Chapter IV (2)

Last Christmas my papa presented me with HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and
it has afforded me a great deal of pleasure, and I intend to
continue reading it always. I am eight years old, and since last
fall have gone to school. I am now in the Fifth Reader, and work
sums in fractions; but somehow I still love to play, and ride my
velocipede, while my sister Sadie, who is five years, and Edna,
nineteen months, amuse themselves with dolls. We live in a town
quite famous as a winter resort, and many come here to escape the
cold North and West, and to enjoy our pine regions.

HERBERT J. H.

* * * * *

BELDEN, TEXAS.

I am a little boy nine years old. I have been taking YOUNG PEOPLE
since last November. I have several pets. I have a dog, a pony, a
pig, and three chickens; but the sweetest pet of all is my little
baby brother; his name is Charley, but we call him Carly. I want to
tell about my pig, he is so smart he thinks he is a dog. Everywhere
the dogs go, the pig goes too. He helped me drive the horses to
water yesterday. I live on a farm. I do not go to school; mamma
teaches me at home.

WALTER J. M.

A very remarkable pig. It must be funny to see him trotting off after the dogs and their little master.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

I am a little girl thirteen years old. I have a little dog, but he
is very homely. We have three little kittens, and they are pretty.
My brother found them in the garden. The cats and the dog do not
fight. I have a papa and a mamma, and an auntie, and two big
brothers. My auntie reads all the little letters to me. I have
taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE since the first number.

NETTIE B. M.

* * * * *

MONTICELLO, NEW YORK.

Have you, dear Postmistress, ever been to Monticello? I think it is
a lovely place. And there are such beautiful views. If I look to
the north, I see quite a stretch of woods and hills, and away off
in the distance a ridge of very high hills. I am staying on a farm
where there are seven cows and four calves. Their names are Bessie,
Brownie, Bright-eyes, and Bunker Hill. They are just as gentle as
lambs. In the house there is a cat called Manners, and she has two
kittens, Miss Muffet and Pussy Tiptoes. Tiptoes (or Tip, as she is
called) has white-tipped paws, and a bib of white just under her
chin. Muffet is gray and white.

I want to tell you about the County Fair. The grounds are two miles
and a half from here. We rode up, and staid all day. First we went
into the poultry house, which was full. What do you suppose we saw?
Two little tiny hens, each with five little chickens no bigger than
a medium-sized egg. After that we entered the domestic building.
Dear! how full it was! Cake, jelly, pies, preserves, and fruit
occupied an entire side of it. The other side was filled with art,
fancy-work, and such things. The vegetable tent was next, and some
one said the display of vegetables was larger than that at the
state Fair. I can't begin to tell how many cattle, pigs, and sheep
there were. We ate our lunch in the wagon, and it tasted very good.
I was very tired when we got home, but we had a pleasant day and
lovely weather.

A few weeks ago we drove to Katrina Falls. We went down into the
basin, and saw the water come rushing down from fifty feet above,
with high rocks and woods all around, and it made as wild a scene
as I ever saw. I picked a fern and leaf to bring home and press.

EFFIE E. H.

* * * * *

THE CHILDREN AND THE SHEEP.

Diddie, Dumps, and Tot were three little girls who lived on a plantation in Mississippi many years ago. Their real names were Madeleine, Elinor, and Eugenia, but nobody ever called them by anything except their funny pet names. The three little girls had three little colored maids, who waited on them, shared their plays, and went with them everywhere. The pet who gave them so much trouble on the afternoon of this story was a sheep, who had belonged to Diddie since he was a lamb. Then he had been very gentle, but he had grown cross and stubborn with age, though Diddie kept on loving him dearly.

You may all look at his picture on the cover of this number of YOUNG PEOPLE. They were playing that he was Lord Burgoyne, and that a feast was being made in his honor. But, alas! his lordship objected to being carried to the entertainment.

"You, Dumps, an' Tot, an' Dilsey, an' all of yer, I've got er letter from Lord Burgoyne, an' he'll be here to-morrow, an' I want you all to go right into the kitchen an' make pies an' cakes." And so the whole party adjourned to a little ditch where mud and water were plentiful (and which on that account had been selected as the kitchen), and began at once to prepare an elegant dinner.

Dear me! how busy the little housekeepers were! and such beautiful pies they made, and lovely cakes all iced with white sand, and bits of grass laid around the edges for trimming! and all the time laughing and chatting as gayly as could be.

"Ain't we havin' fun?" said Dumps, who, regardless of her nice clothes, was down on her knees in the ditch, with her sleeves rolled up, and her fat little arms muddy to the elbows; "an' ain't you glad we slipped off, Diddie? I tol' yer there wa'n't nothin' goin' to hurt us."

"And ain't you glad we let Billy come?" said Diddie. "We wouldn't er had nobody to be Lord Burgoyne."

"Yes," replied Dumps, "an' he ain't behaved bad at all; he ain't butted nobody, and he ain't runned after nobody to-day."

"'Ook at de take," interrupted Tot, holding up a mud-ball that she had moulded with her own little hands, and which she regarded with great pride.

And now, the plank being as full as it would hold, they all returned to the hotel to arrange the table. But after the table was set the excitement was all over, for there was nobody to be the guest.

"Ef Ole Billy wa'n't so mean," said Chris, "we could fotch 'im hyear in de omnibus. I wush we'd a let Chubbum an' Suppum come; dey'd er been Lord Bugon."

"I b'lieve Billy would let us haul 'im," said Diddie, who was always ready to take up for her pet; "he's rael gentle now, an' he's quit buttin'; the only thing is, he's so big we couldn't get 'im in the wheelbarrer."

"Me 'n' Chris kin put 'im in," said Dilsey. "We kin lif 'im, ef dat's all;" and accordingly the omnibus was dispatched for Lord Burgoyne, who was quietly nibbling grass on the ditch bank at some little distance from the hotel.

He raised his head as the children approached, and regarded them attentively. "Billy! Billy! po' Ole Billy!" soothingly murmured Diddie, who had accompanied Dilsey and Chris with the omnibus, as she had more influence over Old Billy than anybody else. He came now at once to her side, and rubbed his head gently against her; and while she caressed him, Dilsey on one side and Chris on the other lifted him up to put him on the wheelbarrow.

And now the scene changed. Lord Burgoyne, all unmindful of love or gratitude, and with an eye single to avenging this insult to his dignity, struggled from the arms of his captors, and planting his head full in Diddie's chest, turned her a somersault in the mud. Then, lowering his head and rushing at Chris, he butted her with such force that over she went head-foremost into the ditch; and now, spying Dilsey, who was running with all her might to gain the lumber pile, he took after her, and catching up with her just as she reached the gin-house, placed his head in the middle of her back, and sent her sprawling on her face. Diddie and Chris had by this time regained their feet, both of them very muddy, and Chris with her face all scratched from the roots and briers in the ditch. Seeing Old Billy occupied with Dilsey, they started on a run for the lumber; but the wily old sheep was on the look-out, and taking after them full tilt, he soon landed them flat on the ground. And now Dilsey had scrambled up, and was wiping the dirt from her eyes, preparatory to making a fresh start. Billy, however, seemed to have made up his mind that nobody had a right to stand up except himself, and before the poor little darky could get out of his way, once more he had butted her down.

Diddie and Chris were more fortunate this time; they were nearer the lumber than Dilsey, and, not losing a minute, they set out for the pile as soon as Old Billy's back was turned, and made such good time that they both reached it, and Chris had climbed to the top before he saw them; Diddie, however, was only half-way up, so he made a run at her, and butted her feet from under her, and threw her back to the ground. This time he hurt her very much, for her head struck against the lumber, and it cut a gash in her forehead and made the blood come. This alarmed Dumps and Tot, and they both began to cry, though they, with Riar, were safely ensconced on top of the lumber, out of all danger. Diddie, too, was crying bitterly; and as soon as Billy ran back to butt at Dilsey, Chris and Riar caught hold of her hands and drew her up on the pile.

Poor little Dilsey was now in a very sad predicament. Billy, seeing that the other children were out of his reach, devoted his entire time and attention to her, and her only safety was in lying flat on the ground. If she so much as lifted her head to reconnoitre, he would plant a full blow upon it.

The children were at their wits' end. It was long past their dinner-time, and they were getting hungry; their clothes were all muddy, and Diddie's dress almost torn off of her; the blood was trickling down from the gash in her forehead, and Chris was all scratched and dirty, and her eyes smarted from the sand in them. So it was a disconsolate little group that sat huddled together on top of the lumber, while old Billy stood guard over Dilsey, but with one eye on the pile, ready to make a dash at anybody who should be foolish enough to venture down.

"I tol' yer not to let 'im come," sobbed Dumps, 'an' now I spec we'll hafter stay here all night, an' not have no supper nor nothin'."

"I didn't let 'im come," replied Diddie. "He come himself, an 'ef you hadn't made us run away fum Mammy, we wouldn't er happened to all this trouble."

"I never made yer," retorted Dumps; "you come jes ez much ez anybody; an' ef it hadn't er been fur you, Ole Billy would er staid at home. You're all time pettin' 'im an' feedin' 'im, hateful old thing! tell he thinks he's got ter go ev'ywhere we go. You ought to be 'shamed er yourse'f. Ef I was you, I'd think myse'f too good ter be always er 'soshatin with sheeps."

"You're mighty fond of 'im sometimes," said Diddie, "an' you was mighty glad he was here jes now, to be Lord Burgoyne; he's jes doin' this fur fun."

It was now almost dark, and Old Billy showed no signs of weariness; his vigilance was unabated, and the children were very miserable, when they heard the welcome sound of Mammy's voice calling "Chil'en! O-o-o-o, chil'en!"

"Ma-a-a-m!" answered all of the little folks at once.

"Whar is yer?" called Mammy.

"On top the lumber pile," answered the children; and soon Mammy appeared coming through the woods.

Instantly Old Billy dashed at her, releasing poor Dilsey.

"Now' yer gwuf fum yer, gwuf fum yer," said Mammy, furiously waving a cotton stalk at Old Billy. "Gwuf fum yer, I tell you! I ain't hodern you. I jes cum fur de chil'en, an' yer bet not fool 'long er me, yer low-life sheep."

But Old Billy, not caring a fig for Mammy's dignity or importance, planted his head in her breast, and over the old lady went backward. At this the children, who loved Mammy dearly, set up a yell, and Mammy, still waving the cotton stalk, attempted to rise, but Billy was ready for her, and, with a well aimed blow, sent her back to the earth.

"Now yer stop dat," said Mammy. "Yer better gwuf fum yer!" But Billy, being master of the situation, stood his ground, and I dare say Mammy would have been lying there yet, but fortunately Uncle Sambo and Bill, the wagoners, came along the big road, and hearing the children's cries, they came upon the scene of action, and taking their whips to Old Billy, soon drove him away.--[From _Diddie, Dumps, and Tot_, published by Harper & Brothers.]

* * * * *

We insert this little paragraph for the benefit of uncles and aunties and older brothers and sisters who are looking about now to find beautiful books for holiday gifts to the little ones. The group of volumes of which we give the titles are great favorites with some fortunate little people of our acquaintance:

_Harold and the Monks; or, A Little Boy's Travels in Dream-land._ A Fairy Tale for Small Folk. By Alfred C. Fryer. (J. E. Cornish, Manchester, England. Publisher.)--_The White Rat, and Some Other Stories._ By Lady Barker. Illustrated by W. J. Hennessy.--_Milly and Olly; or, A Holiday among the Mountains._ By Miss J. H. Ward. Illustrated by Mrs. Alma Tadema.--_Household Stories from the Collection of the Brothers Grimm._ Translated from the German by Lucy Crane, and Done into Pictures by Walter Crane. (Macmillan & Co., London, Publishers.)--_Abroad._ Illustrated by Thomas Crane and Ellen Houghton. (Marcus Ward & Co., New York.)

* * * * *

YOUNG PEOPLE'S COT.

Contributions received for Young People's Cot, in Holy Innocent's Ward, St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street:

Chicago, Ill., 50c.; May F. Brinckerhoff, N. Y., $1; Grace
Hamilton, Fort Hamilton, N. Y., $1; Proceeds of a fair held by
Allyn and her little neighbor, New London, $5; Annie Waldron,
Nyack, N. Y., $1; Effie Rhind, 50c.; Grace M. B., Poughkeepsie,
25c.; Proceeds of a fair held at Irvington-on-Hudson, October 3, by
Florence, Elise, and Ethel Hurst, Isabelle Benjamin, and Helen
Matthiewson, $288; total, $297.25. Amount previously acknowledged,
$1258.15; grand total, October 15, $1,555.40.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

MR DEAR YOUNG PEOPLE,--Your friend Miss Fanshawe has asked me to
write you a letter, and tell you something more about your Cot in
St. Mary's Free Hospital for children. You remember you thought
last year that you would like to _endow_ (that, means pay for, and
have for your very own) one of the little white beds in the Holy
Innocent's Ward of the hospital. You sent Miss Fanshawe ever so
much money, and she wrote ever so many letters to Johnnie and Mary,
and Willie and Kitty, and all the rest of the children who inclosed
their contributions for Young People's Cot to her, as treasurer of
the Holy Innocent's Guild. Some of you sent her ten cents, and some
twenty-five cents, and some had even as much as several dollars
that they had earned or saved, for of course it must be your very
own money that pays for the support of your very own little sick
poor child in the Cot called by your name.

This was all very nice and good of you, but, you remember, I told
you that it required $3000 to endow your Cot, and all the ten-cent
pieces, and twenty-five-cent pieces, and all the dollar bills even
that you sent to Miss Fanshawe amounted to but $1258. That, you see
(those of you who know anything about arithmetic), is less than
half the sum necessary! Can you not send some more this year? If
you would save some of your candy-money, or toy money, or do some
work for which your parents would pay you, I am very sure you would
feel well repaid for your self-denial when you went to the hospital
and saw your child--some sick boy, or sick girl, who had no nice
comfortable home, such as you have, to be sick in--lying there, and
saying "Thank you" to Johnnie and Mary and all the rest of you.

There will be a bright brass plate over the head of the Cot, and on
it will be engraved "Young People's Cot," and the date of its
endowment. This will keep before everybody's mind who sees it the
fact that this particular Cot belongs to you, and that the sick
child in it is your child.

Now I must tell you what some little girls did for the Cot last
summer. I will tell you all their names, and perhaps some of you
who are now reading this letter, or listening while some one reads
it to you, may have the same name. There were five little
girls--Florence Hurst and her sisters Ethel and Elise, and their
two little friends Isabelle Benjamin and Helen Matthiewson. These
little girls had read about, and had heard older people talking
about, Young People's Cot, until they became so much interested in
the idea that they determined to try and be five of the owners of
the wonderful Cot. One of them--I don't know which one it
was--suggested that they might make some pretty fancy articles, and
sell them to their grown-up friends. They all went to work, and how
much money do you think they earned? Listen, please, for you will
be very much surprised. $288. Were they not well repaid for the
time they used and the trouble they had in working for their Cot?

Now, somebody who can do sums in addition please add $288 to $1258,
and see how much it makes. You say $1546. Quite correct. And that,
you see, is a little more than half the $3000 you need. Don't you
think when one has got half of any difficult lesson or difficult
piece of work done that the other half seems quite easy in
comparison? I am sure you have all noticed this, and I am sure,
too, that you will find the present case no exception to the rule.

Courage, then, every little boy and little girl who reads this
letter, and go to work manfully and _womanfully_ until the Cot is
paid for and really belongs to you. Send all the money you can save
or can earn to Miss Fanshawe, 43 New Street, and you will see it
acknowledged every month in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, your own paper.
She will also write to any child who writes to her, and asks for an
answer to his or her letter.

I wish I had time now, and that the editors had space in this
week's paper to tell you of the pleasant Sea-side Home at Rockaway,
where the children of St. Mary's Hospital were sent last summer,
and where your child will go next summer if you have your Cot by
that time. The house was given to the Sisters of St. Mary by a kind
lady who loves little children, and can not bear to think of them
sick in hot, noisy, crowded tenement houses when the thermometer
stands at 90° in the shadiest city streets, and all the country,
with its grass and trees and flowers, seems longing for the little
children to come and enjoy it.

You should have seen the little pale-faced children on the beach or
bathing in the salt-water. A very few days made a difference in
their looks. And such appetites as the salt air gave them! Why, a
barrel of flour lasted no time, they were all so hungry.

Perhaps you would like to know who I am and what my name is. Well,
when I was one of you I was always taught that it was proper to
sign one's name to one's letters, so I sign myself to this letter,
my dear young people (and it is really my true name), your very
affectionate friend,

ONE WHO LOVES YOU.

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

ENIGMA.

My first is in gain, but not in loss.
My second is in shell, but not in rock.
My third is in throw, but not in toss.
My fourth is in tap, but not in knock.
My fifth is in man, but not in boy.
My sixth is in right, but not in wrong.
My seventh is in drum, but not in toy.
My eighth is in many, but not in throng.
My whole is a flower well worth a song.

NINA T.

* * * * *

No. 2.

ACROSTIC.

1. A number. 2. A plaything. 3. A mineral deposit. 4. Part of a vessel. 5. Part of a fish. 6. A malt liquor. 7. The firmament. Centrals spell the name of an important sea port of the United States.

NINA T.

* * * * *

No. 3.

HOUR-GLASS PUZZLE.

1. Buttresses for strengthening walls. 2. A county or city officer. 3. To censure. 4. A pronoun. 5. A vowel. 6. A kiln for drying hops. 7. Fitly. 8. Quittance. 9. Imperial. Centrals--A city of New York.

LODESTAR.

* * * * *

No. 4.

BEHEADINGS.

1. I am a decoration of nature; behead me, and I am not the highest.

2. I am the seed of a much prized tree; behead me, and I am a grain.

3. I am a knavish fellow; behead me, and I am a collection of tents.

4. I am a pit; behead me, and I am delirious.

5. I am a fireplace; behead me, and I am a planet.

TWIN COMET.

* * * * *

No. 5.

AN EASY NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

The whole, of 10 letters, is a flower.
The 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 belongs to the body.
The 1, 2, 3, 4 is essential to life.
The 6, 7, 8, 5 is a luxury when tired.
The 5, 7, 8 is a beverage.
The 7, 8, 9, 10 is rest.

J. M. ILES.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 155.

No. 1.

L am P N u T
I dl E E art H
N en T E ide R
N ea R D om E
E as E L aur A
T ai L E meral D

No. 2.

W O O D M I C E
O G R E I D O L
O R E S C O A L
D E S K E L L A

No. 3.

Air.

No. 4

P G P
F O E H A S H A T
P O U N D G A I L Y P A P E R
E N D S L Y T E A
D Y R

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Rose Wright, "Lodestar," Christine and Gretchen, Milly Tice, Andrew Campbell, Jessie G., "A. B. C. D.," Emma Laurie, Harry Mowbray, J. D., Percy L. McDermott, "Twelve and a Half Cents," Emma McEvoy, William A. Lewis, Frank D. Brewster, Florence Small, Frances Dixon, Malcolm Ives, Irving L., M. C. Stewart, Susie Hausen, "Linnet," Emilie D., James Williams, Thomas Holmes, and Ruby C. Scofield.

* * * * *

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

* * * * *

THE OBJECT GAME

This game may be played by any number of people. The party first divides itself into two equal parts. One person from each side is chosen to go out of the room, and after consulting together, they fix upon any object they like for the rest to guess.

The company then seat themselves in two distinct circles, sufficiently apart to prevent the remarks made in one circle from being overheard by those in the other.

The two representatives are now summoned, and requested to take their places, one in each group, when a race begins as to which group shall first find out what object of thought has been fixed upon. This is done by asking questions as to the shape, size, qualities, and attributes of the object. The rule is that the number of questions asked should be limited to twenty, though in many cases it is impossible to adhere to this restriction; while, on the other hand, the object is frequently guessed before the whole twenty questions have been asked.

No restriction is placed upon the objects to be thought of--a drop of water, a ray of light, a crab's claw, a nail in the boot of some great man, or anything else may be chosen. The object of the game is, of course, to make the guessing as difficult as possible, so that the struggle as to who shall be the winners may be a hard one.

* * * * *

DARKIE'S SEARCH

A black retriever named Darkie, the property of a friend, lately went with his master to a country railway station. His master went to a neighboring station down the line, leaving Darkie to await his return, which he dutifully did, guarding the pony trap with faithfulness and sagacity.

On their arrival at home again after a two-mile drive, the master missed one of his gloves. He showed it to Darkie, saying only, "Hie, lost!" Darkie started off and was gone for three hours, when he returned with the missing glove, breathless but happy. The next day the porter at the station told the owner:

"We had a pretty job with your dog yesterday, sir. He came here, went down the line as fast as his legs would carry him, went to the station you got out at, came back here, rummaged the place all over, and nearly upset the book-stall, under which your glove was, and carried it off in his mouth."

* * * * *

KING CAULIFLOWER.--BY PALMER COX.

Old Cauliflower was a king who ruled o'er land and sea;
He took a penny from the till of his great treasury,
And with the money in his hand he ran about the town
To make a purchase of a pint of pea-nuts roasted brown.
And when he brought them to his room it was the king's intent
To eat the pea-nuts in the bed before to sleep he went.

To this the queen objection made, and very well she might,
For he was well along in years, and late it was at night.
Then said the crabbed Cauliflower: "Am I not a king?
And may I not do what I please, or swallow anything?
Oh! have a care, my queenly dame; my word is law, you know,
And if I do but say the word, your saucy head may go."

Then quick the fearless queen replied: "Go, frighten slave or fool,
But I would have you understand that here 'tis I who rule:
So take your pea-nuts somewhere else, and may they cost you dear.
For were you fifty times a king you'll not be munching here!"
Then out upon the steps of stone in silence sat his grace,
And ate the pint of roasted nuts before he left the place.

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, November 7, 1882, by Various