sort of military way. The mess or cook tent, as it is called, is always: placed to the rear of the show tent. It is an oblong affair, containing eight long tables, which are built in sec- tions. The turf is the floor, and wooden stools are the dining chairs. Off the cook tent is the serving tent, where the food is dished out. Alongside of this are drawn up a number of wagons—the butler’s pantry of the circus—with racks filled with dishes, etc. The most interesting of all is the range wagon. Init, running along one side, is a huge range, on which 800 pounds of meat can be cooked at once. There are doors at each end and windows on one side. Half a dozen white-capped cooks pass the meats through to the waiters. Outside and guarded from the curious crowd of loiterers by ropes are five or six tripods, from which hang big iron kettles. Iu these soups are made and vegetables and meats boiled. Each kettle has its separate cook, This looks decidedly like an army camp, with the wood fire crack- ling underneath, the kettles and the steam rising in clouds against the canvas that is gleaming under the morning sun. The steward in advance has laid out the bill of fare for each day, and has made contracts with butchers, bakers, and gro- cers to deliver a certain amount of pro- visions on the grounds at five A. M. The Still another man has contracted fora certain Say of raw beef, hay, car- rots, onions, and beets for the animals. The show carries no provisions except a few bales of hay. There is no difference in the quality of the food served the laboring men and the star performers. The only difference is in the way itis served. The tables of the former are covered with red table cloths and the food is served in galvanized iron dishes. Napkins, too, are considered un- necessary. At the performers’ tables there is white linen, china and thin glassware. It’s a very good table that the circus chef sets. early all the performers pre- fer it to going to a hotel, even when the show stays a week ina place. Here isa sample breakfast bill of fare: piesseeeencecen ees bias nua Mai nnn : Beefsteak. Fried Ham and Eggs. ; Baked Potatoes. Rolls. . Tea. Coffee, Fruit About noon there is lunch, or as soon , aS the parade is over, and at five o’clock Bid) or following the afternoon performance #: comes dinner. ’ three kinds of meat for dinner, with a There is always soup and variety of vegetables and pudding or ice- cream for dessert. The food is of the best quality that can be obtained, and there is no stint of it. So exactly do the agents know the amount that will be needed that there is seldom more food left over | than will furnish a light lunch for those on the train who want it. Of course what waste there is goes to the animals. The caterer takes particular pains to supply an abundance of milk. It may surprise you—it’s a fact, however, that = is more milk drank in a circus than eer. There are fifty-five waiters, and they are all compelled to put on clean white jackets and aprons each day. It requires considerable tact to pitch the tents in a satisfactory way owing to the inevitable unevenness of the ground. The arrangement has to be varied slightly almost every day. The tents are so con- structed that openings between them can be made at almost any point. THE COOK WAGON, The main tent, or “big top,” is oblon in shape, with parallel sides, the old ova shape being abandoned. Seats are put up only on one side of it. On the opposite side is the stage forthe “Nero” perform- ance. The hippodrome track is between, and inside of it are the three rings and two stages. In frontof the “big top” and opening into it is the menagerie tent, with the cages ranged around the sides, and the elephants, camels, and ponies hitched in two lines along the center. In front of this is a marquee, which is used as an entrance. Thesid»shows are placed in two rows in front, with the ticket wagon on the extreme outside. Back of the “big top” and behind th> “Nero” stage is the dressing tent. Canvas par- titions divide it into some ten rooms. Still further to the rear on one side are the two stable tents, and on the other side the cook tents. All hands are compelled to take part in the parade, which starts at ten o'clock, and down to the humle:t teamster every man must have his bo-’'s blackened. Mr. Bailey, who is always .\rst on the ground and everywhere present, inspects the pro- cession before it starts out.. Woe to the untidy man. There is a fine for almost everything, as you will see by are the following rules which I have selected from that dreadful list of forty-five: RuLE No, 4.—Penalty, $25 Fine or Dis- missal.—No games, gambling, stealing, fighting, drunkenness, or any improper or unlawful conduct will be tolerated, no matter when, where, or under what cir- cumstances committed, under a penalty or forfeiture of $25 or immediate dis- charge, or both, at option of the manager. steward is there to receive it and weigh it, and direct its use, ~— Rute No, 6,—All performers are re- :| with his performing dress on until#) :| performance is terminated or so falg” >| vanced that he may be assured by § quired to have the very best ward throughout in quantity and quality #9 able to their special acts. This being leading company of the world, all a must dress accordingly in the ring# : on the streets in a becoming manner. Jn, RULE No. 10.—No chairs or stools be carried. Performers must sit on # whi! trunks. Noobjection to camp stools D&p Yer, carried in dressing-room trunks. Ty; Rute No. 11.—Penalty $1 to ‘And swearing, quarreling, or loud, boistemsiy ,, language about the establishment, C% an; hotels, or other places. Good behay. required at all times. ULE No. 33.—Penalty $5.—Any MMe , former failing to exert himself to @ Rp, best of his ability, leaving out trick}, his special acts, or neglecting or shiv te ing his business, will be fined $5 for @j ty trick or offense. 4 ia :| Rue No. 34.—Penalty $5.—Every My. :| former will remain in the dressingt@ .% equestrian director personally that services will not be required in casei}. accidents to others during that peril] ance. _ RuLE No. 35.—Penalty $10.—No not connected with the company wi admitted to the rear entrance undef! ; circumstances. Any member, must or employee bringing strangers int@} ~ circus, show or dressing-room wi feit $10. Rute No. 36.—Penalty $1 to $5. performer, musician or employe will allowed to pass in through the front™ ~ after the doors are open to the publi@y RutE No. 44.—Penalty $5 to £10 ore missal.—All members of this com} are forbidden to raffle or sell anyth any kind, name or nature at hofé about the premises owned or cont by the management. ays RULE No. 45.—As we are governetgy one tirely by the different railway comp Tha who transport us from town to tow Tenty casionally getting us to our destin®g?u ag too late to obtain the usual numbeaist sy meals ae it is understood and Sb 8 fi to, by and between all the parties t0Me h agreement, that no compensation is Yeg demanded for loss of meals caused R.A > avoidable delays. wg i, Last season a young performer wh@) (O) ¢ getting a small salary moyen On a li in the dressing-room with quite @ Us she, money. He was elated enough at i Oia, session to display it rather airily- # 0 ay nds Mr. Bailey saw him. m8 to “Where eee get so much 9%», Fred?” he asked. 7 eh Fred hesitated and stammered @™@.Soup) and finally confessed that he h 4 ithe of playing poker the night before aB la in ] a Eb UJ “Who was playing with you?” i “= Fred named five other circus meDs th “Well, it will cost you al) jU™RLT t) apiece.” bd: And it did. cles It was deducted from their %é Of and if they did not like it they to leave the show. omtay There are a number of little sid@ipate ures toa circus that the publi¢ " nothing about. As, for instanc® yp Ody little tent off the dressing-room be teip sconced two barhers, who belong “iia” us, cireus and who shave the whole | ba Two blacksmiths are also carrie@ | E bo field forge and anvils and the full gi) op of a shop. Then there are thirtY gai », makers with the show who do ®° @h,. am but keep the costumes in repair. f It isa complete colony of itsél fi pendent of all except the dollat® “it~ dear public and the whims of managers. —~--—- -— ~)-- @ <> —- 4 THE HISTORY OF SPECTAU” Wie Perhaps it is known to but few jim only that the use of spectacles phe ie traced back as far as 2,000 ye*