Chapter II: Part 2

They jogged on a few minutes in silence. Jesse felt the soothing effect of the warmth and stillness, and half dozed. Mr. North turned a compassionate gaze on the sad young face which in sleep showed such worn lines.

"No Holsover blood there!" he muttered.

Mr. North was the only expressman, or carrier, in this very obscure part of the country. Twice a week he came and went, carrying letters and packages, as well as occasionally a traveller, to the different villages of towns about. Once a month he visited Boston. His own house stood on a country road about three miles from Holsover Farm. There he lived almost alone, his widowed mother being too infirm to be considered very much of a companion for a hearty, burly, good-humored man like himself.

The old farm-house in which Miss Holsover lived stood near the cross-roads. It was a long low building with one story and an attic, above which rose the slanting roof. Some old trees grew at one side, but everything about it was dismal and uninviting to visitors. Miss Holsover said she was glad of this. She liked to shut herself away as much as possible from her fellow-creatures.

Not a human being in all the country about ever remembered a sympathetic word or look from her. She was a tall grim woman of sixty, with bushy eyebrows, gray hair, and thin, bluish lips. What comfort she could take in life every one wondered, but it was whispered that she was hoarding money; that if the truth was but known, untold sums lay hidden somewhere in the old house.

Certainly Jesse Grey saw nothing of the kind. As the boy had said to Mr. North, he did not know _how_ he had come to Holsover Farm. Jesse only knew that he had "always been there." There were no dim remembrances in his mind of any past which did not include the desolate house, and Miss Holsover's cruel face and figure. The only variations in his surroundings had been visits from the one human being Miss Holsover had ever shown any fondness for. This was her reprobate nephew Bill.

The boy had appeared and disappeared so many times in the course of Jesse Grey's remembrance that he had felt as if he might expect him any particularly windy night, or any time when things were going on a little comfortably. For Bill's visits to the farm were his seasons of terror. Bill was a coarse, violent-tempered lad, who delighted in terrifying him in every way possible, who forced his so-called aunt into new cruelties to the helpless child, and who seemed only to know that he could suffer.

Of late Jesse had begun to wonder when Bill would reappear. Last year, just at this season, he had suddenly arrived, and how well Jesse remembered his saying with a coarse laugh that he had come back as a valentine! What _was_ a valentine? Jesse wondered. He looked at Mr. North's spacious back a moment before he said,

"Mr. North, can you tell me what a valentine is like?"

Mr. North peered around with a queer smile at his little companion. "Wa'al," he said, slowly, "there's all kinds. I think it's sort o' good luck, or good wishes, like as if you wuz to do me a favor. I don't know as I've seen many in my day. They hev 'em in store winders--paper things, with Cupids; but they say on 'em, 'I'm your valentine.' Neow ef eny one wuz to say he wuz _my_ valentine, he'd oughter do me a good turn; seems to me as if a valentine _oughter_ be good luck."

It was a long speech, and Mr. North delivered it with some difficulty, flecking his horses with his whip now and then, and apparently taking a great interest in the weather.

"I wish _I_ could have something like a valentine, then," sighed Jesse.

"Wa'al," said Mr. North, "ter-morrow's the day."

But the boy only laughed sadly.

The dark road suddenly seemed to come to an end. Jesse jumped up and looked out. There across the fields lay the gloomy brown farm-house. He felt his heart sink within him as he thanked Mr. North, got down from the wagon, and taking the basket turned in at the gate.

The door was opened with a click, and Miss Holsover stood there holding a candle-light above her head.

"'Sthat you?" she said, in a shrill voice.

"Yes," answered Jesse. His entrance into the house was helped by Miss Holsover giving him a decided push by the shoulders.

Jesse put the basket down, and began at once taking off his coat. In spite of his rest and little sleep, he was shivering with cold and fatigue.

"What's the matter?" said Miss Holsover, giving him another shake by the shoulder.

"I'm wet and tired," said Jesse, timidly.

"Wet and fiddlesticks!" retorted the old lady. "None of that nonsense! You've plenty to do to-night, let me tell you. I'm goin' across fields."

Jesse knew what this meant. Once in a while Miss Holsover took it into her head to pay a visit to a cousin of hers living at the next village--"across fields," as she called it. These nights were the child's especial horror. Unhappy as was the farm-house _with_ Miss Holsover, it had an element of terror for the child when he was left alone--and then on such a night! Jesse stood still a moment looking at Miss Holsover with dilated eyes, anticipating all the horrors of the lonely evening; not all the work he knew there was left for him to do would keep him from being frightened at every gust of wind that blew around the old house, or moaned in the group of cedar-trees.

"Don't stand gapin' like that," exclaimed Miss Holsover. "Sit down and eat your tea, and then go out and do your chores."

Jesse obeyed. The supper--some weak milk and stale bread--was soon eaten, and then he followed Miss Holsover, who laid his work out, and gave him his instructions for the night. He was to perform the tasks she had set him, and not think of going to bed until she returned.

Jesse was too well accustomed to the hardships of his life to rebel against anything. He stood still, listening quietly, and even helped the old lady to go away in comfort.

Instead of going at once to work, he knelt down a moment before the fire, thinking about the questions Mr. North had asked him.

Jesse never knew how it came into his head that _perhaps_ there might be some escape for him. I suppose that in the loneliness of his position that evening, and with the fear of being by himself in the desolate house, there came a certain sense that he could do as he pleased. Then, too, he knew absolutely nothing of the world, and it gradually seemed to him quite feasible that he should run away, and try to find his real aunt in Boston.

His plan, childish as it was, developed very quickly. Jesse had an idea that he could walk very far before morning, and that he might meet Mr. North somewhere on the way. He knew there was no time to lose, and so, running up to his little attic room, he began hastily putting together such things as seemed necessary for his long journey. The book with his aunt's name was carefully tied up in the bundle. Jesse thought that the name written there might perhaps help him in some way.

He had only a small bit of candle, and it so happened that this went out before he had quite finished his preparations. He was standing by the little dormer window, and almost at once he felt rather than saw the gleam of a lantern. It was moving, and seemed to come from the barn loft. In a moment there was a second flash, and this time it illumined a man's figure.

Jesse shrank back in fear and trembling. Who could it be? But though afraid of the lonely house, it frightened him still more to think of not finding out who was in the barn. He hesitated but a moment, and then sped down stairs, and creeping across the space between the house and barn, slowly unlatched the door. He was scarcely inside the barn before he caught the sound of voices. Two men were speaking, and Jesse's heart sank within him as he recognized one voice as that of Bill Holsover.

The boy's feet seemed rooted to the spot. He was standing just by the ladder leading to the loft, and in the absolute stillness and darkness it was easy to hear what the men were saying. The first sentences were of no importance, but suddenly the strange voice said,

"Do you know where she keeps it?"

Then came Bill's answer: "I'm most sure it's in the cupboard to the right of the fire-place, under the floor."

"Will there be trouble getting it?"

"Not if we make sure she's in bed. There's that little young 'un around; but we won't have any trouble keepin' him quiet."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

BRAN'S CONSCIENCE.

There is not the slightest doubt that Bran had a conscience. No dog who was not fully aware that he had misbehaved himself, and deeply penitent on account of it, could have shown so much sorrow and contrition.

We were staying at Yarmouth, and Bran, who was allowed perfect liberty, was _lost_ for one entire day.

At night, just before the house was shut up, he made his appearance, very tired and travel-stained. Being met at the hall door, he was rebuked, and his offered paw not taken, in token that he was in disgrace.

His nightly resting-place was a cellar, where he had a comfortable straw couch provided for him, and his usual custom was to run down stairs immediately to his bed and supper; but on this evening he remained at the top of the stairs, and cried and whined piteously.

Presently my brother said, "You must come and make it up with Bran, or the poor fellow will cry there all night."

Accordingly we opened the door, and one by one shook Bran's paw in sign of forgiveness, whereupon he quietly walked down stairs, and after eating his supper with avidity, curled himself up on the straw and went to sleep.

OUR BALLOON.

BY JIMMY BROWN.

I've made up my mind that half the trouble boys get into is the fault of the grown-up folks that are always wanting them to improve their minds.

I never improved my mind yet without suffering for it. There was the time I improved it studying wasps, just as the man who lectured about wasps and elephants and other insects told me to. If it hadn't been for that man I never should have thought of studying wasps.

One time our school-teacher told me that I ought to improve my mind by reading history, so I borrowed the history of _Blackbeard the Pirate_, and improved my mind for three or four hours every day. After a while father said, "Bring that book to me. Jimmy, and let's see what you're reading," and when, he saw it, instead of praising me, he-- But what's the use of remembering our misfortunes? Still, if I was grown up, I wouldn't get boys into difficulty by telling them to do all sorts of things.

There was a Professor came to our house the other day. A Professor is a kind of man who wears spectacles up on the top of his head and takes snuff and doesn't talk English very plain. I believe Professors come from somewhere near Germany, and I wish this one had staid in his own country. They live mostly on cabbage and such, and Mr. Travel's says they are dreadfully fierce, and that when they are not at war with other people, they fight among themselves, and go on in the most dreadful way.

This Professor that came to see father didn't look a bit fierce, but Mr. Travers says that was just his deceitful way, and that if we had had a valuable old bone or a queer kind of shell in the house, the Professor would have got up in the night, and stolen it and killed us all in our beds; but Sue said it was a shame, and that the Professor was a lovely old gentleman, and there wasn't the least harm in his kissing her.

Well, the Professor was talking after dinner to father about balloons, and when he saw I was listening, he pretended to be awfully kind, and told me how to make a fire-balloon, and how he'd often made them and sent them up in the air; and then he told about a man who went up on horseback with his horse tied to a balloon; and father said, "Now listen to the Professor, Jimmy, and improve your mind while you've got a chance."

The next day Tom Maginnis and I made a balloon just as the Professor had told me to. It was made out of tissue-paper, and it had a sponge soaked full of alcohol.[3] and when you set the alcohol on fire the tumefaction of the air would send the balloon mornamile high. We made it out in the barn, and thought we'd try it before we said anything to the folks about it, and then surprise them by showing them what a beautiful balloon we had, and how we'd improved our minds. Just as it was all ready, Sue's cat came into the barn, and I remembered the horse that had been tied to a balloon, and told Tom we'd see if the balloon would take the cat up with it.

[3] We would caution our boy readers in regard to the terrible results that may come from pouring alcohol on burning substances. The flame will catch the stream as it falls, and, mounting to the bottle, accidents of the most disastrous character may ensue.

So we tied her with a whole lot of things so she would hang under the balloon without being hurt a bit, and then we took the balloon into the yard to try it. After the alcohol had burned a little while the balloon got full of air, and presently it went slowly up. There wasn't a bit of wind, and when it had gone up about twice as high as the house, it stood still.

You ought to have seen how that cat howled; but she was nothing compared with Sue when she came out and saw her beloved beast. She screamed to me to bring her that cat this instant you good-for-nothing cruel little wretch won't you catch it when father comes home.

Now I'd like to know how I could reach a cat that was a hundred feet up in the air, but that's all the reasonableness that girls have.

The balloon didn't stay up very long. It began to come slowly down, and when it struck the ground, the way that cat started on a run for the barn, and tried to get underneath it with the balloon all on fire behind her, was something frightful to see. By the time I could get to her and cut her loose, a lot of hay took fire and began to blaze, and Tom ran for the fire-engine, crying out "Fire!" with all his might.

The firemen happened to be at the engine-house, though they're generally all over town, and nobody can find them when there is a fire. They brought the engine into our yard in about ten minutes, and just as Sue and the cook and I had put the fire out. But that didn't prevent the firemen from working with heroic bravery, as our newspaper afterward said. They knocked in our dining-room windows with axes, and poured about a thousand hogsheads of water into the room before we could make them understand that the fire was down by the barn, and had been put out before they came.

This was all the Professor's fault, and it has taught me a lesson. The next time anybody wants me to improve my mind I'll tell him he ought to be ashamed of himself.

MAKE WAY FOR HIS MAJESTY!

Oh dear! what a fuss! It is certainty true.
Sweet Love is our ruler, whatever we do.
The lions and tigers his dainty whip feel;
He harnesses both to his chariot wheel.
Oh, none can escape. The eagle's fleet wing
Is no manner of use, or the hare's rapid spring.
The ostrich may stride, the eagle may fly,
But Love is their ruler--he ever is nigh.
The quick little rogue, with his whip and his wings,
He is ever about, and he ruleth all things;
And Mollie and Ted, as they hurry along,
Are only two more in his worshipping throng.

Oh, Love in the school-room has tenses and moods.
And Love in the kitchen quite often intrudes,
And Love o'er the ledger drops fancies of bliss.
Till the figures get mixed with the thought of a kiss;
And Love on the avenue raises his cap
To Love in the parlor with work in her lap,
And Love in a cottage or Love in a palace
Drink nectar alike from a cup or a chalice:
Let cross people scold, and let prim people frown.
Love reigns like a prince both in country and town.
Hurra for sweet Cupid! Ye laggards, give way,
While the lads and the lasses greet Valentine's Day.

"AS STUPID AS A GOOSE."

This is a very common saying indeed, and is used to denote the extreme of stupidity, and as regards geese in general it is near enough to the truth.

But all geese are not stupid. History tells us that the cackling of geese once saved the city of Rome, and we find in a Scotch newspaper the following instance of sagacity and reasoning on the part of a persecuted goose:

"A haughty and tyrannical chanticleer, which considered itself the monarch of a certain farm-yard, took a particular antipathy to a fine goose, the guardian of a numerous brood, and accordingly, wheresoever and whenever they met, chanticleer immediately set upon his antagonist. The goose, which had little chance with the nimble and sharp heels of his opponent, and which had accordingly suffered severely in various rencontres, got so exasperated against his assailant that one day, during a severe combat, he grasped the neck of his foe with his bill, and dragging him along by main force, he plunged him into an adjoining pond, keeping his head, in spite of every effort, under water, and where chanticleer would have been drowned had he not been rescued by a servant who witnessed the proceeding. From that day forward the goose received no further trouble from his enemy."

Another writer gives the following incident, which he says was witnessed in the north of England:

"One morning, during very cold weather, the geese on a large farm were, as usual, let out of their roosting-place, and, according to their custom, went directly to the pond on the common. They were observed by the family to come back immediately, but you may guess their astonishment when in a few minutes the geese were seen to return to the pond, each of the five with a woman's patten in its mouth. The women, to rescue so useful a part of their dress from the possession of the invaders of their property, immediately made an attack, but the waddling banditti presented such a stout resistance that it was not till some male allies were called in that a victory could be obtained."

It would have been interesting had the geese been let alone, as we shall never know what they intended doing with those pattens. Who knows but they might have devoted them to some purpose that would have won geese a reputation for wisdom for all time?

So much for the saying, "As stupid as a goose."

THE NIGHTINGALE'S LESSON.

_"Unlearned is he in aught_
_Save that which love has taught,_
_For love has been his tutor."_

OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

The sweetest of letters.
Miss Bessie, for you,
From bonny Prince Charlie
Or Little Boy Blue.

The brightest of letters,
Sir Arthur, for you.
From fair Lady Edith
Or dear little Sue.

Your name is not Arthur?
Your name's not Bess?
Peep into your letter;'
You'll find it, I guess.

For the loveliest missives
Are flying all round
As thick as the white flakes
That fly to the ground.

And Our Post-office Box,
Like a ship in the bay,
Is crammed and is jammed
This Valentine's Day.

* * * * *

DETROIT, MICHIGAN.

The other night, about eleven o'clock, as my father and Mr.
Sherrill (he is a student, and my father is a doctor) were reading
in the office, they heard a noise on the steps, and my father went
out, and saw a large owl right before him. So he threw a rubber
cloak over him, and brought him in, and Mr. Owl screamed and yelled
like anything, but he was put safely into a bushel basket, and a
cover clapped over it. The next morning we went out on the steps,
and found a large dead rat, which the owl had brought there with
the purpose of eating. The following night we let him go.

ROYAL T. F.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

My name is Paul. I live in New York, near Central Park. I am five
years old, and go to school. My teacher is my beau. My teacher is
Miss Lizzie C. I love her. I printed this all on my slate myself,
and my mamma copied it off for me. I can draw a boat; and I can
draw it nice, too. My big brother has a big boat. Susie helped me
spell all the big words in this letter. Susie is eight. She is my
sister, and she had a big French doll named Eva. Naughty Charlie
broke Eva's head, and Susie cried. Charlie is our baby girl. We
haven't any cat or dog, but the firemen on our block have a nobby
little dog named Prince, and we boys all play with him. He
sometimes follows me into our house, and we think he is so cute. I
drew the boat all myself. Don't you think it a nice one?

PAUL L. L.

Yes, Paul, the boat you drew in your letter was very well done indeed for such a little boy. You must send us some Wiggles.

* * * * *

CAMBRIDGE, MASSACHUSETTS.

I live in Cambridge, very near the famous Washington Elm, of which
you gave an illustration in Vol. I., No. 25, page 340. It does not
look very much like that now, but resembles any other large old
tree, and has an iron fence around it, and an upright slab, with an
inscription, saying,

Under This Tree

WASHINGTON

First Took Command

of the

American Army.

July 3d. 1775.

It is on Garden Street. On the north side is the Common, on the
southwest is the Shepard Congregational Church. Near to this,
though on another street, is Longfellow's house. I had Miss Anna
Longfellow for my Sunday-school teacher last Sunday. I very much
liked the picture in YOUNG PEOPLE entitled "Little Dreamer." I have
had the two volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE bound in your handsome
cover. I am glad to have Tuesday come, because I get my paper on
that day.

ARTHUR M. M.

* * * * *

WASHINGTON, D. C.

My name is Eugenia A. I am nine years old, and my sister Bessie is
five. Every summer we go to visit our Aunt Ella in Pennsylvania,
near Pittsburgh. Last summer we made the journey alone, changing
cars at Cumberland. The conductor helped us, and a gentleman was at
the last station to help us off, and take care of us. We had a
trunk and a lunch basket. When mamma was packing, papa said she
might as well take the trunk for our lunch and the basket for our
clothes. Aunt Ella came down for us, and bought me a large doll,
which I named Mignonette, and a set of dishes, and Bessie two dolls
and a rocking-chair. We hunted eggs, and tried to milk, and had a
good time. Aunt Ella sends me YOUNG PEOPLE, and Bessie _Our Little
Folks_.

* * * * *

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

I am going to tell YOUNG PEOPLE about my great fishing last summer.
I went to Milwaukee on an excursion, and staid there a few days.
While there I thought I would go a-fishing. So I went one morning
early, and staid on the pier until noon, but did not catch a single
fish, missed a half-day's pleasure while there (because there were
other places I could have gone to), spent nearly all my money for
car fare, lost my fishing-tackle, and, besides, broke my
fishing-pole, and since that time I have not been fishing.

F. E. K.

You had quite a day of disappointment. But we have no doubt other fishermen have at times had equally bad luck, and the only way to do is to take such misfortunes philosophically.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

I am nothing but a little white mouse, and I am almost two years
old. I was born in a market, and my mate and I were bought by a
little girl. I have had over twenty babies, and have only one left.
My mistress lets us run around the room once a day to exercise
ourselves. One evening she let us run out as usual, and my son that
I have now and his little sister were about two weeks old. My
grandmistress had company, and my mate ran right under the rockers,
and was killed instantly. My troubles seemed to come right in a
bunch, for a few days after, my little daughter was carried down
stairs by the old cat. My mistress weighed me and my little son
this morning, and I heard her say I weighed one-sixteenth of an
ounce, and my son one-fourth of an ounce. My mistress takes YOUNG
PEOPLE, and I often hear her say it is the nicest little paper she
ever read. I have travelled about a great deal, and my name is

LITTLE MOTHER MOUSE.

Ever so many thanks to Maud for helping her pretty white mouse to write this tragic tale.

* * * * *

CLANTON, ALABAMA.

I live in a little town of about three hundred inhabitants. It is
only eleven years old, though, and builds up tolerably fast; don't
you think so? About half a mile from this place there is an old
field in which we think there must have once been an Indian battle
fought, because the ground is almost covered with broken arrow and
spear heads. My brother and I found some that were perfect. He
found one that was stained with blood.

JOHN NAT T.

* * * * *

NEWARK, NEW JERSEY.

I go to school every day. We have HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE in our
school, and I have taken it at home from the first number. We are
soon to have an entertainment, which is going to be splendid. I
wish you could attend it. Our principal is a very nice man when he
has no boys to punish. I think he does not like to punish boys. We
have a very nice teacher. At the end of the last term the pupil who
had received the greatest number of merits was rewarded by an
elegant medal. Her name was Nellie A. The best writer received a
story-book, and the scholar with the highest average a silver
napkin-ring. Do you not think it is very nice for the teachers to
present the best scholars with handsome presents? In the last class
that I was in I received the medal. It was made out of solid
silver, with a bar attached to a round plate by a little chain. On
the bar the word Merit was engraved: on the medal there was a
wreath, inside of which were my initials.

C. F. K.

* * * * *

MOUNT PULASKI, ILLINOIS.

I am a little girl eight years old. My home is in Mount Pulaski,
Illinois. I am not going to school this winter. I have had the
typhoid fever, and now have the whooping-cough. My papa hears me
say my lessons at home, so that I may not get behind my class. I
read in the Fourth Reader, and study spelling, arithmetic, and
geography. I have two pet rabbits, and I keep them in a cage. They
are black and white. I shall turn them out in the spring. We have a
little niece at our house. She is two years old, and her name is
Ella. Her mother died last fall.

LENA A. A.

We are glad, dear, that you are safely through the typhoid fever, and we advise you to study very little, and play a great deal for a good while to come. Never mind if your class does get on a little faster than you can. Health is more important for you just now than rapid progress in study.

* * * * *

URBANA, OHIO.

I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number. My mamma
reads me all the stories and letters, and I enjoy them very much. I
have several pets: a white rabbit, which is very pretty, a
large-yellow-striped cat named Tiger, but called Tige for short,
and two canaries. I have also quite a case of butterflies, which I
caught last summer. Some of them I took when caterpillars, and fed
them until they spun their cocoons, and then watched them as they
came out. I am learning to read, write, and draw, but can not write
well enough yet, so mamma is writing this for me. I will not be
seven years old until next spring.

JAMES A. N.

* * * * *

STOCKTON, CALIFORNIA.

I think YOUNG PEOPLE is a very nice paper. I am nearly eleven years
old. I have a sister nine years old. A friend of mamma's told me
this story one day: A father was telling his little daughter that
the earth turned around once every twenty-four hours. The little
girl sat quietly on his knee for a few minutes, and then said,
'Papa, I do think I feel a little dizzy.' She lisped a little bit.
I got a great many nice things Christmas. Papa gave me a gold pen.
We have a pet canary-bird.

LOUIE E. P.

Did you write your letter with your new pen? We think so, it was so beautifully written.

* * * * *

WENTWORTH, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

My brother Harry has taken YOUNG PEOPLE a year, and we like it very
much. I read about the little girls' dolls in their letters, and
want to tell them about mine. I have eight. Papa says he don't know
about supporting so many children for me. I had a large wax doll at
Christmas last year; her name is Jennie, a small one this year,
named Florence, and one named Mamie, and others named Budge, Todie,
and George. I have a very large cat named Nicodemus. There are no
children but my brother Harry and myself. He is thirteen, and I am
seven. Harry takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE and _Wide Awake_ magazine,
and I _Our Little Ones_ and the _Pansy_. I go to school when we
have one, and can read all our papers; but can only write in
printing, so I asked mamma to write this for me. Please give my
love to all the little girls.

L. ADDIE M.

* * * * *

SOUTH AMBOY, NEW JERSEY.

I am twelve years old. I am going to tell you about the little
canary-bird we have. When we first got him, several years ago, his
eyesight was perfectly good. We used to let him fly around the room
with another canary-bird we had. That canary-bird died, and the
other bird gradually got blind in one eye, and then in the other;
and now he is perfectly blind. But he sings from morning until
night. We have to cover him in the morning, he sings so early he
wakes us up before the time. You can hear him singing all over the
house during the day. Children, how much happier ought we to be,
who have our eyesight, than this poor little blind canary!

JULIA S.

* * * * *

HASTINGS.

I write to tell you that I have learned the names of all the Kings
and Queens of England, and the dates of their coronation; I learned
them in just one week. I have to walk nearly two miles to school. I
have no brother or sister; my sister Ella died one year ago, and
was buried on my ninth birthday. I want to tell you about a
trout-pond we have on our farm, and how we raise the little
speckled trout. We put their spawn on wire screens in a wooden
trough, and let spring water run through it. It takes about fifty
days for them to hatch. When they are hatched, they have something
attached to their stomach which is called a food sac, and on which
they live for about forty days. After that is gone we have to feed
them. Last winter we hatched twenty thousand, and expect to raise
as many more this year. Trout spawn in November and December, and
the eggs are hatched in the winter. A few weeks ago my father
noticed his screens had been disturbed in the night. We set a trap,
and in the morning it had a musk-rat caught in it. My auntie takes
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for me, and I am very glad every week when it
comes.

BERT CAMPBELL.

In what State is your Hastings? You forgot to tell us.

* * * * *

BARDSTOWN, KENTUCKY.

I want to tell you all what a nice pony I have. My papa presented
him to me when I was eight years old. I call him Leander. Oh, he is
perfectly splendid! and although I am only eight years and a
_little over_, I can ride and manage him quite well. I know some of
the little girls, and boys too, would laugh to see me when I start
off to school, which is only six or seven squares from home. I ride
every morning on my pony, and there is a little colored boy named
Ed, who lives in our family, who likes to ride so well that he runs
along beside me to school so that he can ride home alone. He thinks
it is jolly.

I have the cutest little black-and-tan terrier, which I call Tim. I
just wish you _could_ see him. And then my papa and I have a very
fine mocking-bird, which we call Dick.

I saw the letter of dear Rosie K. B., and know her very well; so,
dear Editor, please put my letter in, and see if anybody can guess
who I am.

FLORENCE E. MCK.

* * * * *

BOWLING GREEN, KENTUCKY.

I am a little boy nine years old, and I have a little dog just the
same age, named Fannie. She has been my constant companion ever
since I was six months old. I have two white rabbits, one named
Floss and the other Fleece. I would like some of the little boys
who have had some experience in raising rabbits to tell me how to
treat them. I have the smallest little pony you ever saw. He is
nearly white. I call him Santa. I live in the sweetest little city
in Kentucky. We have nice hills to coast on in the winter, and the
finest river in the world to go swimming in in the summer; it is
clear as glass on account of its gravel bottom. We go up to a
sand-bar, and jump off the sycamore logs into the water over our
heads. Sometimes fishing parties of young ladies and gentlemen come
by in boats while we are swimming, and in trying to hide ourselves
we look like so many turtles sitting on logs. I have two brothers
older than myself. I have no sisters, but I have a darling little
cousin. I called her Little Buttercup once, and she said, "You
tan't dink out of me."

RICHARD T.

* * * * *

ABERDEEN, MISSISSIPPI.

We are two little Southern girls, and live away down in
Mississippi. We read the YOUNG PEOPLE, and like it ever so much. We
are little girl neighbors. Emma and Eugenia are our names. We are
great friends, go to the same school, and take music lessons.
Eugenia's mamma gave her a Christmas tree. Emma received on it two
nice books and a ring, and Eugenia one book, one talking doll, and
a work-box. Our tree was just too lovely. We had it in our parlor,
and some other little girls were here. We were just too happy. We
wish Christmas would come oftener, and are sorry when it is over.
We have three pet cats, two gray ones and one yellow one. Eugenia
is very anxious for a canary. Mamma had two; the cat caught one,
and the owl caught one at night. That was a long time ago. We have
violets and white hyacinths in bloom. Mamma has a great many
flowers.

If you do not think this too long, we would be so glad to see it in
print, as it is our first letter to the little people. Eugenia was
the first to take this little paper in Aberdeen, and now several
are taking it, mamma spoke so well of it to her friends. Emma has
three sisters.

EMMA and EUGENIA.

How we wish we had violets too! But we must wait a while in this latitude for out-door flowers.

* * * * *

CLARA W.--Your little story about "May in Fairy-land" is very well written, and we advise you to cultivate your taste for composition by writing such stories frequently.

* * * * *

RUBY R.--Your dear little poem is put away safely in a pigeon-hole, but not to stay there forever. If you have patience to wait until the year rolls around again, you will probably see it in Our Post-office Box.

* * * * *

FRANK B. B.--You are very kind to read the stories in YOUNG PEOPLE to your little sisters, and we are glad to hear about your fun with your sled and velocipede. There is not room for your letter, nor for those of at least a hundred other boys, but we will be pleased to hear from you again. Why don't you solve some of the puzzles?

* * * * *

FLORENCE.--Read what I said to Rita in last week's paper.

Isn't it fun to put your dollies to bed at night? We hope you undress them carefully, little girls, and fold up their garments, and put on their night-gowns nicely. Here is a rhyme for you to sing to them when they are going to sleep:

A BED-TIME SONG.

Hushaby, baby--now, baby, don't cry;
You are quite safe, dear, when mother is by.
Lullaby, dolly, lie still now, and rest,
Safe in your cradle as bird in a nest.

Hushaby, baby--now, baby, be good;
Only the naughty are angry and rude.
Lullaby, dolly, to-morrow you'll ride
Out in your carriage, with me by your side.

Hushaby, baby--you sweet little pet!
Mother is pleased when her baby don't fret.
Lullaby, lullaby, what shall I do?
For I am afraid I am half asleep too.

And as we do not mean to neglect the boys, here is a song for them:

HURRAH!

Hurrah for the ice,
For the snow and sleet!
Hurrah for the wind
That is fierce and fleet!

Hurrah for lessons!
Hurrah for fun
When lessons are over,
And school is done!

Hurrah for the boys
Who are full of glee!
Hurrah for old winter!
The time for me!

* * * * *

LUCY P. N.--Mr. James Payn is writing a series of articles descriptive of thrilling adventures, experiences, and disasters. They appear under the general title of "Perils and Privations," and will be given from time to time. They will not be dependent upon each other for interest, but each will stand by itself. We are glad you like such reading.

* * * * *

Thanks to Mary P. L. for the spray of trailing arbutus from her mother's window garden. It must be delightful to have this darling of spring perfuming the sitting-room in midwinter.

* * * * *

Little correspondents will please write their address plainly at the head of their letter--town, county, and State--in every case. We like to know where you live as well as who you are.

* * * * *

The Editor of YOUNG PEOPLE can not conduct any business or supervise any correspondence which concerns exchanges. Exchangers must write directly to each other, to the addresses given in the notices, and not to the care of Messrs. Harper & Brothers.

* * * * *

Exchangers will please address Vaux Chadwick, 44 St. George Street, Toronto, Canada. In No. 116 his name was incorrectly printed Vance.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

Do you know, dear C. Y. P. R. U., that a princess named Kudsia Begum, whose palace was at Bhopal, India, has lately died, leaving behind her a very beautiful train of memories? This princess was very good to the poor, and every month a great many aged and sick men and women received a sum of money from her treasury. She also fed a great many forlorn dogs; and as for the birds, hundreds of them built their nests around her palace, and were tenderly cared for by the kind lady.

* * * * *

A Colorado correspondent sends us a slip from the Pueblo _Daily Chieftain_, giving a thrilling description of the bravery of a boy twelve years of age who was suddenly confronted by a savage beast. We condense the account. The boy's name was Amos Bennett, and he lives at the Carlile Springs Ranch. He started off one day lately, with his dog Curly, to hunt rabbits, armed only with a gun loaded with small shot. The boy and dog went up the gulch a little way, when the latter began to tremble, whine, and take hold of his master's clothing, evidently urging him to go back. Little Amos kept on, however, until, rounding a point of rocks, he came on a huge mountain lion which had just killed a large gray mare which was being wintered on the ranch. The monster left his prey, and came gliding toward the boy, lashing his sides with his tail.

The boy stood perfectly still, his dog crouching at his feet. He waited, with his gun cocked and thrown forward, ready for the assault, determined to sell his life dearly. When the lion sprang into the air, the boy took steady and deliberate aim, and fired when the animal was high in the air, the charge entering the animal's mouth, and passing out through the top of its head, going directly through the monster's brain, and killing it instantly, the animal dropping dead at the boy's feet. The beast measured eleven feet and three inches from the end of its nose to the tip of its tail, and was one of the largest and most powerful animals of the kind ever seen in this section of the State. The young hero of this exploit says that he does not think he was much scared, but does not care to have his courage tested in that way again.

Honor to the brave little fellow who did not lose his presence of mind in those terrible moments.

* * * * *

Members of the C. Y. P. R. U. will find in this number, under the title of "Picciola," a most interesting article by Mrs. Sophia Herrick, illustrating some of the leading principles in the growth of plants. The boys will be interested in an account by Sherwood Ryse of the Scottish game of "Curling,", including the description of a match recently played at Central Park. Aunt Marjorie Precept also gives us some excellent hints how to act in sudden and dangerous emergencies, in her little article entitled "Presence of Mind."

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

A NINE-LETTER DIAMOND.

1. A letter. 2. A spider. 3. Inclosed. 4. A provider. 5. Endured, 6. Scolds. 7. To prevent by fear. 8. Certain foreign coins. 9. A letter.

RENGAW.

* * * * *

No. 2.

ENIGMA.

My first is in pen, but not in ink.
My second is in iron, but not in link.
My third is in wonder, but not in surprise.
My fourth is in danger, and also in disguise.
My fifth is in engine, and also in steam.
My sixth is in rafter, but is not in beam.
My whole is a something destructive and black,
And when it's in motion you'd better keep back.

PERCY F. JAMESON.

* * * * *

No. 3.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

1. Purchasing. 2. A thief. 3. A drug. 4. A long dress. 5. High regard. Primals--The envied of her sex. Finals--A servant. Combined--The happiest of men.

BOB.

* * * * *

No. 4.

A WORD SQUARE.

1. A city in France. 2. A part. 3. To rob. 4. A sluggard. 5. Prophets.

BOB.

* * * * *

No. 5.

A HALF-SQUARE.

1. To refrain. 2. The east. 3. Stiff. 4. German for leg. 5. Termination. 6. A preposition. 7. A letter.

W. D. M.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 117.

No. 1.

Pine. Oak. Maple. Elm. Ash. Beech. Fir. Apple. Pear.

No. 2.

Whip-poor-will.

No. 3.

Tubular. Pollen. Web. Wapiti. Emeu. Deer. Metamorphosis. Antennæ. Chrysalis. Fin. Ornithorhynchus.

With time and patience the mulberry leaf will become satin.

No. 4.

Clink. Clog. Lore. Wheel. Broom. Slush. Lash.

No. 5.

The letter R.

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Jamie Richardson, George E. McGreevey, "Gun Tzer," "Queen Bess," Belle T. Smart, Clara, Nellie, John S. Payne, May and Harvey Ridgway. "Fill Buster," "Lodestar," S. Brewster, William A. Lewis, Georgie Wardell, H. Jacobs, C. N. B., George P. Deacon, Anna F. Brown, Mabel Strobridge, Robert Andrews, Jun., "Rengaw," Arthur E. Dornin, Frank Lomas, Georgie Wardell, Jessie Godine.

* * * * *

Answer to Enigma on page 224--Courtship.

* * * * *

[_For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover._]

A FIRST VALENTINE.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

Here is a pastime for winter evenings that will compel the players to keep wide awake unless they want to incur any number of forfeits. The name of each person playing should be written on little pieces of card, shaken together in a wide vase or bag, and drawn from it, so that all the players have exchanged names, but they do not tell their new names until they appear in the course of the game.

At the beginning, one player alone does not put in his name, and does not draw for a new one. This player now stands in the middle of the circle, questioning the others, ordering them about, and trying in every way to take them by surprise, so as to make them answer or stir at their real names.

After every ten questions or orders, the names are rapidly drawn from the bag again. This leads to more and more confusion, because there is an inclination not only to answer the sound of real names, but that of the last names possessed. The questioner must have ten counters--marbles, shells, or anything small--to give away, and a counter has to be taken by any one who stirs for his own name, and by any one who hesitates, forgetting to answer to the name which is drawn by lot.

When the ten counters are given away, the questioner sits down, puts his name in the bag, and draws out another name, the owner of which has to be questioner instead, and goes at once to stand in the middle. It will be his object to get rid of the ten counters now, and the object of the players to keep their wits clear, and not be taken by surprise. The questions and orders should go very quickly, thus: "Give me your hand, Mary." "Ethel and Tom, change places." "Pull your hair, Alfred." "Kate, look miserable." "Have you long holidays, Kate?" "Ethel, count your fingers." Or, with a change of tone, "What a pretty locket, Mary!" when perhaps Tom is Mary for the time being, and Mary must not so much as stir her head.

The frequent changing of the names is necessary for the fun and confusion in this game.

AN EXPERIMENT IN SWITZERLAND.

Scientific men have often to perform elaborate experiments for small results, but in the present case the question at issue was both interesting and instructive. Being desirous of testing the velocity of sound between two places of different heights above the sea-level, two Frenchmen arranged for a small brass cannon to be fired from the top of a mountain in Switzerland (Faulhorn), and another from a little village near Lake Brienz, 6500 feet lower than the former spot. The cannon--which were those used by the homely villagers in their festivals--were discharged twenty-eight times, and it was found that though the speed of the sound was not affected by the height, there was a very decided difference in the strength.

The report from the cannon at the lake was well heard on the mountain-top, while that from the latter was feeble, the strength of the sound being found to depend partly upon the density of the air at the place of its production, and not at the place of its being heard.

Thus, in order to produce a sound whose intensity should be the same at both spots, it was necessary to put eight parts of powder in the cannon on the mountain for every seven used in the charge for the gun by the lake.