And the ferns and the runaway-robins clapped their hands and sang, "Yes, that is the secret. Good-bye! Good-bye!"



MRS. PRIMKINS' SURPRISE.

BY OLIVE THORNE.

Our older readers will remember Nimpo, whose "Troubles" interested them in ST. NICHOLAS'S first year. To our newer friends it is only necessary to say, that Nimpo and Rush were boarding with Mrs. Primkins during their mother's absence, by Nimpo's own desire, and were very unhappy under the care of that well-meaning—but very peculiar—person, who was so greatly surprised on the occasion of the Birthday Party.

One morning, Mrs. Primkins received a letter. This was a very unusual occurrence, and she hastened to wipe her hands out of the dish-water, hunt up her "specs," clean them carefully, and, at last, sit down in her chintz-covered "Boston rocker," to enjoy at her leisure this very rare literary dissipation.

Nimpo, who was boarding with Mrs. Primkins while her mother was off on a journey, was engaged in finishing her breakfast, and did not notice anything. Having found her scissors, and deliberately cut around the old-fashioned seal, Mrs. Primkins opened the sheet and glanced at the name at the bottom of the page, then turned her eyes hastily toward Nimpo, with a low, significant "Humph!"

But Nimpo, intent only on getting off to school, still did not see her. Mrs. Primkins went on to examine more closely, covering with her hands something which fell from the first fold, rustling, to her lap. Very deliberately, then, as became this staid woman, did she read the letter from date to signature, twice over, and, ending as she had begun with a significant "Humph!" she refolded the letter, slipped in the inclosure, put it into her black silk work-bag which hung on the back of her chair, and resumed her dish-washing, for she was a genuine "Yankee housekeeper" of the old-fashioned sort, and scorned the assistance of what she called "hired help."

Meanwhile, Nimpo finished her breakfast, gathered up her books, and hurried off to school, though it was an hour too early, never dreaming that the letter had anything to do with her. After the morning work was done,—the pans scalded and set in the sun; the house dusted from attic to cellar; the vinegar reheated and poured over the walnuts that were pickling; the apples drying on the shed roof, turned over; the piece of muslin ("bolt," she called it) that was bleaching on the grass, thoroughly sprinkled; and, in fact, everything, indoors and out, in Mrs. Primkins' domain, put into perfect order, that lady sat down to consider. She drew the letter from the bag, and read it over, carefully inspecting a ten-dollar bill in her hands, and then leaned back, and indulged herself in a very unusual, indeed totally unheard-of, luxury—a rest of ten minutes with idle hands!

If Nimpo had chanced to come in, she would have been alarmed at such an extraordinary state of things; but she was at that moment in her seat in the long school-house, with wrinkled brow, wrestling with sundry conundrums in her "Watts on the Mind," little suspecting how her fate was hanging in the balance in Mrs. Primkins' kitchen at this moment. At last, Mrs. Primkins' thin lips opened. She was alone in the house, and she began to talk to herself:

"Wants her to have a birthday-party! Humph! I must say I can't see the good of pampering children's folks do nowadays! When I was young, now, we had something to think of besides fine clothes, unwholesome food, and worldly dissipation! I must say I think Mis' Rievor has some very uncommon notions! Hows'ever," she went on, contemplating fondly the bill she still held in her hand, "I do' know's I have any call to fret my gizzard if she chooses to potter away her money! I don't see my way clear to refuse altogether to do what she asks, 's long 's the child's on my hands. Ten dollars! Humph! She 'hopes it'll be enough to provide a little supper for them!' It's my private opinion that it will, and a mite over for—for—other things," she added, resolutely closing her lips with a snap. "I aint such a shif'less manager's all that comes to, I do hope! 'T wont take no ten dollars to give a birthday-party in my house, I bet a cookey!"

That night, when supper was over, Nimpo sat down with the family by the table, which held one candle that dimly lighted the room, to finish a book she was reading. Not that the kitchen was the only room in the house. Mrs. Primkins had plenty of rooms, but they were too choice for every-day use. They were always tightly closed, with green paper shades down, lest the blessed sunshine should get a peep at her gaudy red and green carpets, and put the least mellowing touch an their crude and rasping colors. Nimpo thought of the best parlor with a sort of awe which she never felt toward any room in her mother's house.

"Nimpo," said Mrs. Primkins at last, when she had held back the news till Nimpo had finished her book, and was about to go upstairs, "wait a bit. I got a letter from your Ma to-day."

"Did you?" exclaimed Nimpo, alarmed. "Oh! what is the matter?"

"Don't fly into tificks! Nothing is the matter," said Mrs. Primkins.

"Is she coming home?" was the next eager question.

"No, not yet," fell like cold water on her warm hopes. "But she says to-morrow's your birthday."

"Why, so it is!" said Nimpo, reflecting. "I never thought of it."

"Wal, she thinks perhaps I'd best let you have a few girls to tea on that day, if 't wont be too much of a chore for me," went on Mrs. Primkins, deliberately.

Nimpo's face was radiant. "Oh, Mrs. Primkins, if you will!" But it fell again. "But where could they be?"—for trespassing on the dismal glories of the Primkins' parlor had never entered her wildest dreams.

"I've thought of that," said Mrs. Primkins, grimly. "Of course, I couldn't abide a pack of young ones tramping up my best parlor carpet, and I thought mebbe I'd put a few things up in the second story, and let you have 'em there."

The second story was unfurnished.

"Oh, that will be splendid!" said Nimpo, eagerly. "But,—but,"—she hesitated,—"could they take tea here?" and she glanced around the kitchen, which was parlor, sitting-room, dining-room, and, in fact, almost the only really useful room in the house. The front part Mrs. Primkins enjoyed as other people enjoy pictures, or other beautiful things,—looking at, but not using them.

"No; I shall set the table in the back chamber, and let you play in the front chamber. We can put some chairs in, and I'm sure a bare floor is more suitable for a pack of young ones."

Mrs. Primkins always spoke of children as wild beasts, which must be endured, to be sure, but carefully looked after, like wolves or hyenas.

"Oh yes! We wouldn't be afraid of hurting that. Oh, that'll be splendid!" continued Nimpo, as the plan grew on her. "I thank you so much, Mrs. Primkins!—and we'll be so careful not to hurt anything!"

"Humph!" said Mrs. Primkins, not thinking it necessary to tell her that her mother had sent money to cover the expense. "You're a master hand to promise."

"I know I forget sometimes," said Nimpo, penitently. "But I'll try really to be careful, this time."

"Wal," said Mrs. Primkins, in conclusion, as she folded her knitting and brought out the bed-room candles, "if you don't hector me nigh about to death, I'll lose my guess! But as I'm in for 't now, you may's well bring the girls when you come home from school to-morrow. Then you'll have time to play before supper, for their mothers'll want them home before dark."

"Do you care who I invite?" asked Nimpo, pausing with the door open on her way to bed.

"No, I do' know's I do. Your intimate friends, your Ma said."

"Oh, goody!" said Nimpo, as she skipped upstairs, two at a time. "Wont we have fun! How nice it'll be!"

The next morning she was off, bright and early, and, before the bell rang, every girl in the school knew that Nimpo was going to have a birthday-party, and was wondering if she would be invited. At recess, she issued her invitations, every one of which was promptly accepted; and in the afternoon all came in their best dresses, ready to go home with Nimpo.

At four o'clock, they were dismissed, and Nimpo marshaled her guests and started. Now, the truth was, that the girls had been so very lovely to her when she was inviting, that she found it hard to distinguish between intimate friends and those not quite so intimate, so she had asked more than she realized till she saw them started up the street. However, she had not been limited as to numbers, so she gave herself no concern, as she gayly led the way.

Meanwhile, the Primkins family had been busy. After the morning work was done, Mrs. Primkins and her daughter Augusta made a loaf of plain, wholesome cake, a couple of tins of biscuits, and about the same number of cookies with caraway-seeds in them. After dinner, they carried a table into the back chamber and spread the feast. Nimpo's mother had sent, as a birthday-present, a new set of toy dishes. It had arrived by stage while Nimpo was at school, and been carefully concealed from her; and Augusta, who had not yet forgotten that she was once young (though it was many years before), thought it would be nice to serve the tea on these dishes. Not being able to think of any serious objection, and seeing advantage in the small pieces required to fill them, Mrs. Primkins had consented, and Augusta had arranged a very pretty table, all with its white and gilt china. The biscuits and cookies were cut small to match, and, when ready, it looked very cunning, with tiny slices of cake, and one little dish of jelly—from the top shelf in Mrs. Primkins' pantry.

During the afternoon, a boy came up from the store (Nimpo's father was a country merchant) with a large basket, in which were several pounds of nuts and raisins and candy, which her father had ordered by letter.

Everything was prepared, and Mrs. Primkins had put on a clean checked apron, to do honor to the occasion, and sat down in her rocker, feeling that she had earned her rest, when Augusta's voice sounded from upstairs: "Ma, do look down street!"

Mrs. Primkins went to the window that looked toward the village, and was struck with horror.



"Goodness gracious! Why, what under the canopy! Did you ever!" came from her lips in quick succession, for there was Nimpo, the center of a very mob of girls, all in Sunday best, as Mrs. Primkins' experienced eye saw at a glance.

"Ma!" exclaimed Augusta, rushing down, "I do believe that young one has invited the whole school!"

"The trollop!" was all Mrs. Primkins could get out, in her exasperation.

"I'd send 'em right straight home!" said Augusta, indignantly. "It's a burning shame!"

"Mercy on us! This is a pretty kettle of fish!" gasped Mrs. Primkins.

"I wouldn't stand it! So there!" said Augusta, sharply. "I never did see such a young one! I'd just send every chick and child home, and let Miss Nimpo take her supper in her own room—to pay her off! Things have come to a pretty pass, I think!"

"I never did!" ejaculated Mrs. Primkins, not yet recovering her ordinary powers of speech.

"Shall I go out and meet them, and send them packing?" asked Augusta.

"No," said her mother, reluctantly, remembering the unbroken bill in her "upper drawer." "I do' know's I have a right to send them back. I didn't tell her how many, but—mercy on us!—who'd dream of such a raft! If there's one, there's forty, I do declare!"

"That's the meaning of those enormous packages of nuts and things from the store," said Augusta, "that we thought were enough for an army."

"But the table!" gasped Mrs. Primkins. "For such a crowd! Augusta," hastily, "fly around like a parched pea, and lock the doors of that room, till I think what we can do. This is a party with a vengeance!"

Augusta obeyed, and was none too quick, for the girls crowded into the front chamber before she had secured the doors.

Being a "party," of course they had to go into the house. But as soon as they had thrown off their slat sun-bonnets,—which was in about one second,—and began to look around the bare room, to see what they should do next, Nimpo was seized with a bright idea.

"Girls, let's go out in the yard, and play till tea-time," she said; and the next moment sun-bonnets were resumed, and the whole troop tramped down the back stairs, Nimpo not daring, even on this festive occasion, to disturb the silence of the solemn front hall, and the gorgeous colored stair-carpet. In two minutes, they were deep in the game of "Pom-pom-peel-away," and now was Mrs. Primkins' chance.

She hastily sent Augusta out to the neighbors, letting her out slyly by the front door, so the "party" shouldn't see her, to beg or borrow something to feed the crowd; for, the next day being baking-day, her pantry was nearly empty, and there was not such a thing in the village as a bakery. As soon as she was gone, Mrs. Primkins cleared the table upstairs, hid the small biscuits and minute slices of cake, and brought tables from other rooms to lengthen this. She then carried every cup and saucer and plate of her own up there, and even made several surreptitious visits herself to accommodating friends, to borrow, telling the news, and getting their sympathy, so that they freely lent their dishes, and even sent their boys to carry them over, and their big girls to help arrange.

For an hour, the games went on in the side yard, while a steady stream came in by the front door—the grand front door!—and up the august stairs, carrying bread, cake, dishes, saucers, etc., etc., till there was a tolerable supply, and Mrs. Primkins was in debt numerous loaves of bread and cake, and dishes of "preserves."

At five o'clock, they were called in, and, before their sharp young appetites, everything disappeared like dew in the sunshine. It was a queer meal,—bread of various shapes and kinds, and not a large supply; cakes, an equally miscellaneous collection, from cup-cake which old Mrs. Kellogg had kept in a jar two months, "in case a body dropped in unexpected," to bread-cake fresh from some one else's oven; cookies of a dozen kinds; doughnuts and ginger-cakes, and half a dozen dishes of sweet-meats, no two alike.

But all deficiencies were forgotten when they came to the nuts and candies, for of these there was no lack. Augusta had filled every extra dish in the house with these delightful things, and I sadly fear the children ate shocking amounts of trash. But they had a good time. The entertainment was exactly to their liking,—little bread and butter, and plenty of candy and raisins. It was incomparably superior to ordinary teas, where bread predominated and candy was limited.

After eating everything on the table, putting the remainder of the candy in their pockets, as Nimpo insisted, they flocked into the front room, where Mrs. Primkins told them they might play a while, if they would not make a noise, as a little sprinkle of rain had come up. To insure quiet, each girl took off her shoes, and played in stocking-feet on the bare, rough floor, "blind-man's-buff," "hunt the slipper," and other games, for an hour more.

Suddenly, Nimpo held up her foot.

"Girls! look there!" Nimpo's tone was tragic.

The soles of her stockings were in awful holes! All eyes were instantly turned on her, and forty feet were simultaneously elevated to view. The tale was the same,—every stocking sole was black as the ground, and worn to rags!

"What will Ma say?" rose in horror to every lip.

This awful thought sobered them at once, and, finding it getting dark, shoes were hastily sought out of the pile in the corner, sun-bonnets donned, and slowly the long procession moved down the back stairs and out again into the street.

Nimpo flung herself on to the little bed in her room, and sighed with happiness.

"Oh! wasn't it splendid?—and I know mamma'll forgive my stockings. Besides, I'll wash them myself, and darn them."

(While I am about it, I may as well say that every girl who went to Nimpo's party had a long and serious task of darning the next week.)

When it was all over, and Mrs. Primkins and Augusta, assisted by two or three neighbors, had washed and returned dishes, brought down tables and chairs, swept out front hall, and reduced it to its normal condition of dismal state, to be seen and not used, and the neighbors had gone, and it was nine o'clock at night, Augusta sat down to reckon up debts, while Mrs. Primkins "set the bread."

Augusta brought out her account, and read: "Mrs. A., blank loaves of bread, ditto cake, one dish preserves; Mrs. B., ditto, ditto; Mrs. C., ditto, ditto."

Mrs. Primkins listened to the whole list, and made a mental calculation of how much of the ten-dollar bill it would take to pay up. The result must have been satisfactory, for her grim face relaxed almost into a smile, as she covered up the "sponge" and washed her hands.

"Wal, don't let your Pa get away in the morning till he has split up a good pile of oven-wood. We'll heat the brick oven, and have over Mis' Kent's Mary Ann to help. I guess the money'll cover it, and I can pay Mary Ann in old clothes."



THE LINNET'S FEE.

BY MRS. ANNIE A. PRESTON.

Once I saw a wee brown linnet Dancing on a tree, Dancing on a tree. How her feet flew every minute As she danced at me-e-e; How her feet flew every minute As she danced at me!

"Sing a song for me, wee linnet, Sing a song for me, Sing a song for me." "Oh, Miss, if you'll wait a minute, Till my mate I see-e-e; Oh, Miss, if you'll wait a minute, He will sing for thee."

"Thank you, thank you, wee brown linnet, For amusing me, For amusing me; You have danced for many a minute, You must tired be-e-e, You have sung for many minutes, You must tired be."

"Thanks would starve us," cried the linnets,— As he sung at me, As she danced at me. "Should you sing like this ten minutes, You would want a fee-e-e; Should you dance like this ten minutes You would want a fee."

"Pardon me, I pray, dear linnet, Fly down from your tree, Fly down from your tree. I will come back in a minute With some seed for thee-e-e; I will come back in a minute With some seed for thee."



DAB KINZER: A STORY OF A GROWING BOY.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

CHAPTER XX.

Dismally barren and lonesome was that desolate bar between the "bay" and the ocean. Here and there it swelled up into great drifts and mounds of sand, which were almost large enough to be called hills; but nowhere did it show a tree or a bush, or even a patch of grass. Annie Foster found herself getting melancholy as she gazed upon it and thought of how the winds must sometimes sweep across it, laden with sea-spray and rain and hail, or the bitter sleet and blinding snow of winter.

"Dabney," she said, "was the storm very severe here last night and yesterday?"

"Worse here than over our side of the bay, ten times."

"Were there any vessels wrecked?"

"Most likely; but it's too soon to know just where."

At that moment the "Swallow" was running rapidly around a sandy point, jutting into the bay from the highest mound on the bar, not half a mile from the light-house, and only twice as far from the low, wooden roof of the "wrecking station," where, as Dab had explained to his guests, the life-boats and other apparatus were kept safely housed. The piles of drifted sand had for some time prevented the brightest eyes on board the "Swallow" from seeing anything to seaward; but now, as they came around the point and a broad level lay before them, Ham Morris sprang to his feet in sudden excitement as he exclaimed:

"In the breakers! Why, she must have been a three-master. All up with her now."

"Look along the shore!" shouted Dab. "Some of 'em saved, anyhow. The coast-men are there, life-boats and all."

So they were, and Ham was right about the vessel, though not a mast was left standing in her now. If there had been, indeed, she might have been kept off the breakers, as they afterward learned. She had been dismasted in the storm, but had not struck until after daylight that morning, and help had been close at hand and promptly given. No such thing as saving that unfortunate hull. She would beat to pieces just where she lay, sooner or later, according to the kind of weather and the waves it should bring with it.

The work done by the life-boat men had been a good one, and had not been very easy either, for they had brought the crew and passengers from the wreck safely to the sandy beach. They had even saved some items of baggage. In a few hours, the "coast wrecking tugs" would be on hand to look out for the cargo. No chance whatever for the 'longshoremen, good or bad, to turn an honest penny without working hard for it. Work and wages enough, to be sure, helping to unload, when the sea, now so very heavy, should go down a little; but "wages" were not what some of them were most hungry for.

Two of them, at all events—one a tall, weather-beaten, stoop-shouldered, grizzled old man, in tattered raiment, and the other, even more battered, but with no "look of the sea" about him—stood on a sand-drift gloomily gazing at the group of shipwrecked people on the shore, and the helpless mass of timber and spars out there among the beatings of the surf.

"Not more 'n three hunder yards out. She'd break up soon 'f there was no one to hender. Wot a show we'd hev."

"I reckon," growled the shorter man. "Is your name Peter?"

"Aye. I belong yer. Allers lived about high-water mark. Whar'd ye come from?"

The only answer was a sharp and excited exclamation. Neither of them had been paying any attention to the bay side of the bar and, while they were gazing at the wreck, a very pretty little yacht had cast anchor, close in shore, and then, with the help of a row-boat, quite a party of ladies and gentlemen—the latter somewhat young-looking—had made their way to the land, and were now hurrying forward. They did not pay the slightest attention to Peter and his companion, but, in a few minutes more, they were trying to talk to those poor people on the sea-beach. Trying, but not succeeding very well, for the wreck had been a Bremen bark with an assorted cargo and some fifty passengers, all emigrants. German seemed their only tongue, and none of Mrs. Kinzer's pleasure-party spoke German.

"Too bad," Ford Foster was saying, when there came a sort of wail from a group at a little distance, and it seemed to close with—"pauvre enfant."

"French!" he exclaimed. "Why, they look as Dutch as any of the rest. Come on, Annie, let's try and speak to them."

The rest followed a good deal like a flock of sheep, and it was a sad enough scene which lay before them. No lives had been lost in the wreck, though there had been a great deal of suffering among the poor passengers, cooped up between-decks with the hatches closed, while the storm lasted. Nobody drowned, indeed, but all dreadfully soaked in the surf in getting ashore; and among the rest had been the fair-haired child, now lying there on his mother's lap, so pinched and blue, and seemingly so lifeless.

French, were they? Yes and no; for the father, a tall, stout young man, who looked like a farmer, told Ford they were from Alsace, and spoke both tongues.

"The child, was it sick?"

Not so much sick as dying of starvation and exposure.

Oh, such a sad, pleading look as the poor mother lifted to the moist eyes of Mrs. Kinzer as the portly widow bent over the silent boy. Such a pretty child he must have been, and not over two years old; but the salt water was in his tangled curls now, and his poor lips were parted in a weak, sick way, that spoke of utter exhaustion.

"Can anything be done, mother?"

"Yes, Dabney; you and Ham, and Ford and Frank, go to the yacht, quick as you can, and bring the spirit-heater, lamp and all, and bread and milk, and every dry napkin and towel you can find. Bring Keziah's shawl."

Such quick time they made across that sand-bar!

And they were none too soon; for, as they came running down to their boat, a mean, slouching sort of fellow walked rapidly away from it.

"He was going to steal it."

"Can't go for him now, Dab; but you'll have to mount guard here while we go back with the things."

He did so, and Ham and Frank and Ford hurried back to the other beach to find that Mrs. Kinzer had taken complete possession of that baby. Every rag of his damp things was already stripped off, and now, while Miranda lighted the "heater" and made some milk hot in a minute, the good lady began to rub the little sufferer as only a mother knows how.

Then there was a warm wrapping up in cloths and shawls, and better success than anybody had dreamed of in making the seemingly half-dead child eat something.

"That was about all the matter," said Mrs. Kinzer. "Now if we can get him and his mother over to the house, we can save both of them. Ford, how long did you say it was since they'd eaten anything?"

"About three days, they say."

"Mercy on me! And that cabin of ours holds so little! Glad it's full, anyhow. Let's get it out and over here at once."

"The cabin?"

"No, the provisions."

And not a soul among them all thought of their own lunch, any more than Mrs. Kinzer herself did; but Joe and Fuz were not just then among them. On the contrary, they were over there by the shore, where the "Jenny" had been pulled up, trying to get Dab Kinzer to put them on board the "Swallow."

"Somebody ought to be on board of her," said Fuz, in as anxious a tone as he could, "with so many strange people around."



"It isn't safe," added Joe.

"Fact," replied Dab; "but then I kind o' like to feel a little unsafe."

And the Hart boys felt, somehow, that Dab knew why they were so anxious to go on board, and they were right enough, for he was saying to himself at that moment,

"They can wait. They do look hungry, but they'll live through it. There aint any cuffs or collars in Ham's locker."

All there was then in the locker, however, was soon out of it when Mrs. Kinzer and the rest came, for they brought with them the officers of the wrecked bark, and neither Joe nor Fuz had a chance to so much as "help distribute" that supply of provisions. Ham went over to make sure it should be properly done, while Mrs. Kinzer saw her little patient with his father and mother safely stowed on board the "Swallow."

"I'll save that baby, anyhow," she said to Miranda, "and Ford says his father's a farmer. We can find plenty for 'em to do. They'll never see a thing of their baggage, and I guess they hadn't a great deal."

She was just the woman to guess correctly, but at that moment Dab Kinzer said to Annie Foster in a low tone:

"Whom do you think I've seen to-day?"

"I can't guess. Who was it?"

"The tramp!"

"The same one—"

"The very same. There he goes, over the sand-hill yonder, with old Peter, the wrecker. We've got to hurry home now, but I'm going to set Ham Morris on his track."

"You never'll find him again."

"Do you s'pose old Peter'd befriend a man that did what he did, right on the shore of the bay? No, indeed, there isn't a fisherman from here to Montauk that wouldn't join to hunt him out. He's safe whenever Ham wants him, if we don't scare him now."

"Don't scare him, then," whispered Annie.

The wind was fair and the home sail of the "Swallow" was really a swift and short one, but it did seem dreadfully long to her passengers. Mrs. Kinzer was anxious to see that poor baby safely in bed. Ham Morris wanted to send a whole load of refreshments back to the shipwrecked people. Dab Kinzer could not keep his thoughts from that "tramp." And then, if the truth must come out, every soul on board the beautiful little yacht was getting more and more aware, with every minute that passed, that they had had a good deal of sea air and excitement, and a splendid sail across the bay and back, but no dinner. Not so much as a herring or a cracker.



CHAPTER XXI.

As for the Kinzers, that was by no means their first experience in such matters, but their friends had never before been so near to a genuine, out and out shipwreck. Perhaps, too, they had rarely if ever felt so very nearly starved. At least Joe and Fuz Hart remarked as much a score of times before the "Swallow" slipped through the inlet and made her way toward the landing.

"Ham," said Dab Kinzer, "are you going right back again?"

"Course I am, soon as I can get a load of eatables from the house and the village. You 'll have to stay here."

"Why can't I go with you?"

"Plenty for you to do at the house and around while I'm gone. No, you can't go."

Dab seemed to have expected as much, for he turned to Ford with,

"Then I'll tell you what we must do."

"What's that?"

"See about the famine. Can you cook?"

"No."

"I can, then. Ham'll have one half of our house at work getting his cargo ready, and that baby'll fill up the other half."

"Mother wont be expecting us so soon, and our cook's gone out for the day. Annie knows something."

"She can help me, then. Those Hart boys'll die if they're not fed. Look at Fuz. Why, he can't keep his mouth shut."

Joe and his brother seemed to know, as if by instinct, that the dinner question was under discussion; and they were soon taking their share of talk. Oh, how they wished it had been a share of something to eat! The "Swallow" was moored, now, after discharging her passengers, but Dab did not start for the house with his mother and the rest. He even managed to detain some of the empty lunch-baskets, large ones, too.

"Come on, Mr. Kinzer," shouted Joe Hart, "let's put for the village. We'll starve here."

"A fellow that'd starve here just deserves to, that's all," said Dab. "Ford, there's Bill Lee's boat and three others coming in. We're all right. One of 'em's a dredger."

Ford and Frank could only guess what their friend was up to, but Dab was not doing any guessing.

"Bill," he exclaimed, as Dick's father pulled within hearing,—"Bill, put a lot of your best pan-fish in this basket and then go and fetch us some lobsters. There's half a dozen in your pot. Did those others get any luck?"

"More clams 'n 'ysters," responded Bill.

"Then we'll take both lots."

The respect of the city boys for the resources of the Long Island shore began to rise rapidly a few minutes later, for not only was one of Dab's baskets promptly provided with "pan-fish," such as porgies, black fish and perch, but two others received all the clams and oysters they were at all anxious to carry to the house. At the same time, Bill Lee offered, as an amendment to the lobster question,

"Ye 'r' wrong about the pot, Dab."

"Wrong? Why—"

"Yes, you's wrong. Glorianny's been an' b'iled every one on 'em an' they 're all nice an' cold by this time."

"All right. I never eat my lobsters raw. Just you go and get them, Dick. Bring 'em right over to Ford's house."

Bill Lee would have sent his house and all on a suggestion that the Kinzers or Fosters were in need of it, and Dick would have carried it over for him.

As for "Gloriana," when her son came running in with his errand, she exclaimed:

"Dem lobsters? Sho! Dem aint good nuff. Dey sha'n't hab 'em. I'll jist send de ole man all 'round de bay to git some good ones. On'y dey isn't no kin' o' lobsters good nuff for some folks, dey isn't."

Dick insisted, however, and by the time he reached the back door of the old Kinzer homestead with his load, that kitchen had become very nearly as busy a place as Mrs. Miranda Morris's own, a few rods away.

"Ford," suddenly exclaimed Dab, as he finished scaling a large porgy, "what if mother should make a mistake?"

"Make a mistake? How?"

"Cook that baby! It's awful!"

"Why, its mother's there."

"Yes, but they've put her to bed, and its father too. Hey, here come the lobsters. Now, Ford—"

The rest of what he had to say was given in a whisper, and was not heard by even Annie Foster, who was just then looking prettier than ever as she busied herself around the kitchen fire. As for the Hart boys, Mrs. Foster had invited them to come into the parlor and talk with her till dinner should be ready.

Such a frying and broiling!

Before Ham Morris was ready for his second start, and right in the midst of his greatest hurry, word came over from Mrs. Foster that "the table was waiting for them all."

Even Mrs. Kinzer drew a long breath of relief and satisfaction, for there was nothing more in the wide world that she could do, just then, for either "that baby" or its unfortunate parents, and she was beginning to worry about her son-in-law, and how she should get him to eat something. For Ham Morris had worked himself up into a high state of excitement in his benevolent haste, and did not seem to know that he was hungry. Miranda had entirely sympathized with her husband until that message came from Mrs. Foster.

"Oh, Hamilton, and good Mrs. Foster must have cooked it herself!"

"No," said Ham, thoughtfully; "our Dabney went home with Ford and Annie. I can't stay but a minute, but I think we'd better go right over."

Go they did, while the charitable neighbors whom Ham had stirred up concerning the wreck attended to the completion of the cargo of the "Swallow." There would be more than one good boat ready to accompany her back across the bay, laden with comforts of all sorts.

Even old Jock, the village tavern-keeper, not by any means the best man in the world, had come waddling down to the landing with a demijohn of "old apple brandy," and his gift had been kindly accepted by the special advice of the village physician.

"That sort of thing has made plenty of ship-wrecks around here," remarked the man of medicine; "and the people on the bar have swallowed so much salt-water, the apple-jack can't hurt 'em."

May be, the doctor was wrong about it, but the demijohn went over to the wreck in the "Swallow."

Mrs. Foster's dining-room was not a large one. There were no large rooms in that house. Nevertheless, the entire party managed to gather around the table,—all except Dab and Ford.

"Dab is head cook and I'm head waiter," had been Ford's explanation, "and we can't have any women folk a-bothering about our kitchen. Frank and the boys are company."

Certainly the cook had no cause to be ashamed of his work. The coffee was excellent. The fish were done to a turn. The oysters, roasted, broiled or stewed, and likewise the clams, were all that could have been asked for. Bread there was in abundance, and everything was going finely till Mrs. Kinzer asked her son, as his fire-red face showed itself at the kitchen door:

"Dabney, you've not sent in your vegetables; we're waiting for them."

Dab's face grew still redder, and he came very near dropping a plate he had in his hand.

"Vegetables? Oh yes. Well, Ford, we might as well send them in now. I've got them all ready."

Annie opened her eyes and looked hard at her brother, for she knew very well that not so much as a potato had been thought of in their preparations. Ford himself looked a little queer, but he marched out, white apron and all. A minute or so later, the two boys came in again, each bearing aloft a huge platter.

One of these was solemnly deposited at each end of the table.

"Vegetables?"

"Why, they're lobsters!"

"Oh, Ford, how could you?"

The last exclamation came from Annie Foster as she clapped her hands over her face. Bright red were those lobsters, and fine-looking fellows, every one of them, in spite of Mrs. Lee's poor opinion; but they were a little too well dressed, even for a dinner-party. Their thick shoulders were adorned with collars of the daintiest material and finish, while every ungainly "flipper" wore a "cuff" which had been manufactured for very different uses. Plenty of cuffs and collars, and queer enough the lobsters looked in them. All the queerer because every item of lace and linen was variegated with huge black spots and blotches, as if some one had begun to wash it in ink.

Joe and Fuz were almost as red as the lobsters, and Mrs. Foster's face looked as severe as it could, but that is not saying a great deal. The Kinzer family knew all about those cuffs and collars, and Ham Morris and the younger ladies were trying hard not to laugh.

"Joe," said Fuz, half snappishly, "can't you take a joke? Annie's got the laugh on us this time."

"I?" exclaimed Annie, indignantly. "No, indeed. That's some of Ford's work and Dabney's. Mr. Kinzer, I'm ashamed of you."

Poor Dab!

He muttered something about "those being all the vegetables he had," and retreated to the kitchen. Joe and Fuz were not the sort to take offense easily, however, and promptly helped themselves liberally to lobster. That was all that was necessary to restore harmony at the table; but Dab's plan for "punishing the Hart boys" was a complete failure. As Ford told him afterward,



"Feel it? Not they. You might as well try to hurt a clam with a pin."

"And I hurt your sister's feelings instead of theirs," replied Dab. "Well, I'll never try anything like it again. Anyhow, Joe and Fuz aint comfortable. They ate too many roasted clams and too much lobster."



CHAPTER XXII.

Ham Morris did not linger long at the dinner-table, and Dab would have given more than ever for the privilege of going with him. Not that he felt so very charitable, but that he did not care to prolong his stay at Mrs. Foster's, whether as "cook" or otherwise. He had not lost his appetite, however, and after he had taken care of that, he slipped away "on an errand for his mother," and hurried toward the village. Nearly everybody he met had some question or other to ask him about the wreck, and it was not to have been expected that Jenny Walters would let her old acquaintance pass her without a word or so.

Dab answered as best he could, considering the disturbed state of his mind, but he wound up with:

"Jenny, I wish you'd come over to our house by and by."

"What for?"

"Oh, I've got something to show you. Something you never saw before."

"Do you mean your new baby,—the one you found on the bar?"

"Yes; but that baby, Jenny!"

"What's wonderful about it?"

"Why, it's only two years old and it can squall in two languages. That's more'n you can do."

"They say your friend, Miss Foster, speaks French," retorted Jenny. "Was she ever shipwrecked?"

"In French? May be so. But not in German."

"Well, Dabney, I don't propose to squall in anything. Are your folks going to burn any more of their barns this year?"

"Not unless Samantha gets married. Jenny, do you know what's the latest fashion in lobsters?"

"Changeable green, I suppose."

"No; I mean after they're boiled. It's to have 'em come on the table in cuffs and collars. Lace around their necks, you know."

"And gloves?"

"No, not any gloves. We had lobsters to-day at Mrs. Foster's, and you ought to have seen 'em."

"Dabney Kinzer, it's time you went to school again."

"I'm going in a few days."

"Going? Do you mean you're going away somewhere?"

"Ever so far. Dick Lee's going with me."

"I heard about him, but I didn't know he meant to take you along. That's very kind of Dick. I s'pose you wont speak to common people when you get back."

"Now, Jenny——"

"Good afternoon, Dabney. Perhaps I'll come over before you go, if it's only to see that shipwrecked baby."

A good many of Mrs. Kinzer's lady friends, young and old, deemed it their duty to come and do that very thing within the next few days. Then the Sewing Circle took the matter up, and both the baby and its mother were provided for as they never had been before. It would have taken more languages than two to have expressed the gratitude of the poor Alsatians. As for the rest of them, out there on the bar, they were speedily taken off and carried "to the city," none of them being much the worse for their sufferings, after all. Ham Morris declared that the family he had brought ashore "came just in time to help him out with his fall work, and he didn't see any charity in it."

Good for Ham! but Dab Kinzer thought otherwise when he saw how tired Miranda's husband was on his late return from his second trip across the bay. Real charity never cares to see itself too clearly. They were pretty tired, both of them; but the "Swallow" was carefully moored in her usual berth before they left her. Even then they had a good load of baskets and things to carry with them.

"Is everything out of the locker, Dab?" asked Ham Morris.

"All but the jug. I say, did you know it was half full? Would it do any hurt to leave it here?"

"The jug? No. Just pour out the rest of the apple-jack, over the side."

"Make the fish drunk."

"Well, it sha'n't bother anybody else if I can help it."

"Then, if it's good for water-soaked people, it wont hurt the fish."

"Empty it, Dab, and come on. The doctor wasn't so far wrong, and I was glad to have it with me; but medicine's medicine, and I only wish people'd remember it."

The condemned liquor was already gurgling from the mouth of the jug into the salt water, and neither fish nor eel came forward to get a share of it. When the cork was replaced, the demijohn was set down again in the "cabin," with no more danger in it for anybody.

Perhaps that was one reason—that and his weariness—why Ham Morris did not take the pains even to lock it up.

Dabney was so tired in mind if not in body, that he postponed until the morrow anything he may have had to say about the tramp. He was not at all sure whether the latter had recognized him, and at all events the matter would have to wait. So it came to pass that all the village and the shore was deserted and silent, an hour or so later, when a stoutly built "cat-boat" with her one sail lowered, was quietly sculled up the inlet. There were two men on board,—a tall one and a short one,—and they ran their boat right alongside the "Swallow," as if that were the very thing they had come to do.

"Burgin," remarked the tall man, "what ef we don't find anything arter all this sailin' and rowin'? Most likely he's kerried it to the house. In course he has."

The keenly watchful eyes of Burgin had followed the fortunes of that apple-jack from first to last. To tell the truth, he had more than half tried to work himself in as one of the "sufferers," but with no manner of success. He had not failed, however, to see the coveted treasure stowed away, at last, under the half-deck of the "Swallow." That had been all the inducement required to get Peter and his boat across the bay, and the old "wrecker" was as anxious about the result as the tramp himself could be. It was hard to say which of them was first on board the "Swallow."

* * * * *

A disappointed and angry pair they were when the empty jug was discovered; but Burgin's indignation was loudest and most abusive. Peter checked him, at last, with:

"Look a yer, my friend, is this 'ere your boat?"

"No, I didn't say it was, did I?"

"Is that there your jug? I don't know 'at I keer to hev one o' my neighbors abused all night jest bekase I've been an' let an entire stranger make a fool of me."

"Do you mean me?"

"Well, ef I didn't I wouldn't say it. Don't git mad, now. Jest let's take a turn 'round the village."

"You go and I'll wait for ye. 'Pears like I don't keer to walk about much."

"Well, then, mind you don't run away with my boat."

"If I want a boat, there's plenty here better'n your'n."

"That's so. I wont be gone a great while."

He was, however, whatever may have been his errand. Old Peter was not the man to be at any loss for one, even at that time of night, and his present business kept him away from the shore a full hour. When at last he returned he found his boat safe enough, and so, apparently were all the others; but he looked around in vain for any signs of his late companion. Not that he spent much time or took any great pains in looking, for he muttered to himself:

"Gone, has he? Well then, a good riddance to bad rubbidge. I aint no angel, but he's a long ways wuss than I am."

Whether or not old Peter was right in his estimate of himself or of Burgin, in a few moments more he was all alone in his cat-boat, and was sculling it rapidly up the crooked inlet.

His search had been indeed a careless one, for he had but glanced over the gunwale of the "Swallow." A second look would have shown him the form of the tramp, half covered by a loose flap of the sail, deeply and heavily sleeping at the bottom of the boat. It was every bit as comfortable a bed as he had been used to, and there he was still lying, long after the sun looked in upon him, next morning.

But other eyes were to look in upon Burgin's face before he awakened from that untimely and imprudent nap.

It was not so very early when Ham Morris and Dabney Kinzer were stirring again; but they had both arisen with a strong desire for a "talk," and Ham made an opportunity for one by saying:

"Come on, Dab; let's go down and have a look at the 'Swallow.'"

Ham had meant to talk about school and kindred matters; but Dabney's first words about the tramp cut off all other subjects.

"You ought to have told me," he said. "I'd have had him tied up in a minute."

Dabney explained as well as he could, but, before he had finished, Ham suddenly exclaimed:

"There's Dick Lee on board the 'Swallow.' What's he there for?"

"Dick!" shouted Dabney.

"Cap'n Dab, did yo' set dis yer boat to trap somebody?"

"No. Why?"

"Well den, you's gone an' cotched um. Jes you come an' see."

The sound of Dick Lee's voice, so near them, reached the dull ears of the slumbering tramp and, as Ham and Dabney sprang into a yawl and pushed alongside the yacht, his unpleasant face was slowly and sleepily lifted above the rail.

"It's the very man!" excitedly shouted Dabney.

"The tramp?"

"Yes, the tramp."

No one would have suspected Ham Morris of so much agility, although his broad and well-knit frame promised abundant strength, but he was on board the "Swallow" like a flash and Burgin was "pinned" by his iron grasp before he could guess what was coming.

It was too late, then, for any such thing as resistance, and he settled at once into a dogged, sullen silence, after the ordinary custom of his kind when they find themselves cornered. It is a species of brute, animal instinct, more than even cunning, seemingly, but not a word did Ham and Dabney obtain from their prisoner until they delivered him to the safe keeping of the village authorities. That done, they went home to breakfast, feeling as if they had made a good morning's work, but wondering what the end of it all would be.



CHAPTER XXIII.

The other boys were very much interested in the story of the tramp, and so was Mr. Foster when he came home, but poor Annie was a good deal more troubled than pleased.

"Oh, mother," she exclaimed, "do you suppose I'll have to appear in court as a witness against him?"

"I hope not, dear. Perhaps your father can manage to prevent it."

It would not have been easy for even so good a lawyer as Mr. Foster, if Burgin himself had not saved them all trouble on that score. Long before the slow processes of country criminal justice could bring him to actual trial, so many misdeeds were brought home to him from here and there, that he gave the matter up and freely related not only the manner of the barn-burning, but his revengeful motive for it. He made his case so very clear that when, in due course of time, he was brought before a judge and jury, there was nothing left for him to do but to plead "guilty."

That was some months later, however, and just at that time the manner of his capture—for the story of the demijohn leaked out first of all—gave the village something new to talk about. It was as good as a temperance lecture in spite of old Jock's argument that:

"You see, boys, good liquor don't do no harm. That was real good apple-jack, an' it jist toled that chap across the bay and captured him without no manner of diffikilty."

There were plenty who could testify to a different kind of "capture."

One effect of the previous day's work, including his adventures as an ornamental cook, was that Dab Kinzer conceived himself bound to be thenceforth especially polite to Joe and Fuz. The remaining days of their visit would have been altogether too few for the various entertainments he laid out for them.

They were to catch all that was to be caught in the bay. They were to ride everywhere and see everything.

"They don't deserve it, Dab," said Ford; "but you're a real good fellow. Mother says so."

"Does she?" and Dab evidently felt a good deal better after that.

Dick Lee, when his friends found time to think of him, had almost disappeared. Some three days afterward, while all the rest were out in the "Jenny," having a good time with their hooks and lines, "Gloriana" made her appearance in Mrs. Kinzer's dining-room with a face that was darker than usual with motherly anxiety.

"Miss Kinzer, has you seed my Dick dis week?"

"No, he hasn't been here at all. Anything the matter with him?"

"Dat's de berry question. I doesn't know wot to make ob 'im."

"Why, is he studying too hard?"

"It aint jist de books. I isn't so much afeard ob dem, but it's all 'long ob dat 'cad'my. I wish you'd jist take a look at 'im, fust chance ye git."

"Does he look bad?"

"No, taint jist altogeder his looks. He's de bes' lookin' boy 'long shoah. But den de way he's goin' on to talk. 'T aint nateral. He use to talk fust rate."

"Can't he talk now?"

"Yes, Miss Kinzer, he kin talk, but den de way he gits out his words. Nebber seen sech a t'ing in all my born days. Takes him eber so long jist to say good-mornin'. An' den he don't say it like he used ter. I wish you'd jist take a good look at 'im."

Mrs. Kinzer promised, and gave her black friend such comfort as she could, but Dick Lee's tongue would never again be the free and easy thing it had been. Even at home and about his commonest "chores," he was all the while struggling with his pronunciation. If he succeeded as well with the rest of his "schooling," it was safe to say that it would not be thrown away upon him.

Gloriana went her way, and the next to intrude upon Mrs. Kinzer's special domain was her son-in-law himself, accompanied by his rosy bride.

"We've got a plan!"

"You? A plan? What about?"

"Dab and his friends."

"A party!" exclaimed Dab, when his mother unfolded Ham's plan to him. "Ham and Miranda give a party for us boys! Well, now, aren't they right down good! But, mother, we'll have to get it up mighty quick."

"I know, but that's easy enough with all the help we'll have. I'll take care of that."

"But, mother, what can we do? There's only a few know how to dance. I don't, for one."

"You must talk that over with Ford. Perhaps Annie and Frank can help you."

Great were the consultations and endless were the plans and propositions, till even Mrs. Kinzer found her temper getting a little worried over them.

"Miranda," she said, on the morning of the day, "all the invitations are sent now, and we must get rid of Dabney and the boys for a few hours."

"Send 'em for some greens to rig the parlor with," suggested Ham. "Let 'em take the ponies."

"Do you think the ponies are safe to drive just now?"

"Oh, Dab can handle 'em. They're a trifle skittish, that's all. They need a little exercise."

So they did, but it was to be doubted if the best way to secure it for them was to send them out in a light, two-seated wagon, with a load of five lively boys.

"Now, don't you let one of the other boys touch the reins," said Mrs. Kinzer.

Dab's promise to that effect was a hard one to keep, for Joe and Fuz almost tried to take the reins away from him before they had driven two miles from the house. He was firm, however, and they managed to reach the strip of woodland, some five miles inland, where they were to gather their load, without any disaster, but it was evident to Dab all the way, that his ponies were in unusually "high" condition. He took them out of the wagon while the rest began to gather their very liberal harvest of evergreens, and did not bring them near it again until all was ready for the start homeward.

"Now, boys," he said, "you get in. Joe and Ford and Fuz on the back seat to hold the greens. Frank, get up there, forward, while I hitch the ponies. These fellows are full of mischief."

Very full, certainly, nor did Dab Kinzer know exactly what the matter was, for a minute or so after he seized the reins and sprang up beside Frank Harley. Then, indeed, as the ponies reared and kicked and plunged, it seemed to him he saw something work out from under their collars and fall to the ground. An acorn-burr is just the thing to worry a restive horse, if put in such a place, but Joe and Fuz had hardly expected their "little joke" would be so very successful as it was.

The ponies were off now.

"Joe," shouted Fuz, "let's jump!"

"Don't let 'em, Ford," exclaimed Dab, giving his whole energies to the horses. "They'll break their necks if they do. Hold 'em in!"

Ford, who was in the middle, promptly seized an arm of each of his panic-stricken cousins, while Frank clambered over the seat to help him. They were all down on the the bottom now, serving as a weight to hold the branches, as the light wagon bounced and rattled along over the smooth, level road.

In vain Dab pulled and pulled at the ponies. Run they did, and all he could do was to keep them fairly in the road.

Bracing strongly back, with the reins wound around his tough hands, and with a look in his face that should have given courage even to the Hart boys, Dab strained at his task as bravely as he had stood at the tiller of the "Swallow" in the storm.

No such thing as stopping them.

And now, as they whirled along, even Dab's face paled a little.

"I must reach the bridge before he does. He's just stupid enough to keep right on."

And it was very stupid indeed for the driver of that one-horse "truck wagon" to try and reach the narrow little unrailed bridge first. It was an old, used-up sort of a bridge, at best.

Dab loosened the reins a little, but could not use his whip.

"Why can't he stop!"

It was a moment of breathless anxiety, but the wagoner kept stolidly on. There would be barely room to pass him on the road itself; none at all on the narrow bridge.

The ponies did it.

They seemed to put on an extra touch of speed, on their own account, just then.

There was a rattle, a faint crash, and then, as the wheels of the two vehicles almost grazed one another in passing, Ford shouted:

"The bridge is down!"

Such a narrow escape!

One of the rotten girders, never half strong enough, had given way under the sudden shock of the hind wheels and that truck wagon would have to find its path across the brook as best it could.

There were more wagons to pass as they plunged forward, and rough places in the road, for Dabney to look out for, but even Joe and Fuz were now getting confidence in their driver. Before long, too, the ponies themselves began to feel that they had had nearly enough of it. Then it was that Dab used his whip again, and the streets of the village were traversed at such a rate as to call for the disapprobation of all sober-minded people.

"Here we are, Ham, greens and all."

"Did they run far?" asked Ham, quietly.



CHAPTER XXIV

The boys had returned a good deal sooner than had been expected, but they made no more trouble. As Ford Foster remarked, they were all "willing to go slow for a week" after being carried so very fast by Dab Kinzer's ponies.

There was a great deal to be said about the runaway, and Mrs. Foster longed to see Dab and thank him on Ford's account, but he himself had no idea that he had done anything remarkable, and was very busily at work decking Miranda's parlors with the "greens."

A very nice appearance they made, all those woven branches and clustered sprays, when they were in place, and Samantha declared for them that,

"They had kept Dab out of mischief all the afternoon."

At an early hour after supper, the guests began to arrive, for Mrs. Kinzer was a woman of too much sense to have night turned into day when she could prevent it. As the stream of visitors steadily poured in, Dab remarked to Jenny Walters:

"We shall have to enlarge the house after all."

"If it were only a dress, now?"

"What then?"

"Why, you could just let out the tucks. I've had to do that with mine."

"Jenny, shake hands with me."

"What for, Dabney?"

"I'm so glad to meet somebody else that's outgrowing something."

There was a tinge of color rising in Jenny's face, but, before she could say anything, Dab added:

"There! Jenny, there's Mrs. Foster and Annie. Isn't she sweet?"

"One of the nicest old ladies I ever saw——"

"Oh, I didn't mean her mother."

"Never mind. You must introduce me to them."

"So I will. Take my arm."



Jenny Walters had been unusually kindly and gracious in her manner that evening, and her very voice had much less than its accustomed sharpness, but her natural disposition broke out a little some minutes later, while she was talking with Annie. Said she:

"I've wanted so much to get acquainted with you."

"With me?"

"Yes. I've seen you in church, and I've heard you talked about, and I wanted to find out for myself."

"Find out what?" asked Annie a little soberly.

"Why, you see, I don't believe it's possible for any girl to be as sweet as you look. I couldn't, I know. I've been trying these two days, and I'm nearly worn out."

Annie's eyes opened wide with surprise, and she laughed merrily as she answered:

"What can you mean? I'm glad enough if my face doesn't tell tales of me."

"But mine does," said Jenny, "and then I'm so sure to tell all the rest with my tongue. I wish I knew what were your faults."

"My faults? What for?"

"I don't know. Seems to me if I could think of your faults instead of mine, it wouldn't be so hard to look sweet."

Annie saw that there was more earnestness than fun in the queer talk of her new acquaintance. The truth was that Jenny had been having almost as hard a struggle with her tongue as ever poor Dick Lee with his, though not for not the same reason. Before many minutes she had frankly told Annie all about it, and she could never have done that if she had not somehow felt that Annie's "sweetness" was genuine. The two girls were sure friends after that, much to the surprise of Mr. Dabney Kinzer.

He, indeed, had been too much occupied in caring for his guests to pay special attention to one of them. His mother had looked after him again and again with eyes brimful of pride and of commendation of the way he was acquitting himself.

Even Mrs. Foster said to her husband, who had now arrived:

"Do you see that? Who would have expected as much from a raw, green country boy?"

"But, my dear, don't you see? The secret of it is that he's not thinking of himself at all. He's only anxious his friends should have a good time."

"That's it; but then that too is a very rare thing in a boy of his age."

"Dabney!" exclaimed the lawyer in a louder tone of voice.

"Good-evening, Mr. Foster. I'm glad you've found room. The house isn't half large enough."

"I understand your ponies ran away with you to-day?"

"They did come home in a hurry; but nobody was hurt."

"I fear there would have been, but for you. Do you start for Grantley with the other boys to-morrow?"

"Of course. Dick Lee and I need some one to take care of us. We never traveled so far before."

"On land, you mean. Is Dick here to-night?"

"Came and looked in, sir, but got scared by the crowd and went home."

"Poor fellow! Well, we will do all we can for him."

Poor Dick Lee!

And yet, if Mr. Dabney Kinzer had known his whereabouts at that very moment he would half have envied him.

Dick's mother was in the kitchen helping about the supper, but she had not left home until she had compelled Dick to dress himself in his best,—white shirt, red neck-tie, shining shoes and all,—and she had brought him with her almost by force.

"You's good nuff to go to de 'cad'my and leab yer pore mother, an' I reckon you's good nuff for de party."

And Dick had actually ventured in from the kitchen through the dining-room and as far as the door of the back parlor, where few would look.



How his heart did beat as he looked on the merry gathering, a large part of whom he had known "all his born days!"

But there was a side door opening from that dining-room on the long piazza which Mrs. Kinzer had added to the old Morris mansion, and Dick's hand was on the knob of that door almost before he knew it.

Then he was out on the road to the landing, and in five minutes more he was vigorously rowing the "Jenny" out through the inlet toward the bay.

His heart was not beating unpleasantly any longer, but as he shot out from the narrow passage through the flags and saw the little waves laughing in the cool, dim starlight, he suddenly stopped rowing, leaned on his oars, gave a sigh of relief, and exclaimed:

"Dar! I's safe now. I aint got to say a word to nobody out yer. Wonder 'f I'll ebber git back from de 'cad'my an' kitch fish in dis yer bay? Sho! Course I will. But goin' away's awful!"

Dab Kinzer thought he had never known Jenny Walters to appear so well as she looked that evening; and he must have been right, for good Mrs. Foster said to Annie:

"What a pleasant, kindly face your new friend has! You must ask her to come and see us. She seems quite a favorite with the Kinzers."

"Have you known Dabney long?" Annie had asked of Jenny a little before that.

"Ever since I was a little bit of a girl, and a big boy seven or eight years old pushed me into the snow."

"Was it Dabney?"

"No, but Dabney was the boy that pushed him in for doing it, and then helped me up. Dab rubbed his face for him with snow till he cried."

"Just like him!" exclaimed Annie with emphasis. "I should think his friends here will miss him."

"Indeed they will," replied Jenny, and then she seemed disposed to be quiet for a while.

The party could not last forever, pleasant as it was, and by the time his duties as "host" were met, Dabney was tired enough to go to bed and sleep soundly. His arms were lame and sore from the strain the ponies had given them, and that may have been the reason why he dreamed half the night that he was driving runaway teams and crashing over rickety old bridges.

But why was it that every one of his dream-wagons, no matter who else was in it, seemed to have Jenny Walters and Annie Foster smiling at him from the back seat?

He rose later than usual next morning, and the house was all in its customary order by the time he got down-stairs.

Breakfast was ready also, and, by the time that was over, Dab's great new trunk was brought down-stairs by a couple of the farm-hands.

"It's an hour yet to train-time," said Ham Morris; "but we might as well get ready. We must be on hand in time."

What a long hour that was, and not even a chance given for Dab to run down and take a good-bye look at the "Swallow!"

His mother and Ham and Miranda and the girls seemed to be all made up of "good-bye" that morning.

"Mother," said Dab.

"What is it, my dear boy?"

"That's it exactly. If you say 'dear boy' again, Ham Morris 'll have to carry me to the cars. I'm all kind o' wilted now."

Then they all laughed, and before they got through laughing, they all cried except Ham.

He put his hands in his pockets and drew a long whistle.

The ponies were at the door now. The light wagon had three seats in it, but when Dab's trunk was in, there was only room left for the ladies; Ham and Dab had to walk to the station.

It was a short walk, however, and a silent one, but as they came in sight of the platform, Dab exclaimed:

"There they are, all of them!"

"The whole party?"

"Why, the platform's as crowded as our house was last night."

Mrs. Kinzer and her daughters were already the center of the crowd of young people, and Ford Foster and Frank Harley, with Joe and Fuz Hart were asking what had become of Dab, for the train was in sight.

A moment later, as the puffing locomotive drew up by the water-tank, the conductor stepped out on the platform, exclaiming:

"Look a here, folks. This aint right. If there was going to be a picnic you'd ought to have sent word, and I'd have tacked on an extra car. You'll have to pack in, now, best you can."

He seemed much relieved when he found how small a part of the crowd were to be his passengers.

"Dab," said Ford, "this is your send-off, not ours. You'll have to make a speech."

Dab did want to say something, but he had just kissed his sisters and his mother, and half a dozen of his school-girl friends had followed the example of Jenny Walters, and then Mrs. Foster had kissed him, and Ham Morris had shaken hands with him, and Dab could not have said a loud word to have saved his life.

"Speech!" whispered Ford, mischievously, as Dab stepped upon the platform; but Dick Lee, who had just escaped from the tremendous hug his mother had given him, came to his friend's aid in the nick of time. Dick felt that "he must shout, or he should go off," as he afterward told the boys, and so at the top of his shrill voice he shouted:

"Hurrah for Cap'n Kinzer! Dar aint no better feller lef' along shore!"

And, amid a chorus of cheers and laughter, and a grand waving of white handkerchiefs, the engine gave a deep, hysterical cough, and hurried the train away.

The two homesteads by the Long Island shore were a little lonely for a while, after the departure of all those noisy, merry young fellows. Mr. Foster had enough to do in the city, and Ham Morris had his farm to attend to, besides doing more than a little for Mrs. Kinzer. It was much the better for both estates that he had that notable manager at his elbow. The ladies, however, old and young, had plenty of time to come together and wonder how the boys were getting along, even before the arrival of the first batch of letters.

"They must be happy," remarked kind Mrs. Foster, after the long, boyish epistles had been read, over and over; "and such good letters! Not one word of complaint of anything."

Mrs. Kinzer assented somewhat thoughtfully. Dabney had not complained of anything; but while he had praised the village, the scenery, the academy, the boys, and had covered two full sheets of paper, he had not said a word about the table of his boarding-house.

"He is such a growing boy," she said to herself. "I do hope they will give him enough to eat."

It went on a good deal in that way, however, for weeks, even till the Fosters broke up their summer residence and returned to the city. There were plenty of letters, and all his sisters wondered where Dabney had learned to write so capitally; but Mrs. Kinzer's doubts were by no means removed until Ham Morris showed her a part of a curious epistle Dabney had sent to him in a moment of confidence.

"I tell you what, Ham," he wrote, "mother doesn't know what can be done with corn. Mrs. Myers does. She raised a pile of it last year, and the things she makes with it would drive a cook-book crazy. I've been giving them Latin names, and Frank, he turns them into Hindustanee. It's real fun, but I sha'n't be the boy I was. I'm getting corned. My hair is silkier and my voice is husky. My ears are growing. I'd like some fish and clams for a change. A crab would taste wonderfully good. So would some oysters. They don't have any up here; but we went fishing, last Saturday, and got some perch and cat-fish and sun-fish. They call them pumpkin-seeds up here, and they aint much bigger. Don't tell mother we don't get enough to eat. There's plenty of it, and you ought to see Mrs. Myers smile when she passes the johnny-cake. We are all trying to learn that heavenly smile. Ford does it best. I think Dick Lee is getting a little pale. Perhaps corn doesn't agree with him. He's learning fast, though, and so am I; but we have to work harder than the rest. I guess the Hart boys know more than they did when they came here, and they didn't get it all out of their books, either. We keep up our French and our boxing; but oh, wouldn't I like to go for some blue-fish, just now! Has mother made any mince-pies yet? I've almost forgotten how they taste. I was going by a house here the other day and I smelt some ham, cooking. I was real glad I hadn't forgotten. I knew what it was right away. Don't you be afraid about my studying, for I'm at it all the while, except when we're playing ball or eating corn. They say they have sleighing here earlier than we do, and plenty of skating. Well, now, don't say anything to mother about the corn; but wont I eat when I get home.—Yours all the while. DABNEY KINZER."

"Why, the poor fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Kinzer, and it was not very many days after that before young Dabney received a couple of boxes by express.

There was a boiled ham in the first one and a great many other things, and Dab called in all the other boys to help him get them out.

"Mince-pies!" shouted Ford Foster. "How'd they ever travel so far?"

"They're not much mashed," said Dabney. "There's enough there to start a small hotel. Now let's open the other."

"Ice. Sawdust. Fish, I declare. Clams. Oysters. Crabs. There's a lobster. Ford, Frank, Dick, do you think we can eat those fellows?"

"After they're cooked," said Ford.

"Well, I s'pose we can; but I feel like shaking hands with 'em, all round. They're old friends and neighbors of mine, you know."

"I guess we'd better eat 'em."

"Cap'n Dab," remarked Dick Lee, "dey jest knocks all de correck pronounciation clean out of me."

Eaten they were, however, and Mrs Myers was glad enough to have her boarders supply such a remarkable "variety" for her table, which, after that "hint," began to improve a little.

And so we leave Dab Kinzer, still, in mind and body, as when first we saw him, a growing boy.



WHERE?

BY MARY N. PRESCOTT.

Where does the Winter stay? With the little Esquimaux, Where the frost and snow-flake grow? Or where the white bergs first come out, Where icicles make haste to sprout, Where the winds and storms begin, Gathering the crops all in, Among the ice-fields, far away?

Where does the Summer stay? In distant sunny places, 'Midst palms and dusky faces, Where they spin the cocoa thread, Where the generous trees drop bread, Where the lemon-groves give alms, And Nature works her daily charms, Among the rice-fields, far away?



PARLOR MAGIC.

(Pleasing, Harmless, and Inexpensive Experiments, chiefly Chemical, for Young People.)

BY LEO H. GRINDON.

This series of experiments is designed for the use of young people who are interested in the wonders and the beautiful realities of nature, and who delight to observe for themselves how curious are the phenomena revealed by scientific knowledge. Simple instructions are given for the performance of a number of pretty experiments, all of which are perfectly safe, and cost very little money. For "evenings at home," it is hoped that these experiments will be found indefinitely amusing and recreative, at the same time that they will lead the minds of boys and girls to inquiries into the entire fabric of the grand sciences which explains the principles on which they are founded. All the materials spoken of, and all the needful apparatus, which is of the simplest and most inexpensive kind, can be obtained at a good chemist's. It is of the highest importance that all the materials be pure and good.

PARLOR SUNSHINE.

Obtain a yard of "magnesium tape" or "magnesium wire," sold very cheap by most druggists. Cut a length of six or eight inches; bend one extremity so as to get a good hold of it with a pair of forceps, or even a pair of ordinary scissors, or attach it to the end of a stick or wire. Then hold the piece of magnesium vertically in a strong flame, such as that of a candle, and in a few seconds it will ignite, burning with the splendor of sunshine, and making night seem noonday. As the burning proceeds, a quantity of white powder is formed. This is pure magnesia. While performing this splendid experiment, the room should be darkened.

CADAVEROUS FACES.

This is an amusing contrast to the lighting-up by means of magnesium; Again let the room be nearly darkened. Put about a tea-cupful of spirits of wine in a strong common dish or saucer, and place the dish in the middle of the table. Let every one approach to the distance of about a yard. Then ignite the spirit with a match. It will burn with a peculiar yellowish-blue flame, and in the light of this the human countenances, and all objects of similar color, lose their natural tint, and look spectral. The contrast of the wan and ghostly hue with the smiling lips and white teeth of those who look on, is most amusing. The effect of this experiment is heightened by dissolving some common table-salt in the spirit, and still further by putting into it a small quantity of saffron. Let the spirit burn itself away.

THE BREATH OF LIFE.



Procure a tolerably large bell-glass, such as is used for covering clocks and ornaments upon the mantel-piece. It should not be less than eighteen inches high, and eight or nine inches in diameter. Provide also a common dish, sufficiently large to allow the bell-glass to stand well within its raised border. Then procure two little wax candles, three or four inches in length, and stand each in a little bottle or other temporary candlestick. Place them in the center of the dish and light the wicks. Then pour water into the dish to the depth of nearly an inch, and finish by placing the bell over the candles, which of course are then closely shut in. For a few minutes all goes on properly. The flames burn steadily, and seem to laugh at the idea of their being about to die. But, presently, they become faint,—first one, then the other; the luster and the size of the flames diminish rapidly, and then they go out. This is because the burning candles consumed all the oxygen that was contained within the volume of atmosphere that was in the bell, and were unable, on account of the water, to get new supplies from outside. It illustrates, in the most perfect manner, our own need of constant supplies of good fresh air. The experiment may be improved, or at all events varied, by using candles of different lengths.

ROSE-COLOR PRODUCED FROM GREEN.

Obtain a small quantity of roseine,—one of the wonderful products obtained from gas-tar, and employed extensively in producing what are called by manufacturers the "magenta colors." Roseine exists in the shape of minute crystals, resembling those of sugar. They are hard and dry, and of the most brilliant emerald green. Drop five or six of these little crystals into a large glass of limpid water. They will dissolve; but instead of giving a green solution, the product is an exquisite crimson-rose color, the color seeming to trickle from the surface of the water downward. When the solution has proceeded for a short time, stir the water with a glass rod, and the uncolored portion of it will become carmine.

SOME ELECTRICAL EXPERIMENTS.

Take a piece of common brown paper, about a foot in length, and half as wide. Hold it before the fire till it becomes quite hot. Then draw it briskly under your left arm several times, so as to rub it on both surfaces against the woolen cloth of your coat. It will now have become so powerfully electrified, that if placed against the papered wall of the parlor, it will hold on for some time, supported, as it were, by nothing.

While the piece of brown paper is thus so strangely clinging to the wall, place a small, light, and fleecy feather against it, and this, in turn, will cling to the paper.

Now, again, make your piece of brown paper hot by the fire, and draw it, as before, several times under the arm. Previously to this, attach a string to one corner, so that it may be held up in the air. Several feathers, of a fleecy kind, may now be placed against each side of the paper, and they will cling to it for several minutes.

Another curious electrical experiment is to take a pane of common glass, make it warm by the fire, then lay it upon two books, allowing only the edges to touch the books, and rub the upper surface with a piece of flannel, or a piece of black silk. Have some bran ready, strew it upon the table under the piece of glass, and the particles will dance.

TO CUT A PHIAL IN HALF.

Wind round it two bands of paper, corresponding in position to the two temperate zones of the earth, leaving a space between, corresponding to the equatorial zone. Secure the two bands of paper with thread or fine twine. Then wind a long piece of string once around the equatorial space. Let an assistant hold one end of the string, and while holding the other end yourself, move the phial rapidly to and fro, so that the string shall work upon the glass between the two pieces of paper. When the glass becomes hot in the equatorial space, pour some cold water upon it, and the glass will break as evenly as if cut with a knife.



The principle involved in this curious experiment may be applied to the removal of a glass stopper, when too tight in the neck of the bottle for the fingers to stir it. All that is necessary is to wind a piece of thick string round the neck of the bottle, get an assistant to hold one end, and then work the bottle to and fro. The glass of the neck will become so warm as to expand, and the stopper will become loosened. It is often necessary to continue this friction for some minutes before the desired result is attained.

THE INVISIBLE RENDERED VISIBLE.

Place a coin in an empty basin, and let the basin be near the edge of the table. Ask one of the company to stand beside it, and to retire slowly backward until he or she can no longer see the coin. Then pour cold, clear water into the basin, and the person, who the moment before could not perceive the coin, now will see it quite plainly, though without moving a hair's breadth nearer.



LIGHT FROM SUGAR.

In a dark room, rub smartly one against the other, a couple of lumps of white sugar, and light will be evolved. A similar effect is produced by rubbing two lumps of borate of soda one against the other.

MINIATURE FIRE-SHIPS.

Procure a good-sized lump of camphor. Cut it up into pieces of the size of a hazel-nut, and having a large dish filled with cold water in readiness, lay the pieces on the surface, where they will float. Then ignite each one of them with a match, and they will burn furiously, swimming about all the time that the burning is in progress, until at last nothing remains but a thin shell, too wet to be consumed.

PURPLE AIR.

Obtain an olive-oil flask, the glass of which must be colorless. In default of an oil-flask, a large test-tube may be employed. Put into it a small quantity of solid iodine (procurable at the chemist's and very cheap), then lightly stop the mouth of the flask or test-tube with some cotton-wool, but not hermetically, and hold it slantwise over the flame of a spirit-lamp. The heat will soon dissolve the iodine, which will next turn into a most beautiful violet-colored vapor, completely filling the glass, and disappearing again as the glass gets cold.

THE TWO EGGS.

Dissolve as much common table-salt in a pint of water as it will take up, so as to prepare a strong brine. With this brine half fill a tall glass. Then pour in pure water, very carefully. Pour it down the side, or put it in with the help of a spoon, so as to break the fall. The pure water will then float upon the top of the brine, yet no difference will be visible. Next, take another glass of exactly the same kind, and fill it with pure water. Now take a common egg, and put it into the vessel of pure water, when it will instantly sink to the bottom. Put another egg into the first glass, and it will not descend below the surface of the brine, seeming to be miraculously suspended in the middle. Of course the two glass vessels should be considerably wider than the egg is long.

THE MAGIC APERTURE.

Put several lighted candles upon the table, in a straight row and near together. Lay upon the table, in front of them, a large piece of smooth, white paper. Have ready a piece of pasteboard, large enough to conceal the candles, with a small hole cut in it above the middle. Place this so as to stand upon its edge between the row of candles and the sheet of paper in front, and there will be as many images of flames thrown through the hole and upon the paper as there are burning candles.



GREEN FIRE.

Obtain some boracic acid, mix it well with a small quantity of spirits of wine, or alcohol, place the alcohol in a saucer upon a dish, and then ignite it with a match. The flame will be a beautiful green. To see the color to perfection, of course, the room should be somewhat darkened.

A green flame may also be produced by using chloride of copper instead of boracic acid. And instead of mixing it with the alcohol, a small quantity may be imbedded in the wick of a candle.

A BEAUTIFUL IMITATION OF HOAR FROST.

Obtain a large bell-glass, with a short neck and cork at the top, such as may be seen in the chemists' shops. Then procure a small quantity of benzoic acid, which exists in the shape of snowy crystals. Elevate the bell-glass upon a little stage made of books or pieces of wood, so as to allow a spirit-lamp to be introduced underneath, and a little evaporating dish to be held above the flame by means of a ring of wire with suitable handle. Place the benzoic acid in the evaporating dish, over the flame, and presently the acid will ascend in vapor and fill the bell, which must not be quite closed at the top. Before setting up the apparatus, introduce into the bell a small branch of foliage, which may be hung by a thread from the neck of the bell. The stiffer and more delicate this branch, the better. In a short time, it will become covered with a soft white deposit of the acid, very closely resembling hoar-frost. This makes an extremely pretty ornament for the parlor.



TO BOIL WATER WITHOUT FIRE.

Half fill a common oil-flask with water, and boil it for a few minutes over the flame of a spirit-lamp. While boiling, cork up the mouth of the flask as quickly as you can, and tie a bit of wet bladder over the cork, so as to exclude the air perfectly. The flask being now removed from the lamp, the boiling ceases. Pour some cold water upon the upper portion of the flask, and the ebullition recommences! Apply hot water, and it stops! And thus you may go on as long as you please.

TO CONVERT A LIQUID INTO A SOLID.

Dissolve about half a pound of sulphate of soda in a pint of boiling water, and after it has stood a few minutes to settle, pour it off into a clean glass vessel. Pour a little sweet oil upon the surface, and put it to stand where it can get cold, and where no one will touch it. When cold, put in a stick, and the fluid, previously clear, will at once become opaque, and begin to crystallize, until at length there is a solid crystalline mass.

ICE ON FIRE.

Make a hole in a block of ice with a hot poker. Pour out the water, and fill up the cavity with camphorated spirits of wine. Then ignite the spirit with a match, and the lump of ice will seem to be in flames.

EXPERIMENTS REQUIRING CHEMICAL SOLUTIONS.

To prepare these solutions, purchase of a druggist a small quantity of the solid crystals of the substance needed for the experiment you wish to try. Dissolve the crystals in clear pure water, and keep the solution in a little bottle, labeled with the name. It is seldom that the solutions need be strong. When the crystal is a colored one, enough should be used to give the water a light tint, blue, yellow, or what it may be. None of these solutions will do any harm to the hands, unless there is a cut or a wound of any kind upon the skin. It is well also, not to let a drop of any of them fall upon the clothes, or upon furniture, for some of them will stain. And none of them should ever be tasted, or touched by the lips or tongue, many of them being acrid and even poisonous.

With the acids still greater care is needed, the stronger acids being corrosive and poisonous. The greater portion of these substances must likewise not be smelled, as the fumes or vapors would affect the nostrils painfully.

For the proper performance of these experiments with solutions, etc.,—at all events for the neatest and most elegant performance of them,—there should be obtained from the chemist's shop about a dozen test-tubes. These are little glass vessels, manufactured on purpose, and very cheap. Do not take glasses that may afterward be used for drinking or household purposes. Be careful to have every one of your experiment glasses perfectly clean.

To produce a Beautiful Violet-Purple Color.

Take a nearly colorless solution of any salt of copper. The sulphate is the cheapest and handiest. Fill the test-tube or other experimenting-glass about two-thirds full. Then drop in, slowly, a little liquid ammonia. It will cause a beautiful blue to appear, and presently a most lovely violet-purple, which, by stirring with a glass rod, extends all through the fluid.

If now you drop into this a very little nitric acid, the fluid will again become as clear as pure water.

To Make a Splendid Scarlet.

Again take some solution of sulphate of copper. Add to it a little solution of bichromate of potash. Then add a little solution of nitrate of silver, and there is produced a splendid scarlet color.

To Make a Deep Blue.

Now, take a nearly colorless solution of sulphate of iron, and drop into it, slowly, a small quantity of solution of yellow prussiate of potash. This will induce a beautiful deep blue, quite different from the blues that are produced from copper salts.

To Make a Yellow Color.

Take a solution of acetate of lead, and add a few drops of solution of iodide of potassium, and a most lovely canary-yellow color is produced.

Invisible Inks.

Nearly all those experiments which result in the production of color may be performed in another way, and be then applied to the purposes of secret writing. Thus:

Write with dilute solution of sulphate of copper. The writing will be quite invisible, but become blue when held over the vapor of liquid ammonia.

Write with the same solution, and wash the paper with solution of yellow prussiate of potash, and the writing, previously invisible, will become brown. If you choose you may reverse this method, writing with solution of the prussiate of potash, and washing the paper with solution of the copper salt.

Write with solution of sulphate of iron, and the writing will again be invisible. Wash it over with tincture of galls, and it becomes black.

Write with sulphate of iron, and use a wash of yellow prussiate of potash, and the writing will come out blue. This experiment may likewise be reversed, and with similar result.

How to Copper a Knife-Blade.

Make a rather strong solution of sulphate of copper. Let a clean and polished piece of steel or iron, such as the blade of a knife, stand in it for a few minutes, and the iron will become covered or encrusted with a deposit of pure copper.

To Make Beautiful Crystals.

Dissolve, in different vessels, half an ounce each of the sulphates of iron, zinc, copper, soda, alumina, magnesia, and potash. The solutions can be made more rapidly by using warm water. When the salts are all completely dissolved, pour the whole seven solutions into a large dish, stir the mixture with a glass rod, then place it in a warm place, where it will not be disturbed. By degrees, the water will evaporate, and then the salts will re-crystallize, each kind preserving its own proper form and color. Some occur in groups, some as single crystals. If carefully protected from dust, these form extremely pretty ornaments for the parlor.

Alum Baskets.

These may be prepared by dissolving alum in water in such quantity that at last the water can take up no more, and the undissolved alum lies at the bottom of the vessel. The solution thus obtained is called a saturated one. Then procure a common ornamental wire basket, and suspend it in the solution, so as to be well covered in every part. There should be twice as much solution as will cover the basket. The wires of the basket should be wound with worsted, so that the surface may be rough. Leave it undisturbed in the solution, and gradually the crystals will form all over the surface. Before putting in the basket, it is best to further strengthen the solution by boiling it down to one half, after which it should be strained.

The Lead-Tree.

Dissolve half an ounce of acetate of lead in six ounces of water. The solution will be turbid, so clarify it with a few drops of acetic acid. Now put the solution into a clean phial, nearly filling the phial. Suspend in the solution, by means of a thread attached to the cork, a piece of clean zinc wire. By degrees, the wire will become covered with beautiful metallic spangles, like the foliage of a tree.



UN ALPHABET FRANCAIS.

PAR LAURA CAXTON.



A FAIR EXCHANGE.

BY MRS. M. F. BUTTS.

"Oh, Willow, where did you get your fringe, In New York or in Paris? Tell me, and I will get some too, Because I am an heiress; And I buy me everything I want; I have a ring and a feather; I promenade in my white kid boots Each day in pleasant weather."

"Oh, little one, where did you get the pink, In your pretty, round cheek glowing? And where did you get the yellow curls, Over your shoulders flowing? Perhaps you can tell me how they are made; If you think so, darling, try it; And when you succeed, I'll tell you about My fringe, and where to buy it."



HOW TEDDY CUT THE PIE.

(A Geometrical Jingle.)

BY ROSSITER JOHNSON.

Teddy, Jimmy, Frank, and I Fished all day for smallest fry, And as evening shades drew nigh, Stopped to see if we could buy, At a road-side groce-ry, Anything they called a pie.

There was one, and only one, Deeply filled and brownly done, Warm from standing in the sun, Flanked on each side by a bun, Since that summer day begun.

From the window it was brought, With our pennies it was bought; Then a knife was quickly sought— Who would cut it as he ought?

"Leave it all," says Ted, "to me," As the knife he flourished free; "I have cut a great ma-ny."

"But," says Frank, who feared our fate, "Will you cut it fair and straight?" "Straight?" says Ted. "I'll tell you what— Straighter than a rifle-shot: Straighter than the eagle's flight. Straight as any ray of light."

"I will mark the place," says Jim— Great exactness was his whim— And he measured, on the rim, Starting-points, as guides for him.

Ted put in the knife with glee; First he cut from A to B! Then he cut from C to D!! Then he took the piece marked E!!!

Every cut was straight, he said,— He would bet his curly head. Such a perfect, born-and-bred Geometric rogue was Ted.



"CHAIRS TO MEND!"

BY ALEXANDER WAINWRIGHT.

The art of doing small things well has a good illustration in the humble chair-mender of the London streets, who is also one of the most interesting of out-door tradesmen.

He carries all his implements and materials with him. A very much worn chair is thrown over one arm as an advertisement of his occupation, and it is needed, for his cry, "Cha-ir-s to men-n-nd," is uttered in a melancholy and indistinct, though penetrating, tone. Under the other arm he usually has a bundle of cane, split into narrow ribbons.