dace ne ; rey eZ , Ate me i WEY WANG oo on Nt \ OY WWF re hil cA eet ca no SSS 1 ur N e it? \ 238." Ne as 4 atte exits his my op) = ES mb!” 2 4 me sle de , eo ] gu : ICG “IY » al? A whet r®* ye me — yy it? i ee <= iy . D . B Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1891, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. 0. very, hares Entered as Second-elass Matter at the New York, N. Y., Post-Office, September 26, 1891. ey, * at aE SSIS Soy an RRS a Pn wuariste goagphiey dius wae *weklba chp eeMigotbuss oe . mie“apcncbedmgaaga™ — ng at Vol, s Streer & Suiru, Publishers. Five CENTS PER Cory. . t = 31 Rose Street. P. O, Box 2734. New York, September 26, 1891. Subscription Price $2.50 per Year. No. 73. ’ Te aoe = : e0 ORONO e eee meen enna hal ta tat tet tae ee tae a ome eee neh Saree tat tae Memeo tee he Re Rear Meee eet OMe n ea eee te tert eh eh R ee teehee ne ee ee ney a eee eee Mal et Oat Met One ee ee Re ee ae tel Nate seal tae Mee ne ee tee neta aa eer O LOM heehee et oh whee a eee atte tl tet heehee hae Mae ew ee tae em , coll (This Story will not be Published in Book-Form.] , f me Be BREAKNECK FARM; e wi 9 1, a T EX es ro E MERRIMAN TWINS. rife By EVELYN RAYMOND, ae Author of “That Girl of Kenyons,” ete. ily aed Sit ath CE 7 appeared even more dreary than usual, |, ) 0 TAPTER I. There was no cheeriness about it, thought itt" FAITH AND KIRK. the girl rebelliously, and had been none NY HEN : for one long year; beginning with her ” ( 3 Faith Merriman came in|father’s accident, and culminating with di vo) tary the walk she had been | his death. Mal be, Ing.with her schoolmate, it| She took off her things quietly, and as up med to her that the house’ that dear father had so often bidden her WH | | iy Ay 1 lag Ne Al | i un Ty 3s ~ eee 4 Pe WW: ‘ - mA eS | 1005.04 : it . ae “COME AND SIT HERE,” SAID FAITH, ADDRESSING HER ATHLETIC BROTHER. “I HAVE SOMETHING PARTICULAR TO TELL YoU.” ’ , re . ” 1 hat hergeig 7 Over and over before she | always have a good time when we are|“Has anything new happened? Kirk—|I wish that I was as sure. Hark!” The al abe ‘oth jacks Speak. She put away|together. She is just the dearest girl! | Sidney— yril——. 2 |sound of contending voices reached them pndlen ane Vel} €r’s 16 et, then she sat down by|So gentle and sympathetic one cannot! “They are not in trouble, dear. Why | distinctly. ‘ : , Ne she Waly dean ze help but love her. But, mother, what is|do you always suspect the children of “I—D'll tell my mother! You wouldn't ww in » ask 3 did you have a pleas- | it? Are you feeling worse?” wrong doing? It’s not sisterly; and they | dared have done that if my father wasn’t Yeg terest, ®d the invalid, trying to “No, Faith. Not physically.” lare not bad boys, I’m sure. They are | dead! I hate you! I hate you!” ; "other $ : The girl ceased folding and unfolding | like all others.” | “Be still, you little whimpering mon- * Kitty Trumbull and I! her handkerchief, and looked up quickly.! “The thought must be a comfort to you.'key! Take that, will you? and that! , . f - 1154 GOoOop NEWS. _- I’ll teach you to tamper with my things | ayain !” | With the words the blows fell swiftly, | and Faith was at the door in’an instant. Flinging it open she rushed upon _ the} combatants, and snatehed little Cyril from his step-brother’s grasp. “For shame, Kirk Merriman! A great fellow like you to strike such a baby as Cyril!” “Mind your own affairs, will Faith? If Cyril is treated like a baby it is not because he is one. A child that is old enough to do the mean things he does as a mighty wise infant!” “Children—my dear ones!” The plain- tive voice of Mrs. Merriman appealed to ‘them all with a sense of shame. “Mamma! My own mamma! Kirk | struck me! he did—he did!” The child rushed passionately into his mother’s room and threw himself passionately apon her bosom. “It’s always the way!” muttered the angry lad. “One can never treat that Jittle wretch as he deserves without the pain all falling on Mrs. Merriman! One thates to hurt a woman—but plague take it! LIean't stand it any more. I’m going ito clear out.” A great fear sprang into the girl’s face. “And leave me—alone, brother?” The voice was fulf of distress. Kirk shuffled uneasily. He was an overgrown boy of fifteen; somewhat awk- ward and not remarkable in any way save for his unusual size and strength; but he was Faith’s idol. From the crown of his clustering curls to the tips of his dusty shoes, she thought him perfect. “But it'll have to come some time, girlie. I’m too big to be a loafer, and I don’t believe we are as rich as we were supposed to be. Yes; I think it is better | for me totake a position in some business _ house.” He spoke as if the matter were of perfectly easy accomplishment, and the not being as rich as they supposed a trifling incident. For a few minutes the sister did not ‘reply. She was counting ten again. In the line of hot tempers the Merriman family had been richly endowed, and hers had risen indignantly. Why should Kirk—her Kirk—leave home and go to work? It was an outrage! It had been Colonel Merriman’s inten- tion to give his son a collegiate educa- tion, and then to start him well upon any professional career for which that educa- you, | tion should prove him to be best fitted. _ When the counting had given her spirit | time to quiet a little, Faith stole her arm | through her brother’s, and led him away down the hall to the room which had heen known as “Kirk's den,” ever since’ she could remember. suspected, could not long be put *), aside. Just after supper, she agin 7*-entered Mrs. Merriman’s little par- lor, with Kirk’s mended blazer on her }arm, her face bright with pleasure at her | victory over self, and over the trouble some needle and thread. “See, mother, | Il can sew, after all! My boy will be so | proud of me!” Despite their very human tiffs and dis- agreements, the love between Colonel Meriiman’s elder children was so beauti- }ful that’ every one remarked it. Kirk | was always “my boy,” or “my Kirk,” to | ‘his twin, and he was very proud and | jealous for Faith, lest she should fail to | receive all the praise and pleasure which | he considered to be her due. If any fault | was to be found with her, he reserved the | right to find it himself; and there were ;many other loving hearts in this world | prone tothe same inconsistency as Kirk’s. But before the “new trouble” is intro- | duced, it is well to introduce all those who will have to bear it, and to tell something of the family life which pre- faced this story. ; Colonel Merriman had been a gentle- man of leisure, of cultivated tastes, and as people supposed, of great wealth. Mer- riman House was one of the finest resi- | dences in the city of Hillsburgh, and had been in the family for several genera- tions. It was there that old Governor Merriman had lived and died; and there that Kirk’sand Faith’s mother had passed her brief wifehood,. She had been dearly beloved, but the Colonel could not for long abide the sight 'of his lonely hearth and his motherless little ones; so when the twins were two years old a new mother came to try and fill the place of her whom the children |had never known. She did try faithfully |at first; but she was of delicate, nervous temperament, rather obstinate than firm which is the case with very many “soft- Seen people—distrustful of her own ability, and morbidly conscientious con- | cerning her duty toward “the Colonel’s | children.” For Mrs. Merriman called them that, | even before her own three boys came, and she could never get. over the feeling that they were of an alien race. They were as strong and overflowing with life as she was shy and frail; and so, without ; ‘intentional fault on either side, the three | elder members of his household who felt his death most keenly, could not turn to each other in that. close sympathy which would have helped them all so much. ~ The younger ones were Sidney, Theo- dore, and Cyril. Sidney was. eleven; of | a sensitive, suspicious nature, a lover of books, and the brightest scholar of them all. Theodore, or Teddyas he was gen- erally called, was nine, and Cyril six. Teddy was the sunshine of the house, and as unmindful of any gloominess as is the real sunshine of the shadows it chases away. Cyril was truly enough “spoiled,” as Kirk had said, by the over fondness of arents who fancied him feeble in health; ut he was naturally a child of lovable qualities, and was yet too young to be considered of much account. Till the | time of Colonel Merriman’s death, Kirk had’ always called Mrs. Merriman. “mother.” When. that event oho dead | } | ! her refusal of his desire that the dead the state, by the side of the twins’ own | You will learn to repress. yours I , a | greatly ee Will mother, had opened a breach them, which grew wider day by | the lifeless body of him whom. #) uary notices called “the prince” fellows, the most tender and geB hearted of men,” came to be the © trouble between those whom he best. > However, this and all other gr! Faith had for the moment f0 when she brought Kirk’s blazer her mother how successfully § repaired it. * “Yes, my dear. It looks qu The tone was preoccupied an and the words served to reveé But.I can’t help seeing what | soul as were his sister’s brilliant dreams | plainly all the faults of the wor. Faith had craved and expecte praise. She had measured her su her own effort, which had beem ? great; and did not realize that dainty a needlewoman as Mrs. Mer the conspicuous patches and dar peared anything but neat. Lee Disappointed, the girl was vexed herself for showing in her tell-t@ that she was so. “Of course, 74, badly to you,” she said, coldly; did it for my brother.” There proud emphasis on the last word the worried little woman on felt that she had klundered. 4 lines of care and sorrow on the P® deepened, and again Faith repr herself at sight of them, ImpU! throwing herself down upon he? she took the invalid’s thin fingers strong ones and cried: “Mothel mind cross me! You poor, 8 been thinking a deal, lately, and! to that, even allowing for losin® and all that dreadful sorrow ¥ cannot helps we are not as happy ought to be. It has been my suppose—but now—I want to § things out, and see everybody glad. Poor, obtuse Mrs. Merriman We fused and somewhat startled | outburst. She would haye like just the right thing, but again > dered upon the worst. ay help! “T do not think that you CHE my dear. I suppose it is sour? 1M zrow older.” Bia . Poor Faith! Jn her over-generose) zeal she had blamed herself UN@ was -so inherently truthful that® known it at the ime, It avg now, almost beyond endu a her proud self-abasement, acc™ this matter‘of-fact way. She re from her knees, and with burp? & and hotly throbbing -heart, throng of the room. As she passed bac sg her mother called “Faith,” she said,” I must te : think, that there is a new trou” rect, imagined; and I fear it will @ and your brother, as well as i children. It has come to MY * father’s affairs. °™ involved. His debts— “Will all be paid, if as-you ? left any. There was neveT_ knew dishonor ;” interrupte@¢ ter, hotly. “T hope, as earnestly 2 that they will all be pai so sure of it. I wish you an! "ine come and have a talk with “th you have given him his coat. is quite right you should kno ie I suspect.” Faith bowed in assent @ Kirk was not in his well that he was not; for’ h finished her search for him, grown less angry, and § wisely refrained from oO + sympathy, as she would ney ahe ound him at once. — wate him at _— out of doors, ""” neglected lawn. ; 4a “Why, Kirk!” ge in het He Jaughed at the surpris dus and went on sprinkling e "_ ghow' giving Teddy an occasiona aoe vy the way. wee: A . You ee girlie, I did not ou have a monopoly of — ed your mended my jacket--I mem led tend! plot. . ‘Giff gaff makes Boome wat “But I thought you hs “the # lawn; and besides that ib ‘is er’s business. Only there ©" make him do his duty. — “But there is to make re is yourself.” He. int a the nozzle of his hose ted ae pered feet, and she oes game set Teddy off, and a will 1 the ensued, with Kirk twis none t rubber pipe in every direG™y ay warm and breathless, AU) gent forgotten that she ha her brother to Mr. Faith stopped runn the gate clicked, and the path, between the whteh now stood — eee by the ; received, ae 5 Kirk had not heard should be laid to rest in a distant part of j he dream that any one as stooping down, ane eee ‘ oh eg ¢ : , well F oomy it ne cordial r cess , really ‘ to YE »~ wm = _ — SS =o as J > oe 2 a eS = B a 2 = s a 7 = ha oo eo 4 Se Pre - a i GOoD NEWws. 1155 nozzle backward between his long legs, hesent a shower of sparkling drops as far as they would reach. Unfortunately, this was to-the form of the approaching Stranger whose welcome to Merriman House was as moist as he had expected 1t would be cool. “Oh! Kirk!” cried Teddy. _ You young scoundrel!” thundered the Visitor, in one and the same instant. Kirk wheeled round, and beheld in astonishment the damage he had done. “I beg your pardon, sir. I did not know ‘there was any one behind me,” he said, advancing in his manly fashion, and proffering his assistance. But the handkerchief he pulled from his belt had already done service that atternoon in bringing homea young mud- turtle and some choice snails, and was not in a condition to be of much use to the white duck suit which covered the Stranger’s person. A well-gloved hand was raised in pro- St, and the gentleman retreated before © menacing cambric; stumbled over the Coleas bed, and fell prostrate in its midst. Oh! my poor plants!” cried Faith, and Tushed forward. The person on ‘the ground glared at her savagely. Teddy threw him- Self on the wet grass, and rolled there in “nN ecstasy of mirth, while Kirk tried to “Sntrol his own, and to afford any aid which might be accepted. However, it ie to Faith that the unlucky guest urned for help, and her hand assisted tite as he struggled to rise from his beau- Mal but uncomfortable pestis place. . « 4M very sorry, sir,” said she, as she picked the beutand and clinging leaves he plants from the no longer immacu- ate white suit, “that you should have ren subjected to this annoyance.” ruin a —m! Don’t mention it! It’s oi ‘1 , though, I suppose. Isn’t it? fy Stloned the poor man, looking rue- * y down at the red and yellow blotches are dashed his clothing. come Ont know, sir. But if you will . into the house, perhaps my mother Av be able to suggest something which >, “move the stains.” whines led the way to the front door, 3 men aoe and Teddy followed in the le nce she caught a few words about Tedd pard and his spots,” and overheard dept. 8 Temark about “a new and won- erful] , Caw , Peleus mammoth, ostaeaatod by Wars rtiman, esquire.” Throwing a honning glance over her shoulder, and as ae that the guest’s ears had not been the - as her own, she ran lightly up drawin Ps, and into the dark, deserted ed wit ‘room. Its atmosphere, contrast- an the warmth and glow of the aS the alr, struck a chill to her frame, did ¢ next words which the stranger spoke wy Der heart. Our take heard that _Mrs. Merriman, ear the her I suppose, is an invalid. I her ‘ a my business will be painful to Dre an a you. Perhaps, you had better : wpe er somewhat, before I see her.” The Pare her? For what? I hope——” entleman interrupted her by a the hand, drew a card form ‘his insepj » and gave it to her.. It bore the Ption: “Gregory & Hodge, Attor- “nd Counselors at Law, 233 Broad- «3, New York.” Say Dhar give your mother that, and to-nj ht if she feels unable to receive me Name's » [ will call at any time she may Be lt—is it anything very bad. sir? Born VES. Merriman has had nothing but “ or a long timel” : Mother’ Merriman? Is she not then your er?” answered Faith, coloring, and Nat she should so easily have ) Kirk’s habit before _ this ae hee go and tell her that Rreat havidy maid was loitering in the Wag yas the girl passed through it, se ‘spatched to light the gas in eaue room. The voice of another While oe Singing shrilly below stairs, dene 24 Sruff tones of Dennis, the gar- Farley eos up the chorus about “ Patrick 4 re ” the Vv Poorly iSitor regulated household !” thought Weht hi, Whose exact habits of life had evil -«7 MM to look for the cause of every prtable UXurious, careless, yet not com- - Marg e change will be all the most, Such people.” fraj} 8a directly Faith returned with a “faced woman leaning on. her Mn She introduced as “My Ughtfui, Merriman.” Then with a F8Y-chai ness new to her, she rolled an fore it 3, forward, placed a- hassock a Comfort Settled the trembling invalid mee this ey as she could. Having ween the” © was leaving the apartment, weetiman’ Unspoken entreaty in Mrs. bacterin S eyes arrested her steps. Still ek to te What it all meant, she went on “s armchair, and asked: erg» YOU prefer to have me stay, haa yo, Faith - And I ink that Byeetter eal poe 8. Sink that you ®re perplexed, she obeyed. That some real affliction was about to fall upon 'as if the blow she had been called upon the household was evident both from the stranger’s and the widow’s manner. “Well,” thought she, “whatever it is we can bear it, for we are all alive and well.” For her the colonel’s death had belittled all other trouble which could befall them. But the untaught girl had yet to learn that there is more courage needed to face the anxieties of life than the bereavements of death. “Kirk! Kirk! Come here!” “You come here, instead! stuffing this rat-skin.” “Put it down and come at once, please. That man——” Kirk appeared at the door of the “den” impatient of hindrance. “What about him?” “He is the bearer of some sort of bad I’m just news; and Mrs.—mother wants you and | me to hear it with her.” : ; “I knew by the pricking of my thumbs’ that he has something uncanny,” said the lad, joining his sister, and threaten- ing to seize her hands in his soiled ones. The odor of chemicals was strongly evi- dent to the fastidious nostrils of Mr. Gregory, as the young taxidermist en- tered the drawing-room, and the condi- tion of the lad’s clothing and hands was not prepossessing; yet there was some- thing so manly and straightforward | about the bonny face that the other draw- | backs were almost forgotten. The lawyer began at once: “I suppose you recognize my card as that of the firm which has had charge of the late Colonel Merriman’s business matters?” The widow nodded assent. to bear had been a physical one. Together they lifted her up, and Faith laid the worn face gently on her own shoulder. “What—is it, Kirk? Is——“ but she could not utter the question, “No, I guess not,” answered the boy. “T guess it is only a faint. Here you, Bridget, Maggie, Dennis—somebody come quick !” An hour later they stood in the same grand, gloomy apartment to hear the doctor's verdict. “It was simply a faint this time; but you are old enough, you should be told that Mrs. Merriman has a weakness of the heart which is liable to result fatally at any time. Especially is she to be pro- tected from any sudden shock or agita- tion. Should a change for the worse occur in her condition, to-night, you are to let me know at once.” CHAPTER III. OFFERED A REFUGE. Va) F all the women upon whom such a &2 blow might have fallen, Mrs. Mer- riman was perhaps the most illy “4” fitted, both by nature and by train- ing, to stand up against the new—and to her dreadful—trouble of poverty, which had come to her. All through her shel- tered life she had been accustomed to have others think and act for her. Her jolly, big-hearted, pleasure-loving hus- band had treated her as only a child; a little older than the others, but no more to be burdened with responsibility than “T regret to tell you that on a most) they. thorough and searching examination of his affairs we find his liabilities far ex-! health ceed his assets.” This technical produce the result he had expected. Prob- announcement failed to | Latterly they both had known that her was undermined, and each had et to spare her strength as far as might> e. From the night of the lawyer’s visit ably the lawyer had never been called|she kept her room, and mostly her bed. upon to deal with people more ignorant | It seemed to the poor thing that if she of legal expressions and their meaning, | could but hide from it, she might forget than the three who sat before him. “What are liabilities and what assets?” asked Faith, at last. “Liabilities are the debts a person con- | fell. tracts. Assets are money or other property with which these debts can be paid.’ “Thank you,” said the questioner; yet | |the reality of her position. are So it was upon Faith and Kirk that all the unpleas- j}ant details of breaking up the old home They met it together, as they had the possessions of | met all the more trivial mishaps of their | young lives, and at first, in much of the same spirit. But-as the days flew by, and the famil- evidently not fully comprehending the ex-' iar and now dearly prized objects were planation. , Kirk, from his more frequent associa- inventoried, ticketed, and made ready for the auction which was to come, they real- tion with men, was not so slow to under- | ized how dearly after all they loved their stand; though in any business habit he was quite as untrained as his sister. home. Now that they were so soon to leave them, the gloominess of the great “Have you come to tell us, sir, that we | handsome roonis ceased to oppress them. are poor?” he asked. “Exactly that. I regret——” Mrs. Merriman gently interposed: “Do not distress yourself, Mr. Gregory, on our account. From some things which | allowed her. At last only a day or two remained to them, and they had finished the list of articles which Mrs. Merriman desired especially to keep, and which the law They were free to amuse my dear husband said to me, during his | themselves once more, and for the last last illness, I was not wholly unprepared for this blow. I blame myself that I have not talked the matter over with my children. I will be grateful to you if you will tell them and me, as simply as you can, our exact financial condition. I fear you will find me quite as much of a child in these matters as Faith here.” Indeed, she proved to be far more so; for while Mr. Gregory tried to be as sim- ple in his explanation as she had desired, she found herself growing confused and finally gave up the attempt to under- stand, and it was with great relief that she received his courteous “Good even- ing” and saw the door close behind his departing form. carcely had it done so when Kirk sareng up with angry eyes and clenched ists. “T say it is a downright outrage! There is no justice in it! Ifor one, won’t go, and they shall not make me!” He forgot that. but a few hours before he had declared with equal fervor that no one should make him stay. But that was when he had believed himself free to do as he chose. “Faith, did you understand it all?” appealed Mrs. Merriman, anxiously. “Yes, mother, I think that I did—only too well!” “Shall we. be really quite poor? So that we will have to retrench, and change our style of living? That was what your father spoke about once or twice, but he was so ill I could not allow him to fret himself. I told him that I had no doubt it would: all come out right some way. You think so, too, don’t you?” “Oh! mother ‘Poor’? ‘Retrench’? Why, you poor dear, cannot you realize that we have not a dollar in the world honestly our own? That even the chair on which you are sitting is not yours but that of somebody else? It means that we. will have to go out of this house— Merriman House—that has been in our family for over a hundred years, within oné short itnonth—forever! Oh! Kirk, what shall. we do?” The tears fell from her eyes as she turned toward her brother, instinctively ; but some thing in his face cheeked them instantly. Her glance followed his to the chair where Mrs. Merriman sat drooping, 7 time in Merriman House; and naturally their feet turned toward the familiar “den,” whose dismantled walls appeared | strange and cheerless to Faith. Gladly would she.have welcomed back to their old places the stuffed or living specimens which she had thought so unpleasant, if by so doing she might have restored all ‘other matters to their former routine, |but the specimens now reposed in the rough, and awkwardly packed boxes which stood around the room, ready for transportation; and it was a very dismal Faith which climbed to the favorite seat of the pair, and sat swinging her feet below the table’s edge. “Kirk, what shall we do with mother, to-morrow, while the sale is going on‘ It does not seem as if she ought to stay here, yet she has refused every invitation of old friends to visit them. Iam afraid the worry of it will make her worse.” “I don’t know, I’m sure, poor thing. I like her better than I ever did before, now that she’s in such trouble. But I’m mighty glad you aren’t her sort, though.” Mrs. Merriman herself solved the diffi- culty by announcing her intention of going to New York by that evening’s train; there to meet a distant relative who had proffered his advice and possible assistance. “I will take Sidney and Theodore with me,” she said to Faith. “I think the care of Cyril would be too much, and he is always good with you.” “Well, mother, I am glad you are going. We shall do nicely, no doubt,’ answered the girl, speaking as bravely as she could. “Oh! Faith! How can you be so cheer- ful? It seems as if you had not. proper feeling.” - Poor Faith had had to count ten a great many times of late, but never with greater need than at that moment. But the result was not satisfactory. Not “nroper feeling,” indeed! When it seemed all she could do to keep from running away herself, and turning her own back on their trouble.. She forgot for the mo- ment, that she had wanted Mrs. Merri- man to do the “3 thing which she now roposed doing. She forgot everything but fer own loneliness, her darkened future, and that the doors of her home were soon to close against her forever. Then—but God. alone knew what was to become of her then. , “You have no right to say that!” she exclaimed angrily. “Do you suppose that I have liked doing what I have had to do? Which, if I had not done it, would have fallen upon you, or some one else. You have not helped us. And more than once I have wanted to leave it all with Bridget, only I—I thought it wouldn’t be right. I wish I had now, since my self- denial is not appreciated.” There was'a moment of awkward silence. Then Mrs. Merriman looked piteously at her stepdaughter. “TI—I should not have said that, my dear. I am sorry that I did, and beg you will forgive me. I am sadly broken in self-control, since all this sorrow came upon me, and fear I have often been unjust. Faith, I wish you would sit here by me for a little while. I want to talk with you.” Already the girl’s generous heart had forgotten its anger before the other’s ee which surprised as it touched 1er. “You have no need to say anything, mother. It is I who am wrong. Only let us bear our trials together, and that will make it easier for all.” “We will, dear, if- I—when I come back. Thank you for the effort you have made. Be faithful as your name to the children, dear, but’ especially to little Cyril. He has never been very strong, you know.” “Why, mother! Why do you speak like this? Nothing will happen to you! You are only to take care of yourself, and not get excited.” “TI know all about it, Faith. I have known it much longer than ayy of you suspect. I have never felt. strong enough to face the world without your father; and if it is God’s will I shall only be too glad to go out of itinto rest. Kiss me, my child; and remember that I leave everything to you.” Two hours later, Mrs. Merriman, and her two sons, attended by Maggie, went to New York, as they had planned. The great house seemed very empty and deso- late, then; and after Cyril had been safely tucked in his crib for the night, Faith and Kirk left him in Bridget’s care, while they walked to the mail. “Not that there are likely to be any let- ters for us,” said the lad; but that the un- usual restriction and depression of the last few days had made him long to get away from it all. : There was_a letter, however; and its contents were quite out of the ordinary. Even the very handwriting on the envel- ope was peculiar, as was the address too: “The Merriman Twins, Merriman House, Bedford avenue, Hillsburgh, N.Y.” “It certainly is intended for us!” laughed Faith, glad of anything to be merry over once more. “Let us go down to the river bank and read it there. Maybe you can find a new ‘specimen’, too.” Kirk readily complied; and it was not till they had made themselves “cosy” on a mossy bowlder there, that they pro- ceeded to open and read a document which was destined to influence their whole future lives. This was the letter: “To My SECOND COUSINS ONCE REMOVED :—I have just heard of the miserable condition in which your father left his affairs, and aim not at all surprised. He had no business to be so good-natured to strangers and so ill-natured to his own family as to indorse any man’s or num- ber of men’s paper to the extent he did. He bad no business to try and keep up a ten-thousand dollar establishment on a two-thonsand dollar income. But he is not the only person who has tried that and come to grief. He was as full of faults as an egg is full of meat; but they were big faults. generous faults, and I liked him. He was a gentleman, else he could never have had your mother, I can tell you. Your own mother T mean, and my dear cousin. She loved only me, till he came. However, thatis past and done with, and for hersake Iam _ glad the colonel died before he missed any of the luxuries he had always enjoyed. “T never saw either of you, and I never for- gave your father for marrying that other woman, who, I dare say, was good enongh, though not fit to take my Faith’s place. I don’t eare anything about you, so don’t- get any ro- mantic notions into your head about me, though Iam veryrich. My will is already made, and my money is to found an immense hospital for dumb beasts. They have been my best friends through life. “Yet, confound it, I haven't slept any of the night's since I saw in the paper that Merriman House wasto be sold. (I may buy it for my hospital.) I don’t know whether it is you or tire dyspepsia that keeps me awake. Besides, in this world, whenever one door shuts another one is opened. The door opened to you, now * that that of Merriman House is shut, belongs to a ricketty, red farm-house, pretty near the top of Breakneck Mountain. T own it, but it has never paid any interest on the principle, and I can’tsellit. It isn'ta paradise, but it is high enough to give a cood view of the sky and pure _ air. The furniture is not rich—a great deal of it has been in use for fifty years. J am willing to stock the farm with a cow, 4@ horse, a pig, a cock, and two hens. I will add provisions for stock—ineluding yourselves—for six months, and if you wish it, I will deed the whole con- cern to you, my Cousin Faith’s twins, free and clear. Then I shall wash my hands of your af- 1156 fairs, and I hope that I can sleep. Iam too old to be bothered with care. ‘ _ “Tf you accept my offer—which, of course. you » will not do if you can do any better—telegraph one word *Yes;” then the horse and wagon will be at the station at the foot of the moun- tain, ten o'clock train, next Tuesday morning. Inclosed find twenty-five cents for the tele- grain. “The house is big enough to hold the whole family if you wish to_ burden yourselves with it. Advise you not, Step-relatives are never satisfactory. Proffered navies was never taken —imine won't be. “LEONIDAS STONE.” C5/ The twins read this remarkabie letter with flushing cheeks and swift alterna- tions of indignation and amusement. Faith was the first to speak. “The horrid old thing! . speak so of father!” ; _* But father used to talk very kindly of 2 ‘Cousin Leonidas,’ and smile at his oddi- ties. Don’t you remember? Shall we - gor” eGot Kirk Merriman, are you crazy? Or what are you thinking of? Accept favors from a person who offers them in such a spirit? Besides —the idea of bury- ing ourselves in such a wilderness as - that!” ‘ . “All right. What do you propose that we shall do, then?” f “Why—stay at the hotel for Mrs. Merriman says,” - “Who will pay our expenses?” tae “IT suppose ‘the estate’ the lawyers talk so much about.” “JT thought our only estate was an odd assortment of ‘liabilities’.” “Kirk Merriman—look me square in the eyes. I believe—I do believe that you actually want to go to that awful farm!” - Her tone was indignant, as if she had been accusing him of some heinous crime, For a moment it made her brother hesi- ro tate. But only for a moment. ao Probably there never was a boy who did not live on a farm but wished to do ..> so; nor one who did live there but longed ‘to get away from it. Kirk was no excep- tion to the rule. He was a boy, pure and simple. Endowed with much native com- mon sense, and with all the pleasing teasing inconsistencies of healthy boy- Bea ea? - He was as truthful as Faith. His hesi- tation had lasted but an instant. ~~ “Well,” said he, stoutly; “I am not Fry ashamed of it. I do.” His sister had sprung up in her: aston- ishment, but she now dropped down again on the bowlder and clasped her - hands tragically. She fixed her brown _ eyes reproachfully on the other’s face. “Well, what makes you look so limp? Haven’t I as good aright to wish to go as you have not to?” In spite of her determination to be severe, Faith’s frown relaxed to a smile. “T should like to understand this thing. _ Will you have the goodness to tell me— - why—you desire to go?” ; _. “Why—why I suppose on account of the rabbits and squirrels; yes, and wood- chucks. Faith, I never saw a woodchuck Soom Viney life?’ “Indeed! You.benighted mortal !” _ By that time the sterness had entirely vanished and the girl laughed as long + and heartily as even Kirk desired. He really felt as if she were indulging her- - _- selr at his expense a little too much. “Faith,” interposed he, seriously and suddenly; “there’s another thing!” “What is it?” Poy Your, -art.. Think, just think, of all _ the chances you would have to sketch.” Bey. Dear little Faith was no older than her | brother. Like him she was quite child- ish enough to be caught by the roman- _ tie view of any prospect, and to ignore | the practical side. Rather it was a curi- | ous combination of romance and reality - —woodchucks and art—which caused the first wavering in her determination not - toaccept her great uncle’s gift. _. “Seriously, Kirk; let’s. talk __ ‘honest Injun’.” : __ . “What else can we do? That hotel business is nonsense. If we cannot afford to stay in our own home, I don’t see how we can at a place where it will cost each of us two or three dollars a day. - “T suppose you will have to give up -' college, and take a place in some busi- mess pense as you suggested.” _ .*Humph! /I gave up the idea of college the same night I ducked Mr. Gregory’s -ewhite duck suit; and I have been trying ever since to get that place I was sure _. would be mine ee for the asking.” “Oh! Kirk! You dear, brave boy! And ~ didn’t tell me? Well, can you not?” “No; most decidedly.” BRer J “Why? I should think that our father’s -gson——"” —~ - “T think that How dare he awhile, / oe a aio it over— et father’s son is - against my success.” ah Rink, how can you say that! You cannot mean it.” “But I do meanit. While everybody who knew him loved my father, he was proverbial for carelessness in business mee Fs nah and merchants are all afraid at I will be like him, Besides I don’t | know anything.” ‘ eas poet dost because I am my he strongest reason ‘came to Troy GOOD “But you do know—lots. You shall not say that.” “One thing, I'll admit, I really know well. I’ve learned that thoroughly dur- ing the last month, even if I haven’t been at school. That is: The only boy who has any chance to succeed is the boy who can do some one thing well; as well as it can be done, and better than any one else can do it. “But is there nothing? Your bugs and things——” Kirk laughed. So gaily that it was plain no misfortune had yet shadowed his hay spirit. “Pray tell me, who will want a boy to preserve ‘bugs and things’? Besides, I am not so certain that even they are well done.” “T know that they are,” asserted Faith. “But I suppose we must go home now. Home! Brother, do you realize that this is the last, the very last time that we shall ever go home to Merriman House?” It was, indeed! The silence which fol- lowed her words was not broken, as each walked thoughtfully on, considering “Cousin Leonidas’” odd but kindly letter, till the last corner was turned, and they found themselves in Cedar avenue, and in the midst of an excited crowd. Bewildered, they stopped. Then became conscious that a fire was iu progress somewhere. It was Faith who first saw what had befallen them. “Kirk!” she cried in terror; home! It is Merriman House!” “Yis, Missy, an’ kinder quare ain’t it thet it should a’ happened jest afore the sale?” jeered a Coarse voice near them. But they heard neither the sneer nor the shout of dismay which succeeded it. All consciousness was concentrated in their horrified gaze, which revealed little Cyril leaning far out of his bedroom window, his childish. arms outstretched imploringly, and behind him a wall of flame. (TO BE CONTINUED.) “Tt is our —_—____~~+- 0» ____ THE FRESHMAN’S STORY. ne BY MAX ADELER,. —- + / fe HEN the old farmer came into WAG, the car, the only vacant seat was that beside a freshman who was reading abook. The old man wanted to be. sociable, and pa- ‘tiently he said to the freshman: “You’re fond of novels, I reckon?” “I? No,” said the young man. “This isn’t a novel. It is Hume’s account of the ‘Siege of Troy.’” “Troy, hey? r know all about that era. What’s the book say in reference 0 i ; “Why, you know the whole trouble was caused by a woman named Helen, who——” “Any last name?” _“No;.she was——” “Did she go to the Presbyterian church? A small woman with one eye a little warped? I’ll bet anything I know that woman !” “And you know,” said the freshman, with afar away look-in his eyes, “she and went to live with Priam, who——” “Prime! I knew a Ferguson who mar- ried a Prime. He was in the truck busi- ness in Syracuse; had relations in Troy, most likely.” “Helen’s husband persuaded the Greeks to come with him. to Troy to try to get her back again, and so they manned their ships and sailed toward the city.” “Came up in the night boat, did they?” “Oh, no, it is believed that they used their oars over the entire distance.’ “Rowed up! Nobody but a lot of jack- asses would have done that when they could have come right up the river shore on an express train.” “As soon as they. landed, the people of Troy closed the gates of the city, and——” “What for?” 7 “To keep them out, of course.” “ Alley gates or front gates?” “What?” “Go on; it makes no difference. I keep my back gate fastened myself, on account of tramps. I suppose the——’ “The Greeks were led by a number of brave soldiers. Among these was Ulys- ses, who——” “Who did you say?” _ _ “Ulysses, the——” ’ ; “See a_ here, pons man, you’re not telling the truth! Don't I know that Grant never came to Troy to fool with anybody’s front gate! You ought to be ashamed of yourself to try and impose on a man who is old enough to be your grandfather!” ‘ “You don’t understand. that——” “Tf a man don’t want him for a third term, well and good; but there’s no use 4. I mean of Putting things on him that he never did. The freshman seemed to be absorbed in é NEWS. examining the landscape from the win- dow. “And the leader of the Trojans,” he said, ‘‘was a man named Hector. And he came out and stood on the wall, to observe the——” “Bricklayer, was he?” “A soldier. And when the Greeks came up they demanded that he should surren- der Helen to her husband.” “Why didn’t he take out a writ of habeas corpus? | kndéw the judge in Troy. He’d a handed that woman over quicker’n a wink.” “Hector would not consent to give her up, and then the fighting began. They fought and fought, and fought outside the city limits.” “Well,” said the old man, “I don’t like to doubt your word, my son, but it’s mighty queer there was nothing about the fuss in any of the papers. Where were the police?” “And one day, when the Trojans were all within the city, Ulysses came up to the gate, and, picking up a huge stone, weighing three hundred pounds, he hurled it at—— “Stop! Stop right there! How much did you say that stone weighed?” “Three or four hundred pounds.” And Grant picked it up?” “T said Ulysses picked it up, and with it he burst the gate into splinters.” “So young, and yet so wicked!” said the old man, sadly. “My son, what you want is a terrific lot of moral discipline, laid on thick and rubbed in hard. I never heard your equal at fiction.” “Well,” said the freshman, examining the 74th page of his book, and apparently not heeding the old man, “after a num- ber of combats Hector came out one day and he and Achilles had a fight by them- selves.” “With gloves?” “And when they had exchanged a good many blows Hector started to run, and he ran clear around Troy three times with Achilles in close pursuit.” ’ “Young man, if you don't stop that kind of thing I'll change my seat! You couldn’t make me believe any man had as 8 wind as that if you were under oath.” “On the third lap Achilles him and killed him on the spot.’ “Did the case come before the grand ury?” “But this, you know, did not let the Greeks into the city. And how do you think they finally got in?” ‘ “Took the horse cars?” “Of course not.” “Marched in in a torch-light proces- sion?” “ No.” “Came in the band-wagon of a circus?” “No; they made ,a wooden horse, hol- low, and——” s “Made a wooden horse holloa! There you go again! Why don’t you give up that bad habit of violating the truth?” “And they put a band of men inside the horse, who——” “Rocking horse, did you say?” “Who laid low until the horse got into the city, when they sprang out, opened the gates, let in their friends, and then the whole party burned the city to ashes,” The old’ man looked anxiously at the freshman. He seemed hurt and offended by the youth’s depravity. Then he said, qioitratulty : y “And when did you say all this hap- pened?” “ About three thousand years ago. . The aged man buried his face in his hands and groaned: , , “Why, you phenom know that Troy was founded upon the banks of the Hudson no later than 1786.” The train stopped and the freshman rose to get out. As he went through the door of the car, the old farmer leaned over the man in the seat in front of him and said: “see that boy going out there?” COWoda ? Well, what he wants is about eight overtook ” thousand years of steady gota. £0 Pee oy of his] day school. He can outlie any size in the Temperate Zone.” —_--0—e_—___—— SOLD THE TICKET. An enterprising member of a popular cycling club in Roehester recently held a raffle of a valuable wheel. The tickets were two dollars each, and among the purchasers was a clerk in an up-town store. The clerk was not present when the drawing occurred, says the Democrat, but his ticket proved the winnin ber. Several hours later an acquaintance dropped into the store and casually asked the clerk what he would take for the ticket. Henamed three dollars as the price and the bargain was _ promptly completed. “That ticket is the winner,” said the purchaser gleefully, holding up the cardboard. “I know it,” was the re- sponse, “and I’ve just been down after the wheel.” ; enal liar! Don’t I num- |. moment af How to Make a Telephone. nels AHE telephone which Iam about to ~~ P describe has been a source of great ~ pleasure to me, and as I think ib — too good to keep, I will give my — readers the plans for its construction. vi The materials you will require are. twO — ine boards ten by thirteen inches, am@ | 1alf an inch thick, two fresh beef blad- ders, one box of four inch tacks, two © large gutta percha overcoat buttons, — some strips of thin leather one quarter Of an inch wide, and lastly, some flexible fs wire. The best wire for the purpose #8 — that used in book-binding machines, any soft tlexible wire will do. 4 Prepare ‘the bladders first by blowing them up tightly, and leaving them for 4 day or two until they are thoroughly stretched, but do not let them become - dry and hard. While the bladders are — stretching you can obtain the other mate- — rials. To begin, take one of the boards, — and having brought it to the require@ dimensions, draw a circle in its centel Sane inches in diameter, which saw 0Ub, — taking care to keep on the line, for if the = opening is not round and even, them instrument will not work satisfactorily. Next take one , 2 of the bladders, and after cut- ting the neck off, cut away about one-third of it from end to end; then soak it in warm water, but not too hot, until it : becomes white oo and soft; after which stretch it loosely but evenly over the opening, leh th inside of the bladder be on top, an tac temporarily all around, one inch from t edge of the opening. a ome a ae he.) 5 ae Now test it DY pushing the centet oe with your finger tt ee it stretches smoot y ee and without wrinkle ag it will do; but es does not, you oa om change its posit ee : until it does so. Nex take a stri nla See completely = edge of - ng, putting tp slesele together oo taking care to | hed: the bladder stret¢ gS? a ae while ‘ so. When yo y take your knife and cub sy er that part of the bladder on th ; side strip. (Fig. 1.) 7 This dotie, break off three feet of the + wire, and after attaching it to one ugh 229 buttons (Fig. 2.) pass the free end too the center of the bladder until the OE t rests on the surface. Then fasten aWe'> of eight pounds to the end of the o set - the sun two ve or more :¥ thoroug: dry. (Fig. 3.) Proceed with the other materials like manner, and when you ot drums well dried, place one at @@C og of the line, and connect the buttom ch with the main wire by loops and % 2 at Oe : op' oe tacks a #192 it tacked proper] Figs soe ag ‘ course | a ossible. oa fraight 9° an ienaKes® it as tightly as the main wire should bea possible and with few sharp 4? Wherever a support is nee loop. © To call up, lead pencil, and the one spond in a like manner. a This is no toy, but a g00 telephone, and will work from to five miles. “pyeryN = Sh this i560 2 sti th ee a4 p with as strike the butter ci re al *% THe opening chapters | sronv’s story will be found . GoonD NEWS. 1157* “PERHAPS.” _—— BY MRS. M. A. KIDDER. pian. How much of hope, and peace, and love— How much of faith it saps— That little word so often used, \ That doubtful word, “Perhaps !” Tt leaves us in perplexity setwixt the false and true, Poised, like a pair of balances, Uncertain what to do. How many a loving, noble heart Has felt the time elapse Ou leaden wings, while waiting still Lo prove that word “Perhaps !” - “Perhaps they will,” “perhaps they’ll not’— 5 h! what suspense! Below, : “uch better,in this world of ours, ‘Is homely “Yes” or “No.” { -_———--—~- 0 o__——- [This Story will not be Published in Book-Form,] iG Beach-Boy Joe. A Story of the Life Savers. ae 5 _ 8y LIEUT. JAMES K. ORTON. ‘San * Author of “Between the Lines,” ete. re eters nf BEACH-Bor JOE” was commenced in No. 63. Back rs Can be obtained of all News Ayents]. Jarvis, when » ®Dnounced his ek a CHAPTER XXI. FIGHTING -TO SAVE. ALF a dozen of the steerage pas- sengers, each with a club, cap- stan bar or belaying pin, ranged themselves in front of Captain the first speaker had intention of preventing Dae ceper from takiug the boat to go in a hope of saving lives from the rapidly ee aie uking steamer, and insisted that the hee oe of their labor should be used ex- _ “USively to iusure their own safety. 4 aur worked like slaves to get the boat Ph the wreckage, an’ if it hadn’t been Tus She would be under water yet, for © crew of this craft are no good,” the us an who had first spoken said vehe- 3) dha y. “Our vessel was wrecked by oS balp One, an’ you ask to take away what ‘Dies to us in order to save them, - bel8 is a case where charity is goin’ to ‘$n at home, an’ don’t you forget it.” cx Rata Ow listen to reason,” the old man ma, S00thingly. “That craft hasn’t got ee than half enough boats to take off > ghe Passengers, let alone’ the crew, an’ : Will go to the bottom in less’n an een It will require twice that time to Be sink nore an’ baek. This steamer can’t mill any deeper, an’ the sea is calm as a a pond. All Task is that we brin ee firs »eete, an’ then you shall be landed ¢ v by ’ . oe myiehat 8 exactly what we intend to be. KT in boat belongs to us, an’ we are going ag? inet © her. If the other steamer is so side? Sone, why doesn’t she come along- this ; Perhaps her officers don’t think 2 “Gat Such a remarkably safe place.” drowrt > you see that her fire-room is Pate d before out? They have waited too long ean’t Setting the signals, and now she * lrtlon >moved,” the captain cried, pas- meen a ply. “Be men; do as you would be es human}, an’ don’t stand idle while aided |» eings are allowed to die un- 4 we old your tongue, an’ get out of the wae Samet We'll pitch you over the rail!” Sos © man advanced threateningly. » believing his friend was in deadly sBidad Tushed forward; but the throng of Ogers pushed him aside as They “ Sona sanered around the old keeper. Vig Wo the boy felt positive Captain Jar- A es Only puld receive severe injury, and his i the’. OP was in the immediate return of oe a eee Station crew, pret gas Ag Jounately they were close at hand. Saw th Ooked anxiously over the rail he eS ie: & boat manaly more than fifty yards _ of hie ro Shouted at the full strength “ es : throai@® on! They are threatening to Sane ey Our captain overboard !" Wo : di hoyed his hand to show that the ate. id go ad een understood, and then he them teething to the men which caused 8S ig er at such speed that it seemed —— OVer ty, & little craft actually skimmed Ee. Ey =e Surface of the water. , four ee Incredbily short space of time Stern mene life-Savers came. over the Mick) hile those in the boat pushed ~ bya “4 dane ghey should be swamped i Joe on rush. Of tiny Dan pick up a huge fragment thing oS: While the others seized any- and. 'ch would serve their purpose, Ferfect silence the four actually the passengers fell at-every by his friends, and hy the Mime tie He aes ® life-savers had surrounde Bie \ 3 ¢ vain, eir way to the side of their Or ¢ reed a8 Joe was, it seemed as if two! the , this,” keeper even the most belligerent of the crowd were quelled. “What’s the matter, captain?” Dan asked, swinging his club as a warning for the enemy to keep back. “Nothin’ now that you boys are here. The other steamer is sinkin’, an’ I wanted these curs to go out with the boat we’ve jest righted; but they declare she shall take them to the shore.” “Say the word, an’ I’ll engage to get a crew, an’ what’s more, keep ’em to work.” “Take one of the other boys with you an’ go ahead. I’ll start in our boat.” Joe called upon Bill to assist him, and while the captain was going over the rail, aeeprepanes! by all save these two, Dan pointed to first one man and then another, until his crew was made up, saying as he did so: “Get into that boat, an’ obey orders, or you’ll find out what an Assateague sailor can do! Don’t stop for any excuses, or you’ll never see dry land agin!” who: had been the most violent a short time previous, stepped into the boat as meek as lambs, and watched Dan very closely to see that they made no mistake in his orders. Until this moment the mate had re- larly successful. friends, and for the time being both his position and those around him was for- gotten in the exciting and painful scene. from view rapidly. All her boats had been inunchou, anid were being filled with ee in a methodical manner, which spoke vo crew as compared with those belonging to the wreck, the greater portion of whom were even more cowardly than the pas- sengers. The life-savers were rowing as if they needed exercise, instead of having been hard at work so long, and Dan kept his crew well in hand, although, as a matter of course, their speed was nothing as compared with that of the experienced oarsmen, : “Will they get there in time?” Joe asked, as the mate came toward him, and the majority of all on, the wreck watched ‘intently this race with death. “T don’t think she will go down for half an hour yet; but even now there are not boats enough to take off all who are on board.” : time,” Joe said, proudly. “T don’t think so.” umes for the discipline of her. Not aman dared to refuse; even those! made three full trips before the | { mained aloof from the angry passengers;|he watched the noble craft until but, observing how much might be ‘ac-| decks were flush with the water. complished by judicious intimidation, he‘ her bow raised high out of the water as once more assumed authority, although |if in one supreme effort to shake off the it must be confessed he was not particu- | weight which was dragging her down, | “Our crew can make two trips in that can find enough to make a | { The boats were beginning to leave the steamer, and it could be seen that the first was hailed by the keeper who prob- ably advised them to go no further than the other wreck, in order that they might return to aid those left behind. “Hurrah! The captain is there! Now see how quick he will take on a load!” The life-boat had a full cargo by the time the other craft arrived along side, and just as she swung off the first load reached the steamer. It must have~been disheartening for those frightened people to be taken from one erace only to be set on board of an- other; but the officer in charge would listen to no remonstrances, and had his cargo disembarked in short order. From this time on, the scene somewhat resembled that at a race. Each boat’s crew, with eee exception of the one commanded by Dan, tried to outdo the others; but the station men excelled them all. Captain Jarvis’ life epcery Scene ast person was rescued, and then set about working quite as hard to transfer the people to the shore. Now that the labor had become system- atized, Joe felt no further anxiety. There was nothing he couid do to aid, aoe er Then she sank slowly by the stern in a manner Joe went to the extreme after part of; which caused it to seem asif the inani- the wreck where he could watch his’ mate hulk was appealing to Heaven for help. Joe felt almost as if he had witnessed the death of a human being when the “SAY, LET DOWN A ROPE AND PULL ME UP, WILL YOU?” CAME FROM THE SMALL - BOAT, AND JOE PROCEEDED TO COMPLY WITH THE REQUEST. The sinking steamer was disappearing | waters boiled and foamed above the gal- lant vessel, and he turned away to see what was going on around him, as a means of distracting his attention from memories of the sad scene. On the beach were large numbers of the village people with vehicles of every description, and already were the fishing boats putting out to aid in the rescue. Now that there were so many to assist in the work, Captain Jarvis allowed his weary crew to rest afew moments, and | Dan who kad given over his command to the mate of the steamer, joined his com- rades on the after portion of the wreck, where Joe was greeting each man as if from a long journey. “Grub an’ water is what we need jest! now,” Bill suggested, “an’ seein’s how there’s no time to go to the station, what would be the harm in overhaulin’ the kitchen, if it so be that any part of it can be got at?” “Drive ahead, my hearty, an’ see if you bite for all hands, ineludin’ Joe, who oughter belong | to a life-savin’ station if he ever grows “It doesn’t stand to reason that flesh up, forhe’s got grit, an’ plenty of it, even and blood can hold out very long to work if he does look so mee k like,” and the as those brave fellows from the shore are captain took the boy’s hand in his almost to hear, and he replied: long as there is a single life to save. have seen 4 and have been doing,” a pleasant faced caressingly. old lady, who had been calm from the : first moment Captain Jarvis stepped on sought, and in a short time the crew | board, said sufficiently loud for the boy were eating their well ! . “They won’t think of being tired x wreck,” Dan said, speaking indistinctly, owing them in a worse time than boiled ham in Bill soon found that for which he -earned lunch. “This is what you call picnickin’ on a to the very large amount of his mouth. “I can’t say as I ever took part in the like before; cold | but it ain’t bad after them as are around ou get licked into good workin’ order, ikes the ones I trained. Bless my eyes, but how them fellers did beg to be let off after we’d made two full trips; but not one of them dared to stir till Bill or me give the word. One big lubber swore he was blistered clean to the elbow, an’ when ,.the mate tried his hand at takin’ command, I reckon things didn’t go quite so hard for them. as had shipped before the oars.” “T’m thinkin’ of what a nest the sta- tion’l] be between now an’ morning’,” the captain said, musingly. “It ain’t more’n’ half likely all this crowd will get over to the village, an’ we shall be packed full as a tick.” “T wonder how poor old Tim is gettin’. along?” Bill added, thoughtfully. “It | must make him about wild to know all-” this work is goin’ on an’ he not in it.” 2 “His heart will be jest about broke,” — the captain replied, mournfully. “If ever there was a man who liked to work like | an ox at sich a time, that man is Tim.” ; At this moment asmall boat fromthe — shore came under the half submerged ~ stern, and a.thin, squeaky voice cried : 4 “How can I get up there, Joe?” : “I'm blest if it ain’t Carl,” Dan cried — with alaugh. “He’s come, as usual. after the meetin’ is over; but there’s yet time for him to tell the captain what oughter be done.” 5 7 ele sae “Say, let down a rope an’ pull me up,, will you?” came from the smaller boat, and Joe proceeded to comply with the | request. CHAPTER XXII. A SUDDEN CHANGE. AHE first thing Carl bare eae > noted after being helped on board y Joe, was the remains of the © lunch, and he at once took it for granted that everything had been ar- ranged for his especial benefit. epee “Now this is what I--call great,” he ~— said in a toneof satisfaction, as he helped — himself very liberally, and then, while — eating, leisurely surveyed the scene — around him. fect “It was lucky this nerpeer inthe day- — time. an’ I’d rather had it jest now than © any other day.” “I’m glad the arrangements have been made to suit you,” Dan replied, with a grin. “First off I begun to be afraid we mighter started in a leetle too early.” __ “Not a mite of it,” Carl said, compla- — cently. aH “You see, father laid out forme to do a big pile of work this forenoonin the — cabbage patch; but when the news come — of the wrecks he couldn’t help lettin’ me — off, *cause everybody in the village . started.” " “Are they carryin’ the town?” Captain Jarvis’ aske : “Yes, I reckon more’n fifty have gone — | | already, an’ the way things luok now, | /every house in town will be piled full. be: |. “Do you know if word was sent by tel- |. people ‘up to . /egraph?” ae | “Jim Barber went off on Deacon Stud- |ley’s old gray horse to seetoit. It’(lbea | 'reg’lar miracle if he ever gets back,’cause | the hoss is foundered, an’ Jim can’t ride any more’n a duck.” , a The life-saving crew had now rested — fifteen or twenty minutes, and the cap- tain gave orders for each man to return — to his station. ~ : “Sorry we can’t stay to hear whether | you think we are doin’ this job right,” Dan said, as he clambered over the Pee “If you ain’t too busy, jest take alook ’round, an’ when we come back tell us — what else oughter be done.” fe “IT reckon he thinks he can make me © mad by talkin’ that way,” Carl said, as — the last member of the crew descended Ms to the boat; “but I don’t care a bit. If » it does him any good he can keepit up all day, an’ even then, perhaps I might give — | him a few pointers.” “Where did you get the boat you came — out in?” Joe asked. ES aA “Borrowed it.” f See “From some one on the beach?” “No; she did belong to a feller up. the creek; but he hasn’t used her for more’n — a month, an’ I reckon he don’t want her longer.’ a OLE he should, you'd get into a fuss.” “TI don’t care very much about that, — ’cause he’s a shif’less kind of a feller, an too lazy to pound anybody.” | athe At this poe Carl suddenly t that he had better take a good look a the wreck while there was an opportun- ity, and since Joe did not care to aco any him he went off by himself, loo. ing far more earnestly at the passengers yet remaining on board than the re of the collision. _ Before another hour had passed it possible for those who had_ been work: so many hours at the oars to take a for nearly all the fishing crafts owned ‘the island had been brought to the spo and the sea was 80 1158 who knew how to handle a boat could land in the surf. ‘The life-savers came on board again, and, in the absence of any officer, save the third mate, who did not care to assume the responsibility, Captain Jarvis took charge of the wreck in the interests of the owners, for it was possible a large amount of property might be rescued, “T’ll leave you an’ Bill on board,” the old man said to Dan. “It will be neces- sary to keep strict watch, for there’s too much that can be stolen layin’ ‘round, an’ I don’t put any too much faith in the honesty of some of the people. who’ve come within the last hour.” “Then there’ll be no chance of our goin’ -. ashore,” Dan replied, probably thinking that remaining on board would be de- -cidedly easier than doing patrol duty. _ “No; you must hang on here, for in an- ‘other hour all hands will be landed, an’ you’re to prevent any one from comin’ aboard. I’ll go over to the station, for there may be some word from the own- ers. If there should be need of signallin’ to. us, you'll find plenty of flags in the first officer’s quarters, I reckon. Joe, are you with us, or would you like to have a _ ehance of sayin’ that you'd staid all night - on a sunken steamer?” “T think I’ll stay, if you don’t care.” “Suit vourself. I can’t see that there’ll - be any danger, for if the weather should ehange we’d come out mighty quick, an’ with sich a crowd as we're likely to have at the station to-night, it’11 be more com- fortable here.” “Can I stay too?” Carl asked. . “Tn your case I wouldn’t like to take _ the responsibility, for your father might kick up arow, an’ then agin, I reckon you'll be needed at home.” “There’s no danger of that.” ee “Perhaps not; but at the same time I ¢an’t say you may stay.” ‘Then, as if to avoid importunities from | the boy, Captain Jarvis gave the word for the men to take their stations, and as the little craft was rowed swiftly away the oarsmen shouted a cheery adieu to their companions in charge of the wreck. —. Dan and Bill made themselves com- |: fortable amidships, where they could have an eye on all that was happening around, |. and Joe and Carl went from one place to - another, as fancy dictated. ‘The spot which had for them the most Paasilantton was the splendidly furnished - saloon now fies filled with water, and they speculated long and spiritedly - upon the luxurious life they could lead in such a place. Carl half waded, half swam to the enor- - mous mirror, that he might see himself reflected at full length, and for fully five | minutes he had great sport making faces at his own image. “LT thought our lookin’ glass at home was pretty big, but this would make a - handred of it. If: the wreck breaks up I’m°goin’ to keep a mighty sharp watch, - go’s to get this when it comes ashore.” . “That wouldn’t float,” Joe said from ~ “You can jest bet it will, with all this - wood around it, an’ there’s gold enough _. “Don’t be so foolish; it’s only an’ wouldn’t pay for scrapin’ it 0 Carl made a careful examination of the _ frame, and then he replied, with the air to the evidence of his own senses: “You can’t stuff any sich yarn down Tf this ain’t gold I’ll eat the whole lot.” “Of course it’s gold; but put on so _ the top of the saloon stairs. hére to buy Aassateague Island.” ; ees of one who is perfectly willing to trust - my throat when I can see an’ feel of it. unin that you couldn’t do anything with Carl peered up at his companion with a knowing look; but made no further re- mark on the subject. In his opinion Joe was gly disparaging the frame in order that he himself might get possession of. it, and, firmly convinced that there was _ sufficient precious metal there to make him riclr for life, he resolved not to close his eyes in slumber until it was in his possession, - The afternoon was considerably more than half spent when the work of taking he passengers and crew ashore was fin- ished, and after the last boat load left the | ie Dan announced, sufficiently loud for all in the vicinity to hear him: \“Captain Jarvis has taken charge of everything in the name of the govern- ment, to hold it until the owners or agents arrive, as they will start imme- diately on receiving the news. My mate an’ [have been put here simply to look ’ out for the property, an’ our orders are to allow no one on board, so boys, don’t - make us warn you off, for ther‘’ll, be no GooDpD no particular person was given an ad- vantage over the others. Several boat’s crews hung diate vicinity, however, and Dan angrily as he pointed toward them: “Thre’s the kind of men as wouldn’t in the imme- said. ashore. Every blessed one of ’em knows there’s nothin’ to be got here honestly, an’ yet they'll stay ’till mornin’, if it so be there’s no change in the weather.” “Where do you suppose the crew of the Petrel are about this time?” Joe asked. “T’ll bet an apple agin a doughnut they’re hangin’ ’round close at hand, so’s to run themselves in as havin’ been wrecked on one of the steamers. By that means they’d get off the island, unless somebody as knew ’em should ketch a squint of their ugly mugs.” Regardless of his apparent anger, Dan did not seem to be very much afraid any one would meddle with the goods on the wreck. He proceeded to make himself comfortable by bringing some of the furniture out of the cabin, and Carl showed every sign of remaining ald night. “Your father’1l be angry if you don’t come home,” Joe suggested, when the shadows of night were beginning to fall and the two men were in the pantry selecting dainties for the evening meal. “How can [ go?” Carl asked, innocently. “The same way you came, of course.” “The boat has gone adrift.” “What? Why didn’t you speak about it before?” “Where'd been the use? She’s gone and that settles it,” Master Carl replied, calmly, and Joe made no further com- how the accident had happened. “It was a risky trick for the sake of stayin’ all night; but I don’t s’pose it’s any of my business.” The men returned with the food at this point, and Carl ate as if his one aim in ife was to fill himself to repletion. The little party remained aft until quite late in the evening, and then Dan said: -“We’re bound to get some sleep, for there’s likely to be considerable work to-morrow. You boys can tumble into what’s left of the deck house, an’ Bill an’ me will stand trick an’ trick ’till mornin’.” Joe and Carl accompanied the sailor . to the place he had selected as their apart- ment for the night, and in less than ten minutes from the time they laid down on a mattress brought from the cabin, both were Bleep ng soundly, despite the strangeness of their surroundings. | It seemed to Joe that his eyes had but just been closed in slumber when he was awakened by amotion as if the wreck was afloat, and he scould hear the wind whistling serougs the shattered hulk, while the waves beat with no slight force against the remnants of her timbers. Terrified by this sudden change he ran out, meeting Dan and Bill standing near the entrance to the deck house. “What’s the matter?” he asked, ex- citedly. “The weather has taken a sudden jump, an’ I reckon the old hulk is goin’ to pieces; but the old man is bound to see the change as soon as we did, an’ the boat'll put out pretty soon.” “Tt’s my opinion,” Bill added, in a slightly nervous tone, “that she’s got to be here in ten minutes if them at the station count on seein’ us agin, for these ae plates are. shakin’ loose mighty ast.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) ———- - -~+>- @-->_---—-. — NEST-BUILDING IN CAPTIVITY. Many of us, some time in our lives, have taken an old bird’s nest in our hands and admired the wonderful structure, the neatness and care with which the inside has been finished, whether it be the nest of a thrush, so carefully lined with manure, and smoothed off, with the art of a well-taught modeler; or may be the lovely lining which we find in a -robin’s nest or some of the finches; but we have few actual chances of seeing these minia- ture homes put together, unless they are built in captivity, under which circum- stances the art of nest-building becomes most interesting to a careful watcher. Let us take, for instance, canaries. A pa of these birds in their second season’s puilding—by which time they have per- fected thoroughly the art, su ponies they are supplied with a suitable box and materials for the purpose-—-commence first of all by filling the box with the rougher pieces of moss, after which the hen hops into the middle of it, and sitting down, begins to turn round and round; pickin’s unless the hulk should go to jieces before them as are interested in her can come.” . - It was well known to all the islanders hat the station crew could not claim salvage, no matter how much _ property they might save, for the question has been decided at court several times, herefore the majority of the small craft t for the shore, reasonably well con- | ted with the condition of affairs, since ~ | by this process the inside of the nest: is formed. If they find-it not full enough, more moss is brought, and the process repeated until it is to the satisfaction of the hen. After this, the dejicate part of lining the nest is commenced, the hen sit- ting in the nest while the male bird sup- plies her with hair, which he first pre- ‘pares in the following manner:+ After picking up a small bunch of hair which fs ‘ j hesitate to set false signals to toll a craft | ment on the subject, for he understood | }room till night. | ation. NEWS. he holds across the middle, he flies upon the perch, and knocks it from side to side against the perch, to shake all loose pieces out; after which he holds the wisp or bunch of hair on the perch with his foot, at the same time drawing his beak up with a twisting motion. This is re- peated until it becomes somewhat woven together, and is then presented to the hen, which she carefully takes and places in the moss, one piece after another, until a smooth lining is the result. At this point she allows her husband to enter the nest, which they keep doing in turns, with a great deal of txcitement and soft twittering, continually turning round and round to finish it off in a workman- like manner. Canaries, like human _ beings, vary very much in character, some males being so indifferent and idle that they will let the hen do all the work of build- ing and rearing, while they themselves sit and plume their feathers. Others, again, are perfect gentlemen in their manners, waiting on the hen with a quiet courtesy, and seeing that all she requires is at once brought to her. Again, the hen varies in disposition, some hens behaving in a quiet modest way, attending to their young ones with regularity; while others are in a con- stant state of chatter with their hus bands, pecking and arguing with them every time they go near. Thus we see that the little birds have their tiffs and domestic quarrels, not unlike ourselves. —_—__~+-e-e____ (This Stdry will not be Published in Book-Form.) THE SIGNALMAN'S BOYS. agit’ By CHARLES BARNARD. i255 ee (THE SIGNALMAN’s Boys was commenced in No. 68, Rack numbers can be obtained of News Agents]. eee finiemennennene CHAPTER VIII. THE RATS COME IN AT THE DEATH, =a) doubtful and panting for breath, and the boys terrified beyond ex- os ‘pression, Then Tommy raised the win- dow and called: “Watch |” “For heaven’s sake, child, keep quiet!” cried their cousin, in desperation. “Do not raise an alarm; they are after me now. I’ve only just escaped from jail.” “Then I'll call too!” cried Johnny. ‘ rs es Heavens!’ cried the man. “You ere} ” “Yes I am.” ee ka “Oh! you—you—I’d kill you if I could. “What did ive throw me into that, mine for? W J did you hire that wicked man to kill me?” ‘ The great and terrible Boss seemed to shrink into nothing before his eyes. He grew pale and shook like a leaf in the wind. “Oh! boys, dear boys, save me. There! I see an officer in the street. He is’ look- ing forme. Do not attract his attention. I've wronged om but [I'll make it all up if you will hide me from them See! there is a diamond for you.” : He pulled the diamond pin from his tumbled shirt front and held it out to them. “Tt will make you both rich. Take it, Johnny. i : Then I’ll go away and never trouble you again. Close the win- dow, Tommy, that’s a good boy.” “No sir. I will not. I don’t believe you. You area liar. You cheated my father out of all his money, and now you can go to jail.” The Boss laid the diamond on the table and came nearer to the two boys. “Keep away!” cried Johnny, in desper- “Keep away or I’ll call the officer.” : “Nay, boys, don’t be so cruel. Pity me. am your cousin, you know.” “A pretty cousin, you are.” - “Come, Tommy; believe me. I will not hurt you. I can’t now. The police are after me, and I am at your mercy. Save me from them, and I’ll make you both rich.” “You don’t think we believe that. You'd steal it again the first chance, But you shall not have the chance, You tried to kill my brother, and now I’ll kill you, wretch !” It really seemed as if he would, for the boy was goaded to madness by the crimes of this man, and he seized a chair as if ready to throw it at him. The wretched man actually sank on his Je oP OR a moment neither the man nor 1 the two children spoke. The man, | 2 Keep it and let me stay in your|s '|méan wretch won't get away if I cau knees in abject terror, The officer kept. walking up and down right before the window, and his only safety was in| ing inthe house. These children whom he had considered and treated as mere vermin, had turned against him, and he was at their absolute mercy. He pleaded for mercy, for safety at their hands, | hid- | ’ os me “Put down the chair, Tommy; I will not hurt you. See, I am helpless.” os “Will you give back my father's money? You stole it—you know you did.” ag “Yes, yes,” cried the man. “Anything; only close the window before the officer finds me.” en, “No, I won’t. You get up and sit down. Johnny, you keep your eye on the officer, and if this—this— our cousin stirs, you just scream for dear life.” The great Boss got up from his knees and stood wiping the perspiration from his forehead. 5 es “Yes, Tommy, I’ll do it; I’ll give you | just double all I took, and—Johnny, — please close the window. Ah! what’s that?” The miserable wretch dropped on the floor and tried to creep under the bed, “Tt’s only the cars on the railroad. up, now, and look in the drawer of that table. There’s some paper there, an the pen and ink are on the shelf,” aa The Boss, completely humiliated and cowed, abjectly did as the child bid him. “Now, Johnny, close the window, — lease.” “No, I will not,” said Johnny. “I mean to holler as loud as I can if you don’t hurry and do.as Tommy says.” The man took the pen and sat down. . “What shall I write?” 27g “You know. You make some kind of & thing giving my father two dollars for every one you stole. And, mind you, you must swear to it on the Bible before oth of us and Mrs. Grumange.” po “Mrs. Grumange! Who is she?” “She is the landlady. She won you.” The Boss silently wrote a few lines 0 the paper and then showed it to Tommy. “It isn’t enough. It’s too short. + don’t know anything about such matters; but it is too short. Perhaps you mean 17 cheat us?” ea The Boss made no reply but reached over for the Bible that lay on the table. ‘i “No, sir, that won’t do. Johnny; call Mrs. Grumange, or some one.” on a Johnny went out, and the Boss an@ Tommy were left alone. ae “And what will you do for me the, Tommy ?” ag “You must sign another paper promis: ing to leave the country forever ave never to return, and you must leave 4 yous money behind you. You made UW eggars, and now you must see how you like it yourself.” ; “I would be only too glad to of the country, if I knew how.’ aw “Oh, I know how. I'll set you on th road to Canada.” a8 “How is it possible?” “Add some more money to my propert and I’ll tell you.” “Shut up, you brute. Do you rob me#” The man rose in anger, and advanced toward the child, but the latter was ™ quick for him, and was at the window an instant. we, Ue “Stand back! Stand back, or I'll ¢@© help!” ~ : th There stood that policeman On. ie opposite side-walk. The B ss slunk bac® with an oath: Ap “Beaten—beaten by a child “Yes, sir. You have had own way. Now it’s our turn. again, and I’ll gi rive you up to the. in an instant. Sroep quiet, and sign papers, and I’ll show you how to paper and t hurt ‘ escape oub father’s mean to ’ 6 “Anything, Tommy; I’ll do just a8 Y® ay. +n fabs Then Johnny returned with their land’ ady. “Tf you pete, Mrs. Grumange: — gentleman has just signed a aper. us, and we want a witness. “Mrs. mange readily signed her mame 4° pe ae went out. oy id vou add more money. ; “Yes, I wrote an additional halt mi lion. He tried Will that satisfy you?” “Keep a good watch, Johnny. , to dodge me when you were out. ‘“ “T guess I will,” said his brothe™ it. a The Boss folded up the paper handed it to ae Tommy Tt carefully and then said: a7 an “o i, . . ood And you swear that this is a 8° legal document?” aay I do the Books oF e * fo) e eae up ee ae ou know how they doit.” 4. oy i The ee swore eee that aper he had given them was egal surrender of the sum of onare. 2 lion, four hundred thonsand_ 40 ‘plum full ‘of all claims held by JobM © against him, “And now, boys, you will the window. You have tax 1d every dollar I have in the wee me hide in your room, and then @” I will take myself off forever, “No; you cannot stay here. “But you said you would from the police.” = tho ra “T’'m going to take you to the ¥ GoonDypD NEW S. 1159 ér. You know where he works?” mean creature!” cried Johnny. Me awfully.” locked me up in the station- added ‘Tommy. 208s made no reply to this, but Read in silence. Y, added Johnny,” he’s done 6 jumped overboard, drowned St pent, in the a error oi muttered something about “Tuin” under his breath. = ome!” said Tommy. “Take off your Jou must dress" up in fathers’ old an come with us.“ ‘or? and where will you take € tailroad—To the Fourth avenue Atvislike a grave, and you can e till dark, and then you can He track, and get on some train i the night, and so get away.” a Gin Tommy. It is a desperate n dic.’ me the clothes, and I will lisgu s€ inyself.” ~~ 241 promise not to run awa : ts he street?” 36; —. emnly swear I will not seek s Dolicg Here is ne danger while the of the city are hunting for but afew minutes to arrange Clothes about the man; then pated to go out. is tharoment,” said the Boss. ket diamond pin on the table; feng tnat, boys.” far,” said Johnny, picking up sem. “It will help pay my alifax,” : Winced, but made no reply. Ween the two boys he went Sseq 9 nd out into the avenue. humber of policemen. None hd test attention, and in about tes they reached the ladder avenue. “It was past twelve 4, Ost of the men were at wey Climbed down to the rail- Vent cttracting attention. Then and Up the tracks under the Nol, tape cuts to the tunnel. ; in +; an was eating a scanty his’ den in the wall, when he Ming. He knew the boys, ee ene between them with Yr. He laid aside his dinner and his cane in hand, mes arm, im 8 few steps to meet them. diy at first confused and ex- hun wt know what to say. l, tng his head in silence. Orr ott does this ptallow this person to walk vaght tt your im, father,” said T 3 sin Edward er,” said Tommy Edward 1" - Ty) She man raising his ca 4 ? ny. *¥e come to crave your beta tS {ignal man turned back saying: aces 2 flag house. Some one Ulked on toward the mouth el. Here, in the dim, used. At last they had e poor old signal of his all; the 3 y robber, and the ne- “and” Whose lives had been se hearly destroyed by his Pointed Bal persecution. The he wal to the rude bench “hee” and the robber sat each, «3t00d leaning against Sidé of him. The signal “nthe rails of the first e ‘org n’s indignation, and ie node mercy for you in heavy he e, y en 1% ook at that boy. in ohn MacDonald to lose se. that coal mine?” Be d hot seek to kill him.” the old man. “See locket. They came 1t of the coal mine ere is every proof described and duly ke Te are the names of Pen; away, ra Mac-. knn Lundy, an man Ker of these things. Yor Mone, “Sent in this matter mn th. and fled, leaving that Won ne of a Saturday noo he had not starved Tol ee, here is the child’s in MacDonald’s aban- Look again. it}, Mon ' i es ey, one of the gold ae ‘Ais head and would not nel nt his white flag rolled up | mean? | reply a word. Then the old man went on. “And this other boy. Why did your servant Doc Slinginger pursue him with- out right or warrant of law? Why are all these things risen up against you? You robbed me of my all, and then sought to kill my children. seek for mercy! See, there is a train coming. Shall we throw you under its wheels?” “Mercy! mercy! cousin. so frightful a death!” Onward came the train roaring through the tunnel. The flagman wavec his signal, and it went past in clouds of steam and smoke. “Nay!” said the old man,” I would not do so great asin. I know a better way. I will hand you to the police, like the dog that you are. You have ruled the police force these months, and now they will turn upon you and rend you.” “No!” cried the terrified Boss, spring- ing up; “anything but that. I will re- store everything. I gave it all back, and more to the boys. They have it now.” The signal man looked at his sons in surprise. “What does he mean, boys? Does he, for once, speak the truth?” “Yes,” said Tommy. “Hecame to our room to hide from the police, and I made him sign this paper. right. And father, you will let him go. He is our cousin. He has been a bad Save me from and we promised to help him to escape.” The father took the paper that Tommy handed to him, and with trembling fin- gers he opened it. He read it through quickly, and then turning to his cousin, said in a low voice: “This is a good paper.” . “It is, perfectly. Take it to my law- yers, and they will satisfy your claim.” “It is very just and proper in you to do this. At the same time, I have alread been advised by friends, and through their aid I have this very day begun a suit against your entire property.” “That will save you the expense. I am not the rich man many think,” “No; I suppose not. Ill-gotten gains soon fly away.” ‘ For a few moments the old man stood silently gazing into the black mouth of the tunnel. What should he do? Justice said give this man to the officers. and ae said let him escape. “You will your sons? They promised me that they would prevail upon you to let me hide in the tunnel till dark. Then I will take some train at Harlem, and leave the country as soon as possible, never to return.” > \ “Do, father,” said Tommy. “Let him go. Hecan do no harm now.” “Justice!” cried the old man. “Justice and the law. They must be satisfied.” “Mercy! Cousin John! Have mercy on me! Let me'go. I will trouble you no more.” “Let him go, father, said Johnny. “We promised him that we would help him. [ have no ill will against him. The old flagman turned his back on his cousin, and said in a broken voice: ” - The Boss drew near and attempted to take the old man’s hand, “No, no. Go, but do not touch me.” “Will you not shake hands with me, and forgive me, cousin?” “No, no! I do not forgive you. I hate you! Go—go at once, before I repent of my mercy to such a-vile creature as you.” Finmi{l tated. crushed, and vanquished, the wretch turned to enter the mouth of the blaak tunnel. ‘ “Heaven bless you, John Blunt! I am not worthy of the same name. Farewell, | farewell—forever. Boys, take warning of my miserable end. Be men, be gentle- men, and Heaven bless you all.” - The sound of his retreating footsteps grew fainter and fainter and then it ceased, and the place was very still. In a moment or two a train passed and the signalman waved his flag in the old way. Yet were all things now changed. This was the end, the last day down in this | tomb-like place. The days of their pov- | erty and sorrow were ended. To-morrow | they would go up into the city and take | ; once more their right place in the world. | } For a little while none of them fe de The excitement, the surprise at the sudden change in their fortunes, and the strange and dreadful parting with | their relative, had been too much for | words, and they sat for more than half jan hour on the old bench by the wall, ‘in silence. They thought all their trials ‘ended, and that the drama in which they | had taken part was over. It was not. A more terrible scene was yet to be gone through before the curtain could fall. It | came gpipkly enough, As they sat there they heard a short | flag in hand, ready to signal the oncom- in, and that he left ing train. They bad heard it coming | . for a moment or more. Then came this startling whistle for \ "And you: He swears it is all | man, but he has given all back again, Mercy | not go back on the word of | down brakes. What had happened? They all stood on the track looking into the black cave of the tunnel. ‘Then slowly out of the darkness rolled an immense freight engine. It went slower and slower, and finally with much noise of grinding and slipping wheels it stopped just before: them. The engineer sprang down and ran back into the tunnel. The fireman also got out and said hastily to Mr. Blunt: “Block the line. man.” Mr. Blunt hastily took out a red flag, and giving it to one of the boys bade him wave it on the up track. Then caine shouts for help, and the sound of footsteps running. “Bring a light! Call the brakemen.” Mr. Blunt took both the lanterns from his den, lighted them, and then ran hastily into the tunnel. In a moment he came to a number of men gathered round something on the track. What was it? A heap of ‘rags! Something contused, torn, bloody. A man—dead. Run over, and all trace of humanity blotted out. An awful mass! A heap of terror! “Who is-it?” said the men in a whisper. The signalman held his lamp over the frightful object. e “Heaven be merciful! It is the Boss.” |_ They never knew how it happened. ‘None could tell whether the wretch |sought his own destruction, or met Heaven’s unerring justice in the dark- ness and terror of the great tunnel, deep under Fourth avenue, New York. To-day if you go through one of the best streets near Central Park you may see a fine old gentleman seated at a win- ‘dow in a certain handsome house, and beside him are two splendid boys, the old signalman’s sons. They are just young men and good. In these days of their prosperity they re- membered the friends of their poverty. Mr. Hawkins wears a handsome. gold watch that Johnny sent him. ake Tratway received a hundred dollar note, and another hundred dollars was divided among the miners who so nobly aided in the search for the boy lost in the coal mine. fine gold watch to see if the trains are on time, and Mrs. Scrummins has one room, she calls it the boys’ room, fur- nished in the most delightful manner, | through Tommy and Johnny’s kindness. As for the sergeant and the police cap- tain, they both resigned and went out West. Neither proved articularly friend] We have run over a absence was no particular loss, Mrs. Grumange wears a nice’silk dress on Sundays, and she keeps a very clever always remembers her pleasure. Perhaps you story. near Sixty-third street, and through one of the ventilation shafts you can look ‘down and see the very place where the /old signalman used to stand. [THE END. ] [A New and exciting story on a popular subject will begin in a few weeks. Look out for it]. > - 2 - ROUSING FIREMEN FROM SLEEP. When aman first joins the fire depart- /ment he is wakeful and nervous, but a ‘few week’s acquaintance with the method |of being awakened banishes all this, and Bill Martin often consults a very} | Offer. till they were frightened into} it by the arrest of the Boss, and their | little house farther up town, and she) boarders with | do not believe all this Then go up on Fourth avenue, | | no matter how tired or weary a fireman , may be when he retires, or how soundly ‘he sleeps, he is wide-awake at the first | ! tap of the bell. |awakened so habitual that the sound of } even the bell of an alarm clock will waken him when he could not be aroused | by calling or tugging. |. Lwas in the department nearly a month ‘before I got my first holiday and re- ;member that when I went home and fell asleep my folks tried to awake me at imidnight to go to work. They tugged They became alarmed and called ina neighbor, who was also a member of the fire department. He saw at once what “was the matter, and brought in a dishpan ‘to my bedside and hammered on it with a stick. I was up at the first stroke, and threw my arms around him, thinking he ‘was the pole by which we slide down ‘from our sleeping quarters to the engine, - fully illustrated the force of habit. —__ <-9-<—__—_— A woman at Sabinéville, Pa., counted the stitches as she knitte@ ‘a quilt. There Here is a/ whistle up the tunnel. Mr. Blunt Stood, | were nearly nine hundred thousand. Berore telling a story on a man, re- member that if yeu tell the truth, the man who quotes you probably will not. and pulled at me, but I did not awaken. ~ It caused a great laugh, of course, but | | EXCHANGE DEPARTMENT. tes, (ImporTANT.—This column is freeto all our readers. We will not be responsible for transactions- brought about through notices in this column. All offers must be strictly exchange offers. We will not insert any “for sale” advertisements, nor exchanges of fire-arms, explosives, dangerous,or worthless articles. If exchange notices do not appear in a reasonable time, it may be understood that they were not accepted. Address all communications for this column to “Exchange De- partment.”] eres BOYS’ PAPERS.—Wm. J. Monroe, Kittanning, Armstrong County, Pa., has boys’ papers to ex- change for tin tags. State number of tin tags you will give for each copy. All letters answered. CAMERA.—H. P. Simpson,Tuskegee, Ala.,wants a 4x5 camera, for which he will exchange a4 1-4x6 1-2 camera with tripod and outfit, or stamp papers, old and rare, or for novels. Novels and stamp papers also to exchange for toreigu stamps or bulbs and plants of flowers. BOYS’ PAPERS.—Edgar A. Black, 38 Laidlaw Ave., Jersey City, N.J., has volumes of boys’ pa- pers to exchange for a safety bicycle or best offer of sporting goods. = BOOK.—Henry S.Torbert, Greenesboro’, Ga., has a book entitled **Ned on the River” to exchange for 15 numbers of boys’ papers. : FOUNTAIN PEN.—L. M. Porter, North Claren- don, Pa., has a fountain pen good as new to ex- change for a catcher’s mask or best offer. . CAMERA.—David C. Griffith, Beallsville, Mon- roe County,Ohio, has a Glen camera to exchange for boys’ papers and a pair of roller skates for the best Inclose stamp for reply. : BOYS’ PAPERS.—Jake Dembufsky, 508 South 5th St., Goshen, Ind., has 14 numbers of a boy’s: per to exchange for other papers; must be in good condition. All letters answered. NOVELS.—M. G. Latimer, Hampden-Sidney, Va, has novels, etc., to exchange for best offer. All let- ters answered. BOYS’ PAPERS,—Jno. F. Jacobson, 294 West In- diana St, Chicago, Ill, has a file ef boys’ papers with binder and novels to exchange for reading matter of all kinds BOYS’ PAPERS, ETC.--Louis Pagels, 114 Ever- green Ave., Chicago, Ill., has nine volumes of three noted boys’ papers, $4 worth of other reading mat- ter, $6 worth of rare U. S, and foreign stamps, bound books, fish-hooks, cigarette pictures, and other use- ful articles to exchange for a good rubber-tired Safety bicycle or a selfnking printing press and complete outfit. All letters answered. LIBRARIES.—L. De Witt Goulden, 189 Ogden St., Bridgeport, Ct., has libraries to exchange for boys’ papers. BOYS’ PAPER.—Chas. E. Miller, 852 Ontario St., Philadelphia, Pa., has boys’ papers to exchange for a catcher’s mask and a pair of the latest style catch- ers’ gloves or mits. STAMPS.—L. Brodstone, Superior, Neb., has stamps and novels to exchange for novels and stamps not in his collection. Send for list. BOOKS.—Jacob Cohn, 669 McAllister St., San Francisco, Cal., has books and boys’ papers to ex- change for best offer. PRINTING PRESS.—Chas. Watson, Wakefield P. O., Westchester County, N.Y., has a self-inking printing press and outfit. a set of boxing gloves, a volume of a boy’s paper, etc., to exchange for a safety bicycle in good condition. New York and Brooklyn offers preferred, SKATES.—Frank Byrne, 337 Geary St., San Fran- cisco, Cal., has a pair of nickel-plated extension ball- bearing skates, a zither, a pair of steel handcuffs, and reading matter to exchange for best offer. STAMPS, ETC.—P. E. A. Conrade, Sunbury, Pa., has stamps. tin tags, books, and a circular saw mill complete, with power and attachments, for best offer. Send for list. . BOYS’ PAPERS.—Chas. B. Marshall, 6605 Yale St.. Englewood, LI1., has two volumes of boys’ papers. in good condition to exchange for reading matter or the best offer. CAMERA AND TYPE-WRITER.—Jacob L. Riegert. 117 North 10th St., Lebanon, Pa., has a ca- mera and Standard type-writer to exchange for a self-inking printing press and type or any offer. All letters answered. : STAM PS.—Chas. O. Henbest, Marshall, Tl. has a collection of U. 8, Revenue stamps (valued at $10) to exchange for a collection of foreign postage stamps. PRINTING PRESS.—L. A. Livingston, Davids- burgh, Pa., wants a self-inking, hand-power print- ing press, With or without outfit (chase not smaller than 3x5 nor larger than 5x8), must be cheap and in Roud condition Will exchange books for it or pay cash. TYPE-WRITER.—Wm. Berman, 1050 Ingraham St., Los Angeles, CaL, has a World type writer to exchange for the best offer of usefulreading mat- | ter. Please write svon. : BOYS’ PAPERS.—M.W. Kilmer, Box 43, Gaines, Pa., has boys’ papers to exchange for best offer. PIGEONS. ETC.—Carvel Loughlin, Chrisman, Ill, has eight pair of pigeons. one cigar punch a Cornell's geography, a pair of hammock holders, a . 7 E | fine pair of steel skates, novels, and other articles to ong service makes this method of being | exchange for a 46, 48, or 50-inch Columbia bicycle, ; BOYS’ PAPERS.—H. G. Rooks, 260 Middlesex | St., Lowell, Mass., has boys’ papers to exchange for , stamps, novels, and certificates. PRINTING PRESS.—Jas. Bresnahan, 156 Mont- gomery Street, Jersey City, N. J., has a self-inking printing press and several different styles of type to exchange for best offer ; any offer considered. Send for description. TIN TAGS, ETC.—Theo. Q. Pardee, 72 Jones St., Detroit, Mich., has 1,000 different tin tags, cigarette pictures of all kinds, actresses, photos, cigarette certificates, and reading matter, to exchange for. any kind of foreign or U.S. stamps. Correspond-~ ence solicited. 2 < NOVELS.—Geo. E. Hosick, Oxford, Kansas, has novels to exchange for boys’ reading matter, 2 BICYCLE.—Harry Prall, 249 North 10th Street, Philadelphia, Pa, has a 48-inch American Star bicycle to exchange for a first-class banjo; mustbe in the best condition. : ee STAMPS.—Edw. Brooks, 2008 West Market. St., Louisville, Ky. has 75 foreign stamps and boys ysapers toexchange for a 90c. orange stamp of 1890, or 140 mixed foreign stamps, and twe »ouks for a 30c. brown stamp of 1888. CANVAS CANOE.—William J. Tnfried, 258 Cly- bourn Ave., Chicago, 1., has a canvas canoe 12x21.2 feet to exchange for best offer. — i ae = CIGARETTE CARDS.—1L. C. Putnam, 10 County | St.. South Peabody, Mass., has 10 cigarette cards and boys’ ae to exchange for novels, libraries, or the best offer. : ; : a er THOS. BIRCHLER, Jr., 2724 State St., Chicago, Til, desires all readers of the GOOD NEWS to — oe ; cries Corresponding Society. Address for pars . culars ~ ie CPOOD NEWS. ISSUED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 26, 1891. Terms to Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE F REF.) months - - - = - 65¢c. | lcopy, two years - $4.00 a eanthn ea sc. |The New York Weekly and 6months - - - - - $l 25 | Goop News, both for one One Year - - - - - 2.50) year - - = -- 50 2 copies, one year- - 4.00 | How vo SEND MoneEyY.—We will be responsible for the receipt of money sent to us only when remittance igs made by Post-Office Mouey Order, Bank Check or Draft, Registered Letter or Express Money Order. We particularly yecommend our subscribers to the Ameri- ean Express Company, who will receive subscriptions at any of their offices, and guarantee the delivery of any amonnt not over $5.00 for the low sum of five cents. We cannot be responsible for money lost in transit unless sem in one of the above ways. To “Lup RawErs.—We are at all times ready ana willing to lend you all possible aid, and wiil send, free, as many sample copies as you think you can ju- dicionsly use, tovether with other advertising matter. Special induce:meuts made for large clubs. aul letters should be addressed to STREET & SITE'S GOOD NEWS, P. O. Box 2734, 29 & 31 RosesStreet, N.Y. Advertising rates, 50 cents per agate line. Back numbers of GOOD NEWS can always be obtained from your Newsdealers. If they do not have them please send direct to this office and we will supply them by mail on receipt of price. It is assumed that contributions unaccompanied with stamped envelopes to guarantee their return if unused, are not regarded by their writers as worth recovering. “Good News” cannot under- take to send back such nvanuscripts, Contents of this Number, SERIAL STORIES. “Breakneck Farm,” by Evelyn Raymond. ‘‘Ned Melton,” by Edward 8S. Ellis. “Plucky Paul Palmer,” by Horatio Alger, Jr. ‘Phe Signalman’s Boys,” by Chas. Barnard. ‘‘Beach-Boy Joe,” by Lieut. Jas. K. Orton. “Peter Potter’s Pilgrimage,” by **Jack.” “Life Sketches of David Cummidge” (Illus- trated), by M. Silingsby. SHORT STORIES. “Romance of Battles in ’76,” by Unele Ned. “Adventure of Two Boys,” by Emerson Bennett. “Fruit Culture in California,” by @ Ban- croft Griffith. “The Freshman's Story,” by Max Adeler. MISCELLANEOUS. “Fleet Teutonic Smashes all Ocean Rec- ords.” “Sold the Ticket.” “How to Maké a Telephone” (Illustrated). “Perhaps” (Poetry). “Nest Building in Captivity.” “Rousing Firemen from Sleep.” “The City of the Dead.” **A Race” (Poetry). “They'll Not Stay in the Navy.” ‘Eating Wood as Food.” REGULAR DEPARTMENTS. “The Great Wonders Around Us,” by Pro- fessor Rudolph. “Short Talks With the Boys” on Trades, | Professions, and Business Pursuits, by Arthur. Sewall. “Exchange Departinent.” “Ticklets,” by Chas. W. Foster. “Mail Bag’ ‘““Puzzle Corner.” “Short Stops.” —_—___~+ ee —__—_ LIFE-SAVING MEDAL. , Goop News Humane Society presents a gold medal this week, suitably engraved, to Willie Kugle, of Port Chester, N. Y., for his heroic action on August 4th in diving over- board and rescuing a little child named Freda Maria Henrickson from drowning. ‘Young Kugle, without disrobing, jumped into the water, caught the child, and swam ashore with it He did not stop to consider danger, but, like a brave lad, dove in and rescued the little child from a watery grave. We take pleasure in presenting this gold medal, and hopeit willbe an incentive to other boys to help those who may be in danger, _ PORT. CHESTER, N. Y., Atig, 14, 1891. This is to certify thaton the 4th day of Atrgust, 1891, William ©. Kuyvel saved from drowning Freda Maria Henrickson. FREDA MARIA HENRICKSON aged 6 years, WILLIAM ©. KuGuL, aged 18 years. JAMES PATTERSON. § PHEBL MARTIN. Mrs. £. L, SCHARFER. D.C. DOWNES T hereby certify that the persons who signed the above statement are known to ine, and they acknowledge that the signatures are theirs, and that the statement above made is theirs, HANFORD M, HENDERSON, Justice of the Peace, Port Chester, N.Y, Witnesses Life Sketches of David Cummidge. PIONEER, HUNTER, AND INDIAN SLAYER. a ey BY M. SILINGSBY, erential Sketch VI.—A Panther Fight on the Lake. mm N arriving at the traders’ cabin, €3 the injuries received by the party S ° ee in their desperate encounter with 4AM” the devil-cats, were carefully ex- amined into by Wyatan’s medicine-man who happened to be of the party. Davie was pretty severly “chawed,” as he expressed it. Powatan had been pretty badly man- gled, but. he philosophically licked his wounds, and uttered no complaints. Occasionally, however, he would cross over to the corner where his dead ene- mies were thrown into a confused heap, and selecting the most vicious-looking one he. could find, he would seize it indignantly by the nape of the neck and shake it vigorousLy. «Wyatan and Ezekiel were pretty badly scratched—that was all, The giant had received his worst injury upon the shoulder where the lucivee had struck him on leaping from the tree. “The next time I come!” said Abel Sampson, patting Davie on the head, “T'm going to bring you a silver medal, with your name lettered upon it.” “Davie much brave!” exclaimed Wya- tan, approvingly. “Me think he make great warrior one these days.” | bition of nerve should have set a_ bet- ter example to his cowardly followers. “You'd better call Sagawam and the rest on ’em to come, for they ’pear to be e’en- amost scared out o’ their wits.” “Me no call um.” returned the Ossip- pee, contempuously, “They big cowards —fraid squaws—let um lay! Meno care what catch um.” On their return they met Able Samp- son coming toward them to inquire into the nature of the panic Wyatan pointed toward the eastern shore of the lake, where the wolf and panther were now plainly to be seen coming in almost a direct line toward the island. The eyes of the giant gleamed with satisfaction on beholding the exciting chase; and seizing Ezekiel’s musket he strode resolutely out on the ice as if determined to intercept them. Davie saw now that there was a sure prospect of a brush, and his eyes sparkled. When. Eezkiel and Wyatan tried to get him into the trader’s cabin, he positively refused to go. Boy-like, and unused to fear, he was determined to see the sport, “Hang it, dad, why can’t you let me be? '’Spose I don't want ter see as well as the rest? I wouldn't miss looking on the big ‘un tan their jackets fur um fur the brandest new silver dollar ever made —I wouldn't by Jerusalem grundy !” “But like enough the varmint might take a notion to spring on to you!” re- monstrated Ezekiel, with & logk of evi- dent uneasiess, “Let the varmint spring then. I won't budge for him; an’ I guess he’ll have his U A THE GIANT AND THE PANTHER WERE BOTH DOWN UPON THE SNOW-COVERED ICE, WHICH WAS ALREADY ENSANGUINED WITH THE BLOOD OF BOTH COMBATANTS, Despite of his wounds, Davie was very proud and very happy to be thus honored and complimented for his bravery. It was now nearly midnight, and after a friendly drink all round, their blankets were spread as close as possible to the blazing fire of logs, and the party retired to rest. The next morning they arose with the sun,. very much refreshed. After a plentiful breakfast of cold veni- son and sea-biscuit, the party began making their preparations to leave. Davie, who was almost too crippled to walk, was made as comfortable as possi- ble by being swathed up in blankets, and | laced on the back of faithful Brown ess. Bidding the giant trader good by, they left the island, and sallied forth upon the lake. They had not proceeded twenty yards, however, when one of the Indians, with a sudden terror depicted in his face, called the attention of the rest by point- ing to the opposite shore. Flying down the steep descent was a gaunt gray mountain wolf, closely pur- sued by a large panther. The wolf darted out upon the lake in a direct line with the party, and was fol- lowed by the panther in flying leaps. The’ Indians, who had behaved so cowardly the preceding night, set up a dismal how] of terror, and threw them- selves upon the ice, face downward. “Tt will be safer inside tune log house than here,” remarked Ezekiel to the im- al claws full with the big ’un” (nganing the giant) “without minding me!” An Davie remained inexorably determined to see the “brush;” so his father and Wya- tan were forced to let him remain and behold the terrific encounter which almost immediately ensued between the giant and the feline monster. So eager was the one to escape, and so eager the other in pursuit, that neither of the ferocious creatures seemed aware of the close proximity of a mortal foe. Wyatan, seeing the undaunted move- ments of the giant, and fully compre- hending his rockioak intention, resolutely followed him out some distance on the ice, as if he were determined to represent his own people by some daring act of bravery, in which his own generous life might be equally jeopardized, that the cowardice of his followers, in a measure, might be redeemed from the just stigma and contempt it richly merited. “That's it, redskin,” said the giant, approvingly; “I admire your pluck, and shall make honorable mention of you in my notes of observation; but if I's in your place, Wyatan—I b'lieve that’s what they call you—I'd just take the liberty to tan the hides of that cowardly pack o/ yourn so that ’twould make a bright and shining example on ’em for all coming time, and future generations of redskins to look at. Now I admire your grit amazingly; and I give you the right hand of fellowship, as the free masons say and perturable Wyatan, whose stoical exhi-'I’m one on ’em, too, if youll jest come along of me to York state—and its! grand instertooshun too, for a sensiv™ redskin like you to belong onto.” a The wolf, at this moment, had arrlyy within a hundred rods of the island, 4% was fearlessly heading his.course almo™ directly toward them. He was fyi over the unyielding incrustation of sng with a speed that would have taxed & utmost powers of a grayhound; and ¥ae panther, wildly, fiercely intent we . overtaking his frightened prey, was 1% ing such tremendous bounds over the © ‘ as to seemingly shorten at every leap ay intervening space still lying betw® them. 4 “Make ready, now, redskin!” said AD f Sampson, coolly reexamining the prim 4 to Ezekiel's musket. “You be sure % fetch the wolf, and I’ll take care of © painter.” oe “Me kill the wolf!” responded Wya™ confidently. You'll have the first, she { “That's it. said the giant, encouragingly; inf | want to fetch both of the pesky varmi—y sure.” 7 & “Me take good aim now, I guess " swered the Ossipee chief, raising bis ™™ Ra. ket. with a ateany hand. 2 roe hi “Yes, redskin, now is your time ke ja th the world—a good shot! splendid Gag) th range!” rejoined the stalwart tradet, 9) th fully. a site 2 F sh The wolf was now almost opp? ry the quick-sighted Indian, and Le ket w, than thirty yards from him. HI - to flashed along the barrel, followed pa the sharp report of the weapon, 42© ay Ww desperate bound into the air on the a oy of the gaunt victim, who the oe th stant measured his quivering lengt i acl the ice, and was motionless—dea@- aiay mh “Well done, redskin! You ve De gi@ po lr him !” exclaimed the giant, in hig? © 9 “Now for my turn.” » ghoul lis “Whoop! whoop! hurrah!" = S™ aig i Davie, from the back of Brow? Je PF mo where he had sat watching the wee | ceeding with a feverish, boy-like 1 sg # his unmixed with the slightest grail O° pagii a Sees the varie Te ths erusalem Grundy !” “deh h The panther, startled by the su f Fine report of Wyatan'’s musket, chee aa HT dic self instantly in its headlong inkl Was and glared round upon the uns tertile | as § giant, who was nearest, with hin ferocity. as S Tt Abel Sampson, without so much ject? | “lai quiver of a muscle, leveled his ui. tha the angry, snarling beast, aD a eff e XD ; The ball had evidently taken ibe — Ove but was not fatal; for the trous See Bey, which proved tobe one of mons a b doy, and ferocity, crouehed instantly i;o"—) One rible deadly purpose gleaming wide Wa flame of fury pros its baleful an 4 Pai protruding orbs. ‘ pe vay The giant fully comprehending i i tay ous situation, snatched from and J we strong-bladed hunting-knife, ted ad Fe toy pared to close upon his infurl@ JF Xa, sary. awtil in The momentary suspense bye “ frightful to the few spectators © held it. Davie's heart—thous b 08 hie’ one as it proved in after oe : din his throat and almost. stifled ly less Ret, kiel and Wyatan were scare ve pe fet cited; while the cowardly Ind!@ not 9a in : stricken and still as death, ‘ 1006 se" y offer to raise their heads. h 7, se Yor they to wait, for the pant fn uplo 3 crouching and snarling like veaped 0" api, demon in its impotent fury, jy. flay sey, an intervening space Of, nenagine p Wee yards, which brought him (int. 4 Can, foaming at the feet of the § the. we «i other lightning-like spring 8") 4 dem Yon, batants closed in their quicl™ | desig Th struggle, the brute receivin& ide, caur Whi stroke of the knife in its 8 jet f vet Yh, the blood to spurt out like *t they, ‘oom fountain. The next momen’ ered yf ei both down upon the snow ed with Tg which was already ensangul? Ph “tT blood of both combatants. | jastin il Jeste The struggle, though brie? yan a Tite Mas 5, its commencement not ON most te wy ute anda half, was one of th vel gi B Yea: | and exciting ever witnesses pling ly bai over they rolled, cursiDg, cir desP yt Davi), tearing at each other 1D t ping wg! Ba. Ne struggle for the mastery, xa yinkliP? l wi frozen crust and profusely & plood: 104 Mont in every direction with a upper age Wh, At length the giant pe antag feng! firmly holding his terrib ill he 4 “she beneath his ponderous knee Jace Naiy free his right arm from” awss wht vim j hold_of the monster § wave or si® &8x 6 rapidly plunged his knife fore Is into the panther’s bodys ee 4 a fatal spot. to ay Springing trium hantly pe lift though profusely b ete d? the monster he had a t0r aD i ¢ it out at arm's length, threw” j eer remarked, aS ued # | to ai ssly down: . a “The varmint will weigh 2° Pi, tolerable large hog! , (To pe coNTINUED:) GOOD NEWS. 1161 sa NED MELTON: ys OR, E THE MYSTERY OF THE BLACK DIAMOND. Siamemeny By EDWARD S. ELLIS. “Ransomed,” “Enola,” “Boy Pioneer “A “Wyoming Series,” ‘‘Deerfoot Series,” mong the Esquimaux,” ete, eens isaac “ dD : te MELTON was commenced in No. 71. Back Cal be obtained of all News Agents]. Recceste aes CHAPTER VII. AT THE SEA SHORE. -GSIAH Archer had’ taken up the Usiness of detective less than -_ S WO years before he assumed a role '} Memory : was destined to be the most Ty Diack “5th In his life, in tracing the - Stracteg famond, so unaccountably ab- F @iamong tom the safe of the jewelers and I -_— Umbridger Kets» Messrs. Shipman & fas ne that he had now entered upon it his mayer’ he had the chance to make form} the task. he threw his whole energy into oe thing o * Hitherto he had not had any- the ‘uch importance, and he accepted | Sa proot 8iven to him by Mr. Blowitz , Shoy d be fi Be om Pa can e Bea ccnce which he meant T ised far above par. : ager » 48 has been intimated before, — have fonnuble that the veriest tyro would » sg more ho trouble in doing it, that Whether 48 learning the simple fact as to 80 the or not Melton was in New York E that, he Preceding evening; but beyond ilevermeny™ looming up, possibilities of > Members nt such as would make the older ot it sho o the force turn pale with envy. bs d be proven that the young » then Made the visit to the metropo- to Work +. ZF would set “Mong, * 4° trace the dia- his yea’, Ufecling, but in for anythi © Bever wished than he dia’ More ardently ; Sean st that such a visit whowade by the young unsus- emesis that ate; & upon him €am could carry betwee N seven and ‘ Ock that evening rain drew each? platform of ch (now ¢alled , € stepped Of the g his waf to Whitin g vera] hacks in wach he } he inquiries PRE leq ee Made on the my Re that 2. to take the TRE well 48¢t him down at Bian , whi Columbia iF ™ the Ocean Stands very fag: his It thing after hand- WE colonee Over to one of Thi’ to reg?0Y8 in waiting om = ster and go to op Prepare for a: Was no ob- © Saw to using €, and h ‘ round ahd wi ote Os : . Archer, New City. an his eye i he . al Ver the re ister for just a “the spitbon tne, Baek, x Bey. elton, New a hich was th r h © ga hen © Was hunting. for f a Made i FINISHING No ; Yeost for & Stepped asi x Teo} an aside, to make Bier, casket gentleman waiting, to x TY. Melt, 2 @low voiceof the clerk : ©n with you yet?” f ‘a © went to New York cannes t know whether he »” Said tk this Ink he ~ a guest standing morning and was “1 Never ao is down at. the \ i Ind » Mong | eet hi Yy hen’ Yetta chen Pell o m atked the detective; ater; there is no hurry Ay p tweet ascend ed the stairs, he us atatime. He felt as Was sure he was on the ‘nal, and would have Lip, Upper piazza, which Permit hi avenue. His means 'm to take one facing Such high aniri eh spirits that he ia from breaking out in as in LETTER, WHEN HE CONSCIOUS THAT SOME ONE WAS STANDING AT HIS ELBOW. “IT WAS EDMUND MELTON ! grant™ Softly, and began Tea Success that he saw He would achieve glory and distinction ata bound. Ata single leap he would land in a niche above that which it had taken Blowitz more than ten years to attain. He would —but hold; it would never do to give rein to his fancy in this style. After dinner, Archer lit a cigar and sauntered toward the pavilion, as it is known at Ocean Beach. The threatened storm having cleared, or more properly, having spent itself over the metropolis, and the night being close and sultry, that resort was crowded with visitors. Parties were promenading back and forth, over the board walk, while the beach was dotted here and there with couples loll- ing on the sand in loving attitudes, and talking of the thousand airy nothings that suggest themselves at such times. And the old Atlantic was as majestic, as overpowering in its grandeur as ever, The breakers, their crescents crowned with foam, sparkling with phosphores- cence, tumbled and broke against, the shore, sliding far up the smooth beach, in their quest for those that were loung- ing too near, and eager as ever to clasp} the confiding in their merciless grasp, and strangle all life out of them. It was quite dark, but the full moon was due between nine and ten o’clock, | and scores were scattered along the beach to witness the sight, which is always impressively beautiful. Some, forgetful that other eyes were sharp, despite the gloom, were so affectionate in their actions as to excite smiles and occasionally crisp comments, which recalled with comical suddenness the forgetful ones to them- selves. The detective ex- tended his walk to the pavilion, where DETECTIVE ARCHER WAS JUST THE IMPORTANT BECAME politely, “but have you seen Mr. Melton this evening?” The gentleman addressed came to a sit- ting posture, and, with his knees drawn up and clasped by his arms, re- plied: “My name is Melton.” “Ah, this is jolly; how are you, Bob?” Archer bent forward and peered at his face in the gloom, with his hand ex- tended, as he seated himself beside him. The young man accepted the hand, but said with a pleasant laugh: “You have made a mistake; my name is Edmund Melton.” “Well, now, that’s funny; I took you) for my old class mate at Princeton, Bob Melton. He told me he was going to spend a part of the summer on the Jersey shore, and, when I found there was a Mr. Melton stopping at the Columbia, I jumped to the conclusion that it was he. I beg your pardon I am sure.” Archer made no move to leave and Mel- ton promptly answered: “That is all right; there are a good many people in this world whose names and looks are similar and the wonder is that there are not more mistakes made. Are you staying at the Columbia?” “Yes; I arrived on the last Centrgl train.” “T suppose you will remain several weeks?” The detective was glad to be questioned in this off-hand style by his new acquaint- ance, for it gave him an excuse to dosome- thing himself in the same line. “JT would like to do so,” he re- plied,“ but Icanhardly affordthe time. Business you know is busi- ness.” “Yes, [havelearned that; I have been here a little more than a week, and it doesn’t seem half New York within the coming he seated himself under the covered plat- | week, so as to give the other boys a turn. form, lit by the several lamps, prepared | It seems to me, to use his eyes and ears for all they were worth. He had no description of young Melton, and, so far as he knew, had never seen him, but that did not prevent him from inquiring for him, as though he were an old acquaintance. There were several who knew the gentleman, but it was evident that he was not on the pavilion. A boy said he was there only a few min- utes before, and was probably on the beach near by. Lighting another cigar, Archer began plodding through the sand, just beyond reach of the incoming waves, ooking keenly at the groups as he ap- proached and passed them. About half way between the pavilion and the Columbia, he suspected he saw his man. He was attired, so far as he could discern, in a light summer suit, his hat lying beside him, while he supported his body in a lazy attitude on one elbow, employing the other hand in scooping out a hollcw in the sand, after the manner of litt\e children, who find enjoyment in that-sore of thing for hours at a time. “I beg.your pardon,” said the detective Archer could see his j 1 j | | { | out of life that the poor and healthy do.” } ” added Melton, with boy- “that I never could ish frankness, get suppose it would become irksome after a Thilo. The only way to enjoy anything of this kind is to stint yourself, I to General Washington.” “What was that?” “*Gin’ral,’ said he, ‘if you want a ra’al good night’s sleep, set up for.,two nights and you’ll be sure to git it.’ There’s a good deal more philosophy in that, ac- cording to my thinking, than appears. at first. The rich are to be envied, and yet they don’t get half the fun and enjoyment CHAPTER VII. A CHAT ON THE BEACH, HE detective was getting along famously. amd: Melton pos- sessed one of those magnetic, boy- ish natures whieh attract 2A it hom they come in_ con ; dora i face and profile that long. I must be at work in | clearly enough to know that he was re markably good looking, and he did not need to be told that he was popular among his associates. He offered the youth a cigar, which he declined with thanks and rattled on in his aimless fashion. *“T have really lost one day out of m vacation,” he remarked, after the tal had run on for a considerable while. “Ah, how was that? Not sick, I hope.” “Gracious, no; I never remember being sick an hour in my life; but I had to go to New York yesterday, and the place looked anything but inviting under the August sun.” “You hurried back, of course, so as to spend the nignt here?” Melton hesitated a moment as though, for the first time in their conversation, a theme had been touched, upon which he could not speak freely. Archer noticed it, but the reply came the next moment: “No; I had to stay all night, but I was back this morning on the first train, and I hope I won't have to go again until my vacation is over. Even then I wouldn’t object to a message from Mr. Gumbridge, that I might stay another week.” He laughed in his merry fashion, and turned his frank face toward the gentle- man at. his side, as if in- viting his views on the im- portant subject. “Gumbridge, Gumbridge,” repeated the detective; “he is in the dry goods line, isn’t he?” “No; haven’t you heard of the diamond and jewelry es- tablishment of Shipman & Gumbridge, Maiden Lane?” “Yes, but itis out of my line.” “May I ask. what is that?” “Life insurance, and I don’t fancy it, for it is a business in which one must make a confounded nuisance of him- self or fail utterly ; even that doesn’t avail him half the time.” “My business is quite differ- ent,” said Melton; “I devote myself.to jewelry and dia- monds, but we have the best employers in the world. The senior is away now, but a father couldn’t be kinder than Mr, Gumbridge.” “Did you see him yester- day?” “No; I didn't reach the city till after business hours, and I came away too early this morning to call—ah! look there!” A chorus of exclamations of “There it is!” went up from the parties along the beach and on the walk, and all eyes were turned toward the horizon over the ocean, | where the fiery upper edge of ' the full moon had just shown itself. | Jt rose rapidly and looked prodigiously large, as it came more into view, the great flaming ball, gleaming across the dark waters and sending a stream of light to the shore, whose expansion’ and ‘contraction always seem the reverse of , what they should be. 2 | But those that had viewed with de- lighted admiration the same scene, were now favored with an unexpected and / uniquely beautiful sight, which a man is ‘fortunate who beholds once in his life. | "Every one was hushed, and nothing but | the dull boom of the breakers struck the ‘ear, when a “universal series of “Oh’s’ ,and “ah’s”came to the lips of the behold- ers. |. The moon had just climbed above the horizon, the lowermost point of the rim | appearing yet to touch the water, when a | ship, under full sail, glided in front of ‘it. Masts, rigging and hull were as enough of a vacation like this; and yet I sharply defined as if impressed in in ‘against the glowing orb. : The sistaricide picture could last but a moment. The ship, which came out of | often think of what the old hunter said the darkness into the flood of splendor, sailed into the gloom again, toward her nok. which sare have been on the other | side of the world, all unconscious of the ‘wonderful treat she had given to the ‘multitude along shore. And the moon ‘climbed higher and_ higher, seeming to slacken its speed and shrink in its di- mensions as it ascended further and further above the horizon. “That sight is worth comi and miles see!” exclaimed ive with enthusiasm. vepraly it is; I have often heard of it, and a number have told me they had.seen it, but this is the first time it was ever my ood fortune.” ¢ ‘How glad I am that I’m here to-night. I have something now to tell my patrons when I am boring them for their appli- cations.” From the direction of the hotel came strains of music, mingling with the deep ng a thous- the detect- 11S62 ~ bass of the ocean. Most of the promen- aders began moving thither, and Melton proposed to his new acquaintance that they should do the same. He willingly agreed, and, rising to their feet, they plodded through the yielding sand to the plank‘ walk, along which they strolled until they ascended the steps of the Columbia and passed through toward the dancing-room, where several scores were tripping over the smooth floor, to the music of a colored orchestra of five performers. Archer was anxious to obtain a good view of young Melton, and as they came into the glare of light, he did so. , The view could not have been more pleasing. He was the picture of athletic race and beauty, as shown in a youth just developing into manhood. He wore a white flannel suit, canvas shoes and carried a jaunty straw hat in his hand. His hair was black and cut short, and the faint warnings of~-a coming mus- tache appeared on his finely turned upper lip. The face was a pure oval, with reg- ular features, dark, merry eyes, and a perfect set of white teeth which showed when he smiled. Add to this the fact that Melton was one of those rare youths, who, possessing all these attractions, yet seemed uncon- scious of them, and little more can be said in commendation of his appearance and manner. It was not strange that the moment he came forward, he was warmly greeted by ladies and gentlemen. He stood, with a number of others, at the door, watching the inspiriting scene, Archer being one of the group. Within five minutes, a half dozen _ bright young ladies were gathered round him, laughing, chattering and jesting, and wanting to know why he had not appeared before and taken part in the dance. Mel- ton replied that his costume was hardly the proper one for the ball-room, but they reminded him that this was one of the “off nights,” and directed his attention to the fact that there were hardly half a dozen in evening dress. Hé had to con- fess that he was cornered, and, flinging his hat into one of the chairs at the side of the room, called to Archer, asking him to excuse him, and the next moment was whirling about the room with the pret- tiest girl of all, the consensus of opinion being that they were the finest looking couple and the best dancers there. “There is no use for me here,” con- cluded the detective walking back to the front room, where he sat down at the table and busied himself with writing quite a lengthy letter. It was addressed to Erastus Blowitz, and was what might be called his report, for it summarized his experience after his arrival at Ocean Beach that evening. “T have spent more than an hour in Edmund elton’s company,” wrote Archer; “and find him one of the most agreeable youths I ever met. He is hand- some, athletic and well liked by every- body. He possesses a fine education and seems frank and outspoken, but for all that, I have observed something deep in his nature which a superficial acquaint- ~ ance would not notice. ’ “In our conversation, he told me that he went to New York yesterday on a late afternoon train. WhenI remarked off- hand that, of course, he hurried back, so _as to spend the night at this delightful resort, he hesitated. Finally, he said he stayed in the city, but left on an early train this morning. “The hesitation and his peculiarity of manner were significant. In the brief '- space between my question and _ his answer, he must have done a good deal of thinking. No doubt he meant at first to say that he was here last night, but saw that such an untruth could be easily detected. So he admitted the important _ fact, trusting to other means of proving an alibi, if necessary. “T have no doubt in my own mind that it was he who took the black dia- mond, though whether or not he has it with him is a question that remains to be answered. I beg you to leave me ,alone here to work the case to its end, If I need help, I will telegraph you. Of course, I shall keep you informed of everything and rely on your superior eames when the time comes to act. think it is safe to promise that you may rest content in the certainty that we are on the right trail and will soon bag the ‘ame, “Bag the game!” Little did Josiah Archer suspect the pafn those words caused Detective Blowitz, when he read them on the following day. ; CHAPTER IX. ’ A ORISIS, > G=. BTECTIVE Archer was just fin- ishing this important letter, when he became conscious that some one was standing at his elbow, He turned and could not avoid a Goonp start, when he recognized Edmund Mel- ton. “Pardon me, Mr. Archer, but they took me fairly off my feet; won't you join us in a dance?” “Thanks; I hardly think I will do so this evening. It is quite late and I have some letters to write.” In the background, Arcber saw several: ladies, evidently watching the result’ of the request. “We would be roe to have you,” said the youth; “but of course business must be attended to,” and he hurried off to join the ladies whom he had doubtless been telling about his new friend. Josiah Archer folded and sealed his envelope, taking care that no one should catch sight of the superscription. Drop ping it in the letter box, he lit a cigar and strolled out upon the front piazza, where he seated himself in a rocking chair and elevated his feet upon the rail- ing. ey wonder whether he saw anything I wrote. Was that invitation only an excuse for him to glance over my shoul- der? Did he suspect anything when he saw me writing? It won’t do to tell Blowitz this episode, for he would say I ought to know better than to give any person a chance to steal a word from a etter. It makes me uncomfortable, and confirms me more than ever in my sus- picion. That young Melton is a sly one.” The following day brought one of those inspiriting scenes and experiences which do so much to render a person’s sojourn at the seaside healthful, invigorating and delightful. Bathing hours were from half past ten until one, and fully a hun- dred bathers were disporting themselves in the breakers off the _ pavilion. Between eleven and noon were what might be called the golden hours, and the fun was at its height. The bathing master, in scant suit, with legs bare to the knees, and with a dilapi- dated straw hat, sat in the sand, keeping ward and watch over the revelers, some of whom, in the wantoness of enjoyment, were venturing beyond the danger stakes, He knew most of them as excellent swim- mers, but he knew too that most fre- quently from those very ones come those who drown, since they presume too far upon their skill. There were laughing girls, who could not be persuaded to venture beyond the edge of the water. ‘There they stood, and shrieked when the waves tumbled them about like corks, unable to believe that they had only to go a little further out to lessen the roughness to which they were subjected. There were others again, who, in their pretty suits, plunged boldly in, dove under the incoming wave, and swam out like the mermaids to where the ocean was comparatively still. One of them climbed upon the stake to which the end of a safety line was fastened. Then, after crouching like a pretty bird for a minute, she went off head first, coming up twenty feet away, laughing and dash- ing water in the face of her escort who couldn’t swim half so well as she. And there were bulky dowagers too, who looked so funny in their suits that one could not help laughing. And the elderly gentlemen too were there. They were among the most timid, and ducked and puffed and blowed and convinced themselves that they were en- joying if immensely, unsuspicious that the spectators under their sunshades, were getting a world of amusement out of the exhibition. By and by two swimmers began to attract attention. They had gone far out beyond the ropes and acted as though they intended to make a trip to Great Britain. They had the advantage of water which was smooth, except for the long, heaving swell which increased in height as it approached shallow water, and broke into foam and spray as it played havoc with the bathers nearer shore. , “That young Melton is the best swim- mer I ever saw,” remarked the bathing master to afriend at his side; “but he will catch it one of these days. Suppose he gets a cramp?” “He would turn over on his back and float till he regained the use of his limbs.” “Maybe so and maybe not; when a fel- low feels the twinge in one leg and has it run all sbtough him the next second he loses his head, begins to struggle, and then it is all over with him. Do you know who that man is with him?” “No; he came last night. My! he’s a swimmer too.” “They are both foolish; they’re in water fifty feet deep and how could help get to them if they should need it?” “They take the risk in spite of all the warnings and they must take the conse- quences too.” “That’s all well enough, but I don’t want any drowning cases here this sum- mer; we haven't had» any yet, and I wouldn’t get over it in a year, That was a close call last Sunday,’ , “What was that?” “A young man from the Brunswick came down here after eating a big dinner and filling upon wine. Then, what did the fellow do but go up the beach yonder and plunge in, where the waves are the worst? At the first clip over he went. Nobody thought anything was wrong, when they saw him rolling about in the surf, but when he didn’t get up and was being carried out to sea everybody shouted that he was drowning. We got to him just in time to save him. Ugh! I haven’t got over it yet.” “Why, amanswam down from Ocean Grove the other day, and, after resting a while swam back again... What do you think of that?” “He was a professional and was one of tenthousand. I could do it, but a thous- and dollars wouldn’t tempt me to try.” “By George ! they’re having such fun that I can’t stand it!” exclaimed the friend of the bathing master. “I take a dip.” And dashing up the beach, he soon emerged, clad in a bathing suit, and ran out into the surf. He was one of the sensible ones, and, although a fair swim- mer, did not go beyond the ropes. He found plenty of enjoyment there, frolick- ing with the others and tumbling about, and turning heels over head without any risk to himself. The identity of the two bathers who were the cause of the remarks just quoted has already been suspected by the reader. The name of one has been given. The other was Josiah Archer, the detect- ive, who prided himself on heing one of the finest swimmers anywhere. When he met Melton in the morning, the latter invited him to join him in a swim and he eagerly did so. He nothing about his skill, but resolved to must give the athletic young man a test le} had never known before. “If he beats me swimming, he has got to work hard—he will find that out,” he muttered, as he came down the inclined | beach to the water. It took but afew minutes for him to discover that Melton was a master of the natatorial art. He dove and disported himself like a porpoise, swimming far below the surface, turning somersaults, shooting forward on his back and then on his side, and reveling in the very wan- toness of health, strength and skill. But Archer gaye an exhibition, too, which compelled the commendation of his companion, “There’s no need of your taking les- sons,” he remarked; “I shouldn’t be sur- | ’ pane if you had been in the water »efore.” “TI have once or: twice; let’s take a swim out to sea?” “T am agreeable; come on.” And they did so, making their way fully a half mile from shore. Melton, determined not to be the first to give up, | would have kept on, but Archer, who had started with the same resolve, began to think they were risking tco much and proposed that they return. “Very well; you are not tired?” “Not a bit, but what’s the use? We might have an accident.” “We'll take it easy,” remarked Melton, swimming with the long powerful and yet deliberate stroke of the consummate swimmer, He was a little in advance of his com- panion, whom he could see only by turn- ing his head. Half the distance was passed, when a gurgling sound and a strange cry caused him to look over his shoulder. To his dismay, Archer was nowhere in sight. At the same moment, he saw peo- ple running about in great excitement on the beach and caught the cry: “A man is drowning! A man is drown- ing!” (T0 BE CONTINUED.) —___~- ee _____ THE CITY OF THE DEAD. When Sir William Gell, the celebrated topographer, visited the ruins of Pompeii, the scene robbed him of speech, and he could only mutter at intervals, “The City of the Dead! The City of the Dead!” an apropos pseudonym which has clung to the relics ever since. It was in A, D. 63 that the fearful earthquake occurred, which destroyed a great part of the town.. The new city, which sprang up soon, had ~ ‘a population of 30,000 souls when it was another catastrophe on August 24th, A.D. 79. This was an eruption of Mount Vesuvius, which suddenly belched forth tremendous showers of ashes, red-hot pumice-stone, etc., overwhelming the. city for a considerable depth. The present superincumbent mass is about twenty feet in depth. A pathetic inci- dent is related in connection with this last eruption. A house was discovered a few years back amid the ruins, which proved that it wasin a state of repair when the volcanic storm buried it. Painters’ ,pots and tools were scattered overtaken b said | about it, and spots of whitewash stati wall and floor. All the goods of the ant had been placed in a corner by selves, and dinner was evidently im of preparation, for a pot stood on? stove, while a sucking-pig, all ready be baked, was on the table. In the 0 were loaves of bread, there for over 1,800 years. . | were added to the museum at Po In 1748 interest in the locality was |cited, and excavations were comm 'In 1755 the amphitheater, theater, @ |} other parts were cleared out. | the government of Victor’ Emanué! © ‘assigned over $10,000 annually for_ | prosecution of the excavations, and @T ular plan has been adopted by which® | ruins will be systematically explore@ @ i carefully preserved. ——~>- 0» —— Plucky Paul Palmé By HORATIO ALGER, Jr Author of “Abner Holden’s Bound Boy,” Bully of the Village,” “The Western “Bound to Win,” “Grit,” “Only ap Ir “Frank and Fearless,” “Ragged Dick “Luck and Pluck Series,” “Brave 4&0 Series,” “Tattered ‘Pom Series,” “Dau, tective,” etc., etc. , (“Prucky PAvL PALMER” was commenced i Back numbers can be obtained of all News 4 CHAPTER XIII. GRACE DEARBORN AT HOME. A RACE DEARBORN sat before Qs fire in her aunt’s handsome: i with a writing-desk in her Before her was a sheet OF ° paper on which she had commené ing a list of names. = Her aunt sat near her, dictating of persons who were to receive & invitation to a party which she, P giving in honor of her niece’s bith Grace had been writing busily ® time. 2% ea” “Any one else, Aunt Carolin asked. Sa “T believe I have included ev® Let me think! Oh, Fre near ting Major Ashton. How stupt® © “Major Ashton !” repeated Grae wrote the name. 5 “It would have been singular ‘+b forgotten to include him,” sale@: lady. Sap: “T did not forget him,” returned “Then why did you not remin@- “TI suppose because I was nob.¥ ious to have bim invited.” f of : xe ae did you the honor 0% ~~ you his hand?” te ae “He may have considered it an oY I didn’t,” said Grace, decidedly: opts “At all events, it was a come his Te “Be it so! If he would acosh d, be 5 tion as final I should not mi* ’ the two or three occasions Since". have met, he has tried to introd wi ject again. He does not seem © take no for an answer.” tel, “Why not reconsider the mati Hat He is rich——” “As if I cared for that!” “Well, he is fashionable, everywhere in society. He, his wife a desirable position. “Will that compensate for love, Aunt Caroline? uid © “Perhaps not, but love WOU” time.” ; “Love must come before my, case, an Caroling afterw® "4 Ashton it would never co Cypaces 4 “You speak very decidedl¥s nite “No more than I feel. TO! qisteree mn with you, Iam more than ™ jie DM, Major Ashton. I positi nv reas “Why? Can you assig® ra , mye “None that will fully exp mysery ings. The fact is, I cannt: while’. count for the antipathy W P nati inspires me. It seems @ ae agaist, Without knowing anything pad a2 I feel convinced that he is 4° ~ aoe a a 4 Cae “This is silly, Grace. . [be “It may be = but I can't being yOu —, object to WY © to your party?” do “No. yr tate no right 2 tv rather I do not wish to, sint ust ¢ a gratuitous slight. - pate course, though I would a oa ; away.” «A a a “That is all, then, unlese ~ name occurs to you. “There is one other ay a O , line,” said Grace, hesitatiD ; “Well?” “Myr.! Vernon.) © cin aia “What Mr. Vernon?” th _aypt- te gly ithe epee Fe “Mr. Frederic Vernov, in 8 J “But, Grace, he is not Je.” doesnot belong to our Cant “He is a gentleman, cognit and is worthy of social Te"? ine GOOD NEws. 11638 Hey: ild, he is ver I Hud, he | y poor. he has a dress suit to ap- WS allair, He may not come, ite in us to invite him.” ' quixotic, Grace.” Ou think so? [ know Mr. ell educated, and posses- 1d refinement in a higher Of the gentlemen who Vitations. I feel like re- 4m equal. Do you seri- te him a card if you wish. 40 set before you the singu- hia ~2.2 Poor, obscure artist to Party, e may be criti- eos to please ourselves, not ith ~UDt Caroline,” answered curl of the lip. “Now, Beet list whom ‘I think than Mr, Vernon, who a anywhere among you refer, Grace?” ey ” now anything against her? made pettoduced tome ata ude herself very agreeable. Well help sénding her a * Vulgar, and mean in ete I ever met her I aa: her character from a If a m which I overheard x ro a friend in a street food houses.” s Flin her father is rich, ve in handsome style, eq Ye her from being vul- x sed to be too critical * aio gs our a ion: _ 00 rigidly. We must We find it,” (Who are prosperous "i Sous; those who : ca does other words, ap- Or Bold to all.” Rood wing it. But if we nee society we may feel ken ® With them; then, if ace We can throw the re- MY is Y- To be deceived Stich paCUSable.” es t utters from a world- on Caroline.” id rs aman of the world, Wel} heldon, shrugging repare it completes our 4 ing, enters’ *Pout ej ‘ Mi eight o’clock, “Iss Dearborn’s pres- 98 Man at the door who te ive you his card?” Ta ughis any, Miss Grace,” “ , y!” exclaimed we Binns him up, raittle sister entered Manner was mod- By. Pashfully that she was roe born, Grace is Were kind enough aecomes her, too, Is Tn, thank i he | you. : ag GPS house with Grace ea ng the day?” ; ws when she has Rot very well paid “Ae ree, but in some th her are very y | ee 8s Framley——” Mme the stony Grace, with © Story a)..." ~ Story already familiar Gr be present at f din? with an nitiode : ms shal 'Dolite to awe oe ladies are as sure _ She said. “Has ~ _ @O: some sewing do so “all here to-morrow e the Undle ready, I ‘ "Price she charged 1s oreo ak -j0% yed. 1 up, val, but she is an: are not | the cards at our |. -| matches?” i Paul and his sister remained an hour, Grace exerting herself far more to enter- tain them than she would have done had they been fashionable callers. “How did you like her, Gracie?” asked Paul, as they were walking homeward. “She’s awful nice, Paul,” said the little girl. “So I think,” said Paul. CHAPTER XIV. THE ARTIST’S SECRET. es canvas was before him, but he seemed to be in a brown study. “What has got into me!” he asked him- ' self, impatiently. “I cannot fix my mind upon my work. I am no longer on the verge of destitution, or compelled to, labor for a mere pittance, yet my mind is | less at ease than when I hardly knew} where the next day’s food was to come | from.” . Vernon’s circumstances had improved. He had taken a lighter and more cheerful studio, and moved with his mother into better rooms. He was no longer forced | to court the penurious patronage of young ' ladies like Miss Framley, and, thanks to, the influence of Miss Dearborn, he was’ never without some work in hand. Yet, | though he ought to have been cheerful, he found himself restless, and his work , often had to wait upon his moods. “Frederic, what is the matter with you?” asked his mother, earnestly, one =IREDERIC VERNON sat in his IE studio, toying with his brush. The os day. “Why do you ask, mother? Iam well,” he answered, evasively. “You have lost your pepetttes and your | mind seems preoccupied. Is anything: troubling you?” “Anything troubling me?” he .asked, with a forced smile. “What @ strange idea !” “Nay, my son, you cannot conceal it from your mother’s eyes that something is amiss with you. What is it?” _ “Tam sure I caynot tell, mother.” “Is not your work proceeding well, Frederic?” “Oh, yes! I had another order to-day.” “You should look happy then, my son. Compare your position to-day with what it was three months since. Then——” “I was almost a beggar, mother.” rue. “Forced to paint portraits for mean, shoddy people for a mere song.” “Yes. But things have changed with you now, Frederic.” “Yes, thanks to Providence—and Grace Dearborn !” : Unconsciously he pronounced this name with a tenderness which revealed to his mother something that he had not. in- tended she should know. A look of intel- ligence overspread her face. “T begin to see how it is, my boy,” she said, gently. “How what is, mother?” “T think I understand what is the mat- ter with you.” © “Have you turned seeress?” he asked, smiling faintly. . “No, but I can minister to a mind dis- eased when I know the nature of the dis- ease.” “Well, what is my disease, mother mine?” he asked, lightly. “Frederic, you are in love!” “In love!” he repeated, flushing. “Then petneye you can tell with whom I am in ove?’ “T think I can.” “Say on, mother.” “You love Grace Dearborn.” He started, and his face flushed. “What makes you think that, mother?” he asked, slowly. “Your face would tell meif I had no other evidence. Is it not true?” “Well, mother, you have my secret,” he answered, after a pause. “You know my disease. Now, canst thou minister to a mind diseased ?” “Perhaps so.” “TI know what you would say. You would tell me to root out the foolish fancy from my heart, and devote myself unflinchingly to my art. Well, mother, I have tried it, and I have failed.” “You mistake me, Frederic. If you feel that your love for this young lady is deep and earnest, such a love as comes but once in a life-time, let her know of it, and give her a chance to accept or reject “Mother, are you mad? Do you know that Grace Dearborn is a wealthy heiress —that she moves in the most exclusive society of Chicago, that’ she is admired by many who are rated as eligible “Yes, I know all that—or I have guessed it from what you have told me. And what then?” “Do you think of the difference be- tween us? What am I?” _“-You are an artist, a gentleman, and a man of talent.” “Even were it so, I earn, for my entire income, less in all probability than this | with new | to become a true artist. young lady spends for her wardrobe in a single year.” “That may be, Frederic.” “And yet you bid me hope?” “Yes, I bid you hope. If Miss. Dear- born is what I think she is, she will not set an undue estimate upon wealth. She will understand how many vulgar and ill-bred men possess it, and will rate higher the talent, the refinement, and the culture of a gentleman, and the good heart that makes him ever a loyal and| affectionate son. Such a man cannot fail to make a desirable husband.” “Ah, mother,” said Vernon, smiling, “you are amother; and, like all mothers. me overrate yourson. If Grace would out look upon me with your eyes, perhaps I might hope. As itis, were Ito open my lips to her I should only subject my- self to the mortification of having my suit contemptuously spurned.” “That would never be. Even if rejected, there would be nothing to injure your pride or bring a blush of mortification to your cheek.” “T think you are right there, mother, Grace is too gentle, too much of a lady, to let me see how unjustifiable were my hopes.” “Frederic, will you be guided by me in this matter?” “Let me hear your advice first, mother. Then-I will devide.” : “Try to make yourself more worthy of her. Make the most of your talent. Be- come something more than: a portrait painter. Become a great artist, and when all men acknowledge your talent, Miss Dearborn will be proud to accept your de- votion, and to reward it. Is my advice ood ?” “Mother, you put new life into me,” said the young man, his face glowing ote “Thave always wished Iam a portrait painter because poverty made it neces- sary.” “And you would become an artist if you could?” “Yes, it is my strongest wish.” “Then form the plan of some great pict- ure, select some worthy and aspiring sub- ject, devote your leisure to it, and think hat you are working for her you love.” “T will, mother. You are not only my best friend, but my wisest counselor. Henceforth I shall feel that I have an ob- ject for which to labor.” Frederic Vernon returned to his studio with quickened steps, and resumed work with an ardor he had not felt since Grace Dearborn sat in his studio as the subject of his brush. It was some time before a suitable idea came to him, but at last it flashed upon him, and he gave to his pict- ure all the time he could save from his sittings. In the midst of his labors there ap- peared to him one day the postman. It was a dainty missive he held in his hand, addressed in delicate chirography to-Frederic Vernon, Esq. Vernon opened it, and read with a quickened movement of the heart a card of invitation to a party given by Mrs. Caroline Sheldon, to celebrate the birth- day of her niece, Miss Grace Dearborn. Vernon’s face lighted up with joy. “She has not forgotten me, then,” he said to himself. : Then came the thought, “Shall I go?” Would he feel at. home in the fashionable circle to which he would be a stranger? He hesitated, but it was not for long. | “Since Grace bids: me, for I know it was at her suggestion that I am invited, I will attend.” Just then his studio was invaded by a young lady, upon whose portrait he was engaged. She did not come alone. With her was Major Ashton, who has already been named as the unsuccessful suitor of Grace. are Vernon laid down the invitation hast- ily, but it was still open, and Major Ash- ton, who was observant, saw it, and a glance revealed to him its contents. His face betrayed his surprise and an- noyance. “Ts it possible that Miss Dearborn has invited this portrait painter to her party?” he asked himself. . Then his eyes dwelt critically on the refined and handsome face of the artist, and a vagns feeling of jealousy sprang up within him, for he was still firmly re- solved upon marrying Grace. 7 “But no,” he thought, recovering him- self. “Grace would not stoop to a fellow a that. She only wishes to patronize im.” : CHAPTER XV. A FELLOW CONSPIRATOR, ‘TEPHEN PALMER, since his dis- comfiture, had not visited his step- mother or Grace. He felt that he; hated the whole family, but most of all Paul. A bully never forgives the one, boy or man, who humiliates him ; | and Stephen felt. the more mortified and incensed because our hero was so much younger than himself. Paul was his} equal in height, but Stephen was broader and stronger, and but for his habits of intoxication, which robbed him of his strength, would have given his young brother a good deal of trouble. When Luke Denton first unfolded to Stephen the plan he had in view for get- ting Paul into trouble, the young man was delighted. “What ahead you’ve got, Luke!” he said, admiringly. “You like the plan, then?” said Luke, who did not object to flattery, though he had a very poor opinion of Stephen’s un- derstanding. “Its capital! Couldn’t be better!” ex- claimed Stephen. “I flatter myself it’s rather aciever notion,” said Luke, com- ye “You don’t mind your brother eing arrested for theft, then?” “No, curse him! He sets up for a youn saint, lectures me, who am almost olt enough to be his father.” “Still, he is your brother,” said Luke, dryly. “A pretty sort of brother, he is! Why, he weuldn’t give me a penny to save me from starvation. The other day, when I was dead broke, and wanted to borrow a trifle, he made such a row that I had to give it up. There isn’t any love lost be tween Paul and me.” “What will become of your mother and sister if Paul goes to prison?” “T don’t know, and I don’t care,” said Stephen, spitting vicieusly. “They may starve, for all I care.” “Upon my word, you’re a relation worth having,” said Luke, lazily puffing at a meerschaum pipe, for he was somewhat fastidious in his tastes, and disdained the common clay pipe which Stephen was not above using. In truth,-he despised the man with whom he nevertheless spent a consider- able part of his time. There was a com- munity of vice between them, but Luke was by nature refined and Stephen coarse. “You wouldn’t expect me to take the young puppy’s place, and work for them, would you?” demanded Stephen. “Tf I had a mother and sister I would do just that,” said Denton, and he spoke with sincerity, for with all his want of principle he was not without domestic affection. “You wouldn’t if you had folks like mine,” said Stephen. “They don’t care a pinch of snuff for me.” “Strange, when you are so attractive— pee such taking ways,” said Luke, iron- ically. : * “Dont talk that way, Luke Denton, for I don’t like it,” returned Stephen, sul- Jenly. “You must_ let me have my little joke, Stephen. What would the world be without innocent mirth and_ friendly banter? So you like my plan?” “Yes; but can you do it? Can you play the Quaker?” “Dost thee doubt it?” z Stephen went off into a fit of laughter, though there didn’t seem much to laugh t at. “Don’t be frivolous. Restrain thy mirth, and fix thy mind on serious things,” continued Luke, in a tone which he thought befitting the words. Again Stephen betrayed symptoms of suffocation. He went out with Denton, and assisted in dressing him in the costume which he hired for the successful personation of a quiet Friend. ' eS You’ll do,” he said, in high satisfac- ion. “Does thee feel sure, friend Stephen?” “Oh, you’re too funny for anything! Shall I go with you to the depot?” “Not for a hundred dollars! It would destroy my reputation as a grave and up- right Quaker to be seen in such disrepu- table company. I will go my ways alone, friend Stephen, but anon I will return and favor thee with a report of my suc- cess. If I don’t fail that. young brother of yours will spend the night at the sta- . tion-house.” . ; “When he is tried I'll go and see it. It’ll be nuts to. me to see the young sneak ~ tried for theft.” : “T’ll do my best to carry out your kind | wishes for his welfare. So Luke Denton set out on his errand, and we already know how he fared—how into the pit wialeb he dug for another he fell himself. It was heand not Paul that spent the night in confinement. 5 Stephen waited impatiently for his re- turn. He was eager to hear the details of the scheme, which he did not doubt would turn out as he wished. He wanted to hear how, Paul acted when confronted with the charge of theft, and was impa- tient to have the afternoon pass away and Denton return. 5 But he waited in vain an hour or more after the train should be in, and still his friend did not appear. Still, he did not dream that Denton himself had got into trouble, and was hindered by circum- stances which he could not control from coming round to see him. As time passed he became more and anxious. — : “Denton might have come round to tell - restless ety 1164 | GOOD ¥ NEw Ss. me,” h2 muttered, peevishly. “He might have known that I would want tohear.” After a while he concluded to go. Luke Denton lived in more style than himself. When he was able he paid his rent, and when his purse was low he did not pay. If, .after a tinie, his landlady became im- portunate, he removed to some other place. Probably he did riot pay more rent —perhaps not as much—in the course of a year, aS Stephen, for he had a more persu- asive and plausible manner, and could obtain credit on the score of his appear- ance, while Stephen’s only went against im. “Is. Mr. Denton in?” asked Stephen of the servant who answered his summons. “No, sir.” “T suppose he has been in this evening?” “No; he went away early in the day, and has not been home since.” “Can anything have nap pene to him?” thought Stephen. “No, ‘he could. take care of himself. But what a fool I am!” he exclaimed, with a sudden thought. “Of course he, wouldn’t come home in those Quaker clothes. Very likely he’s carried ’em back to the place where he borrowed ’em.” So Stephen went round there, but found the place closed. There seemed no way of finding out what he wanted to know that night. Yes, there was. He would go round to the lodgings of Mrs. Palmer, and find out whether Paul had returned. | If not, he would be safe in frightening them and demanding a loan, for, as usual, he was snort of money. “That’s a good idea!” he said to him. | self. “If Paul isn’t at home, and has not been home, I’ll know it’s all right and Luke will be round in good time to tell me how it all came out. best thing I can do.” So Stephen bent his steps in the direc- tion of his step-mother’s humble home. When his knock was heard, Paul said - “Mother, that’s Stephen’s knock. Don’t let him know where Iam. I’]l hide in the next room, and hear what he has to, say. I suspect he had something to do with the attempt that was made to get me into trouble to-day. Perhaps I can find out.” , “If he asks me if youare here, what am Ito say? I must tell the truth.” Paul whispered a few words in_his mother’s ear, and then hastily retreated into the inner room, while Mrs. Palmer went forward, and opened the door to her step-son. (TO. BE CONTINUED, ) —_———_~> 0 ———————. Yes, that’s the} of the sitting-room, where the Christian lady sat with her children about her, praying for the safety of her absent hus- and, little dreaming of the terrible dan- ger approaching her, or that the Death Angel with sable wings even then hov- ered above her roof. With a thrill of terror she listened to the shouts of the advancing soldiery as they placed the torch to the fir house they entered. She rose and looked out of the window to see if the soldiers were in sight, At that instant she saw a face, hideous with hate and passion rise from among the flowers planted by her own hand, a serpent in the Eden she had made. A cry of alarm broke from her lips as she started back toward her children. It was the last sound that ever left her lips. A flash, a deafening report, and she fell back dead among her terror-stricken little ones, while the wretch who performed the deed rushed, gun in hand, to join the British troops and thereafter to devote himself to the war against liberty. It was like a death-biow to Mr. Cald- well, and his heart was almost broken as he wept by the side of his motherless children. WITH THE B OYS enn pee BY ARTHUR SEWALL, R. J. B., Norwalk, Conn.. writes: “Which do you think the most lucrative of the following professions—wedicine, dentistry, law, or civil engineering? What oneof the above profes- sions would you advise me to pursne, and which do you think the easiest to success ?”’ Of the professions you mention law is undoubtedly the most lucrative. It is al- ways possible to charge large fees to wealthy clients, and in cases where large amounts of money are involved a lawyer is sure to be well treated. Men like William M. Evarts, Joseph H. Choate, | Daniel Doughty, and Wayne McVeigh Romance of Battles in °76, BY UNCLE NED. compensates No. 19.—A Dastard’s Revenge, O war which history describes, not even our late civil disagreement, ¢ contains so many incidents of bar- ‘barous cruelty as that of our Rev- olution. The Tories especially were noted for their acts of cruelty, and the hired Hessians rather outdid them, equaling the red savages in their acts of cruelty. “There is a grave in Elizabeth, New ersey, over which the somber vail of sad- ness rests, while we tell how she, whose dust there rests, fell a victim to revenge. In some way—history does not give the reason—a man named McDonald, em- ployed by the Reverend James Caldwell, of the First Presbyterian Church in Eliz- ‘abeth, conceived a deadly hatred against his employer. How long this accursed animosity was fostered no one can tell, but its culmination is a matter of mourn- ful record. ’ Mr. Caldwell was an ardent and influ- ential patriot, and in consequence of the vicinity of the enemy to the shores of New Jersey he removed his family to a small hamlet then known as “Connecti- cut Farms,” now the village of Union. There he conceived they might be safe, . and he went with Christian faith to his duties wherever they led his steps. But when the British landed, and on their way to Springfield destroyed everything on their route, the people fled in terror from their approach, ’ It was now that McDonald fixed the hour for his terrible revenge. Mr. Cald- well was away, and the wily villain ad- vised Mrs. Caldwell not to fly as her neighbors did, for he said the British would never harm a woman with her children around her. He told her, and truly, that it would: be hard to find shel- ter or food, going she knew not whither, and he would stay to protect her. . The hapless wife and mother listened to his specious pleading, and soon she, with her little family, were left alone in © place, ¢ The British, leaving smoke and flame behind them, soon came forward in their desolating march, and now McDonald, panting with fiendish joy, concealed him- _ self in a thicket of roses near the window have made large fortunes out of their pro- | fession. Medicine is likewise a profession which ays its chosen favorites great sums. -hysicians, like A. L. Loomis, William A, Hammond, Austin Flint, and William Pepper have large incomes from their practice. Medicine is very close to sur- gery, and successful surgeons like the late acy B. Sands say to their customers to pay them whatever they can afford to. In ‘consequence, fees varying from $50 to $5,000 are often received for a few min- utes’ work, Civil engineering has been known to ‘make men rich. W. A. Roebling was un- | ous. doubtedly paid for building the East River Bridge. James B.-Eads received at one time over a million dollars for his engineering work on the Mississippi jet- ties. John Ericsson in 1869 built for the Spanish Government a fleet of thirty steam anna, which were intended to guard uba against filibustering expeditions. Boats cost money, and Capt. Ericsson was duly compensated for his labors. Dentistry does not offer the same oppor- tunities for great wealth as the other pro- fessions mentioned do; still the career of Thomas G. Evans, the American dentist in Paris is evidence that at least one dent- ist in the world has become rich and fam- He has been sent for by nearly every crowned head of Europe, and when his work is over he is dismissed not only with a handsome fee but usually with a present to boot. As to which profession you would be ey to succeed in we can’t say. To our mind success in the legal profession comes ‘easiest and more frequently than in others. Success is sometimes a matter of opportunity. For an able physician to settle in a place where soon after his ar- rival an epidemic of typhoid fever breaks out which brings him business in which he is successful in making cures, may*push him quickly to the top of his profession. A unique surgical operation successfully performed is sometimes the making of a oung operator. Who can say what first ed Dr. Sims to study the special dis- eases of women until nis name is known the world over on account of his great operations in that field? Once he was a oung and probably struggling physician n one of the Southern cities. Eads made his first. anoney by selling apples in the streets of St. Louis, but in after years he built a bridge across the Mississippi at that place which cost exactly $6,536,729.99. You might try all of the professions you aes in time and prove a failure at each. ” st deserted | It may be that your turn of mind and work your way up. is most advantageously to be employed in ! most prominent Wall street men of to-day landscape gardening. Perhaps you are reserved to introduce a new system of agriculture intu the world. In other words, no one can tell you just what you are most likely to be successful in. It is always safe to go to college. Do so if you have the means, and go to the best college. Yale is the best college that is near to you. After finishing your stud- ies at college go to some special school, either of law, medicine, civil eae or science, as you may feel inclined. Then size up the situation, and turn your attention to the best thing that offers, the best. Be honest. More than one man has succeeded in making money where others with greater ability have failed, because they were not scrupulously honest. The practice of taking commissions when they come out of your employer’s pocket is not always wise. Be industrious. ‘That is, if you have nothing to do, don’t sit down and read the newspapers, but improve the condition of things ahitee youare. Finally, be persistent. Have an end in view, and keep that in view until you achieve it. Disraeli early announced his intention of becoming Prime Minister of England, and he got there. The opportunity comes sooner or later to him who waits. Hon- esty, industry, and persistence will. over- .|come everything. H. J., Buffalo, N. Y., writes: “I am just 19 years old; my/ father keeps a large grocery | store, anu makes a fine living. I work in and around the store, and during iny leisure I cut hair and tend to a flower garden. Which would you advise me to do—stay with my father, or be a barber or florist? 1 am good at all three, and like them.” z By referring to our answer to your fel- low townsman contained in the SHORT TALKs given in Goop News for June 6, you will find out what we think about such cases as your own. The florist busi- ness is an excellent one, and if you can make it pay you will do well to follow it. One’s inclinations have,much to do with the selection of a pursuit, and when there is no special choice it is best to adopt the one to which by education and experience a are best suited for. An interesting ook on “Landscape Gardening,” written by Samuel Parsons, Jr., who for some years past has been the Superintendent of Parks in New York, bas just been pub- lished. It will cost you $3.50, and we should be glad to send it to youif you are in earnest about your questions. It is never very complimentary to the editor to find questions sent in again that have already been answered. _ C.J. °T., Brooklyn, N. Y., writes: “T would like to become a drill-master in some school, I am 17 years old, strong, and willing to become a drill-master by studying hard. Please tell me how to set about to learn and study for it, and what wages a drill-master earns?’ In. order to become a drill-master you must first become competent yourself. There is no easier way of so doing in this instance than by joining one of the regi- ments in the National Guard. Both the 13th and 23d regiments have their head- quarters in Brooklyn, and it is not diffi- cult to gain admission to either. Once a member of the regiment, you must study the methods employed in drilling: them until you become proficient. In most of the schools where a drill master is employed it is customary to secure the services of some lieutenant, a raduate of West Point, who is detailed ' the War Department specially for that purpose, and remains instructor of tac- tics until he is ordered elsewhere. Where such a course is inconvenient veterans from our civil war service are sought for, and frequently the drill-master is likewise instructor of certain other studies. There- fore the best thing for you to do is first to secure an education so that you may ex- press yourself grammatically in writing and spell correctly. Meanwhile you can join the militia, and in that way fit your- self for the special vocation which you have chosen. As to the wages or salary that earn we can say nothing, but all things ‘being equal, it will depend largely oe your education and _ experience. he greater the first and the more extended the latter the larger will be the compen- sation given to you, F ou may J. 8.. Gloversville, N. Y., writes as follows: “Tam 17 years old, have a common schoo! edu- cation, and would like to become a bauker and broker. Conld you tell meif thereisa school or college where | could go to become a banker and broker, and how mueh the tuition would be? Let me know if there is one in New York City.” 7 ‘ Banker and broker does not come under the heading of trades or professions. It i a business that can only be acquired by ractical experience, and we would there- , fore advise you to make application fora {situation in one of the large offices in New York City or at home. It is a profitable ‘business, but like all good occupations you must begin at the foot of the ladder ‘Some of the which is not necessarily the one that pays | were office boys, and look b to their early days. All J good common school education ance, and honesty. gi The Great Wonders BY PROFESSOR RUDO. — NUMBER TWEL Wonders of the Mi¢ ne HERE are some peculiat’ > spider, as compared wid worm and caterpillar © notice, and which TM lightful study, when aided revealer of wonders—the 2 In a former article we © single thread of a spider 16“, up of hundreds of separa®® | in some instances of more ©] sand. These threads can "1, a powerful instrument, 12 @* that is carefully prepare@ — the separate lead of the the spinning apparatus. 1 with proper efiorts can De that we are not dealing in sa ures in making these state In. striking contrast WI™) | spinning contrivance Of ©" 4 and the caterpillar. 495") 4 single opening, from whit a single thread. But chit fers from. the threads of being much thicker ane than all the thousand ie It also issues from the sii Ont erpillar much slower than™ fb and is comparatively wre whole length. The § em , the contrary, is often oni ute ball is found at certa it crosses another threat: Fu of the garden spider’s bear pet! web, with its numerous © og cet | Ae nibgs within * roperly, spiral rings. , . Pithe abiceh of these ee ere proeneng points 7 slipping by binding Ch thus they strengthen the ™ pre it to hold more secure’y. ogists. An eminent entome insect mace spideys and like, ese study, counted 12,000 a web about fifteen inches But itis a very T the threads of these. + i we are ee rere Xk pre explain. The spide ore sacs /holding the viscid: ye from which the threae® ret connected with these are ate spinnerets, or sets Tar spinning its own perien of these sets furnis?’) af threads called radii, cpik from the center like ye spins riage wheel, and it al whole" cables that anchor the is 1 it firmly fixed. Nee: able that while all tic are very viscid, that a at # ang pas cables va em 44 nything toue ys ; here. Bein so om would hold too large aa 50 be caught by them, ony n spider could not ‘pin ts might injure the vue pum ut why this gre threads, and why caren formed as we have © je t the object is, to oan “ quietly secure its Pi", few haps noticed that ts. victi™™ spider will have et, 9° af wrapped in a silken 6, rp fectt helpless. .T enable it to do it oan derfully formed claw®. So also its power of i it to weave a We ameter in less toe hour. The silkwo no need of doing hence they spin tee slowly, it being, ? for to give more time ve stance, of which 4 made, to herd oe roper strengt)-. 4 ple Pit it also remartis tb worm’s ‘sac that 00" 6: tis stance, has at the tha opening a single p the” ‘and ore horn-like ee spider’s spinneretsy, t 2.4 greater strain wpe ebro 10: thicker and stronB® 1.9 | ad # There are sp! oe SPreot a spin their webs, ins tie: catch minute mae Jan@ p as do_those on FN” of J merciful tase ot, shortenin thes the 8 ted © to © ei) on, Fy recor NEWS. 1165 — fill th iy meee anrangements we see means OUMFtesise then ee to ends, and we can- 4 range d ponviction that all these [oeing Who un, Mtelligent and all- PBT His? had regard to the wel- fa €s as a whole. at first appears so mys- » lg mee te devours an- We pe ult of explanation, 3 , Piderg _ der that this prevents pncation of those that are and the as in the case of Mt others he flies. And so of a aL Whose «. There is in Africa an of, the eg Sole aim seems to be to ted “Ore. remark. the crocodile. It is HD, -OUtlegs able as it never eats & Mereify} is an instinct given ease of Epreator to prevent the Wise wouie ee creatures man life. e far more de Twig Of hy + oll Ww, ISSUES are) S Man ; ang’ ft teal Y apparently useless ae Mero ares, valuabie Beryants to oe er Ci appointed to he by ni Hin man. One who Tha a special ine pele 7 e + ny ; OR, phe kk Pa ° tron re e on 848 sy" Among the Nihilists, wool” Se i By «& QTD Mah of « vy J. ot 3 ‘Grimegy » wp ag 1g eter Potter the Page,” etc. oa MBER NINE, Na insta ROW EscapE, av n * inaY ong o¢ the alarm was rung Hlike © apart © Numerous windows OF to che eh house, went up ' Mb third off rai though ner had yi Mt og Mt Set the the same electric P hae “Very Wind ells to jangling, iq eve dozen sah Was thrust from Window, ata, -”- No, there was one thrid Not go up, and that "gh which Ross had sists Ross, the Mite, Peavy sleepers and . dy @ ; st : ites ] cg engines arrived a t the ex hd without waiting Y throw uae localicy of the fire, eat ene Streams of icy ally Vain } yg and yelicoat he gesticulated Wns age divest till he was hoarse, ines Adjectives from all he was ac- Scegss ne louder an Sary it appeared rt 8 Orv that “ they should beep tent of » and the’ stronger il he’ limbs Cold water against it, Sdrin C8mMe Mo Pring Wor antic, and with lags 0m, ia through the win- ; y wong a shower of ater with him. p © house, poor Ross “SU My Ne t of ‘ rousing Smalley awaken to a full 1S first utterance al era. Yt rot D ge five mioueht he was burnt. eM iithe Thin SWarmne the firemen and WME man iole E the fot rough the i ou ©, and for an = n ihe from cellar to aga ther, —' But finally the } © Was no fire they ad | Use at last became he as Mortification not Rep Vet? ducking, but the -.° Coveted shirt. n Blooms" ay he was ay. 9 lark spoke about merican minis- Said that he Ov & dy. eq ,tOSs, flaring u i 5 is j 7 M nthe ie Y is it anne. HRT har tViteg Place,» ig ff + *Tellte ao clothe a WA ley 88 F,°XCusge v8 Ait to w si © wouthit ve °8boryy abe cried, indig- “tly tS ee Visits @etican ‘citizen aM ges Bet, Teme Nearing the hirclia AL he Seng a Citizen has er i 8 Country, Siapty Said Peter, the second I ne h free oe 8° far forgotten itati th On? 4 ins LY amoy a Kes the than “I know,” said Peter. “But this is | Time pressed, so Peter hastily snatched going to be a swell affair, and yov wouldn’t want to go among the high born and highly perfumed representatives | of the various countries with soiled collar | and cuffs, would you?” “Why not? Didn't Benjamin Franklin visit the rose-tinted, silk plush court of Louis Philippe in his working clothes?” “That is true enough, Mr. Ross; but excuse me for saying that Benjamin Franklin was a different kind of a man from Alexander Ross—a little different.” “In what respect?” roared Ross, indig- nantly. “Well, in the first place, he had a clean shave every morning—didn’t wear any whiskers; and in the second place, a trifling matter, of course, he discovered electricity.” “You mean he caught lightning in a bottle. So have I.” “But the discovery of electricity, the rinciple upon which so much science is based——” “He discovered electricity. Very good. We'll give him credit for that. But so have I—many a time. Therefore I'm as good as Ben; Iam entitled to go before the highly-scented courts of your effete monarchies in the honest garb of the glorious independent workingman. And Iam going.” “All right, go; but I'll give you a pointer, you won’t go with us.” “Why not?” . “Because they'll probably kill you, and I don’t want my nice clothes spattered with warm, red blood. “It won't look pretty.” Smalley, who had been silent up to that time, said: “Tf he bad a dress suit, Peter, would. it be possible to waive the matter of invi- up a list of the Russian and Polish peer- | age, which he had got hold of when he was a congressional page, and running his eye over the columns of unpronounce- able names, came across the name “Ros soppsky,” a Polish count. “That's the name,” said he. “It’s only a coulple of extra syllables hooked.on to your own, name, therefore you aren’t so apt to forget it.” It now being time to start, the trio de- scended to the street, and, calling a droshky,. were on the point of entering it, when two military officers, accompan- ied by a squad of a dozen soldiers, came along. The moment they saw Ross the two officers exchanged glances, said some- thing in an undertone, and then one of them advanced, and laying his hand upon Ross's shoulder, said: :; “Pardon the intrusion, my lord, but would you be good enough to give me your name and title? Lam a lieutenant of the Imperial Hussars, sir, and have ‘a right to ask, it.” ‘lattered at being mistaken for the very character under which he was trying to masquerade, Ross drew himself up proudly, and replied: “With pleasure, lieutenant. I am always glad to see our soldiers doing their duty. I am Count Olef Rossoffsky of Ghesen.” ; “What did I tell you?” cried the officer, triumphantly, turning to his comrade. The other officer smiled and shook his head. “You have a sharper ‘eye than I have, Lieutenant / Ostrogorsky,” said he. “I eae certainly never have recognized i ’ m. Highly flattered by this compliment, THE TWO RUSSIAN OFFICERS LEAPED SEVE tation? Do you suppose you could squeeze him in?” Peter, who didn’t imagine it possible for Ross to procure a dress suit, after a! few moment's reflection, said: “Well, yes; if Ross had a nice cutaway coat, a shirt front like afresh painted parsonage, white choker and kids to match, and patent leather pumps, I sup- pose I might tack a title un to his name and snake him in,” “Enough said,” said Smalley. old boy, you shall have the suit.” Peter had not forseen this, and know- ing the difficulty he would have in get- ting Ross in, regretted what he had said. But after a little reflection and a talk with Mark, who suggested that they might have some fun with him, he made his mind easy. Ross and Smalley busied themselves during the day securing the necessary articles for the former’s. wardrobe, and when Peter and Mark were dressed and ready to start, Ross was also ready, and the boys were astonished at his appear- ance. In addition to the dress suit, with a fur-lined cloak to throw over it, he had his beard trimmed in the “Russian fash- ion, and wore a monocle. Peter was satisfied that Ross would ass asa gentleman allright; but thought it would be better policy to introduce him as a wealthy American. Ross, how- “Ross, Citizen as to ‘ever, would hear to nothing of the kind. : as to; He had set his heart upon being intro- | "Tis; duced as a nobleman of some sort, and erroneous passport. would have nothing else. RAL FEET INTO THE AIR, AND STARTED ON THE KEEN RUN. Ostrogorsky smiled until you could see | his wisdom teeth, and turning to Ross again, said: “T am certainly obliged to you for, and ;surprised at, your grace’s frankness. ‘Surprised that, after concealing your identity so long, and so well, you should admit it when least expected, and obliged to you for affording me the oppor- tunity of earning ten thousand roubles {the price our worshipful Tsar has set upon your honorable head, so easily.” Ross turned pale, and was speechless. Peter, however, who preserved his cool- {ness came to his rescue. He had picked ;up enough Russian to understand the /nature of the conversation, but could net reply. | “Tell them that you are no count, you chump,” said he in English; “that it was ‘all a joke, and——” | “You do well to post your master, young man,” interrupted the _ officer, speaking in very good English. “But as his lordship has confessed to being the notorious Nihilist leader, Rossoffsky, I have no right to dispute it. So if you do not want to share your master’s prison and exile, you had better keep a close ‘ mouth.” ’ “My dear mister officer,” said Peter, furious at the idea of being mistaken for a flunkey, “he’s not my master, and I’m no flunkey. I am an American citizen and so is this gentleman, as his pass——’ him. He thrust his hand in his pocket for his own passport, which he always carried with him, when to his petoniiee- ment and disgust, Smalley came tearing out of the door with Ross’ cloak on his arm, and yelling: “Here, Count Rossoffsky, “you forgot your cloak !” “Aha!” cried the lieutenant, gleefully. “So he is the count after all! Now,what have you got to say, young man?” Before Peter had time to reply, to his further surprise, Ross turned coolly to the lieutenant and said: “Yes, I am the notorious Count Ros- soffsky. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. You wondered why 1 confessed my identity a moment ago. I will tell you. For two weary years my followers—and they are numbered by the tens of thou- sands—have been earnestly, laboriously at work making a lovely honey-comb of St. Petersburg. .At this moment there is not a rood of your measly old village that isn’t perforated with tunnels. So much so that we have a playful way among ourselves of calling it Aleck’s porus plaster. See? Every one of these tun- nels is crammed, jammed full of giant powder as a sausage is of cat-meat.’ “And you expect me to believe this cock and-bull story, do you?” said the lieutenant, with a grim, forced laugh that showed he did believe it to some extent. “I'm not paying you anything to be- lieve it,” said Ross, coolly. “Well, supposing it to be true, what has that to do with you admitting that you are Count Rossofisky?” “You don’t see?” “T do not.” “Well, I'll tell you: Every tunnel leads from one or the other of your numer- ous and well-selected assortment of pris- ons to the palace of his Royal Jiblets. The moment Count Rossoffsky is incar- cerated in one of vour rat-eaten bastiles, he’ll touch ’er off. See? Fist! Fizz! Bang! Your population, including his Jagiets, will make an excursion to the stars, shake the musk out of their clothes among the fleecy cloudlets, and then set- tle down in pieces, and the farmers out round the suburbs will notice a hail storm for the next two weeks; but it won't be hail.~ It will be building mate- rial and things.” Ross paused and stared at the lieuten- ant. The latter had grown terribly pale and trembled violently, but his comrade smiled. “Come on, lieutenant,” he said. “Don’t you see that you have got hold of a luna- tice? He is about as much of acount as my grandmother.” “So you don’t believe it?” said) Ross, turning to the speaker. “All the same, I demand that you shall take me to prison and lock me up.” “Weshall do nothing of the kind,” said the last speaker. “If we do anything we shall put you into the lunatic asylum.” “Very good,” said Ross, “That will suit the quite as well.” During the discussion Peter had slipped away unperceived, and at. this moment returned. Just as Ross uttered the last word sec threw down a handful of toy torpe- oes. The two officers leaped several feet into the air and started on the keen run, fol- lowed by the squad of soldiers. Toy torpedoes were something new to them. Peter and his frienids then climbed into the vehicle and were driven to the house of the American minister. ; As they went along Peter said: “1 wonder if the name of Count Ros- soffsky will create as great a sensation at the fete as it did on the street. “Don't you dare to introduce me by that name,” said Ross. “If you. do I'll murder you. Henceforth I’m plain Alex- ander Ross, American citizen. I kind of thought I'd like to figure as a count, but now I've got enough of it. It don’t pay in this uncivilized neck of the woods. The minister received them kindly, and after some conversation in the drawing- room, went down to dinner. It was a quiet, though sumptuous repast, and the boys enjoyed it extremely; but Peter was disappointed at not finding any visitors a is disappointment didn’t last long, though, for they had scarcely begun to eat when the visitors of various ranks began to drop in, all the way from am- bassadors from other countries to Rus- jan noblemen. ” Peter noticed that one of the latter- kept his eye continually on Ross, and as soon as the meal was over and they re- tired to the drawing-room, this man, whose name was Count Slavenovich, asked for a private interview with Ross. He was a vicious- looking customer, and as they left the room arm in arm, Peter saw his black eyes flash in an ominous fashion. . 4 “Ross is a goner this time,” said Peter He hesitated as he thought of Ross’ At that moment a happy thought struck to Mark. : “J hope so,” replied Mark. (TO BE CONTINUED.) 1166 A RACE. ———— A little tear and a little smile Set out to run a race— We watched them closely all the while— Their course was baby’s face. The little tear had got the start; We really feared he’d win, He ran so fast and made a dart Straight for her dimpled chin. But, somehow—it was very queer, We watched them all the while— The little, shining, fretful tear Got beaten by the smile. ADVENTURE OF TWO BOYS. BY EMERSON BENNETT, o*—_—— Michigan, started out one holida to hunt for the smaller game with whic the forest abounded. Each lad had a light, double-barreled gun, which could be loaded with either, first, shot or ball, though they did not ae e buliet very accurately any considera GooD which the elder killed, and this served to restore his good humor. Thus, with varying success, they went on and on, little heeding their steps or their course; and by noon they were retty deep in the forest, and had shot etween them two rabbits, two pigeons, and eight squirrels. “Well, this is. jolly,” said George, as they came to a running stream, “and so let’s stop and eat our lunch here.” They sat. down on a broad, flat stone and made a hearty meal, which they en- joyed as only hungry persons can when they eat in a forest, washing down their food with water from the brook. “Now, then, which way?” queried George. “We'd better be going back, I reckon,’ replied Henry. “Pop said, you know, we was to git back afore dark.” WO lads, aged respectively ten and 2 twelve, the sons of a farmer named Tyson, living in. the backwoods of | J r ' Henry, suddenly springing up and point- “Of course, but it’s too early to turn back yit,” was the rejoinder. “Heavens! look! there’s a bear!” cried ing to the beast on the other side of the | brook. Both boys were a good deal scared at and threw their guns forward to de- | fend themselves, while they looked anx- 'jously round for some safe place'to which distance, and both were loaded before they could retreat in case Bruin should they started, shot for small game, and one barrel of! one barrel of each with! decide upon attacking them. But the bear evidently had no such in- each with a bullet, in case they should, tention—probably being quite as anxious come upon a bear or deer, larger animals. “Now, be prudent, boys,” or any of the| to secure his own safety as they were theirs—for after looking at them for a}: said their| few moments he wheeled around and be- father, who had early taught them how/| gan to scamper up the hill behind him. to use their weapons—a present from their randfather—‘“and don’t go far; be care- ul you don’t get lost, and mind you come back before dark.” As the beast ran the courage of the two lads rose, and the younger exclaimed: “By jingo! Hen, he’safeared of us; and let’s foller and plug him. My eye! They promised to obey all his direc-| wouldn’t we feel stiff toting home, his tions, of course—for promises are always so rep with boys that they.can afford ik them—and then off to be liberal with a started in high glee. “Tf say, Hen,” observed the younger, whose name was George, when they had got fairly into the edge of a great forest, which, in the direction they were going, stretched away for miles on miles: “I reckon when I git growed up I’ll bea hunter, like them I’ve hearn tell | beast, but went rather slowl and used a great deal of caution, exam- | inin ' should come upon the animal unawares. about.” | | hide?” “It would be jest bully,” replied Henry; “and I’ve a notion to try for a shot.” “Come on, then!” said George. The two lads then crossed: the brook, and started up the hill in pursuit of the at first, every leaf and bush, lest they After getting half way up the hill “Well, I reckon when you get growed, Henry suggested that they should fire off up, George, you won’t want to be a hun- ter. It’s fun for us now, of course, to go out for a day’s sport; but if we had to make our living by it, and find our meals, and go hungry if we ud take all the starch right out of the fun, you bet on that.” “Why, I’d kill enough to last me when persisted the other. ame for | > idn’t, it) the hill the bear was! not in sight, but I did find it, just like the Injuns #8, | the barrels that were loaded with shot, o load again with balls—which they id. When they finally reached the top of after looking for some time,and feeling not a little disappointed, they again espied him ascending another hill some quarter of a mile away. More courageous and determined now “Say just like the Injuns don’t, then,”, that they saw the bear was really afraid contradicted the elder brother, “for didn’t I hear pop say one time that a good many of the Injuns starve, and what ud they starve for if they had plenty of meat?” OE say, Hen, how’d you like to shoot Injuns? : “Well, I’d rather shoot rabbits, and squirrels, and pigeons.” . “If aInjun was to come fierce for us now what ud you do?” of them, and making good his escape, | nee at once set forward on a run. 0 t to give a detail of their pursuit, it | will be sufficient to say that the bear led them alongchase, they sometimes get- | ting sometimes losing sight’ of him again for sight of him far in advance, and several minutes. In their eagerness time was not noted by | them, distance was not considered, and ‘lf I thought he was a going to kill me’ their course, whether leading away from oO I'd try to kill him fust, course.” . “And if you killed him fust he couldn’t kill you afterward, could he?” laughed George, who was something of a logician in his way. , “And if you keep rattling on in this way, like aidiot, we won’t find no game,” returned Henry, in a nettled manner. For a minute or two they walked on in silence, keeping a sharp lookout. “Oh, Hen!” suddenly exclaimed the younger, “s’pose we'd kill a bear and tote the skin home, wouldn’t pop and granddad be proud?” ' “And s’pose we'd kill a elephant and tote him home on our backs, wouldn’t ‘pop and granddad be prouder?” “Who's talking like a idiot now, Hen?” “T are, George, trying to keep you com- - pany.’ “You never need try to keep any fool home or toward home, was not regarded. In this manner hours slipped by like minutes, the afternoon rapidly wore away, and when at last the sun was not more than two hours above the’ horizon, they had the mortification of finding that the beast had given them the slip alto- gether, that they were probably a great many miles from home, and were so tired that the journey back seemed like a great undertaking. The journey back. Well, when they came to the determination to set out for home forthwith they began to grow alarmed for fear they might miss their way, or that darkness would overtake | them before the journey could be accom- Pec in which case they might have o spend a night in the great, lonely forest. y “I tell you, Georgie, it was a bad go, company,” laughed the other, “ ‘cause follering that slink of a bear,” sighed you can do it without trying.” 2 “Shut up, will you?” “Jest like a jackknife.” Henry. “And not gitting his nuther,” returned the other, with an air durned hide For some minutes both remained silent, | of disgust. “Yet, come to think on’t, and then the younger said : “Stop, Hen—I see a squirrel.” “Where, George?” ““T’ll show ye,” and raising his gun as} “Why, hain’t he hided and left us that. er it toward the top of he spoke he si a tree and fire The animal came quivering down and fell dead on the earth. . _. The report of the piece started up a covey of partridges, which the elder ape - on ae wing and missed. et me give you § ssons e said his brother, > bintattetin erent i : Ans better you know what’s good for yourself!” returned the other, ae fy,