Chapter XI: Sunday (3)

It was a familiar sound, that of the great bass-drum. Puck Parker and Snarlyou and Kiyi had all heard it, time and time again. These little friends lived in Paris during the late war between Germany and France, when the German army was besieging the city, and soldiers were always marching about to the sound of the drum. This morning all three of them were at the kitchen door that opened into the corridor, which led into the court where you had a view of the street. Snarlyou was a little white Angora cat, and she puffed out her tail and waved it angrily over her back as she snarled fiercely at Kiyi, who was a little Prussian pup. Unlike the army he represented, he was getting the worst of the fray, and stood yelping in a cowardly way behind the scraper. Puck was doing all he could to encourage the dog by waving his porridge spoon at him, but it was of no use.

Puck Parker was a fat-faced little boy, who was leaning over the little gate in the kitchen door. He had been very naughty this morning, having run away with Kiyi, giving his nurse, Augustine, a regular hunt for him. She found him at last, wandering quite independently in beautiful Park Monceaux, a favorite resort for nurses and babies, where she had often gone with him before; and she could have forgiven him easily enough for running away, had he not sprawled himself upon the walk and kicked and screamed so that she could scarcely get him home.

This Augustine was a peasant woman, and when a little girl she had tended the sheep in the mountains of Auvergne, wearing the picturesque peasant-costume and carrying her distaff with her. She now had two children of her own, and every morning early before they were up she would kiss them good-bye, leaving them in her sister's charge while she went to take care of the little American boy, of whom she became very fond. She would often tell stories to him and sing funny songs.

As we have said, Puck was leaning against the little gate which had been placed across the door to keep him from running away, though it was of no use now, for he was big enough to climb over it. Augustine, to punish him for his naughtiness, as well as to guard against such a thing happening again that morning, had undressed him, knowing that he would not be likely to run away with nothing on but his little shirt.

At first, Puck was at a loss for amusement, and so wandered disconsolately upstairs into his mamma's room. She was seated at his papa's writing-desk, while in front of her lay lots of little cards, like this, "Mr. and Mrs. Franklin Parker, P.P.C."

Some of these she put into small envelopes, directed to people that she knew, and the rest she shut up in her card-case.

"What are those?" asked Puck.

"These are cards," said his mother, "which your papa and I are sending to our friends, to let them know that we are going away from the city. The letters 'P.P.C.' in the corner stand for '_Pour prendre conge_,' which is French for 'To take leave.'"

"Is oo doin away," asked Puck, "an' me too?"

"Yes, you are going with us," replied his mother.

"Den me wants some tards, too," said the little fellow; and Mrs. Parker, taking a number of blank cards, wrote upon them, "Puck Parker, P.P.C."

Cramming his mother's work-basket upon his comical little head, he seized his cards and trudged away to distribute them among his friends. If he could only have gone out-of-doors, he could have found friends enough to have given them to; but he knew that Augustine would not relent so soon, and so contented himself with carrying them down to Snarlyou and Kiyi. But they were both out in the court, and would not come to him, even when he dropped porridge on the steps to tempt them.

Puck did not have many opportunities to distribute his cards, for the next day, while he was at dinner with his father and mother, they all heard a sound which went

"Boom-er-oom, a boom-er-oom!
A boom! boom! boom!"

It sounded as if some one was playing an immense bass-drum, a long way off, and playing very slowly.

"Listen!" Puck's father explained. "It is time we were off; there are the cannon again, outside of the city."

And so that very afternoon they left Paris. Can you guess how? Not by the railway, or by boat, or by omnibus, or by any ordinary means of travel. Guess again--something queer this time. Not perched on the back of a dromedary, or sent by express labeled "This side up with care, C. O. D.," or telegraphed, or shot through the air in a bomb-shell, though the last is something like it. Yes, you are right now; they _did_ go by balloon.

There were Puck and his father and his mamma, and an accomplished aeronaut to guide the balloon, which was one of the best kind, and, as the professor said, perfectly easy to manage. You know, perhaps, that during the siege of Paris it was almost impossible for any one to leave the city unless he went up in a balloon, and floated off above the besieging army. A great many persons escaped from Paris in this way.

Poor Augustine was very sorry to lose little Puck, who gave her one of his cards when he bade her good-bye; and Kiyi set up a doleful howl when they all left the court, as though he knew he should never see them again.

When everything was ready, the balloon rose into the air, and Puck nestled down in his mother's arms and watched the ground and the roofs of the houses sink away beneath him. That is, he looked over the side of the car once, and saw them falling; but it made him dizzy, and he did not try it again. His mother saw the sick look about her little boy's mouth, and said, pleasantly:

"Isn't it nice? It's better than having wings. And then you can make believe you are in a big ship; see all those ropes stretching away up there; they look just like rigging."

Puck gave a quick, frightened glance up, then shuddered and said, faintly:

"Yes, it's awful nice; but me's 'fraid, and _so_ cold."

The cold was, indeed, intense; and his mamma wrapped Puck as warmly as she could in a shawl, and held him tightly, and very soon he was fast asleep. When he awoke, he found that his mother was also asleep, and his father was holding him. He had forgotten all about the balloon while he was asleep, and so looked dazed and startled when he opened his eyes; and his father, to keep up his failing courage, sang cheerily:

"Up in a balloon, boys,
Up in a balloon,
All among the little stars
That twinkle round the moon."

"Don't see any stars crinkle," said Puck; "nuffin but ugly gray fog."

His mother awoke just then, and she caught her breath with a gasp as she looked up, for all the rigging of the imaginary ship had disappeared, and a dense fog was folded close around them. The balloon seemed, too, to have met with a new current of wind, for it was rushing along with fearful velocity, whither,--even the professor himself could not guess. Looking downward, they saw the same impenetrable fog, and the professor concluded to let the balloon drift on in its course for a while.

Presently, Puck exclaimed: "Mamma, don't oo hear ze bears g'owl?" For some time, the others had heard a low menacing grumble. It sounded like the roar of machinery, with the falling of a heavy trip-hammer at regular intervals, and it seemed possible that they were in the vicinity of a manufacturing town. There was a little light in the eastern horizon, and Puck suddenly exclaimed, "T'ere's anoder b'loon!" It was the full moon, instead, that rose majestically, and the fog seemed to be disappearing. Looking down, the professor thought he could see the land, and he allowed the balloon to slowly descend. By and by, they could all see that the ground was marked with white streaks and spots, which they supposed to be snow.

Lower and lower sank the balloon, and still Puck's bears continued to "g'owl."

Suddenly, the professor uttered an exclamation of horror--only two words, "The sea!" But they sounded like a sentence of doom to the travelers. They were floating over a wide and angry sea!

The professor threw overboard a bag of ballast, and the balloon darted upward again into space. Where were they? Was it the Bay of Biscay, the North Sea, the English Channel, or the open Atlantic?

Very soon, the balloon began to descend again. The roar of the waves was louder than ever, and they beat the same tune that the great bass-drum and the cannon had played:

"Boom-er-oom, a boom-er-oom!
A boom! boom! boom!"--

for they were striking against a rocky wall, and the white cliffs of Dover rose ghostly in the moonlight before them.

The professor threw overboard his last bag of ballast; Puck hid his face in his mother's dress, while she, in the presence of that mighty danger, sang a hymn. Mrs. Parker was one of the singers in the choir of a church at Paris, and her voice had been much admired; but she had never sung before as she sang now. Her voice was sustained instead of drowned by the roar of the sea, and was re-echoed back from the rocky cliff marvelously clear and pure, as she sang "Save me, O God, from waves that roll."

Slowly the balloon seemed to climb that sheer, chalky precipice, frightening the sleepy sea-gulls from their nests, but never grazing against the wall, as it seemed as if it inevitably must. Slowly it reached the summit, paused a moment poised over the edge, then swept landward a little way, when the guide-rope (which had been dragging in the water) caught on the rocks, and it stopped. The professor opened the escape-valve, and they alighted from the car, and then walked to the brink of the abyss and, silently and solemnly, looked down.

This was the last of aerial navigation that any of the party ever indulged in. The professor packed up his balloon and went to the United States to exhibit it. Puck Parker left one of his "P.P.C." cards in the car of the balloon, and his parents were glad enough to get to a land where they did not forever hear the "Boom-er-oom, a boom-er-oom, a boom, boom, boom," and the "Zim-er-oom, a zim-er-oom; a zim, zim, zim."

EASTER EGGS.

BY CLARA W. RAYMOND.

Dear Grandpa Lee, with little Grace,
Followed the path-way to the mill;
Bright daisies starred the shady lane,
And now and then a bird would trill.

Once, when a birdling spread its wings,
She said, "All things are fair and gay,--
The sky so blue where birdie sings!"
Said grandpa, "This is Easter Day."

Thus happily they onward went,
Till Grace cried, "There is little Kate,
And Frank and Nellie, too--and oh!
Nell's swinging on the garden gate!"

As Grace and grandpa came in sight,
The little ones to meet them sped,--
Their eager, prattling lips apart,
Eyes flashing bright and cheeks rose-red.

"Oh, grandpa! in the hedge we've found
Four Easter eggs, all colored blue;
They're in the sweetest little nest;
We want to show our prize to you!"

Said grandpa, "Touch them not, my dears;
Those eggs God dyed with colors rare;
The mother-bird will soon come back,
And guard her nest with loving care.

"These Easter eggs, in leaf-hid nests,
Imprison countless song-birds bright,
That soon will break the tinted shell
And rise and sing in joyous flight."

A VISIT TO A LONDON DOG-SHOW.

BY LAURA SKEEL POMEROY.

Some years ago I went to see a great dog-show at the Alexandra Palace, in the north of London.

My friend Charley, a bright boy who knows the way all over this part of the city, was my escort. We concluded to go to the show by the underground railroad, and at half-past one o'clock we were at the station called South Kensington. We bought our tickets there, and passed through gateways where men in uniform examined our tickets, allowing but one person to pass at a time, then descended two long flights of stone steps, and went down, down, into the subterranean station.

Although it is nearly forty feet below the surface, daylight is let in from above at this station, as in many of the others on the line.

Before and behind us we could see the great black-mouthed tunnels, through which the trains were constantly passing.

When our train arrived we quickly found seats in a car, or carriage, as they call them here, and were soon rushing along underground.

Now and again we came out into the open air for a while; soon we were at Bayswater, then at King's Cross, at which station we got out of the car and climbed up the iron stairs to the earth's surface again.

From King's Cross to Alexandra Palace was a ride of about twenty minutes more, this time on a railroad which ran, for some distance, _above_ the surface of the earth. We sped above the tops of smoky houses, by sooty walls, through egg-shaped tunnels, beyond all these to the open country, where were smooth green grass, groups of picturesque trees, and tangled hedges.

The train stopped at the station called Muswell Hill, on which is built the new Alexandra Palace--a large red-brick building at the top of the hill. It is not so extensive as the Crystal Palace at Sydenham, but, like it, is covered over with glass, and contains tropical plants, many palm-trees, several theaters and lecture-rooms, and a large bazaar with gay booths, at which you can buy almost anything you wish for.

As we approached the central part of the hall, a deafening chorus of dogs, yelping, barking, growling and howling, assailed our ears. The stalls in which the dogs were chained were arranged to form several aisles. They faced each other, with a wide passage-way between, for the crowd of spectators. The stalls were open, and each one had from one to five animals chained in it.

The persons who exhibited dogs numbered one thousand and thirty-nine, and, as each exhibitor sent several of his animals, you can roughly estimate the immense number of dogs brought together.

It made my heart ache at first to see the poor creatures jumping and pulling at their chains. Some looked worried and excited, and some of them seemed bored to death, surly and contemptuous, as if saying, "Go away, or I will bite you if you stare at me a moment longer;" and some were sulky and turned their backs, hiding their noses in the straw.

The little puppies slept unconsciously through it all, while the mother dogs struggled with their chains and barked furiously.

There were greyhounds,--great, tall, slender creatures, that looked as if they could run a mile a minute,--deer-hounds, beautiful pointers, setters, retrievers, and otter-hounds. These last were dangerous, and were kept in wire cages. There were bull-terriers, fox-terriers, spaniels, white and black Newfoundlands, shepherd dogs, mastiffs, and fierce bull-dogs that looked as if they would be glad to eat you without ceremony.

There was every variety of lap-dog, and among them the tiniest little Italian greyhound,--not more than eight inches long. This last was like a porcelain toy dog, and looked brittle, as if its thin legs would snap if much handled. I did not think it a pretty pet; it seemed too fragile to play with.

A very different creature was a Siberian greyhound, about four feet and a half tall, with long, wolf-shaped nose, and covered with bluish, short, curly hair.

The pet dogs called "pugs" had short, black noses, turned up in about as much of a curl as their tails. Their faces were sooty-black, and shone as if polished with a brush. They curled up their black lips, showing two small, very white teeth, with the tip of a pink tongue hanging out of the mouth, the most comical, and at the same time, the ugliest little beasts one ever saw.

They were straddled upon showy velvet cushions, with their fore-paws wide apart, and their round, black eyes looking straight at you, snarling all the time, but not changing their position, being too fat and lazy to move.

All the black-and-tan terriers had their ears so cut as to make them very sharp and pointed.

There were beautiful spaniels of all shades, and little Maltese terriers. One of these was a perfect beauty. Its hair was like spun glass, of a bluish, pinkish gray, snow-white in the partings. When it trotted about, it looked like an opal, or a piece of live Venetian glass. Its name ought to have been "Jewel," for it looked like one.

The King Charles spaniels were very like lovely English blondes, with their golden-brown ears hanging like long curls on each side of their innocent, milk-white faces. They had soft, hazel eyes, of melting tenderness, like those of the prettiest little girl-baby.

Most of these lay upon handsomely embroidered cushions, with the dog's name neatly worked in front. One fairy-like specimen had the name "Pixie" worked in silver letters on a sky-blue velvet ground. Another tiny creature looked like a snow-white ball of floss silk, rolled up in a basket of quilted blue satin.

Ladies' maids were seated in chairs beside these dainty pets, with ivory-handled brushes and tortoise-shell combs, to arrange their curls; for many of them wore each a little top-knot curl, tied with a scarlet, pink, or blue ribbon, as best became the wearer's complexion.

I could think of nothing but a dancing-school exhibition or a children's ball, where nurse-maids sit by their charges, to keep their pretty finery in order. So choice were some of these doggies that they were covered with glass cases, open at the top.

The grandest of all the dogs--the one I would have liked best to have--was a fine St. Bernard, of a tawny color, with white spots, and a grand, noble head. He sat up on his haunches and allowed every one to come and pet him, lifting his big, honest paw, as if to shake hands with the little children, and wagging his tail slowly back and forth in a very dignified manner. What deep brown eyes he had, and what a soft, warm breast!

The Prince of Wales sent two black and brown Thibet mastiffs from the north of India. They had long, black lips, and wore a very stern, dark expression. The Princess of Wales, also, sent a snow-white Russian wolf-hound.

Some of the dog-stalls were labeled "dangerous," and I wondered that many of the persons who poked at the inmates with their canes were not bitten, for every little while you would see a sudden falling back of the crowd, and hear a sharp growl from some angry animal who was being teased, or was impatient to go home.

The bloodhounds were the fiercest and most sullen-looking of all. They did not join in the general barking and uproar, but kept their heads buried in the straw. Once, as we were watching them, away off in a remote end of the building, an acrobat began his performance of walking on a rope and jumping through rings, high up in the air. Then these hounds suddenly lifted themselves erect, and, fixing their sharp eyes on that little red and blue speck of a man suspended in the air, set up a loud, long, unearthly howl, which all the other dogs took up, and for a few minutes the sounds shook the whole palace, like the roar of all the wild beasts of the forest.

By and by four o'clock came, and the owners of the dogs came in to take them home. How glad they were to see them! They jumped up, rolled about, licked their keepers' hands and faces, whining and yelping for joy. One dog, who had not been sent for, was jealous to see his neighbor petted. He growled at every loving caress, and sat snarling in his corner, discontented and sour, till he saw his own master, when he broke into a howl of intense delight and tugged furiously at his chain.

When the big hampers were brought to confine the dangerous ones, and the collars and chains were being unfastened, what a rollicking, rushing time it was! The glad creatures jumped and galloped all the way to the station.

The train was full of dogs--they were everywhere. Eager to be off, they were hurrying up and down the platform, dancing about the ticket offices, racing over trunks, for all the world like boys let out of boarding-school going home for the holidays.

We saw their impatient faces pushing out of every car-window, their tails wagging out of every door.

A gentleman in our carriage had two little mites of terriers in his overcoat pockets. One, he said, was a Skye, and the other a Yorkshire, terrier. Little Skye was tired and sleepy, and showed just the tip of his nose and one ear above the pocket; but little Yorkshire was perfectly wild with fun. He had on a small brown blanket, bound with scarlet braid, which his master said was his new Ulster coat.

He began his pranks by putting his nose in Charley's pockets, looking for a shilling. Not finding one, the gentleman sent him into his own coat pocket, whence, after burrowing and tugging for a while, out he came, with a coin between his teeth, which he held tight and would not give up. His master said that when the dog found a piece of money he went alone to the cake shop, and the baker would give him a cake, which he would run home with and eat up immediately, being particularly fond of sweets. He was two years and a half old, ten inches long, with yellowish hair, which hung in a fringe over his mischievous black eyes. He was elastic as a ball of wool, and looked very much like one.

But we had to part company with him at King's Cross Station, where his owner put him in his pocket again, and bade us good-bye. We could see the tip of the little tail wagging till we lost sight of him in the distant crowd.

It would take a long time to even mention all the handsome dogs, and many of the young readers of ST. NICHOLAS will not need to be told more about them, as there have been several dog-shows in America since the time when Charley and I saw the one in the Alexandra Palace at London. The boys and girls who visited any one of the dog-shows held recently in New York, Boston, and other American cities, will no doubt remember many interesting and curious sights. But they did not have a greater treat than Charley and I had, all for the small price of one English shilling.

MERRY RAIN.

BY FLETA FORRESTER.

Sprinkle, sprinkle, comes the rain,
Tapping on the window-pane;
Trickling, coursing,
Crowding, forcing
Tiny rills
To the dripping window-sills.

Laughing rain-drops, light and swift,
Through the air they fall and sift;
Dancing, tripping,
Bounding, skipping
Thro' the street,
With their thousand merry feet.

Every blade of grass around
Is a ladder to the ground;
Clinging, striding,
Slipping, sliding,
On they come
With their busy zip and hum.

In the woods, by twig and spray,
To the roots they find their way;
Pushing, creeping,
Doubling, leaping,
Down they go
To the waiting life below.

Oh, the brisk and merry rain,
Bringing gladness in its train!
Falling, glancing,
Tinkling, dancing
All around,--
Listen to its cheery sound!

DRIFTED INTO PORT.

BY EDWIN HODDER.