Chapter II: Some Further Adventures (2)

That evening Atkins was besieged by shamefaced members of the team who wanted help in their classics, help which he freely gave; and it became a regular thing for him to coach them in their uphill work, and his patience and good-nature roused their gratitude to such an extent that they rewarded him by confiding all their football hopes and aspirations, generally in the middle of a difficult passage which they were laboriously construing.

"Old Atkins really knows a thing or two," announced Buck Graham, condescendingly. "He agrees with me that the interference is too loose, and that we don't play quick enough. It's no end of a pity he goes in so for study. He might have made something out of him."

"'Maria aspera juro'--Maria swears loudly," read Buff Miller, the big centre rush. "I should think she might over such stuff. Did you see that beautiful run Paddy made to-day?"

"Yes," answered Atkins, "it was great. That means, 'I call the harsh seas to witness,' Buff."

"No, does it? I was afraid my translation was a little free. Don't you think Paddy dodges better than Doggy? But Doggy tackles and bucks the centre better. 'Maria aspera juro'--Maria, no, the seas, I call to witness--I let one or two men through to-day, didn't I?"

"I thought you played a fine block game. But let's hurry and finish this. Fitz is coming with his Latin soon."

So it went on day after day, the football team pitying the 'poor old grind,' while under his coaching they developed memories and logical faculties and almost powers of application, while their game grew daily stronger, and their scores against the little teams which they played larger, for the burning of the midnight oil over the classics did not seem to hurt their "condition" a bit more than the exclusive discussion of plays.

Few seasons pass, however, without being overshadowed by some misfortune, and just ten days before the important game Buck Graham was "snowed under" in a "scrimmage," and when they unearthed him from beneath the human pile they found that his leg was so badly wrenched that his playing again was out of the question. It was a fearful blow to the team, and Captain Miller, with the pessimism of youth, instantly gave up all hope of the championship.

"There's not another full-back in the school," he said. "Fluellen's good at a place kick, but he can't punt; and Forsyth punts pretty well, but a funeral's quicker than he is." And he shook his head gloomily, while poor Buck Graham lay on the lounge gazing ruefully at his bandaged leg and bemoaning his luck.

* * * * *

"Sleep, will you do me a favor?" said Atkins, the following afternoon, blushing with embarrassment. "Will you come out with me behind Harris's house while I try my hand at punting! I used to play full-back on the 'We Get There's,' in Bedford, when I was a little chap."

"You could have knocked me down with a feather," exclaimed Sleep, that evening, "when he said that! Old Grind Atkins going solemnly out to practise kicking was as good a joke as--"

"Your winning a hundred-yard dash!" interrupted Doggy. "Did you run his balls, Sleep?"

"Not much. Why, man, that Grind kicked as if he had never seen a Latin grammar; he kicked like all possessed. I'll be shot if he didn't almost outpunt Buck Graham himself."

"No!" cried Doggy, springing up. "No! Why on earth didn't you tell us that sooner? Where's Miller? Where's Sargent? Come on, Sleep; why, it's the best news of the season."

"Why _didn't_ you come out before?" asked Miller, confronting the blushing fraud.

"I didn't think I could do anything; and when you had Buck you didn't need any one else."

So Graham's place was filled, and by no poor substitute either, for Atkins was found to have concealed a magnificent head for football behind a mass of useless classical lore.

He not only kicked well, but charged the line like a whole battery, and sent the scrub flying while he ploughed his way through for a touch-down.

"Oh, Tommy, Tommy Atkins,
You're a very foxy one!"

sang, or rather shouted, the boys, after a particularly fine play, and Dr. Langford congratulated himself upon the success of his plan, for he was as glad to see Atkins entering into the athletic spirit as he was to hear the brilliant recitations which the team made.

* * * * *

The 15th of November dawned clear and cold, and a hundred and fifty boys awoke to the realization that one of the many crises of their lives had come.

The great game was played on the home grounds this year, so there was nothing to do but wait for the Williston contingency, which arrived at one o'clock, fifty strong, with all the appropriate accompaniments of tin horns, banners, and popular songs; and when the red and white sweaters made their appearance on the gridiron field, the "Rah! rah! rah! Williston!" quite owned the place. The enthusiasm changed sides, however, when the St. James team came out, for though they were plastered and bandaged, and shock-headed and disreputable, they came out to win. There was a little preliminary practice, and then the two captains declared themselves ready.

Williston won the toss and chose the west goal and the wind. The St. James team pulled off their old navy-blue sweaters and fell into position--Osborne, left end; Bates, left tackle; Travers, left guard; Miller (Captain), centre; Sargent, right guard; Fitzhugh, right tackle; Lewis, right end; Fluellen, quarter-back; Parker, McKloskey, half-backs; Atkins, full-back.

Brown was full-back and captain on the Williston team, and he scattered his men carefully over the field. The whistle blew, and the crowd drew their last easy breath, for they knew that the next two hours would bring a "nerve storm."

Miller kicked off, and the ball was caught and downed by Williston.

Then the teams lined up for the first scrimmage. "4, 3, 7, 92," cried Brown, and the little half-back bucked the centre like a man; but Buff stood firm. Twice they tried to break through the line, and twice they were downed in their tracks. Then the ball was passed back to Brown, and he made his first punt. The crowd watched in breathless suspense to see if Atkins would fumble, for no one felt sure of such a new star. But the Grind caught it squarely, and started off, dodging, doubling, butting over, and gaining twenty yards before he was finally downed.

It was a beautiful run, and the grand stand rang with the cheers for "Tommy Atkins," who blushed and grinned as he went back to his place.

Then Doggy was shot through the centre for ten yards, and Paddy for five. Sargent went round the end for three, Travers plunged for five more, and amid frantic applause and a mad flutter of navy blue, Doggy broke through the right tackle, and, well guarded by Miller and Sargent, dashed down the field, and was only brought to earth by Brown on Williston's ten-yard line.

"Line up," cried Buff, giving the signal. "We've got to score now."

Doggy went at the centre like a battering-ram, but Williston had braced for the charge. Then they tried a trick with Bates, but that failed too. Atkins dropped back for a kick, but it was only a bluff, for Doggy took the ball, and when the heaving, swaying, struggling mass went down, the right half-back was lying, with his wind temporarily knocked out, but safely across the fatal line.

The Welsh Rarebit kicked a clean goal, and the St. James boys relieved their pent-up feelings. It was on such occasions that Forsyth's claims to popularity and latent genius justified themselves.

"John Brown's football team is looking for a hole,"

he improvised, smiling cheerfully at the discomfited Willistonians.

"John Brown's football team is looking for a hole,
John Brown's football team is looking for a hole--"

the crowd had joined in at the top of their lungs--

"While we go scoring on."

Buck Graham, hobbling on crutches along the side lines, was radiant, for Atkins seemed to remember all his "pointers," and to be playing really scientific football. The poor fellow ached to go in himself, but that being impossible, it did his heart good to see the substitute holding up the honor of the school.

The game wasn't won yet, however, for though the defensive work of the Williston team had not been very strong, they commenced to play a snappy aggressive game which St. James found hard to block. Bates and Fitzhugh had their hands full with the two tackles, who were as tricky as they were quick, twice getting fifteen yards on alleged "holding in the line."

They forced the ball by small gains slowly down the field, until they had it on the twenty-yard line, and there it staid for two downs. Then Brown dropped back for a try at goal, and the next minute the ball went sailing over the bar to a triumphant chorus of Williston cheers.

There was twenty minutes more of fluctuating fortune and harrowing suspense, for the ball changed hands several times on fumbles and fouls, and the two backs punted freely, but the first half ended with the score still six to five.

* * * * *

During the intermission the schools kept up a constant fire of songs and cheers, for their spirits were away above par. Even Williston was not sufficiently depressed by the lead of one point. They thought it still "anybody's game," but most probably theirs.

The second half commenced amid great enthusiasm, for both teams were warming to their work, and playing in a style that no college eleven need be ashamed of; and as the alumni on the benches watched the steady interference, the good runs, clean tackles, and long kicks, they shook their heads wisely, and prophesied of each one, "_That_ man will make the Harvard, Yale, or Princeton 'varsity sure."

"Look!" cried Buck Graham, excitedly. "There goes Brown round the end! Ah, Doggy has him!"

Yes, Doggy had him, and, what was still better, the ball too. Then St. James settled down to score, and by short hard rushes and clever tricks they worked the ball down, actually down to the ten-yard line, and there they lost it on a claim of foul--for off-side play. It was hard luck, and Sleep Forsyth groaned aloud.

Williston punted, and the lightning-express ends went down the field like trolley-cars; but they could not "rattle" Atkins, and St. James put the ball in play once more. Five yards, a desperate scrimmage, and then a wild shout of joy, and the air was full of fluttering red and white, and all the dark blue flags were furled, for it was Brown and not Paddy who, when the tangled mass rolled off, was found clasping the ball.

Buck Graham got up, leaning heavily on his crutches. It was perhaps Williston's last chance, and she would certainly make the most of it.

Three yards--ten yards--five yards--the ball was working towards the goal, was getting perilously close. Then St. James rallied; the rush-line stood like a stone wall, and the foxy little Welsh Rarebit stopped a very keen trick and made the prettiest tackle of the day.

Two downs. Captain Brown gave his signal and dropped back for another goal from the field; but Miller, dear old fat Buff, broke desperately through and blocked the kick.

There was a second of wild confusion, and then the crowd saw the long legs of Tommy Atkins making for the goal, the oblong leather well under his arm.

Of course he made his touch-down--the whole German army couldn't have stopped him then. And when the Welsh Rarebit kicked the goal you would have thought that the reign of terror had come again; you could almost hear the throats crack; and yet when time was called, and the score still stood 12 to 5, there was voice enough left for a deafening roar, which only boiled down slowly, gradually into an intelligible cheer.

Then Sleep Forsyth, his face purple with excitement, stood up on the highest bench and managed to make himself heard above the din.

"Now, boys," he shouted, "here's to the old Grind, and let everybody sing!"

At this command the crowd joined hoarsely in, led by the thoroughly waked up Sleeper.

"Oh, Tommy, Tommy Atkins,"

they sang with cracked and gasping voices--

"You're a great and noble one;
You're a credit to the classics,
For you made a brilliant run.
May your drop-kick never fail you,
May your aim be ever true.
Three cheers for old Grind Atkins,
Here's St. James's love to you."

"I think," said Dr. Langford, smiling as he congratulated the happy Captain, "that the equilibrium of the school has at length been satisfactorily adjusted since Atkins has become a football hero."

Big Buff Miller beamed from ear to ear. "It's a finest kind of a grind on us," he said, "and we're proud to acknowledge it, though Doggy says it's too bad a pun."

HOW A DEBT WAS PAID.

An ingenious method of paying one's debts has just come to light in England. It seems that a certain person had long been in debt to his shoemaker, and the latter was becoming angry at the delay. Calling upon the delinquent he spoke to him in no very gentle manner.

"But, my good fellow," the debtor replied, "I have no money, but I will give you an order on Mr. H----, who has been in my debt for ever so long. Here, take this sealed packet, but don't let him perceive that you know anything of its contents."

The shoemaker, in great hopes, betook himself to Mr. H----, and handed him the missive, which ran as follows:

"Dear H----, the bearer, an unfortunate but honest man, has lost his wife and children during the last week, and is, besides, threatened with imprisonment for debt. Persuaded that you will gladly seize the opportunity to assist a poor man in distress, I commend him to your kindness. Yours, sincerely, C----."

H---- gazed with emotion at his visitor, and pressed thirty shillings on his acceptance. The shoemaker departed in a happy frame of mind, little suspecting that he had been taken for a beggar.

BY W. H. GIBSON.

Among my somewhat numerous correspondence from young people, I recall several wondering inquiries about a certain fat floundering "beetle," as "blue as indigo"; and when we consider how many other observing youngsters, including youngsters of larger growth, have looked upon this uncouth shape in the path, lawn, or pasture, will speculate as to its life history, it is perhaps well to make this floundering blue beetle better acquainted with his unappreciative neighbors.

What are the lazy blue insects doing down there in the grass, for there are usually a small family of them. With the exception of their tinselled indigo-blue coat, there is certainly very little to admire in them. But what they lack in beauty they make up for in other ways. There are many of their handsomer cousins whose history is not half as interesting as that of this poor beetle that we tread upon in the grass. His neighbor insect, the tiger-beetle, running hither and thither with legs of wonderful speed, and with the agility of a fly on the wing, readily escapes our approach; but this clumsy, helpless blue beetle must needs plead for mercy by his color alone, because he has no means to avert our crushing step. A little girl who met me on the country road recently summed up the characteristics of the blue beetle pretty well. The portrait was unmistakable. "I've got a funny blue bug at home in a box that I want to show you," said she; "he's blue and awful fat, and hasn't got any wings, but when you touch him, he just turns over on his back, and trembles his toes and leaks big yellow drops out of his elbows." I have shown her beetle--three views of him, in fact--about the natural size, one of them on his back and "leaking" at his elbows, for such is the infallible habit of the insect when disturbed--a trick which has also given him the name of the "oil beetle." He is also known as the indigo beetle.

But of what use can such a queer beetle be to himself or any one else, a beetle that is not only without wings, but is so fat and floundering that he can hardly lift his unwieldy body from the ground, and which, upon being surprised, can only "play possum," and exude great drops of oil (?) upon our palm as we examine him.

But as he pours the vials of his wrath upon us he would doubtless fain have us understand that he was not always thus unable to take care of himself, that he was not always the clumsy crawling creature that he now is. As he lies there on his back, the yellow oily globules of surplus "elbow grease" swelling larger and larger at his leaky elbows, and one by one falling on the paper beneath him, we may almost fancy the monologue which might be going on in that blue head of his.

"Yes, I am indeed a clumsy creature," he might be saying, as he stares upward into our faces with fixed indigo eyes, "and my cumbersome body is a burden. But I was not always what you now see. Ah, you should have seen me as a baby! Was there ever such a lively, acrobatic, venturesome plucky baby as I, even when I was a day old? Shall I tell you some of my feats? Everybody knows me as I am now; but I have taken care that few shall learn my earlier history. It takes a sharp eye to follow my pranks of babyhood, and no one has been smart enough to do it yet, but I will at least let you into the secret of my life as far as it has been found out. I am little over a year old. I was born under a stone in a meadow last April, when I crept out of a golden-yellow case so small that you could hardly see it. I believe your books say I was about a sixteenth of an inch long at that time. Ah! when I think of what I _was_ and what I _could do then_, and look at what I am _now_, I sometimes wonder whether that lively babyhood of mine has not all been a mocking dream."

"Do you wonder that I am as blue as indigo, and am occasionally forced to resort to my oil-tank to still the troubled waters of my later experience? Well, as I was saying (pardon this fresh display of tears), when I crept out of that filmy egg-sac I was just ready for anything, and spoiling for adventure. I found myself with a slender, agile body of thirteen joints, and three pairs of the sprightliest spiderlike legs you ever saw, each tipped with three little sharp claws. Now I knew that these long legs and claws were not given to me at this early babyhood for nothing, so I looked about for something to try them on. I had not a great while to wait, for as I crept along through the grass roots beneath the edge of the stone, I heard a welcome sound, which is music to all babies of my kind. I remembered having heard the same music in my dreams while inside the little yellow case, but now it seemed louder than ever, and in another minute I was almost blown off my feet by the breeze which the noise made, and a great black hairy giant, as big as a house, pounced down, just outside the stone. He had a great black head, and six enormous legs as big round as trees. Think how a bumblebee would look to a wee baby not half as big as a hyphen in one of your books. Did I run when I saw him coming? Not a bit of it. I just waited until he came close to me, and then I jumped on his back, and put those eighteen little claws of mine to good use as I crept over his great spiny body, and finally found a snug resting-place beneath it. And then I waited, clinging tightly with my clutching feet. In another moment I had begun to take my first outing; and did ever baby have such a ride, and to such music! After the bumblebee had remained under the stone a little while he turned and went out again. No sooner did he get to the edge than he spread his great buzzing wings, and away we went over the world, higher and higher, miles high, over big oceans and mountains. I could see them all beneath me as I clung to the underside of the bee. I believe I must finally have got dizzy and faint, for I remember at last finding myself at rest in a queer thicket of greenish poles with big yellow balls at the top of them, and great giant leaves fringed with long glistening hairs. They told me afterward it was a willow blossom."

"It seemed a very good place to rest, so I dropped off from my bee and remained. Everywhere about me, as I looked, the air was yellow with these blossoms, and full of the wing-music of the bees. But, as I have said, I was a restless baby, and having had a taste of travel I soon tired of this idle life, and began to get ready for another ride. My chance soon came. This time it was a honey bee. She alighted in the flower next to mine, but I quietly piled over and clutched upon her leg, and was soon snugly tucked away under her body, with my flat head between its segments. And now for the first time I began to feel hungry; and what was more natural than to take a bite from the tender flesh of this bee, so easily available? I did it, and liked it so well that I adopted this bee for my mother for quite a long while, taking many, many long rides every day, and always coming back to the prettiest little house on a bench under the trees. This was a sort of bee hotel, with many hundreds of guests. It was all partitioned off inside into little six-sided rooms, and the walls were so thin that you could see through them. Indeed, I soon came to like this little home so well that one morning I decided that I would not leave it again. I had begun to get tired of my roving life. I saw a lot of little white fat babies tucked away in some of these little rooms, and this very bee which I had adopted as my mother was engaged in bringing food to some of these babies and sealing them up in their nests. This was enough for me. I concluded to bring my roving habit to a close, and become a bee baby in truth; so watching for my opportunity, I loosened my clutch upon the mother bee, and dropped into one of the little rooms."

"Then I became sleepy, and can tell you nothing more than that when I woke up I didn't know who or what I was. My six spider legs had gone, and I had a half-dozen little short feet instead; and instead of the sprightly ideas of my baby days, the thought of such a thing as even moving was a bore. But I was hungrier than ever, and the first thing I did was to fall upon another fat youngster who disputed the room with me, and make short work of him. That was breakfast. When dinner-time came, I found it right at my mouth. That busy mother of mine had fully supplied my wants, and packed my room full to the ceiling with the most delicious fragrant bread of flowers made of pollen and honey.

"Oh, those were good old times, with all I wanted to eat all the time, and everything I ate turning to appetite! Too soon, too soon I found myself getting drowsy again, and I can only remember awakening from a queer dream, to find even my six tiny legs gone, and what is _worse_, my _mouth_ also. While wondering, and hoping that this was but a troubled vision, I was plunged into sleep again, and dreamt that I was locked up in a mummy-case for over a week. And now comes the end, the cycle of my story. From this nightmare mummy-case I finally awoke--awoke, and emerged as you now see me. Do you wonder that I have had the blues ever since at the memory of those honeyed days, now forever fled? Instead of sporting aloft in airy skyward flights, I am now a miserable groundling. Instead of sweet fragrant bread of flowers, I am now forced to break my fast on acrid buttercup leaves. But I shall live again, with joys several hundred times multiplied, live again in my children, for whose jolly time in the autumn I shall soon lay my plans--golden promises--here in the ground beneath the buttercup leaves, close to a burrow where lives a burly bumblebee.

"But I have not told you all of my history, and will leave you to fill in the blank spaces, even as some of the scientists have to do."

YOUNG FOLKS' SAVINGS.

Young folks--boys and girls, say from ten or twelve to fifteen--almost never think of saving or putting by any of the little money that comes into their hands at so juvenile an age or for some years later. If they should think of forming a saving habit they would defer it until they had grown up, until they had got out of college, until they had begun life for themselves. Not a few of their parents may have the same opinion, may believe that children should not concern themselves in any way about money; that such concern belongs to maturity alone, and is unhealthy, positively hurtful to the very young by making them mercenary, in the end avaricious, even miserly.

There is no danger of this kind in our country, where the tendency is all in the opposite direction. In the Old World it is wholly different. Money is so scarce there generally that the few among the common people who get possession of any are inclined to hoard it. Here money is comparatively plenty. An American miser is seldom found. Certainly no native boy is in peril of becoming miserly because he puts by a few dollars every few weeks or months, instead of spending every cent that falls into his hands, often for things that do him more harm than good.

He may not save, because he has so little to save. But if he once begins he will be surprised to see how the little will grow, what a sum it will amount to after a while. He can scarcely keep trace of its growth if he tries to. It will prove a sort of Jack and his Bean Stalk, growing perpetually by night as well as by day, when he sleeps no less than when he wakes, while he thinks of it and when he forgets all about it. Money saved works a wonder, and, with interest added, becomes a miracle.

Many fathers make their boys a regular allowance--so much a week or a month, according to their means and their best judgment. Ordinarily the allowance is expended speedily, and another one looked for. Thus their money exists in the future, not in the present, and therefore has no existence really. All this is changed when part of the allowance is put by. The allowance steadily and regularly increases.

Boys, or girls either, do not need to have any financial training and business knowledge to save money. They can commence very early, years before they have entered their teens or have arrived at anything like the age of discretion. Their opportunity for investment is ever at hand; they have neither to wait for nor to seek it. It involves no risks, no uncertainties. The opportunity, the place, is the savings-bank, to be found in the smallest town or village, and in multiplied form in every city of any rank. Such banks generally pay from 3-1/2 to 4-1/2 per cent. interest per annum, and while this seems small, it is surprising how it will foot up in a short season, as any young person may ascertain, and as innumerable young persons have already ascertained. The banks are almost always safe, being founded for the good of the people, for the encouragement of the poor, for the establishment of thrifty habits, and being bound by rigorous, cautious, conservative rules that are seldom infringed. The smallest deposits, those that seem most insignificant--deposits of ten, even of five cents, are received, so that any child may become a depositor, if so minded. Cents soon augment into dollars, and a few dollars into hundreds through careful nursing and judicious attention. Fifty dollars will yield at 4 per cent. $2 a year; a hundred dollars, $4; and, interest upon interest added, will exceed all common calculation. Very young people rarely have any regular expenses, so that when they undertake the battle of life they are well equipped for it monetarily, and with very little effort. Their accumulation has been wellnigh unconscious, and is singularly satisfactory. The return is great for the small labor and diligence involved, and resembles play more than work.

Girls are less prone to saving than boys are, for they are as a rule less provident, less practical, less disposed to look ahead, less concerned about their own maintenance, naturally. But they have precisely the same chances, the same facilities, the same inducements. Girls of an independent turn of mind, who are hopeful of a career, as many are in these days, should follow the example of their brothers in saving, and they will be well rewarded.

Money is material, of course, but the material affects the mental quickly. If a comparison be made between the boys who have established the saving habit and those who have not established it, the former will be found to have many advantages. Saving includes much looking after, a sense of proportion, self-confidence, the adaptation of means to ends. It fixes responsibility. Boys who have saved for a special purpose, to buy something that they particularly wanted, and that costs more than they felt they could afford, know how grateful it was to achieve their object, and how speedily it was gained. Such saving is an example of what the regular habit of saving ensures to the mind and the character of the regular saver. The effect is complete instead of partial, permanent instead of transitory. The habit of early saving works a gradual revolution; it is an extra education, a species of commonplace magic which the readers of HARPER'S ROUND TABLE need but practise to realize fully. On it and its direct results may hang much of their future success.

JUNIUS HENRI BROWNE.

ZINTKA LANUNI ("LOST BIRD").

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

_The battle of Wounded Knee was fought on Wounded Knee Creek, near
Pine Ridge Agency, December 29, 1890. Its only Indian survivor was
a baby girl, five months old, found on January 1, 1891, snugly
wrapped in her pappoose blanket, and almost covered with snow. The
little one lay close to her dead mother, whose body was pierced by
two rifle balls. The little waif was adopted by General L. W. Colby
of the army, and may be seen at his home in Beatrice, Nebraska. She
has been christened Marguerite Elizabeth, but the Indians call her
Zintka Lanuni--Lost Bird. Our soldiers did not seek this fight; it
was forced upon them by the Indians, who, in their turn, had a fear
that they were to be carried away into slavery when disarmed by
order of our government._

"Fight!" cried the dusky Chief of the Sioux,
"Fight! it is all we have left to do;
The white man snatches our arms away,
He drives us forth from our tents to-day.
Seize the hatchet, the axe, the brand,
Rise, my braves, for a last great stand.
What if his rifles gird us round,
We'll dare the worst on our own home ground.
These pale-faced warriors soon forget
The promise to which their hands are set;
We may not trust their worthless pledge;
Oh, for the tomahawk's lightning edge!
Fight, my braves!" cried the Chief of the Sioux,
"Fight! 'tis the sole thing left to do."
And women and men rushed madly on
To strive till the winter day was gone.

A hopeless fight from morn till night;
The winter darkness veiled the sight
Of desperate mothers with babes on backs,
Wounded and dying in their tracks;
Of a little band with axe and knife,
Facing bullets in savage strife.
No man could open their eyes to see
That the savage onslaught need not be,
That friends were forced to be deadly foes,
Till the red field hid its shuddering woes,
When night came down, and soft and free
Fell the snows on the plain of Wounded Knee.

Dying and dead, young men and old,
Lying there, stark and grim and cold,
A sorrowful tale, too often told.
Ambush and battle and storm at last
Were ended; the Indian's fears had passed.

Safe to his happy hunting-ground
His way the dusky Chief had found.
The pitying conquerors buried the dead.
A faint, faint cry their footsteps led
To a wee thing nestled under the snow,
Snug, as her mother three days ago,
Had borne her close in her blanket's fold.
But wellnigh perished with hunger and cold,
The poor little Indian baby lay,
Till the dawn of the fourth drear winter day.

Child of the battle, infant waif,
Beside her poor dead mother safe.
Zintka Lanuni, the sweet lost bird,
Lives with her captors to-day, and, stirred
By tenderest love, a gentle heart
Gives her of cup and loaf a part.
She is growing up in the white man's tent,
Daughter and princess, her childhood spent
In learning and knowing the dearest things,
This little lost bird, whose feeble wings,
Too weak to fly, one day were furled
In a rough small nest, by snows impearled.
Zintka Lanuni, all blessings be
With the little lost bird of Wounded Knee.

THE IMP OF THE TELEPHONE.

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS.

II.--IN THE IMP'S ROOM.

"Dear me!" ejaculated Jimmieboy, as his eye first rested upon the Imp. "That's you, eh?"

"I believe so," replied the Imp, standing on his left leg, and twirling around and around until Jimmieboy got dizzy looking at him. "I was me when I got up this morning, and I haven't heard of any change since. Do I look like what I told you I looked like?"

"Not exactly," said Jimmieboy. "You said you had lilac-colored hair, and it's more like a green than a lilac."

"You are just like everybody else naming your colors. People are very queer about things of that sort, I think. For instance," said the Imp, to illustrate his point, "you go walking in the garden with one of your friends, and you come to a rose-bush, and your friend says, 'Isn't that a pretty rose-bush?' 'Yes,' say you; 'very.' Then he says, 'And what a lovely lilac-bush that is over there.' 'Extremely lovely,' say you. 'Let's sit down under this raspberry-bush,' says he. Well, now you think lilac is a delicate lavender, rose a pink, and raspberry a red--eh?"

"Yes," said Jimmieboy. "That's the way they are."

"Well, maybe so; but that lilac-bush and rose-bush and raspberry-bush are all the same color, and that color is green, just like my hair; you must have thought I looked like a rainbow or a paint shop when I told you about myself?"

"No," said Jimmieboy. "I didn't think that, exactly. I thought, perhaps, you were like the pictures in my _Mother Goose_ book. They have lots of colors to 'em, and they are not bad looking, either."

"Well, if they are not bad looking," said the Imp, with a pleased smile, "they must be very much like me. But don't you want to come in?"

"I'm not small enough," said Jimmieboy; "but I'll eat that apple you spoke about, and maybe it'll make me shrink, though I don't see how it can."

"Easy enough. Haven't you seen a boy doubled up after eating an apple? Of course you have; perhaps you were the boy. At any rate there is no reason why, if an apple can work that way, it can't work the other. It's a poor rule that won't work both ways, and an apple is pretty good, as a rule, and so you have it proved without trying that what I say is true. Here's the apple; eat it as quickly as you can and give me the core."

Jimmieboy took the dainty piece of fruit in his hand and ate it with much relish, for it was a very sweet apple, and he was fond of that sort of thing. Unfortunately, he liked it so well that he forgot to give the core to the Imp, and, when in a moment he felt himself shrinking up, and the Imp asked for the core, he was forced blushingly to confess that he had been very piggish about it, and had swallowed the whole thing.

"I've half a mind not to let you in at all!" cried the Imp, stamping his foot angrily upon the floor, so angrily that the bells rang out softly as if in remonstrance. "In fact, I don't see how I can let you in, because you have disobeyed me about that core."

"I'm surprised at you," returned Jimmieboy, slightly injured in feeling by the Imp's behavior. "I wouldn't make such a fuss about an old apple-core. If you feel as badly about it as all that, I'll run down into the kitchen and get you a whole apple--one as big as you are."

"That isn't the point at all," said the Imp. "I didn't want the core for myself at all. I wanted it for you."

"Well, I've got it," said Jimmieboy, who had now shrunk until he was no taller than the Imp himself, not more than two inches high.

"Of course you have, and if you will notice it is making you grow right back again to the size you were before. That's where the trouble comes in with those trick apples. The outside makes you shrink, and the core makes you grow. When I said I wanted the core I meant that I wanted it to keep until we had had our trip together, so that when we got back you could eat it, and return to your papa and mamma just as you were in the beginning. Just run to the parlor mirror now and watch yourself."

Jimmieboy hastened into the parlor, and climbing upon the mantel-piece gazed into the mirror, and, much to his surprise, noticed that he was growing fast. He was four inches high when he got there, and then as the minutes passed he lengthened inch by inch, until finally he found himself just as he had been before he ate the apple.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" he asked, when he returned to the telephone.

"I don't know," said the Imp. "It's really too bad, for that's the last apple of that sort I had. The trick-apple trees only bear one apple a year, and I have been saving that one for you ever since last summer, and here, just because you were greedy, it has all gone for nothing."

"I'm very sorry, and very much ashamed," said Jimmieboy, ruefully. "It was really so awfully good, I didn't think."

"Well, it's very thoughtless of you not to think," said the Imp. "I should think you'd feel very small."

"I do!" sobbed Jimmieboy.

"Do you, really?" cried the Imp, gleefully, "Real weeny, teeny small."

"Yes," said Jimmieboy, a tear trickling down his cheek.

"Then it's all right," sang the Imp, dancing a lovely jig to show how glad he felt. "Because we are always the way we feel. If you feel sick, you are sick. If you feel good, you are good, and if you feel sorry, you are sorry, and so, don't you see, if you feel small you are small. The only point is, now, do you feel small enough to get into this room?"

"I think I do," returned Jimmieboy, brightening up considerably, because his one great desire now was not to be a big grown-up man, like his papa, who could sharpen lead-pencils, and go out of doors in snow-storms, but to visit the Imp in his own quarters. "Yes," he repeated, "I think I do feel small enough to get in there."

"You've got to know," returned the Imp. "The trouble with you, I believe, is that you think in the wrong places. This isn't a matter of thinking; it's a matter of knowing."

"Well, then, I know I'm small enough," said Jimmieboy. "The only thing is, how am I to get up there?"

"I'll fix that," replied the Imp, with a happy smile. "I'll let down the wires, and you can come up on them."

Here he began to unwind two thin green silk-covered wires that Jimmieboy had not before noticed, and which were coiled about two small spools fastened on the back of the door.

"I can't climb," said Jimmieboy, watching the operation with interest.

"Nobody asked you to," returned the Imp. "When these have reached the floor I want you to fasten them to the newel-post of the stairs."

"All right," said Jimmieboy, grasping the wires, and fastening them as he was told. "What now?"

"Now I'll send down the elevator," said the Imp, as he loosened a huge magnet from the wall, and fastening it securely upon the two wires, sent it sliding down to where Jimmieboy stood. "There," he added, as it reached the end of the wire. "Step on that; I'll turn on the electricity, and up you'll come."

"I won't fall, will I?" asked Jimmieboy, timidly.

"That depends on the way you feel," the Imp answered. "If you feel safe, you are safe. Do you feel safe?"

"Not very," said Jimmieboy, as he stepped aboard the magnetic elevator.

"Then we'll have to wait until you do," returned the Imp, impatiently. "It seems to me that a boy who has spent weeks and weeks and weeks jumping off plush sofas onto waxed hard-wood floors ought to be less timid than you are."

"That's true," said Jimmieboy. "I guess I feel safe."

"All aboard, then," said the Imp, pressing a small button at the back of the room.

There was a rattle and a buzz, and then the magnet began to move upward, slowly at first, and then with all the rapidity of the lightning, so that before Jimmieboy had an opportunity to change his mind about his safety he was in the Imp's room, and, much to his delight, discovered that he was small enough to walk about therein without having to stoop, and in every way comfortable.

"At last!" ejaculated the Imp, grasping his hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze. "At last you are here. And now we'll close the door, and I'll show you my treasures."

With this the door was closed, and for a moment all was dark as pitch: but only for a moment, for hardly had Jimmieboy turned around when a flood of soft light burst forth from every corner of the room, and the little visitor saw upon every side of him the most wonderful books, toys, and musical instruments he had ever seen, each and all worked by electricity, and apparently subject to the will of the Imp, who was the genius of the place.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

The game between Lawrenceville and Andover day after to-morrow will be an interesting one to watch, for both teams are in the best of condition, and have been doing remarkably good work all season. Phillips Academy will have the advantage of home grounds, but even so they will have to put up a pretty stiff game to overcome those lively players from New Jersey. Last year the first contest in football between these two schools was held at Lawrenceville on the same date that will see this season's play, and the home team was victorious to the tune of 20 to 6. The score will probably not be so large day after to-morrow, for the two elevens seem to be more evenly matched.

There was at first some trouble in getting the proper men fitted into the several open positions at Lawrenceville, but the team has been pretty well settled upon now, and the men who lined up against the Princeton Freshmen last week will in all probability represent the school in the Andover game. Eddy and Righter have improved greatly, and will remain at the ends. The former is doing a good deal of running with the bull, and ought to give Andover some trouble. Cadwalader, who played guard last year, is now at tackle. He is somewhat slow to wake up, but when once started it takes two men to hold him. Emerson is the other tackle, and he is no doubt the best man in that position of any school team this year. Church of the Princeton 'Varsity had all he could take care of when he faced Emerson in the recent game that the Tigers played against Lawrenceville. He can be counted on for making frequent holes in Andover's line, and I should not be surprised if he got through often enough to stop some of Douglass's kicks.

The heaviest man on the team is Edwards at right guard, and he is playing about the best all-around game of any man on the team. He breaks through quickly, and is also a valuable man in advancing the ball. Richards is at left guard, and, although a new man for the team this year, is learning the game rapidly, and knows his position thoroughly. He has another claim to athletic distinction in being Lawrenceville's best tennis-player. The new man at centre, Simons, has been somewhat of an experiment all along, and may prove a weak spot in an otherwise solid line. He is amenable to coaching, however, and unless something pretty serious crops up in his play, will not be displaced for the Andover game.

Quarter-back will not be so well taken care of as it was last year, for there are few players so clever as was De Saulles, who is now at Yale. Powell, now holding the position, has had some experience, however, having played quarter for two years on the Cook County Normal School Team, of Chicago. Captain Dibble has entrusted him with the important duty of giving the signals, which is properly a part of the quarter-back's duty, although it is the Captain's privilege and prerogative. Where it is possible to have the man at quarter do the signalling, it is always best for the general welfare of the team, and Powell has proved himself fairly capable of shouldering the responsibility. He is a little prone to the "rattles" at the start. This nervousness, of course, affects the play of the backs, and some minutes are lost before the team can get steadied down.

This feature of Powell's play may prove embarrassing at Andover, for there will be a cyclone of yelling as the game starts on the hill, and the P.A. forwards will do all they can to make things unpleasant for him. If this nervousness is something the man is unable to overcome at first, although he can, a few minutes later, play football with the coolest of any on the team, I should advise Captain Dibble (if he will pardon me for offering a hint not in any way intended as a suggestion as to how he should handle his team) to give the signals himself until Powell has got steadied down to work. As to Powell's good points: his passing is fair, and his tackling qualities are much above the average.

At the halves, Captain Dibble and Davis hold their places where they have now played together for three seasons. Dibble's injury to his ankle a few weeks ago will probably not affect his work at Andover, although he has been forced to keep out of practice for some weeks. He is a sprinter of great promise and considerable achievement, and his running qualities make him an invaluable man. He gets up to his place in the interference quickly, dodges excellently, and when once clear of his interference usually runs around the opposing full-back, making a sensational dash. Dibble is probably the hardest man to tackle and bring to a full stop that has ever been on a Lawrenceville eleven, and frequently, when about to be tackled low, jumps clean over the man. This is a dangerous trick, but has frequently proved successful when performed by Dibble.

THE BERKELEY SCHOOL FOOTBALL TEAM.]

The other half-back, Davis, is a strong line backer, and is one of the most reliable men on the team. Captain Kafer, of the baseball team, is now at full-back, and fills the position very creditably. His line backing is fair, and he can outpunt must of his fellows at the school. He has made several goals from the field this year.

As for the team-play in general, there is room for improvement at the present writing, but I feel sure good work along that line will be done during the last few days previous to the 14th. In the recent game with Pennington Seminary, one of Lawrenceville's oldest and greatest rivals, Lawrenceville won by 40-0, but only four points were made in the first half. During this time the school team was kept continually on the defensive. Pennington's players, of course, are much older men, and at the start-off showed superior strength. In the second half, however, the Lawrenceville players put up an exceedingly fast game, virtually using up their opponents. Pennington had the ball but once during the half. This kind of work is the best kind of proof of the excellent system of training which prevails at this New Jersey school, and which this Department has on more than one occasion commented upon.

At Andover the team-play of the eleven has been perhaps more fully developed than at Lawrenceville, and the P.A. eleven has had the advantage of playing against a set of stronger teams, as an average, than the Jersey men. The scores up to the first of the month show Andover's record, in nine games played, to be 86 points to her opponents 74, whereas last year at the same date the scores were, Andover, 184; opponents, 113, in eleven games played.

One of the best games Andover has played this season was that against her old Worcester rival, the Academy, in which P.A. came out on top by the small margin of 4-0. Throughout the match both sides played a straight, old-fashioned game, and attempted few trick plays. It was football all the way through, and upon it Andover won. The visitors found early in the game that it was practically useless to attempt to buck the Academy centre for any substantial gains, and so devoted most of their attention to close end plays, going generally just outside the tackle. The Academy ends did practically nothing in the way of tackling, and each time a gain was made it was on an end play, aided by good interference. The Academy players, on the other hand, found they could make good holes in the centre of the line, and through them made a number of gains. Occasionally they would get around the ends, but it was through brilliant individual work rather than by good interference.

The touch-down was made in the second half. Worcester had forced the ball down to Andover's 25-yard line, and there lost it on a fumble. P.A. then took a big brace, and put snap into their play. They worked the ends almost entirely, and always for at least a four-yard gain, and thus finally scored, Barker placing the ball behind the Academy goal-line, but in a bad position. A kick-out was attempted, and the ball fairly caught, but the angle was a difficult one, and Barker failed, by a narrow margin, to kick a goal. No further scoring was done by either side.

It is unfortunate that the opening of the Connecticut High-School F.B.A.'s season should have been characterized by anything but good football and a spirit of fair play, and it is still more unfortunate that sensational reports of the slight misunderstanding which occurred should have been printed broadcast in the newspapers. Both elevens played a strong game, and everything would undoubtedly have passed off to the satisfaction of all concerned if Referee Hall had been more capable than he showed himself on the field. The score was 22-12 in favor of Hartford, but a general opinion prevails in both camps that Hartford's actual winning score was 24-18.