Most young birds which leave the eggs in a forward condition have the down which clothes them curiously striped. This is a device which enables the young bird to resemble the grass and herbage with which it is surrounded, and so escape the eye of prowling birds and beasts of prey. The dark stripes at a little distance look like shadows between stems of plants, while the lighter stripes represent streaks of light passing through foliage. When young birds live in the open, as on shingly beaches, then their down is mottled. How perfectly this harmonises with the surrounding stones only those who have tried to find young terns (fig. 4), or young ringed plover (fig. 2), for example, can tell. But this question of young birds is a big one, and must be taken up again on some future occasion.
W. P. Pycraft, F.Z.S., A.L.S.
When Dr. Johnson visited Scotland, he was taken, on his arrival at St. Andrews, to see the ruins of the castle there. He was sorry to find the grand old building, like many he had already visited, in ruins, and in his disappointment he was very rude and overbearing to those who were guiding him. One of the guides ventured to askhim if he had been disappointed in his visit to Scotland.
'Sir,' replied the doctor, 'I came to see savage men and savage manners, and I have not been disappointed.'
'Yes,' replied the Scotchman, 'and we came to meet a man without manners of any kind, and we have not been disappointed.'
'Can you tell me the way to Old Sarum?' said a tourist, who was roaming over Salisbury Plain, to a country yokel he came across.
'What!' answered the rustic, 'old Sarah! she be dead last year!' Being somewhat deaf, he thought the stranger was asking after a cottager, who had been well known in that part. The site of this old city was not easily to be found on Salisbury Plain. Where the ancient Sarum once stood, grew a field of oats, and the rougher ground was pasture-land, dotted over with remnants of walls and heaps of rubbish. Sarum was a city of the tribe called the Bilgæ; it existed before the Romans visited England; it stood in a high and dry part of the large Wiltshire plain, and the Romans seized it as a capital military position.
Many of those curious remains or tombs are near. They have had the name of 'barrow' given to them, and in them are discovered, besides bones, old weapons, jewels, pottery, and other objects. At no great distance is the Druids' temple of Stonehenge, and the still more remarkable one of Abury, of which but fragments are left, though it must have been far grander than Stonehenge. The Saxon King, Egbert, lived chiefly at Old Sarum, as did several other kings, and in 960 Edgar held a national council in the city, to consider the best means of expelling the Danes. William the Conqueror, in 1086, summoned to Sarum, prelates, nobles, and knights from all parts of England, to discuss new laws. William Rufus also held a council here. It was in the reign of Henry I. that Sarum began to decline. The Empress Maud gave handsome gifts to the cathedral and clergy, but the bishop offended the king, and there were frequent quarrels between the clergy and the garrison, so that after about 1220, the inhabitants began to forsake the place, by degrees, and to build houses at New Sarum, the modern Salisbury.
The old city was very strongly fortified. Around it was a deep moat or ditch; beyond this, two ramparts; on the higher and inner rampart stood a wall of flint, chalk, and stone, about twelve feet thick, with battlements. Only one entrance to the city existed, on the east side. On the top of the hill, in the centre, was the castle or citadel. From this, the streets branched off to the walls, Sarum being divided into two parts, north and south, marked by gates and towers; there were also ten more towers at equal distances, and alongside the walls ran a circular street, which went round the whole city. On the north-west side stood the cathedral and the bishop's palace. Altogether, Old Sarum was one of the strongest cities England ever had.
(Continued from page335.)
Jack's face was ashy pale, but his eyes burnt as if with some hidden fire. Estelle was half frightened; yet some inkling of the truth began to dawn faintly on her. She shrank back; but the thought that had come to her seemed so impossible that she conquered her terror.
'Yes,' she said, softly, looking up into Jack's face, 'and his greatest wish, the very greatest he has on earth, is—what do you think? To hear that the man who injured him has not been made a bad man by what he had done. He wants him to repent, and he wants him to know that hehasforgiven him. Dick was afraid that the man might think he had killed him, and that the thought might make him desperate.'
'The man seems to have done harm enough,' cried Jack, in a stony voice, turning away, and walking down the steps towards the edge of the cliff.
'But Dick has forgiven it all, indeed he has, Jack,' she urged.
But Jack did not appear to hear. He stood with his back to her, gazing out to sea. Suddenly he turned and came hack, seating himself at her side. His face was very white, but his expression was resolute.
'Missie,' he said, looking full at her, but speaking in a very low voice, 'I am afraid I am going to give you a great shock. You have told me the story of Dick Peet; I will tell you the story of the man who injured him.'
'Oh, Jack! dear Jack, it is not you! Do say it is not you!' cried Estelle, tears in her eyes.
'I wish I could!' returned Jack, with a heavy sigh, his head clasped in his hands. But, looking up again, he went on: 'Though what you have told me—that Dick is alive—is a great relief to my mind, after thinking all these years that I had killed him, still I can never forgive myself the frightful outburst of temper that made me do it, nor the bitter consequences—not only to my dear mother, but to poor Dick himself and his family. Unhappily, we cannot undo the past, though we would gladly give our lives to do it.'
Again Jack's head went down on his hands, and he groaned.
'Dear Jack,' whispered Estelle, putting her hand on his arm to show something of what she felt for him, 'I wish I could recollect all that Aunt Betty said; it would comfort you, I know. But I do remember this: she said we must not let our faults conquer us, for small beginnings made great endings. Perhaps you did not take care of the little things when you were young, and so it ended in that terrible rage. But, dear, dear Jack, ever since that dreadful day, you must have been trying to conquer, or you would never be the good, kind Jack you are now. Why, I have never seen you out of temper the whole time I have been here. I can't see that you haveanyfaults now.'
Jack smiled grimly, but the smile ended in a sigh.
'It is your kind heart that makes you think that, Missie. I have faults enough and to spare, but I hope all this trouble has made a better man of me. For one thing, it has shown me to what lengths my temper would go. I was indeed brought up with a round turn! I nearly went out of my mind. But for my mother I should have gone to the bad straight away. Though it very nearly did for her, too, she kept up for my sake, and brought me round in time. I ought to have given myself up to justice, but I could not make up my mind to bring disgrace upon her publicly; so, right or wrong, I did not do it. We fled from England, and at Cherbourg I fell in with some of the Tout-Petit fishing fleet, and threw in my lot with them. That's how we came here. It will be good news indeed to my dear mother that the result of my rage was not so bad as it might have been, though it has been bad enough.'
'Dick has forgiven that,' repeated Estelle, earnestly. 'He has indeed, and no one but you, and he, and I know anything about it.'
'Are you sure, Missie? It seems too wonderful to believe! If I thought so—why, I would go and see him when I take you home. It would please him, you say; and—and—well, I would like to ask—— '
'For what, Jack?'
'I would like to hear him say himself that he forgives—— '
He hid his face in his hands and groaned. Ruined for life, butnot dead. Frightfully, hopelessly injured, but generous, forgiving! He could understand that Dick—the young handsome Dick of his recollection—had prayed for his destroyer, and—thank God—had not prayed in vain. It was, indeed, a deeply repentant, broken-hearted man who sat there in the spring sunshine with bowed head, and bitter sorrow for a deed which could not be undone.
As Estelle looked at Jack's figure, and saw the shudder which now and again passed over him, her pity was perhaps greater for this sufferer than it was for poor Dick. Her eyes were blinded with tears.
'Jack,' she said, when she could command her voice, 'dear kind Jack, you never refuse me anything. Don't say "no" to what I am going to ask you now.'
A murmur was the only reply.
'What I want you to do will not make you more miserable, Jack, and it will be a great kindness to poor Dick. Give him the pleasure of knowing what a good fellow you are now, and how miserable and sorry you are. Hedoesforgive, you know, and he is so anxious about you, though he cannot speak properly, and tell you as he would if he were well.'
'You are sure he would wish it?'
'I am certain.'
'Missie,' he said, raising his despairing face, 'look at the position I am in. You are but a child, but your kind heart can understand as few older persons seem to do. If I go to see Dick Peet, I am proclaiming my sin to the world; and who is the sufferer?—my mother! I deserve no mercy, and formy own sake I would not spare myself one grain of shame or misery, for it was a black deed, brutally done in a frenzy of envy. But Mother—ah! Missie, you don't know what a mother she has been to me. She has sacrificed her whole life, and does notthinkit a sacrifice!'
'But if Dick can and does forgive, Jack,' said Estelle, 'would not Goody be glad that you have it from his own lips? Would she not feel you were better, more the real kind Jack she loves, if youaskedfor that forgiveness, though Dick does give it so freely? Oh, Jack, here is your chance of making amends; here is your chance of telling Dick how grieved your are.'
There was a long silence.
'I'll do it,' said Jack, rousing himself. 'I'll speak to my mother to-night.'
He started up and walked to the cliff, and stood close to the edge, as if he wanted to get as far away from the earth as possible.
Estelle buried her face in her hands, and longed for Aunt Betty, for Goody, for anybody wiser and older than herself. How long she sat, her mind full of hopes and prayers, she did not know. Suddenly she became conscious of some movement near. Looking up, startled, she saw Thomas creeping up to Jack. Jack's back was towards him, and one push would have sent him off the edge of the cliff, into the depths below. She screamed in her terror. Jack turned and faced his enemy.
Thomas did not retreat. He was too desperate. His hopes were dead, and his sole chance was in destroying the man who stood in his path. He flung himself upon Jack, with a confused notion that if he could not hurl him over the cliff, they might both go over together. At any rate, Jack should not get that profit out of the Earl's daughter to which he thought he himself had the sole right. He fought in wild despair, striking out, clinging to Jack's arms and legs, and throwing his weight on him in the mad effort to bear him down, or force him over the precipice. Jack could not understand his insane fury, and tried at first simply to overpower him, in order to hear what he was about, and ask him questions. But Thomas had no intention of being questioned. He wanted to get rid of this man once and for all. If Estelle had not screamed, he would have done it, too. He would pay her out for that, he thought, if he could be the winner in this struggle.
To his dismay, however, he found he was getting decidedly the worst of it. Jack was a giant in strength as well as in height. Finding the man would not listen to reason, he put out his strength, and Thomas soon found himself spinning along the ground at breakneck speed, considerably the worse for the handling he had received. Stunned and bruised, he lay like a log where he fell, and Jack let him lie, after a glance to see he was not much hurt.
Taking Estelle's hand, Jack led her towards the village, but the little girl, upset and shaken as she was by the fierce struggle she had witnessed, looked back once or twice at the prostrate Thomas. Jack appeared excited and angry, but did not speak all the way home.
(Continued on page346.)
"He flung himself upon Jack.""He flung himself upon Jack."
Good-bye to Tout-Petit.Good-bye to Tout-Petit.
(Continued from page343.)
'Good-bye, dear!' said Mrs. Wright, with tears in her eyes, as Estelle clung to her in a last embrace. 'Perhaps you will come back some day, and see us again.'
'Indeed, dear Goody, I will. You have been good to me! I shall love to think of you and Jack, and everything here, often and often—and of all the kind people I have met. I cannot thank you enough for all you have done. I have been so happy. I shall never forget it.'
'I hope your friends will think you looking bonnie, dear,' went on Mrs. Wright. 'If they had seen you when Jack brought you here, they would not believe it was the same little missie at all. Now, don't be ill on the voyage, and spoil all the credit due to me.'
Mrs. Wright tried to speak in a lively tone, but the effort ended in tears. The child had been hers so long that the parting was almost as painful as if she were really losing one of her own dear ones. Estelle clung to her, wishing she could persuade her dear Goody to come home with her, that Aunt Betty might see her and thank her properly. But this was too much to expect. Goody was sure she would sever survive the voyage. Jack also was averse to the idea. He did not want to have two helpless people on his hands, he said, laughingly.
Mrs. Wright accompanied them down to the harbour, and, as they rowed out to the ship, Estelle watched her standing there till distance and tears blotted out the sight.
The wind was fair abaft, and they made good way. Estelle began gradually to like the smooth motion. Her spirits came back as she felt that every knot brought her nearer home and Aunt Betty. Jack had done his best to make her comfortable, but the smack was not a large vessel, and its accommodation was necessarily limited. Nevertheless, all that could be done to make her voyage a pleasant one was done by Jack, Fargis, and the crew. She had the cabin all to herself, and a chair was always ready for her on deck when she chose to occupy it. Usually, however, she preferred to sit near where-ever Jack was, and to talk to him. She would build castles in the air of what would happen when her father returned, and she could tell him all her wishes. He would be quite sure to do all she desired; he never refused any reasonable request, and all her requests were reasonable. Jack smiled. He let her ramble on in her dreams of how they were to meet again, and how he must have a boat of his own, and a comfortable home in England for dear Goody to live in.
Then the talk would revert to other and sadder matters. These were never mentioned except when they were quite alone, which could not be often. Once or twice, however, they did get such a quiet hour when the night-watches had been set, and it was Jack's turn on duty. Estelle would not go to bed; she preferred to come on deck to talk to him. How often afterwards did she look back upon those nights! Fine, clear moonlight; the sky full of stars, stretched like a dark curtain over them; all around the equally dark water, through which they cut with almost uncanny smoothness; the silence about them broken only by the soft lapping of the waves, and the occasional creak of the spars, or the flap of the sails.
Fargis, who had some knowledge of the coast, made for Tyre-cum-Widcombe, where, he declared, all the information required could be obtained. And so it proved. Jack, leaving Estelle on board, went to the biggest inn in the place. There he had his questions answered, with the additional assurance that he could have any carriage he liked to take the little lady home. The Earl himself was now staying at the Moat House.
As soon as it became generally known that little Lady Estelle de Bohun had been found, and was at that moment aboard the French smack in the harbour, a crowd began rapidly to get together on the little quay. The cheering, the pressing forward to get a glimpse of her, astonished the French crew quite as much as it did Estelle. Neither she nor they had any idea of her importance. They listened with keen interest as Jack translated to them what he had been told of the lost child, and how Lord Lynwood had routed the whole country upside down in his determination not to leave a stone unturned to find her. Jack became a hero to all who knew how he had saved the child; and there were a few who, pressing up to Fargis, made out the story of the rescue from his broken English.
Time, however, was of importance. Jack wanted, if possible, to get back to the boat before nightfall. Fargis would wait for him, in any case, but the matter had best be got over at once. His approaching interview with Dick Peet weighed upon his mind; other details connected with it must be settled—some decision arrived at. He was glad, therefore, when the carriage came round, and he and Estelle drove away from the amiable, but inquisitive, crowd.
As they passed through the deep lanes, and over the wide common, where the gorse was in full bloom, then under the trees of the wood, Estelle's thoughts were with Aunt Betty, whom she was to see so soon; or with Dick, and the wonderful surprise she was bringing him. Now and then she took a furtive glance at Jack, and wished the happiness of the one did not mean the unhappiness of the other.
On reaching the Bridge House, she begged that they might get out there, instead of driving up to the house. Without a word Jack sprang down, and, lifting her out, paid and dismissed the carriage. Estelle had run forward as he was doing this, but now returned to his side, saying—
'Shall it be first or last, Jack?'
Standing quite still a moment, his eyes on the blue sky and the fleecy clouds, he braced himself for an interview which must be full of pain. He looked very pale, but there was a set expression about his mouth and jaw which spoke volumes.
'As you please, Missie. Though there is no last that I know of.'
Gazing at him earnestly, she wondered of what he was thinking, and how she could soften this first meeting. Her first impulse was to run straight to dear Aunt Betty and her father. But she felt it her duty to see Dick while the interview had the chance of being quite a private one; it would be more difficult to secure secrecy if the fact of her return were known. She was sure Aunt Betty would say that whatever the sacrifice was to her, she ought to make it.
'Dick is quite alone,' she said, at last. 'I don't know when we shall find him so again. Isn't it better not to put it off?'
Without a moment's hesitation, Jack turned and followed her, though he could not have spoken to save his life. Fortunately, they reached the gate and went up to the Bridge House porch unperceived. Sitting in his armchair, as usual, was Dick, resting after his morning's outing in a wheel-chair. Comfortably happy and half asleep he looked, as Estelle put her hand upon his, saying—
'Dick!' in her soft voice.
Startled and bewildered, he gazed at her for some moments before recognition came into his eyes; then a bright smile spread over his face, and he grasped the little hand near his.
(Continued on page358.)
There are always people in every age who delight in notoriety, and will do anything to get themselves talked about; and there was a man of this sort, at Brighton, in the year 1806.
His craze was to be always dressed in green, and large crowds would assemble every day, outside his house, to see him drive off in his green gig, with a green whip, and a servant in green livery beside him.
The gentleman himself was invariably dressed in green pantaloons, and a green waistcoat, frock, and cravat. A green silk handkerchief stuck out of his pocket, and a large watch, with green seals, was fastened by a green chain to the green buttons of his waistcoat.
His food too was only green fruit and vegetables, and his house was entirely furnished in green.
Such fads and fancies are not unknown in our own day. At one time 'Browning' teas were held in a peculiar way. The guests would assemble and find the table laid with a brown, unbleached table-cloth; brown bread and butter and chocolate cakes were the chief diet, and every guest was expected to wear a brown costume. During the meal selections from Browning's poems were read by one of the company, and in this way they thought they honoured their favourite poet!
In the olden time people did not study botany very deeply, being too busy with other matters, and they had neither books nor pictures about plants. But they talked of plants more than we perhaps think they did, and had a good many ideas concerning them, showing that they kept their eyes opento observe Nature. One of the facts noticed many centuries ago was that some plants have curious marks on flower, leaf, stem or root. Indeed, some persons supposed that all plants had signs by which you could tell their use for physic, food, or whatever else it might be.
Several plants were thought to be like the human body, such as the mandrake and the ginseng; and these, it was said, must also be good for man. Again, amongst the orchis tribes, foreign specimens of which are often so valuable, we find very singular marks and shapes. England has a man orchis and a lady orchis, but neither of them really suits the name, for their flowers have rather the appearance of a winged insect.
It is worth noting that not only the common people believed in the signs or marks to be discovered upon plants, but learned men also supposed that there was something told by many of these marks at least, if not by all of them. Certainly the general look of several poisonous kinds tells us to beware of them, such as the wild bryony, for instance, and the nightshades.
We have, too, a few instances where it does seem, even if it is only an accident, that a plant has a value which agrees with a mark or sign. Several of the old poets praise the eyebright, or euphrasia, which has a black pupil-like spot on the corolla; therefore, it was thought by our ancestors to make a good eye-lotion. At the present time, it has been proved that a medicine made from this plant will strengthen weak eyes. The flower of an English plant called the self-heal has rather the shape of a bill-hook; it is of a pretty colour, and was believed to cure wounds; and it really does act in this way to some extent. Some of our gardens have specimens of the Solomon's seal, a kind of lily. When the root is cut across, curious marks show, a little like a seal, and so it is called after the wisest of kings. People used the root as a remedy for wounds and hurts. Nowadays, again, looking at a walnut, we might not see a likeness to the human head; yet in the olden time men did, the inside having a resemblance to the skull, and the kernel representing the brain. Hence, walnuts were thought good for complaints of the head. Similarly, as the cones of a species of pine-tree had the shape of teeth, it followed that they would ease the toothache.
Shaking being one of the notable effects of that troublesome complaint, the ague, as a safeguard the quaking grass was dried and kept in the house; the aspen, too, by its constant trembling, was thought to be another remedy of value. The broad, showy flowers of the moon-daisy, suggesting pictures of the full moon, had an imaginary value, for it was used to cure the complaints which the moon was said to cause. A horseshoe being held a token of good fortune, a vetch with pods of that shape was believed to have many curious properties. Bleeding could be stopped by the herb Robert, a wild geranium of our hedges, its power being shown by the beautiful red of its young and fading leaves. One of the strangest ideas people had was about fern-seed; it is very tiny, almost invisible, and so they believed those who got a particular sort of it, could make themselves invisible when they wished!
A reader ofChatterboxhas devised an original suit of clothing, shown in the illustration. It is made entirely of sheets ofChatterbox, gummed together and fitted to the body like an ordinary cloth suit. The sheets on the front of the coat are all coloured plates, so that the suit looked much brighter than our every-day wear.
A "Chatterbox" Costume.A "Chatterbox" Costume.
This strange apparel was made by Mr. H. H. Neal, of Leatherhead, and it has caused much amusement and interest. At a 'costume race' held at some athletic sports, the suit took the special prize for the best costume.
A mouse was kept in such distress by its fear of a cat, that a magician, taking pity on it, turned it into a cat. Immediately it began to suffer from fear of a dog; so the magician turned it into a dog. Then it began to suffer from fear of a tiger, and the magician, in disgust, said, 'Be a mouse again. As you have only the heart of a mouse, it is impossible to help you by giving you the body of a noble animal.'
It is hopeless to try to accomplish anything without pluck.
Fig. 1.—First Union Jack.Fig. 1.—First Union Jack.
What is the very first thing we talk of doing when we hear that the King is coming to pay a visit in our neighbourhood? I fancy I can hear every boy and girl answer at once, 'Why, hang out all our flags, of course!' But how many of us know anything about the most famous of all these flags—the Union Jack?
Fig. 2.—English Flag of St. George.Fig. 2.—English Flag of St. George.
In the first place, it is called 'Union' because it is really three flags united in one; and 'Jack' afterKing James (Jacques) who ordered the first Union Jack (fig. 1) to be made, to stop the quarrels between the English and Scotch over their flags of St. George (fig. 2) and St. Andrew (fig. 3), each country naturally wanting its own flag to occupy the first place. In this flag, the red St. George, with a narrow border of white, to show the colour of its field, is placed over the white St. Andrew, which keeps its own blue field.
Fig. 5.—Our Union Jack of To-day.Fig. 5.—Our Union Jack of To-day.
Fig. 4.—Irish Flag of St. Patrick.Fig. 4.—Irish Flag of St. Patrick.
Fig. 3.—Scotch Flag of St. Andrew.Fig. 3.—Scotch Flag of St. Andrew.
But when Ireland was united to England in 1801, we had to ask our Heralds' Office to design a fresh flag, to include the Irish national flag of St. Patrick (fig. 4).
This they managed very neatly by taking away from each quarter of the 'Jack' one half of the white St. Andrew's Cross, and in its place putting the red St. Patrick with a narrow white border, to show the colour of the field (fig. 5).
You will notice that St. Andrew's cross is arranged so as to come above St. Patrick's in the two quarters of the flag next to the flag-staff. If the flag be hung in any other way it becomes a signal of danger and distress; so let us always be careful to have our 'Jack' hung properly.
No one who had seen John Green sitting on a mile-stone opposite to the huge iron gates which opened into the Manor-house drive would have thought that it was a bitterly cold evening in December. His hands were in his pockets, and he was wrapped in thought, and he did not notice the cold.
He had been to town to try and collect a few small sums which were owing to his mother, but with little success. Things had not gone well with Mrs. Green and her son since Mr. Green's death, six months before. Mr. Green had had a long and expensive illness, and all his savings and most of his furniture had had to go in medicine and doctor's bills. He had been a carpenter, earning good wages, and Mrs. Green was very anxious to live in the same cottage, as there was a big garden, which she thought she and her son ought to be able to cultivate profitably. But, unfortunately, the apple crop failed that autumn, their rent was in arrears, and Mr. Tucker, the land agent, whom John had just met in the town, had told him that they must eitherpay in a week or go. There were plenty of people who would willingly have lent them the necessary money, but Mrs. Green declined to borrow under any circumstances whatever.
'If the Squire really knew what was happening on his estate,' said the boy, bitterly, to himself, 'I don't believe he would let old Tucker go on as he does. It's a shame to live up in a great house like that, and never take the trouble to find out how his agent is treating people. I'd go to him myself, but they say he always speaks to Tucker if any tenants do that, and Tucker turns them out at once. At any rate, there's one more week in which to raise three pounds—and a lot of chance there is of finding it,' and the boy laughed aloud bitterly.
'Well, there does not appear to be much to laugh at to-night,' said a voice at his elbow, and turning round Jack saw that a man, apparently a tramp, in even shabbier clothes than his own, had come up noiselessly over the snow. 'Also,' continued the new-comer, 'it would be possible to find a warmer and more comfortable seat than that mile-stone.'
'I was waiting opposite the gates, trying to make up my mind whether I would go in or not,' answered the boy, 'and I was laughing because I did not think it would make any real difference whether I went in or stayed outside.'
'That depends, I suppose, on what you want there! If I might ask, what is it?'
'I want the Squire to give my mother a little time to get together her rent; but since Mr. Harold ran away, ten years ago to-day, the Squire has never been the same man. That nearly broke his heart, and now he takes no interest in anything; he has turned us all over to an agent, who does just what he likes with us.'
'Then Mr. Harold was—— '
'His son. My father said he would have run away too if he had been Mr. Harold, though the Squire wasn't as bad in those days.'
'And who was your father?'
'Peter Green, the carpenter.'
'Well, Peter Green's son,' said the stranger, with a queer laugh, 'if you will go in and see the Squire, and come out and tell me in what sort of temper he is, I will give you my last shilling,' and he spun a coin in the air. 'You must go in by the front door, and I will wait for you in the drive.'
'Right you are,' said the boy, jumping off the mile-stone. 'I'll risk it for a shilling.'
Side by side they tramped up the snowy drive till they saw the light shining through the glass in the front door. Then the tramp drew aside, and John went boldly up the steps. The clang of the bell had scarcely died away before the door was opened by an elderly butler.
'Can I see the Squire?' asked John, in as brave a voice as he could muster.
'Show him in at once, Williams; show him in at once,' called out an impatient voice at the back of the hall.
The butler stepped back. 'I don't think, sir,' he said, 'that this is the gentleman you are expecting.'
'How do you know what gentleman I am expecting? 'Show him in at once, I tell you.'
'You'd better come straight in,' said the butler, shrugging his shoulders. He led the way across the hall, and ushered John into a comfortably furnished library. An old gentleman was sitting by the fire, enveloped in rugs. He leant forward and peered into John's face. Then he fell back wearily into his cushions. 'Dear, dear! another disappointment,' he groaned. 'Take him away, Williams.'
But John, having penetrated into the lion's den, did not mean to be dismissed so easily.
'Please, sir,' he began, hurriedly, 'I want to know whether you will give my mother a little longer to pay her rent. We have had a very hard time. Mr. Tucker is going to turn us out.'
'You must go and see Mr. Tucker about that,' answered the old man, indifferently. 'I leave all such matters to him; or, stay,' he added, 'I am expecting Mr. Harold to-night. You can come in and see him about it next week if you like.'
Then John remembered that he had heard that on the anniversary of his son's departure the old man always expected him to return, and he understood why he had been shown in so hurriedly.
'But, please, sir,' he pleaded, 'won't you write me a line for Mr. Tucker, in case Mr. Harold missed the train or anything?'
The old man put up his hands feebly. 'Take him away, Williams,' he said, querulously.' I can't be worried, or I shall be too tired to speak to Mr. Harold when he comes. Do whatever you think Mr. Harold would like.'
John followed the butler out of the room, and half an hour later he went down the steps triumphantly. In his pocket was a paper which the butler had written out and persuaded the Squire to sign, stating that Mrs. Green was on no account to be turned out of her cottage without Mr. Harold's express orders. He found the tramp waiting for him, and told his story joyfully, declining to accept the proffered shilling in return.
The tramp listened attentively, and drew himself together at the end. 'I think I will risk it,' he said, huskily. Then he turned to John: 'Look here, young man, you will find it to your advantage to say nothing about to-night, whatever news you may hear in the village to-morrow. See?'
'You aren't going to hurt the Squire?' asked John, anxiously.
'I hope not, but you will probably understand to-morrow,' and the shabby figure strode away up the drive.
The next day the villagers were electrified by the news that Mr. Harold had returned at last.
That is many years ago now, and John Green, the head-gardener at the Manor-house, sometimes wonders, as he watches the care with which the present Squire selects an orchid for his button-hole, whether the tramp who spoke to him on that snowy December night was not the figure of a dream.
The American University of Harvard contains in its Museum one of the greatest artistic marvels of the world. This curiosity consists of hundreds of specimens of flowers and plants, all made in glass, and so true to nature, both in form and colouring, that the flowers seem as if they had just been gathered. Even the tiny hairs which appear on the stems of certain plants are faithfully reproduced on these glass imitations.
These glass plants are made by two Germans, a father and his son, and so jealously do they guard the secret of the manufacture that it is possible the knowledge may die with them.
IS very cold,' a Daisy saidUpon a meadow green,'Dark, gloomy clouds are overhead,Without a ray between.These angry gusts of bitter wind(So unexpected too)Are really more than I can bear—They chill me through and through.'Just then his discontented eyeLooked sorrowfully up,And chanced across the path to spyA golden Buttercup.Its petals flinched before the wind,The stalk was roughly bent,And yet the Daisy could not hearOne word of discontent.And then this foolish Daisy cried:'It's plain enough to spy,Most blossoms in this meadow wideAre better off than I!They do not mind the shadows dark,Nor feel the bitter wind;If I could be a buttercup,I really shouldn't mind.'Now, like this Daisy in the grassSome people I have known,Who, while their daily troubles passDo nothing else but moan,And think that those who bravely bearThe chilling wind and rainCan feel no sorrow in their heartsBecause they don't complain.
Travellers over the great trans-continental railways of the United States and Canada gaze with awe and wonder at the grandeur of Nature in the wild canyons and rugged peaks of the Rocky Mountains. In many places the railway tunnels through overhanging rocks, or winds round narrow shelves above gloomy precipices.
The railway companies take the greatest precautions for the safety of their trains in the mountain sections. Besides the usual working gangs, there are special track-walkers, and 'safety switch-openers,' who lead solitary lives in the great hills.
Spring thaws and showers loosen the frost-bound soil, trickling snow-rills grow into gullying torrents,and the jar of a passing train sets in motion a loose boulder, which, with ever-increasing speed, at last hurls itself upon the track. Even the echoes of the locomotive whistle will in some states of the atmosphere bring disaster. Tiny snow crystals are jarred by the sound-waves; these start on a downward career, gathering volume and speed until a mighty avalanche has been developed.
In one of these mountain canyons lives a Scotch track-walker and his only companion, a beautiful and intelligent collie dog, who always accompanies his master on the inspection rounds.
It was in the late afternoon of a strenuous day in May, when Jock and Collie arrived weary and hungry at the 'shack' (hut) door. Everything was satisfactory in the canyon, the section gang had gone down the track, and with a sigh of content Jock set about preparing his evening meal. Collie, with his head between his paws, watched the proceedings. Suddenly he assumed an alert, listening attitude, then he set off at a great rate up the track.
When supper was ready Jock whistled for his companion, and on looking out was surprised to find him gone; but from the narrowing walls of the gorge came the sound of his furious barking. Jock whistled again and again, but the dog did not come. Perfectly convinced that something was wrong, he seized his rifle and hurried off, expecting to find that Collie had cornered some wild animal, or that some animal had cornered him! Round the curve he hurried, and what he saw almost paralysed him.
A great boulder, weighing many hundredweight, lay across the track, and on top of it, wild with excitement, was Collie.
On the little flat near the 'shack' was the switch at which the Pacific and Atlantic Expresses—the trains going East and West—crossed. They were due almost at once. He was alone, time was short, and upon his action depended the safety of many lives. He could not go both ways at once with his warning; but down the western track beyond the switch he sped with explosive 'torpedoes,' or detonating signals. Then he hurried back again past the dog (still on his signal station), and far to the east, round the long curve, with his red flags of danger.
The express from the Pacific, warned by the torpedoes, steamed slowly, very slowly, to the switch, then came to a standstill.
The train crew ran down to the hut, which was thick with smoke from burnt 'flap-jacks' and frizzled bacon, but found no sign of Jock or Collie. Round the curve they ran, and there, still on the boulder, was Collie, barking, as the brakeman expressed it, 'to beat the band.'
The others continued the pursuit of Jock, while the brakeman tried to coax the dog down. But Collie was there for a purpose, and not until Jock returned would he leave his post. His master's smiling face and hearty voice gave assurance that all was well, and then Collie fairly hurled himself upon Jock, licked his face and gave frantic yelps of delight.
An extempore breakdown gang cleared the track, and the great trains thundered away to Atlantic and Pacific—saved by a dog!