Chapter II: Part 2

Two healthy, happy New England girls had been hunting for May-flowers all the morning. They had found them growing so pink and in such quantities that they were too busy filling their hands to notice the sudden shadow sweeping over the sky. Percy Shipley in her brown calico, her dark blue apron, and her log-cabin sun-bonnet, Reba Bradford in her gray calico, her red apron, and a sun-bonnet to match Percy's, knelt breathless on the warm turf, bewitched--and no wonder--by the pink and white beauties that smiled up at them from among the dead leaves, like babies just awakening in their pillowed cradles. So the dash of impetuous rain fell, without any warning, smartly on the two log-cabin sun-bonnets; but they only laughed merrily at it, sprang up, and ran for the nearest pine-tree. Reba pulled off her "blinders," as she called the sun-bonnet, while she ran. How black the cloud was growing! and against the cloud stood out all the more distinctly a low white steeple.

"Percy! Percy! run for the old church," cried Reba, wheeling about.

Away they flew, dashing through the alders, dodging under the birches, never minding the clinging blackberry vines, the low huckleberry bushes, the bit of bosky swamp. The rain, as if it were running after them, pattered faster and faster. It was in a delightful panic of haste and heat that they brought up finally on the narrow stone steps of the old church, and drew a long breath under the ugly little portico with half its supporting pillars fallen out. Not another house was in sight; the road in front had ridges of grass through the very middle, saucily making themselves at home where it was plain horses did not often claim right of way nowadays. Ever since Reba and Percy could remember--indeed, long before that--the old church had stood just so, only growing more forlorn year by year, seeming to be forgotten by everybody. As the new village sprang up among the valley mills, the new churches were built there, and the low-roofed houses one by one crumbled away, which the Shipleys and Bradfords of fifty years ago had known in their prime.

"Let's get in if we can," said Reba, boldly.

"It don't look as if we could," Percy answered, doubtfully.

But nobody cared now to lock the disused door. At the united eager push of the two girls, it opened in a rusty, rheumatic way, not widely, but far enough for them to squeeze in.

"There!" said Reba. She pushed forward, sank on the pulpit stairs, and shook the water from her sun-bonnet.

"There!" echoed Percy, with a great sigh. She deposited the old brown egg basket full of the May-flowers that looked so pearly among the wealth of thick green leaves, took off her "blinders" also, and sat down in the nearest pew. They were both so out of breath that they said no more at first.

The longer they kept silent, the more still and solemn seemed the empty place. Dusty, indeed, littered, and defaced, it all was. Thick, dingy cobwebs hung from the pulpit; a gray hornets' nest showed in one lofty corner; the pulpit stairs were broken; many of the pews were gone entirely; splinters of board and laths, stray leaves of hymn-books, a tuning-fork, a broken lamp, fragments of mortar, and varied rubbish, strewed the uneven floor. In spite of all that, it was still a church to Percy. With reverent eyes she looked up at the pulpit, where the minister used to stand, at the gallery, where the singers' seats used to be. She wondered who used to sit in this very pew years and years ago; she wondered if the clothes they wore, their Sunday best, looked like the queer bonnets and gowns that Aunt Bethiah kept laid away in her old locker. When Reba said, "Percy," she started, half shocked, as though somebody had called out her name in service-time.

Reba, meanwhile, had been just as busy thinking, but her thoughts had been very different ones.

"Percy Shipley," said she, solemnly, "I've thought of something perfectly splendid."

"You have? What is it?" asked Percy, expectantly.

Reba was exploring the cobwebby pulpit. She leaned over the edge, and said, in a low, impressive voice, with a flap of the damp sun-bonnet toward Percy, who rose eagerly in her pew to listen: "Nobody uses this church. Let's you and I use it."

"What! preach in it?" gasped Percy.

"No, no," said Reba, laughing until the sun-bonnet fell out of her hand, and went tearing through the cobwebs, "but have it for our place, don't you see? to keep house, and tell secrets, and have a lovely time in. Oh, Percy! wouldn't it be grand?"

"Oh, Reba! would you dare?"

The soft, clear eyes, full of wonder and appeal, in Percy's pew, lifted up wide open toward the great black ones of Reba looking down from the pulpit. The dark ones, with a flash of excitement in them, never wavered.

"Dare? yes, indeed, I'd dare for both of us if there were anything to be afraid of. But there isn't, Percy. Why, nobody comes here; it's out of everybody's sight. We won't tell a soul; and as for asking leave, no one owns it, so there's no one to ask. And we can't hurt it." The pulpit spoke with authority and slight impatience. The pew replied gently but persistently.

"It would be the greatest fun, and it's just like you to think of it, Reba; I only mean that perhaps it would be wrong to play and make good times here. Remember, it's a church, Reba."

"Well, _let's_ remember it's a church," answered the pulpit, meeting the scruples with a ready argument as skillful as any that may have proceeded from it before: "let's agree, to begin with, that we'll always behave when we're here, and just run outside if we want to be cross, or selfish, or anything not fit for a church. We won't do anything here that we'd be ashamed to do if we remembered its being a church. That will make it all right, for I'm sure, Percy, a church is the very place to be good in."

The pew was convinced. Percy fairly clapped her hands, and cried, "It will be the very best secret we ever had, Reba!" as they helped each other enlarge upon the plan.

And I think myself that few girls have a nicer secret. With tidy housekeeping instincts that they had learned at home, Percy and Reba first set themselves to make the place as neat as circumstances would allow. They picked up the litter, and swept the floor over and over. Many a torn leaf of catechism and hymn-book they lingered to read over as they labored, imagining that they should find there something new and strange. They never did, and the catechism answers did not stay long in their memories; but a single couplet of one hymn that they found afterward they never did forget, perhaps because it was so associated with the sweeping of the old church. The line was this well-known verse,

"Who sweeps a room as by Thy laws
Makes that and the action fine."

As high as they could reach they rid the place of dust and cobwebs. Percy chose one square pew, and Reba another, to be peculiar personal property, in which to set up housekeeping, and many an imaginary comedy or tragedy they enacted in those pews, many an odd treasure came to be stored there with nobody to say, "Do take that rubbish off!" Oh! it felt grand to have so much room, so much airy, unused space, and to be able to trim up whenever they liked with evergreen branches, blossoming boughs, and all the lavish greenery they had patience to bring! Here they learned their lessons together; here they practiced each other on the "pieces" that were to be declaimed at school on exhibition-day. It was fine to see Reba ascend the broken stairs, and courtesying to Percy with a flourish, recite "Casabianca" or "We are Seven," until it would seem the very hornets' nest must be thrilled with her accents. Percy, somehow, never was willing, when her turn came, to occupy the same high place, but she used to be sure that she would make no mistake on exhibition-day if only she could have that same broken window, filled in with blue sky, to fix her eyes upon as she spoke.

She would not forget, nor let Reba forget, the compact they had agreed upon. To be sure, they were not often tempted to be cross or unjust to each other, but there did occur a crisis sometimes when one or the other would stop in the middle of an impatient word and run out of the church. Nearly always her companion would follow after; in the open air it would all be made up, and with arms entwined they would go peacefully back into the church again.

But there came a week when everything seemed to go wrong. It was intensely hot and dry. Reba complained fretfully that nothing but heat, dust, and flies came in at their windows. Percy declared that the hum of the hornets made her nervous.

"And, Reba," said she, "I don't think it's fair for you to disarrange the things in my part. You never used to do it."

"I haven't touched your things, Percy," retorted Reba, in a lofty tone; "and I shouldn't think you'd better say much, when you've been mussing over here in my pew the way you have."

"Why, Reba Bradford! what do you mean?"

"Why, Percy Shipley! you needn't pretend."

Reba's eyes flashed angrily; Percy's cheeks were all afire.

"Perhaps you know what you mean, Reba Bradford; I don't," said Percy, bitterly. "But I do know that the frosted cake my mother gave me, and that I saved to make a feast of with you, is all gone but a few crumbs, and nothing in my keepsake box is as I left it."

"And you don't know anything about the mottoes and sugar kisses I was saving up for you in my keepsake box, I suppose?" sneered Reba. "And you couldn't account for the way my gilt mug came broken here?"

"Do you dare to think I'd steal from you?" cried Percy, stamping her foot.

Oh, it was quite dreadful! They both forgot the place and their compact. I'm afraid they both called each other names, and the end of it all was that they marched off home different ways, one weeping angry tears, and the other vowing "never to speak to her again."

For three doleful days Reba did not go near the old church nor Percy's house. At the end of the three days she said frankly to herself, "If Percy should spoil all my things, and eat every sugar-plum I ever have, it would be better than this." She set off that very minute to go and tell Percy so. But Percy's mother met her at the door.

"No, dear, you mustn't come in," she said, kindly. "I know how you love Percy; but her fever seems pretty high, and you mustn't run any risk of catching it. Wait until she is better."

Reba gave a sob and hurried away, dreadfully shocked and frightened. Poor Percy! perhaps it was the sickness coming on that had made her so unlike herself that foolish day when they quarrelled. Reba instinctively hurried to the old church to cry by herself; and having arrived there, she did cry until every tear was spent. Her face was still buried in her apron, when there came echoing through the silent space a rough voice that said, pitifully, "Don't take on so; what is the matter?"

Reba was no coward, but she did give a great leap that brought her to her feet. A boy's face was peering over the gallery at her. It was a homely face, but a kind one. Reba was sure she had never seen it before.

"Who are you? What are you here for?" said she, sharply.

The boy laughed; then he grew sober at once. "I wouldn't tell you," said he, "if I didn't believe you're the 'pon honor sort. As 'tis, I'll tell you the whole truth, and trust you. If you shouldn't be 'pon honor, so much the worse for me. I'm running away."

"Running away from what?" questioned Reba, as sharply as before.

"From a bad master," said the boy, with a scowl, "and I was getting along very well till I hurt this foot of mine, not far from here. When I couldn't drag myself much further, I came in sight of this old church, and crawled in for the night. I was pretty hungry, and perhaps you won't blame me so much if I did rummage over your little traps down there in hopes of finding something to eat. I'm sorry I broke the mug; I hit it in the dark; and now you won't blame the other one, will you? I meant, any way, to clear her before I went."

"You've been here ever since?" cried Reba; "and do you mean to say you haven't had anything else to eat?"

"Oh yes," said the boy, cheerfully; "when I found I couldn't get along further till my foot healed, I hobbled out and found roots and berries quite near."

Reba loved adventures, and in Plumley adventures happened but rarely. She made much of this one, only longing for Percy to share it. How she enjoyed taking meat, bread, and fruit to the refugee in their own old church, tyrannizing over him, and making him bathe, bandage, and salve his injured foot just as she said, coaxing him to tell her the whole story of his hard life, and contriving a couch for him out of the few faded melancholy cushions to be found on the premises!

And when Percy was better, and able to talk, what a great thing it was to tell her all about the strange thing that had happened!

"He's just as much your boy as mine," declared Reba, magnanimously, "and I wouldn't do or say anything about him till you were well enough to tell what you think best, Percy. Everything about the old church is half yours, and more than half, and we'll remember better than ever after this, won't we?"

What Percy advised was that Reba's father should be told the whole story, and taken properly in his capacity of Doctor to see the lame foot.

"Well, well, certainly the most unexpected call I ever had in my life," said the Doctor, when Reba proudly escorted him to the old church. "Who'd ever have thought of finding a patient here?"

But he took the kindest interest in the friendless orphan, carried him in his carriage to his own house, and ended by liking him so well for his plain, blunt, manly ways that, when the foot was healed, he engaged him as office-boy.

As long as the old church stood, Bob Sheffield used to look at it with gratitude; and years after a bolt of lightning had destroyed it during one summer night, Percy in her new home at the West, Reba in her stately house in an Eastern city, loved to tell the children stories of the good times two little country girls used to have under the roof of an old deserted church out in the woods.

Most of our boys and girls are busy, happy, and well. Do you ever think what a glorious thing it is to be simply _well_--not to have a headache, or a pain, or the least bit of weariness, no matter how long you play, or how high you climb, or how far and fast you run? Half the fun and pleasure you have comes from the fact that you can go to sleep the moment your heads touch the pillow, and that when you awake in the morning, you wake all over at once, and spring out of bed, ready for anything that may be before you. If you do happen to be ill occasionally, there are always kind hands to care for you; and it gives you a good chance to find out what a loving father and mother you have, so tenderly they see to your wants. Even the doctor, with his shrewd face and droll manner, becomes dear to you when you are sick; and you always call him yours, in a new way, after you have taken his pills and powders, with mother's nice jam to take their taste away. So now, boys and girls, will you please read the letter a lady has asked us to publish, and make up your minds about helping along in the work she proposes?

TO THE CHILDREN, LARGE AND SMALL, SICK AND WELL, WHO READ THIS PAPER:

Do you all want to do something for me? I am sure your answer is,
Yes; for I think children always like to be helping others. Well, I
want you to give me ever so much money. I imagine I see round eyes
grow big, and hear you say: "Pray what for? You are a stranger, and
we never have much money; nor do we know what you want it for,
anyway." I will tell you, for though you don't know me, it makes no
difference, as I do not ask it for myself. I want it to do good to
some poor little sick children, and to yourselves in giving it. In
the city of New York, as most of you know, there are a great many
little children who, when they are sick, or meet with an accident,
have no one to take care of them, or if they have, are compelled to
stay in a small close room, where there are a great many people, a
great deal of noise, which makes it very hard for them to get well.
Knowing this, some kind people have built a house, called "St.
Mary's Free Hospital for Children," 405 and 407 West Thirty-fourth
Street. It is an Episcopal institution, under the care of some kind
women. They take in any child, black or white, of any creed, under
fourteen years old, who has no disease which other little ones
might take, so long as they have space and money to take care of
them.

In the Rev. Dr. Houghton's church, Twenty-ninth Street, New York,
is a society which sews for and takes care of sick little children;
and this year they have furnished one ward in the hospital, for
children under six years old. This is the ward I want you to take a
special interest in. I hope you will go some day and see them. On
any day, except Sunday, between 11 and 12 A.M., and 3 and 4 P.M.,
they will be very glad to see you. Oh, such a dear little baby as I
saw there the other day! He had fallen down stairs and broken his
hip, and his mother brought him there because the doctor said he
never could get well in his own home; and though he had to lie on
his back for some weeks, he was merry as a cricket, and seemed very
happy. Those who can be up have playthings of all sorts to keep
them busy; and for these also there is a nice, sunny, large
play-room up stairs, where they have fine times. What I want you to
send your money for is to endow a bed in this "little folks' ward."
To "endow" means that when you shall have paid money enough, there
will be one bed always there for some little sick child, and money
to take care of it while there. This would be called the "Harper's
Young People Cot"; and if every one of you tries to help, you will
be able to have it. When you buy candy, it is soon eaten, and that
is the end of both candy and money; but in this case the good of
your money will last always, and the self-denial it costs will help
you to grow stronger to "fight for the right." Jesus will know it,
and will send His blessing to those who care for His suffering
little ones.

"Little self-denials,
Cost us what they may,
Help us in this earthly life
To learn the heavenly way."

If you will all set to work in _earnest_, we shall soon be able to
have the amount needed. Who will send the first contribution, and
head the list? The first of every month the names and amounts
contributed will be published in this paper, which has kindly
offered its help. Send your contribution, with name, for "Young
People's Cot," to St. Mary's Hospital for Children, New York, to
Miss E. A. Fanshaw, care of Mr. George A. Fanshaw, 43 New Street,
New York.

The sooner the better. Don't you remember that story of the "Daisy
Cot" which pleased you all so much? Let us have a "Young People's
Cot."

* * * * *

VERONA, ITALY, _June_ 23, 1881.

Although so far away in the old city of Verona, I have the great
pleasure to receive every week, through my papa's kindness,
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, which delights me. I think the readers of
YOUNG PEOPLE would like to receive little accounts from my
note-book. I will send a letter now and then.

When in London I went to the great Westminster Abbey, in which I
saw the urn which contains the bones of the two Princes murdered in
the Tower in the year 1483. In the Tower I saw the steps where
their bodies were found. In the Arsenal were primitive cannon-balls
made of stone, and all sorts of old weapons; also ten small cannons
presented to Charles II., when a boy, to practice with; also much
old armor, and many instruments of torture. Among many curious
things in the British Museum, I saw a gigantic land tortoise, which
weighed 870 pounds when found, was supposed to be eighty years old,
and was still growing.

In my next letter I will tell you about Paris.

I am nine years old, and before my next birthday I expect to see
many old and wonderful things on the Continent.

ALBERTO D. M.

* * * * *

CINCINNATI, OHIO.

I was much interested in your account of the flying-squirrel given
in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 87, Vol. II. I have never seen this
graceful little animal, but from what I have heard, I suppose it is
a pretty creature.

The little common squirrel inhabiting the woods is frequently seen
where I live, on Walnut Hills. One day, when I was walking down a
certain street with a friend of mine, I saw a pet squirrel nestling
on the shoulder of a boy, who kept hold of a chain which was
fastened around the little squirrel's neck. I did not think that
this precaution was necessary, for the little creature did not show
any inclination to run away, but, on the contrary, seemed quite
contented.

I have often wondered whether or not squirrels would be happier
when frisking about among the branches of trees in their native
woods than when shut up in close cages. I should think that they
would pine for their former freedom.

LIZZIE C. C.

Unless the squirrels are made captives when they are very young, they are very wretched in confinement. We once knew about a squirrel which really fretted itself to death in its cage, and we wondered how the boy who owned it could ever be happy afterward. He gave it quite a little funeral, and erected its monument in the garden, with an inscription; but that did not make up for its unhappy days, nor restore its life. A squirrel's cage should be large enough for a boy of twelve to stand up and take several steps in, and it should be dressed with green boughs, to make it seem as much like a bit of the woods as possible. Children who have such pets should not chain them unnecessarily, and they should be careful to keep their homes clean, and give them plenty of food and fresh water.

* * * * *

ETNA, CALIFORNIA.

I have just been reading some of your interesting letters, and I
thought that I would sit down and write to your nice paper, which
we all enjoy reading. We live in Northern California, among the
mines, ninety-two miles from the railroad. Papa kept store for a
while, and the miners changed gold for money; and once a man
brought a piece of gold, that he had just dug out of his mine, in
the shape of a horseshoe.

My sister is thirteen years of age, and I am eleven. We both take
music lessons. We have a nice day-school and Sunday-school. There
are fourteen little girls in my class in the latter. We are
building a new church. My sister is secretary of the Sunday-school.

NELLIE J. F.

* * * * *

AUGUSTA, MAINE.

I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE almost a year, and I like it
ever so much. I just loved Toby Tyler, and wasn't the big, fat
woman good? I like such _big_ folks, because they are so kind
always. I live away down in Maine, on the beautiful Kennebec River.
Augusta is the capital, and is the head of navigation. We have
large schooners which come up here, but no ships. The schooners
bring coal, and carry away ice. Papa says the Kennebec produces the
best ice in the world, and our ice crop last year brought into the
State over $1,000,000. I like the letters from all the boys and
girls, and hope mine is not too long to be put in with others.

CHARLIE F. P.

We always wonder why Maine people say "away _down_ in Maine." It is quite far up on the map. Yours is a nice letter, and the information about the ice is very pleasant in this sultry weather.

* * * * *

HOPE, INDIANA.

I love to read the children's letters in your nice little paper. I
have two sisters, one eight and the other fifteen years old, and
one brother who is twenty years old. For pets I have a little dog
named Trippy and a little bird named Ruby. They are both very cute.
I am thirteen years old.

We have a piano, and I spend a good deal of my time playing. I can
not do much work, as I am crippled, and have to walk with crutches.
I have been sick a long time. I was taken ill last November a year
ago, but I am again able to go to school. I have been attending the
young ladies' seminary this spring. It has just closed, and we had
a musical entertainment, in which I was able to take part. My papa
is postmaster in this place.

Please print this, as I have not seen any letters from this place.

GERTRUDE E. M.

It is very pleasant to play well. It is a real resource to yourself, and music enables you to entertain your friends agreeably. I am sure papa likes to hear his little daughter's piano. Girls who play should not grow tired of scales and finger exercises, but practice them faithfully, and they will be repaid by becoming fine performers.

* * * * *

DAYTON, OHIO.

This is my first letter to YOUNG PEOPLE, and I hope to see it
printed before long. I write to congratulate the young naturalists
on beginning, and hope the society will prove a success. I would
like very much to join a society of this kind; but it is
impossible, as there are no boys and girls old enough in our
neighborhood to join.

ADDIE E. C.

You may be an independent member, and whenever you discover anything interesting, report to the Post-office Box.

* * * * *

PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.

This is the first letter I ever wrote to a paper, though my brother
and I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE since before Christmas. We live in
Philadelphia in winter, but in summer we stay at Cape May. We feel
very sorry for President Garfield, and I run to the bulletin-board
to see how he is as often as a new bulletin appears.

We have a splendid large Newfoundland dog. He was too large and too
curly to get an honor at the dog show, but we would not part with
him for anything.

FRANCIS R. P.

* * * * *

HUNTINGTON, WEST VIRGINIA.

I regard the Natural History Society as a very important
arrangement, and agree with Madison C., Jun., in all but one thing,
and that is that there should be no limited number.

GEORGE C. MCI.

* * * * *

AUBURN, MASSACHUSETTS.

I take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and I like "The Cruise of the
'Ghost'" so much that I wish it would never end. I live in
Germantown, but am spending my vacation here. Before I came here I
went to West Newton, and saw a steam road roller which came from
England. I think it is great fun to make the wiggles.

W. S. N.

* * * * *

SAN AUGUSTINE, NEW MEXICO.

I have not been to school in my life. Mamma is going to get a
teacher. I am writing this myself. I have a sister twelve years
old; her name is Jessie. We have a pet pony, and his name is Billy.
We live on a ranch. Papa keeps the Post-office. I have taken YOUNG
PEOPLE since the first number.

EFFIE D.

* * * * *

SYRACUSE, N. Y.

I have a canary-bird named Dick, which I want to tell you about.
When he was a young bird, he was so small that he could get through
the bars of his cage, and one day, when he was hung out-of-doors,
he flew away, and staid all night. Early in the morning my mother
looked out of a window, and saw Dick on the porch, and she put the
cage out, and he flew into it. He is very tame, and will come on my
shoulder, and drink out of my mouth. I like HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
very much.

Frank J. M.

No doubt the little truant was very glad indeed to find himself at home. Once upon a time, a long while ago, we took care of a friend's bird while she went away on a visit. The very day we expected her home, the cage door was left ajar, and Fluff flew away over the trees, and the garden wall, and out of sight. Imagine our despair. What to do we did not know. Finally, we borrowed a neighbor's bird, a very sweet singer, and set his cage and the deserted one, with its door open, side by side on the window-sill. The little girl of the family sat in the shadow of the curtain to watch, and two hours after our little fly-away came home, allured, we thought, by the songs of our borrowed bird, and perhaps by a thought of the nice fresh seed and cool water in his little house.

* * * * *

MARKESAN, WISCONSIN.

I am a little boy twelve years old, and live in Green Lake Co.,
Wis. I would like to tell the little readers of YOUNG PEOPLE about
the swarms of locusts we have here this summer. About half a mile
west of our village there is a high hill covered with large
oak-trees, and they are swarming with locusts, and they make a
roaring noise which sounds like machinery; we can hear them very
plainly down in the village. They have stripped some of the trees
quite bare of leaves. They are harmless little creatures, only
eating leaves of the oak.

I have a pure water-spaniel dog that will bring ducks out of the
water, and anything else that I wish. I take him to the post-office
and give him the mail, and tell him to take it home; he will take
it in his mouth and run home, and wait on the veranda until mamma
opens the door, and then he will wag his tail and seem so pleased.

Now I do so hope this will not go into the waste basket, as this is
the second time I have tried to get a letter printed.

EDDIE ATKINSON.

Why did you not tell us your dog's name? He must be a splendid little fellow. What a pity the locusts should need so many leaves for their dinners! We should be sorry to see the oak-trees stripped, and glad that the locusts do not come every summer.

* * * * *

The following exchanges are offered by correspondents:

I live at Beverly, New Jersey, and am ten years old. I am making a
"Zoo" garden on a small scale, and will exchange a dried
balloon-fish or star-fish, or a spike from a wreck at Atlantic
City, for a small live snake, lizard, or gold-fish. "First come,
first served."

W. H. E., 238 S. Third St., Philadelphia, Penn.

* * * * *

ALBANY, NEW YORK.

This is my first letter to the Post-office Box. I am going away
soon. I like HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE very much. "The Brave Swiss
Boy," "Toby Tyler," and "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" are about the
best stories. I will give a collection of one hundred and eleven
(all foreign) stamps--as Finland, Russia, Japan, Cuba, Portugal,
Brazil, Norway, Sweden, Newfoundland, Hong-Kong, etc.--for a good
collection of shells. Correspondents will please write before
sending. My address is

A. S., JUN., 258 Clinton Avenue.

* * * * *

Foreign stamps from Europe, East Indies, Bahamas, Cuba, and United
States, for stamps from Asia, Africa, South America, Oceanica,
Mexico, and Central America.

CHARLES L. MILLER,
Lock Box 108, Bristol, R. I.

* * * * *

Stamps from Denmark, France, Austria, Germany, Italy, Norway, and
Bavaria, for stamps from Mexico, Central America, Cape of Good
Hope, Japan, New Zealand, and Nova Scotia. No duplicates given or
taken.

L. B. CRANE,
229 East Nineteenth St., New York City.

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Blue gum, cactus, orange, lemon, Spanish-bayonet, California moss,
and a stone from California, for Indian relics or other
curiosities.

R. H. DOWSE, P. O. Box 144,
Riverside, San Bernardino, Cal.

* * * * *

Five foreign stamps (no duplicates), for one Chinese or African
stamp.

MORISON C. MANCHESTER,
40 Lawrence St., Lowell, Mass.

* * * * *

One of Scott's albums containing 350 stamps, 300 very rare,
including 12 unused stamps, for a $2 printing-press.

G. B. DONNELLY,
331 Hicks St., Brooklyn, L. I.

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Leaves of the oak and hickory trees near here, for leaves from
other places; or tree tulips, for foreign coins, or leaves from the
large trees of California or other famous trees. Label specimens.

J. B., P. O. Box 1179, Canton, Ohio.

* * * * *

Seeds, mosses, flint glass, ferns, wood, and leaves, for fairy
stories or a second-hand toy magic lantern.

E. A. SMITH, Conover, N. C.

* * * * *

Some French, German, and English stamps, for stamps from any other
country, or stamps for coins if more desirable.

WILLIAM F. SEALY,
811 Second Avenue, New York City.

* * * * *

Pieces of bark from the white cedar of Canada, for foreign stamps
and postmarks.

LIBBY AND ADELE TITUS,
P. O. Box I., Poughkeepsie, Dutchess Co., N. Y.

[_For other exchanges, see third page of cover._]

* * * * *

C. W. T., FLORIDA.--Florida was first visited in 1512 by Ponce de Leon, who went there to look for the fountain of youth. In 1565, the Spaniards built a fort at St. Augustine, and most of the country was held by Spain until 1763, when Spain gave it to Great Britain for Cuba, which the English had taken. The British kept Florida until 1781, when the Spaniards drove them out. After the Revolution, the country belonged to Spain until 1821, when it was sold to the United States. In 1845, Florida became a State of the Union.

* * * * *

GEORGE C. McI.--The supply of bound volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for 1880 is exhausted.

* * * * *

We do not care to so much as mention the initials of one correspondent who sent a very dictatorial letter to the Post-office Box the other day, complaining because we had not published his exchange. Exchangers usually understand that the convenience we give them in YOUNG PEOPLE is a favor, and not a right; and if occasionally they are overlooked or obliged to wait a while, they must remember what we have often told them, that we print their offers as soon after receiving them as we can, and as nearly as may be in the order we receive them. We are quite sure the correspondent to whom we refer will regret his manner of writing when he thinks the whole affair over calmly and coolly.

* * * * *

JACQUELINE.--There is but a limited demand for French translations, and even experienced translators have great difficulty in finding publishers to look at their work. It would be excellent practice for you to translate the book you mention, but we do not think you would be successful in procuring anybody to print it for you. Translation should be literal, and elegant as well, and there is no better way of becoming familiar with the idioms of French or any other foreign tongue than by studying its literature, and rendering it into your own language.

* * * * *

ROBERT H. R.--Read article on "The Young Tin-Typers," HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 63, Vol. II.; and if that does not aid you, go to some obliging carpenter for help.

* * * * *

"SILVER SAUL," JOHNNIE T. P., AND OTHERS.--You may send your puzzles for examination if you wish. Birds' eggs are not allowed as exchanges.

* * * * *

FRED H. W.--We can not give addresses, nor arrange for private correspondence.

* * * * *

William Shattuck, H. S. Buffum, Marion S. Hare, B. P. Craig, William H. Paine, Joe S. McKnight, and Edward W. Smith withdraw from our exchange list, their supplies being exhausted.

* * * * *

L. L. B.--The best authorities give _dec_-orative, which is the common pronunciation. The present æsthetic whim is, however, to say de-_cor_-ative. This usage is not yet general.

* * * * *

We can not adjust differences of opinion as to the worth of specimens and articles exchanged. It would be well in most cases for exchangers to have a brief correspondence by postal cards before sending their wares. Thus trouble would be avoided in the end.

* * * * *

J. C.--Frederick William Nicholas Charles is the Crown Prince of Prussia, and on the death of his father, the Emperor William, will succeed him on the throne of Germany.

* * * * *

"CANOE."--The price of a Racine canoe is $75. Address E. G. Durant, Racine Manufacturing Co., Racine, Wis., for circular.

* * * * *

"INQUIRER."--The size of a bicycle is the diameter of the front wheel. On a 36-inch machine the "spools," or pedals, when the cranks are horizontal, should be 22 inches from the saddle, or seat.

* * * * *

"IN EXPECTATION."--You can probably ride a 44-inch bicycle.

* * * * *

ED S. BECK.--Send to the Pope Manufacturing Co., 597 Washington St., Boston, Mass., for a book called _The American Bicycler_.

* * * * *

E. J. HATCH AND H. J. WHEELER.--See HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 26 for directions, with working plans, for building a canvas canoe. The fine workmanship necessary in a cedar canoe could only be performed by an experienced and skillful builder. The best and safest sails for canoes are the triangular sails known as "leg-of-mutton," made of unbleached muslin, having a hoist of eight feet, and the foot laced to a boom of such a length that it will swing clear of the "dandy," or after mast. The "dandy," or "mizzen-sail," as it is sometimes called, should have a hoist of four feet, and a boom of the same length.

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Mary H. Denny, Charles H. Brooks, Enos H. Dyer, Charlie Trimble, Robert N. McMynn, "_Lord Glenalvon_," _Percy L. McDermott_, "School-Boy," Frank S. Davis, George Washington, "King Billy," "Vi O. Let," Lizzie C. Carnochan, "Pickwick," "North Star," "Phil I. Pene," "Clem A. Tis," "Pepper," K. E. Brown, _Maud M. Chambers_, F. Trafford, Mamie and Josie, Charlie Trimble, Leo Marks.

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

EASY NUMERICAL CHARADE.

I am composed of 11 letters, and am one of the United States.
My 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 is to unite.
My 8 is one of the vowels, and perhaps the most important.
My 9, 10, 11 is to sever.

MURRAY C. B.

* * * * *

No. 2.

ENIGMA.

I am in drink, but not in eat;
Also in pea, but not in sweet.
You find me in ink, and not in pen,
In some little birds, but not in the wren;
Always in idle, and never in smart;
Likewise in sweet, and never in tart;
Also in lungs, and not in heart.
My whole are flowers which even a bride
Has been known to wear with grace and pride.

F. T.

* * * * *

No. 3.

EASY CONCEALMENTS.

Did you hear Leo pardon John? James ate a pear. Is Isaac at work in the barn? Did you see Rob at the gate to-night? Do you know bad Gertrude? I saw fish in the river as I came by. The Arab bit a sour apple. Her ring was set with a diamond surrounded by pearls. Did Henry pass here to-day?

REBA H.

* * * * *

No. 4.

MALTESE CROSS.

Central Letter.--In choose.
Top.--Free. Establish. Generation. A letter.
Right.--Generous. Certain. An animal. A letter.
Left.--Patient. Placed. An insect. A letter.
Down.--Leave. Thickened. Tar. A small animal. A letter.
Centrals read downward.--A deputy.
Across.--A word signifying to contract.

WILL A. METTE.

* * * * *

No. 5.

WORD SQUARE.

1. A tall growing plant. 2. A gulf in Russia. 3. Easter morning food. 4. Very comfortable.

S. T. McK.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 88.

No. 1.

Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime;
And, departing, leave behind us
Foot-prints on the sands of time.

--HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

No. 2.

Cloves.

No. 3.

A T L A S
T O U C H
L U C R E
A C R I D
S H E D S

No. 4.

T R A P P E A R
R A N E A T
A N A T
P R

No. 5.

P P
E E L S E T
P E C A N P E D A L
L A D T A P
N L

* * * * *

A personation, on page 592--Beethoven.

* * * * *

OUR NEW SERIAL.

In No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, issued August 2, will appear the first chapter of a new serial story entitled

TIM AND TIP;

OR,

THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG.

By JAMES OTIS, author of "Toby Tyler."

The story of "Tim and Tip" is that of a homeless boy and his faithful dog, who follows him in all his wanderings, and shares in all his adventures. It is full of incident on land and water, and those readers who followed with such kindly interest the fortunes of Toby Tyler and Mr. Stubbs, the monkey, will, we feel sure, sympathize equally with our new hero and his four-footed companion.

HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

SINGLE COPIES, 4 cents; ONE SUBSCRIPTION, one year, $1.50; FIVE SUBSCRIPTIONS, one year, $7.00--_payable in advance, postage free_.

The Volumes of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE commence with the first Number in November of each year.

Subscriptions may begin with any Number. When no time is specified, it will be understood that the subscriber desires to commence with the Number issued after the receipt of the order.

Remittances should be made by POST-OFFICE MONEY-ORDER OR DRAFT, to avoid risk of loss.

HARPER & BROTHERS,
Franklin Square, N. Y.

A RAILROAD PUZZLE.

BY THE DOCTOR

Dear "YOUNG PEOPLE,"--Not many days ago I was travelling on a railroad, and here is what happened. The train on which I was riding came to a stand-still out in the country, away from any dépôt. On looking out to ascertain why we had stopped, I saw a long freight train just ahead of us on the _same_ track, standing still, but headed toward us. In other words, we were going _down_ the track, and they were coming _up_. Between these two trains there was a switch, on which stood a "gravel train." The engine of the "gravel train" was off the track, and so could not back up on the switch, and give room enough for our train to get on and let the freight train go by. In fact, there was only room enough on the switch to accommodate half of our train. The question was, How were we to get past each other?

Of course one of the trains could be backed up to a switch at the nearest dépôt, and let the other by, but that was some miles away. Neither did we wish to wait until the engine of the "gravel train" could be put upon the track, and then back up to give us room on the switch at hand. One or the other of these things would have to be done if some method were not known by means of which--and the little piece of unoccupied switch--we could accomplish our desire.

We did get past each other, occupying only twelve minutes, _leaving the cars of each train in the same order in which they stood when we met_. I give this to you for a puzzle. If any of you have fathers who are railroad men, they must not tell you how until you have tried a long time yourself. I give a little sketch, which you may use if it will make things any plainer. The freight train was about three times as long as the passenger train. From the beginning of the switch to the engine D there is room for _not more than half_ of the passenger train; so if you think that will help you any, you are at liberty to use it.

B is the freight train, going up.

C is the "gravel train," on the switch.

D is the engine of the "gravel train," off the track.]

A GAME OF BALL AS PLAYED IN JAPAN.

There is a Japanese ball game which is very popular in its native land, and which might well receive some attention in this country. It is known as "Temari." The "Temari" is a ball about two inches in diameter, and made generally of cotton wound round with thread, so that it keeps its roundness and is elastic. Its outside is often ornamented with figures made of threads of different colors. A number of girls stand in a circle, and one of them--say, for example, our friend Jessie--takes the ball and throws it perpendicularly on the ground, and when it rebounds, she strikes it back toward the ground with her open hand. If it rebounds again toward her, she continues doing just as before. But if it flies away, the one toward whom the ball flies, or who is nearest to the direction of the flying ball, strikes it toward the ground, as Jessie has done, and the game continues until one of the players misses her stroke or fails to make the ball rebound. She then steps out of the circle, and the others play again in the same way as before until another girl fails and is obliged to step out. The same process continues until there is only one girl left, to whom belongs the honor of victory.

LULU TAKES CARE OF KITTY.

BY M. E.

They brushed the clothes, they beat the clothes,
One sunny April day--
Their winter clothes, I mean--and then
They packed them all away
In paper boxes tied around
With very strongest strings,
First freely sprinkling them with some
Tobacco dust and camphor gum,
And other sneezy things.

And when, their labor done, they took
Their tea and toasted bread,
"Why, where is kitty?" some one asked,
And "_I_ know," Lulu said;
"She's in my dollie's biggest trunk;
I brushed and beated her;
There can't not any moths, I dess,
Det into her nice fur.
She scratched my finders when I put
The camphor stuff about.
Div' me some toast that's buttered froo."
They left it all to her, and flew
To let poor kitty out.

COAL FOR NOTHING.

If any one wishes to be supplied with coal for nothing, he has only to rent a house near a railway, invest in a monkey, and follow the example set in the following story:

An eminent menagerist lived in a suburb where forty trains a day passed his garden. The weather was cold, but coal was expensive. The menagerist, however, was a man of resources, and conceived a plan for utilizing the forty trains a day. From his menagerie in town he brought a large Barbary ape, which unfortunate animal was chained to the top of a pole at the end of the garden.

The result was as pleasant as owning a colliery, without any wages to pay, or fear of floods and explosions. Every fireman, and occasionally an engineer, on the passing trains, had a shot with a lump of coal at the Barbary ape. The ape was never hit, but the garden was littered with coal, which the menagerist triumphantly conveyed to his cellar.

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, July 26, 1881, by Various