Fig. 3.Fig. 4.Fig. 3.—Australian Bear, with young one.Fig. 4.—Opossum, with young.
Fig. 5.—Bat, resting, with young.Fig. 5.—Bat, resting, with young.
The curious Koala, or native 'bear' of Australia, carries her young on her back (fig. 3), and apparently without serious inconvenience, though she has to make her way about the topmost boughs of the giant gum-trees. Finally, we must refer to the kangaroo, which carries its young in a special pouch, too well known to need description here. The point to which we would direct attention is the burden which all these animals are willing to bear for the sake of their young ones.
W. P. Pycraft, F.Z.S., A.L.S.
"I was received with joy.""I was received with joy."
(Continued from page195.)
I looked at Umkopo in astonishment. What did he mean by that, die? Did he think that by his presence with us we should gain so much in strength that we should now beat off the enemy?
Umkopo laughed again. 'You shall see,' he said'; I am the White Witch; that which I say will be obeyed.'
manner of Umkopo, though his words sounded no better than conceited nonsense.
'Do you mean to go among them?' I asked; 'I warn you, Umkopo, it is a dangerous thing to do. They may kill you.'
'Kill me—these children?' he said, with scorn; 'you shall see.'
He strode straight away, with these words, towards the Matabele hosts.
'Stop, Umkopo,' I cried after him; 'you are unarmed—take a rifle, at least, or a pistol.'
'Give me a pistol,' said he, stopping a moment to think; 'a lion may show his teeth when a hyena yelps, that is no shame.'
I gave him a loaded revolver. 'What do you mean to do or say?' I asked.
'I will say "go away," and they will go,' he laughed; 'I will say "dare not threaten those who are of my race—I am the White Witch."'
'But if they refuse to obey?' I asked.
Umkopo gave me a glance brimful of haughty contempt. 'You speak foolishness,' he said. With which he strode away towards the Matabele fellows.
Well, I watched him with some interest and anxiety, as you will readily believe. The Kaffirs, too, watched him in fear and trembling.
'I have heard of the White Witch,' Dicky muttered. 'The Matabeles are like his children, so men say.'
Umkopo went among the indunas who squatted in front of the regiment and sat down with them. We could see that there was excitement among the black warriors when he was seen and recognised. We could even catch occasional exclamations, when loudly uttered. These mostly consisted of the one word, Umkopo. Men seemed to be going from group to group conveying the news that the White Witch had appeared.
The indunas and their visitor rose to their feet, presently, having, I suppose, concluded their arguments, but one man seemed still to be engaged in heated conversation with Umkopo. Suddenly a shot rang out, and the man fell.
With one accord the Matabele hosts sprang to their feet; they gazed for a moment at Umkopo, who seemed to give some order in raised tones, his arms outstretched. Almost instantly the entire regiment turned their faces and began to depart. First they walked, then ambled, then gradually they formed into lines and trotted in their former rhythmical fashion. In five minutes all were out of sight, Umkopo alone being left upon the field of battle—he and the dead induna.
Umkopo returned slowly towards my waggon; his dignity—'side' would be a more exact description—was indescribable; at any other moment it would have been actually amusing, but at this crisis I had no room for any feeling excepting one of deep gratitude, mingled with amazement. The lad had certainly saved us from immediate destruction—how in the world had he done it?
I met him and we shook hands. 'Umkopo, you are a wonderful fellow,' I said, most sincerely; 'how did you do it?—what did you say?—what is the meaning of it?'
'The meaning?' he repeated. 'The meaning is that I am Umkopo; let him disobey me who dares. There are few of the Matabeles who dare. One there was; I knew him before, the induna Gongula: he was jealous of Umkopo; he dared not once, not twice, only to speak in my face—see where he lies; the rest have gone; they will not return.'
'But why do they obey—what is your power over them?' I asked, in genuine surprise; 'I do not understand.'
'Bah!' he said, 'what matters? You are alive and not dead; that is better than to understand. I am the White Witch—it is enough!'
'No, it is not enough,' said I. 'You have saved our lives, Umkopo; you have saved mine a second time to-day; how shall I repay you?'
'Bah! we are friends, that is enough. Where do you go? To your death, that is certain, unless I know in time.'
'I go to Gadsby's farm—a day's journey north and west,' said I. 'Is the country clear between?'
'It is clear to-day. I know Gadsby's farm. It will be attacked presently, like others. If he has not yet gone when you get up there, tell him not to go until Umkopo comes. I cannot be everywhere. Where I am, they dare not touch the men of my race.'
'Have you now discovered for certain that you are English?' I asked.
'Since we met I have learned many things,' he said. Then, before I knew that he meant to leave us, he was in the river and half-way across.
Before long he disappeared in the jungle, which grew almost to the water's edge on the far side of the river.
We lost no further time, but found a shallow place, crossed the river, and trekked onward towards Gadsby's as quickly as possible. We reached the farm before dusk.
Here we found that the Gadsbys had had warning of the danger, and had conveyed the news to farms to right and left of their own. Within the house were assembled Gadsby and his family, his partner, two young bachelors, Morrison by name, from an adjacent property, twelve miles away, and a second family of children, with their parents, from a farm still further away from Bulawayo. They had thrown themselves into Gadsby's large house for mutual protection.
I was received with joy. My rifles and ammunition would be of the greatest service, for Gadsby and his brave companions fully intended to defend the house, and even had hopes of doing so successfully, until relief should arrive from Bulawayo, which, they were sanguine, would come in good time.
This being the case, an extra man, well armed and a pretty fair shot (spare my blushes) was a distinct acquisition.
I found every man in the place busily engaged, some in cutting down and removing everything within two hundred yards of the house which could serve the Matabeles for cover. Others were busy boarding up the windows, and some Kaffirs were saturating the lower portion of the house with a hose, in order that any attempt to set fire to it might be frustrated.
(Concluded on page226.)
BROTHER, do tell me,' a little ant said,'What was it went flying just over my head?'Twas caught in the sunbeam that pierces the yew;Its colours were crimson, black, orange and blue.It looked like a flag that the fairies might flyIf leading an army from here to the sky.And out of the shadow it came from the laneTo flit through the light into shadow again.O brother! dear brother! what could it have been?Such colours, such beauty, I seldom have seen.Look! there in the distance it flutters once more,Now right and now left by the summer-house door.'And like one bewitched he set off at a bound,Though jungles of grasses grew thickly around.'Heed not,' cried the other, 'so simple a thing;'Tis nothing on earth but a butterfly's wing.They flit through the garden all hours of the day,They turn to each bud in a purposeless way,And many a time have they halted to seeWhat fun could be made of my neighbours and me.But who cares for them? On their way let them go.When the summer has passed they have nothing to show,While one of our efforts more profit will bringThan ten thousand strokes of a butterfly's wing.Come! back to our work.'And without more adoHe dug 'neath the soil where an artichoke grew.The little ant followed, and though I must sayHe worked in a rather preoccupied way,He owned that to duty 'twas better to clingThan follow the flight of a butterfly's wing.
ORA and Nellie were on a visit to their grandfather, and, as Nellie said, they might be having a lovely time if it were not for 'those horrid boys.'
'I wish Grandfather would not ask us all at the same time,' sighed Nellie. 'It quite spoils our fun.'
But Grandfather thought it was a good thing for the cousins to meet, though Tom and Frank were a few years older than Dora and Nellie. The two little girls would have thoroughly enjoyed their yearly visit to Grandfather's, if it had not been for Tom and Frank's unmerciful teasing. They could never play a peaceful game together without the dread of being discovered; but this particular afternoon they had taken their dolls to a new hiding-place, an old loft full of hay.
'Anyway, the boys won't dare to tease us much after what Grandfather said this morning,' Dora remarked.
'No, they would be miserable if they couldn't go to the circus, said Nellie. 'I'm very glad Grandfather heard them. Now he knows what they are like, and Tom will have to be more careful.'
'Doesn't Arabella look lovely? said Dora, who had just dressed her best doll in new clothes.
'Make haste, Nellie, we shall have to go and get ready ourselves very soon.'
Just at that moment the boys' voices were heard in the stable below, and the children stared at each other, dismayed.
'Come on, Frank, let's climb the ladder—I've never been up here before,' and Dora scarcely had time to bury Arabella under a handful of hay before Tom's head appeared.
'Hullo! here are the girls with their silly dolls. Let me have a doll to play with,' and he caught hold of one roughly.
'You had better leave them alone, Tom, if you don't want to get into any more rows,' Frank said, and the little girls begged them to go away.
'This is a jolly place! Come on, Frank, I will bury you in the hay,' and Tom snatched up an armful.
But there was something in the hay he had picked up. Dora gave a loud cry as she saw her beautiful Arabella flung into the air and through the trapdoor opening into the stable below. In her haste to get down and pick up her poor doll, she herself slipped and fell on the hard floor. By the time Nellie and the boys had scrambled down, she was weeping bitterly, not over her own hurts, but over Arabella's smashed face, and she took no notice of Tom when he declared again and again how sorry he was. Of course it had been an accident, but Dora felt too angry and too miserable to forgive him at once.
'Now then, what's all this fuss about? Have you broken that doll, boys?'
It was Grandfather's voice, and he looked very angry as he took in the scene.
No one answered. 'Well, of course,' Grandfather said, 'you boys cannot go to the circus this afternoon, after this. Don't cry over your doll any more, Dora, but run and get ready, and I will buy you a new one.'
But Dora had stopped crying already, and had caught sight of Frank's disappointed face. Now was her moment of revenge; should she take it? She had to decide quickly.
'Please, Grandfather,' she said,'it was an accident. Tom did not mean to do it, and I have quite forgiven him.'
'Oh, in that case, perhaps hemaygo to the circus,' said Grandfather, relenting; he was much too kind-hearted to wish to leave any one at home.
So they all went to the circus, and had a splendid time. The girls forgot their broken dolls, but Tom did not forget Dora's generosity, and he made up his mind to give up teasing them. Indeed, from that day they were all good friends, and Dora and Nellie agreed, when they went home, that their cousins were very nice boys, after all.
"'Let me have a doll to play with.'""'Let me have a doll to play with.'"
"The African beauty was greatly taken with Lauder.""The African beauty was greatly taken with Lauder."
We have mentioned the two companions who accompanied Major Denham to Kouka, and were left there while he made his campaign with the Sultan's army. But Lieutenant, afterwards Captain, Hugh Clapperton is far too delightful and interesting a person to be dismissed with so little notice. Before he joined Major Denham he had managed to get into his thirty-four years adventures enough to fill a volume, and after returning with the Major to England and contributing his part to the story of the expedition, we find him starting again, six months later, with Captain Pearce and Dr. Morrison as his companions, from Badagry, on the Bight of Benin, on the West Coast of Africa. But the deadly climate soon diminished the little party. It was only three weeks before Clapperton had to read the burial service over the graves of his two comrades, and found himself left to carry on their work, with his young servant, Richard Lauder, as his only companion.
But Clapperton was not the man to turn back from any task to which he had set his hand, and in Lauder he had a colleague ready to follow him through thick and thin. The two were as unlike in appearance as they could well be: Clapperton was six feet high and broad in proportion, a strong, genial, simple-hearted sailor, with a love of fun which must have helped him through many a dark day; and Lauder was small and slim, less robust, and probably less light-hearted than his master, but with a passion for change and adventure which had drawn him from his Cornish home, against the advice of friends and kindred, to volunteer for the expedition. And in Captain Clapperton he found a hero to match with any of those whose stories had delighted his boyhood. It is from him that we have the history of their journey together, and every page is full of loving admiration for the master whose courage no danger or suffering could daunt, and who was yet full of thought and consideration for his companion, carrying him on his back across the rivers when he was too weak to ford them on foot, and writing continually to cheer him when obliged to leave him behind to rest and recover. There are records of hair-breadth escapes, of suffering and homesickness and parting, as in most stories of African travel, but this tale has to do with laughter instead of tears.
The travellers halted for some time at a place called Wow-Wow, where the King, Mohammed, was friendly to them. There lived there a certain widow named Lyuma, or 'Honey,' very rich, and, according to Wow-Wow taste very handsome, though her portly figure, her hair dyed blue, and hands stained red and yellow, and the crimson teeth which gave the finishing touch, might not have been admired in England.
This great lady soon made friendly overtures to the two Englishmen, calling every day at the hut they occupied, arrayed in gorgeous garments of striped silk, and glistening with beads and ornaments. Great was the amusement of the jovial Captain when he discovered that the African beauty was greatly taken with Lauder, and most unmercifully did he chaff them both as he sat, puffing at his pipe, at the hut door, much to the confusion of the shy young Cornishman and the delight of the lady, Lyuma, who took all his remarks seriously. Poor Lauder at last got so alarmed that he called upon her, and solemnly informed her that he could not make up his mind to an African wife.
The beautiful Lyuma, however, was not at all disconcerted, but at once turned her attentions from Richard to his master, whom she tried to dazzle by the magnificence of her jewels and the number of her slaves. The Captain, fairly punished for his teasing, decided to pay a short visit to the neighbouring King of Boussa, whom he wished to conciliate, and left Lauder at Wow-Wow in charge of his luggage. But no sooner did Lyuma hear of his departure than she set off in pursuit, splendidly arrayed in red, with scarlet morocco leather boots, and attended by a body of slaves, who cheered the way by discordant music. She looked in before starting to bid good-bye to Lauder, who may well have laughed at this turning of the tables upon his master.
But the affair soon took a more serious turn, for King Mohammed, summoning Lauder to his presence, sternly informed him that his master and the lady Lyuma were plotting rebellion, and that he himself and the Captain's luggage would be detained at the King's pleasure. Richard found remonstrances and explanations of no avail; and, feeling that Clapperton must be warned of the King's suspicions, he managed to escape from his guards and hastened with all speed to Boussa. Here he was met by the news that the Captain had already started on his return journey by another route, still followed by the admiring Lyuma. The King and Queen of Boussa received Lauder with the greatest kindness; indeed, the Queen was so much touched by his pleasant manners and weak look (for he had but just recovered from fever), that she asked anxiously whether his mother were living, and sighed when he answered 'No,' because he had no one to watch and wait for him in far-away England. And when the weary young Englishman, in spite of desperate efforts to be polite, dropped asleep in the royal presence, the sovereigns, with courtesy which would have done honour to a more civilised Court, quietly withdrew, sending him a message that he must stay long with them and rest well.
But Lauder was anxious to rejoin his master, and, hurrying back to Wow-Wow, reached it just as Clapperton, who had outdistanced his fair pursuer, arrived there himself. The gallant Captain, hearing of his loss of favour, took the bull by the horns and went at once to the King. He quite disarmed that angry monarch by his frank greeting and assurances that he had not seen such a handsome face since his departure as that of the sovereign of Wow-Wow; but Mohammed, to make all sure, refused to allow the Captain to proceed on his travels until Lyuma was safely under supervision. So that the lady, when she arrived, found herself obliged to submit to the royal authority and stay quietly at home, while the Captain and Lauder, by no means sorry to escape, bade farewell to Mohammed, and left the poor beauty to find a husband among the gentlemen of Wow-Wow.
We might end the story there, with a laugh over poor Lyuma's disappointment, for the rest of the tale that Lauder has to tell is sad.
For weeks the two explorers were delayed by tribal wars, and the long inaction in the deadly climate broke down even Clapperton's hopeful spirit. When they sat together in the evenings at the door of their hut, and Lauder sang the old Scottish songs that had been familiar to his master as a child, the foreboding seems to have fallen upon the Captain that he would never tread his native hills again. He fell ill of the sickness that had claimed so many victims, and gave his papers and instructions, with business-like calmness, to his 'dear boy,' as he called the young servant, who tended him with the devotion of a son. The man who had before bidden Lauder never to forget his prayers knew where to turn for help when his own splendid strength and energy could avail him no more. But sorely desolate Richard Lauder must have felt, when he laid the British flag over the body of him who had been master and comrade in one, and, with broken voice, read the Burial Service, with its words of faith and hope, over the lonely grave.
He himself returned safely to England, and has left us the portrait of the man he served, the portrait of a brave, kindly Christian gentleman, one of the most gallant of the army of pioneers who have heard the 'everlasting whisper' which calls men into unknown lands.
N the 10th of September, 1806, died Charles James Fox, a man of such talents that perhaps his age did not produce his equal. He was born in 1749, and was the second son of Lord Holland, who spoilt his child by letting him have his own way in everything. At nine years of age, Charles was in the habit of reading his father's dispatches, Lord Holland being then a Secretary of State; and one day Charles crumpled up the dispatch, saying calmly, 'Too feeble!' and threw the paper into the fire. Lord Holland, far from rebuking him, merely re-wrote the dispatch.
Perhaps no child ever received so bad an education from his father as did Charles James Fox. The result was that Charles grew up into a most confirmed gamester, losing immense sums at cards and on the turf.
He was always extreme in all he undertook. Asa young man at college, he walked fifty-six miles in one day for a wager, and, when in Ireland, swam twice round the Devil's Punch-bowl, at Killarney. In dress, too, he was always noticeable—at first as a great dandy and a member of the famous 'Maccaroni' clique, who wore red-heeled shoes, carried muffs, and seemed only to live to make themselves talked about; and later on—in the days when he sympathised with the Republican movement in France—Fox affected great simplicity in dress, and at last became such a sloven that he did not even wear clean shirts.
But these were but the foibles of genius, for, notwithstanding all his fast life and many vices, Fox was hardly surpassed as a scholar, an orator, and a linguist; and, as a politician, Pitt himself—a life-long rival—frankly admitted that 'Fox was a magician, who laid a spell upon his hearers as long as the words issued from his lips.'
Once, in 1793, Burke was passionately addressing the House of Commons on the necessity of placing foreigners, who were then flocking into our country from France, under strict police supervision. It was the time of the French Revolution, and Fox, though regretting the crimes then committed, was yet in favour of the Republican Government for that country, as offering greater freedom, and was very firm against declaring war with France.
Burke, however, went on to declare that these foreigners would soon infect Great Britain with their revolutionary ideas, and (hoping to produce a startling effect) he finally drew a dagger from his bosom, and flung it on the floor of the House, saying: 'That is what you are to expect from an alliance with France!'
For a moment the House was startled, but Fox, with a readiness that never failed him, turned towards his opponent with a mocking smile, and, pointing to the dagger, said jestingly: 'The Honourable Member has given us the knife; will he kindly favour us with the fork?'
The House burst into peals of laughter, and the incident, which Burke meant to be so solemn, ended in making him a laughing-stock.
Perhaps the last years of Fox were his best years; he settled down and married, living very happily with his wife, and taking great delight in gardening.
On the death of Pitt, Fox was chosen a member of the 'Ministry of all the Talents,' but he did not survive his great rival by many months. He was a dying man when he made his last supreme effort to address the House on the suppression of the Slave Trade.
'If,' said the dying statesman, 'if this Bill becomes law, and I had done that, and that only, I could retire from public life with comfort, feeling I had done my duty.' He was never again able to leave his room, but his friends did not realise that his end was so near.
One nobleman called on him, and said he was making up a party for Christmas, and hoped he might have the honour of including Fox amongst his guests. 'It will be a new scene, sir, and I think you will approve,' he said, persuasively.
'I shall indeed be in a new scene by Christmas,' said Fox, quietly, and then he went on, 'My lord,what do you think of the immortality of the soul?'
The nobleman hardly knew what answer to make, and Fox continued, calmly: 'I shall know by next Christmas.'
A few days later he was dead, and, after a most imposing funeral, his body was laid to rest in Westminster Abbey, but eighteen inches from the spot where, but a few months before, had been laid the body of his great rival, Pitt.
MONGST the weapons used in early English times, there was hardly one so deadly and effectual as the crossbow. It is not familiar to us now, being different from the ordinary bow and arrow, which we still see sometimes. It gets its name because it has the appearance of a cross, and is a very interesting old weapon, for with its trigger and spring it led to the invention of the musket.
Loading a Military Crossbow.Loading a Military Crossbow.
Crossbow and Arrows used for Sport.Crossbow and Arrows used for Sport.
The Normans used the crossbow, and had also a sort of machine, not unlike it, that threw out showers of arrows, or even stones.
Another name for the crossbow was 'arbalist,' and its arrows were called quarils, or bolts. These were made of various sorts of wood; about a dozen trees were used for the purpose, but ash-wood was thought to be the best. Generally the arrows had a tip of iron, shaped like a pyramid, pointed, though for shooting at birds the top was sometimes blunt, so that a bird might be struck down without being badly wounded. One old writer says that a great difference between the long-bow and the crossbow was, that success did not depend upon who pulled the lock—a child might do this as well as a man—but with the long-bow strength was everything. In fact, during the Tudor times, the kings specially encouraged the archers to practise shooting with the long-bow, and people were even forbidden to keep crossbows. The crossbow, however, when it had reached perfection, carried much further than the ordinary long-bow.
The crossbow is said to have been invented in Italy, but it seems that the Saxons had this bow, though it was not used much until long after, when the Normans came over. According to an old tradition, it was by a bolt from a crossbow that King Harold received a fatal wound at the Battle ofHastings, For some reason or other crossbows were condemned by a Council in 1139, and Christians were forbidden to use them, but during the wars with the Saracens they were again made serviceable, by command of King Richard I. Strange to say, Richard himself was killed, we are told, by a bolt shot from the ramparts of the Castle of Chaluz, which he was besieging.
A Contest with the Longbow.A Contest with the Longbow.
The pay of a crossbowman in the reign of Edward II. was sixpence a day, probably equal to three or four shillings of our money. There are old houses in England where crossbows are still to be seen; one among them is said to have been Robin Hood's. During England's wars with France the bow was an important weapon. At the famous Battle of Cressy the English had about three thousand archers, mostly armed with long-bows; the French had arbalists, or crossbows, and, on the whole, they were less successful, as, again, at Agincourt. During the reign of Elizabeth, however, the crossbow was once more popular, owing to an improved kind being invented in Holland. It then became the chief weapon of the Artillery Company of London, which still exists.
MOTHER,' cried a little mouse,Hurrying down the cellar stairs,'As I was coming through the houseI met the kitten unawares.'And as I passed she called to me:"Come back! come back! I've much to tell.And most delighted I shall beIf your mamma would come as well."'So mother, let us hurry,do!To keep her waiting would be rude:And askingme, as well as you,I think was very kind and good.'But mother mouse with terror cried—Her eyes were round, her cheeks were pale,And leaping to her baby's sideShe held him by the paw and tail.'No, no!' said she; 'you must not go!You should not trust a kitten's word.Her claws are sharp: she is our foe—The direful foe of mouse and bird.'But when an hour had passed away,The baby mouse said soft and low:'I wonder what she had to say?I'll just creep out and ask her now.'And heedless of his mother's call,In self-opinion sadly vain,He met the kitten in the hall—And never more came back again.
A soldier in the American army was the terror of his company. He was disobedient, quarrelsome, and vicious. As a result he was often punished, but there was no reformation. In due time a captain from another regiment was placed in command of that company, and was informed of the bad character of this soldier. Very soon the man broke out, was arrested, and brought before the captain. He looked at him for a moment, and, speaking to the sergeant, said, 'Let him go to his quarters.'
'Shall I keep him under guard?' inquired the sergeant.
'Oh, no,' said the captain, quietly.
That evening the captain called his sergeant, and said: 'Go down to Blank's quarters and tell him to come up to my tent; I wish to see him.'
'Shall I bring him up under guard?' asked the sergeant.
'No,' said the captain. 'Just tell him to come.'
In due time the soldier stood inside the captain's tent, cap in hand.
'Take a seat,' said the captain.
The soldier obeyed, but all the time looked defiance. The captain inquired of his home and his relations, and then said: 'I have heard all about you, and thought I would like to see you privately, and talk with you. You have been punished often—most times, no doubt, justly, but perhaps sometimes unjustly. But I see in you the making of a first-class soldier—just the kind of a man that I would like to have a whole company of. Now, if you will obey orders, and behave as a soldier should, and as I know you can, I promise on my honour as a soldier that I will be your friend, and stand by you. I do not want you to destroy yourself.'
With that the soldier's chin began to quiver, and the tears trickled down his cheeks, and he said: 'Captain, you are the first man to speak a kind word to me in two years, and for your sake I will do it.'
'Give me your hand on that, my brave fellow,' said the captain. 'I will trust you.'
And from that day on there was not a better soldier in the army.
The Imperial House of Japan owns three symbols which are carried before the Emperor on all state occasions. These symbols are the Mirror, the Crystal, and the Sword, and each has its own significance. The mirror signifies 'know thyself;' 'be pure and shine,' is the message of the crystal; whilst the sword is a reminder to 'be sharp.'
Two friends while driving past a field of young grain observed a number of pheasants together, a couple of the male birds being engaged in a fight. A little way off they also saw a fine hare, which seemed to be an interested spectator of the battle.
The hare, to the astonishment of the spectators, began to hop towards the pheasants, and when a few yards off, charged them full with fore feet and head. One of the cocks sneaked off, but the other tackled the hare, and for a few seconds fought gamely, flying up and striking at the hare's head with beak and spur, the hare in return butting with his head. The fur, however, proved too much for the feather, and in the long run the pheasant had to retreat in an exhausted condition.
That the cock pheasants should have a sparring match is nothing unusual, but that the hare should interfere in the quarrel is not easily to be explained. Can any readers ofChatterboxwho live in the country explain this strange scene?
British Isles.
1.—50, tears, e, 100.A Warwickshire market town.2.—100, war, 1000, 50, bee, 50.A South London parliamentary borough.3.—500, run, in, fee, 1000, 50.A city of Fife.4.—100, no, 500, tears.A town in Yorkshire.5.—500, u, yes, r, 50.A town in Gloucestershire, near the Cotswold Hills.6.—1000, 500, 50, 500, 10, I see.A county in England.
C. J. B.
[Answers on page254.]
7.—1. Macaroni.2. Caviare.3. Sauerkraut.4. Welsh rabbit.5. Chocolate cream.
(Continued from page203.)
Looking back before passing through the gap in the scrub, Jack saw his mother was toiling very slowly up the shingle, as if the rolling stones and steep incline were a little too much for her rheumatic limbs. It gave him a pang to think how much better she had managed this same ascent before the severe nursing of the past three months.
'I must get back and help her,' he said to Estelle. 'The climb is a bit stiff for her now; so you won't mind if I just run up and put you down in the kitchen as quickly as possible?'
Estelle begged to be allowed to walk up, but of this he would not hear. His long legs soon brought them to the cave-door, where, unwinding the child from the folds of the rugs, he threw the cushions down, telling her to lie on the couch and rest. Then he ran off to his mother's assistance. More tired than she could have thought possible after her taste of fresh air, Estelle waited anxiously for Mrs. Wright and Jack, fearing some accident; but before long she heard their voices. Presently Jack appeared with his mother in his arms.
'I never thought he could do it. I am so heavy now,' said Mrs. Wright, half laughing, half crying, 'But he wouldn't take "no." It might not be a word in the dictionary for aught he cared. Was there ever the likes of him?' she added, looking up proudly into the strong face of her son. 'And he does not seem a bit puffed or blowed by the weight of me, does he, dearie?'
Jack, however, had disappeared to attend to his boat. Estelle thought she had never seen any one so strong in all her life, or so good or so nice. Mrs. Wright said but little more, however, and as usual ended her praises with a sigh.
'Why do you do that?' asked Estelle, wondering how shecouldsigh after Jack's kindness had pleased her so much.
'What did I do, dearie?' demanded Mrs. Wright, sitting down on the settle, and removing her huge black bonnet to fan herself with it.
'You always sigh when you speak of poor Jack! He is so good and kind. Is he going to die?' she asked, distressed.
'Heaven forbid!' cried Mrs. Wright, aghast. 'Why, what are you thinking of, child? My Jack die!'
'Why are you always so sad about him if he is not going to die?'
Mrs. Wright was unusually moved. Instead of answering, she hastily collected all the walking things, and carried them off to her room. Much astonished, as well as conscious that she had asked an unwise question, which must have sounded like prying, Estelle, in distress, ran into the bedroom.
Mrs. Wright was on her knees at the bedside, sobbing as she murmured her prayers for her 'dear boy.'
Horrified and startled, Estelle slipped away again without disturbing her, taking refuge among the cushions of the couch. Here she cried hysterically till she suddenly found herself lifted bodily up in Jack's powerful arms.
'Worn out, little Missie?' he asked, softly. 'It was too long for a first trip.'
'No, it is not that, you dear, kind Jack!' she sobbed. 'But I have made Mrs. Wright angry with me, and I didn't mean to—indeed, I didn't.'
'Angry!' returned Jack, surprised. 'Mother has not been angry for years, that I know of. I can't just believe that, Missie. Let's come and see what it's all about.'
'Oh, no!' cried Estelle, shocked at the idea. 'She is crying, and saying her prayers, and they are all for you.'
Jack's face flushed suddenly into a deep red.
'Oh!' he said in a peculiar tone. Estelle thought it sounded as if he were too sorry for words. He did not again offer to take her to his mother.
'I am sorry. I did not know I should hurt her, or I would never have asked her—— ' cried Estelle,looking up in surprise and dismay at the change in his face.
Putting her down, Jack arranged her couch more comfortably. She had tossed all the cushions into a heap in her agitation, and while replacing them he said quietly: 'You have made a mistake, Missie. Mother is not angry with you. She is sorry for me; I have not been what I ought, after all her love and good training. I will go to her now, and she will soon be all right. Poor Mother!' he ended, with a sigh like his mother's.
Before he had time, however, to get to the bedroom, Mrs. Wright appeared, and returned his look of anxiety by stretching up to give him a kiss. Estelle was glad to see how loving was the meeting. Neither said a word on the subject of their trouble. The understanding between them was too complete. Mrs. Wright put her arms round Estelle, and kissing her affectionately, said, 'Forgive me, dearie; I am tired and a little upset. It is so long since I have been out, and walked up that steep path, that it seems to have knocked me over. We will just have a cup of tea, and that will make us all bright and cheerful again.'
Estelle began to speak, but her old friend would not allow her to finish her sentence. The subject was over, and she bustled about preparing the meal, and chatting about the sea and the French sea-folk. Jack had left the room, and did not appear again till Estelle was in bed. Then she heard him say, as he wished his mother good-night, 'The past is past, and can't be undone. The future is in our hands, and it won't be my fault if I don't do my best to redeem it. Perhaps some day atonement may be possible.'
Being half asleep Estelle did not catch the reply. Tired out with the afternoon's expedition and the excitement following it, she slept more soundly than she had done since her illness. Morning found her more lively and vigorous than usual, and with a better colour in her face. The cloud her unfortunate question had occasioned appeared to have cleared off. Perhaps Jack was more quiet, as if some of his joyousness had gone; but no one but sensitive Estelle would have noticed anything amiss. Mrs. Wright was as cheerful as ever, as kind and careful towards her little girl, and even more tenderly loving to Jack.
The day was bright and clear, the weather spring-like, as Jack had promised. Taking advantage of it was the best medicine and tonic that Estelle could have. The trips in the boat became longer, and very soon there was even a talk of a walk in the village, which Estelle much wished to see.
This desire was greatly increased when one afternoon, on returning from their boating, she found 'la mère Bricolin,' as she was called, sitting with Mrs. Wright. Madame Bricolin was housekeeper to M. le Curé, and held herself a little above the fisher-folk, rarely stopping to gossip with them. But Mrs. Wright was different—as different as Jack was from the men with whom he went out to ply the nets.
'What do you say, dearie?' cried Mrs Wright, as Estelle entered the room. 'Here's Mère Bricolin telling me the great fair is to come off next week.'
(Continued on page222.)