"The precious picnic-basket rolling down the turf!""The precious picnic-basket rolling down the turf!"
"'Father, is that my present?'""'Father, is that my present?'"
O sit down, Master Harry, and allow me to put your shoes on!'
'Well, try like this, Mary. I will pretend to be a stork, and stand on one leg.'
'Really, you are a tiresome boy to-night,' said poor Mary with a sigh of despair, 'and you know that Nannie is waiting for me to get Baby's bath ready. Poor Master Harry,' she continued after a pause, during which that young gentleman had been trying, unsuccessfully, to balance himself on one leg, 'I don't believe I shall have time now to tell you that interesting secret.'
'Interesting secret, Mary?' asked the boy in an eager voice. 'Oh, Mary, I will be quite good if you will tell it to me.'
Harry loved a secret. So many of the nice things in his life had been sprung upon him in this form that the very word 'secret' was to his youthful mind a promise of coming happiness.
'Let me guess,' he pleaded in answer to her nod, and for at least two minutes, during which time Mary put on and buttoned the shoes, there was silence.
'Is it about my birthday?'
'Yes,' said Mary, taking advantage of the unusual peace to give a few additional touches to her young master's smart sailor suit. This over, she drew his curly head down and whispered in a deep, slow voice, that sent a shiver through Harry's little body, 'As to-morrow is your birthday, your father and mother are going to give you a present that has four legs! Now run away downstairs; for I heard the motor going round to the stables, and your father must be home again!'
At this moment Harry's quick ears heard a footstep upon the stairs—a footstep that he loved with all his heart—and with a cry of delight he disappeared through the nursery doorway, and down the broad staircase.
'Well, old man! What do you mean by not coming to meet me?' and the father picked up his little son and kissed him affectionately.
'I never heard you come, Father. Did you remember to "toot, toot" on the motor?'
'No, I didn't. That little imp, Paddy, rushed out at the hall door, barking at the motor, and I was so busy wondering what he would look like squashed quite flat that I forgot all about toot, toot. But run and ask Nannie to put on your coat, for I am going to take you out to the stables. Remember to ask very politely,' he called after the receding figure in a warning voice.
'Please put on my coat, Nannie,' gasped Harry, bursting into the nursery like a whirlwind; and as she buttoned it across his wriggling little body, he put his arms round her neck and whispered, 'I expect I am going to see the present with the four legs! Oh, I wonder if it will be a wheelbarrow!'
A few minutes later Major Raeburn, with his son on his back, was standing outside the stables, calling, 'Simmons, Simmons!'
'Yes, sir,' answered a smart young groom, who hurried out of the stables at the sound of his master's voice.
'Here we are, Simmons. I have brought Master Harry to see his new present. What do you think of it?'
But at this moment a pair of restless feet kicked vigorously against the Major's sides to remind him that the future owner of the mysterious present was impatient; so bending his head he stepped into the stable.
For a second there was silence, while the child peered into corners.
'Well, old man,' said his father, 'see nothing?'
'No,' he murmured in a disappointed voice; but just at that moment, a pair of long ears appeared. 'Father,' he gasped, 'I see a donkey! Is that my present?'
'Yes, that is your present from Father and Mother, and as to-morrow is your birthday you must take Mary a drive on the Common. There is a jolly little governess car, also, that will just hold Nannie and Mary and you and Baby, but it is too late to go to the coach-house to-night. Looks a nice little animal, doesn't he, Simmons? I should think that Mary could drive him all right. She says that she always drove a donkey in her last situation!'
'Oh, yes, sir, she will be all right. He is a pretty donkey, and not a scrap of vice about him, I should say.'
'And what are you going to say to Father for giving you such a nice present?' said Major Raeburn as he retraced his steps.
'Oh, thank you very much, Father,' murmured the boy, laying his golden head against his father's, and clasping him tightly round the neck with his strong little arms; 'and now be a kicking horse back to the house.'
Later on Mother had a full description of the donkey's appearance, followed by an exhibition of how Harry would ride him. This he demonstrated by means of a drawing-room chair and the hearth-brush: and if there were moments when Mother had fears for the fate of her chair, neither by word nor look did she show it, though when Mary's voice from the door was heard saying, 'It's your bed-time, Master Harry,' the expression on her face was distinctly one of relief.
(Continued on page390.)
A certain lady was in the habit of spending her leisure time in making flowers and fruits of wax and other material. In time she became very clever at the work, but her friends always found fault with everything that she made. One day she passed round a large apple, and said that she thought she had been very successful this time. Her friends, as usual, were not pleased with it. One found fault with the shape, another with the colour, and every one had something to say against it. After the apple had been passed round, and had come into her hands again, she ate it without saying anything. Her friends had been finding fault with a real apple.
SAW a little beam of lightStrike on a coloured glass;And lo! it showed more fair and brightAs it away did pass.It caught the radiance and the glowOf that illumined scene,And did more fair and lovely showThan it before had been.I saw a little thought of loveEnter a childish heart,That heart to kindness it did move,And filled up every part;And when I saw that thought again,Oh, it was sweet indeed,For it was changed to glory then,And showed in kindly deed.
A German lady, belonging to a house which had formerly been renowned for its heroism, and which had even given an emperor to the German empire, once got the better of the terrible Duke of Alva. When Charles V. of Spain, in the year 1547, came through Thuringia upon a march to Franconia and Suabia, this lady, the Dowager Countess Katharina of Schwarzburg, got a letter of protection from him, to the effect that none of her subjects should suffer any harm from the Spanish troops. On the other hand, she bound herself to provide bread and other provisions for fair payment, and to send them to the Saal bridge for the Spanish troops, which were to pass over it.
Although there was a great need for haste, the Germans adopted the precaution of taking down the bridge and erecting it at a greater distance from the town, which, being so near, might have led their rough guests into temptation. At the same time, the inhabitants of the villages which lay on the soldiers' march were allowed to shelter their most valued possessions in the castle.
In the meantime the Spanish general approached, accompanied by Duke Henry of Brunswick and his two sons, and, sending a messenger in advance, they invited themselves to breakfast with the Countess of Schwarzburg. Such a request, under such circumstances, could not very well be refused. They would be given what the house contained, they might come and be as considerate as possible, was the reply.At the same time it was not forgotten to mention the letter of protection, and the Spanish general was asked to bear it strictly in mind.
A friendly reception and a well-spread table awaited the Duke of Alva at the castle. He was obliged to confess that the Thuringian ladies knew how to keep a good kitchen and to maintain the honour of the house. Yet scarcely had they sat down, when a servant called the Countess out of the hall. She was informed that the Spanish soldiers not far off had used force and had driven away the peasants' cows.
Katharina was a mother to her people, and what befell the poorest of her subjects concerned herself. Irritated to the uttermost by this breach of faith, yet keeping her presence of mind, she commanded all her servants to arm themselves in swiftness and silence, and to bar the castle gates. She herself went back to the table at which the visitors were still sitting. Here she complained in the most touching way of what had been reported to her and of the manner in which the Emperor's word had been kept. They replied to her with laughter that it was only a custom of war, and that on a marching through of soldiers such little accidents were not to be prevented.
'We will see about it,' she answered in anger; 'my poor subjects must have their own returned to them, or'—raising her voice—'Princes for oxen!'
With this clear declaration she left the room, which in a few moments was filled with armed men, who, sword in hand, planted themselves behind the chairs of the princes, and with much respectfulness served the breakfast.
At the entrance of this warlike troop the Duke of Alva changed colour; cut off from the army by a superior number of sturdy men, it only remained for him to be patient and to make the best terms he could with the offended lady. Henry of Brunswick recovered himself the first, and broke out into ringing laughter. He took the wise course of turning the whole occurrence into a jest, and highly praised the Countess for the care and the resolute courage she had shown. He asked the Germans to keep calm, and took upon himself to persuade the Duke of Alva to do everything that was reasonable. He did persuade the Duke of Alva so effectively, that upon the spot he sent an order to the army to deliver up without delay the stolen cattle to their owners. As soon as the Countess was certain that restitution had been made, she thanked her guests, who then very courteously took their leave.
The Duke of Alva had met his match in the brave Countess, and had been forced by her to keep to the letter of protection given her by the King; but he ought to have had sufficient chivalry to have not required such a lesson about keeping his King's promise.
ManyChatterboxreaders, as they grow older, will probably read in their histories of the terrible Duke of Alva, and will perceive more fully what a brave woman this Countess must have been. Without doubt it was through such incidents as these that Countess Katharina von Schwarzburg came by her name of 'The Heroic.'
The Indians of America, especially those of North America, show a much higher mental development than is common in savage nations.
Fig. 1.—Indian Conjuror's Drum.Fig. 1.—Indian Conjuror's Drum.
Fig. 2.—Indian Conjuror's Rattle.Fig. 2.—Indian Conjuror's Rattle.
Fig. 3. Indian Grain Rattle.Fig. 3. Indian Grain Rattle.
This is shown in many tribes by a communal system of government, loyalty to their Sachems, or chiefs, their skill in embroidering leather articles with dyed quills and grasses, and not least in their production of stringed musical instruments. Instruments of concussion and percussion, like drums and cymbals, and also wind instruments of shell or horn, and rude forms of bagpipes, are inventions of most savage races; but the production of even the most elementary form of stringed instrument is a distinct advance, showing an understanding, however faint, of the use of vibration in developing and strengthening an original note.
The Apache Indians have a small fiddle with one string, and the Yakutata of Alaska have also a form of violin. The Nachee Indians of the Mississippi regions have a sacred instrument of great antiquity. It is of wood, about five feet high by one foot wide, and is held between the feet, resting alongside the chin of the performer. The strings are made of the sinews of a large buffalo, and it is played by a bow, held by two men, one at each end. Probably we might be inclined to think it more noisy than musical, but happily in music, as in most other things, tastes differ.
In Central Africa an instrument is made of the shell of the armadillo, or of the turtle, having strings stretched across it. It is suggestive of the primitive lyres of antiquity, in which a tortoise-shell was used as a sounding-board.
Among nearly all Indian tribes, conjurors or 'medicine-men' are held in high repute, and some weird instruments of theirs are met with. The drum in the illustration (fig. 1), with the queer animal on its head, is a conjuror's drum in use among the Sioux and the Dakotas on religious occasions. It has two heads, gaily coloured with vermilion, and is adorned with one of more figures of animals or birds, probably the family 'totem,' or crest. These drums are quite small, only measuring ten inches across by three deep, they are carried by a handle and are supposed to act as talismans.
The peculiar rattle (fig. 2), showing a face made of raw hide, and profusely ornamented with feathers, is also used by medicine-men, who prepare the instrument secretly with mysterious rites. In length it is about twenty inches.
The long narrow box attached to a pole (fig. 3) is also used by the Sioux and the Dakotas. It is usually decorated with feathers, sometimes very long. The construction is primitive, consisting merely of grain put into a box and shaken with more or less violence.
Helena Heath.
An old leopard came out of his den, and wandered for miles through the forest. As his lithe, spotted body glided amongst the tropical undergrowth, other creatures slunk out of his path, and he found nothing on which to prey. Hunger and restlessness drove the animal on, however, till a new and strange object made him pause to see what it was that stood in his way. The queer thing, made of wood, like the trees, had something bright within it; something that was never seen on the trunk of any tree.
The leopard drew nearer, and found himself, for the first time in his life, face to face with a looking-glass. He looked in, and saw what seemed to him the eyes of another leopard gazing into his own.Curiosity, alarm, and anger, by turns, possessed him. What did the strange beast mean by gazing at him so? He raised his heavy paw, and gave a crushing blow upon the glass.
"What did the strange beast mean by gazing at him?""What did the strange beast mean by gazing at him?"
Down fell the trap—for trap it was—and the sharp spikes, heavily weighted, did their work. But though the trap was a terrible one, the leopard had in his life done greater harm than he suffered, and the forest was well rid of such a dangerous and cruel animal.
If I had to undergo one of those transformations we read about in fairy tales, and were to be turned into a spider, I should very much wish to be one of the wandering spiders, and not a web-maker. Both in houses and out of doors, things go badly with spiders' webs and their occupiers; they are constantly disturbed, and if they get away alive, their work has to be done over again. But a spider that does not make a web is usually suffered to go on his way undisturbed; sometimes, indeed, the hunting spiders are scarcely recognised as spiders, and pass for some other kind of insect.
The hunting spiders, however, do resemble the spinners. They are mostly, perhaps, rather more slim in the body, and are furnished with eight legs, sharp jaws and a poison fang, being able also to spin threads, should they need to do so. Our British hunters are nearly all small. Some of them do not run after their prey; they lurk beside a little pebble, or in the folds of a leaf or flower.
The running spider, called the tarantula, is not very common in Europe, though it is found in some parts of Italy; it is sometimes known to bite people, and an old but false belief held that the poison forced them to keep on dancing till quite worn out. Not long ago, some persons allowed themselves to be bitten by it, but the only effect was painful swelling. In tropical countries, however, this spider grows to a great size, and can cause great pain by its bite. The tarantula is of the wolf-spider family, whose habit is to chase their prey, not lie in ambush.
We have many British wolf-spiders: one for instance—he has no English name—isLycosa amentata. This is a species that is found in numbers about heaps of stones by the wayside, or upon chalky banks. When alarmed, these spiders seem to vanish like magic. They also do a good deal of hunting upon low-growing, large-leaved plants. It is amusing to watch one standing on the edge of a leaf, whence it makes a dash at some flying insect that alights. Frequently it misses, but, when successful, it carries off the prey, bigger perhaps than itself, to a safe retreat. During autumn, the female spider bears about with her the egg-bag of yellow or whitish silk, in which the little spiders are hatched. They are much paler than the old spiders, and remain with their mother till they have attained to some size. They manage to live through the winter, and are fully grown in May. Amongst the wolf-spiders generally, we find a difference between the movements of the males and females. If hard pressed, the females escape by a succession of short runs, but the males can manage to jump from leaf to leaf with much agility.
Several of the hunting spiders are equal to flying, or at least manage to be wafted along by the breeze, when they want to take a trip. The silk these throw out is occasionally called 'gossamer;' it is slight, and not unlike the true gossamer, made by web-spinners of various sorts, which we usually notice in autumn, covering bushes and grassy spaces. The family to which the airy spiders belong is notable, because it contains those species which have a likeness to crabs in form, having short broad bodies, feeble front legs, and long, powerful hind legs. They run easily forwards, backwards, or sideways, and are mostly pale, with dark markings. Generally, such spiders follow their prey, since they are good runners, but a few have the habit of living in ambush, ready to spring upon insects that come near.
Very common in gardens are theSaltici. Most people have seen one species in particular, which is grey, the back and legs being barred with white. This spider leaps upon its prey, and you may notice that it always has a thread attached to some object. Probably it is a precaution against slipping, in case the jump is a failure.
Some small, black, very agile spiders, which are found about our rooms, and also out-of-doors, are evidently hunters; people call them money-spiders, for it is supposed to be lucky should one of them crawl over you, or come towards you. There is a spider popularly known as daddy-long-legs, though this name is shared by other insects; it has a narrow body, and long pale legs, with dark knee-joints. It is often noticed roving about, for some reason or other; yet the species is a web-maker; its web is usually in a dark corner.
Sir Thomas More, Lord Chancellor, and one of England's worthiest sons, was one of the most upright of judges, at a time when so much could not be said of every one. It is recorded of him, that on one occasion a person who wished to move him to take a favourable view of her cause, sent him a present of a pair of gloves, in which forty pieces of gold were wrapped up. Sir Thomas accepted the gloves, but returned the gold, saying that he did not like his gloves to have any lining.
(Concluded from page371.)
The children did not notice that Estelle had slipped away. She had caught a glimpse of Peet at his work, looking gloomier and more surly than ever.
'Peet,' she said, running up to him with a sunny smile and a hand held out, 'how are you? Dick is looking better, I think, and Mrs. Peet was as nice and as well as ever. She gave me such a welcome yesterday, and said she was so glad to see me. It is lovely to see you all again.'
'Welcome back, Miss,' returned Peet, taking the little hand shyly. 'I am not one to talk, but I am right glad to set eyes on you.'
'Thank you, Peet. But there is one thing that I do not feel happy about, and that is dear Aunt Betty. How different she seems—not half so strong as she used to be!'
'No, Miss, she is not. She has been ill with losing you. We did miss you sore, Miss.'
'It's nice of you to say so. But is it not wonderful that Jack should have picked me up when I fell into the sea? It was high tide, you know, and I was swept out so far I should have been drowned but for him. He took me home, and both he and his mother were so good to me.'
She told him the story which she had already related once that morning, dwelling especially on Jack's gallant rescue.
'Oh, Peet, he is such a good fellow,' she went on, 'so kind to every one, and so good to his mother! As toher, she is just the best mother possible. Peet, do you know Jack—have you spoken to him?'
She was anxious to know if Jack had had his interview; from Peet's manner she feared he had not, or that something was wrong.
'Why should I speak to him?' asked the gardener, in his most forbidding tones.
'Because Dick has,' she ventured, scarcely knowing how to say more in Peet's surly mood.
'Dick and I are two different persons, Miss.'
'Yes,' said Estelle, softly, 'Dick is a—is very near Heaven, Aunt Betty says. Peet, I think it is worse for the man who has done the wrong.'
'Do you, Miss? Well,Ican't see it. It's not my way of thinking, anyhow.'
'It would be,' said Estelle, taking her courage in both hands, 'if you believed in forgiveness at all. Auntie told us what a hard time you had with Dick's illness,' continued Estelle, as Peet's face had not relented, 'but you are all right now. Jack has had a hard time too, because he was so dreadfully sorry for the wrong he had done. But it is not all right with him, and he says it never will be, because he cannot undo the harm.'
'No, he can't,' replied Peet, grimly.
'Well,' said Estelle, with a sigh, 'I am glad he has Dick's forgiveness, and that Dick called him his friend. Jack felt that more than anything. He said it was like coals of fire on his head.'
Seeing Peet made no attempt to reply, but continued his work as if the subject were ended, Estelle sighed again, and went slowly back to join the others, who were crossing the lawn with Jack, on their way to the Bridge House, where he was to say good-bye to Dick.
'Oh, Jack,' cried Georgie, 'Estelle says you sing so beautifully! Will you sing to Dick? He loves music, and some day I shall buy him a barrel-organ to play to him always.'
Jack shook his head. 'He won't care to hear me, Master George.'
But Georgie was so sure Dick would care, that he ran on ahead of the party to ask him. As the rest came up, Mrs. Peet was at the door to receive them. She looked into Jack's face and held out her hand.
'For his sake!' she said, motioning with her head towards her son. 'I can't go against his wishes.'
Grasping her hand in his big palms, Jack could only murmur gratefully, 'Thank you.' The next moment he had been seized upon by Georgie, and dragged to Dick's chair to sing. Turning very red, he said he did not know if he could trust his voice. Mrs. Peet, however, urging her son's fondness for music, begged him to give them something. Against such an appeal Jack could make no resistance. He sang as he had never sung before. Dick's eyes never left his face, and when Jack rose to go, Dick shook his hands with a world of feeling and pardon in eyes and clasp.
There had been one listener unseen by all, who stood with bowed head, leaning heavily on the gate of the porch. Perhaps it was Aunt Betty's gentle pleadings which had fallen like the 'gentle rain from heaven' upon his hard temper, preparing the ground for Estelle's soft words on behalf of Jack. Perhaps it was that his own better nature had asserted itself when all outside arguments had failed, and made him see how 'to err is human, to forgive divine.' Peet waited there in front of his house; and when Jack's voice came to him through the half-closed door in the concluding words of the last song, he understood dimly, in his own fashion, that no one could have sung in that way who had not known what real suffering was.
As Jack came out of the little garden, Peet stood in front of him, grim and determined, though there were wrinkles about his eyes. They showed how severe the pain and struggle were. Holding out his hand, he muttered gruffly, 'He is pretty near a saint, he is,' nodding towards the house, 'and I would not like to be shut out from where he goes. So we will just let bygones be bygones. There's my hand on it, if you will take it in the same spirit.'
Jack grasped the proffered hand with a mighty grip. His heart was full.
'Let it be how you please,' he said, in eager gratitude, 'so long as you do forgive me. I am more thankful than I am able to say for the kindness and forgiveness which have been shown me. But do not think that I shall ever forget the past, or cease to feel the most bitter sorrow for what I have done.'
Peet returned the pressure of his hand with a little more warmth, and Estelle thought his face was softer.
There was no time for more words. The children rushed out to pursue Jack. Mrs. Peet, even with Estelle's assistance, could no longer restrain them.
Jack must say good-bye to Aunt Betty, and have a word with the Earl. As they all walked up the Park together, the sailor told them that Lord Lynwood had asked him to persuade Mrs. Wright to come to Tyre-cum-Widcombe. He would give her a little cottage, a pretty garden, and would see that she wanted for nothing all her life. Jack himself was offered a permanent berth on Lord Lynwood's own yacht. A shout of delight greeted this announcement. Estelle was full of joy.
'We shall see you and dear Goody very often,' she cried, with sparkling eyes. 'Oh, won't we make you both happy!'
The other children echoed her delight.
'I have a great plan,' went on Estelle, dancing along gleefully, 'and I know it will simply send everybody wild with joy.'
'What is it?' asked Alan, eagerly. 'As long as it does not take you away, I don't mind.'
'I think I can persuade Father to take us all in his yacht, and we will bring Goody here ourselves.'
This proposal did indeed send the children wild. Not a word could Jack get in edgewise for several minutes.
'You are sure she will come?' asked Estelle.
'I think she will,' said Jack, smiling. 'She will never be happy away from our little Missie.'
"'Have you spoken to Jack?'""'Have you spoken to Jack?'"
"I struck furiously at the brute.""I struck furiously at the brute."
H, yes,' said Bobbie Oakfield, a night or two after Vandeleur's story of the plucky Japanese sailor; 'that young Hayashi was a smart fellow, and as brave as they make them; but as you have blown the Japanese trumpet, I think it is only fair I should blow a Russian one, if only to show that the Russians can be, in an emergency, as brave as the Japs themselves, which is the same as saying as brave as any man on this earth, not excepting an Englishman of the true kind!'
Well, I was in Russia—I have been many times, as you know, getting a little big or other game-shooting from my relations there. On this occasion there were reports up from my cousin's 'shoot' of wolves having been seen about; it was a cold season, and that is the kind of season in which the sportsman gets a good chance of adding a wolf-skin or two to his collection, for they become more accessible—tamer perhaps, certainly bolder—when it is cold. It is not a matter of choice with the poor creatures, but of stern necessity; theymustcome nearer to the villages, because food is difficult to obtain elsewhere. My cousin could not respond to Michael the keeper's invitation to come down and make a battue for the wolves. 'You can go by yourself if you like,' he said to me; 'Michael will make you comfortable, and if there are any wolves he will show them to you. Don't miss them, if he brings you within range, for that is an unpardonable crime in Michael's eyes, and he would never forgive you!'
Well, I went down to Dubrofda, prepared to stay for a week. I found that Michael was away, trying to secure a family of elk, which he had followed for several days. The under-keeper, Gavril, was there, however, and under his auspices I hoped to find sport, though he informed me sadly, on my arrival, that he had not seen wolves for several days. 'They came into the village after straying dogs one night,' he said, 'and pulled down a sheep of old Ivan Trusof's. Ivan fired his old blunderbuss at them, and the noise seems to have scared them away. To-morrow I will try after them, and if that fails we must see whether a squeal-pig will attract them.'
'A squeal-pig?' I repeated, laughingly; 'what in the world is that?'
Gavril glanced at me in some displeasure. 'It is a common way of hunting the wolves,' he said. 'Perhaps the method is not known in England.'
I explained that the last English wolf was killed many years ago. Then Gavril described the process which he had called the squeal-pig method of wolf-hunting.
'You get a very young pig,' he said, 'and put it into a sack. Now, no pig likes being put into a sack, and when a pig does not like a thing he squeals as though he were being killed. The sportsmen drive slowly through the wood by night, and all the while the pig is making a terrible din—a din that can be heard a mile or two away. If there is one thing in the world that a wolf prefers above another, as a delicacy, it is pork. Every wolf in the forest hears the yelling of the pig, and comes to see what is the matter, and whether there is a chance of any pork for supper. Sometimes the beasts become so excited that they will come quite close to the sledge in which the pig is squealing in its bag. Then comes the chance of the man with the gun.'
'Good,' said I, 'that sounds all right; we will try it to-morrow night. Is there a pig to be had?'
'Anton's sow has a litter a month or two old. I will buy one—a rouble will purchase it.'
Gavril procured the pig, and brought it safely housed in a small sack. It was squealing when he brought it, and I may say, without exaggeration, that so long as that pig and I were together, it never ceased for more than a second to give vent to its feeling of disgust and anger at the treatment to which it was subjected.
'I chose it for its voice,' said Gavril, grinning; 'the wolves prefer loud music; they come miles to hear it!'
Then we settled ourselves in the extremely comfortable village sledge which Gavril had brought with him, and started for our midnight drive.
That drive was delicious. The moonlight, the ghostly pines, the cold crisp air, the gleaming snow everywhere, the delightful motion, all added to the delight of it; the horrible noise made by our little friend in the sack was the only thing that broke the peace.
I dozed at intervals, and perhaps Gavril dozed also. At any rate, he gave me no warning of what was coming, and the sudden shock of it, I have reason to believe, surprised him as much as myself. I was fast asleep at the moment, and the entire situation burst upon me with absolute suddenness. I was conscious of a sudden violent jolt, the sledge overturned—or half upset, and righted itself, and I found myself rolling in the snow, together with the sack and the little squealing pig, which yelled lustily—more lustily than ever—in protest at being pitched out.
What had happened was this. First one wolf, then another had appeared on either side, among the trees, and Gavril was just putting out his hand to awake me, when a third wolf darted suddenly at the pony's hind leg; the frightened little animal swerved, the sledge brought up violently against a pine-tree, and out rolled the pig and I; Gavril and the gun remained in the sledge, which righted itself and went on swiftly as the pony bounded forward in fear. I sprang to my feet and looked after the sledge—it was out of sight in an instant.
At the same moment I became aware that half a dozen or more great grey creatures sat and stood within a few yards of me, looking, with the moon behind them, like dark spectres in a dream.WasI dreaming, I wondered, or was I really standing in mid-forest, the centre of interest to a company of hungry and therefore dangerous wolves? The pig answered the question conclusively enough. He suddenly yelled his loudest, using his very highest note. Then a remarkable thing happened. A wolf, maddened I suppose, by hunger, and unable to resist the temptation of sampling the owner of so vigorous a voice, suddenly sprang upon the sack. In an instant the wretched little creature imprisoned within it was torn into a hundred pieces and swallowed, sack and all. The savoury morsel whetted their appetites I suppose, for several of the brutes began to steal around, watching for an opportunity to spring upon me. I yelled and waved my arms and kicked my feet; the wolves withdrew a little way; I danced wildly, and yelled again, but they withdrew no further. The situation was obviously very serious.
Then I backed towards a tree, for I did not relish the idea of being surrounded. The moment that I moved a step further from them, each wolf advanced three, growling, showing his teeth, snarling. I caught sight of a piece of wood lying near the road; I picked it up, a wolf sprang forward to dispute possession, and I banged at him and missed; every wolf within sight—I should think there were two dozen by now, two or three of them quite close to me—showed his teeth and snarled again.
I backed for the tree, and had almost reached it when a gaunt beast sprang at me, and actually tore a piece out of the sleeve of my coat. I struck furiously at the brute, and I think broke its leg; he went limping and yelping amongst his companions, and they instantly tore him to pieces. The smell of his blood excited them, and several came leaping and snarling at me; I shouted and struck at them, but they would not retreat; they stood and growled, and licked their lips. How was it going to end, I began to wonder.
Several times a wolf or two wolves attacked me, and I beat them off, but I grew weary, and, what was more disastrous, my nerves began to fail. I realised that I could not keep up this nerve-destroying fight for ever, and Gavril had evidently not dared to return to my assistance.... Suddenly, when on the verge of collapse, I heard a shout in the distance. I replied with all my strength.
'All right,' called Gavril, 'I am coming; but it is difficult.'
It did not matter now, though Gavril seemed to spend an hour in covering the few hundred yards which lay between us, and I fought desperately on with renewed spirit. Then at length I caught sight of him in the moonlight, coming towards me; he seemed to limp; he stopped, and a shot rang out. Instantly the wolves disappeared as if by magic.
Gavril drew near. 'Here, take the gun, Excellency,' he said. 'I am hurt, I must sit.'
I just had time to take the gun out of his hands when Gavril stumbled and fell with a groan. 'Oh, my leg!' he muttered, and with the words he fainted.
The poor fellow's ankle was broken. It had been broken at the first jolt, when I fell out, but he hadbeen unable to free himself from the sledge until, a quarter of a mile away, he had succeeded in pulling up the frightened horse and getting out.
Then he had deliberately walked back the whole way, with his broken ankle causing him agonies at each moment, straight into the midst of a dangerous wolf-pack, in order to bring me the gun and save my life.
'Without, for a moment, wishing to disparage the Japanese,' Bobby ended, 'I think you will agree with me that it would be unfair not to accord the Russians equal honour for pluck and devotion to duty—this particular Russian, at any rate, and I know of many others equally brave.'
'Carriednem. con.,' said Vandeleur.
As for Dennison, his contribution to the discussion was a loud and prolonged snore.
Not long ago there lived a nobleman who was noted for his extreme obstinacy and his determination to have his own way. He had arranged one morning to meet a friend of his at a country station. When he got to the station, his friend had not come.
After he had waited some time the train came in; and just then he caught sight of his friend's carriage driving along at a gallop in the distance. He knew that it would take some five minutes for it to get to the station, and the train was due to start in one minute. So he went to the station-master, and explained to him that his friend was very anxious to catch the train: he asked him if he would be so kind as to stop it till the carriage arrived. The station-master, however, refused to do so, saying that the train was already late.
'We will see about that,' retorted the other; and he actually went and sat down between the rails right in front of the engine.
The station-master dared not let the train start, and though he begged the nobleman to get up, the latter refused to move until his friend arrived. While they were arguing the carriage drove up, and his friend got his ticket; and then at last the obstinate old gentleman left his dangerous position, and they went off in the train together. The trick had been successful, though it was a very dangerous and foolish one.
'By waters still in sweet spring-time''By waters still in sweet spring-time'
HERE is a little simple flower,Heart's-ease by name—I know not why;And yet, perchance, it has the powerTo cause a tear or calm a sigh.And if a dear one sends to meThe tiny flower, I'll prize it well;For in the token I should seeThe wish the flower was meant to tell.And still its faded leaves I'd keep,Although they had no scent to please;Ah, better still! they seem to speakA message, praying my heart's-ease.By waters still in sweet spring-timeIt lifts its sweet, mild gaze to me,While on my ears faint falls the chimeOf evening bells across the lea.