Chapter II: Part 2

"You do, do you? That's right," said the old fairy. "You just give him this fairy meat; it will keep him from barking at the fairy I send, and scaring her away."

"Yes, Madam Fairy," returned Bessy; "I'll remember, and I'll put my shoes and papa's and mamma's all in a row by the door, and please tell your fairy servant to fill them up to the brim with gold. Remember."

"Good-by," said the old fairy, and when Bessy looked around she was alone. So she scampered back, and meeting Watch by the gate, whispered in his ear,

"Here is a piece of meat the fairy sent you. Now be a good dog, and don't bark when she comes to-night."

Watch took the meat, ate, and growled over it.

Bessy put the key back softly. Then feeling very lonely and excited, she crept softly around to the kitchen door for light and companionship. There stood Lucy kneading bread for breakfast, while Ann sat by the door knitting a long cotton stocking.

Bessy came close up to her and stood still, looking into the kitchen. With everything shining and clean, so cozy and comfortable, it was quite delightful after the mysterious lane, and the old fairy who smelled of tobacco.

"Why, you darling," said Ann, "I was just coming to look for you. Where have you been? You look as scared as a cat, and as wild as a witch. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," answered Bessy. "I wish mother would come. What time is it?"

"Half past eight," said Lucy, looking at the clock. "She'll be along soon now. Don't fret, and I'll give you a big piece of cake."

Bessy was as fond of cake as other little girls; so she sat down on the door-step to eat the cake, and listened for the wheels of the carriage.

At last they came, and Bessy flew down to meet her parents with delight, for she felt lonesome and queer.

Mamma called Ann to light the big lamp on the round table; then she looked at her little girl, sat down, and took her on her lap, saying:

"Well, what have you been doing, little one? You look tired and cold. Have you had your tea?"

How Bessy longed to tell them of the wonderful good luck in store for them! But she remembered her promise, and only answered:

"Yes, mamma. I am sleepy."

So mamma took a candle from the mantel-piece, and led Bessy to bed, undressed her, and listened to her little prayer, and tucked in the quilt; then she said:

"I'll be back for the light after I have had my supper. Shut your eyes, like a good girl, and go to sleep."

As soon as her mother left the room Bessy slid off of the bed and into the next room, which was her mother's, to hunt for two pairs of shoes. After some fumbling, she found a pair of slippers of her mother's and a large pair of boots of her father's. She put them in a row by the door, and then jumped into bed again.

It was not until after what seemed to Bessy a long, long time that she heard her father and mother come out of the dining-room. Then she heard papa say:

"Why, what's the matter with the key? I can't turn it." She heard the key taken out, and papa say again: "What is this in the key? It looks like wax."

After a little, she heard her father turn the key and hang it up on the hook. Pretty soon mamma came into Bessy's room. Bessy closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She felt mamma kiss her, and heard her close the door.

How long she slept she never knew; but suddenly she started up wide awake, to find the stars shining down on her through the window. Everything was as still as it could be. Bessy wondered if the fairies had come yet.

She stepped out of bed and across the room, and put her hand into the big boots. They were empty; so were her own little shoes and mamma's slippers.

"Well, they haven't come yet," she whispered.

She was about to return, when her attention was attracted by a flash of light in the hall. Bessy peeped out, thinking it might be the fairy; but what was her surprise at seeing two large men, in stocking feet, coming up the lower stairs on tiptoe. The one behind carried a lantern, and was making it flash backward and forward, up and down, as the old fairy did in the lane.

What could they want? she wondered.

The first man carried a sack over his shoulder, and pointed toward the closet where Bessy knew all the silver-ware was kept. Then the man with the lantern began pushing what looked like an enormous nail between the lock and the door, stopping every now and then to listen.

In a few moments the door flew open, and both went in together. Then Bessy saw them take down the beautiful silver pitchers, tea-pots, trays, and forks and spoons, and put them into the bag. They did it so softly that there was not even the least little chink from them.

Though Bessy was a very little girl, and believed in fairies, she knew these men had no right to take papa's silver. So she thought she must tell him. She ran to the door between their rooms, and pushed it open a little way.

"Papa! papa!" she cried, "two big men are in the house. They have taken everything in the silver closet. Take a stick and drive them away."

Up jumped papa, seizing a pair of great pistols, and made a rush for the stairs, with Bessy behind him.

They had not reached the first step when the two men darted out of the room below.

But on seeing papa with a pistol in each hand, they dropped the bag and ran toward the open hall door, and were out of sight in a moment.

Mamma, awakened by the noise, came hurrying out to see what was the matter, and found Bessy crying in the corner, and papa rushing through the house with a pair of pistols. Bessy's mother clasped her very closely in her arms.

In a little while papa came back, looking very serious. The men had disappeared, and Watch lay dead on the mat outside of the door.

By the time they had emptied the bag, and put everything in its place, it was quite daylight, and Bessy knew the fairy had been frightened away. So she climbed up in her mother's lap and began sobbing softly. Then, when her mother coaxed her to tell what ailed her, she pointed to the shoes, and told her about the old fairy in the lane and the key.

Bessy had to tell that story ever so many times that day. And for a long time her mamma did not leave her alone in the evenings; so that Bessy never saw the fairy godmother again.

THE CITY OF THE CALIPHS.

BY LIEUTENANT E. W. STURDY, U.S.N.

It was impossible for our friend Master Tom Fairweather not to indulge in a chuckle when he opened his eyes upon the harbor of Bagdad the morning after his arrival at that ancient city.

The passengers of the _Blosse Lynch_ were being carried ashore by the basketful in the kufas which swarmed about the steamer, and which, made of wicker-work, and round in shape, reminded our young friend of peach and strawberry baskets.

It was not long, however, before Mr. Jollytarre and himself were likewise progressing shoreward, whereupon the humor of the situation considerably diminished. It is never as funny to do a thing ourselves as to see other people do it.

Immediately on landing Mr. Jollytarre was presented with a note by an important personage, who in a fez cap stood by while the Lieutenant read the missive. Having done so, he said, "Tom, you are in luck. One of the most influential merchants of Bagdad has invited us to lunch with him at twelve to-day. We shall have lots of time before then to walk through the bazars, and get, in fact, a general idea of the city. After lunch we can do more sight-seeing. Would you like to go?"

"I suppose there are no ladies," demurred Tom, doubtfully.

"I am afraid not," and the Lieutenant shook his head sadly.

"Then I'd like to go," agreed Tom, cheering up.

The Lieutenant smiled at him. "You will hold different views one of these days. But let me see; here, I'll write a line on my card;" and pulling out his card-case he wrote with a flourish,

"Accept with pleasure.

"JACK JOLLYTARRE."

Then they started for the bazars, which they found to be long and broad, and moderately full of pretty things. The streets were cleaner than in most Eastern towns. The houses bore a family resemblance to each other--a square court-yard in the centre, around the four sides of which the rooms were built, sometimes to the height of three stories, and some of them being quite open to the sun and air of the court-yard, there being, as a rule, no windows on the dark narrow streets. The roofs are generally flat, and the people sleep on them during the hot summer. In fact, while the great heat lasts, the citizens of Bagdad spend the day in the serdaubs, or as we would call them, cellars.

Tom and Mr. Jollytarre in their walk stood gazing into one of these cellars through one of their grated windows.

"'Serdaub,'" read the Lieutenant from his guide-book, which he always carried like a devoted traveller, "'means cold water.' The Bagdadese call their cellars by this name because they keep cold water stored there. In short, these cellars might be called during the hot months the watering-places of Bagdad, when it is too intolerably hot to remain above-ground. But the nights almost always cool off, and then the frequenters of these summer resorts go up to spend their evenings on the roof by way of variety. This I should consider a change decidedly for the better, as venomous reptiles abound in the serdaubs, which do not make very pleasant companions. Besides which, the air is damp and the ventilation bad."

As they walked on, Tom said: "The air above-ground is good enough, though, isn't it?"

"Oh yes, delightful; no better air or climate in the East. The wind is always blowing over the city fresh from the surrounding desert. For six or eight months the climate is as pleasant as in any place on earth. In midwinter it is cold enough to form ice. The spring and autumn are particularly delightful. But the summer sets in early. In May, for instance, there are such swarms of insects as to render life almost insupportable. We are here, however, in the very nick of time--April."

"Such lots of flowers!" commented Tom. "I know what those little yellow flowers are in that garden--crocuses; and those are violets just like ours at home; and did you ever smell anything so sweet as those orange blossoms? That's something I never saw in our garden."

Here Tom and Jollytarre stood stock-still like two girls to stare in at the flowers in the Bagdad gardens, and up at the birds, and turtle-doves, and ring-doves on the mosques and minarets around them.

"There's a fine view from the top of that minaret," said Mr. Jollytarre, pointing to a very tall one in the middle of the city. "Shall we climb it?"

Of course Tom said yes, and off they started.

"The view is really very fine," exclaimed the Lieutenant, on their way up, "of the city, the gardens, the river, the plain of Mesopotamia, and the Persian hills; and the minaret itself is worth a visit on its own account, having been standing since the year 1235, more than six hundred years. It is, moreover, not only the oldest but the highest of any minaret in Bagdad. It is lucky for us that although unbelievers are not allowed entrance to Turkish minarets in general, this one being partly in ruins, and being besides unattached to any mosque, is therefore open to us dogs of Gentiles."

The entrance was high up, as in most minarets. A ladder was placed against the wall, and our friends climbed up and scrambled into the doorway over their heads.

From the top of the minaret Bagdad looked like a level plain made of the flat roofs of the houses, honey-combed by narrow ditches--the ditches, of course, being actually the streets.

Out of this plain of flat roofs rose mountain heights and peaks of mosques and minarets, which glittered in the sun with their gaudy covering of tiles, generally either blue or green.

From their lofty position our travellers made out the fact that the town was divided into two parts, one on the eastern and one on the western bank of the Tigris. A certain freshness and beauty was given to the river by the mulberry and date-palm trees growing in the court-yards of many of the houses. The eastern and western portions of Bagdad were connected by a pretty bridge of boats. Up and down the course of the river groves and gardens follow the flow of its waters northward and southward. But away from it to the east and west trees disappear and deserts stretch out into trackless wastes.

Eastward of Bagdad are the old walls, now for the most part dismantled. Long ago the bricks of which this wall was built were given to the soldiers of the Caliph's army to eke out their pay, but the soldiers of to-day are more fairly treated.

Tom made a visit to the citadel and barracks, which were in exceptionally good order. The soldiers appeared very young-looking, but steady and enduring. They wore a blue Zouave uniform.

Their lunch hour approaching, after leaving the barracks Tom and Mr. Jollytarre now turned their steps in the direction of the house of their host.

They found this house built around a court-yard, as you have been told is generally the case in Bagdad. In this particular court, however, they found a number of hawks, which their owner kept for sport. They are used to hunt down gazelles and antelopes, which they either kill outright, or else keep at bay until the hounds come up and put an end to them. The general effect of the house was European. The walls, to be sure, were plainly whitewashed, but other details were handsome and artistic. For instance, the ceilings were handsomely decorated, and the floors were carpeted. One large room was furnished as a billiard-room. In others were handsome mirrors. The lunch table was laid in accordance with our notions or prejudices; that is, with a cloth, knives, forks, and plates. But there all sense of familiarity ceased. The fare was thoroughly Oriental. First of all a sheep, roasted whole and elaborately stuffed, was brought in on a tray and carried around to every one at table. Next came a roast turkey, served in the same way. Then a goose, then a gazelle, and then dishes and dishes of unknown names and composition. Such was the _menu_. Besides all of which, the table was laden with countless dishes of fruit and sweetmeats.

Tom, of course, being only a small boy, was admitted on sufferance, and sat perfectly still, and did not once contribute a word to the conversation. But he looked and listened all the harder, and I do not believe he missed a single point in the entertainment. Still, he was not particularly amused, and was certainly greatly relieved when the feast was over, and Mr. Jollytarre and himself were once more in the streets of Bagdad.

"They have the plague here frequently," said the Lieutenant, as they strolled along, an Arab whom they had picked up for a guide at their heels, "and the mortality is fearful. Once the authorities decided to try the plan of shutting up every one in any house where the plague broke out. But this plan was bitterly opposed, as it meant certain death to all in the house. The Jewish rabbis proposed another plan. They persuaded their people to emigrate to the desert, and live there until the plague was stayed, or at least until they had themselves got rid of it, having left it behind in the filth and foul air of the city. Some Christians and Mussulmans followed their example. There is one curious fact about the plague: hardly a person has ever been attacked who slept on a bedstead, even when persons sleeping on the floor in the same room have caught the disease and died."

"I suppose it is a summer disease," said Tom.

"No; on the contrary, it disappears with the fierce heats of summer, only to perhaps re-appear in the fall."

"I should hate to live in a place where there was danger of such a vile disease breaking out. But look at the troops of children--just out of school, I suppose. Do you know whether schools are found here?"

"Excellent, I am told. The gentleman with whom we lunched just now told me that these Bagdad children are taught to be good linguists, for one thing. They learn to speak Arabic, Syriac, and Turkish, as well as French and English, with fluency, in a Jewish school which was started not long ago. When this school was first opened the Turkish parents would not send their children. Now, however, they see the advantage, and the attendance is very good, especially among the boys."

"They look very knowing in their little fez caps," said Tom. "But how they stare! And did you ever see such black eyes? Are there no Turkish schools?"

"Yes, one or two, and pretty good ones, besides a few others not so good."

As they stood near the wharves, watching the shipment of grain, Tom remarked that he supposed a great deal of the grain went out of the country.

"Yes," said Mr. Jollytarre. "Bagdad ships immense quantities--last year as much as 50,000 tons. Every now and then there is a grain riot here, when the people take it into their heads there will be a failure of the next harvest. They insist that the government shall put a stop to the exportation of the grain. Sometimes these demands are yielded to, when there is any prospect of a famine. The government does not give in often, to be sure, but the thing has been done."

"Hello!" said Tom; "here's the _Blosse Lynch_."

"Yes, and it is time we were on board, for we've done a good day's work, haven't we?"

The naughty little girl that cries,
And rubs her fingers in her eyes,
And pouts and frets all day,
A ragged hat and gown must wear,
And in the garden stand, to scare
The thievish birds away.

* * * * *

Have a jolly gallop
Over sticks and stones;
Do not get a tumble,
Or you'll break your bones.
That was a bouncer--
Very much too high--
But my little horseman
Is too brave to cry.

* * * * *

Trippitty trip, trippitty trip,
Round and round we merrily skip;
Hippitty hop, hippitty hop,
Oh, 'tis such fun we never can stop!

* * * * *

Up in the clouds little angel hands
Are shaking their beds so the feathers fly.
They flutter down through the frosty air,
Till soft and white on the ground they lie.
Oh, fair little angels, come and keep
A watch while the baby lies asleep!

OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

YOSEMITE VALLEY, CALIFORNIA.

I thought I would write you, as you might like to receive a letter
from the Yosemite Valley. I am a little boy eleven years old. I
have never written to you, but have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
from the beginning. I like it very much. I like the story of
"Talking Leaves" best. I live at Merced Falls, Merced County,
California. I came here for my health. I have not many pets, but
have a goat, which I harness to my wagon, and take a ride. They
caught a bear here in the valley a few nights ago. They set a trap
for him, and he got in it, and dragged it into the river, and was
drowned. It was a cinnamon bear. There are some big bears around
here, and there are deer in the mountains around the valley. There
is a little pet fawn here.

The valley is ten miles long and three wide, with high mountains
around it averaging 4000 feet in height. The valley itself is 4000
feet above the sea. One big mountain here is called Clouds' Rest,
which is 6450 feet high. I have not been on the top of it yet, but
expect to go. One other is called South or Half Dome, and is 6000
feet high. You have to climb a rope-ladder 900 feet high to get to
the top of the mountain. I think it is dangerous climbing there,
but quite a number of ladies and gentlemen have been to the top. I
have been to Glacier Point, another mountain, which is 3700 feet
above the valley. It is four and a half miles up a zigzag trail. I
walked up. Most of the tourists go there, as a very fine view of
the valley and the Vernal and Nevada falls can be had from this
point. These are the upper falls, and you go up a trail to get to
them.

Vernal Fall is 400 and Nevada 700 feet high. The Merced River forms
these falls, and flows on through the valley. I have been to these
falls, and think them very pretty. There is a valley called Little
Yosemite above Nevada Fall. Yosemite and Bridal Veil are two other
falls in the valley. Yosemite, which is 2634 feet high, is nearly
dry now. Bridal Veil Fall is 900 feet high. I have been to Mirror
Lake, which the guides call Looking-glass Lake, because its waters
reflect the mountains around its shore.

When you enter the valley you pass the mountain El Capitan, which
the Indians call the Great Chief of the Valley. There is an Indian
one hundred and six years old, the last of the Yosemite tribe, who
lives here. Last Saturday it snowed nearly all day long. The
mountains are covered with snow now, but in the valley it has
melted. On one of the roads to the valley eighteen inches of snow
fell.

WILLIE F. O.

* * * * *

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS.

About one month ago my papa and myself were visiting out on a farm
about fifty miles west of Chicago, where the folks were getting in
hay. They have an old dog named Major, and he and I had lots of fun
killing field-mice and moles that would run out of the hay when it
was stirred up. He would swallow the mice, and hardly chew them at
all. The moles he would not eat, neither will cats eat moles. At
last Major grabbed a large frog that jumped out of the hay, and bit
and shook him until we thought Mr. Frog was dead, when I took him
up and set him on the end of the hay-rack, letting his long
hind-legs hang down, and he looked just like many frog pictures I
have seen. He never tried to get away or appeared to be alive for
at least half an hour, and I was just saying what a fine funeral
Ernest and I would have with the frog when Ernest came home from
school, when, just as we were crossing a bridge on our way home,
and I was holding froggy by his hind-legs, he gave a jerk and
slipped out of my hands to the bridge, and then jumped into the
creek below, looking up, as much as to say, "I've spoiled your
funeral this time." Do you think he was partly killed, or was he
playing 'possum, as I have heard people say?

My papa is writing this, as I can't write well enough for printers
to read. He brings me YOUNG PEOPLE every week, and I like it.

MARVIE.

Wouldn't I have given Major a shake for his treatment of the frog if I had been there? I am so glad poor froggy revived, and went leaping off. I suppose he was quite exhausted by Major's rough play, and revived when he felt his native air as you crossed the bridge. Long life to him!

* * * * *

A NUTTING FROLIC.

Come, Robin and Lulu, Cornelia and Fred,
And Daisy and Mollie, and Tommy and Ned,
Call Rover and Fido, and hurry away;
The nuts are just ripe for our frolic to-day.

The frost on the pasture this morning is white;
For sharp was the cold in the silence of night.
All the better; we'll race just to keep ourselves warm,
And rush to the woods like the winds in a storm.

Poor Bunny will scamper far out of our sight,
And watch our proceedings with eyes shining bright.
We'll spare him a feast, for we couldn't be mean,
And leave nothing there for a squirrel to glean.

Bring baskets and buckets and poles, if you please;
We all will take turns at a shake of the trees;
But the boys will work hardest, and laugh at the toil,
And the girls shall go home with the best of the spoil.

Too bad we can't carry our lame little Ted,
And that _we_ have such fun, while he's lying in bed.
I'll tell you, we'll save just the finest for him,
And give him three cheers when the day's growing dim.

Then home over lots with the stores we have won,
For long winter evenings of frolic and fun,
When we'll study our lessons, or merrily play,
And eat the sweet nuts that we'll gather to-day.

* * * * *

I think some of the older readers of the Post-office Box will enjoy this beautiful description of the bells for which the little Roman children listen every winter evening. Some of you who have been abroad have heard them, and others who have never been across the sea are ready to learn all they can about the grand old city which once was the mistress of the whole known world:

THE BELLS OF SANTA MARIA MAGGIORE.

Any one who has been in Rome and lived on the Esquiline Hill must
have been struck by the beautifully toned bells of Santa Maria
Maggiore, the largest and finest church of the district. According
to the legend, it was built in the year 354, on the spot where a
miraculous shower of snow fell during the month of August--a most
unlikely time for snow to fall anywhere, and most of all in Rome,
where the heat is generally unbearable at that time. There is no
end to the freaks of legend, or to the simplicity of credulous
people who take legend for history. This legendary fall of snow is
actually commemorated in the church at the present day by a service
in the course of which white rose leaves are showered down from the
roof of a side chapel to imitate falling snow.

To return to the bells. The stranger dwelling on the Esquiline must
not only have been struck by their beauty when they rung at the
usual hours during the day, he must have been also surprised by
hearing a sonorous peal ringing out on the clear winter air two
hours after dark. This is a most unusual time for the church bells
to ring, as in the large churches of Rome there is, generally
speaking, no evening service. Two hours after sunset in winter is a
very convenient time for putting little children to bed; so the
Roman mothers inhabiting the Esquiline are accustomed to tell their
little ones that it is the Madonna, who is ringing the bells and
calling out in bell-language, "Bambini, a letto!" or "Babies, to
bed!" Then the little dark-eyed, curly-haired Roman cherubs,
however much inclined to be refractory otherwise, are contented to
let their mothers undress them. Then they say their little prayers,
and go quietly to bed. If you ask seriously about the cause of the
bells ringing at that unusual hour, the following pretty story
about the campanile, or bell tower, which is of later date than the
church itself, will be told you.

One dark winter night a wealthy Roman citizen was out late, and
lost his way in the Campagna, or waste land outside the city. The
Campagna is rather a dangerous place to get lost in, as it is wild
and uncultivated, full of ruins and deep pits. It was infested at
that time, besides, by robbers and lawless people of every kind. He
wandered about for some time in darkness so thick that he could not
see his finger before him. Sometimes he thought he had discovered
some well-known landmark, and fancied that now he would soon find
the right path, but after groping about for a while in the black
darkness he would suddenly discover that he had been moving about
in a circle, and was no nearer the goal than before. Weary,
exhausted, and utterly discouraged, dreading, besides, with every
step he took, to fall into some pit and break his neck, he almost
resolved in despair to give up the effort to reach home that night.
It was a starless, inclement night, and bitterly cold. He was just
about to sink upon the wet ground, and yield to the sleep brought
on by cold and exhaustion, from which he would probably never have
wakened more; already his eyes were closing. Suddenly he thought he
heard the tinkle of a well-known bell. He listened intently, and
recognized the bells of the new bell tower of Santa Maria Maggiore,
which were being rung that evening for some unknown cause. This
sound revived his drooping courage. He knew now where he was. After
some more groping, guided still by the sound of the bells, he
succeeded in finding the highway, and reached his home at last in
safety. In grateful remembrance of his escape, being a wealthy man,
he bequeathed a large sum of money forever to the Church of Santa
Maria Maggiore; it was to be employed to pay the ringers to ring a
peal every evening, two hours after dark, during six months of the
year. This has been done faithfully during many centuries. So
should any poor wayfarer lose his way in the wild Campagna on a
gloomy winter night, he may have a chance of finding it again in
safety. They are very beautiful bells, and when they ring out full
and clear about half past seven on a winter evening, the Roman
mothers, as I mentioned above, say to their little children: "Hark
to the bells, which say, Babies, to bed! Pray for all poor
wanderers this night."

E. M. TRAQUAIR.

* * * * *

TABLE ROCK, NEBRASKA.

I have been wanting to write a letter to you for a long time, but
have never done it until now. I have five brothers, and I am the
only girl in the family. Papa has taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for
us ever since it began. I want to tell you about our circulating
library. There are three families of us. We all take magazines, and
exchange. There were four families, but one went to Falls City to
live. We take HARPER'S MONTHLY and YOUNG PEOPLE. I would tell you
what the rest take, only I am afraid if I did my letter would be
too long to print. I like the Wiggles very much. I think our
artist's idea of Wiggle No. 28 is so cute. I hope you can print
this, and surprise my brothers.

GERTIE B.

I think this idea of exchanging magazines and papers, as the families in Gertie's neighborhood do, is a very good one. I am sure the little circulating library will give pleasure to both young and old in the three homes. An only sister who has five brothers to love is in a very important place. Think of all the mittens she must mend, the strings she must fasten, the knots she must untie, and the gentle words she must speak. I hope she has a great many rides on brothers' sleds, and is taken care of and admired by all the boys, as she ought to be.

* * * * *

FORT CRAIG, NEW MEXICO.

You asked me, a long time ago, to explain what a bucking bronco
was. Well, I'll try to do so now. Ha! ha! ha! I should think you
could hear me laugh. Why, a bronco is a horse that has never been
broken to ride or drive, and when you get on for the first time,
the bronco is generally sure to buck. Now when a bronco bucks he
just looks like a big billy-goat, with long goatee and chin
whiskers, spreading himself in front of a big looking-glass, and
jumping up in the air, striking the ground stiff-legged.

Now what else do I learn besides riding and shooting? Why, until a
week ago we had a splendid teacher, Mr. S. He's just the best
teacher. And talk about playing the fiddle!--he can make it talk,
and so he can make the guitar almost sing. Sister Eva is studying
the guitar, and I am studying the violin. Professor S. teaches
school and music, but he went off in the mountains lately for a
trip with an officer of the army, and he will not be back for a
couple of weeks. Since he left, our Mexican boy herder did the
same, and now I am up every morning at five, and off with the
horses and cattle before six, and only take a lunch with me, and
stay out until sundown. I ride a good horse, have a shepherd dog,
and go about three to four miles to good water and grass.

And you think Sis and I might sketch. Well, so we do. I did not
know what you meant by botanize until papa told me. He just loves
flowers, and has devoted a great deal of time to cultivating some
this summer. He has succeeded, after planting about one hundred
plants and several million seeds. We can--with a
magnifying-glass--discover one or two pumpkin vines which were sent
him from the East as "beautiful climbers," and one or two
morning-glories. Some of the geraniums have done well, but all the
rose-trees died. As to a cabinet, we have none; but we have some of
the most beautiful specimens of minerals, crystallized quartz,
copper, galena, spar, "white and black" silver, silver glance,
native gold and silver, and all kinds of carbonates.

And now I think I have said almost too much for one time. So, with
best wishes to all the little folks--and big folks too--who read
YOUNG PEOPLE, I will say _adios_.

HARRY W. C.

P.S.--You may think that I wrote all of this letter, but I did not.
I asked papa to copy it for me, and he said things different from
what I had it, and more of it too. Next time I will only ask him to
punctuate and correct the spelling. It took me four nights to write
this letter.

HARRY.

* * * * *

Trotty trot, trotty trot, trotty trot, trot!--
What a fit of the fidgets that youngster has got!
From the dawning of morning till dew wets the ground
He's trotting and dancing and skipping around,
With his wagon behind him, his dog at his side,
Or with whip in his paddy, my old cane astride.
His boots are bedusted, his hair in a fright;
He's the picture of healthy unbounded delight.
Oh! a package of steel springs, a bundle of joy,
Is this gay romping Charlie, our own bouncing boy.

W. W. RUNYAN.
MARION, NEW YORK.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

I am a little girl eleven years old. I take lessons and feel a
great interest in music, but I find it very difficult. I have
several pets--a dove, a cat, a doll, and a sweet little sister
named Selma. On Wednesday my teacher was teaching us botany, and
she said if you should take a glass or tumbler and fill it with
water, and put some white cotton-batting in it, and sprinkle some
seeds on the cotton, they would soon take root. So the first thing
I did when I got home was to fix it, and the next week I looked and
there were little stems coming up from the seeds. I love the
Post-office Box, and I think some stories very interesting. I like
"The Cruise of the Canoe Club" very much. This is the first letter
I ever attempted to write.

LILLIE V. P.

* * * * *

NORTHVIEW, DAKOTA TERRITORY.

You will be glad, dear Postmistress, to hear from one of your
twelve-year-old boys. I live in Dakota, on Section 20, Town 142,
Range 54. This is a good country. My father has in 200 acres of
wheat this year. The St. Paul, Minneapolis, and Manitoba Railroad
runs near our place. The Northview Post-office is kept here; mamma
is postmistress. My cousin takes HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. I read it
as soon as he does. We have a little dog and cat; the dog's name is
Carlo. Carlo and the cat will drink milk together. I have a pet
crane; his name is Dick; he is about half-grown.

A. B. R.

* * * * *

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.

My name is Alice, and I am ten years old. I have a sister nine
years old. She don't take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, but I do. She can
not read much yet. We both go to school, but not to the same one.
Next year we may go together. I am always sorry when school begins,
for I don't like to go at all. Good-by,

ALICE S.

Why, Alice, what can be the reason you do not like to go to school? Perhaps you will enjoy it more when you are a little older.

* * * * *

MATAGORDA, TEXAS.

As it seems to be the fashion for children to write to the paper, I
will try to do so. I live in the country, and can ride horseback,
milk cows, climb trees, and do various other things that only
country children know how to do. My papa has a boat, and we
sometimes go down with him to Matagorda Bay and the Gulf of Mexico.
We went on a fishing excursion this summer, and saw the snowy sand
mounds on the Peninsula, and went bathing in the Gulf.

CHERRY.

* * * * *

HARTWICK, MICHIGAN.

I saw a deer a few days ago in our woods. It was very pretty. Papa
saw an old bear and two cubs about a mile from here last July, and
a few days ago a neighbor saw one in the same place.

GUY L. S.

I would advise you to keep away from those woods, Guy, unless you have a strong party of friends with you, for Madame Bear is sometimes a dangerous person to meet.

* * * * *

JACKSONVILLE, ILLINOIS.

I am a boy nine years old, but will soon be ten. My brother, who is
in the United States army, sends me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for a
Christmas present. I think it is the best paper ever published for
little boys and girls. I have a great many pets. I have a
mocking-bird, an Esquimaux dog, a horse, a cow, two pigs, and a
great many chickens. Please print this letter; it is the first I
have ever written.

A. L. W.

* * * * *

COATOPA STATION, ALABAMA.

Though no longer young, nor by any means small, I read YOUNG PEOPLE
with as much interest as my children, and think I can place no
better book in their hands.

I read with much interest Arthur Lindsley's article on
humming-birds, and must differ with him about their food. I have
caught them--the ruby-throat and another, which I will describe
hereafter--several times, and they never fail to get over their
fright in a few minutes, and drink eagerly of sugar and water
offered to them in a spoon. I have held them in my open hand, and
had them to chirp and flutter their wings as they sipped from the
spoon, just as they do when hovering over a flower. We have a large
mimosa-tree which when in bloom is the resort of hundreds of
"flying sunbeams," as we call them. The kind referred to above is a
bird in every particular except the bill, which is that of a
butterfly, long and tightly curled.

V. S. PARKER.

* * * * *

WAPPINGER'S FALLS, NEW YORK.

I am a little boy eight years old the 2d of October. I have three
brothers--Johnnie, Watson, and Bertie. Johnnie and I go to school.
I am learning to read and write. I tried to write this letter, but
I thought you could not read it, so I got papa to write it for me.
I like papa to read those letters that are in YOUNG PEOPLE for me,
and some of the stories. I have no pets, but I have a cunning
little brother Bertie, four months old; Johnnie is five years and
Watson three years. We had lots of rain a week ago. It rained two
days, and it flooded our basement, and the creek was very full.

HENRY C.

* * * * *

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

I am a little boy nine years old. I have two pet rabbits, and their
names are Snowflake and Killy, and they both are as white as snow.
I feed them on cabbage, carrots, plantain, corn bread, grass,
clover, and apples. I also have two white mice; I feed them on
bread and milk. The other day I was cleaning their cage, and one of
them escaped, but I soon caught him again.

HARRY L. W.

* * * * *

This week the Postmistress suggests two more games which the young people may try:

CATCHING THE MOUSE.

Nine players lay their hands one on the top of the other. The one whose hand is lowest draws it out and puts it at the top, saying, "_One!_" The next lowest draws out hers, puts it at the top, and cries, "_Two!_" And so on until "_Nine!_" is cried. This last player seizes one of the hands which lie beneath her own (or more if she can), crying, "I have caught the mouse!" and then the hand caught pays a forfeit.

But it is not easy to catch one. At the word "_Nine!_" all snatch away their hands as quickly as possible.

This game must be played very quickly to be funny.

EVEN OR ODD?

This game is the most ancient, I think, that we know. The children who played in the streets of Athens and in the Roman Forum in early ages knew and loved it, and little children find amusement in it still. It is played in this manner: One child hides in her hand a few beans, nuts, almonds, or even bits of paper, and asks her companion to guess if they are _odd_ or _even_.

If the playfellow guesses _odd_, and on opening her hand the other displays an _odd_ number, she forfeits the articles to the guesser, who hides them in her turn; but if the guess is _odd_, and the number _even_, the guesser pays a forfeit, and the first hider retains the beans, etc. The guess must be right to win.

* * * * *

Little Marion W., who is five years old, and lives in Newtonville, Massachusetts, wants a pretty name for her baby brother, who is just two months old, and ever so cunning! Who will send a name which will fit this dear little man.

Marion printed the letter and directed it herself in quite a wonderful way for such a tiny correspondent. Will she kiss the baby for the Postmistress?

* * * * *

PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

WORD SQUARE.

1. A boy's name. 2. A girl's name. 3. A reward of merit. 4. Gay and happy. 5. A town in Massachusetts.

JUNEBUG.

* * * * *

No. 2.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

My primals and finals which puzzle your head
Give the name of a great book whose author is dead.
First cross-word--A native of the desert.
Second cross-word--A fruit of the desert.
Third cross-word--Emotion caused by grandeur.
Fourth cross-word implies possession.

NUTSHELL.

* * * * *

No. 3.

TWO EASY ENIGMAS.

1.

First in clouds, not in sky.
Second in low, not in high.
Third in chick, not in egg.
Fourth in ankle, not in leg.
Whole is needed in every house,
Though vain to frighten rat or mouse.

MAY LARIA.

2.

First in pin, not in ring.
Second in queen, not in king.
Third in east, not in west.
Fourth in coat, not in vest.
Fifth in harp, not in flute.
Whole is a delicious fruit.

HATTIE LANDON.

* * * * *

No. 4.

WHO KNOWS?

What word is that from which if the first letter or the last letter, or the first and last letters, be taken, a word in each case remains? Also the first and last letters form a word.

MUSA.

* * * * *

No. 5.

CHARADE--(_To Will A. Mette_).

My first is a vessel you often have seen,
Without my second 'twould broken have been.
My whole is a place where school-boys find
Articles dainty and much to their mind.

EDGAR SEEMAN.

* * * * *

No. 6.

AN EASY DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

1. A four-footed friend. 2. A river in Siberia. 3. Something very strong and durable. 4. Calm. Primal is dearly loved by final.

* * * * *

No. 7.

THREE EASY DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. A serpent. 3. To attempt. 4. A caress. 5. A letter.

2.--1. A letter. 2. A shelter. 3. A bird. 4. A metal. 5. A letter.

PUSS IN BOOTS.

3.--1. A letter. 2. To plunder. 3. A purchasing medium. 4. A piece of furniture. 5. A letter.

EDITH M. L.

* * * * *

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 153.

No. 1.

Umbrella. Catamaran. Kosciuski.

No. 2.

Adding insult to injury.

Add. In. Gin. Insult. Rout. Jury.

No. 3.

Y O U N G
O W N E R
U N C L E
N E L L Y
G R E Y S

No. 4.

C U D
C A N E D
C A L T R O P
U N T W I N E
D E R I D E R
D O N E E
P E R

No. 5.

H W T
W E D W H O B I N
H E L E N W H A L E T I G E R
D E W O L D N E T
N E R

* * * * *

Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Archy Damer, Tip Laurence, Lucie S. Downing, Clara Roe, Nettie Rice, John Brown, Alfred M. Bloomingdale, Little Fay, William A. Lewis, M. E. F., Alice Ashe, T. C. S. D., "Fanchon," Bessie B., Mattie Colt, Eugene Ripley, Samuel Dorr, Emily Van Lown, Arthur May, L. Corbet, Doroville S. Coe, Helen M. Everett, L. Bridge, Josie Willett, Alice Comstock, Emily Bradford, Guido T., Frank and Benny, and Archy D.

* * * * *

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

A NEW SERIAL.

* * * * *

NAN.

By MRS. JOHN LILLIE,

Author of "Mildred's Bargain," "Aunt Ruth's Temptation," etc.

Our girl readers will be glad to hear that they are about to have a fresh and delightful story from the pen of their favorite author, Mrs. Lillie. The new serial will be begun in the next number of YOUNG PEOPLE, and will occupy a prominent place in our paper for several weeks. "Nan" is a "girl's story," but we venture to say that there is no one of our boy readers but will be delighted to follow this charming little heroine through the various adventures and difficult experiences she meets with, and in which she carries herself with such true heroism and noble patience.

TOO BAD!

BY MARGARET EYTINGE.

Beneath the old tree near the well
Wee Molly, Dolly, Polly Gray
A lovely red-cheeked apple found
One beautiful October day.
She looked at it with longing eyes
A moment, then she gave a sigh,
And sitting down upon the ground
Straightway began to cry.

With hurried steps her mother came,
"What is the matter, child?" to say.
"Oh dear! this apple is so big,"
Sobbed Molly, Dolly, Polly Gray;
"And"--faster fell her tears, as though
Hers was the saddest of all plights--
"My mouf's so small I've got to take
Such--very--little--bites."

* * * * *

THOSE SQUIRRELS.

BY ALLAN FORMAN.

"Say, Tom, the kitten's are gone," announced my brother Charlie, peering into the manger where we had a few days before discovered Madame Puss and her family snugly installed.

"Is Puss there?" I asked.

"Yes, and she seems awful lonesome," was the reply.

After a few moments' consultation we decided to ask Pat if he had seen anything of the kittens.

"Sure they may have strayed away in the night."

"But they couldn't walk. They were only three days old," I objected.

"That's thrue, Mister Tom; but thin a cat's a cunnin' cratur. To see wan of thim blinkin' by the fire all day ye'd niver think they could make the noise they do at night; and they'd be concealin' their strength in the daytime to use it at night," answered Pat.

Plainly there was nothing to be learned from Pat.

After thinking it over for a while, Charlie suggested that we hunt up the young ones. We started toward the grove behind the barn with a vague idea that people generally got lost in forests, and that it would be quite possible for the kittens to have lost themselves in the grove.

"Maybe they have hid in the tree," suggested Charlie.

"They couldn't get there," I answered.

"But Pat said that they could do more in the night," urged Charlie.

I was eleven years old, and was half inclined to doubt Pat's reasoning, the more that I remembered hearing my father exclaim when we announced the discovery of the kittens:

"Goodness! we can't have four more cats. I don't get any too much sleep as it is, and an addition of a quartette to our nightly concert is not to be thought of."

Charlie was my junior by two years, and his faith in Patrick was unshaken, so he said,

"I'm going up to see, anyhow." He thrust his hand into the hole, and pulled it out again, triumphantly shouting, "What did I tell you? Here is the"--he paused to examine his prize, and continued in a crest-fallen tone--"a young squirrel."

"Give it to me, and get the rest," I directed.

They were very young, and were queer fuzzy-looking animals. Charlie and I examined them, and then the thought struck me that we might give them to the cat in place of her lost kittens.

We ran back to the barn and placed them in the manger. Madame Puss looked puzzled for a moment, first gazing at the squirrels, then at us, as if hardly knowing what to do. But she soon decided, and with a comical purr, as if to say, "I suppose it is all right, but those children have certainly changed," she drew the squirrels toward her, and washed first one, then another, and finally went to sleep with her strange family cuddled close to her.

After that she took the best of care of her adopted children. The squirrels grew, and began to climb out of the manger and run around the barn. Madame Puss was at first distressed by this, but she soon got used to it, and seemed rather to take delight in her precocious children who could climb so much better than she could herself. Her first real trouble came when, after patient waiting, she caught a mouse and carried it to the barn in triumph.