'Why didn't you go off shooting with the others?' asked Margery.

'Stayed at home so they'd get a chance to shoot.'

'Why, do you mean you always scare the game away?' inquired Polly, artlessly.

'No; I mean that I always do all the shooting, and the others get discouraged.'

'Clasp hands over the bloody chasm,' said Bell, 'and let us smoke the pipe of peace at dinner.'

Philip and Bell came through the trees, and, as they neared the camp, saw Aunt Truth sitting at the door of Tent Chatter, looking the very picture of comfort, as she drew her darning-needle in and out of an unseemly rent in one of Dicky's stockings. Margery and Polly came up just behind, and dropped into her lap some beautiful branches of wild azalea.

'Did you have a pleasant walk, dears?' she asked.

'Yes, indeed, dear auntie. Now, just hold your head perfectly still, while we decorate you for dinner. We will make Uncle Doc's eyes fairly pop with admiration. Have you been lonely without us?'

'Oh, not a bit. You see there has been a good deal of noise about here, and I felt as if I were not alone. Hop Yet has been pounding soap-root in the kitchen, and I hear the sound of Pancho's axe in the distance,—the Doctor asked him to chop wood for the camp-fire. Was Dicky any trouble? Where is he?'

'Why, darling mother, are you crazy?' asked Bell. 'If you think a moment, he was in the hammock and you were lying down in the tent when we started.'

'Why, I certainly thought I heard him ask to go with you,' said Mrs. Winship, in rather an alarmed tone.

'So he did; but I told him it was too far.'

'I didn't hear that; in fact, I was half asleep; I was not feeling well. Ask Hop Yet; he has been in the kitchen all the afternoon.'

Hop Yet replied, with discouraging tranquillity, 'Oh, I no know. I no sabe Dicky; he allee time lun loun camp; I no look; too muchee work. I chop hash—Dicky come in kitch'—make heap work—no good. I tell him go long—he go; bime-by you catchum; you see.' Whereupon he gracefully skinned an onion, and burst into a Chinese song, with complete indifference as to whether Dicky lived or died.

'Perhaps he is with Pancho; I'll run and see!' cried Polly, dashing swiftly in the direction of the sky-parlour. But after a few minutes she ran back, with a serious face. 'He's not there; Pancho has not seen him since lunch.'

'Well, I've just happened to think,' said pale Aunt Truth, 'that papa came into the tent for some cartridges, after you left, and of course he took Dick with him. I don't suppose it is any use to worry. He always does come out right; and I have told him so many times never on any account to go away from the camp alone that he surely would not do it. Papa and the boys will be home soon, now. It is nearly six o'clock, and I told them that I would blow the horn at six, as usual. If they are too far away to hear it, they will know the time by the sun.'

'Well,' said Bell, anxiously, 'I hope it is all right. Papa is so strict that he won't be late himself. Did all the boys go with him, mamma?'

'Yes, all but Philip.'

'Oh, then Dicky must be with them,' said Margery, consolingly. 'Geoffrey always takes him wherever he can.'

So the girls went into the tent to begin their dinner toilet, which consisted in carefully brushing burrs and dust from their pretty dresses, and donning fresh collars and stockings, with low ties of russet leather, which Polly declared belonged only to the stage conception of a camping costume; then, with smoothly brushed hair and bright flower-knots at collar and belt, they looked charming enough to grace any drawing-room in the land.

The horn was blown again at six o'clock, Aunt Truth standing at the entrance of the path which led up the canyon, shading her anxious eyes from the light of the setting sun. -

'Here they come!' she cried, joyously, as the welcome party appeared in sight, guns over shoulder, full game-bags, and Jack and Geoff with a few rabbits and quail hanging over their arms.

The girls rushed out of the tent. Bell took in the whole group with one swift glance, and then turned to her mother, who, like most mothers, believed the worst at once, and grew paler as she asked:

'Papa, where is little Dick?'

'Dick! Why, my dear, he has not been out with us. What do you mean?'

'Are you sure you didn't take him?' faltered Aunt Truth.

'Of course I am. Good heavens! Doesn't any one know where the child is?' looking at the frightened group.

'You know, uncle,' said Geoffrey, 'we started out at three o'clock. I noticed Dicky playing with his blocks in our tent, and said good- bye to him. Did you see him when you came back for the cartridges?'

'Certainly I did; he called me to look at his dog making believe go to sleep in the hammock.'

'We girls went down to the pool soon after that,' said Bell, tearfully. 'He asked to go with us, and I told him it was too far, and that he'd better stay with mamma, who would be all alone. He said "Yes" so sweetly I couldn't mistrust him. Oh, was it my fault, papa? Please don't say it was!' and she burst into a passion of sobs.

'No, no, my child, of course it was not. Don't cry; we shall find him. Go and look about the camp, Geoff, while we consider for a minute what to do?'

'If there is any fault, it is mine, for going to sleep,' said poor Aunt Truth; 'but I never dreamed he would dare to wander off alone, my poor little disobedient darling! What shall we do?'

'Have you spoken to Pancho and Hop Yet?' asked Phil.

'Yes; they have seen nothing.'

Hop Yet just at this moment issued from his kitchen with an immense platter of mutton-stew and dumplings, which he deposited on the table. On being questioned again, he answered as before, with the greatest serenity, intimating that Dicky would come home 'heap bime- by' when he got 'plenty hungly.' He seemed to think a lost boy or two in a family rather a trifle than otherwise, and wound up his unfeeling remarks with the practical one, 'Dinner all leady; you no eat mutton, he get cold! Misser Wins', I no find pickle; you catchum!'

'I don't believe he would care if we all died right before his eyes,' muttered Polly, angrily. 'I should just like to see a Chinaman's heart once, and find out whether it was made of resin, or cuttle- fish, or what.'

'Well,' said Phil, as Dr. Winship came through the trees from the card-room, 'we must start out this instant, and of course we can find him somehow, somewhere; he hasn't been gone over two hours, and he couldn't walk far, that's certain. Now, Uncle Doc, shall we all go different ways, and leave the girls here to see if he doesn't turn up?'

'Oh, papa,' cried Bell, do not leave us at home! We can hunt as well as any one; we know every foot of the canyon. Let me go with Geoff, and we'll follow the brook trail.'

'Very well. Now, mamma, Pancho and I will go down to the main road, and you wait patiently here. Make all the noise you can, children; and the one who finds him must come back to the camp and blow the horn. Hop Yet, we go now; if Dicky comes back, you blow the horn yourself, will you?'

'All light, boss. You eat um dinner now; then go bime-by; mutton heap cold; you—'

'Dinner!' shouted Jack. 'Confound your impudence! If you say dinner again, I'll cut the queue off your stupid head.'

'Good!' murmured Polly, giving a savage punch to her blue Tam o' Shanter cap.

'Jack, Jack!' remonstrated Aunt Truth.

'I know, dear auntie; but the callous old heathen makes me so mad I can't contain myself. Come, Margery, let's be off. Get your shawl; and hurrah for the one who comes back to blow the horn first! I'll wager you ten to one I'll have Dick in auntie's lap inside the hour!'—at which Aunt Truth's eyes brightened, and she began to take heart again. But as he tore past the brush kitchen and out into the woods, dragging Madge after him at a breathless pace, he shut his lips together rather grimly, saying, 'I'd give five hundred dollars (s'posin' I had a cent) to see that youngster safe again.'

'Tell me one thing, Jack,' said Margery, her teeth chattering with nervousness; 'are there any animals in this canyon that would attack him?'

'Oh, of course it is possible that a California lion or a wild-cat might come down to the brook to drink—they have been killed hereabouts—but I hardly believe it is likely; and neither do I believe they would be apt to hurt him, any way, for he would never attack them, you know. What I am afraid of is that he has tumbled over the rocks somewhere in climbing, or tangled himself up in the chaparral. He couldn't have made off with a pistol, could he? He is up to all such tricks.'

Presently the canyon began to echo with strange sounds, which I have no doubt sent the owls, birds, and rabbits into fits of terror; for the boys had whistles and pistols, while Polly had taken a tin pan and a hammer. She had gone with Phil out behind the thicket of manzanita bushes, and they both stood motionless, undecided where to go.

'Oh, Phil, I can't help it; I must cry, I am so frightened. Let me sit down a second. Yes, I know it's an ant-hill, and I shouldn't care if it were a hornets' nest—I deserve to be stung. What do you think I said to Margery this morning? That Dicky was a perfect little marplot, and spoiled all our fun, and I wished he were in the bottom of the Red Sea; and then I called him a k-k-k-ill-joy!' and Polly buried her head in her blue Tam, and cried a good, honest, old- fashioned cry.

'There, chirk up, poor little soul, and don't you fret over a careless speech, that meant nothing at all. I've wished him in the Red Sea more than once, but I'm blessed if I ever do it again. Come, let's go over yonder, where we caught the young owl; Dicky may have wanted to try that little game again.'

So they went on, calling, listening, then struggling on again, more anxious every moment, but not so thoroughly dazed as Bell, who had rocked her baby-brother in his cradle, and to whom he was the embodiment of every earthly grace, if not of every heavenly virtue.

'I might have known this would happen,' she said, miserably. 'He is so careless that, if we ever find him again, we must keep him tied to something.'

'Take care of your steps, dear,' said Geoff, 'and munch this cracker, or you won't have strength enough to go on with me. I wish it were not getting so dark; the moment the sun gets behind these mountain- tops the light seems to vanish in an instant.—Dick-y!'

'Think of the poor darling out in this darkness—hungry, frightened, and alone,' sighed Bell. 'It's past his bed-time now. Oh, why did we ever come to stay in this horrible place!'

'You must not blame the place, dear; we thought it the happiest in the world this morning. Here we are by the upper pool, and the path stops. Which way had we better go?'

'I've been here before to-day,' said Bell; 'we might follow the trail I made. But where is my string? Light a match, Geoff, please.'

'What string? What do you mean?'

'Why, I found a beautiful spot this morning, and, fearing I shouldn't remember the way again, I took out my ball of twine and dropped a white line all the way back, like Ariadne; but I don't see it. Where can it have disappeared—unless Jack or Phil took it to tease me?'

'Oh no; I've been with them all day. Perhaps a snake has swallowed it. Come.'

But a bright idea had popped into Bell's head. 'I want to go that way, Geoff, dear; it's as good as any other, and there are flowers just the other side, in an open, sunny place; perhaps he found them.'

'All right; let's go ahead.'

'The trouble is, I don't know which way to go. Here is the rock; I remember it was a spotted one, with tall ferns growing beside it. Now I went—let me see—this way,' and they both plunged into the thick brush.

'Bell, Bell, this is utter nonsense!' cried Geoff. 'No child could crawl through this tangle.'

'Dicky could crawl through anything in this universe, if it was the wrong thing; he isn't afraid of beast, bird, or fish, and he positively enjoys getting scratched,' said Bell.

Meanwhile, what had become of this small hero, and what was he doing? He was last seen in the hammock, playing with the long-suffering terrier, Lubin, who was making believe go to sleep. It proved to be entirely a make-believe; for, at the first loosening of Dicky's strangling hold upon his throat, he tumbled out of the hammock and darted into the woods. Dicky followed, but Lubin was fleet of foot, and it was a desperate and exciting race for full ten minutes.

At length, as Lubin heard his little master's gleeful laugh, he realised that his anger was a thing of the past; consequently, he wheeled about and ran into Dicky's outstretched arms, licking his face and hands exuberantly in the joy of complete forgiveness.

By this time the voice of conscience in Dicky's soul—and it was a very, very still, small one on all occasions—was entirely silenced. He strayed into a sunny spot, and picked flowers enough to trim his little sailor hat, probably divining that this was what lost children in Sunday-school books always did, and it would be dishonourable not to keep up the superstition. Then he built a fine, strong dam of stones across the brook, wading to and fro without the bother of taking off his shoes and stockings, and filled his hat with rocks and sunk it to the bottom for a wharf, keeping his hat-band to tie an unhappy frog to a bit of bark, and setting him afloat as the captain of a slave-ship. When, at length, the struggling creature freed himself from his bonds and leaped into the pool, Dicky played that he was a drowning child, and threw Lubin into the water to rescue him.

In these merry antics the hours flew by unnoticed; he had never been happier in his life, and it flashed through his mind that if he were left entirely to himself he should always be good.

'Here I've been a whole day offul good by my lone self; haven't said one notty word or did one notty fing, nor gotted scolded a singul wunst, did I, Lubin? I guess we better live here; bettent we, Lubin? And ven we wunt git stuck inter bed fur wettin' our feets little teenty mites of wet ev'ry singul night all the livelong days, will we, Lubin?'

But this was a long period of reflection for Master Dicky, and he capered on, farther and farther, the water sozzling frightfully in his little copper-toed boots. At length he sat down on a stone to rest himself, and, glancing aimlessly about, his eyes fell on a white string, which he grasped with alacrity, pulling its end from beneath the stone on which he sat.

'Luby Winship, the anjulls gaved me this string fur ter make an offul splendid tight harness for you, little Luby; and you can drag big heavy stones. Won't that be nice?'

Lubin looked doubtful, and wagged his tail dissentingly, as much as to say that his ideas of angel ministrations were a trifle different.

But there was no end to the string! How very, very curious! Dicky wound and wound and crept and crept along, until he was thoroughly tired but thoroughly determined to see it through; and Lubin, meanwhile, had seized the first convenient moment, after the mention of the harness, to retire to the camp.

At length, oh joy! the tired and torn little man, following carefully the leading-string, issued from the scratching bushes into a clean, beautiful, round place, with a great restful-looking stump in the centre, and round its base a small forest of snowy toadstools. What could be a lovelier surprise! Dicky clapped his hands in glee as he looked at them, and thought of a little verse of poetry which Bell had taught him:

'Some fairy umbrellas came up to-day Under the elm-tree, just over the way, And as we have had a shower of rain, The reason they came is made very plain: To-night is the woodland fairies' ball, And drops from the elm-tree might on them fall, So little umbrellas wait for them here, And under their shelter they'll dance without fear. Take care where you step, nor crush them, I pray, For fear you will frighten the fairies away.'

'Oh!' thought Dicky, in a trance of delight, 'now I shall go to the fairies' ball, and see 'em dance under the cunning little teenty umberells; and wunt they be mad at home when nobuddy can't see 'em but just only me! And then if that potry is a big whopper, like that there uvver one—'laddin-lamp story of Bell's—I'll just pick evry white toadstool for my papa's Sunday dinner, and she sha'n't never see a singul fairy dance.'

But he waited very patiently for a long, long time that seemed like years, for Lubin had disappeared; and all at once it grew so dark in this thickly-wooded place that Dicky's courage oozed out in a single moment, without any previous warnings as to its intention. The toadstools looked like the ghosts of little past-and-gone fairy umbrellas in the darkness, and not a single fairy couple came to waltz under their snowy canopies, or exchange a furtive kiss beneath their friendly shadows.

Dicky thought the situation exceedingly gloomy, and, without knowing it, followed the example of many older people, who, on being deserted by man, experienced their first desire to find favour with God. He was not in the least degree a saintly child, but he felt instinctively that this was the proper time for prayer; and not knowing anything appropriate to the occasion, he repeated over and over again the time-worn plaint of childhood:-

'Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep; If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.'

Like older mortals of feeble faith, he looked for an immediate and practical answer, in the shape, perhaps, of his mother, with his little night-gown and bowl of bread and milk.

'My sakes alive!' he grumbled between his sobs, 'they're the meanest fings I ever saw. How long do they s'pose I'm goin' to wait for 'em in this dark? When the bears have et me up in teenty snips, then they'll be saterfied, I guess, and wisht they'd tookened gooder care of me—a little speck of a boy, lefted out in this dark, bear-y place, all by his lone self. O—oo—oo—oh!' and he wound up with a murderous yell, which had never failed before to bring the whole family to his side.

His former prayer seeming to be in vain, he found a soft place, brushed it as clean as possible, and with difficulty bending his little stiff, scratched body into a kneeling position, he prayed his nightly postscript to 'Now I lay me': 'God bless papa, 'n' mamma, 'n' Bell, 'n' Jack, 'n' Madge, 'n' Polly, 'n' Phil, 'n' Geoff, 'n' Elsie.' Then, realizing that he was in a perilous position, and it behoved him to be as pious as possible, he added: 'And please bless Pancho, 'n' Hop Yet, 'n' Lubin, 'n' the goat—not the wild goat up on the hill, but my goat, what got sick to his stummick when I painted him with black letters.'

What a dreadful calamity, to be sure, if the wrong goat had been blessed by mistake! His whole duty performed, he picked the toadstools for his papa's Sunday dinner, and, leaning his head against the lone stump, cried himself to sleep.

But relief was near, though he little suspected it as he lay in the sound, dreamless sleep which comes only to the truly good. There was a crashing sound in the still darkness, and Bell plunged through the thick underbrush with a cry of delight.

'He is here! Dear, dear Geoff, he is all here! I knew it, I knew it! Hurrah!—no, I mean—thank God!' she said softly as she stooped down to kiss her mischievous little brother.

'But what a looking creature!' exclaimed Geoff, as he stooped over the recovered treasure. 'See, Bell, his curls are glistening with pitch, his dress is torn into ribbons, and his hands—ugh, how dirty!'

'Poor little darling, he is thoroughly used up,' whispered Bell, wiping tears of joy from her brown eyes. 'Now, I'll run home like lightning to blow the horn; and you carry Dicky, for he is too sleepy and stiff to walk; and, Geoff'—(here she laid an embarrassed hand on his shoulder)—'I'm afraid he'll be awfully cross, but you'll not mind it, will you? He's so worn-out.'

'Not I,' laughed Geoff, as he dropped a brotherly kiss on Bell's pale cheek. 'But I've no idea of letting you go alone; you're tired to death, and you'll miss the path. I wish I could carry you both.'

'Tired—afraid!' cried Bell, with a ringing laugh, while Dicky woke with a stare, and nestled on Geoffrey's shoulder as if nothing had happened. 'Why, now that this weight is lifted off my heart, I could see a path in an untravelled forest! Good-bye, you dear, darling, cruel boy! I must run, for every moment is precious to mamma.' And with one strangling hug, which made Dicky's ribs crack, she dashed off.

Oh how joyously, how sweetly and tunefully, the furious blast of the old cracked dinner-horn fell on the anxious ears in that canyon. It seemed clearer and more musical than a chime of silver bells.

In a trice the wandering couples had gathered jubilantly round the camp-fire, all embracing Bell, who was the heroine of the hour— entirely by chance, and not though superior vision or courage, as she confessed.

It was hardly fifteen minutes when Geoff strode into the ring with his sorry-looking burden, which he laid immediately in Aunt Truth's lap.

'Oh my darling!' she cried, embracing him fondly. 'To think you are really not dead, after all!'

'No, he is about as alive as any chap I ever saw.' And while the happy parents caressed their restored darling, Geoff gathered the girls and boys around the dinner-table, and repeated some of Dicky's remarks on the homeward trip.

It seems that he considered himself the injured party, and with great ingenuity laid all the blame of the mishap on his elders.

'Nobuddy takes care of me, anyhow,' he grumbled. 'If my papa wasn't a mean fing I'd orter to have a black nurse with a white cap and apurn, like Billy Thomas, 'n' then I couldn't git losted so offul easy. An' you all never cared a cent about it either, or you'd a founded me quicker 'n this—'n' I've been hungry fur nineteen hours, 'n' I guess I've been gone till December, by the feelin', but you was too lazy to found me 'f I freezed to def—'n' there ain't but one singul boy of me round the whole camp, 'n' 't would serveded you right if I had got losted for ever; then I bet you wouldn't had much fun Fourth of July 'thout my two bits 'n' my fire-crackers!'

It was an hour or two before peace and quiet were restored to the camp. The long-delayed dinner had to be eaten; and to Hop Yet's calm delight, it was a very bad one. Dicky's small wounds were dressed with sweet oil, and after being fed and bathed he was tucked lovingly into bed, with a hundred kisses or more from the whole party.

A little rest and attention had entirely restored his good-humour; and when Dr. Paul went into the tent to see that all was safe for the night, he found him sitting up in bed with a gleeful countenance, prattling like a little angel.

'We had an offul funny time 'bout my gittin' losted, didn't we, mamma?' chuckled he, with his gurgling little laugh. 'Next time I'm goin' to get losted in annover bran'-new place where no-bud-dy can find me! I fink it was the nicest time 'cept Fourth of July, don't you, mamma?' And he patted his mother's cheek and imprinted an oily kiss thereon.

'Truth,' said the Doctor, with mild severity, 'I know you don't believe in applying the slipper, but I do think we should arrange some plan for giving that child an idea of the solemnity of life. So far as I can judge, he looks at it as one prolonged picnic.'

'My sentiments exactly!' cried Bell, energetically. 'I can't stand many more of these trying scenes; I am worn to a "shadder."'

Dicky tucked his head under his mother's arm, with a sigh of relief that there was one person, at least, whose sentiments were always favourable and always to be relied upon.

'I love you the best of anybuddy, mamma,' whispered he, and fell asleep.



CHAPTER IV: RHYME AND REASON



A BUDGET OF LETTERS FROM THE CAMP MAIL-BAG

'The letter of a friend is a likeness passing true.'

Our friend Polly was seated in a secluded spot whence all but her had fled; her grave demeanour, her discarded sun-bonnet, her corrugated brow, all bespoke more than common fixedness of purpose, the cause of which will be discovered in what follows.

I. FROM THE COUNTESS PAULINA OLIVERA TO HER FRIEND AND CONFIDANTE, THE LADY ELSIE HOWARD. {1}

Scene: A sequestered nook in the Valley of the Flowers.

CAMP CHAPARRAL, July 6, 188-.

The countess is discovered at her ommerlu {1a} writing-table. A light zephyr {1b} plays with her golden locks {1c} and caresses her Grecian {1d} nose—a nose that carries on its surface a few trifling freckles, which serve but to call attention to its exquisite purity of outline and the height of its ambition. Her eyes reflect the changing shadows of moonlight, and her mouth is one fit for sweet sounds; {1e} yet this only gives you a faint idea of the beauteous creature whose fortunes we shall follow in our next number. {1f}

I have given that style a fair trial, my dear darling, but I cannot stand it another minute, not being familiar with the language of what our cook used to call the 'fuddal aristocracy' (feudal, you know).

I, your faithful Polly, am seated in the card-room, writing with a dreadful pen which Phil gave me yesterday. Its internal organs are filled with ink, which it disgorges when PRESSED to do so, but just now it is 'too full for utterance,' as you will see by the blots.

We have decided not to make this a real round-robin letter, like the last, because we want to write what we like, and not have it read by the person who comes next.

I have been badgered to death over my part of the communication sent to you last week, for the young persons connected with this camp have a faculty of making mountains out of mole-hills, as you know, and I have to suffer for every careless little speech. However, as we didn't wish to bore you with six duplicate letters, we invented a plan for keeping off each other's ground, and appointed Geoff a committee of one to settle our line of march. It is to be a collective letter, made up of individual notes; and these are Geoff's sealed orders, which must be obeyed, on pain of dismissal from the camp:

No. 1 (Polly) is to amuse! No. 2 (Phil) ... inform! No. 3 (Geoff) ... edify!! No. 4 (Madge) ... gossip. No. 5 (Bell) ... versify. No. 6 (Jack) ... illustrate

So, my dear, if you get any 'information' or happen to be 'edified' by what I write, don't mention it for worlds! (I just screamed my fears about this matter to Jack, and he says 'I needn't fret.' I shall certainly slap that boy before the summer is over.)

I could just tell you a lovely story about Dicky's getting lost in the woods the day before yesterday, and our terrible fright about him, and how we all joined in the boy-hunt, until Geoff and Bell found him at the Lone Stump; but I suppose the chronicle belongs to Phil's province, so I desist. But what can I say? Suppose I tell you that Uncle Doc and the boys have been shooting innocent, TAME sheep, skinning and cutting them up on the way home, and making us believe for two days that we were eating venison; and we never should have discovered the imposition had not Dicky dragged home four sheep- skins from the upper pool, and told us that he saw the boys 'PEELING THEM OFF A VENISON.' Perhaps Phil may call this information, and Margery will vow that it is gossip and belongs to her; any way, they consider it a splendid joke, and chuckle themselves to sleep over it every night; but I think the whole affair is perfectly maddening, and it makes me boil with rage to be taken in so easily. Such a to-do as they make over the matter you never saw; you would think it was the first successful joke since the Deluge. (That wasn't a DRY joke, was it? Ha, ha!)

This is the way they twang on their harp of a thousand strings. At breakfast, this morning, when Jack passed me the corn-bread, I said innocently, 'Why, what have we here?' 'It is manna that fell in the night,' answered Jack, with an exasperating snicker. 'You didn't know mutton, but I thought, being a Sunday-school teacher, you would know something about manna.' (N.B.—He alludes to that time I took the infant class for Miss Jones, and they all ran out to see a military funeral procession.) 'I wish you knew something about manners,' snapped I; and then Aunt Truth had to warn us both, as usual. Oh dear! it's a weary world. I'd just like to get Jack at a disadvantage once!

[Next paragraph crossed out] We climbed Pico Negro yesterday. Bell, Geoff, Phil, and I had quite an experience in losing the trail. I will tell you about it. Just as -

(Goodness me! what have I written? Oh, Elsie, pray excuse those HORIZONTAL EVIDENCES of my forgetfulness and disobedience. I have bumped my head against the table three times, as penance, and will now try to turn my thoughts into right channels. This letter is a black-and-white evidence that I have not a frivolous order of mind, and have always been misunderstood from my birth up to this date.)

We have had beautiful weather since—but no, of course Phil will tell you about the weather, for that is scarcely an amusing topic. I do want to be as prudent as possible, for Uncle Doc is going to read all the letters (not, of course, aloud) and see whether we have fulfilled our specific obligations.

(I just asked Bell whether 'specific' had a 'c' or an's in the middle, and she answered '"c," of course,' with such an air, you should have heard her! I had to remind her of the time she spelled 'Tophet' with an 'f' in the middle; then she subsided.)

(I just read this last paragraph to Madge, to see if she called it gossip, as I was going to take it out if it belonged to her topic, but she said No, she didn't call it gossip at all—that she should call it slander!)

You don't know how we all long to see you, dear darling that you are. We live in the hope of having you with us very soon, and meanwhile the beautiful bedstead is almost finished, and a perfect success. (I wish to withdraw the last three quarters of that sentence, for obvious reasons!!)

Dear, dear! Geoffrey calls 'Time up,' and I've scarcely said anything I should. Never, never again will I submit to this method of correspondence; it is absolutely petrifying to one's genius. When I am once forced to walk in a path, nothing but the whole out-of- doors will satisfy me.

I'm very much afraid I haven't amused you, dear, -

But when I lie in the green kirkyard, With the mould upon my breast, Say not that 'She did well or ill,' Only, 'She did her best.'

Now, do you think that will interfere with Bell, when it's only a quotation? Any way, it's so appropriate that Uncle Doc will never have the heart to strike it out. The trouble is that Geoff thinks all the poetry in the universe is locked up in Bell's head, and if she once allows it to escape, Felicia Hemans and the rest will be too discouraged ever to try again! (I can't remember whether F. H. is alive or not, and am afraid to ask, but you will know that I don't mean to be disrespectful.)

Laura, Anne, and Scott Burton were here for the play, and Laura is coming down again to spend the week. I can't abide her, and there will probably be trouble in the camp.

The flame of my genius blazes high just now, but Geoff has spoken, and it must be snuffed. So good-bye!

Sizz-z-z!! and I'm OUT!

POLLIOLIVER.

II. FROM PHILIP TO ELSIE.

CAMP CHAPARRAL, July 8, 188-.

My dear Elsie,—I believe I am to inform you concerning the daily doings of our party, not on any account, however, permitting myself to degenerate into 'gossip' or 'frivolous amusement.'

They evidently consider me a quiet, stupid fellow, who will fulfil such a task with no special feeling of repression, and I dare say they are quite right.

They call me the 'solid man' of the camp, which may not be very high praise, to be sure, as Geoffrey carries his head in the clouds, and Jack is—well, Jack is Jack! So, as the light of a tallow dip is valuable in the absence of sun and moon, I am raised to a fictitious reputation.

We fellows have had very little play so far, for the furnishing of the camp has proved an immense undertaking, although we have plenty of the right sort of wood and excellent tools.

We think the work will pay, however, as Dr. Paul has about decided to stay until October, or until the first rain. He writes two or three hours a day, and thinks that he gets on with his book better here than at home. As for the rest of us, when we get fairly to rights we shall have regular study hours and lose no time in preparing for the examinations.

I suppose you know that you have a full bedroom set in process of construction. I say 'suppose you know,' because it is a profound secret, and the girls could never have kept it to themselves as long as this.

The lounging-chair is my allotted portion, and although it is a complicated bit of work, I accepted it gladly, feeling sure that you would use it oftener than any of the other pieces of furniture. I shall make it so deliciously easy that you will make me 'Knight of the Chair,' and perhaps permit me to play a sort of devoted John Brown to your Victoria. You will need one dull and prosy squire to arrange your pillows, so that you can laugh at Jack's jokes without weariness, and doze quietly while Geoff and Uncle Doc are talking medicine.

Of course the most exciting event of the week was the mysterious disappearance and subsequent restoration of the Heir-Apparent; but I feel sure somebody else will describe the event, because it is uppermost in all our minds.

Bell, for instance, would dress it up in fine style. She is no historian, but in poetry and fiction none of us can touch her; though, by the way, Polly's abilities in that direction are a good deal underrated. It's as good as a play to get her after Jack when he is in one of his teasing moods. They are like flint and steel, and if Aunt Truth didn't separate them the sparks would fly. With a girl like Polly, you have either to lie awake nights, thinking how you'll get the better of her, or else put on a demeanour of gentleness and patience, which serves as a sort of lightning-rod round which the fire of her fun will play all day and never strike. Polly is a good deal of a girl. She seems at first to have a pretty sharp tongue, but I tell you she has a heart in which there is swimming-room for everybody. This may not be 'information' to you, whom we look upon as our clairvoyant, but it would be news to most people.

Uncle Doc, Bell, Geoff, Polly, Meg, and I started for the top of Pico Negro the other morning. Bell rode Villikins, and Polly took a mule, because she thought the animal would be especially sure-footed. He was; in fact, he was so sure-footed that he didn't care to move at all, and we had to take turns in beating him up to the top. We boys walked for exercise, which we got to our hearts' content.

It is only five or six miles from the old Mountain Mill (a picture of which Jack will send you), and the ascent is pretty stiff climbing, though nothing terrific. We lost the trail once, and floundered about in the chaparral for half an hour, till Bell began to make a poem on the occasion, when we became desperate, and dashed through a thicket of brush, tearing ourselves to bits, but stumbling on the trail at last. The view from the top is simply superb. The valleys below are all yellow with grain-fields and green with vineyards, with here and there the roofs of a straggling little settlement. The depression in the side of the mountain (you will observe it in the picture) Polly says has evidently been 'bitten out' by a prehistoric animal, and it turns out to be the loveliest little canyon imaginable.

We have had one novel experience—that of seeing a tarantula fight; and not between two, but five, tarantulas. We were about twenty miles from camp, loping along a stretch of hot, dusty road. Jack got off to cinch his saddle, and so we all stopped a moment to let our horses breathe. As I was looking about, at nothing in particular, I noticed a black ball in the deep dust at the side of the road. It suddenly rolled over on itself and I called to the boys to watch the fun. We got off, hitched our horses, and approached cautiously, for I had seen a battle of the same kind before. There they were—five huge, hairy, dirty, black creatures, as large as the palm of Dicky's hand, all locked in deadly combat. They writhed and struggled and embraced, their long, curling legs fastening on each other with a sound that was actually like the cracking of bones. It takes a little courage to stand and watch such a proceeding, for you feel as if the hideous fellows might turn and jump for you; but they were doubtless absorbed in their own battle, and we wanted to see the affair to the end, so we took the risk, if there was any. At last they showed signs of weariness, but we prodded them up with our riding-whips, preferring that they should kill each other, rather than do the thing ourselves. Finally, four of them lay in the dust, doubled up and harmless, slain, I suppose, by their own poison. One, the conquering hero, remained, and we dexterously scooped him into a tomato-can that Jack had tied to his saddle for a drinking-cup, covered him up with a handkerchief, and drew lots as to who should carry him home to Dr. Paul.

Knowing that the little beasts were gregarious, we hunted about for a nest, which we might send to you after ousting its disagreeable occupant. After much searching, we found a group of them—quite a tarantula village, in fact. Their wonderful little houses are closed on the outside by a circular, many-webbed mesh, two or three inches across, and this web betrays the spider's den to the person who knows the tricks of the trade. Directly underneath it you come upon the tiny circular trap-door, which you will notice in the nest we send with these letters. You will see how wonderfully it is made, with its silken weaving inside, and its bits of bark and leaves outside; and I know you will admire the hinge, which the tarantula must have invented, and which is as pretty a bit of workmanship as the most accomplished mechanic could turn out. We tore away the web and the door from one of the nests, and then poured water down the hole. The spider was at home, came out as fact as his clumsy legs would carry him, and clutched the end of the stick Jack held out to him. Then we tumbled him into the tomato-can just as he appeared to be making for us. The two didn't agree at all. One of them despatched the other on the way home—the same hero who had killed the other four; but, on hearing his bloody record, Aunt Truth refused to have him about the camp; so we gave him an alcohol bath, and you shall see his lordship when you come. As Dr. Paul says, they have been known to clear fourteen feet at a jump, perhaps you will feel happier to know that he is in alcohol, though their bite is not necessarily fatal if it is rightly cared for.

The girls have been patronising the landscape by naming every peak, valley, grove, and stream in the vicinity; and as there is nobody to object, the names may hold.

We carry about with us a collection of strong, flat stakes, which have various names painted on them in neat black letters. Jack likes that kind of work, and spends most of his time at it; for now that Dr. Paul has bought a hundred acres up here, we are all greatly interested in its improvement.

Geoff has named the mountain Pico Negro, as I told you, and the little canyon on its side is called the Giant's Yawn. Then we have -

Mirror Pool, The Lone Stump, Field of the Cloth-of-Gold, Cosy Nook, The Imp's Wash-Bowl, Dunce-Cap Hill, The Saint's Rest, and Il Penseroso Fall (in honour of Dicky, who was nearly drowned there).

If anybody fails to call these localities by their proper names he has to pay a fine of five cents, which goes towards beautifying the place. Dr. Paul has had to pay two fines for Bell, three for Aunt Truth, and seven for Dicky; so he considers it an ill-judged arrangement.

Our encampment is supposed to be in the Forest of Arden, and Jack has begun nailing verses of poetry on the trees, like a second Orlando, save that they are not love-poems at all, but appropriate quotations from Wordsworth or Bryant. And this brings me to our thrilling rendition of the play 'As You Like It,' last evening; but it is deserving of more than the passing notice which I can give it here.

One thing, however, I must tell you, as the girls will not write it of themselves—that, although Bell carried off first honours and fairly captivated the actors as well as the audience, all three of them looked bewitching and acted with the greatest spirit, much better than we fellows did.

Of course we didn't give the entire play, and we had to 'double up' on some of the characters in the most ridiculous fashion; but the Burtons helped out wonderfully, Scott playing Oliver, and Laura doing Audrey. They were so delighted with the camp that Aunt Truth has invited them to come again on Saturday and stay a week.

At the risk of being called conceited I will also state that we boys consider that the stage management was a triumph of inventive art; we worked like beavers for two days, and the results were marvellous, 'if I do say so as shouldn't.'

Just consider we were 'six miles from a lemon,' as Sydney Smith would say, and yet we transformed all out of doors, first into an elegant interior, and then into a conventional stage forest.

A great deal of work is available for other performances, and so we do not regret it a bit; we propose doing 'As You Like It' again when you are down here, and meanwhile we give diversified entertainments which Jack calls variety shows, but which in reality are very chaste and elegant occasions.

The other night we had a minstrel show, wearing masks of black cambric, with red mouths painted on them; you should have seen us, all in a dusky semicircle, seated on boards supported by nail-kegs: it was a scene better imagined than described. This is certainly the ideal way to live in summer-time, and we should be perfectly happy and content if you could only shake off your troublesome cough and come to share our pleasure. We feel incomplete without you; and no matter how large our party may grow as the summer progresses, there will always be a vacant niche that none can fill save the dear little Saint who is always enshrined therein by all her loyal worshippers, and by none more reverently than her friend,

PHILIP S. NOBLE.

III. THE KNIGHT OF THE SPECTACLES TAKES THE QUILL.

This paper is writ unto her most Royal Highness, our beloved Gold Elsie, Queen of our thoughts and Empress of all hearts.

You must know, most noble Lady, that one who is your next of kin and high in the royal favour has laid upon us a most difficult and embarrassing task.

In our capacity as Director of the Court Games, we humbly suggested the subjects for the weekly bulletin which your Highness commanded to be written; but, alas, with indifferent success; for the Courtiers growled and the Ladies-in-waiting howled at the topics given them for consideration.

On soliciting our own subjects from the Privy Councillor and Knight of the Brush, Lord John Howard, he revengefully ordered me to 'edify' your Majesty with wise utterances; as if such poor, rude words as mine could please the ear that should only listen to the singing of birds, the babbling of brooks, or the silvery tongue of genius!

When may your devoted subjects hope to see their gracious Sovereign again in their midst?

The court is fast drifting into dangerous informalities of conduct. The Princess Bell-Pepper partakes of the odoriferous onion at each noon-day meal, so that a royal salute would be impossible; the hands of the Countess Paulina look as if you might have chosen one of your attendants from 'Afric's sunny fountains, or India's coral strand'; and as for the Court Chaplain, Rev. Jack-in-the-Pulpit, he has woefully forsaken the manners of the 'cloth,' and insists upon retaining his ancient title of Knight of the Brush; the Duchess of Sweet Marjoram alone continues circumspect in walk and mien, for blood will tell, and she is more Noble than the others.

In our capacity of Court Physician we have thrice relieved your youthful page, Sir Dicky Winship, of indigestion, caused by too generous indulgence in the flowing bowl—of milk and cherries; we have also prescribed for his grace the Duke of Noble, whose ducal ear was poisoned by the insidious oak leaf.

Your private box awaits you in the Princess' Theatre, and your Majesty's special interpreters of the drama will celebrate your arrival as gorgeously as it deserves.

The health of our dearly beloved Sovereign engages the constant thought of all her loyal and adoring subjects; they hope ere long to cull a wreath of laurel with their own hands and place it on a brow which needs naught but its golden crown of hair to affirm its queenly dignity. And as for crown jewels, has not our Empress of Hearts a full store?—two dazzling sapphires, her eyes; a string of pearls, her teeth; her lips two rubies; and when she opens them, diamonds of wisdom issue therefrom!

Come! and let the sight of thy royal charms gladden the eyes of thy waiting people! Issued under the hand of

SIR GEOFFREY STRONG, Bart., Court Physician and Knight of the Spectacles.

IV. MARGERY'S CONTRIBUTION.

COSY NOOK, July 11, 188- .

My own dear Elsie,—Your weekly chronicle is almost ready for Monday's stage, and I am allowed to come in at the close with as many pages of 'gossip' as I choose; which means that I may run on to my heart's content and tell you all the little things that happen in the chinks between the great ones, for Uncle Doc has refused to read this part of the letter.

First for some commissions: Aunt Truth asks if your mother will kindly select goods and engage Mrs. Perkins to make us each a couple of Scotch gingham dresses. She has our measures, and we wish them simple, full-skirted gowns, like the last; everybody thinks them so pretty and becoming. Bell's two must be buff and pink, Polly's grey and green, and mine blue and brown. We find that we haven't clothes enough for a three months' stay; and the out-of-door life is so hard upon our 'forest suits' that we have asked Mrs. Perkins to send us new ones as soon as possible.

We have had a very busy and exciting week since Polly began this letter, for there have been various interruptions and an unusual number of visitors.

First, there was our mountain climb to the top of Pico Negro; Phil says he has written you about that, but I hardly believe he mentioned that he and the other boys worried us sadly by hanging on to the tails of our horses as they climbed up the steepest places. To be sure they were so awfully tired that I couldn't help pitying them; but Uncle Doc had tried to persuade them not to walk, so that it was their own fault after all. You cannot imagine what a dreadful feeling it gives one to be climbing a slippery, rocky path, and know that a great heavy boy is pulling your horse backwards by the tail. Polly insisted that she heard her mule's tail break loose from its moorings, and on measuring it when she got back to camp she found it three inches longer than usual.

The mule acted like original sin all day, and Polly was so completely worn-out that she went to bed at five o'clock; Jack was a good deal the worse for wear too, so that they got on beautifully all day. It is queer that they irritate each other so, for I am sure that there is no lack of real friendship between them; but Jack is a confirmed tease, and he seems to keep all his mischief bottled up for especial use with Polly. I have tried to keep him out of trouble, as you asked me; and although it gives me plenty to do, I am succeeding tolerably well, except in his dealings with Polly. I lecture him continually, but 'every time he opens his mouth he puts his foot in it.'

Polly was under a cloud the first of the week. Villikins was sick, and Dr. Winship sent her to Aunt Truth for a bottle of sweet oil. Aunt Truth was not in sight, so Polly went to the box of stores and emptied a whole quart bottle of salad oil into a pail, and Villikins had to take it, WHEEL OR WHOA (Jack's joke!). Auntie went to make the salad dressing at dinner-time, and discovered her loss and Polly's mistake. It was the last bottle; and as we can't get any more for a week, the situation was serious, and she was very much tried. Poor Polly had a good cry over her carelessness, and came to the dinner-table in a very sensitive frame of mind. Then what should Jack do but tell Dicky to take Villikins a head of lettuce for his supper, and ask Polly why she didn't change his name from Villikins to Salad-in! Polly burst into tears, and left the table, while Dr. Paul gave Jack a scolding, which I really think he deserved, though it was a good joke. The next morning, the young gentleman put on a pair of old white cotton gloves and his best hat, gathered her a bouquet of wild flowers, and made her a handsome apology before the whole party; so she forgave him, and they are friends—until the next quarrel.

On the night before the play, Laura and Scott Burton arrived on horseback, and the next morning the rest of the family appeared on the scene. We had sent over to see if Laura would play Audrey on so short notice, and bring over some odds and ends for costumes. We actually had an audience of sixteen persons, and we had no idea of playing before anybody but Aunt Truth and Dicky.

There were three of the Burtons, Pancho, Hop Yet, the people from the dairy farm, and a university professor from Berkeley, with eight students. They were on a walking tour, and were just camping for the night when Scott and Jack met them, and invited them over to the performance. Geoffrey and Phil were acquainted with three of them, and Uncle Paul knew the professor.

Laura, Anne, and Scott went home the next morning, but came back in two days for their week's visit. The boys like Scott very much; he falls right into the camp ways, and doesn't disturb the even current of our life; and Anne, who is a sweet little girl of twelve, has quite taken Dicky under her wing, much to our relief.

With Laura's advent, however, a change came over the spirit of our dreams, and, to tell the truth, we are not over and above pleased with it. By the way, she spent last summer at the hotel, and you must have seen her, did you not? Anyway, Mrs. Burton and Aunt Truth were old school friends, and Bell has known Laura for two years, but they will never follow in their mothers' footsteps. Laura is so different from her mother that I should never think they were relations; and she has managed to change all our arrangements in some mysterious way which we can't understand. I get on very well with her; she positively showers favours upon me, and I more than half suspect it is because she thinks I don't amount to much. As for the others, she rubs Polly the wrong way, and I believe she is a little bit jealous of Bell.

You see, she is several months older than the rest of us, and has spent two winters in San Francisco, where she went out a great deal to parties and theatres, so that her ideas are entirely different from ours.

She wants every single bit of attention—one boy to help her over the brooks, one to cut walking-sticks for her, another to peel her oranges, and another to read Spanish with her, and so on. Now, you know very well that she will never get all this so long as Bell Winship is in camp, for the boys think that Bell drags up the sun when she's ready for him in the morning, and pushes him down at night when she happens to feel sleepy.

We, who have known Bell always, cannot realise that any one can help loving her, but there is something in Laura which makes it impossible for her to see the right side of people. She told me this morning that she thought Bell had grown so vain and airy and self-conscious that it was painful to see her. I could not help being hurt; for you know what Bell is—brimful of nonsense and sparkle and bright speeches, but just as open as the day and as warm as the sunshine. If she could have been spoiled, we should have turned her head long ago; but she hasn't a bit of silly vanity, and I never met any one before who didn't see the pretty charm of her brightness and goodness—did you?

And yet, somehow, Laura sticks needles into her every time she speaks. She feels them, too, but it only makes her quiet, for she is too proud and sensitive to resent it. I can see that she is different in her ways, as if she felt she was being criticised. Polly is quite the reverse. If anybody hurts her feelings she makes creation scream, and I admire her courage.

Aunt Truth doesn't know anything about all this, for Laura is a different girl when she is with her or Dr. Paul; not that she is deceitful, but that she is honestly anxious for their good opinion. You remember Aunt Truth's hobby that we should never defend ourselves by attacking any one else, and none of us would ever complain, if we were hung, drawn, and quartered.

Laura was miffed at having to play Audrey, but we didn't know that she could come until the last moment, and we were going to leave that part out.

'I don't believe you appreciate my generosity in taking this thankless part,' she said to Bell, when we were rehearsing. 'Nobody would ever catch you playing second fiddle, my dear. All leading parts reserved for Miss Winship, by order of the authors, I suppose.'

'Indeed, Laura,' Bell said, 'if we had known you were coming we would have offered you the best part, but I only took Rosalind because I knew the lines, and the girls insisted.'

'You've trained the girls well—hasn't she, Geoffrey?' asked Laura, with a queer kind of laugh.

But I will leave the unpleasant subject. I should not have spoken of it at all except that she has made me so uncomfortable to-day that it is fresh in my mind. Bell and Polly and I have talked the matter all over, and are going to try and make her like us, whether she wants to or not. We have agreed to be just as polite and generous as we possibly can, and see if she won't 'come round,' for she is perfectly delighted with the camp, and wants to stay a month.

Polly says she is going to sing 'Home Sweet Home' to her every night, and drop double doses of the homoeopathic cure for home-sickness into her tea, with a view of creating the disease.

Good-bye, and a hundred kisses from your loving

MARGERY DAW.

V. THE CAMP POETESS ADDS HER STORE OF MENTAL RICHES TO THE GENERAL FUND.

My darling,—I have a thousand things to tell you, but I cannot possibly say them in rhyme, merely because the committee insists upon it. I send you herewith all the poetry which has been written in camp since last Monday, and it has been a very prosy week.

I have given them to papa, and he says that the best of my own, which are all bad enough, is the following hammock-song.

I thought it out while I was swinging Margery, and here it is! -

To—fro, Dreamily, slow, Under the trees; Swing—swing, Drowsily sing The birds and the bees; Sleep—rest, Slumber is best, Wakefulness sad; Rest—sleep, Forget how to weep, Dream and be glad!

Papa says it is all nonsense to say that slumber is best and wakefulness sad; and that it is possible to tell the truth in poetry. Perhaps it is, but why don't they do it oftener, then? And how was he to know that Polly and Jack had just gone through a terrible battle of words in which I was peacemaker, and that Dicky had been as naughty as—Nero—all day? These two circumstances made me look at the world through blue glasses, and that is always the time one longs to write poetry.

I send you also Geoff's verses, written to mamma, and slipped into the box when we were playing Machine Poetry:-

I know a woman fair and calm, Whose shining tender eyes Make, when I meet their earnest gaze, Sweet thoughts within me rise.

And if all silver were her hair, Or faded were her face, She would not look to me less fair, Nor lack a single grace.

And if I were a little child, With childhood's timid trust, I think my heart would fly to her, And love—because it must!

And if I were an earnest man, With empty heart and life, I think—(but I might change my mind) - She'd be my chosen wife!

Isn't that pretty? Oh, Elsie! I hope I shall grow old as beautifully as mamma does, so that people can write poetry to me if they feel like it! Here is Jack's, for Polly's birthday; he says he got the idea from a real poem which is just as silly as his:-

A pollywog from a wayside brook Is a goodly gift for thee; But a milk-white steed, or a venison sheep, Will do very well for me.

For you a quivering asphodel (Two ducks and a good fat hen), For me a withering hollyhock (For seven and three are ten!).

Rose-red locks and a pug for thee (The falling dew is chill), A dove, a rope, and a rose for me (Oh, passionate, pale-blue pill!).

For you a greenery, yallery gown (Hath one tomb room for four?), Dig me a narrow gravelet here (Oh, red is the stain of gore!!).

I told Jack I thought it extremely unhitched, but he says that's the chief beauty of the imitation.

I give you also some verses intended for Polly's birthday, which we shall celebrate, when the day arrives, by a grand dinner.

You remember how we tease her about her love for tea, which she cannot conceal, but which she is ashamed of all the same.

Well! I have printed the poem on a card, and on the other side Margery has drawn the picture of a cross old maid, surrounded by seven cats, all frying to get a drink out of her tea-cup. Then Geoff is going to get a live cat from the milk ranch near here, and box it up for me to give to her when she receives her presents at the dinner-table. Won't it be fun?

OWED TO POLLY BECAUSE OF HER BIRTHDAY.

She camps among the untrodden ways Forninst the 'Mountain Mill'; A maid whom there are few to praise And few to wish her ill.

She lives unknown, and few could know What Pauline is to me; As dear a joy as are to her Her frequent cups of tea.

A birthday this dear creature had, Full many a year ago; She says she is but just fifteen, Of course she ought to know.

But still this gift I bring to her, Appropriate to her age, Regardless of her stifled scorn, Or well conceal-ed rage!

She smiles upon these tender lines, As you all plainly see, But when she meets me all alone, How different it will be!

Now comes Geoff's, to be given with a pretty little inkstand:-

There was a young maiden whose thought Was so airy it couldn't be caught; So what do you think? We gave her some ink, And captured her light-winged thought.

Here is Jack's last on Polly:-

There's a pert little poppet called Polly, Who frequently falls into folly! She's a terrible tongue For a 'creetur' so young, But if she were dumb she'd be jolly!

I helped Polly with a reply, and we delivered it five minutes later:-

I'd rather be deaf, Master Jack, For if only one sense I must lack, To be rid of your voice I should always rejoice, Nor mourn if it never came back!

And now good-night and good-bye until I am allowed to write you my own particular kind of letter.

The girls and boys are singing round the camp-fire, and I must go out and join them in one song before we go to bed.

Yours with love, now and always, BELL.

P. S—Our 'Happy Hexagon' has become a sort of 'Obstreperous Octagon.' Laura and Scott Burton are staying with us. Scott is a good deal of a bookworm, and uses very long words; his favourite name for me at present is Calliope; I thought it was a sort of steam- whistle, but Margery thinks it was some one who was connected with poetry. We don't dare ask the boys; will you find out?

VI.

CAMP CHAPARRAL, July 13, 188-. STUDIO RAPHAEL.

Dear Little Sis,—The enclosed sketches speak for themselves, or at least I hope they do. Keep them in your private portfolio, and when I am famous you can produce them to show the public at what an early age my genius began to sprout.

At first I thought I'd make them real 'William Henry' pictures, but concluded to give you a variety.

Can't stop to write another line; and if you missed your regular letter this week you must not growl, for the sketches took an awful lot of time, and I'm just rushed to death here anyway.

Love to mother and father. Your loving brother. JACK

P.S.—Polly says you need not expect to recognise that deer by his portrait, should you ever meet him, as no one could expect to get a STRIKING likeness at a distance of a half-mile. But, honestly, we have been closer than that to several deer.



CHAPTER V: THE FOREST OF ARDEN—GOOD NEWS



'From the East to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind; Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rosalind; All the pictures, fairest lined, Are but black to Rosalind; Let no face be kept in mind, But the fair of Rosalind.'

The grand performance of 'As You Like It' must have a more extended notice than it has yet received, inasmuch as its double was never seen on any stage.

The reason of this somewhat ambitious selection lay in the fact that our young people had studied it in Dr. Winship's Shakespeare class the preceding winter, but they were actually dumb with astonishment when Bell proposed it for the opening performance in the new theatre.

'I tell you,' she argued, 'there are not many pieces which would be effective when played out of doors by dim candle-light, but this will be just as romantic and lovely as can be. You see it can be played just "as you like it."'

Philip and Aunt Truth wanted a matinee performance, but the girls resisted this plan very strongly, feeling that the garish light of day would be bad for the makeshift costumes, and would be likely to rob them of what little courage they possessed.

'We give the decoration of the theatre entirely into your hands, boys,' Polly had said on the day before the performance. 'You have some of the hardest work done already, and can just devote yourselves to the ornamental part; but don't expect any more ideas from us, for you will certainly be disappointed.'

'I should think not, indeed!' cried Bell, energetically. 'Here we have the wall decorations for the first scene, and all the costumes besides; and the trouble is, that three or four of them will have to be made to-morrow, after Laura comes with the trappings of war. I hope she will get here for dinner to-night; then we can decide on our finery, and have a rough rehearsal.'

'Well, girls!' shouted Jack, from the theatre, 'come and have one consultation, and then we'll let you off. Phil wants to change the location altogether.'

'Oh, nonsense!' cried Madge, as the three girls ran towards the scene of action. 'It's the only suitable place within a mile of the camp.'

'I think it will be simply perfect, when you have done a little more cutting,' said Bell. 'Just see our advantages: First, we have that rising knoll opposite the stage, which is exactly the thing for audience seats; then we have a semicircular background of trees and a flat place for the stage, which is perfectly invaluable; last of all, just gaze upon that madrono-tree in the centre, and the oak on the left; why, they are worth a thousand dollars for scenery.'

'Especially in the first scene—ducal interior, or whatever it is,' said Phil, disconsolately.

'Jingo! that is a little embarrassing,' groaned Jack.

'Not at all,' said Polly, briskly. 'There is plenty of room to set the interior in front of those trees. It can be all fixed beforehand, and just whisked away for good at the end of the first act.'

'That's true,' said Geoff, thoughtfully. 'But we can't have any Adam's cottage. We talked it over last night, and decided it "couldn't be did."'

'Did you indeed!' exclaimed Bell, sarcastically. 'Then allow me to remark that you three boys represent a very obtuse triangle.'

'Thanks, most acid Rosalind!' murmured Geoff, meekly. 'Could you deign, as spokesman of the very acute triangle, to suggest something?'

'Certainly. There is the rear of the brush kitchen in plain sight, to convey the idea of a rustic hut. To be sure, it's a good distance to the left, but let the audience screw round in their seats when they hear the voices, and Adam, Oliver, and Orlando can walk out carelessly, and go through their scene right there.'

'Admirable!' quoth Geoff. 'We bow to your superior judgment.'

'What an inspiration that was to bring those Chinese lanterns for the Fourth of July; they have just saved us from utter ruin,' said Margery, who was quietly making leaf-trimming.

'Yes, the effect is going to be perfectly gorgeous!' exclaimed Polly, clasping her hands in anticipation. 'How many have we? Ten? Oh, that's splendid; and how many candles?'

'As many as we care to use,' Phil answered, from the top of the ladder where he was at work. 'And look at my arrangement for holding them to these trees. Aren't they immense?'

'By the way,' said Bell, 'don't forget the mossy banks under those trees, for stage seats; and make me some kind of a thing on the left side, to swoon on when I sniff Orlando's gory handkerchief.'

'A couple of rocks,' suggested Jack.

'Not exactly,' replied the critical Rosalind, with great dignity. 'I am black and blue already from practising my faint, and I expect to shriek with pain when I fall to-morrow night.'

'St. Jacob's Oil relieves stiffened joints, smooths the wrinkles from the brow of care, soothes lacerated feelings, and 'ushes the 'owl of hinfancy,' remarked Geoffrey serenely, as he prepared to build the required mossy banks.

'My dear cousin (there are times when I am glad it is only second cousin), have you a secret contract to advertise a vulgar patent medicine? or why this eloquence?' laughed Bell.

'And, Jack,' suggested Polly, 'you don't seem to be doing anything; fix a stump for me to sit on while Orlando and Rosalind are making love.'

'All right, countess. I'd like to see you stumped once in my life. Shall we have the canvases brought for stage carpets?'

'We say no,' cried Rosalind, firmly. 'We shall be a thousand times more awkward stumbling over stiff billows of carpet. Let's sweep the ground as clean and smooth as possible, and let it go for all the scenes.'

'Yes, we shall then be well GROUNDED in our parts,' remarked Phil, hiding his head behind a bunch of candles.

'Take care, young man,' laughed Polly, 'or you may be "run to earth" instead.'

'Or be requested by the audience to get up and dust,' cried the irrepressible Jack, whose wit was very apt to be of a slangy character. 'Now let us settle the interior, or I shall go mad.'

'Bell and I have it all settled,' said Geoffrey, promptly. 'The background is to be made of three sheets hung over a line, and the two sides will be formed of canvas carpets; the walls will have Japanese fans, parasols, and—'

'Jupiter!' exclaimed Jack, who, as knight of the brush, felt compelled to be artistic. 'Imagine a ducal palace, in the year so many hundred and something, decorated with Japanese bric-a-brac! I blush for you.'

'Now, Jack, we might as well drop the whole play as begin to think of the 'nakkeronisms,' or whatever the word is. I have got to wear an old white wrapper to the wrestling-match, but I don't complain,' said Polly.

Just here Bell ran back from the kitchen, exclaiming:

'I have secured Pancho for Charles the Wrestler. Oh, he was fearfully obstinate! but when I told him he would only be on the stage two minutes, and would not have to speak a word, but just let Geoff throw him, he consented. Isn't that good? Did you decide about the decorations?'

'It will have to be just as we suggested,' answered Margery. 'Fans, parasols, flowers, and leaves, with the madrono-wood furniture scattered about, sheep-skins, etc.'

'A few venison rugs, I presume you mean,' said Geoffrey, slyly. 'Say, Polly, omit the cold cream for once, will you? You don't want to outshine everybody.'

'Thank you,' she replied. 'I will endeavour to take care of my own complexion, if you will allow me. As for yours, you look more like Othello than Orlando.'

'Come, come, girls,' said industrious Margery, 'let us go to the tent and sew. It is nothing but nonsense here, and we are not accomplishing anything.'

So they wisely left the boys to themselves for the entire day, and transformed their tent into a mammoth dressmaking establishment, with clever Aunt Truth as chief designer.

The intervening hours had slipped quickly away, and now the fatal moment had arrived, and everything was ready for the play.

The would-be actresses were a trifle excited when the Professor and his eight students were brought up and introduced by Jack and Scott Burton; and, as if that were not enough, who should drive up at the last moment but the family from the neighbouring milk ranch, and beg to be allowed the pleasure of witnessing the performance. Mr. Sandford was the gentleman who had sold Dr. Winship his land, and so they were cordially invited to remain.

All the cushions and shawls belonging to the camp were arranged carefully on the knoll, for audience seats; it was a brilliant moonlight night, and the stage assumed a very festive appearance with its four pounds of candles and twelve Chinese lanterns.

Meanwhile the actors were dressing in their respective tents. Bell's first dress was a long pink muslin wrapper of Mrs. Burton's, which had been belted in and artistically pasted over with bouquets from the cretonne trunk covers, in imitation of flowered satin; under this she wore a short blue lawn skirt of her own, catching up the pink muslin on the left side with a bouquet of wild roses, and producing what she called a 'positively Neilson effect.'

Her bright hair was tossed up into a fluffy knot on the top of her head; and with a flat coronet of wild roses and another great bunch at her belt, one might have gone far and not have found a prettier Rosalind.

'I declare, you are just too lovely—isn't she, Laura?' asked Margery.

'Yes, she looks quite well,' answered Laura, abstractedly, being much occupied in making herself absurdly beautiful as Audrey. 'Of course the dress fits horridly, but perhaps it won't show in the dim light.'

'Oh, is it very bad?' sighed Bell, plaintively; 'I can't see it in this glass. Well, the next one fits better, and I have to wear that the longest. Shall I do your hair, Laura?'

'No—thanks; Margery has such a capital knack at hair-dressing, and she doesn't come on yet.'

During this conversation Polly was struggling with Aunt Truth's trained white wrapper. It was rather difficult to make it look like a court dress; but she looked as fresh and radiant as a rose in it, for the candle-light obliterated every freckle, and one could see nothing but a pair of dancing eyes, the pinkest of cheeks, and a head running over with curls of ruddy gold.

'Now, Bell, criticise me!' she cried, taking a position in the middle of the tent, and turning round like a wax figure. 'I have torn out my hair by the roots to give it a "done up" look, and have I succeeded? and shall I wear any flowers with this lace surplice? and what on earth shall I do with my hands? they're so black they will cast a gloom over the stage. Perhaps I can wrap my handkerchief carelessly round one, and I'll keep the other round your waist, considerable, tucked under your Watteau pleat. Will I do?'

'Do? I should think so!' and Bell eyed her with manifest approval. 'Your hair is very nice, and your neck looks lovely with that lace handkerchief. As for flowers, why don't you wear a great mass of yellow and white daisies? You'll be as gorgeous as—'

'As a sunset by Turner,' said Laura, with a glance at Polly's auburn locks. 'Seems to me this is a mutual admiration society, isn't it?' and she sank languidly into a chair to have her hair dressed.

'Yes, it is,' cried Polly, boldly; 'and it's going to "continner." Meg, you're a darling in that blue print and pretty hat. I'll fill my fern-basket with flowers, and you can take it, as to have something in your hand to play with. You look nicer than any Phoebe I ever saw, that's a fact. And now, hurrah! we're all ready, and there's the boys' bell, so let us assemble out in the kitchen. Oh dear! I believe I'm frightened, in spite of every promise to the contrary.'

When the young people saw each other for the first time in their stage costumes there was a good deal of merriment and some honest admiration. Geoff looked very odd without his eyeglasses and with the yellow wig that was the one property belonging to this star dramatic organisation.

The girls had not succeeded in producing a great effect with the masculine costumes, because of insufficient material. But the boys had determined not to wear their ordinary clothes, no matter what happened; so Jack had donned one of Hop Yet's blue blouses for his Sylvius dress, and had ready a plaid shawl to throw gracefully over one shoulder whenever he changed to the Banished Duke.

His Sylvius attire was open to criticism, but no one could fail to admire his appearance as the Duke, on account of a magnificent ducal head-gear, from which soared a bunch of tall peacock feathers.

'Oh, Jack, what a head-dress for a Duke!' laughed Margery; 'no wonder they banished you. Did you offend the court hatter?'

Phil said that at all events nobody could mistake him for anything but a fool, in his 'Touchstone' costume, and so he was jest-er going to be contented.

Scott Burton was arranging Pancho's toilette for the wrestling-match, and meanwhile trying to raise his drooping spirits; and Rosalind was vainly endeavouring to make Adam's beard of grey moss stay on.

While these antics were going on behind the scenes, the audience was seated on the knoll, making merry over the written programmes, which had been a surprise of Geoff's, and read as follows:-

THE PRINCESS' THEATRE. July 10th, 188-.

APPEARANCE THE GREATEST DRAMATIC COMPANY ON EARTH (FACT). THE COOLEST THEATRE IN THE WORLD.

A Royal Galaxy and Boyaxy of Artists in the play of AS YOU LIKE IT, By William Shakespeare, or Lord Bacon.

CAST.

'Alas! unmindful of their doom, the little victims play; No sense have they of ills to come, or cares beyond to-day.'

ROSALIND The Lady Bell-Pepper. (Her greatest creation.) CELIA The Countess Paulina. PHOEBE The Duchess of Sweet Marjoram. AUDREY A talented Incognita of the Court. ORLANDO Hennery Irving Salvini Strong. (Late from the Blank Theatre, Oil City.) ADAM Dr. Paul Winship. (By kind permission of his manager, Mrs. T. W.) BANISHED DUKE } SYLVIUS } Lord John Howard } Lightning TOUCHSTONE } } Change Artists. JACQUE } Duke of Noble } (N.B.—The Duke of Noble has played the 'fool' five million times.) OLIVER Mr. Scott Burton. (Specially engaged.) CHARLES THE WRESTLER Pancho Muldoon Sullivan. (His first appearance.)

The Comb Orchestra will play the Music of the Future.

The Usher will pass pop-corn between the Acts. Beds may be ordered at 10.30.

The scene between Adam and Orlando went off with good effect; and when Celia and Rosalind came through the trees in an affectionate attitude, and Celia's blithe voice broke the stillness with, 'I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry,' there was a hearty burst of applause which almost frightened them into silence.

At the end of the first act everybody was delighted; the stage- manager, carpenter, scene-shifter, costumier, and all the stars were called successively before the curtain.

Hop Yet declared it was 'all the same good as China theatre'; and every one agreed to that criticism without a dissenting voice.

To be sure, there was an utter absence of stage-management, and all the 'traditions' were remarkable for their absence; but I fancy that the spirits of Siddons and Kemble, Macready and Garrick, looked down with kind approval upon these earnest young actors as they recited the matchless old words, moving to and fro in the quaint setting of trees and moonlight, with an orchestra of cooing doves and murmuring zephyrs.

The forest scenes were intended to be the features of the evening, and in these the young people fairly surpassed themselves. Any one who had seen Neilson in her doublet and hose of silver-grey, Modjeska in her shades of blue, and Ada Cavendish in her lovely suit of green, might have thought Bell's patched-up dress a sorry mixture; yet these three brilliant stars in the theatrical firmament might have envied this little Rosalind the dewy youth and freshness that so triumphed over all deficiencies of costume.

Margery's camping-dress of grey, shortened to the knee, served for its basis. Round the skirt and belt and sleeves were broad bands of laurel-leaf trimming. She wore a pair of Margery's long grey stockings and Laura's dainty bronze Newport ties. A soft grey chudda shawl of Aunt Truth's was folded into a mantle to swing from the shoulder, its fringes being caught up out of sight, and a laurel-leaf trimming added. On her bright wavy hair was perched a cunning flat cap of leaves, and, as she entered with Polly, leaning on her manzanita staff, and sighing, 'Oh Jupiter, how weary are my spirits!' one could not wish a lovelier stage picture.

And so the play went on, with varying fortunes. Margery was frightened to death, and persisted in taking Touchstone's speeches right out of his mouth, much to his discomfiture. Adam's beard refused to stay on; so did the moustache of the Banished Duke, and the clothes of Sylvius. But nothing could damp the dramatic fire of the players, nor destroy the enthusiasm of the sympathetic audience.

Dicky sat in the dress-circle, wrapped in blankets, and laughed himself nearly into convulsions over Touchstone's jokes, and the stage business of the Banished Duke; for it is unnecessary to state that Jack was not strictly Shakespearean in his treatment of the part.

As for Polly, she enjoyed being Celia with all her might, and declared her intention of going immediately on the 'regular' stage; but Jack somewhat destroyed her hopes by affirming that her nose and hair wouldn't be just the thing on the metropolitan boards, although they might pass muster in a backwoods theatre.

'Hello! What's this?' exclaimed Philip, one morning. 'A visitor? Yes—no! Why, it's Senor Don Manuel Felipe Hilario Noriega coming up the canyon! He's got a loaded team, too! I wonder if Uncle Doc is expecting anything.'

The swarthy gentleman with the long name emerged from one cloud of dust and disappeared in another, until he neared the gate where Philip and Polly were standing.

Philip opened the gate, and received a bow of thanks which would have made Manuel's reputation at a Spanish court.

'Going up to camp?'

'Si, senor.'

'Those things for us?'

'Si, senor.'

'What are they?'

'Si, senor.'

'Exactly! Well, are there any letters?'

'Si, senor.' Whereupon he drew one from his gorgeously-decorated leather belt.

Philip reached for it, and Polly leaned over his shoulder, devoured with curiosity.

'It's for Aunt Truth,' she said; 'and—yes, I am sure it is Mrs. Howard's writing; and if it is—'

Hereupon, as Manuel spoke no English, and neither Philip nor Polly could make inquiries in Spanish, Polly darted to the cart in her usual meteoric style, put one foot on the hub of a wheel and climbed to the top like a squirrel, snatched off a corner of the canvas cover, and cried triumphantly, 'I knew it! Elsie is coming! Here's a tent, and some mattresses and pillows. Hurry! Help me down, quick! Oh, slow-coach! Keep out of the way and I'll jump! Give me the letter. I can run faster than you can.' And before the vestige of an idea had penetrated Philip's head, nothing could be seen of Polly but a pair of twinkling heels and the gleam of a curly head that caught every ray of the sun and turned it into ruddier gold.

It was a dusty, rocky path, and up-hill at that; but Polly, who was nothing if not ardent, never slackened her pace, but dashed along until she came in sight of the camp, where she expended her last breath in one shrill shriek for Aunt Truth.

It was responded to promptly. Indeed, it was the sort of shriek that always commands instantaneous attention; and Aunt Truth came out of her tent prepared to receive tragic news. Bell followed; and the entire family would have done the same had they been in camp.

Polly thrust the letter into Mrs. Winship's hand, and sank down exhausted, exclaiming, breathlessly, 'There's a mattress—and a tent- -coming up the canyon. It's Elsie's, I know. Philip is down at the gate—with the cart—but I came ahead. Phew! but it's warm!'

'What!' cried Bell, joyfully. 'Elsie at the gate! It can't be true!' And she darted like an arrow through the trees.

'Come back! come back!' screamed Polly.

'Elsie is not at the gate. Don S. D. M. F. H. N. is there with a team loaded down with things. Isn't it from Mrs. Howard, Aunt Truth?'

'Yes, it is. Written this morning from Tacitas Rancho. Why, how is this? Let me see!'

TACITAS RANCHO, Monday morning.

Dear Truth,—You will be surprised to receive a letter from me, written from Tacitas. But here we are, Elsie and I; and, what is better, we are on our way to you.

('I knew it!' exclaimed the girls.)

Elsie has been growing steadily better for three weeks. The fever seems to have disappeared entirely, and the troublesome cough is so much lessened that she sleeps all night without waking. The doctor says that the camp-life will be the very best thing for her now, and will probably complete her recovery.

('Oh, joy, joy!' cried the girls.)

I need not say how gladly we followed this special prescription of our kind doctor's, nor add that we started at once.

('Oh, Aunt Truth, there is nobody within a mile of the camp; can't I, PLEASE can't I turn one little hand-spring, just one little lady-like one?' pleaded Polly, dancing on one foot and chewing her sun-bonnet string.

'No, dear, you can't! Keep quiet and let me read.')

Elsie would not let me tell you our plans any sooner, lest the old story of a sudden ill turn would keep us at home; and I think very likely that she longed to give the dear boys and girls a surprise.

We arrived at the Burtons' yesterday. Elsie bore the journey exceedingly well, but I would not take any risks, and so we shall not drive over until day after to-morrow morning.

('You needn't have hurried quite so fast, Polly dear.')

I venture to send the tent and its belongings ahead to-day, so that Jack may get everything to rights before we arrive.

The mattress is just the size the girls ordered; and of course I've told Elsie nothing about the proposed furnishing of her tent.

I am bringing my little China boy with me, for I happen to think that, with the Burtons, we shall be fourteen at table. Gin is not quite a success as a cook, but he can at least wash dishes, wait at table, and help Hop Yet in various ways; while I shall be only too glad to share all your housekeeping cares, if you have not escaped them even in the wilderness.

I shall be so glad to see you again; and oh, Truth, I am so happy, so happy, that, please God, I can keep my child after all! The weary burden of dread is lifted off my heart, and I feel young again. Just think of it! My Elsie will be well and strong once more! It seems too good to be true.

Always your attached friend, JANET HOWARD.

Mrs. Winship's voice quivered as she read the last few words, and Polly and Bell threw themselves into each other's arms and cried for sheer gladness.

'Come, come, dears! I suppose you will make grand preparations, and there is no time to lose. One of you must find somebody to help Philip unload the team. Papa and the boys have gone fishing, and Laura and Margery went with them, I think.' And Mrs. Winship bustled about, literally on hospitable thoughts in-tent.

Polly tied on her sun-bonnet with determination, turned up her sleeves as if washing were the thing to be done, and placed her arms akimbo.

'First and foremost,' said she, her eyes sparkling with excitement, 'first and foremost, I am going to blow the horn.'

'Certainly not,' said Aunt Truth. 'Are you crazy, Polly? It is scarcely ten o'clock, and everybody would think it was dinnertime, and come home at once.'

'No, they'd think something had happened to Dicky,' said Bell, 'and that would bring them in still sooner.'

'Of course! I forgot. But can't I blow it earlier than usual? Can't I blow it at half-past eleven instead of twelve? We can't do a thing without the boys, and they may not come home until midnight unless we do something desperate. Oh, delight! There's Don S. D. M. F. H. N., and Phil has found Pancho to help unload.'

'Isn't it lucky that we decided on the place for Elsie's tent, and saved it in case she should ever come?' said Bell. 'Now Philip and Pancho can set it up whenever they choose. And isn't it fortunate that we three stayed at home to-day, and refused to fish? now we can plan everything, and then all work together when they come back.'

Meanwhile Polly was tugging at an immense bundle, literally tooth and nail, as she alternated trembling clutches of the fingers with frantic bites at the offending knot.