Chapter II: Part 2

When morning came there was no need for Rita to propose a ride on horseback. Ni-ha-be spoke of it first, and for the self-same reason; but there was nothing unusual about it, for they almost lived in the saddle, like genuine daughters of the great Apache nation.

For a while the very delight of galloping up and down the valley on such swift and beautiful animals as they were riding almost drove out of their minds the thought of the talking leaves. But when, a little later, Many Bears slowly arose from a long fit of thinking there in front of his lodge, and said to Red Wolf, "Call Rita," Rita was nowhere to be seen.

"Find her. Tell her to come, and bring me the white men's medicine, talking leaves."

Red Wolf sprang upon the nearest horse--and there were several standing ready for sudden errands--and dashed away in search of his truant sisters.

Mother Dolores could tell him nothing, but his loud, half-angry questionings drew together a knot of squaws and children, two or three of whom were ready to point toward the northeastern slope of the valley, and tell him he would have to hunt in that direction.

He was ready for it, of course; but he reined in his mustang in front of his father long enough to tell him the cause of the delay.

"Bring them back. They are as wild as rabbits. They will lose their scalps some day."

The chief did not smile when he said that. He was beginning to feel uneasy about the position of his affairs, and he could hardly have told why. He said to himself, "Bad medicine. Can't see him. Great chief smell him."

And then he gave sharp orders to his young braves to have all the ponies caught and brought in from the pastures below, and the squaws to have all their packs ready and their lodges taken down.

"Big talk come," he said again to himself. "Maybe big fight. Don't know. Must be ready. Somebody catch the great chief asleep if he doesn't look out."

Nobody had ever done that yet, for Many Bears had even a greater name for his cunning than for his fighting.

Red Wolf was well mounted, and he darted away at full speed. His father was not a man to forgive a slow messenger any more than a slow cook.

"I understand," he muttered. "Squaws not stay in valley. Go among trees and rocks. Bears catch 'em some day. Eat 'em all up. Not afraid of anything."

So he was really anxious about them, and afraid they would run into danger?

Certainly.

The red man's family affection does not always show itself in the same way with ours, but there is plenty of it. All the more in the case of a young brave like Red Wolf, with every reason to be proud as well as fond of his sister.

And of Rita?

He was thinking of her now, and wondering if she had learned anything more about the cavalry from her talking leaves.

It was, for all the world, just as if he had been a young white man from "one of the first families."

He galloped onward, keenly eying the fringes of the forest and the broken bases of the ledges, until he came to the broad opening below the gap, and here he suddenly stopped and sprang to the ground at a place where the green sod was soft and deeply marked with the prints of horses' hoofs.

"The blue-coat horsemen came out here. Their tracks are old. Ugh! Those are fresh. Ni-ha-be and Rita."

He was on his horse again in an instant, galloping up the not very steep slope of the pass.

The two girls had been in no hurry, and it was not long before Red Wolf came in sight of them.

He put his hand to his mouth, and gave a long, peculiar whoop, that meant: "I am after you. Come back."

They understood it well enough, and Rita might have obeyed if she had been left to herself, but there was more than a little mischief behind the black eyes of Ni-ha-be.

"Let him catch us. He won't do anything worse than scold. I'm not afraid of Red Wolf."

Rita was, just a little, but she rode on beside her sister without turning her head.

"We shall not read any of the leaves this morning."

"Read? What is that?"

"Just the same as a warrior when he finds a trail of a deer. Just like the trail of the blue-coat cavalry. Father and the gray-heads read it."

"Is that the way the leaves talk to you? I guessed it was. It is all signs, like tracks in the mud."

Rita had used the only Apache word she could think of that came at all near to meaning what she wanted, but there was no word for "book," or for any kind of book.

Again they heard the shout of Red Wolf behind them. It was nearer now, and a little angry.

"He is coming, Ni-ha-be. Don't let us ride fast."

"He is saying ugly things. But we will laugh at him and tell him he can not whoop loud enough to be heard."

Red Wolf was proud of his powerful voice, and that would be a sure way to tease him.

"Rita! The great chief is angry. He calls for you."

He was close upon them by this time, and they reined in their horses. Teasing Red Wolf was one thing, but disobeying Many Bears was quite another. They had seen squaws beaten for smaller offenses than that.

"We have done wrong, Ni-ha-be."

"Oh, not much. We can ride back as fast as our ponies can carry us. Turn and meet him."

It had been a very little bit of a "runaway" on the part of the two girls, but it threatened to have serious consequences.

There was no time even for Red Wolf to scold them before the consequences began to come.

They had ridden just to the end of the spot where the rocks and bushes at the road-side were so thickset and made so perfect a cover for anybody hiding among them.

"Look, Red Wolf, look!"

"Oh, who are they? Enemies!"

The young brave pulled in his mustang so sharply that he almost tumbled him over, and turned his head.

"Pale-faces? How came they here?"

He could hardly have been more astonished if one of the granite bowlders near him had stood up and said, "Good-morning." So far as he could have guessed, the nearest white man was many hundreds of miles away, and his nation was at peace with them for the time; but here were three of the hated race standing in the road to cut off his retreat and that of his sisters.

Three tall, brawny, evil-looking pale-faces with rifles in their hands, and the foremost of them was levelling his gun straight at Red Wolf, and shouting, "Surrender, you red-skinned coyote, or I'll put a pill into ye."

An Indian brave like the son of Many Bears might deem it an honor to be named after the large, dangerous wolf he had killed in single fight, with only his knife, but to be called a coyote, a miserable prairie wolf, jackal, was a bitter insult, and that was what it was meant for. He had left his carbine in the camp, but his long lance was in his hand, and his knife and revolver were in his belt.

What could one young brave do against three such powerful and well-armed white men?

"Ni-ha-be!" exclaimed Rita.

"I am an Apache girl. I can fight. You are a pale-face."

Rita was stung to her very heart by her sister's scornful reply, for she had also brought her bow and arrows. They never stirred from camp without them, and squaws were not permitted to carry fire-arms.

Ni-ha-be had an arrow already on the string, and Rita followed her example like a flash.

"Red Wolf is a warrior. He is not a coyote. He will show the pale-faces--"

Twang!

The sound of Ni-ha-be's bowstring cut Red Wolf's haughty reply in two in the middle, and it was well for the miner "Bill" that he was quick in dodging. As it was, he dropped his rifle, for there was an arrow through his right arm above the elbow, and Ni-ha-be was fitting another.

Twang!

But the man at whom Rita aimed her arrow was an old Indian fighter, and he parried it easily.

"Red Wolf, your pistol!"

"Boys," exclaimed Bill, "they're a lot of young wildcats! We'll jest have to shoot. Pick off the red-skin, quick, and knock over the two girls before they make a hole into ye."

The two parties were hardly twenty yards apart, and all this had happened in a few seconds; but just then Red Wolf was exclaiming,

"Two more!"

And Rita said, excitedly,

"Stop, Ni-ha-be! See! They are fighting each other. These two are friends. Don't shoot!"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

DOBBIN'S PERVERSITY.

"What can we do on this bright summer's day,
And what may our frolic be?
Shall we play at wild outlaws by Robin Hood led,
Just baby, and Bertie, and me?"

"Or stay, here's old Dobbin--why, children, you know
We must gallop him off to the pond below.
Poor Dobbin is thirsty--we nearly forgot;
He's done lots of work, and he's tired and hot."

Rattle and scamper--hurrah for the fun!--
Three merry youngsters, see how they run!
Fast go their heels, round go the wheels.
Old Dobbin says nothing of all that he feels.
Yet in his one eye lurks a mischievous wink,
And brought to the water, old Dobbin _won't_ drink.

Sir Toadie lies low by yon mossy gray stone--
A worshipful toad is he!--
A toad with a wise and wonderful mien,
Solemnly wearing his coat of green,

Of what does this knowing Sir Toadie dream?
Hark! he croaks to a passing bee
Watching the scene--the scolding and petting
A very queer steed on the bank is getting,
Now ordered, now asked, now begged, "just one drop,"
Next pushed all a-hurry, it tumbles in--flop!

Nidding and nodding his wise old head,
These are the words that the toad has said,
"Many may lead to the fair river's brink,
But a horse must _will_, ere they make him drink."

* * * * *

Jes you stan' up, you queer old broom.
And be as good as you can be;
You see to-night is Christmas-eve,
And you must be my Christmas-tree.

* * * * *

Rub-a-dub-dub on kettle and pan,
Rub-a-dub-dub, make music who can.
Our gay little party all sing out of tune;
Tom of Puss in the Corner, and Ned of sweet June.
While on the pail drumming Joe strikes with a will,
Loud chanting the story of Jack and of Jill.

Music you call it! I hear but a noise;
But noise is sweet music to small girls and boys.
Patience, grown people, remember the day
When you were but children and rattled away,
With a rub-a-dub-dub on kettle and pan,
Rub-a-dub-dub, making music who can.

In this number of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE we have given our readers a good foretaste of Christmas, just by way of preparation for all the delightful things coming in the next. On December 20 we shall publish our regular Christmas number, which will be entirely given up to matter suitable to the joyous Christmas-tide. The C. Y. P. R. U. will not have its attention drawn, as usual, to articles with sound facts for a basis; the Postmistress will not have a word to say; there will be no Exchanges; even the serial story will be dropped for a week. Our Christmas number will thus be complete in itself, for YOUNG PEOPLE, like its little patrons, has no room for other thoughts during one week in the year than those which are connected with the day which celebrates the birth of the Saviour of the world. The leading features will be a charming fairy story, entitled "Shamruck; or, the Christmas Panniers," by Mr. Frank R. Stockton, illustrated by Mr. Alfred Fredericks; another admirable story, entitled "A Perfect Christmas," by W. O. Stoddard, with illustrations by Mr. Howard Pyle; and a most amusing pantomime, entitled "The Magic Clock," by Mr. G. B. Bartlett, with an illustration by Mr. F. S. Church. There will be a number of minor attractions, which we will leave our readers to discover for themselves, and the whole will be inclosed in an entirely novel and unique cover, ornamented by one of Mr. Nast's most capital drawings.

* * * * *

CALUMET, MICHIGAN.

We have had snow three times this winter, and it has gone off
twice, but the weather is very stormy now, and I guess it will stay
this time.

I go to school. We have quite a large school-house, it being 190
feet long, 100 feet wide, and 100 feet in height, from the ground
to the top of the belfry. The foundation is sandstone, which
extends for about eight feet above the ground. There are eighteen
rooms in use as school-rooms. I am in the next room below the High
School. I am ten years old, and study reading, writing, spelling,
arithmetic, drawing, higher geography, and grammar.

There are many curious things about the mines here. One shaft is
2400 feet deep. I have not been through the mines since the new
machinery was put in, but I have been told that it is a great deal
stronger and larger than the old. They have built two new
engine-houses, and rebuilt two old ones, and put new machinery in
all. One of the boilers at the Hecla is thirty feet long, and there
are two of that size at the Calumet.

PERCY P.

* * * * *

MICHIGAN CITY, INDIANA.

I am a little girl eleven years old. I have a pet dog which is part
blood-hound, and was named after a famous fox-hound in
Pennsylvania. I have ten dolls. Some are pretty old, and have
retired from active life. My aunt Mate made most of their clothes.
One is quite plain, and I call her the old maid. The beauty of my
family I call Daisy. My mamma has been sick four years. I have a
brother Charley, four years old last June. We have a bird whose
name is Major. We call it that after papa; his friends always
called him the Major. Then there is John, the cat, who is four
years and a half old; he belonged to my sister, who died four years
ago.

This is a great locality for sand. We have a number of high hills;
one called Hoosier Slide, covered with white sand, is over a
hundred feet high. We have a nice harbor, which has been improved
every year since we came here. We don't like it here as well as we
did in Michigan. We sent a box of clothing to a little girl there
who needed it very much.

MAUD S.

* * * * *

COLLEGE GROVE, TENNESSEE.

I am a little girl who has owned a great many cats. I lost the
oldest one last November. His name was Mark Gray. He was fourteen
years and eight months old. The first word I ever said was to call
him "Tit-tat." Many persons said to me, "Anna, why don't you let
that poor old cat be shot?" But I could not let him meet that fate.
He had lost all his teeth, and I fed him on milk and biscuit till
he died. I have had a great many dolls, but my favorite is a large
one that Santa Claus brought me when I was three years old. I could
not then lift her. She has a china head, a cloth body, and red kid
gloves. I named her Lizzie M., for one of my young lady cousins,
and when she married I changed the doll's name to Mrs. B. I raised
twenty-four turkeys last year, and I take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
with part of my turkey money. I have twenty-three this year, nearly
all white. I like white turkeys best, because I can see them better
than those of any other color when they wander off to make a nest.
I have no brothers and sisters, but we have a little black girl who
plays with me and helps me to drive up my turkeys. They got wet
twice, and I thought they were dead, but we put them under the
stove, and they revived. I have a garden and a little pit. I have
five rose-bushes; one has blossoms no larger than my finger-nail. I
have a bed of sweet violets; they begin to bloom in February. I
have a lovely species of white asclepias that grows wild here; it
looks like wax. Mamma says if it had come from the Cape of Good
Hope, people would go wild about it. My pit is three feet square
and one and a half feet deep. I plant in it verbenas, feverfews,
Japan pinks, and rose cuttings. I cover it with boards, and when it
is very cold I put a rug on top. I kept my flowers safely last
winter, although it was so cold. This is November 7, and we have
not yet had any frost. The roses are as pretty as in spring-time,
and the garden is gay with zinnias and chrysanthemums.

ANNA MINER R.

* * * * *

We ask attention to the letter from two little girls which follows this paragraph. We have sent them a bound volume of YOUNG PEOPLE for 1881, which we hope will help them in making the Christmas season a glad one to their little friends the "Innocents."

DEAR GIRLS AND BOYS,--Christmas is drawing near now, and you are
all preparing for the Christmas tree, and lots of you are making
pretty presents for your friends. We wish to ask you a favor, so
now please give attention.... The pastor of the Trinity
Episcopalian Church established a "Home for the Innocents." All
poor little waifs are taken to this Home, and little ones are left
whose mothers work out by the day. They have a nice time playing
together, and some kind Sisters watch these little ones. But the
church caught fire and burned down, and now the members (who are
mostly poor people) are saving their money so we can build the
church up again, and we are sadly afraid the little ones will lose
their Christmas fun. The Sunday-school scholars have given up the
tree, so they could help the church, but the "Innocents" will have
_nothing_. Now won't you _all_ send us some toys, or brightly
colored picture-books, or Christmas-tree ornaments. Rummage your
closet shelves, and see if there are not broken toys or dolls you
don't care about any more, and send them to _us_. Some of you write
and tell of so many things you have; can't you spare one for these
children? Please do, and after Christmas we will write again all
about them.

LYDIA BELLE HARGREAVES,
LULU G. RUCKSTUHL,
508 Wenzel St., Louisville, Ky.

Be particular, children, to send your gifts directly to Lydia or Lulu, and not to Harper & Brothers.

* * * * *

LAWRENCE, KANSAS.

I am a little Kansas boy who reads your paper regularly. I am very
much interested in the Wiggle department of the YOUNG PEOPLE. I
sent a wiggle for No. 95 and No. 104, and it made me very happy to
see them in the paper. I shall send some more. I am eleven years
old, and have been going to school four years, and am in the sixth
grade. I live in Lawrence, and the University of Kansas is here.
When I become old enough I will go there. I want to get a good
education. Then, when I become a man, perhaps I may be an editor,
or write story-books. West of Lawrence a few hundred miles are the
great plains. The Indians used to live there, and hunt buffaloes.
The Indians have gone now, and so, I suppose, have the buffaloes.

Kansas is a good place for little boys. I used to live in
Washington. D. C. But there the houses are too thick to fly a kite.
Here on the prairies we boys often fly our kites to the height of
two balls of twine. We have lots of room to run. Father has
promised me a pony on my next birthday. He says thousands of people
come to Kansas every year from the Eastern States. I wish lots of
little boys from the East would come to Lawrence to live. I am very
anxious to hear about Mr. Stubbs's brother.

SIDNEY C. P.

* * * * *

This little picture, represents a branch of oranges sent to the office of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. It was cut by Mr. James Otis from an orange-tree in Duval County, Florida, which this season has borne over 2000 oranges. We thank Mr. Otis for his kind remembrance.

* * * * *

MCKEESFORT, PENNSYLVANIA.

I am six years old, and have a little brother John sixteen months
old. He came Sunday night, July 4, and he bothers me a heap--wants
all my playthings, and when he gets them, breaks them all up. At
night, when I want papa to read me the stories in YOUNG PEOPLE, he
screams and screams to see the pictures, and I have to wait for the
stories till he goes to bed. I am going to start to school this
week, and I will study hard and learn to read, so I can read the
stories myself. My grandpa lives on a farm, and I go to see him
nearly every day to get rides on the horses, and drive the cows,
and to see the men working at the water-works basin which the town
is building to get water from the Youghiogheny River. The only pet
I have is an Alderney heifer named Bessie, which my grandma gave
me. She is so quiet I can put my arms round her neck, and hold her
by the horns.

TOMMY E.

WEST NEW BRIGHTON, NEW YORK.

I am eight years old. I have a white cat with one blue and one
green eye. We have a dog called Grip, a bull-terrier. He is very
gentle and playful. I lost my dog called Pickles. My father is
going to get me another. I go to school at New Brighton, and take
French lessons, spelling, reading, and geography. I have a little
brother nearly a month old, and two others. Perhaps I have said
enough.

DAVY B.

It is quite proper for little correspondents who have not yet learned to write to do so by proxy; by which we mean to get their fathers or mothers to write for them while they dictate the letters. Such letters are always welcome. Master Davy B. signed his name very boldly to the letter his father wrote for him, and probably Tommy E. will soon be able to do the same.

* * * * *

I am a little boy seven years old last Valentine's Day. I have been
taking HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE from No. 1 to the present time. I have
had two volumes bound, and am saving up for the third volume. I
have two numbers (duplicates), 20 and 76. I will _give_ them to any
of the little readers that will send me his or her address. I have
eight cats and three kittens, also an English pug-dog. Pug does not
like the cats, but the kittens eat out of his dish with him. One
Sunday Pug went to Sunday-school, and sat on the bench beside my
sister Helen. I am so interested in the story, "The Talking
Leaves."

LOUIS N. W., JUN., Beverly, N. J.

* * * * *

HARRY VAN N.--Your description of the industries of Minneapolis is very interesting. A city where there is so much manufacturing, so much enterprise, is a good place for an intelligent lad to live in.

* * * * *

Six little girls at Pulaski, Tennessee, were directed by their teacher to write letters to Our Post-office Box, and bring them to her instead of their usual weekly compositions. The letters signed by S. K. A., Maggie J. A., F. W., A. B. A., M. R., and Julia R. have been sent to us, and are very creditable to the little writers. Our thanks are due to their kind teacher for her appreciation of our efforts in behalf of young people.

* * * * *

ALICE MCL.--For a boy of twelve who is fond of reading we know of no more enchanting book than _What Mr. Darwin Saw in his Voyage Round the World in the Ship Beagle_. This is a beautifully illustrated volume, and its price is $3. THE BOYS OF '76, at the same price, is a fascinating book which tells young Americans about the stirring scenes of the Revolutionary war. There are three volumes of _Travel in the Far East_, by Colonel Knox, each of which boys pronounce splendid. They relate the adventures of youthful travellers in a journey to Japan and China, to Siam and Java, and to Ceylon and India, and the books, which may be purchased separately or together, cost $3 a volume. These books are all published by Harper & Brothers. _Hector_, by Flora L. Shaw, published by Roberts Brothers, and _Boys at Chequassett_, by Mrs. A. D. T. Whitney, published by Houghton, Mifflin, & Co., are very charming books, smaller than those we have placed first on the list.

A bright boy who already has a sled, skates, etc., might be pleased with a well-furnished tool-chest or a printing-press. At twelve, boys no longer care for toys which are merely playthings.

In addition to the pretty things you already have, make little mice and pigs of white Canton flannel for your Christmas tree. If you can procure some cotton as it grows, crystallize it with alum, and dispose clusters of it here and there. There are bright little balls of different colors which may be purchased for a few cents, and used to festoon the tree, and if put away carefully they may be used for successive years. Have plenty of little wax tapers, and your tree will repay your trouble.

* * * * *

We desire to call the attention of exchangers to the notice which is printed at the head of the Exchange list. Please make it a rule to follow this in every instance. When a boy has five or six coins, two or three hundred postmarks, or a few relics or curiosities, and calls attention to them in these columns, many thousands of readers see the notice, and he finds himself confronted with so many replies that his embarrassment is very great. In the mere matter of postage he may find himself burdened with considerable expense, perhaps more than his pocket-money will pay, or than his parents will allow him to spend. This inconvenience, and the further peril of being thought dishonorable, may be avoided by having a correspondence by postal cards before sending any precious things away.

It is not possible for us to rectify mistakes, nor to compel delinquent exchangers to make proper returns. We prefer to think that all who avail themselves of this privilege are worthy of it. We desire and hope that every girl and boy who is numbered among our young people shall be true, courteous, prompt, and obliging. Without the exercise of these qualities, neither exchanging nor any other business can be satisfactorily carried on.

Those who have saved their back numbers, as we think all ought to do, will find a paragraph on this matter in the Post-office Box of Vol. II., No. 80. To this we refer the attention of Willie B. G., who writes to us complaining of an apparently dishonest correspondent. We can not settle difficulties which arise among exchangers, but we think careful attention to preliminary correspondence, and to the full payment of postage, would prevent much confusion.

Until after the Christmas number the pressure upon our columns will prevent us from publishing all of the large accumulation of Exchanges we have received, but we will print them as rapidly as we can when the holidays are over.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

PAPER.--How many varieties of paper do you think they manufacture in Japan? Over sixty kinds are made from the fibres of various grasses and plants. "Paper," says Miss Bird, in her interesting record of travel in Japan, "is used for walls, windows, cups, pocket-handkerchiefs, lanterns, string, wrappers, cloaks, hats, and baggage covers, and is used domestically and professionally for all purposes for which we use lint, bandages, and cloths. It is so tenacious as to be nearly untearable, and even the finest kind, an exquisite and nearly diaphanous fabric, soft like the most delicate silk crepe, in which fine gold lacquer is usually wrapped, can only be torn with difficulty."

The same writer tells about the fine varnish or lacquer which we see on the beautiful Japanese trays and bowls. It is a natural varnish, the product of a tree, from which the sap is taken in the early spring. When it comes from the tree it is of the color and thickness of cream, but it darkens when exposed to the air. Lacquer is used for all kinds of purposes, from the golden shrines in the temples to the rice bowl in which the humblest cooly takes his meal.

* * * * *

WORK FOR LITTLE FINGERS.

Is it not wonderful, when you think of it, that with four little fingers and a thumb, two bright eyes, and the exercise of a subtle quality called taste, so much may be done to make home attractive? The young folks who have been asking the Postmistress what they should make for Christmas gifts no doubt read Aunt Marjorie Precept's "Bits of Advice" on the subject last week. But perhaps they will like to hear about some of the pretty things the Postmistress saw when, one very stormy day, she took a walk through some of the New York stores and bazars on their account. She looked specially for easy and pretty things which could be made by small but skillful fingers. A holder for the whisk-broom pleased her fancy. A frame of willow was covered with maroon silk, over which bands of black velvet were crossed, and embroidered with daisies. The willow frame may be purchased, or an ingenious boy could easily make one for his sister. A lining of old gold with bands of scarlet, or of pale blue with garnet bands, would be very striking and harmonious, and such a broom-holder is really artistic.

A graceful present for a young lady is a hair-pin box, mounted--of all things in the world!--on a wheelbarrow. Here comes in the boy's bracket-saw, to construct the barrow, into which the box must be very neatly fitted. The box must be stuffed with sawdust, and tufted closely with worsted, either by knitting-needles or with the crochet-hook, as you please. The wheelbarrow may be made of any common wood, and gilded, or it may be of black walnut, or basswood, without any other ornament than its carving.

Very elegant wall-pockets are made of old hats. Indeed, the possibilities of old or new straw hats are endless. You take a roughly braided bathing-hat which you wore last summer at the beach, line it with azure satin, twist it into any graceful shape you please, on the upper surface of the flaring brim paint or embroider a group of flowers, and to the lower attach a large bow of ribbon with broad loops, and you have an ornament which sets off the wall splendidly. The deep crown forms the pocket, and the brim makes the picturesque part, and you would hardly suppose that with so little you could do so much toward the brightening of a dull room. Father's summer straw hat (which you hid away in the attic, so that he should be compelled to buy a new one) will lend itself to your ideas of the beautiful very readily. Line it with crimson flannel, fasten a cluster of wheat, a bunch of summer grasses, or a few spears of oats to one side, and tack one bit of the brim down with a bow, and there you are with the scrap-basket, which is just what you need in the sitting-room or library.

Nothing provokes the neat housekeeper's anger like the scratching of matches on the walls, and it is very hard to teach some people never to deface the house in this way. Any little eight-year-old girl or boy can make a splendid match-scratcher by taking a round piece of wood, covering it with velvet, silk, morocco, or Java canvas, on which a little pattern has been worked, and then gluing on its reverse side a piece of sand-paper. Finish it with a loop of ribbon, and present to Uncle John or Cousin Ralph, and while they may appreciate its delicate hint, they will not resent it as personal.

A dozen sheets of blotting-paper, fastened together with a bow, and bearing on the outside a dainty little pencil drawing, either a cute little Kate Greenaway sort of picture, or a landscape, or a few wild roses and ferns, with a motto, is an acceptable gift to either a lady or a gentleman. Still prettier is this gift when a little panel picture, wood or card-board covered with satin, and then painted, is laid on the upper surface of the packet.

People who board are often quite bothered to find a good method of keeping account of the weekly wash. A laundry-cushion, which is simply a pincushion with the words shirts, collars, cuffs, handkerchiefs, etc., in a row down one side, with the numbers from one to a dozen corresponding to the articles, is a very convenient device for them. They need only stick a pin into the number of each article they have sent away, and count the things when they are returned. The writing on this cushion can be done with indelible ink.

A shaving-case, made of two pieces of pasteboard cut into the shape of a mug, covered with silk, and filled with tissue-paper, a little pasteboard handle at one side, is easily made, and will be acceptable to almost any gentleman.

The pretty articles here described were seen at the Exchange for Women's Work, No. 4 East Twentieth Street, New York city.

* * * * *

KATHARINE R. MCD.--Thanks for your kindness in copying for us the metrical table of the Kings and Queens of England. It will be better, however, for the boys and girls to go to the history of England; and follow the line of the royal succession for themselves. We prize most what costs us most labor.

* * * * *

BEACON BEACH, ONEIDA LAKE, NEW YORK.

DEAR POSTMISTRESS,--I am in the woods now, but am soon going up
town to my home. I was ten years old a few weeks ago, and my papa
has given me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for a birthday present ever
since it began. The other day my mamma and I took a walk in the
woods, and found two kinds of fungus--one was the "earth star" (a
good description of which is in _Appleton's Cyclopædia_), the other
was tiny toadstools growing on oak leaves in the sand, with
slender, shining stems, black as ebony, and whitish tops, which
look as if designed for fairy parasols. Would you please tell me
the name?

I have a puzzle for the C. Y. P. R. U.'s that I found in a
newspaper: "I went out in the woods and got it; after I got it, I
looked for it; the more I looked for it the less I liked it; I
brought it home in my hand because I couldn't find it."

IRMA C. F.

Who can guess the answer to Irma's puzzle? I will give you three weeks to think it over, and will tell you the answer in No. 114. I am sorry that it is not possible from the description to identify the particular kind of fungus which Irma has found. There are more than two hundred fungi which infest the living oak, and myriads more which grow on dead leaves. Even were the fairy parasol sent, it would probably be withered by the time it reached this Post-office Box.

I am very much obliged to dear Irma for writing plainly on purpose to save my eyes. The eyes of a busy Postmistress like myself have to work pretty steadily, and they always feel thankful to such thoughtful little girls. But you ought to see how indignantly they snap when some of the pencilled letters arrive, almost faded out before the Postmistress gets hold of them.

* * * * *

The members of the C. Y. P. R. U. will find in this number, under the title of "The Fairy Fungi," by Mrs. S. B. Herrick, a most interesting account of the good and mischief worked by these strange little inmates of the vegetable world. The article on "Children of the Pantomime," by Mrs. Helen S. Conant, gives a striking and pathetic picture of the lives led by the children who are employed by London managers in getting up these entertainments. "A Novel Present" will help some of the girl readers who are undecided what to make for some little friend for Christmas.

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

DOUBLE SQUARE.

Across.--1. Play. 2. A knot. 3. A place of public contest. 4. Reposes. 5. A ringlet.

Down.--1. The handle of a plough. 2. More perfect. 3. Fleshy. 4. Schisms. 5. A volcanic earth.

MILTIADES.

* * * * *

No. 2.

EASY ENIGMA.

In eel, not in fish.
In urn, not in dish.
In gun, not in shot.
In rope, not in knot.
In cent, not in dollar.
In necklace, not in collar.
Look not in this for wealth or fame,
But seek and find the writer's name.

E.

* * * * *

No. 3.

TWO EASY DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. To jump. 3. A salutation. 4. A mark made by pressure. 5. An insect. 6. A letter. Centrals read down and across--Something which never comes after noon.

BLANCHE S.

2.--1. A letter. 2. Evil. 3. A part of the body. 4. Something that is never old. 5. A letter.

EDWIN and MARIE S.

* * * * *

No. 4.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am slow and easy-going, and never was known to hurry;
You couldn't, if you should try your best, put me into a flurry.
My 4, 5, 8, 7 is part of the human frame.
My 7, 2, 3, 1 is what scholars a species name.
And by 8 little letters I'll be handed down to fame.

WILL A. METTE.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 108.

No. 1.

Magna-Charta.

No. 2.

C
B O W S
B O W I E A T E
C O W P E N S S T A R S
W I E R D E R A
E N D S
S

No. 3.

Ton, Eaton, Canton, pistol.

Constantinople.

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from May Ridgway, May Terry, Maggie J. Laurie, "Brooklyn Reader," Grace C. Hayes, Helen S. Woodworth, Blanche Spinning, Jesse S. Godine, Frankie Wadsworth, Gracie S., Grant K., Mabel Strickland.

* * * * *

The answer to "What am I?" published in No. 109, is Bark; and to the Enigma, Napkin.

* * * * *

[_For Exchanges, see third page of cover._]

ENIGMA.

I'm headless, mouthless, yet my back is handsome, too, and strong;
I sometimes have a tail to boast, although it is not long;
I'm wonderfully formed and well,
As England's proudest ladies tell,
That bear me up aloft;
I'm useful, and for show.
Some birds and insects know me well.
Now try if you my name can tell.

TWO BOYS.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

"A fellow can't have any fun,"
Says Harry, at the pane;
"I wish the tiresome day were done--
I hate the horrid rain.
That boy looks jolly over there;
His clothes are nice and old;
I'm sure his mother doesn't care
How often he takes cold."

"Some fellows do have lots of fun,"
Sighs Jimmy, in the street;
"Up at the window there is one
Who has enough to eat,
And books to read, and clothes to wear,
And pleasant things to see;
I don't believe that boy would care
To change awhile with me."

SCIENTIFIC PUZZLES.

Fig. 1 is an illustration of centrifugal force, or the tendency of a body revolving rapidly around a fixed centre to fly off from that centre. A tumbler is placed upon a round piece of card-board, to which strings are attached so that they hold the glass firmly in place. Some water is poured into the glass, and it can then be swung round the head without the water being spilled, even when the glass is upside down. For the experiment shown in Fig. 2 a wine-glass, a piece of cork, a plate, and some water will be needed. Pour the water on the plate, light a piece of paper resting on the cork, and cover the flame with the glass turned upside down. What follows? The water rises in the glass. The reason is that the burning of the paper having consumed a part of the oxygen in the air, its volume is diminished, and the pressure of the outside atmosphere forces the water into the glass.

"Merry Christmas, Grandpa! What you going to give us?]