Mr. White laughed as he understood the rivalry between the two factions, and promised to send his wife to the meetings of the mothers to convey any advice or suggestions he might think of.

"Oh, splendid! We expect to hold our first meeting at our house to-night. Do bring her over!" cried Mrs. Talmage.

As the three were going out to the automobile, Mr. White ventured a remark.

"I have been told that the paper for the sample issue was to be sent over when you wished it. Now, I thought of making an advertising proposition to the corporation at their next meeting. If the magazine would mention that all the paper used by them for letters, circulars and magazines was furnished by the Oakdale Mills, it would be a good exchange if the company donated the paper needed for the first year's work."

The ladies stood amazed at the generous idea.

"Every paper mill in the country will try to place a contract with the children as soon as news of this plan is out. Now, the Oakdale Mills can secure its contract for future years by being wide-awake for the present. It is a strictly business proposition, you see," explained Mr. White.

"It may seem so to you, but I know that it is a proposition that no other firm would offer, and we are deeply grateful for your interest," replied Mrs. Talmage, sagaciously.

"I'll suggest it, and you find out if the magazine is willing to give us the mention I hinted at," said Mr. White.

Handing the huge book of addresses to Ike, Mrs. Talmage shook hands with Mr. White and reminded him to bring his wife to the meeting.

"Well! that was the best hour's business yet!" exclaimed Aunt Selina, as the car sped away.

"Wonderful, isn't it? I hope everything will glide along as nicely as it has up to the present," said Mrs. Talmage.

Being Friday, school closed an hour earlier than usual. The moment the Blue Birds could catch their hats from the pegs in the cloak-rooms, they ran out to join Ruth, who was hopping from one foot to the other in a vain effort to calm her impatience.

"Hurry, girls! Don't you know Mother Wings went to the mills this morning for samples of paper?" called one to the other as they ran up to Ruth.

It was not long thereafter that seven eager little girls crowded about Mrs. Talmage on the veranda to hear the news.

"I'll show you the samples, but we will wait for the mothers' opinion to-night. But this great secret I will give to you now!" and, forthwith, Mrs. Talmage told the Blue Birds all about Mr. White's interest and ideas, and showed them the precious volume loaned them.



CHAPTER XI

THE WINTER NEST COUNCIL

Before eight o'clock that night the Blue Birds and their mothers were assembled in the living-room ready for a council. The children had not seen the den for a few days and stared in delight as they filed into the room. Mrs. Talmage had purposely had all meet together before mentioning that they might as well spend the evening in the Winter Nest.

"Why, Mother Wings, when did you fix this up?" asked Ruth, as much surprised as the others.

Mrs. Talmage smiled, but said nothing.

The guests looked about and admired the unique charm of the Blue Bird quarters for the winter, and Betty ventured the question: "What has become of our other chairs?"

The room had all been renovated. The windows were hung with snow-flake madras, and the floor covered with heavy knotted white rag carpet that looked like snow freshly packed. The walls had been repapered with a sparkling white paper which glistened like ice in the electric light. From the wainscoting to the picture rail branches of dark green spruce and pine were fastened and upon these green needles were caught flakes of make-believe snow—made of white cotton-batting with diamond dust powdered on it. The furniture of the summer Nest had been brought in late that afternoon and the slip covers, which had been made for it, were slipped over until the thick white covers hid the familiar chairs under the novelty cloth that looked like snow-drifts. The whole effect was so beautiful that the children danced about with joy.

"Well, we must get at our work," reminded Aunt Selina, after enough chairs had been brought in for all.

"I walked over with Mr. Wells and he was quite surprised to find I was coming to the house," said Mrs. Wells, laughingly.

"I never said a word to Mr. Talmage or his brother," confided Mrs. Talmage, smiling at the secret.

"Mr. Stevens knows I am at this council with Betty, but he hasn't the faintest idea for what," admitted Mrs. Stevens.

And so it was that not one of the men who had formed the habit of dropping in to help the Bobolinks could imagine what their wives were doing with the Blue Birds.

If the inmates of the Winter Nest that night could have seen the questioning faces of the boys and men when it was known that a meeting of mothers was being held, they would have felt the balm of satisfaction applied to wounded pride.

Mrs. Talmage showed the sample of paper and, after a discussion of merit and price, a selection was made of an artistic grey paper to be printed in blue—the colors of the Blue Birds.

"We must have envelopes to match, mother," said Ruth.

"I never thought of that, but it is so!" admitted Mrs. Talmage.

"I know the address of a firm where Mr. Wells has all of his 'made-to-order' envelopes made—we will get them to do it," suggested Mrs. Wells.

"What a relief to hear that offer!" sighed Mrs. Talmage. "I was just wondering where I could find anyone who would make them for us."

"It also goes to prove that many heads gathered to discuss Blue Bird affairs are better than one, and I suggest that we meet at least once a week," suggested Aunt Selina.

So it was then and there agreed that the mothers would come regularly to hold a council in the Winter Nest with the Blue Birds.

"Just as soon as the envelopes come back we can begin to address from mother's big book, can't we?" asked Norma.

"If there's only one book, how can all of this crowd read it at the same time and then write down the names?" demanded Dot Starr.

"Why, we won't have to do that work," added Mrs. Wells. "There's a firm in the city that addresses envelopes for a dollar a thousand."

"Another fine hint! I'm sure I'd rather pay my share than risk Dot's ruining dozens of envelopes with ink," laughed Mrs. Starr, patting Dot on the hand.

"We wouldn't want to write 'em in here, because the snow would freeze our fingers so the ink would spatter all over," said Dot, ludicrously.

"Yes, I suppose these lovely covers would be speckled black by the time the Blue Birds completed, say, fifty thousand addresses," laughed Aunt Selina.

"I would vote against Edith's writing—I fear the person would never get the letter—it would go straight to the Dead Letter Office," said Mrs. Wilson, pulling Edith's curls.

As everyone knew how Edith hated writing and never could write a legible hand, a laugh went up, in which Edith joined heartily.

So the Blue Birds were spared the arduous task of copying thousands of names.

"I have heard that these large addressing bureaus prefer to employ children—I wonder why?"

"Because children just finishing grammar school are more careful in forming letters and can write much better than adults. Besides, they have to pay children but a third that an adult would demand for his labor," explained Mrs. Wells.

"Why, isn't that just as bad as working children in a factory?" questioned Miss Selina.

"The rooms that I visited are just as bad. The girls are crowded close together in a wretchedly lighted room without ventilation, and they sit writing all day with their poor backs bent double and fingers grown crooked from habit," said Mrs. Wells.

"Goodness! Can't we do something to stop it?" cried Mrs. Starr.

"They have to have the money for home needs, and it isn't quite as bad, you know, as working all day in cold water to your knees, opening oysters at a cent a hundred."

"Oh, dear, dear! don't tell me any more," half wept Aunt Selina. "I feel like a criminal to think I lost all of these years with money piling up in the bank that could have helped hundreds of these little workers. Let's get busy this minute!"

"It would be nice to take all these little workers to the country, wouldn't it?" queried Mrs. Talmage.

"Yes, yes! But, Mary, don't delay me longer in this work—I have so many years to make up, and so little time to do it in," mourned Aunt Selina.

"All right! Now that is settled—we hire a firm to do the addressing, and Mrs. Wells will see to the envelopes. What next?" said Mrs. Talmage.

"Oh, Mother Wings, don't forget about that book—you know?" reminded Ruth.

"Oh, of course! One of our great secrets! Here is a volume loaned us by Mr. White, of the Oakdale Paper Mills, and it has the addresses of all the stationers in the country," explained Mrs. Talmage. "He suggested that we send a sample magazine to each, with a letter stating agents' commissions and price of subscription."

"And that reminds me—the book you wrote for was given me to bring in to-night, and I left it out in the hall," said Mrs. Wells, turning to Frances and asking her to get it.

The institution book was brought in, and its pages eagerly scanned.

"My! what a lot of poor children there are!" said Dot sympathetically.

"It doesn't seem possible, does it?" said Mrs. Starr, turning to the others.

"We never realize what needs there are for help until we face something of this sort," said Mrs. Talmage, turning page after page. Suddenly she stopped.

"Has anyone here an idea of how many dependent little ones there are in the United States alone?"

Heads were silently shaken, and Mrs. Talmage continued:

"There are 87,000 children's institutions—homes, hospitals, asylums, and homes for cripples that are mostly supported by gifts, philanthropy, or legacies. About one-fourth of these are partially controlled by the state. The number of inmates in these institutions amounts to 1,740,520 children. Think of it! Practically a million and three-quarters! How terrible!" And Mrs. Talmage had to find her handkerchief to dry her eyes at the picture of so many, many dear little ones bereft of home and mother-love.

"Mary, Mary, I shall have to run away from here if you keep on!" cried Aunt Selina.

"But, Aunty, it is not your fault, and you must not feel this way, especially as you are doing so much to improve the conditions," said Mrs. Talmage.

"Well, mother, I should say that if there are 87,000 addresses to send letters to, we'd better begin that letter now, and not spoil Flutey's pleasure by thinking of all the things she never did," advised Ruth, very sensibly.

"Yes, that letter is very important—let us compose it," said Aunt Selina.

After an hour of writing and rewriting, Mrs. Talmage read aloud the result of their labor:

"Dear Friend:

"The Blue Birds of Oakdale have started a philanthropic work which must appeal to everyone who is willing to help our poor children. A magazine is being published, a sample of which is being sent you, that will contain instructive, helpful, interesting articles.

"Perhaps you know that there are 87,000 benevolent institutions in this country filled with over a million and a half poor children, to whom this magazine will prove a welcome visitor. The cost of producing this magazine is partially paid for by donations, and the profit of the work is all devoted to a settlement in the country where the city children can spend the summer.

"Inclosed find a subscription blank. Make all checks payable to 'Blue Birds of Happy Times Nest.'"

"Wish we had time to run over to the Bobolinks and order fifty thousand of these letters," suggested Dot.

"Oh, wouldn't it be fun to see their faces!" laughed Norma.

"Maybe we will have time—it is only five minutes to nine," announced Mrs. Talmage, looking at her watch.

"We can try it—we will walk down the path, and if we find they are leaving we can keep our own council until another night," said Mrs. Talmage, as everyone rose hurriedly to go.

The children hurried on before, while the ladies followed more sedately.

The heavy doors were closed, but an opening about a foot wide left space enough for Ruth to squeeze through and pull one of the sliding doors along the groove to admit the other visitors.

The men had been lounging about, talking and watching their sons work, but upon the entrance of the ladies everyone arose in surprise.

"Rather a late hour for a call, dear," ventured Mr. Stevens.

"Oh, not at all. We were attending a business meeting, and found it necessary to leave an order with the Bobolinks."

"An order—what kind of an order?" questioned Ned dubiously.

Mrs. Talmage handed over the copy of the letter she wanted printed, and directed the company to get out a proof as soon as possible, for they would need about fifty thousand.

"Fifty thousand!" gasped the boys, while the men looked incredulous.

The Blue Birds could not restrain a giggle at the utter amazement of the Bobolinks, and the ladies thoroughly enjoyed their husbands' surprise.

"Oh, well, I suppose it will take you a long time to run off so many, so you may do ten thousand at a time," said Mrs. Talmage.

The Bobolinks could find no words with which to reply, and the men seemed to have lost their tongues also. While Mrs. Talmage waited for an answer, Don scowled at his twin sister.

"I am still waiting to hear you accept the order," smiled Mrs. Talmage, feeling that the Blue Birds had scored a point.

"Maybe you are not yet ready to do business," suggested Mrs. Wells, with just a touch of sarcasm.

"Of course we are ready!" exclaimed several boys, faintly echoed by the men.

"Then tell us how long will it be before you can show us a proof?" asked Mrs. Talmage.

"H'm! We will have to consult," replied Ned, as he beckoned some of the Bobolinks to the rear of the room.

The Blue Birds were so delighted at catching the Bobolinks napping that they danced up and down, finding it very difficult to keep their secret.

Don was the first to come over to the ladies.

"Say, what do you want that letter for? Where will you ever get paper enough to print ten thousand—we can't buy it for you," he growled.

"Don, come back here and mind your business!" shouted Meredith.

"When you return to the boys, please ask them to hurry, as we have another letter to ask them about—we may need 100,000 of these," said Mrs. Starr sweetly.

The Blue Birds noticed that their fathers looked sceptical at the last sentence.

"You never made up a list like that!" grunted Don, looking at the Blue Birds with fire shining in his eyes.

"What do you think we were doing while you spent your evenings having a good time?" retorted Dot.

"Humph!" was the only reply Don granted his sister.

"Folks said this summer that we Blue Birds were little hustlers, but I never paid much attention to them then; but now I think we are hustlers when I see the way you Bobolinks poke away for two weeks and nothing to show for it," teased May.

Mr. Wells was called over to join the conference of the Bobolinks before an answer was given the Blue Birds.

"We will set this type and run off a proof by to-morrow evening; will that do?" said Ned, coming forward with the letter.

The Blue Birds thought it would take the boys about three days to set type and give a proof, so it was their turn to be surprised. Mrs. Talmage seemed to understand, however, and replied in a very condescending voice:

"Oh, yes, to-morrow will be Saturday, and Uncle Ben will be here at noon. That will be fine, for, of course, he will show you what to do; and I am sure he knows just what he would like for the purpose."

The looks exchanged between the Bobolinks and Mr. Wells were sufficient proof that Mrs. Talmage was right in her surmise, but the Blue Birds were too polite to say anything more.

The men said it was long past closing hours, so the lights were extinguished, and the whole party went out into the cool night air.

Early Saturday morning the Blue Birds met again in their pretty Winter Nest, and Mrs. Talmage told them what she had thought over since the night before.

"Since Uncle Ben will be here all afternoon to supervise the work, I think it would be as well for us to form the letter for the philanthropists, too; then he can help the Bobolinks set the type."

The Blue Birds agreed that this was a wise plan, and so the letter was discussed and composed. This done, they went to the Publishing House with the copy, and told the boys what they wanted. The Bobolinks were hunting for the right style of type and fussing about the machines so as to have them in readiness for the afternoon.

Uncle Ben arrived at noon, and the boys placed their work under his supervision. From the expression on his face when he read the letters, it appeared that he understood the plans the Blue Birds were keeping so quiet.

"What are you smiling at, Uncle Ben?" asked Ned, keen to find out what the Blue Birds were planning.

"At the remarkable progress the Blue Birds have made since I last visited you," returned Uncle Ben.

"Why, they haven't done anything—much," grumbled Don.

"Only fixed up these two letters for us to print," added Meredith.

"They haven't done their usual sewing and playing in the cherry-tree nest, either," said Jinks.

"Is that so? Well, how do you know what they have been doing without your knowledge?" asked Uncle Ben laughingly.

The boys looked at him, and their eyes asked the question, "What?"

"As an old magazine man, I can see signs in these two letters that tell me of two tremendous pieces of work being started—and being very nicely handled, too. Why, I would not be surprised to have the Blue Birds fly down upon this Publishing House some day and settle here long enough to say that they had a paid-up subscription list of ten thousand! At any rate, you boys had better prepare to print about fifty thousand sample copies of the first magazine."

The faces of the Bobolinks looked as if their owners must sit down or collapse. Uncle Ben laughed heartily at them.

"Ah, you're only fooling us, as usual," ventured Ned.

"No, siree! I am not. Wait and see," returned Uncle Ben.

Without further discussion, Uncle Ben showed the boys the proper style of type to use for a letter, then helped them run off a proof of both letters.

"This will show the Blue Birds that we are not so slow but that we can turn out samples in up-to-date style," said Ned, as he admired the printing.

"Now, run off a few letters on this paper," ordered Uncle Ben, producing some beautiful bond paper.

"My, but it's pretty! Where'd you get it, Uncle Ben?" asked Ned.

"I brought it out for the Blue Birds' inspection, but I shouldn't doubt but that they have already attended to that detail, so we will present our proof all finished on my paper."

"Now, tell us, Uncle Ben, why you think the Blue Birds have a big plan of their own," entreated Ned.

Uncle Ben smiled and reminded the boys to keep his words from becoming public property.

"I should say that the fact that the Blue Birds have not been near their old Nest all week, when the weather is so glorious, proves that they have a deeper interest elsewhere. Now, what can that be? Here you have a hint of part of the interest," and Uncle Ben waved the letters at the boys. "How do I know?

"Take these two letters—either one of them would startle a slow circulation manager in the city if he thought a competitor suddenly produced it! Why, in some way the Blue Birds have found a way to reach book stores, stationers, and similar business places. Then, too, the mention of needing thousands shows me they have found a mine of addresses that is worth a large price to a publisher."

"Ah, Uncle Ben, you're wrong there! The Blue Birds haven't gone anywhere, and no one has been here to tell them how to get such names," said Ned.

Without replying to Ned's words, Uncle Ben continued:

"Then, too, they must have the institution work well under consideration or they would not have ordered the form letter—and hinted at the size of the order."

The boys shook their heads, unwilling to admit that Uncle Ben's surmises sounded practical.

"Lastly, they have their paper selected, because they told you the size this sheet of printing is to be; and therefore they must know how deep a margin they will need. To get the size of their printing correct, they would have to know how many sheets will cut out of a large sheet of paper, and order it cut accordingly."

"If they have done all those things that you say they have, they are 'way ahead of us Bobolinks," grumbled Don.

Uncle Ben laughed and advised:

"Boys, work with these Blue Birds, not against them or ahead of them. Do not think that just because they are girls, and you are boys, that they are going to remain in the shade and let you boys come out and shine in the light. If you boys ever do business in the city, you will find that a woman will contest your right at every step, for to-day's women are equal in every way to the men—I rather think a number of them are superior to the men. These Blue Birds are but a proof of what I say. They will not permit the Bobolinks to walk off with the honors that are due them." And Uncle Ben chuckled at the idea.

"Well, Uncle Ben, you'll help us in every way until we are even with the girls, won't you?" asked Ned.

"And you won't help the Blue Birds any more, will you?" asked Don.

"I am absolutely neutral," replied Uncle Ben, holding both hands up over his head. "I won't take sides, but I will help the work along in every way, for I want it to succeed. I'll help you when you need it, and I'll help these little Blue Birds. But do as I said: Work together, not in a spirit of rivalry, for that will only sow seeds of strife and discontent."

"Come on, boys, let's take Uncle Ben to the house and show our letter proofs to the Blue Birds," said Ned.

So the Bobolinks were taught their lesson in trying to win a race by running for a time and then resting.



CHAPTER XII

THE STORY OF AN ALASKAN TRIP

When the Bobolinks reached the house, they found the veranda occupied by the Blue Birds, who sat in a semi-circle about three ladies in rocking chairs—Mrs. Talmage, Aunt Selina, and Mrs. Catlin. The latter had a roll of paper in her lap, and evidently had been explaining something to the audience.

"Oh, boys, you're just in time!" cried Ruth.

"Mrs. Catlin's got her story all written for our magazine, and she was just going to read it," explained Dot.

"May we hear it?" asked Ned, for the Bobolinks.

"Why, certainly. Sit right down on the steps," said Mrs. Catlin.

As soon as the boys were comfortable, she continued:

"I was about seventeen when I read the exciting tales of gold in California and the wealth to be obtained in Seattle—a town that was boomed in a night. I knew my father would never consent to my leaving home, so I said nothing, but pawned my watch and ring, drew my savings from the bank, and raised enough money to pay my way West. I worked part of my way, and stole rides on freight cars part of the way, until I found myself in Seattle. I was not particular where I went as long as it was in the West. Well, in Seattle I found that the fever of gold mining in Alaska was reaching a boiling point, and every steamer bound for Sitka was already overloaded, but I managed in some way to steal aboard and hide until the captain could not turn me off. I had to do some awfully dirty work, however, and had very little to eat.

"We arrived at Sitka, and there I spent some more of my money for a passage to Juneau City. There I landed with forty dollars left in my pockets. Ten of this was paid out for a hard bed and some scanty food, and I soon feared that I would be left without a cent unless I started somewhere for the gold mines. I heard all kinds of stories about the gold found up on the Yukon River, so I found a shed where outfits were sold, and paid twenty dollars for an outfit that was said to be all I would need. I still had a few dollars left when I started on the road, with my outfit strapped to my back, visions of finding millions of dollars' worth of gold always before my eyes.

"I walked along a trail that seemed to be well traveled, and felt glad to get away from the drink-sodden town. I had tramped for hours, when the outfit began to rub painfully on my back. I was hungry, too, for the food given me at the eating-houses was unfit to eat. In buying my outfit, I added a strip of bacon and a loaf of black bread, so I decided to rest for a bit and have my dinner.

"The country, as far as I could see, was very beautiful, so I sat down beside the trail and dropped my pack. I took out the tiny frying pan and cut some bacon into it. I gathered some sticks, and then tried to light one of the matches that was in the waterproof box, but it merely sputtered and went out. I used so many matches in this way that I became nervous lest the supply give out. Finally I ate my bread and bacon as it was, and was about to strap the outfit together again when I spied a caravan leaving the town several miles beyond the point where I sat. I was so interested in watching the long line, as it lengthened out along the trail, that I forgot how soon night comes down in this country. I had no plans for the night, and expected to go much farther before I struck camp. When the caravan had come halfway the distance from town toward me, I picked up my pack and started on.

"I found the pack dreadfully heavy this time, and had to rest several times. I was thus resting on a large rock when the caravan passed me.

"The sledges were piled high with camp equipment. At the end of the line was a cumbersome-looking affair that was covered with canvas and drawn by four horses. A grizzled man drove these horses, and seemed intent upon his job.

"So interested was I in watching them go by that I was startled when one of the men in the sledge called to me:

"'Hello, Kid! What are you doing—picking flowers?'

"A number of the men laughed, but the younger one who sat with the man in the sledge shouted: 'Want to join us as far as your road lies? This is no place for a boy to travel alone. Beasts on two and four legs are too powerful about here.'

"I felt an irresistible desire to join them, but they never stopped. However, taking it for granted that they wanted me or they wouldn't have spoken, I ran after the caravan and tried to keep up with them. The pack grew heavier every moment, and at last I decided to give it up. Just then one of the leading horses of the four stumbled down upon his knees.

"This caused a halt while the driver got down and examined the horse. I had the opportunity that I needed, so I took a deep breath and shouted, at the same time running as fast as my weary legs would carry me.

"'How are you comin'?' asked the driver.

"'Coming!' I cried, so tired I could have wept. 'Why, I've been coming ever since the man asked me.'

"'Some run, eh?' asked the old man, smiling.

"'Didn't they mean it?' I asked, in a tremble lest I be left again.

"'Guess so. Don't believe they gave you another thought. But, now that you're here, you kin sit with me,' said the man gruffly, as I thought, while he rubbed the skinned knee with whale-oil.

"I climbed up and sat in the seat beside the driver. He gathered the reins together and started the horses again before he spoke another word.

"'Kid, I watched you runnin' after this crew, and I jus' said to mysel', "Old Hal, keep an eye on that kid and see what stuff he's made of." I reckon you'll win out, even if this brazen outfit loses. I'm goin' to take a likin' to ye, kid, d'ye hear that!' grinned the old man, as he chirked to the horses.

"I sat still and pondered what he said.

"'Thar ain't many men as kin say that Old Hal the Guide took a likin' to 'em, kid,' he continued, watching the trail where his horses stepped.

"I had overheard the men at the town talking about a guide called 'Old Hal,' and the conjectures as to how much the swell outfit had to pay him to get him to take charge of their expedition.

"I felt unduly elated at hearing the man address me so comradely, and I decided to be as friendly as I could.

"'What's the great hulk under this canvas?' I asked, nodding my head toward the load back of us.

"'Hulk! You're right, sonny, it is a great big hulk. These men from the East think they know a lot about goin' on a expedition like this—they git their learnin' from the books. But I could have saved 'em heaps of money hed they consulted me fust. Now, this pertickler hulk is dead trash! They call 'em canoes, but the fust little jolt one of 'em gits in the end of its nose—down she goes!'

"'Canoes, eh?' I said wonderingly.

"'How many did yeh bring in yer outfit?' asked Hal, nudging me in the ribs.

"'I may have all of those to take care of if you don't watch the horses,' I growled.

"'Right choo are, kid! Did yeh ever hear the verse, "From the mouths of babes, etc."? Guess yeh didn't know I ever read Scripter, did yeh?' laughed the old man.

"'Guess you don't or you wouldn't joke that way about such a good Book,' I replied.

"'Right choo are agin, kid! My, but you are a lucky find fer Hal to have. Jus' fancy all the fun we will have durin' the long winter nights,' said the guide, in a conciliatory tone.

"'Hope so! If I ever get the chance to show you that I am thankful for this help, I surely will,' I said, full of gratitude that I was not dragging my feet along the tiresome trail at that very moment.

"'Now, that's the kind of a heart to have—one that kin thank a feller without feelin' 'shamed to show his colors! I see where you and me are goin' to make a fine team!' said Hal.

"After some silence, the old man asked: 'Where'er yeh bound fer, anyway?'

"'Don't know—just going out to find gold,' I said.

"He turned square around and stared at me for a few moments, then gasped: 'Father an' mother dead?'

"I had to gulp hard before I could answer this question, then I said: 'No. Had my own money in the bank, and so I just came.'

"'How fer?' he asked abruptly.

"'All the way from New York state. I worked my way out and worked part of my way on the Seattle boat,' I said, with great pride in my achievement.

"'Why, yeh little fool!' cried the irate guide.

"'What's the matter?'

"'An' I s'pose yeh hev ben payin' fer full board an' keep to yer mother ever sence yeh wuz borned, eh?' scoffed Hal.

"I was silent. I was looking at the matter from a new point of view.

"'S'pose yer pa an' ma was on'y too glad to git yeh out'en the way, eh?' he continued.

"Again I had to gulp when I thought of my mother.

"'I see the hull fool thing. Yeh jus' went crazy readin' trashy papers, an' yeh run away widdout tellin' a soul, 'cause yeh knew they wouldn't let yeh come otherwise.'

"I marveled at how close he had come to the truth.

"'Well, yer here, kid, an' I s'pose Old Hal's got to see yeh through wit it, so thet worritin' mother of yourn'll see yeh agin, some day.' And he swung the whip over the horses' heads with a crack that saved me from his ire.

"We came to a bad grade then, and Old Hal had to keep a wary eye on the trail, for the horses were not as sure-footed as the dogs and deer.

"It must have been four o'clock before we halted. The air was growing colder as we advanced, and I was glad enough to open my pack for a chunk of bread and a slice of bacon.

"'Hist, kid, stow that away!' whispered Hal, as he began to unhitch the horses for the night.

"In a short time the two men from the sledge came up.

"'Hello, youngster! You did come, after all, didn't you?' said the older man.

"As the supper was being cooked by an Indian guide, I was welcomed in the circle sitting about a blazing fire and asked about myself. To each question I replied truthfully, and wondered at the smiles and surprise shown at my answers.

"One of the two men who owned the expedition turned to the old guide after a time and said: 'Hal, what shall we do with the kid? Send him back home?'

"'If 'twere me, I'd give him his fill. He'll be safe enough wid us, an' we kin git heaps of work outen him; but he'll never 'mount to nothin' ef yeh send him home, 'cause he'll allus think of the gold he might have got,' said Hal astutely.

"'Guess you've hit the nail on the head, Hal,' laughed the younger man, as he looked at me.

"So I became a member of the Yukon Gold Expedition, under the management of John Herrick and Julius Dwight, engineers.

"We traveled over hundreds of miles of snow, for we were trying to reach a certain trail that Old Hal knew, before the thaw set in.

"We did not quite get there, however, before the general thaw struck us. Then the canoes were needed. I had wondered why we delayed our traveling to cart those canoes with us, for there were no streams or lakes to cross, but the moment the thaw set in it seemed that every piece of ice and snow in the North was turning to water. Instead of trails, we had to travel by green-blue rivers, or over deep, dark seas.

"Well, after losing one canoe and two of the Indians, Old Hal hit his trail and led us up toward the mountains.

"All of that short summer was passed in the usual work of prospecting: digging, panning, washing, or testing for gold. Permanent camp had been built by the men, and a number of Indian servants took precaution that every emergency should be provided for in case of a hard, long winter. Every kind of edible bird or beast was trapped and prepared for food, while the skins and pelts of animals were cured and made into garments and covers.

"I was the youngest in camp, so I was known as the 'Kid,' and Old Hal took the office of guardian toward me from the first and ordered me about—always for my good, be it known—and kept a watchful eye over my doings and the men I happened to work with.

"Toward the end of the short summer we struck a rich vein of gold!

"I shall never forget the change in everyone's character the moment the gold was discovered in the shining sand. Some became savages, others grew crafty and cunning, and Old Hal had his hands full to keep discipline in the camp. Dwight and Herrick saw the tendency of their hired men to mutiny against Hal and themselves, and perhaps jump the claim when the owners were out of the way, but they were farsighted men, and Hal was no greenhorn in handling Esquimo and half-breed Indians.

"A large tract of land on both sides of the creek was staked off and a diagram of the area carefully drawn by Herrick, to be filed in the office at Forty-Mile Station, where a legal land-office was maintained by the government.

"As it was most necessary to file this claim before winter came on, a conference was held between Hal and the two engineers. Hal said he could easily make the trip to Forty-Mile and back again before winter froze everything solid, so he was ordered to take a canoe, with two of the mutinous men, and start immediately. Two dogs were placed in the canoe, in case they would be needed for sledging, and a store of food and pelts were packed under the seats. At the last moment, Hal was led to take his own canoe, which he had made that summer, and ask for my company. I was delighted to know I could accompany my old friend, so one of the dogs and a sledge were placed in Hal's canoe, and but one of the men got in, while I was placed in the other canoe, with the other man.

"We started in good order and made quick time. We had no route, map, or survey, for there were none in those days, but Hal knew every foot of the way, unless unusual conditions prevailed. We made camp that night, and rested, all unmindful of the plot the two mutinous men were hatching against us to get possession of the claim papers.

"In the morning, after an early breakfast, we started, and had gone but a short distance before our canoes ran out of the stream into a broad expanse of water that was unfamiliar to Hal.

"He looked carefully around for some landmark to guide him, and saw, some miles further on, what he believed to be a blazed spot. So he directed his man to paddle for that place.

"When Hal was about ten feet in advance of us, and as I sat in the stern of our canoe, I saw the man paddling our canoe suddenly raise a rifle—where he got it no one knows—take aim, and shoot. It was all done so quickly that I could scarcely move. Hal always held his revolver ready to enforce obedience from his men, and the moment I heard the shot I saw his arm jerk spasmodically and his revolver fly out and fall in the bottom of the canoe. At the same time I tore my revolver out of my belt and covered the man who had shot.

"I was so occupied in this that I had no time to see what Hal was doing, but I heard him yell: 'Go overboard this second or I'll shoot you dead!'

"I immediately followed suit, and cried: 'Go overboard, and swim ashore, or I'll shoot you!'

"The man sat and stared at me for a moment, as he never dreamed I had the spirit to do what I had. I was so nervous, and my heart seemed to bulge out in my throat so that I could hardly swallow. The man still sat and looked at his pal, who had jumped overboard and was swimming for shore. I never knew how it happened, for I had no idea of shooting him, but in that moment that he turned his look from me to his pal my fingers twitched with dread, and the revolver rang forth its shot, and the fellow fell into the water. I was so frightened that I clung to the neck of the dog and hid my eyes. Meantime, the fellow who was swimming saw what had occurred, and went under water to escape being shot.

"Soon Hal had his canoe alongside, and said: 'Step in here, Kid.'

"My canoe was fastened to the other one, and the transfer made without further mishap. I looked about for the swimmer, but could see nothing of him. He might have drowned or gone ashore.

"We managed to travel pretty well until night, when we again camped on shore, but Hal seemed worried at the strangeness of the land.

"After a few days' futile seeking for the trail, we felt a sudden chill in the air. Hal was concerned, and sought in every direction for some familiar object.

"We made camp one night while the dogs sniffed ravenously about for food, for our stock had run so low that Hal had to economize to make it last another day. The next morning I awoke to find snow blowing in every direction. The change was so unlooked for that I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was awake.

"'Well, Kid, this settles our trip to Forty-Mile for some time,' admitted Hal forlornly.

"'What do you mean, Hal?' I asked.

"'If we don't make camp quick, we'll be caught in the cold and frozen. If I was alone, I'd try to make some Esquimo hut or die, but havin' you I can't take a chance.' Hal's manner of speech had improved a great deal during his intercourse with cultured men, and I took note of it as he spoke—such queer things will impress one when a sudden calamity presents itself.

"That morning Hal set me to cutting down some small trees. He said he would take the sledge and the dogs and try to find the trail. I begged him not to leave me alone, and he promised that this would be the last effort if he was unsuccessful.

"I felt the terrible fear of being alone in this wilderness all winter, but I kept busy chopping down trees. All day long I worked and prayed, and before dark settled down I rejoiced to see Hal coming back. I could tell in a moment that he had not found any trail, so I said nothing.

"That night Hal saw all the signs of winter breaking upon us, and he worked fast and furious to make camp so that we might survive the cold months.

"In his search the day before, he had found a stream whose banks were well covered with sheltering pines. Here he proposed to build a hut. While, with the help of the dogs, he hauled the small logs I had cut to the stream, I was ordered to fish and hunt for all the supplies I could gather before the waters froze solid.

"I went to work with a forlorn hope of ever living to see another year, but the fish were plentiful, and the task of preparing them for winter use kept me from thinking too much.

"Hal set traps for animals, and this game we skinned; the meat we dried and the pelts we hoped to use in the winter. The fats I dried out and kept in a skin pouch Hal made. Some of the game could not be eaten, so we used that for bait.

"Hal built a rude log hut about eight feet wide, with a smoke hole at the top. The wide chinks were plastered full of clay from the river-bank. A door was made of split logs and fastened together with rope and strips of skin. We had brought no nails or screws, and had to use whatever came to hand. The hinges of the door were made of tough strips of hide and fastened to the logs with some nails Hal took out of the sledge.

"A rude fire-bowl was made in the center of the hut and some flint-rock carefully placed in a chink in the wall. The hut completed, Hal felt relieved, for the winter seemed to hold off for our benefit.

"We chopped wood, and stacked it on one side of the wall, inside, and then started to pile up more on the outside near the door. Some of our food was buried in a pit just outside the hut, but Hal hung all there was room for to the logs of the roof.

"We were feeling quite contented one night, when Hal remarked: 'Kid, she's comin' down on us. I kin tell by the queer sounds through those pines.'

"'Let her come. We are ready,' I laughed.

"'All but the beds. I'll have to go out now and bring in those balsam branches I have been savin' all these days.'

"That night we slept upon our fresh balsam beds. When I rose I could not have told whether it was twilight or dawn. The blizzard howled outside, but Hal had a cheerful fire cracking inside."



CHAPTER XIII

A WINTER IN THE FROZEN NORTH

"For ten days that blizzard raged, and I began to think we never would get out again. Then one morning Hal called me to see the beautiful snow. I stretched and got up. Hal had managed to chop away some of the drift that had piled against the door, and after some digging we squeezed through an aperture and stood without.

"My, but it was grand! One great world of sparkling white, with drifted mountains of snow all over. Even our hut was but a smaller drift in the general picture. While I stood and admired, Hal brought out two pails which we had had in the canoes, and told me how important it was to get some water from the stream. We carried the water carefully to the hut, and then I watched Hal set a bear trap, as well as a trap for small game.

"The dogs enjoyed being out once more and lapped the water greedily while we filled the buckets. We worked several hours taking wood from outside the hut and piling it up on our depleted stack inside. Long before we were done, I heard a distant howling, and looked toward Hal for its meaning.

"'Wolves! They scent our meat,' he said laconically.

"We managed to fasten our door again, and sat down by the fire while the dogs went over to their corner to sleep.

"That night the thermometer dropped to thirty degrees below zero and stayed there for a week. Everything that could froze up solid, and the wild beasts could catch no more fish or small game, so took long jaunts away from their lairs to find food.

"Inside of forty-eight hours I heard every kind of a growl and howl imaginable, as bears prowled about the hut sniffing at the buried food, or scratching at our hut to get in.

"'Wish we could get some of 'em in the traps,' I said.

"'They'd be torn to pieces and soon et up by the other wild beasts,' replied Hal, as he made another notch in a log where he was keeping record of the days.

"It wasn't very pleasant that week, for the room was small, and the dogs and meat began to make the air reek, so we were mighty glad, one morning, to wake and find it warmer. Without delay, Hal and I chopped the door out of the ice and snow and got out, followed by the dogs. The air was still so cold that it felt like a knife going through my lungs, but it was sweet and fresh. The dogs, too, were glad to have a run.

"The only thing to mark the hut from the other humps of snow round about was the dirty spot where the smoke came out. While we aired the room we cleaned up whatever debris lay about and filled the pails with some ice that Hal chopped out of the frozen stream.

"Meantime, the dogs were scenting about in the drifts and growling and yelping. Hal looked up and saw that they were off following some tracks. He ran after them for a few rods and then came back, calling them to come in.

"'Those were bear tracks,' he explained, as the dogs obeyed most unwillingly. 'I wish I had some way to trap them without having the fur ruined by other animals.'

"'Couldn't you set a trap right in range with the chink of the door, and if you hear other animals about you can shoot them,' I said.

"'But it would waste a lot of valuable ammunition,' he replied.

"He set the trap where I had suggested, however, and said he would wait and see what happened.

"We felt better for that day's fresh air, but the storm settled down again during the night, and it was several days before it stopped snowing. The cold held on longer, but we knew it was clear by the bright gleam of light that filtered through our smoke-hole.

"'I wonder if we can get out to-day?' I asked, but at the same time howls were heard coming from the pines.

"'Guess you will do better to stay in to-day,' smiled Hal.

"That night we found it impossible to sleep, for the wolves howled madly just outside the hut, and some of them pawed at the smoke-hole so that Hal finally picked up a red-hot firebrand and poked it up through the opening just as one of the beasts tried to nose down into the hut. It must have caught him well, for he set up a terrific howling.

"The next night, as the wolves came back again to pay their nightly visit, we heard a new growl coming from a distance. I looked at Hal for information, and he chuckled with satisfaction.

"'Ha! I thought so! I was sure a bear would come along before long.'

"'A bear! Oh, I wish we could get him in that trap!'

"'Will he attack the wolves?' I asked.

"'He will come sniffing about that pit for meat, and if the wolves bother him they will most likely get into trouble,' said Hal, laughing.

"'Gracious, Hal! S'pose he gets our meat—what will we do?'

"'We'll have to prevent him from gettin' it, that's all,' said Hal, looking at his rifle to see that it was in good order.

"'How are you going to do it?'

"'Shoot him while he's busy with the wolves, or try and get him while he is digging at the pit.'

"'Wait and try the last plan. Let him kill off a pack of hungry wolves, and when he has driven them away he will come to the pit. Then is your time,' I said.

"'Kid, you're comin' on fine! Another season in the north and you will be a regular hunter,' laughed Hal.

"I saw that I pleased the old man, and felt happy that I could do it so easily. But my attention was attracted by the din of battle outside, as howls and snarls mixed together so furiously that the dogs huddled down in a corner of the hut and showed their teeth at the doorway.

"We couldn't tell from the sounds which was being worsted, but the fact that the wolves were so numerous led us to believe that they could finally tear to pieces any bear. Then, while we were checking off the howls, quite a singular snarl came from the opposite direction.

"We could tell from the noises that another bear had taken a hand in the fight, which continued for a long time. Then all was quiet.

"All that night we heard something scratching at the door and climbing up to the smoke-hole, but a firebrand always met the inquisitive nose, for we could hear the snarl of rage as a hasty retreat was made. One queer thing, though, was the fact that we only heard one beast clawing about.

"When light came again, Hal placed his ear to a chink in the door and listened. He seemed satisfied that the coast was clear, so we started to chop out the snow that bound the door on the outside.

"We got the door open about an inch, and Hal peeped out, but could see nothing. Then we managed to push it open a little further, and still nothing but snow was visible.

"Then suddenly a dark shadow fell across the light from outside. I stood rigid while Hal took a good aim.

"'Why don't you shoot?' I cried, as I saw the largest bear I had ever seen standing there scenting the air.

"'He isn't in perfect range yet. I'd only ping him and make him run, if I shoot now,' whispered Hal, still holding his finger on the trigger.

"'If he'd only move a foot this way!' I sighed.

"As if the brute felt my wish, he turned his head in our direction. Instantly a deafening report seemed to blow up the cabin, and powder smoke hung thick over our heads. The dogs were so startled that they yelped and rolled over on the floor.

"There was not a sound from outside, and Hal smiled to himself.

"'Bet I got him first try. Didn't hear any objections from him, did you?'

"'Gee! I wish we could open this door and drag him in before those wolves come back,' I said, digging frantically.

"'They won't get back straight off. They have been whipped for the time and will be feared to try it again unless they get the scent of the dead bears,' said Hal, digging away at the top of the drift while I scooped at the bottom.

"We finally managed to open the door enough to get out.

"The bear had dropped dead in his tracks. At his feet—but out of range of the chink of our door—lay the other, literally ripped to pieces by the wolves during the night's battle. She had put up a fine fight, though, for the area all about her was covered with the bodies of the wolves she had slaughtered, and the snow was all trampled and red.

"The dogs ran out, their hair bristling along their spines as they sniffed at the carcasses.

"We heard the wolves' howls from the pine woods, so we hurriedly dragged the bear Hal had shot inside the hut. We put the carcass in one corner of the room, which left us scarcely enough space to move around in.

"Hardly had the door been closed before the pack of wolves were upon it, scratching and tearing at the logs.

"We had a difficult time skinning the bears and trying to cut the steaks properly; the grease we kept for oil after it had been melted down. I used to implore Hal to throw out the whole dreadful mess, but he knew the value of bear-grease and steaks, so kept his own counsel and minded me not at all.

"Parts that could not be used, however, and refuse were thrown to the wolves, thus keeping a howling horde of them in our vicinity constantly. This, as it happened, proved our salvation.

"We sat cross-legged one morning, figuring out by the notch calendar how many weeks of winter remained. Suddenly a most startling sound rose above the din of the snarling, fighting beasts outside.

"A shot rang out, followed by a shrill yelp of pain from one of the beasts; again a rifle cracked, and one more wolf was struck, judging from the noise and confusion that ensued.

"Hal and I looked at each other as if in a dream; then we comprehended, and almost choked with joy. The beasts outside slunk away as the strangers who had dealt death so swiftly among them approached. Hal and I both raised our voices and shouted and called as loudly as we could. I thought of his rifle, and brought it to him.

"'Shoot through the rifle-hole in the door,' I said, excitedly.

"'Sure thing!' he cried, raising his gun to his shoulder and shooting toward the sky.

"We heard an answering shot, and then voices approaching to within a few yards of the hut. We pried the door open far enough to hand out the spade. The unknown visitors already had one spade, and between the two we were soon excavated, the door was opened, and we leaped forth! There stood an Indian squaw with a boy of about twelve.

"Fancy our chagrin and sinking hearts! Hal said afterward that he thought a rescue party had started out to find us, although he knew this was practically impossible.

"The squaw and Hal could speak, after a fashion, and he explained to me that she and her son were hunting the day before, and had been caught by night's swift approach. They were forced to rest in a cave until morning. Here they had to keep the wild animals at bay, although they could see them moving around in the shadows just outside the circle of their campfire, and heard them howling all through the night. When light came again, they started to find their way home, and had seen the beasts prowling around a hump in the snow from whence issued a thin stream of smoke. They knew immediately that some human being was there, and tried to drive away the animals long enough to investigate.

"Hal explained how we had come to be there—and how grateful we would be to get away. The squaw managed to tell us that she would return to her tribe at once and find out whether or not we would be welcomed among them.

"Hal made her understand how much money she would have if she would help us reach Forty-Mile, where he had 'much money' waiting for him in the bank.

"The squaw had heard of 'Old Hal,' the guide, and was evidently surprised to find him lost while so near the trail.

"'With this kid, I couldn't take any chance at hunting for the trail any longer,' he explained, 'but decided to follow the most sensible course, and wait until Spring!'

"We offered the squaw the bear-pelts if she would return with help and rescue us. In the native manner of 'hearing without speaking' she stalked away, and we were not sure as to whether she would return or not.

"In a few days, however, we again heard the sound of a shot which came from the direction of the woods, and after forcing the door open we found the squaw with two young men from her tribe.

"'Trail—him all right,' mumbled the squaw.

"We found the weather clear enough to enable us to travel, so we packed all of our belongings upon the sledge, leaving the canoe in the snowbank, where it lay hidden against the house. The bear-steaks were almost gone, but Hal showed the squaw where the other food was buried, and told her she could use the hut any time she liked. She nodded, and as soon as the dogs were hitched to the sledge, we proceeded on our journey, guided by the squaw and the two boys.

"We had only a few hours in which to travel, but in that time we reached the cave the squaw had told us of, and there spent the night. The following morning, we continued the journey, reaching the village before dark.

"The settlement was small, comprising but a dozen families and about six huts, but it seemed like a town to us, who had been lost all Winter with nothing but wild animals and snow around us.

"Our dogs were delighted at being able to join some of their breed again, and, upon the whole, we were all treated as well as could be expected.

"We stayed there for two nights, then made an early start on the third morning for Forty-Mile.

"The faithful squaw and her two boys accompanied us a short distance, until Hal had gotten his bearings and said he would be all right.

"We started on the trail at a goodly speed, and reached a small settlement by night-fall. The next day we arrived at the first real colony of white people we had encountered since we left the camp, and a week after we had left the squaw we came to the town of Forty-Mile, where we filed the papers for the claim Herrick and Dwight had staked out.

"Hal knew this was an important matter, and wondered if the rascal who stranded us had found his way to the land-office first.

"I was sitting in the little smoking-room in the place they called 'Hotel' one morning, while Hal was in our room sewing his gold-dust belt a bit safer inside of his shirt.

"I had changed so much in appearance—with a boyish growth of beard over my chin, and my hair as long as a poet's—that a villainous-looking man who came in and asked for whiskey failed to recognize me; but I knew him at once as being the man who had escaped from our canoe.

"I managed to get out of the room without being seen, and ran to Hal.

"'What do you think! The murderer is downstairs!'

"'Who?—Sit down and talk sensible,' said Hal.

"'One of the Indians who got away from the canoe,' I cried in a hoarse whisper.

"Old Hal leaped to his feet. He strapped on his belt and swung his gun over his arm. After making sure his revolver was all right, he crept downstairs. I was not going to be cheated out of anything as exciting as this promised to be, so I cautiously followed him.

"The tavern-keeper and by-standers knew Hal well, and, of course, would stake their all on his word; so when he entered the bar-room and cried: 'Hands up!' to the Indian, everyone took sides with him, and we soon had the fellow safely bound.

"'Now, let me see those papers you forged for our claims,' snarled Hal, fishing through the man's dirty pockets, but finding nothing.

"The man's face showed too much elation for an old guide like Hal to be fooled, and he ordered the boys standing about to help him strip the Indian, and there—fastened to his back with strips of plaster—were found the drawings rudely sketched, somewhat like the set of surveys Hal had already filed.

"They were ripped off and thrown into the fire and the villain was chained to a post out in the shed with the dogs, with his arms tied behind him to prevent his escape, until the Sheriff should come in the morning.

"Hal told the crowd all about the treachery of the Indians, and they promised to attend to this man after we were gone.

"A public sledge was about to leave for Dyea in a few days, and Hal engaged seats for himself and me. He paid the tavern-keeper to keep the dogs until he returned.

"I had refrained from asking Hal about my future while there was any doubt of our getting to the Coast, but this seemed to be the best time to speak of it.

"'What you going to do with me?' I asked.

"'We'll skip right down to Juneau, and see if there are any letters there. It all depends,' he replied.

"In a few days more we reached Dyea, where Hal secured some trustworthy men into whose charge he could commit the mining work. Then we took the boat and started for Juneau.

"After a rough voyage of more than ten days, we docked at the wretched little city, and went to the post-office for our mail.

"Three letters awaited me—but every one of them were from chums to whom I had sent cards from Seattle. My mail had been forwarded to me from Seattle to Juneau, but there was no word from my parents.

"As Hal and I stood reading our letters, the postmaster—a shrivelled-up, little old man, peered at me over the rim of his spectacles, and called out:

"'Be you the one thet jist got some old letters from the East?'

"'Yes, sir,' I returned, going over to the counter.

"'Waal, heah's one thet cum a long time ago, an' I meant to send it back, but somehow fergot it. I cum across it yistiddy, and made up my mind to do somethin' with it sure, so heah ye aire.'

"With relief I recognized my father's writing, but the letter was dated two months previous.

"I opened the letter and read it through with intense emotion. First, I learned that my Mother had died after a brief illness. Next, my Father had lost his fine saw-mill by fire. Third, my oldest sister had married, and the home was broken up, Father having gone to live with her in New York.

"I wondered where I would go if I went home. There was no Mother waiting, no home, and my Father was in a strange city with his son-in-law.

"I turned and handed the letter to Hal. He read and comprehended.

"'Guess it's Alaska for ye, Kid. Want to go back with me?'

"Did I?—well, I just guess I did, and I fairly jumped at the hand that was held out to me.

"'Glad myself, Kid, to have you. I sure would have missed you tol'able ef I saw you sailin' away from me, headed for Seattle.'

"'Hal, will the bosses think it is all right now?' I asked.

"'Sure thing, when they read this letter, Kid. And, say, I never told anyone this, but seein' thet I am to be your 'dopted father, now, I may as well tell yeh—I am to have a tenth-share in the claim up there, and, as my 'dopted son, you come in fer a part of mine—see?'

"'Hal, do you mean you will take me under your wing?' I cried, all forgetful of the goldmine.

"This pleased the old guide so much that he laughed as he retorted, 'I knew I wasn't wrong on the stuff you're made of. That was a lucky day when my horse stumbled, eh?' and he slapped me kindly on the back.

"Well, we went back to Dyea, and waited for a caravan to start on the trail. We joined the very first one out, and Hal earned our passage and keep all the way, as guide.

"We found the camp in excellent condition, and the new miners we had chosen in place of the villainous Indians proved to be all that could be desired.

"Some machinery was purchased by Hal at Dyea, and as soon as it was delivered at our camp, all hands set to work.

"I stayed at that camp with Hal for three years before we sold out our interests and took a vacation. The bosses had only remained until the gold was panning out well, then they sent for experts to come and value the entire mine.

"Hal had filed some property claims for himself and me adjoining the Dwight mine, and after the experts had rendered their verdict on the property we were able to sell them at a big price.

"Hal and I decided to go to Seattle for a while, and then travel a bit; if we found the life too lazy we could easily get back to Alaska.

"We put in a year of pleasure-seeking together, but the life and climate was too mild for the old guide who had always been accustomed to work and cold, and one night I found him breathing hard, and he complained of pains in his chest. In a week he had passed away, leaving me with all of his wealth to add to my own.

"I had written father, and sent him some money several times during the year, and now I wrote to tell him I was coming home.

"Needless to say, we were overjoyed to see each other again, and then I told him I was going to take him on a little trip.

"We went straight to our old home town, and to his surprise I took him to the old homestead where I was born, telling him that I had repurchased it from the folks who had bought it from him. He trembled with happiness as we entered the door and found all of the familiar old furniture there, too. Above all, there stood his maiden-sister, in the dining-room door, smiling a welcome!

"I explained how I had found Aunt Delia, and made her promise to keep house for him, and how we had collected the old furniture that the village-folks bought when mother died. I was always thankful that my money enabled me to make his last days happy."



CHAPTER XIV

THE B. B. & B. B. MAGAZINE

By the fifteenth of October the Blue Birds and Bobolinks were deep in the work of constructing a magazine. Uncle Ben sent out the two young men he had spoken of, and they showed the children what to do and how to do it.

The Oakdale Paper Mills passed a vote to supply the paper for one year, and the B. B. & B. B. Company had agreed to give the mills advertising credit for the donation.

The two important letters which had caused such consternation in the Bobolink nest were all printed on beautiful grey paper in blue ink, and the envelopes all addressed and packed in boxes ready to be used.

All the stories, articles and lessons had been given to Uncle Ben before the tenth of the month and he had sent back the linotype by the thirteenth as he promised he would. Then work began in real earnest.

The Bobolink Boys had to make a galley proof of the printing, and the Blue Birds had to read it (or at least their mothers did) and construct the dummy. This last work was great fun.

Every evening fathers and mothers visited the Publishing House and the Winter Nest and assisted where they could, or watched progress when they were not needed; after every meeting it became the custom for one or the other of the fathers to treat the publishing company and guests to refreshments. This, Don thought, was reward enough for every aching back or arm. To keep the children from tiring of the treats, the fathers planned each morning, while going into the city, just what new kind of a surprise to furnish that night.

The interest shown at first had not abated—possibly due to the fact that so much fun was always to be had from unexpected sources—and the two men from the city said it was a marvel that children could produce such splendid work.

"Goodness! those Bobolinks ought to! they spent heaps and heaps of time fooling with those machines to learn how to work 'em!" said Dot Starr, overhearing what the men said.

"And just see how the fathers help!" added Norma.

"I guess the magazine wouldn't be much of a paper if the Blue Birds hadn't done their part so well," said May.

"And the Blue Birds' mothers!" reminded Ruth.

The Blue Birds were sitting on the steps of the piazza waiting for Mrs. Talmage and Aunt Selina to join them, when Dot told them of the "city-man's" commendation of the work.

"Here comes Flutey, now," said Ruth, hearing the slow steps of her aunt.

"Well, Blue Birds, how's the song this morning?" cried Aunt Selina, happily.

The children all turned with one accord and looked at her. Some great happiness must have been sent her, for she was bubbling over with secret joy and her face looked as young as one of the Blue Bird's. She took a chair near the children.

"Say, Flutey, you won't be offended if I ask you a very happy question, will you?" asked Dot, in a half-whisper.

"Why, of course not! Ask it, child," smiled Aunt Selina.

"Well, you look so happy, you know, I thought maybe that soldier-man came back to marry you—maybe his being shot was all a mistake and he has been a prisoner all this time and just got away," said Dot with horror and awe in her tones.

Mrs. Talmage had stepped out just in time to overhear the funny little girl's remark and she had to run inside and smother her laughter in a handkerchief, for Dot was most serious in her statement, and it would never do to make her feel badly by laughing at her sympathy.

"Oh, no, dearie, those prisons were abandoned soon after the war. But this surprise I have for the Blue Birds is entirely different from anything personal," replied Aunt Selina.

"Oh, what is it?" asked several voices.

"I have a letter here," said Aunt Selina, taking it from her reticule, "in reply to one I wrote an old-time friend a short time ago. This friend started an advertising business in Philadelphia many years ago and has been very successful. Let us see what advice this friend gives about securing contracts for advertising."

The Blue Birds hovered about Aunt Selina's chair eager to hear the letter read.

The letter was short, but to the point. Mr. Sphere said he was delighted to hear from his old friend and hoped his information would give her little friends the satisfaction they deserved for their undertaking. He said that one of his best representatives had been told to call at Mossy Glen to interview the Blue Birds and to do just as the ladies directed. This man would tell them how to get advertising.

"Oh, Flutey! is that all he said?" murmured Ruth.

"Why, I don't call that such a piece of 'happy' news to smile over as you did!" pouted Dot.

"He didn't ask you how you had been all the time since you two knew each other, and he never said a word about our magazine," grumbled Norma, feeling a personal offence in the letter.

"Why, children! I think it is a wonderful piece of good news to hear that he takes enough interest in the work to send one of his best men down here to talk matters over," said Mrs. Talmage.

"If you knew my friend you would understand this letter better, for he always was a quiet chap who listened to others, but said little himself," explained Aunt Selina.

The following day while the Blue Birds were at the Publishing House watching the wonderful process of stitching and trimming completed magazines, a very alert young man rang the bell at the Talmage house.

Mrs. Talmage and Aunt Selina welcomed the visitor.

Shouts of excitement reached the house where the ladies were talking with Mr. Sphere's representative, and soon a crowd of boys and girls swarmed up the steps and ran pell-mell for Mrs. Talmage, nothing daunted by seeing the stranger.

"Mother, mother, see, see!" cried Ruth, dragging Jinks by the sleeve.

"Oh," gasped little Betty, "see our magazine!"

"It's perfectly lovely, Mrs. Talmage!" cried Dot.

The older boys were more subdued when they saw the stranger.

Mrs. Talmage introduced the gentleman, Mr. Richards, one of the New York advertising solicitors for the Philadelphia agency. He smiled in a condescending way when Don asked, "Want to see our magazine?"

"Yes, indeed! It is such an unusual thing to find such dear little children interested in such a way," replied Mr. Richards, looking about at the boys and girls.

Don looked at Dot with a glance that said as plain as day, "Pooh! he's trying to pat us on the back!"

And Dot said to the visitor: "Don't think that we like to be fussed over just because we are working!"

The rest of the publishing company looked uncomfortable at the very evident tendency to humor them on account of their work.

The fact was, that the man couldn't understand why his firm (such a sensible lot of business men) should send him away from his important work in New York to call upon some wealthy ladies and a number of children, to talk about advertising pages in a toy magazine.

The two copies of the completed magazine had been given to Aunt Selina and Mrs. Talmage and they expressed such satisfaction at the appearance of the work that the man turned his attention to Mrs. Talmage. She handed him her copy.

When Mr. Richards saw the magazine, he was surprised out of his usual self-possession and exclaimed,

"Why, who did this?"

"Blue Birds and Bobolinks," replied Ned, with head tilted on one side the better to see the precious book the man held.

"But this is first-class work!" exclaimed the visitor.

"Sure! did you think we were going to turn out anything else?" asked Jinks, insulted.

"Oh, of course not, but it takes experienced hands to do anything as good as this," continued Mr. Richards, turning the pages slowly and examining each one carefully.

"Well, Uncle Ben knew the kind of workers we were when he trusted us with his pet hobby!" declared Ned, proudly.

Mr. Richards looked rather helpless, so Mrs. Talmage explained who "Uncle Ben" was and what part he had taken in the enterprise.

Light gradually began to break in upon the young man's brain as he heard the story of the magazine. Suddenly he sat up as if electrified with a new idea. He looked about at the children, the house, lawns, and ladies; finally he took his return railroad ticket from his pocket and noted the name printed on the card—Oakdale.

"Well, well, well! is this place called 'Mossy Glen'?" he asked.

"It is," replied Mrs. Talmage, wonderingly.

"And these youngsters, the same that set folks agog last summer with their 'Fresh Airs'?"

Mother Wings bowed affirmatively, but the Blue Birds, who had never dreamed that their doings had ever been heard of outside of their own little community, were as surprised as their visitor.

The solicitor looked everyone over with a new interest after that, and breathed softly to himself, "Great Scott! What a piece of luck to get the lead in this idea!"

"We do not understand exactly what you mean," said Mrs. Talmage, with dignity.

"Well, I was present at a meeting a short time ago when the talk veered to a project evolved by some children. It was creating quite a little interest among the older men, but I paid little attention to it at the time, for I had my mind full of other matters. But I remember hearing one of the leading publishers state that he believed we would hear of this undertaking in the future, for he knew some of the children who were in it. Now, here I am, unconsciously dropped into the heart of it."

From that moment Mr. Richards was the enthusiastic collaborator of the company. He went over the pages of the magazine again and made some valuable suggestions for the future. When he expressed a desire to visit their plant, everyone jumped up ready to show him the B. B. & B. B. Publishing House.

Another great surprise awaited Mr. Richards. He had an idea that the work was done upon toy machinery, or hand presses; but, to find a shop equipped with electric motors and up-to-date machines, to say nothing of type-stands and a real office, was more than he could comprehend.

"I'm not surprised at the statement that man made at the meeting—he must have known you children, indeed!"

"Seems to me that we are getting this young man 'rooted' in this work," laughed Aunt Selina, who liked the expression ever since Mrs. Talmage told her how to interest friends in the work.

"Well, I'm 'grafted' upon this idea even if I'm not 'rooted,'" returned Mr. Richards, laughingly. "So much so, in fact, that I am going to make a suggestion that I think will meet with the approval of all of you."

The children came closer to await his proposition.

"At present I am an advertising man, but I used to be on one of the large newspapers in the city, and whenever any unusual story came in I was supposed to 'dress it' for publication. Now, in my opinion, this whole affair will make a fine story for the press and at the same time give this magazine the publicity it needs." Mr. Richards looked at the ladies for approval.

"It doesn't seem valuable enough for a paper to print," ventured Mrs. Talmage.

"It is the unusual that papers are always after," replied Mr. Richards. "Show me anything more unusual than this (waving his arm about to embrace the children, the plant and the work) and I will run after it!"

"What would you say in the story?" asked Aunt Selina.

"Well, I'd take kodak pictures of this office, of the plant, and of the Winter Nest you have been telling me about. Then we would group the children on the lawn in front of the house and have a picture of the Blue Birds and Bobolinks who own and publish this magazine."

"What would Mr. Sphere say if he saw the story in the papers?" asked Aunt Selina.

"He'd say, 'Richie, old boy, I always knew you had a grain of sense in your head!'" laughed Mr. Richards.

"I have a fine camera in case you want to use it," said Ned, eagerly.

"And we have everything in good shape to have a picture taken," added Meredith.

"If the ladies consent we will lose no more time, but get the pictures while the sun is right," Mr. Richards said, as he turned toward the ladies and Blue Birds.

"Yes, yes, Mother Wings, let's do it!" cried several Blue Birds. So Aunt Selina and Mrs. Talmage smiled a consent.

Ned brought his camera and Mr. Richards grouped the Bobolinks about the machines in as workman-like poses as possible, and managed to get a good picture of them. Next, the office, with Jinks at the typewriter and Ned at the desk, was photographed. Outside, the Blue Birds and Bobolinks grouped themselves in front of the door and another picture was taken. The Blue Birds were given their pose as editors in the large library of the house, where books and writing material could be utilized in the picture. The Winter Nest was the last picture to be taken.

"Now, watch the papers for a story of your entire plan and achievement, with illustrations, and if you don't tell me the next time I come out that my idea was the best publicity plan imaginable, then you'll be ungrateful, indeed!" said Mr. Richards, pleased as he could be with the success of his visit.

"When will the papers come out?" asked Ned.

"I'll keep you posted day by day. I'm not going to lose sight of such a promising crowd of young folks, I tell you!" laughed the young man as he placed the film in his pocket and started to say good-by.

"Say, here, are you going to take that magazine with you?" cried Don, seeing the magazine rolled up in the visitor's hand.

"Well, I guess! I'm going to exploit this everywhere I go," said Mr. Richards, tapping the paper with his hand.

"And tell the newspaper man that lots of famous folks have promised to write for us," said Ruth, who desired the magazine to have all the glory possible.

"And tell him to be sure and say that Aunt Selina will be glad to have grown-ups write to ask her about Happy Hills," added Aunt Selina, anxious to have the children's farm advertised.

"I'll make them write everything I can think of, and more too, if possible," laughed the young man as he started down the steps.

"Oh, Mr. Richards, I forgot to tell——" Don started to say something, but Ike interrupted from the automobile which had been waiting for some time in front of the house.

"There'll just be time to jump aboard that train if we get off at once!"

Mr. Richards jumped in and raised his hat to the ladies, while Ike started the car at full speed, the children meantime waving their hands and shouting reminders after the visitor.

Back to the Publishing House trooped the bevy of workers, more eager than ever to continue their work.

"Now, he's what I call an 'all right' man!" declared Don Starr, emphatically, as he accented his words with punches at the stitcher.

"What a piece of luck for us," exclaimed Ned, overjoyed at the promised newspaper story.

"I always said I wanted to go through college," said Tuck Stevens, thoughtfully; "but what's the use? When I have such a good business to work in and will be all ready to live on my money by the time I'm a man, why should I bother?"

"That's so, Tuck; better have a good time on that money," laughed Jinks.

"Better 'not count your chickens before they're hatched' or they may never come out of the shell," teased Ned.

The Blue Birds had been equally busy talking, while folding pages, but the work soon engrossed too much of their attention to keep up any conversation.

After several hours' work the Blue Birds began to feel tired and decided to carry the finished magazines to the house.

As each little girl came up the steps carrying a heap of neatly finished magazines, the two ladies stopped talking and turned to watch the girls deposit the magazines on the table in the hallway.

"What were you saying about Happy Hills, mother?" asked Ruth.

"Aunt Selina was telling me all about the three beautiful hills at the back of the estate. She said what pretty kodak pictures they would make if we wanted to use them for the magazine, and I said it might be a good plan to write up a short story about our plan for next month's issue."

"Oh, yes, that would be a fine start for the farm," cried Ruth.

"And we think that we would need all of the time we can get to make sure of next summer's success," added Aunt Selina.

"Aunt Selina, how many poor children do you think we can keep at Happy Hills?" asked Ruth.

"We could not tell without having expert help to show how many camps can be built there," said Aunt Selina.

"Oh, are you going to build camps, Aunt Selina?" asked Norma.

"I thought the children were going to live in the woods," said Dot.

"But you didn't expect them to sleep on the ground and dress behind the bushes, did you?" said May.

"I never thought what they would do," returned Dot.

"Will you have nests to live in like ours in the cherry-tree?" asked Betty.

"No, dearie, I am planning to build little houses that will hold about six or eight bunks, and a locker for each child. These houses will have a floor and a roof with posts to hold it up, but the walls will be made of canvas curtains that we can roll up when we want the house wide open. The long building where the children will gather to eat or have games, will be centrally located if we build it in the valley between the three hills," explained Aunt Selina.

"Are we going to give the camp a name?" asked Edith.

"Why, we hadn't thought of that—we can use the name 'Happy Hills,' couldn't we?" said Mrs. Talmage.

"Nobody will know the camp is any different then. The place has always been called Happy Hills, so how is a stranger going to know that it is the same where the children are living?" said Dot.

"The name 'Hills' sounds all right, but you can't call the big house in the valley by the name of 'Hills'; we ought to have a new name for that so the children will know what place we mean when we talk about the dining-room," suggested Norma.

"Just say 'Valley where the long house is,'" said Edith.

"That doesn't sound nice, a bit! Everything else we have have such nice names," complained Ruth.

"But, why do you children want a name for the valley and one for the children's camps?" asked Aunt Selina.

"Doesn't everything in the world have a name?" asked Dot.

The others laughed, but Ruth added, "Dot's right; we have a name for our cherry-tree nest, and one for the new nest; and Mrs. Catlin is going to call her Blue Birds' nest 'Hill Top Nest'—'Blue Birds of Hill Top Nest.'"

"But this is different," argued Mrs. Talmage.

"No, it isn't, Mrs. Talmage," insisted Dot. "We call our house 'Oakwood' and you call this place 'Mossy Glen'—and our town we call Oakdale. Why, what for? Everyone knows where the Starrs live, and where the Talmages live, and we all know where the town lives, so what's the use of having names?"

"Dot, you hit the nail on the head every time," said Aunt Selina, as all of the others laughed at Dot's explanation.

"Yes, but that's why we want a name for our children's camp and the valley," said Ruth.

"Really, it doesn't matter to us how many names you choose to give it—just please yourselves about it," said Aunt Selina.

"All right, then, if you don't mind, we'll try to get a real lovely name for it," said Betty, smiling at Aunt Selina.

For quite a time, silence reigned, for the Blue Birds were trying to think of a pretty name for the farm.

"In 'Pilgrim's Progress' there is a 'Valley of Humility,'" suggested May.

"I'll run and get the Bible Concordance—that will have some valley names in it," said Ruth, running indoors to get the book.

"Now, listen while I read some for you," continued Ruth, bringing the book over to the wicker table.

"Here's one—'Inhabitants of the Valley'—turn that about and call it 'Valley of Inhabitants.'"

"No, that isn't nice!" objected several voices.

"Then comes a lot of hard-spelled names of valleys that won't do, either. Next comes: 'valley of passengers' and 'valley of vision.'"

"We don't want either one," grumbled Dot.

"Would you like the name 'Valley of Joy'?" asked Aunt Selina.

After a few moments' thought the children replied, "Better, but not right yet."

Aunt Selina smiled and thought how difficult to please were these Blue Birds; but Mrs. Talmage smiled, knowing that the children knew just what they wanted.

After much thinking and suggesting, Ruth said, "We ought to have a name that will fit with Happy Hills, you know."

After "pleasure," "fun," "contentment" and other names had been suggested, Aunt Selina suddenly mentioned "delight."

"Valley of Delight," repeated Mrs. Talmage to hear the sound of it, while the Blue Birds hailed the name as just right.

"Happy Hills in the Valley of Delight!" said Aunt Selina, as pleased as the children were.

"Write it down—that's its name from now on," cried Dot.

"We want it printed on all of our letter paper that will be used for farm purposes," said Mrs. Talmage.

"Oh, yes; won't it look fine to send out letters asking folks to send donations for the poor children of 'Happy Hills in the Valley of Delight!' and let them see the name on top of some nice grey paper," cried Edith.

"Wish we could find a name for those poor children. I never like to say that word—'poor,'" complained Ruth.

"Neither do I," added Norma.

"I know I wouldn't like a country child to be always calling me 'poor city child,'" declared Betty.

"Then you ought to find a nice name for all of them, too, so we won't have to say 'poor' any more," said Mrs. Talmage.

All heads were bent down again while busy brains tried to find a suitable name for the proteges coming from the city.

"Could they be called 'birds' like us?" asked Dot.

"I do not think city children would care for such a name. You see, dear, they are so precocious from their daily experiences that they might think a bird-name silly," said Mrs. Talmage.

"Maybe they would like the name 'Little Soldiers,'" ventured Norma.

"Oh, that makes you think of 'Onward Christian Soldiers' and they would guess we were goin' to make them join a Sunday School class right off!" objected Dot.

Everyone laughed at Dot's viewpoint, but Aunt Selina was given an idea by Norma's suggestion.

"How would 'Little Workers' sound?" she asked.

"Then they will all fear you are going to make them work," laughed Mrs. Talmage.

"'Little Lambs'—'Little Folks'—'Little Friends,'" recited Dot, zealously, then waited for a verdict.

Heads were shaken in negation of the names, and Ruth started a list of names.

"'Little Americans'—how's that?"

"Better, but not good enough," replied her mother.

"Oh, here's one—everything that lives in a forest is called a 'denizen' of the forest—let's call our children 'Little Denizens,'" cried Norma.

"Wish someone could find a name that would mean the same as Americans and woods folks," came from Betty wistfully.

"How does 'Little Citizens' sound?" asked Ruth.

"Wait! say it again!" exclaimed Mrs. Talmage, while the children and Aunt Selina seemed to like the name.

"Little Citizens—of Happy Hills in the Valley of Delight," rehearsed Ruth.

"Why, just the thing—it's lovely!" cried Aunt Selina.

"Yes, Fluff, couldn't be better," said several of the Blue Birds.

"Sounds almost like a book story-name, it's so pretty," commended Mrs. Talmage.

There was no more leisure to admire their new names, because shouts were heard in the direction of the Publishing House, and the boys came out, each carrying a stack of magazines piled up in their arms. They reached the steps and Mrs. Talmage hurried to the hallway to show them in which closet to place them.

"My, but that was a big load!" exclaimed Don.

"Big piece of work, that!" said Jinks.

"More fun than I've ever had," commented Meredith.

"But it makes a fellow awful hungry to work so hard. I wish it was night so the men could treat," hinted Don.

The last remark from Don made the children laugh at him, but Mrs. Talmage said, "Don, if you will take Ned into the dining-room you will find something there which you can carry out here."

Don looked surprised, but Ned led him indoors to find what the surprise could be.

Soon both boys appeared again carrying a tray of cakes and dishes, while the maid followed with a huge platter upon which stood a high brick of ice-cream.

The refreshments were so delicious that the boys said they could start another day's work if they were sure of being treated with more ice-cream afterward.

"How many magazines do you suppose you finished to-day?" asked Ruth, of her brother.

"Guess."

"I don't know; we girls carried in 'most a hundred, but our piles were not so high as the ones you boys brought in."

"Well, we counted before we left the office; there were thirty in a pile, and we brought over thirty piles—that made nine hundred all told, but the hundred you girls carried in makes just one thousand copies. Isn't that great?" cried Ned.

"Then we can begin mailing copies to our philanthropists to-night, can't we?" asked Norma.

"Yes, and bring your mothers with you, to help," said Mrs. Talmage.

As everyone felt eager to get the thousand copies wrapped and mailed, the children soon said good-by and went home to tell the great news of the day's work.



CHAPTER XV

HOW THE MAGAZINE WENT OUT

Before nine o'clock that night the magazines had all been wrapped, ready for Ike to take to the post-office. The children were just as eager to continue the work, but Mrs. Talmage said that nine o'clock was time to go home.

"We'll all be here Monday afternoon to help some more, Mrs. Talmage," promised the Blue Birds as they skipped away beside their mothers.

It took the Bobolinks all of that week, working every moment after school, and many of the evening hours, to finish the rest of the magazines. Everyone had decided that ten thousand would be enough for the first issue, for it took so long to wrap each copy that no extra time could be given to printing.