The Great Spring-Board Act.—By the Entire Company.THE GREAT SPRING-BOARD ACT.—BY THE ENTIRE COMPANY.
In tracing back our letters, we now have reached Chalkis, where the Phœnicians under Kadmus taught the Greeks their letters. A funny thing occurred to the wise men who ferreted out all these facts. They could read Greek, and they could read Hebrew, and the strange likeness between many of the names for the letters in the two languages made it certain that in some way they were related or connected. But what meant those letters on rocks, metal vases, and earthenware jars that we now call Phœnician? Single letters looked like Greek letters distorted; but the words would not read as Greek. Nor would they read as Hebrew, although the characters appeared to have some connection with Hebrew. Greek is written like our writing, from left to right; but Hebrew, Arabic, and Persian are written from right to left. So, in those languages a book begins where our books end. It was found, too, that the Hebrew writing now in use is very different externally from that used by David and Solomon, although the names and general shape of the letters are the same. Have you ever seen a Hebrew Bible? The alphabet in which the Old Testament was originally written looked very different from that which the Jews now use in their Bibles; it was much nearer the Phœnician in appearance.
For a long time it never dawned on men's minds that perhaps the Phœnician way of writing, from right to left, was not followed by the Greeks; but at last they remembered that in very early times the lines of Greek writing were made to read alternately from right to left and from left to right. Such inscriptions were calledboustrephédon("turning like oxen in plowing"), because the letters had to be read as the oxen move from furrow to furrow in the field that they plow, first one way, then the other. That gave the needed clew.
After all, if we do not connect letters one to the other, as in running handwriting, does it make much difference whether we set the separate letters down in a sequence which begins at theright and ends at the left, or in one that begins at the left and ends at the right? Some nations, like the Chinese and Tartars, find it convenient to write signsundereach other. The Egyptians used to write in at least three several directions, namely, downwards, from right to left, and from left to right. Generally one can tell how to read hieroglyphs in Egyptian and Mexican manuscripts by noting the direction of the faces of animals and persons pictured, and then reading in the opposite direction. Sometimes Egyptian hieroglyphs were engraved one upon the other, like a monogram.
Well, putting some or all of these facts together, it suddenly flashed on some one that the oldest Greek letters might be nothing more or less than the Phœnician letters turned the other way. And when they came to examine the very oldest Greek inscriptions to be found, they discovered that this was the main difference between the two! The Greeks had borrowed the Phœnician letters and merely added some new characters to express sounds peculiar to their own tongue and neglected others that were of no service.
It was this alphabet that the Greek-Phœnicians brought to Italy. When, centuries later, Latins and Sabines and Etruscans and Oscans, banded together and formed the great city of Rome, it was this alphabet they inherited from their forefathers. Several of the letters which the Etruscans thought necessary to express sounds in their language, were dropped before the Romans came to power and produced their great poets and essayists.
So, now you know how the alphabet came to you, which the Irish monks taught our heathen forefathers. It came through the Latins from the people of Bœotia, or Greeks, who learned it from the Phœnicians.
But that great mercantile people, the Phœnicians, also left to the nations near their old home in Palestine, the same precious gift of an alphabet. Very old inscriptions in Hebrew, lately found, are seen to be written in almost the same alphabet as the Phœnician. Perhaps you are beginning to wonder how many peoples there are who owe their letters to that old sea-folk who were the traders, pirates, and buccaneers of the Mediterranean! There is the Hebrew, which people have called the alphabet of God, because the Holy Scriptures were written in it, and which was also used by magicians for their amulets and talismans; there is the Greek, in which the epics of Homer, the long poems of Hesiod, and the rhapsodies of Pindar were taken down; there is the Latin, in which all the wisdom of the ancients reached us; and there are all the differing alphabets, printed characters, and script handwritings of Europe and America! In fact, I could not tell you here, so numerous are they, the names of all the languages in Asia, Africa, Europe, and America, that were and are written in some alphabet, which traces its descent from the twenty-two Phœnician letters.
The connection between Greek and Phœnician is much easier to believe than that Arabic, a sentence of which you see here represented, should be also a writing derived from the Phœnician. Arabic letters are used by so large a portion of the inhabitants of the earth that it stands second among the great national, or rather, the great religious alphabets of the world. Some of you know, I suppose, that Mohammed was a very wise and imaginative Arab of an important though poor tribe of Arabia Felix. He was a great poet and statesman; he had visions and called himself the Prophet of God. He wrote the Koran, which is used by an immense multitude of men as their only law-book and Bible. The dialect which he and his clan used became, through the spread of his doctrines, the standard, first for all Arabia, and then for all the enormous countries a hundred times larger than Arabia which his disciples and their followers won by force of arms.
This Arabic sentence is a famous inscription upon the colonnade of one of the great mosques at Jerusalem. The mosque is known as the "Dome of the Rock," and it is thought to stand upon a portion of the site of the great Jewish Temple. This inscription is placed near the great southern door of the mosque. It is in one continuous line, however, instead of two as represented in this fac-simile. It reads from right to left, and is thus translated: "This dome was built by the servant of God, Abd [allah-el-Imam-al-Mamûn, E] mir of the Faithful, in the year seventy-two. May God be well pleased, and be satisfied with him. Amen."
Of course the alphabet he used did not spring up suddenly. It was handed down from the early times of the Phœnicians, and gradually became so changed in most of the letters that you would hardly believe they had ever been the same as the Phœnician letters. Writers of itwere so careless, or so proud of being able to read and write when the mass of their neighbors were ignorant, that, neglectfully or intentionally, they allowed many letters to become almost like one another. In the Arabic, Turkish, and Persian languages, it is hard to tell a number of the letters apart. In order to distinguish them, later writers devised a set of dots, like the dot over our small i. The same difficulty occurred among the Hebrews, whose wise men seemed to enjoy making writing hard to write and to read. Another reason why Arabic is hard to make out is because many of the letters change their forms according as they stand alone (unconnected), or stand at the beginning of a word (initial), or in between two other letters (connected) or at the end of a word (final). Think of having to distinguish the same letter under four different forms! What a bother to the children of the Arabs, Turks, and Persians as they sit tailor-fashion, or kneel patiently on the floor, their shoes left outside the threshold, while the school-master flourishes his rod over their puzzled noddles, or raps the soles of their tired little feet!
Now Arabic letters and Hebrew, too, if you try to trace them back to Phœnician, are found to have passed through the hands of a people who occupied the high lands of Asia Minor, where the two great "rivers of Babylon," the Euphrates and the Tigris, begin to run their course. This land was called Aram and the ancient language spoken there, the Aramaic. Between Phœnician and Aramaic the connection is close. The Aramaic took the place of the Phœnician language, when the Phœnicians were edged out of Palestine westward over the Mediterranean. So we see that Arabic, which looks so strange and is so elegant and fantastic when embroidered on banners or traced on tiles or written on the beautiful mulberry-leaf paper of the Orient, really uses, in the main, the same alphabet that looks so plain and simple on the page you are reading!
Persian Sentence.PERSIAN SENTENCE.
Both Phœnician and Aramaic were in all probability spoken and written in Palestine and Aram. It was in Aramaic, too, that the words of Christ and his apostles were spoken; and a few of the actual words are still retained in the New Testament, for example "Talitha cumi," meaning "Maid, arise!" It was probably Aramaic that prevailed also in the great capitals of Mesopotamia, while the rich and haughty kings of Babylonia and Assyria were using on their stone and plaster images and in their queer books of inscribed and baked brick, the writing that is called "cuneiform." It is so called because the letters appear to to be formed of littlecunei, wedges, or nails. "Arrow-headed writing" is another name for it. Look well at this curious writing made by engraving on brick. Several different languages have been written in it.
Specimen of Cuneiform Writing.SPECIMEN OF CUNEIFORM WRITING.
ISix sturdy lads lay curled up in their bedsWhen the Birthday of Freedom had faded to night,With burns on their fingers and pains in their heads,And scarred like the heroes of many a fight.But, strange to relate, as all sleepless they lay,Though ten from the steeple had chimed loud and clear,They sighed: "What a perfectly glorious day!Too bad it can only come once in the year!"
I
Six sturdy lads lay curled up in their bedsWhen the Birthday of Freedom had faded to night,With burns on their fingers and pains in their heads,And scarred like the heroes of many a fight.But, strange to relate, as all sleepless they lay,Though ten from the steeple had chimed loud and clear,They sighed: "What a perfectly glorious day!Too bad it can only come once in the year!"
IIThe six patient mothers, who loved the six boys,Were resting at last, now the daylight was done;For, with the wild racket and riot and noise,No peace had been theirs since the dawn of the sun.And they sighed, as they said in the weariest way(And full cause had they for their feelings, I fear):"This has beensucha terrible, ear-splitting day!How lucky it only comes once in the year!"
II
The six patient mothers, who loved the six boys,Were resting at last, now the daylight was done;For, with the wild racket and riot and noise,No peace had been theirs since the dawn of the sun.And they sighed, as they said in the weariest way(And full cause had they for their feelings, I fear):"This has beensucha terrible, ear-splitting day!How lucky it only comes once in the year!"
The Leopard Brought to Bay by Wild Dogs.THE LEOPARD BROUGHT TO BAY BY WILD DOGS.
Everybody knows the old story of the father who taught his sons to be united by showing them a bundle of sticks. Taken together, the sticks could not be broken; but taken singly, they were snapped in two very quickly.
The wild dogs of South Africa, like the bundle of sticks, furnish an example of the value of unity. A single wild dog is not very formidable, but a pack of wild dogs is the dread of every living creature in the part of Africa where they dwell; and more persevering, savage, and relentless hunters do not exist.
The wild dog has keen scent, quick intelligence, great powers of endurance, and great speed; so that, however swift may be the animal pursued, it has cause to fear this tireless hunter. Indeed, the wild dog never seems to take into consideration the size, strength, or agility of its game. Even the lion, it is said, has learned to dread those small hunters, which seem to have no fear of death, but rush with fierce courage to attack the mighty monarch himself, should he be so unlucky as to become the object of their pursuit.
One traveler tells of having witnessed the pursuit and destruction of a large leopard by a pack of wild dogs. Whether or not the dogs had set out with the intention of capturing the leopard, he could not tell. He saw them start up the great cat in a low jungle. The leopard made no effort at first to fight off its assailants; but, with a series of prodigious springs, sought shelter in the only refuge the plain afforded—a tree which had partially fallen.
There the hunted beast stood, snarling and growling in a manner that would have frightened off any ordinary foe. The savage dogs, however, never hesitated a moment, but with agile leaps ran up the sloping trunk, and gave instant battle to their furious game. One after another, the dogs were hurled back, each stroke of the terrible paw making one foe the less. Yet they continued to throw themselves against the enraged creature, until, wearied by the contest and wounded in fifty places, it fell from the tree; when, still struggling, it was quickly torn to pieces.
It must not be supposed, however, that the wild dog usually prefers as formidable game as the leopard. A sheep-fold is always an attraction too great for the wild dog to pass.
And now, after calling this wild hunter a dog, I shall have to say that it is not a dog at all, but is only a sort of cousin to the dog, and really a nearer relative of the hyena, though it so resembles both animals as to have gained the name of hyena-dog. Its scientific name isLycaon venaticus; and besides the two common names already mentioned, it has half a dozen more.
Being neither dog nor hyena, and yet akin to both, it is one of those strange forms of the animal creation which naturalists call "links." It has four toes, like the hyena, while it has teeth like the dog's.
Some attempts have been made to tame it, so as to gain the use of its wonderful powers of hunting; but none of these efforts have yet been successful, because of the suspicious nature of the animal. It seems to feel that every offer of kindness or familiarity is a menace to its liberty.
T
he theoretic turtle started out to see the toad;He came to a stop at a liberty-pole in the middle of the road."Now how, in the name of the spouting whale," the indignant turtle cried,"Can I climb this perpendicular cliff, and get on the other side?If I only could make a big balloon, I'd lightly over it fly;Or a very long ladder might reach the top, though it does look fearfully high.If a beaver were in my place, he'd gnaw a passage through with his teeth;I can't do that, but I can dig a tunnel and pass beneath."He was digging his tunnel, with might and main, when a dog looked down at the hole."The easiest way, my friend," said he, "is to walk around the pole."
he theoretic turtle started out to see the toad;He came to a stop at a liberty-pole in the middle of the road."Now how, in the name of the spouting whale," the indignant turtle cried,"Can I climb this perpendicular cliff, and get on the other side?If I only could make a big balloon, I'd lightly over it fly;Or a very long ladder might reach the top, though it does look fearfully high.If a beaver were in my place, he'd gnaw a passage through with his teeth;I can't do that, but I can dig a tunnel and pass beneath."He was digging his tunnel, with might and main, when a dog looked down at the hole."The easiest way, my friend," said he, "is to walk around the pole."
There was a gentlemanly raising of hats and a womanly fluttering of skirts at the Ferrises' door. The hats were borne down the dark avenue, and could be seen, occasionally, swinging briskly along under the light of successive lampposts. They were very stylish hats.
The skirts made a soft scurrying sound as they rustled upstairs, and along the dim hall, disappearing into the rooms of their owners. They were very dainty skirts.
Nan closed her door, turned up the gas, stood a moment pouting at herself in the glass, pulled the wilted roses from her belt with an impatient jerk, tossed her pretty evening dress across a chair, exchanged her boots for a pair of slippers, and stole noiselessly into Evelyn's room to talk over the party with that dear sister and Cathy, who was staying with them, as a guest.
She found those two persons waiting for her, while they straightened out the fingers of their long gloves.
"Well, girls," began Nan, seating herself lazily upon the middle of the bed, "there is just one solitary comfort left after an utterly stupid evening like this: you can express your feelings to your dearest friends, and here I am to express!"
"Go on, then," sighed her sister, ruefully examining a stain on her fan; "but don't speak too loud or you will waken the household."
"Oh, you needn't be afraid, Evelyn; I'm not in one of my fire-cracker moods. No, I'm cool; I have the calmness of stern resolve; I speak from that tranquil height which lies beyond emotion!" declaimed Nan, pulling out the hairpins from her artistic coils.
"What notion have you in your busy head now? Hasten to divulge, for it is very late," suggested Cathy.
"Late! who cares? I shall save years of sleep by wasting this midnight's gas!" and Nan showed a gleam of fire in her eye as she gave the pillow a vindictive thump.
"Well," yawned Cathy, "proceed at once"; and forthwith the audience curled itself up on the lounge, regarding the speaker with expectant amusement, while she, after finishing off an intricate pattern in hairpins, thus began:
"Ahem—ladies—the subject of society in general and parties in particular, ladies and gentlemen," waving her hand toward sundry photographs standing about on Evelyn's writing-desk, "has been under consideration for some time.Ergo,Idon't go to another one! So there! That's settled. From this time forth I shall proceed to enjoy life in a rational way."
With this conclusion to her rapid speech, she scattered her design over the bedspread with one destructive finger, and flashed upon her hearers two bright, snapping eyes, showing that she was in earnest, despite her nonsense.
Cathy gasped, while Evelyn exclaimed:
"Why, Nan, what happened? Didn't you have a gay time?"
This remark set Nan off, like a match to powder.
"Gay?Oh, bewilderingly, intensely gay! Yes, it was just that—'gay,' and nothing more. The party was all right, indeed better than most, from a high moral point of view, for my hair staid in curl and my gloves didn't burst; I danced with the most stylish goose in the room; I ate an ice with conceited Tom Lefferts in the conservatory; I opened and shut my fan and smiled and raised my eyebrows the requisite number of times to produce the effect of having a delightful time! Oh—
'I would not pass another such an eve, Though 't were to buy a world of happy days.'"
'I would not pass another such an eve, Though 't were to buy a world of happy days.'"
This vivid speech was uttered in irony so cold that it would have been quite thrilling if Nan hadn't given the pillow another vehement poke in the middle, which made its four corners swell up in stiff remonstrance.
"Goodness!" exclaimed Cathy, with a laugh, "what in the world are you going to do about it, Nan? There is a full supply of nonsense in the world, I admit, but we can't reform the feature of the time, and we must have some fun——"
"Fun!" interrupted Nan hotly. "Who is objecting to fun? Who loves fun better than I? But who has fun at these shows? Did you have a really happy time to-night, Cathy? Own up now. You know that, when the flutter is over, you can't remember one single thing worth remembering. Does it pay?"
"But we can't help it. What are you going to do—turn blue-stocking or prig, Nannie, love?" mildly inquired Evelyn.
"'Prig'—'blue-stocking'—no, I hate the very words," said Nan, adding, "I'm seeking just what you are; the only difference is,I'mgoing to get it and you are not. But go on, sweet children,go on giving your hair extra frizzlings, go on smiling divinely at vapid nothings, and eating numberless plates of cream—it is a noble future to contemplate! But let me tell you, deluded creatures, that you will drag home just so many times neither benefited nor amused, and the last state of all such will be worse than the first. Let us weep!"
The Girls Discuss the Party.THE GIRLS DISCUSS THE PARTY.
And now the poor pillow went flying off upon the floor, while Nan laughed at her own peroration.
Her spell-bound hearers gave two gigantic sighs, while Cathy seized a cologne-bottle to restore Evelyn, who reclined tragically upon the lounge, feigning to be completely overcome.
After they had succeeded in controlling their emotions, Cathy said in a wailing voice:
"Yes, Nan, I have a realizing sense that you are more than half right; for I do believe that, when, after such an evening, I survey my giddy self in the glass, I sigh more often than I smile."
Nan, who was venting her yet unspent spite in braiding her hair into tight little curls, gave her head an emphatic nod and declared her fell intention of findingsome way out of her slough of despond. Then as the last braid dwindled to three hairs, she descended from the platform, and thus concluded:
"Ladies and gentlemen, thanking you for your kind attention, I beg leave to announce that there will be another solemn conclave in regard to this vital subject, on the side veranda, to-morrow morning at ten o'clock. Good-night, you dear old things, you are nearly asleep, and I've wearied you more than did that wretched party. Why, no! Cathy's eyes are wide open! Mercy on us, Cathy thinks she's thinking! Go on, dear, it wont harm you at all."
''Nan Lay in the Hammock Thinking.''"NAN LAY IN THE HAMMOCK THINKING."
With this parting fling, she hopped to the door, holding in her hand one slipper, which she waved tragically, exclaiming, "Farewell, base world!" and was gone.
"What a girl she is!" said Evelyn, as the audience unbent itself. "She didn't give me a chance to agree with or to combat her theories; but, do you know, I am tired of it, too, just as much as Nan is, only she has vigor enough to rebel at the thraldom of her bright, natural self, while I keep on and on from mere inertia."
"Well," said Cathy, slowly winding her watch, "Iwasthinking, as Nan said—but it is one o'clock, and I shall not say another word until to-morrow."
The bell in St. Luke's steeple rang out the stroke for three-quarters after nine in the morning. Nan lay in the hammock, gazing up through the woodbine of the before-mentioned side veranda. The leaves were beginning to turn maroon and russet; but evidently she was not looking at these, for her pretty eyes were taking in a wider angle of light. In truth, there was a deep little wrinkle between her eyebrows, which implied deep thought.
However, as the bell began on its ten strokes, she withdrew her stare from the far, unseen horizon, rolled out of the hammock, came down hard on her two trim boots, stood up straight, and gazed the landscape o'er.
"Not a girl in sight," she said to herself, with an amused laugh; "I believe the silly things are afraid of me; maybe they think I have become one of those reformers—oh me, how shy girls are of acause! Well, anyhow, I have one, or rather abecause, and they must give me a fair hearing, though I must be wiser than a whole collection of serpents." She had reflected thus far, when she espied a blue eye peeping around the corner of the bay-window.
"Oh, Cathy!" she shouted; "oh, you perfidious foe! Come here! Where are the girls?"
Cathy brought the companion eye into view, and finally two other pairs appeared, accompanied by their respective owners, Evelyn carryinga basket of grapes. How merry they were, and how they laughed in that contagious girl-fashion as they encamped about Nan! They made a group charming to behold, and they seemed capable of tossing anybody's blues away as easily as they now threw grape-skins into the sunny air. But they were not remarkable in any respect; they had their full share of graces and defects, of assorted sizes, both of feature and character. No one of them was in the least a heroine; but the group was very like any other group that might have been found in many neighborhoods, on that pleasant September morning.
Bert Mitchell, who was the only addition to the party of the night before, ensconced herself in the hammock with Cathy Drake. The two girls differed from each other in many respects, but were great friends, as is often the case.
Bert, who was never called Bertha, as she declared in extravagant phrase that she "perfectly loathed the name," was tall and cheery, with fine eyes, a mass of brown hair, and a voice a trifle loud. But the girls forgave her that; and whenever she began to speak, they would always listen, assured of hearing something bright. But her most characteristic feature was her hands. They were white and shapely, but she had a curious way of carrying them—as though she had just put them on for the first time, and was trying different effects with them. The girls laughingly cried, "Long may they wave!" and liked her all the same. She had an abundance of settled convictions on every possible subject,—"positive opinions hot at all hours," Cathy's brother Fred said of her,—and she was therefore always in a definite mood, and very good company.
If, as some say, beauty is tested by the ability to wear one's hair combed straight back without being a scarecrow, Cathy, of all the girls, came nearest to being pretty, for she, and she alone, enjoyed the luxury of an even temper during high winds, damp days, and a vacation at the seashore. Her forehead was broad and calm, her eyes were blue and calm, and her mouth was sweet and calm. She was not positive about anything, which greatly irritated her friend Bert, who, indeed, flew into a comical passion one day, over her failure to arouse Cathy. Shaking her, she exclaimed, "Will nothing on earth move you!Doget angry—at something or some one!—at me!—at anything! Haven't you any depths in you? If you have, stir them up!"
Cathy raised her crescent brows, and a faint color crept into her smooth cheek as she quietly said: "Depths don't stir, my dear; and if stirred from the top, they are apt only to get muddy, you know. However, I'd like to accommodate you by getting furiously angry—at you, for instance; this is an inviting opportunity, and I don't know that I ought to miss it—but somehow it doesn't seem worth while." And even the obstreperous Bert was silenced by this covert thrust.
When they all had settled themselves into various cozy attitudes, Bert demanded to know the object of the caucus. "I hope it is something interesting, for nothing but a command from you would have induced me to crawl out this morning," she yawned, as she adjusted a sofa-pillow for her comfort.
Cathy murmured, "Hear! Hear!" but was evidently more absorbed in Evelyn's explanation of a new Kensington stitch.
Nan rapped sharply with the handle of a tennis racquet, and requested order. Then she gave a little cough, tossed the grape-vine over her shoulder, and began:
"Fellow-citizens! I come before you on this auspicious occasion to declare treason—treason to the tyrant commonly called 'polite society.' I've come to the solemn conclusion that it is about time I began to prepare to live."
She was at this point interrupted by a groan, and Bert asked:
"Why, aren't you alive, Nan? I am. Life so far is a great success, and it is all your own fault if you don't think so too. You have all the conveniences for having an uncommonly favored existence, if you onlyinsistedon thinking so."
But Nan retorted: "That's just it—ifone could only think so! Aye, there's the rub. This is the place for tears. Oh, dear!—I can't whip my thoughts into obedience to my will as you can, Bert. I have, as you say, all the so-called 'opportunities' for having a so-called 'fine time,' and when I am old and gray, no one can say that I did not improve them with unflagging diligence. But I don't really enjoy myself, and I don't believe you do either—only you'll never own to it. Now, girls, honor bright, do you honestly think we amount to much? Are we getting the most out of life?"
The impressiveness of the moment was ruined by the arrival of a green grape, plump upon the speaker's nose.
Nan was good-natured enough to laugh with the rest, as she gave it a well-directed aim back at Bert.
At this point Evelyn rescued the meeting from total disorder, by boldly announcing: "Stay, girls! I agree with Nan, so far as I know what she means. Oh, she was sublime last night! I wilted under the heat of her eloquence, and I proclaim myself her humble follower."
At this encouragement, Nan administered asmothering hug to her noble champion; but suddenly she seemed to change her tactics from harangue to intrigue, for, helping herself to a bunch of Dianas, she said languidly:
"Well, the curbed lion of my spirit was rampant last night, for I had a very inane time at that party—or perhaps I ate too much of the lemon streak of my Neapolitan ice; at all events, I was rash enough to declare war to the knife on all inducements from the giddy world again."
"But you will go to the next party as usual," interrupted Bert, as she left the hammock. "You will go every time, my dear; you can't help it; it is inevitable fate; so you'd better calm down and meditate on your next gown."
"Ah, Bert! You've said it now!" almost shouted Nan. "That'sthe very point! Is it 'inevitable fate' that we go on and on? I want something more worth the while. Do be patient with me, and let me lay the case before you as it looks to me. Here we are, every last girl of us out of school, and doing absolutely nothing. What would we think of young men who dawdled about at this rate, contenting themselves with a little dusting, arranging a few flowers, doing a bit of embroidery now and then, and inveryenergetic moments painting a teacup, but chiefly being 'in society,' and not earning one square inch even of their manly clothing? Horrors! I wouldn't recognize such a ninny!"
The silenced audience looked sufficiently awe-struck to encourage Nan to continue.
"Now, are we one whit more to be envied, just because we are girls? Wake up, Bert! And now that I'm awake myself, I think I shall actually blush the next time Father pays me my allowance."
"Well, girls, Nan is in earnest," said Evelyn. "Cathy and I were almost set to thinking by her burning eloquence last night—and I can assure you she has a scheme on foot; so, as a humble champion, I request an expression from the meeting, upon certain points. Firstly, all who agree that the present state of things isn't very satisfying, will please manifest it by holding up the right hand."
Cathy's gold thimble gleamed in the air. Bert was ostensibly asleep, with her head against the pillar, but suddenly she sat erect, and said with great decision:
"I think that you are running your precious heads against a wall—and, I assure you, the wall doesn't mind it in the least. You are in the world, and you would better treat it politely or you will get roundly snubbed in return. As for me, Imustmeet people. Until Nan or some other philosopher offers something enticing,Iremain true to the ship."
"But suppose we do offer something in its place," said Evelyn, who had rolled up her work and stuck her needle through it, as though she were fastening an idea within.
"You are not much of a sinner, so entice away," said Bert, smilingly, folding her hands.
"Well," Evelyn proceeded with a comical drawl, "let's be a club——"
"Oh, I'm clubbed black and blue now!" gasped Bert; "do try again, sweet child!"
"Let's be a club," Evelyn repeated severely, "and let us read, or study, or work, with all the might that is in us."
Meanwhile, the clouds had been clearing from Nan's brow, and now she called out delightedly:
"You are getting 'warm', as we used to say when we played 'hunt the thimble'; you are certainly traveling toward milder climes, Evelyn. Yes, let us do something in earnest—and I know what I'm going to do, too!'
"What? what?" sounded in chorus.
"I'm going—to—earn—my—own—living."
At each emphatic word, Nan bobbed her head in the most decisive manner. "I'm going to seek my fortune, and I'm going to try to lead a genuine existence."
The girls sat stunned, with wide open eyes, till Bert suddenly pounded on the floor with heavy applause, and Evelyn asked breathlessly:
"Why, Nan, has Father failed, or lost anything?"
"No,hehasn't," answered Nan grimly, "but I have. What have I ever done since I was graduated but drift about, vainly trying to amuse myself. Why, girls, we havefuturesbefore us——"
"No, notbeforeus?" laughed Bert with mock incredulity.
But Nan, undisturbed by Bert's interruption, went calmly on:
"Do we wish to belong to that class of helpless women who are aghast and powerless if misfortune overtakes them? Do we wish to depend on others all our lives—even if we have a fair prospect of property of our own" (looking hard at Bert). "Remember that the wheel of Fortune turns once in most lives, andIshouldn't like to be flattened under it!"
The attention of her hearers was suddenly startled by an exclamation from Bert, who stood up, with both hands at her heart, in apparent agony. Recovering, however, with astonishing alacrity, she murmured: "Oh, it is nothing—nothing but a barbed arrow driven home."
And with this mysterious remark, she settled her hat, declared it was dinner-time, and, refusing to explain her unwonted reserve, laughingly tore herself away.
(To be continued.)
O pussies dear,It's very queerThat you wear your fur coats all the year!Mamma, in May,Put hers away.I should think you'd be too warm to play.
O pussies dear,It's very queerThat you wear your fur coats all the year!
Mamma, in May,Put hers away.I should think you'd be too warm to play.
The kelp-gatherers, with their tip-cart and ox-team, had in the meanwhile entered the belt of woods which stretched along the coast, back from the sea. Tall trees rose on both sides of the narrow, sandy road, their tops meeting overhead. There was on the outskirts a scanty undergrowth, which, however, soon disappeared, leaving the open aisles of the forest, with here a brown carpet of pine-needles, and there a patch of bright moss.
The sun was going down. The spots and flickers of wine-colored light vanished from the boughs. The long bars of shadow, cast by the great trunks, became merged in one universal shade, and evening shut down upon the woods.
Soon another sound mingled with that of the wind sweeping through the pines and firs. It was the roar of the sea.
The boys were more quiet now, the solemn scene filling their hearts with quiet joy. The large trees soon gave place to a smaller and thicker growth of spruce and balsam, the boughs of which now and then touched the cart-wheels as they passed. Somewhere in the dim wilderness, a thrush piped his evening song.
"Hark!" said Perce. "I heard something besides a bird. Is somebody calling?"
"A loon," said Moke.
"A loon out on the water," said Poke. "The sea is just off here."
They soon had glimpses of it through openings among the trees. But now the sound of it became louder; the woods, too, moaned like another sea in the wind, and the cries were no longer heard.
They came out upon a spot of low grassy ground behind the sand-hills. There was a fresh-water pool near by. Perce thought it a good place for the oxen; and he turned them out on the road-side. Mrs. Murcher's boarding-house was in sight.
"Suppose I run up there and find Olly before it gets any darker," said Perce. "You can beunhitching the steers from the cart, and getting 'em around in a good place to feed. Fasten 'em to the cart-wheel by this rope; tie it in the ring of the yoke. Let 'em drink first."
"All right," said the twins. "Go ahead."
And off Perce ran to summon his friend to their festivities.
The twins turned the cattle into the grass, and then began to make things ready for their camp and supper; keeping up all the time an incessant dialogue, which prevented them from hearing again the cries of the supposed loon, growing fainter and fainter on the distant waves.
Neither did Perce hear them as he hastened along the path in the gloomy hollow, and mounted the piazza steps. In the hall-door of the boarding-house, he was met by a tall girl of seventeen, with a fine brunette complexion, piercing dark eyes, and a high, thin, Roman nose.
Overawed a little by her rather imposing style of dress and features, Perce took off his cap, and begging her pardon, inquired for Oliver Burdeen.
"Burdeen? Oliver?" she queried. "Oh!" with a pleasant smile, "you mean Olly!"
"Yes," he replied. "We all call him Olly where he lives, but I wasn't sure he would be known by that name here."
"He isn't known by any other!" replied the young lady with a laugh. "He's about, somewhere; I believe he's always about, somewhere! Mrs. Merriman," she called to a lady in the parlor, "where's the ubiquitous Olly?"
"I don't know, Amy," replied the lady. "Didn't he go with the gentlemen in the yacht?"
Amy "almost thought he did"; yet it seemed to her she had seen him that afternoon; a position of uncertainty on the part of that young lady, which wouldn't have been highly flattering to the vanity of Master Burdeen, even if he hadn't been at that moment beyond the reach of flattery.
"Mrs. Murcher can tell you," she said, turning to walk back to the end of the hall. "She is here, in the dining-room."
Mrs. Murcher thought Olly must be in his room.
"I believe he is going home this evening," she said; "he wants to show his folks a new suit of clothes that has been given him. I guess he's trying them on."
"I am a neighbor of his," said Perce. "I am camping on the beach with some friends; and we want him to join us."
"Well!" exclaimed the landlady, "you can go right up to his room and find him. It's in the old part of the house; but you'd better go up the front way; it's lighter."
She was explaining to Perce that he must go up one flight, proceed to the end of the corridor, and then step down into a lower passage—when the tall young brunette called over the banisters, "I'll show him!"
He mounted after her; and she threw open the door of what seemed an unoccupied room, to let more light from its windows into the corridor.
"Be careful not to stumble!" she warned him. "That's his room, right before you, as you go down those steps."
So saying, she disappeared in some other room, and Perce was left alone in the dim hall. He paused a moment to get a glimpse of the sea through the door and window of the room she had opened, which happened to be Mr. Hatville's room; then he groped his way to Olly's door and knocked.
In a little while, he returned alone to his friends on the beach.
"I couldn't find him," he said. "Mrs. Murcher sent me up to his room, but he wasn't there; and I went all over the place. Then she said she thought he must have gone home, to show his folks a new suit of clothes; he had asked her if he might; but she didn't expect him to go so soon."
"Olly's made, if he's got some new clothes!" said Moke.
"He never would speak to us, after that!" said Poke. "Never mind; we can 'wake Nicodemus' without him."
"Wake Nicodemus!" Moke shouted gleefully, to hear his voice resound in the woods.
"Wake Nicodemus!" Poke repeated. And the three joined gayly in the chorus of a song then popular:
"Now, run and tell Elijah to hurry up Pomp,And meet us at the gum-tree down in the swamp,To wake Nicodemus to-day!"
"Now, run and tell Elijah to hurry up Pomp,And meet us at the gum-tree down in the swamp,To wake Nicodemus to-day!"
The very human biped whose cries had been mistaken for a loon's, heard their voices wafted to him by the wind—the same wind that was blowing him farther and farther from the shore.
He screamed again, wildly; but his own voice sounded weaker and weaker, while the merry chorus still went up from the little camping party on the beach: