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32X

THE COUNTESS OF MINTO

THE
LITTLE MANITOBAN

A CHILD'S STORY-BOOK

I 1

ISSUED UNDER THE DISTINGUISHED PATRONAGE OF

HER EXCELLENCY THE COUNTESS OF MINTO

FOR THE BENEFIT OF

THE CHILDREN'S AID SOCIETY

OF WINNIPEG, MANITOBA

WINNIPEG, MANITOBA:

TRINTED AND I'lMlLISHEn FOR THK SOCIKTY BY
THE MANITOBA FKER PRESS COMPANY

Christmas, 1900

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION BY THE COUNTESS OF MINTO

PART I.

(juvenile section.)

Page

THE BROOK (Poetry)— Florence Alice Maclure 10

BRUNO— Margaret Helen Connell 12

BELLA'S PRAYER— Florence May Garland 19

THE MISSION OF THE WHEAT PLANT— Miss Lizzie L. Sharman 20

HOW CHIEF PRINCE OUTWITTED THE HALF-BREEDS-William E. Grant. 22

OBEDIENCE— Carrie Wilson 26

LILIAN'S CHRISTMAS— Isabella Mackay 27

FOR MAMMA— Mabel Cummings 30

LOST AND FOUND— Katie 0?.tway 32

THE RIVER— Ethel Madeline Hicks 35

THE REVENGE OF THE MICMACS— Jean Bayne 38

HOW SANTA CLAUS CAME— Bonnie Simpson 41

THE THIEF— John H. Grant 44

LITTLE TIM— Kathleen Brownridge 48

THE BEAR'S CHRISTMAS— Katie McDonald 51

WHAT CRISSY HEARD THE LILY SAY— Mollie McGregor 53

HAPPY CHRISTMAS— Bina Johannson 56

HARD PRESSED— Fred McLellan and Will Brown 58

BETTY— Winnie Smith 62

PART II.

WINTER IN THE BUSH— Rev. Lewis Drummond. S. J 68

A BIRD SONG— Miss Kathleen Kirchhoflfer 85

A FIN-BACK IN ACTION— Miss A. C. Laut 86

CHRISTMAS AT GRANDMA'S— Mrs. A. E. Blakely 95

OUR PUNCH AND JUDY SHOW— Mrs. Percy W. Ireland 105

THE WEDDING OF THE FLOWERS— Mr. Walter Edmonds 110

SAVED BY A BIRD—" Mollie Mayburn " 112

THE TTiUE STORY OF MOTHER GOOSE—" Mary Markwell " 116

THE ANIMAL'S CHRISTMAS IN THE ARK-Mrs. G. D. Mintv 121

THE GOLD LOCKET— Rev. Dr. Bryce 126

THE NEW LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD— Mr. W. J. Healv LSfi

THE SANDPIPERS— Miss Kathleen Kirchhoflfer un

WHAT THE COIN TOLD MARJORY— Miss St. Clair Livingston 14-i

THE SPOTTED DOG— Rev. Charles W. McKim 145

DISOBEDIENCE—" Mary Markwell " I.54

THE BOY WHO HAD NO NAME— Mr. Charles Mair 158

AN ANIMAL STORY— Mr. Ernest Seton-Thompson 165

INTRODUCTION.

HAVE been asked to write an introduction to this Christmas
Souvenir Story Book, published on behalf of the Children's
Aid Society of Winnipeg, and, though I deeply appreciate
the opportunity thus afforded me of saying a few words in
praise of such a work, I cannot help feeling that, to a public
which is already aware of the admirable aims and objects of
the Society, and to readers whose attention has been once
drawn to the list of the contributors to this volume, any further introduction
must appear superfluous and unnecessary.

As a means of raising funds for a charity which is among the most estimable
charities of the Dominion, the publication of this Story Book must commend
itself warmly to the notif "^ all those to whom the lot of their poorer brethren
is a matter of any mom> , as a literary production this volume is well able to
stand, with the certainty of a thoroughly deserved success, upon its merits alone.
Any project which tends towards the better treatment and the amelioria-
tion of the condition of the poorest classes ; any scheme which has in view the
question of providing food for the destitute, homes for the homeless, comfort
for the neglected and ill-used, must appeal to the hearts of all who have ever
given a moment's consideration to the solution of that great " problem of the
poor " which ever, amid all the sunshine of the world, casts a haunting shadow
across our path and forms a barrier to retard the progress of civilization.

And, when the object of a charity is to ameliorate the lot of those unfor-
tunate children who, through no fault of their own, but by reason of their destitu-
tion or through the neglect of unfortunate parents, are suffering from the cruelty
of their circumstances or condition ; whose characters are being warped, whose
natures are being brutalized by the degradation of their surroundings ; the most
callous heart must be reached and touched by its appeal.

For the parents of children for whose happiness it is their one desire, for
whose comfort and personal well-being it is their one delight to provide, it must

be a particularly blessed and absorbing task to bring joy into the hearts of those
other children to whom the fact of their existence has hitherto implied nothing
but neglect and ill-treatment; to carry warmth and sunshine into the lives of
those little ones to whom the world must seem but a cold and darkened desert
of doubt and misery ; and to brighten the lot of those in whose little minds have
flourished no deeper feeling than the power of suffering, no higher thought than
a stiange wonder at the "mystery of the cruelty of things."

For the children of those whose lives are cast in pleasant places, whose lot
is laid on other, happier lines, it is an invaluable privilege and must be an especi-
al pleasure to assist, by the warmth of their good wishes, by the subscription of
their monetary contributions, and by every endeavor which is prompted by an
earnest, heartfelt interest in the lives of their less fortunate fellow-beings, to
carry on and bring to a successful issue a charitable undertaking which pos-
sesses so peculiarly attractive and admirable an object.

Such an object, indeed, speaks for itself; it needs no advocate. Such good
work requires but to be brought to the notice of the public to earn an inmiedi-
ate, unanimous and ready support ; and if, by the publication of this book, a
keener and more general feeling of interest in the good work of the Society is
roused, and the further continuance of such good work is facilitated, the vol-
ume will have completed the task which it set forth to accomplish, and in so
doing attain that measure of success which shall justify its existence.

9>ia-,-y Jku, A

PMMT Ec

THE BROOK.

First, 'tis a tiny zvatcrfall.a baby river u'iirniiii:; to crazvl,

IViiuiiiii^ ami frolicking in and out,

Skipping and dancinjj, round about,

Pausiui:; to grasp at a perfumed tioii'cr

That clings to the cliff, its earth-broii<n boivcr!
Or cruelly stealing a tender fern; and tearing it stranded just at the turn,

Where it pauses a moment fa bend in the zvay)

To catch and to Iciss a sunbeam gay!

The two go frolicking gaily along

Gurgling together a lullaby song;
The green boughs meeting up overhead make for the dreamers a shady bed.

Then up in the morning and on as before,

Chasing the pebbles that play on the shore;

Spraying the graceful maidenhair

Which on its banks grozvs rich and rare.
And now, quite grown, its childish race slotvs to a graccftil, easy pace;

It longs to linger zuJiere tall reeds team;

In zvoody dells with the stalks at home.

No more zvill the brooklet gambol in glee,
" 0!" it sighs, "to be once more free!"
But "life hath its joys," the beckoning sea cries aloud, "Come! I zvait, love,
for thee."

One backzvard glance — one tremulous shiver;
"I come!" she responds, "thy bride — the River!"

Sunshine the light shozvered dozvn from above
Reflecting the heazrns zvhere all is love.

-Florence Alice McClure,

Vancouver, B. C.

Aged tzvelve.

Bruno ;

Che true Story of a Dog Cbat nmr ms Cralnel

HE most troublesome dog that ever lived was Bruno. I do
wish that some one would steal him, lose him, or that he-
would run away!" exclaimed little Dot McCarthy, half
breathless and almost in tears, as she closed the house door,
after shutting IJruno in. '• This is the second time to-day
that I have had to run half-way liack from school just to
lock him up. I wuuld not mind all the other dreadful
things he does, if he would not follow me to school."

"What are you locking the door for, darling?" asked Dot's mamma-
P.runo can't unlock it again, can he?"

" I almost believe he could, mamma," said Dot, now laughing.
But it was not poor Bruno's fault that he was such a dreadful dog; for, you
see. he had never been trained. The McCarthys had moved to the city of Win-
nipeg, and were living in a small shanty, which Dot and (iert thought a very
very funny house, indeed ; they had lived in the city of Halifax, and the children
remembered a very beautiful home there. But other people were living in tents
upon the prairie, and " we are better off than they are," Dot said.

But the little giJs forgot all about their s'hantv home and its bleak sur-
roundings, when, one day, coming in from a long walk with their papa, they
found a darling little pup asleep upon the door mat. This was Bruno !
" Oh ! Oh ! what a darling doggie ! " exclaimed the children.
" Look at his soft white breast," said Dot.
" He has four white socks," said Gert.
" Just a little white thimble-tip on his tail." added Dot.

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Dot anl Bruno,

BRUNO.

" And a tiny white dot on his nose," said both children together.

" And a pretty, black, curly coat," said mamma.

"What shall we call him?" asked Gert. "Would 'Puppy' do? That's
what he is."

" Are you called ' Girl ' because you're ^ne ? " asked Dot, indignantly.

"Oh — h — h, no! What shall we call him. mamma?"

"How would Bruno do?'' said mamma. "That was the name of dear
Aunt Marion's great big dog."

" Yes," said Dot. " I think Bruno would be a pretty name. Bruno, do you
like your name? "

" I suppose wagging his tail means ' Yes,' '' said Gert, " but, I wonder where
he came from?" patting the dog's black, glossy head. "I don't suppose the
fairies left him, or the brownies, or — or Santa Glaus."

" Not Santa Glaus." said Dot ; " this is summer time."

" I know where he came from ! " added Dot. thoughtfully, " just one person
in the whole world would think of getting him. Just one!" and a loving look
came into her eyes.

" You always seem to know everything! " said Gert, a little vexed. " Who
is just the one person in the whole world who would think of getting him?"

" Mother, of course, darling mother ! " said Dot.

Mr. and Mrs. McGarthy, who had been hearing the children's chatter, now
came into the room.

"Oh, thank vou. mamma, dear mamma!" exclaimed both children, hujr-
ging her tightly ; " we know it was you who got us the dear little pup. We've
called him, as you proposed, Uruno; do tell us where you got him?"

" I bought him for you, little daughters," said mamma, " and now you
must treat him well."

The little girls spent a couple of delightful months with Bruno, who soon
learned to answer to his name ; but now 1 must tell you how poor IJruno was
spoiled. A family of seven boys came to live next door to the children, and
they had no dog of their own. When the little girls called Bruno in their yard,
the boys, across the way would call him from their yard, and when Dot and
Gert would tell Bruno to go in the house — and he would go very obediently — as
soon as poor Bruno was in, the boys would call, " Bruno! Bruno! Bruno! " and
whistle most coaxingly. and obedient Bruno would rush out to them. This
was kept up for over a year, and the dog did not know when or whom to obey.
But the naughty boys had taught Bruno one trick — that was to pick up sticks,
and bits of paper, and old tin cans, which he would proudly bear to his mistresses.
When Dot locked the house door, after putting Bruno in (to follow her be-

BRUNO.

ing his kindly fault), she started off once more to school. Alas! At the school-
house door she heard a short sharp yelp of joy, and lo! the irrepressible pet — the
untrained doggie — was close beside her.

" Oh, Bruno! " sobbed Dot; " I do wish you loved me less, or that you were
better trained."

The most troublesome thing he did was to follow the children to school. He
would sneak out the back door, run up the lane, and, when the little girls would
arrive at the top of the street, there Bruno would be sitting awaiting their com-
ing. " There's Bruno," Dot would say. " He's your dog, and you will have to
take him back ! "

" No," Gert would answer. " You always feed him, so he is your dog ! "

One day, Miss Forest, the teacher, said : " Gertie, there is some one at the
door." Gert went to the door and opened it ; in walked Bruno ! The pupils
were delighted, so was Bruno.

" Maud (that was Dot's real name), take your dog out," said Miss Forest.

" Please, Miss Forest, he is Gert's dog, not mine," said Gert.

This occurred several times, and at last Bruno was tied to the foot-scraper
— but the knock came again — the naughty dog pushed the door open with his de-
termined nose, and Bruno marched trimuphantly in once more, the rope dang-
ling to his neck, and attached to the rope was the scraper! Bruno lay down at
Dot's feet, and, little readers, you would never know he was there ; this is w here
he showed his affection, and entirely surpassed all other dogs ; he never left the
side of Dot, and would stick to her as closely as he could. If Dot went to the
teacher's desk, Bruno went too ; if she went to the blackboard, Bruno followed ;
when she stood up to recite her lessons. Bruno stood up too, and he seemed to
take a learned interest in each lesson. This irresponsible doggie went to
church, went calling, and went to picnics ; if he were left behind, he would howl,
bark, scratch and tear at the door with his teeth ; when he was allowed to follow,
he was so overjoyed that he behaved very badly, leaping up at passers-by, mak-
ing a feint of following horses, and disappearing around corners in the most
mysterious way. People became well acquainted with him, and would always
laugh when they saw him with the children.

One day, a friend of the family invited Dot and Gert to visit a large candy
manufactory, and they took good care to leave Bruno behind. When they
reached the building, that naughty doggie was at their heels! The manufactory
was surrounded by a fence about eight feet high, and they thought this would
prove a match for him. They shut him out. A most terrific howling, barking
and scratching followed.

" It serves him right," said the children, " he should not have followed us."

BRUNO.

Then they heard a peculiar scrambling, and, to their astonishment, Bruno's
black head appeared at the top of the eight-foot fence.

" I believe he is laughing at us," said Dot. " Just look at his face? I am
sure he is laughing, if dogs can laugh ! " Then Bruno put one front paw over
the fence in a coaxing way, and he began to whine. Dot shook her head at
him, and over he came with a spring to the ground.

"Why, Dot," said the gentleman, "your dog is an excellent jumper; that
would hardly be equalled by a trained dog in a circus."

" C). I believe Bruno would jump over the moon to follow Dot," said
(Icrt, laughing.

'' One day, the climax came, when Gert called from the yard, " jMother,
mother, come quickly ! " but Gertie was laughing all the time. '" Bruno — has
brought — " (here laughter stopped her) " has brought home a pudding-dish in
his mouth ! " Mrs. ^McCarthy and Dot came out to see, and there, indeed, was
Bruno with his prize. He was wagging his tail, as much as to say : " See what
a fine dish I have brought you." The children's mamma was much mortified.
"Dear me!" said she, "I wonder where Uruno got it! It must be returned
at once." Dot washed the dish, and went up the long street ; knocked at the
first door. " Is this your pudding-dish, Mrs. Taylor? Bruno just brought it
home." " No, Dot, it is not mine, but it is a very nice one." Dot opened the
second gate, and knocked at the second door. " Is this your i)udding-disli. Mrs.
Black? Bruno just brought it home." " No. Dot; I wish it were. I haven't
one as nice as that," was the reply. Dot opened the third gate, knocked at the
door. " Is this your pudding-dish, Mrs. Harvey? Bruno just brought it
home." " No, Dot ; I don't leave my pudding-dishes where dogs can get them,"
said Mrs. Harvey. So Dot carried the pudding-dish back. " We can't keep
It." said Gert, looking at Bruno very severely. " Where did you get it, you
bad doggie?" Bruno hung his head.

One day Gert rushed in. calling " liruno has just come into the yard with
a pie-plate ! " She rushed out again, breathless, to catechise the thief.

" Bruno is adding to our culinary department," said Mrs. McCarthy, " l)ut
will certainly come to a bad end, if he doesn't mend his ways."

Gert, who was a humorist, opened the door of the cupboard, and pointing
to the collection made by Bruno in his rambles, she said: " Xo. i. A pudding-
dish ; will bake the most delicious puddings ever tasted. Xo. 2. A pudding-
dish ; rather the worse for wear, but the puddings may be made just as good.
No. 3. A bread-pan, in which meat has evidently been lately roasted ; not bad,
either ; and to-day, a pie-plate that has seen not only pies, but bettter days ! "
" Bruno, you are a valuable, if dangerous, acquistion to our house. Now, whv

BRUNO.

don't you bring a tea-kettle ? There is a hole in ours, as you very well know ! " '
Bruno thumped the floor with his tail, as much as to say, " Yes, a tea-kettle is
what is wanted. I must keep my eye open for a kettle."

" There is our dog coming out of the Archdeacon's yard, with something
in his mouth ! " said Dot and Gert, rushing to the window.

" I am disgraced with that dog! " said Mrs. McCarthy; " I do wish he had
been trained to behave. He is actually coming down the middle of the street,
and, goodness, he has — a — a joint of meat in his jaws !"

Sure enough, on came Bruno, steering straight for the house and bearing a
line roast.

" He has taken it from an Archdeacon, too," cried Dot. " How scandal-
ous ! We will have to take it back and apologize.''

" Not if he brought all the pots, kettles and pans from here to St. John's ! "
said Gert, crying. " People will think he is trained to — to — to "

The children both burst into tears. Something fell on the porch floor with
a thump. It was the Archdeacon's dinner.

Everything has an end, and Bruno's end came soon. The pound-man
made his rounds, and poor I'runo had lost his tag: so away went Bruno, howl-
ing his grief at being tied up to a master he did not want. Dot and Gert cried
biiterly when their shaggy friend was gone. " lUtt," as their mamma said, " he
was an untrained dog. and a nuisance to everybody."

Next morning, when the little girls arrived at school, they were perfectly
astonished (and not a little overjoyed) to find I'runo sitting on the door-step,
uttering welcoming yelps. He behaved so well the rest of the day that Dot and
(iert both believed he had been taught a lesson by being sent to pound; and
Bruno, being solemnly charged by his little mistresses to behave better in future,
that exceedingly wise dog winked his eyes three times, wagged his tail vigor-
ously twice, and barked once, which everybody knows means, " I will be good,'"
in dog language. Another tag was bought for him, and he is still the children's

pet.

This is the story of Bruno. The true story of a dog that went to school,
to church, to visit, to picnics, and to pound. A story of the most troul)lesomc
dog that ever lived, but who became a well-behaved dog, through adversity .and
trouble, quite like real people do in the world.

MARGARET HELEN CONNELL.

Winnipeg.

Bella's Prayer.

ILL Santa Claus come to-night, mother ? " asked little Bella,
drawing close up to her mother's sewing chair. Mrs.
Blak-e's eyes were full of tears as she answered : " 1 hope
so darling, hut it is a very dark night, you see. and he
might lose his way."

Bella looked up at her mother, and then she looked
out at the darkness. The snow was falling steadily, and
though there was a fire on the hearth, yet the room was very cold.

Mrs. Blake saw the look of disapix)intment on her little girl's face, so she
stitched very fast now, and glancing up at the clock, she said: " If Santa Claus
doesn't get this far to-night, won't my little girl wait until next year?"

"Oh, yes, mamma." said Bella, hut she sighed a great hig sigh for a very
little girl.

Bella couldn't sleep; she was thinking so hard whether Santa Claus would
find the way. or would he get lost and not come at all? Then she fell asleep.
.Suddenly she was awake again. The room was very dark, and just a very
small fire seemed to he hurning in the grate. How could anvhodv see on such
a dark night? The little girl saw that her mother was sleei)ing soundly heside
her. She got out of hed and lit the candle, then placed it in the window
" Now.'-' she said. " Santa Claus can see h.is way ! " She knelt down on the cold
floor, folded her little hands, and .said' " Please, God. let Santa Claus come
here to-mght." Then she crept into hed and fell asleep. In the morning she
found her stocking full of goodies ; she told her mother ahout her prayer and
how God had answered it. Her mother told I'.ella she should he very happy and
thank God for His goodness. Then Bella and her mother knelt down and
thanked God.

•LORENCE MAY GARLAND.

Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

Cbe mission of tbe Olbeat Plant.

NE beautiful morning, just before harvest time, as I was
waiving gently in the breeze, my children nestling closely up
to me, murmured :

" Mother, our separation is near, tell us the story of your
life." So I began:

The first I remember was the feeling of life stirring
within me. Then I felt an impulse to shove my little folded
leaf through the loose, moist soil into the warmth and sunshine above.

For a short time I lived and grew on the food contained by the wheat seed
from which I grew. When this was exhausted, I supplied myself with nourish-
ment. I was now about two 'nches tall, and I began to notice more closely the
tilings about me. I saw innumerable wheat-plants like myself growing around
me. We had been planted in this field in the Spring by the farmer who owns
us. Across the corner of the field flowed the river, on the opposite shore of
which there was a grove of lovely trees. It was impossible not to grow and be
happy with such beautiful surroundings; the soft Spring air blowing gently
over us, the warm sun shining down upon us, and the sap flowing through our
cells.

We were taller and stronger now than any of the neighboring crops, and
many people praised us and said it was the best crop they had seen. It was
nice to be praised ; so we grew just as fast as we could. But " Pride goeth
before a fall," for, as the season advanced, the sun's rays got hotter and hotter
and the soil got drier and drier. Oh ! how we longed for a drink. Our leaves
wilted a little , but that night it rained. We were awakened about midnight by
the cool, refreshing drops falling gently down upon us and moistening our
drooping leaves. They soaked " Mother Earth '" with water.

I slept in the morning till a sunbeam whispered to me : " Work, little

THE M/SSfON OF THE WHEAT PLANT.

'1\

i:)lant, work, while you are strong and fresh ! "

So, with the help of the sunshine, we made our food, and grew taller and
stronger each day. Soon our shoot-blades appeared, and through these peeped
each tiny head on which you children grew.

But a sad time followed. A long dry spell set in, and the ground grew
drier and drier each day. Oh! the agony of unquenched thirst. We prayed
fervently for the cool drops to fall. Day by day we closed our stomata to lessen
the evaporation, but it all seemed in vain. We soon became scorched and
withered. Our leaves turned a brownish-yellow, with the glaring sun beating
down upon them from the copper sky, and the hot. dry winds whirling the sand
against and almost uprooting us. How we lived, day after day, I know not.

Sometimes my thoughts dwe!* on the happy spring days, with their cooling
showers, till I could almost feel the rain upon my burning leaves. But
stern realities would be forced up(jn me by a glance at the suffering around me.
To add to our misery, we heard of the rapid spread of insects, called grass-
Iioppers. which flew in clouds, darkening the sun. The ])ees whispered with
trembling accents of the great devastation wrought by these insects.

But the end of our suffering was near. A southeast wind blew steadily for
two days. Then came the rain. How cool and refreshing were those clear,
pure drops falling gently from the darkened sky to put an end to our agony.
The rain continued to fall for three days, till the ground was soaked with
moisture.

All nature rejoiced at the change. The birds sang sweetly, the bees buzzed
cheerily as they gathered their winter store of honey from the flowers, and the
Sim shone less fiercely, and with a more kindly ray, through the misty air.

And now, my children, you are full grown. When you are ripe my work
shall be ended, and I shall die. Then you will be harvested, and your warm
wraps shall be taken from you. After that, my children, oh, what shall your
life be? Are you to follow my path in life, or in that of my sisters? They were
taken to a mill, and, with millions and millions of others, were made into flour
to feed the hungry nation.

LIZZIE S. SHARMAN.

Souris, Manitoba.

How €bicf Prince Outwitted ibe Half-Breeds.

|YIXG on a tarpaulin in front of our camp-fire, we were resting
ourselves after three hours' steady rowing in one of those big,
flat-bottomed. Red River mud scows.

" Chief," said Jack to the old Indian, who was seated on
a log. cleaning his gun, " were you in this country when
Wolseley came up from the Ea. ? "

" Yes, I guided the party from the mouth of the Winni-
peg River to Fort Garry," was the answer.

"I suppose, then, you saw Riel, the leader of the half-breed rebels?"
" Oh, yes, I knew him well, and once got the better of him."
Jack would not let the chief alone till he had ccmsented to tell us his story.
" It was at the time when Riel had the prisoners confined in Fort Garry,"
he began. " My father, who was chief of the Ojibway Indians, had collected a
party of his braves, and was coming against the fort to demand from Riel the
release of some of his tribe, who were among the prisoners. I was at that time
attending St. John's College, and my father sent me word that he would meet me
at the school next day. The same morning that I received the message I met a
white man on the river. He was a stranger to me, but he knew who I was.
He told me of a plan which would help my father in obtaining the re-
lease of the prisoners, and he promised to give me sixty dollars if I should suc-
ceed in carrying it out. I did not know the man, nor was T sure that he would
give me the money, but since it would l)e the means of helping my father, I
fell in with it.

" He said he would supply me with a good horse, and all other necessar-
ies, so we arranged to meet at a certain tree at three o'clock that afternoon.
" At the appointed hour I met the man.
" He had brought with him a little pie-bald pony. It was the finest little

HOll" CHIEF PRIXCE OVTUITTED THE HAl.F-RREEDS.

hcast I have ever seen of its kind. When he saw how I achnired the

horse he said: ' Prince, that horse is yo.irs. if >ou bring him hack." I thanked
him and mounted.

" lie handed me a file and a miml)er of iron spikes, which I put in my
pocket; then he j^ave me a rifle, and, hist of all. a small hatchet.

" The stranjrer wished me j^ood luck, and I departed.

" I took the winter trail on the river, and followed it until within a half a
mile of the Catholic mission. Then I rode my horse up the east bank of the
river and made for the road that lea<ls into I'ort (larry.

" After a while it began to snow, and by the time I reached the road snow
was coming down pretty heavily.

" On the well-beaten trail I rode mv horse at a good speed till I overtook
a party of half-breeds, who had been about half a mile ahead of me.

" I slowed up my horse and asked if this was the road leading to the fort.
They said it was. and then asked who I was and what I wanted at the fort.
I told them I was a Cree Indian, and that I carried a message of great import-
ance to Riel. They thought I was just what I said, for I can speak Cree
very well, as you know.

" As we rode along together I let them understand T knew nothing about
the state of affairs at the fort, and they told me many things of importance.
^^"hen we arrived at the fort they explained to the sentinel who I was, and so
I passed in without mishap.

" Before leaving me they pointed out Kiel's office. I thanked them, and
made off as if I really intended going there.

" I rode straight ahead luitil I saw them pull up their horses in front of a
house, and enter. I then turned and rode up to a shed and there tied my
pony. It was snowing pretty hard now. and as it was begituiing to get dark, I
thought it about time I was upon my mission ; so I struck off towards the north
gate, which to-day is all that remains of the old fort. On coming up. I was
not surprised to find a sentinel on guard.

" I had all my plans arranged ; I would come up and speak to him in a
friendly way, and then, when he was least expecting it, I would knock him
senseless with the stock of my gun. Rut, imagine my surprise when, on coni-
iing up, he asked me if I had come to relieve him? Without the least hesita-
tion I answered that I had : then he strode away, and was soon oiit of sight.

" My opportunity had now come, and I nerved myself for the occasion. I
entered the gateway where four large cannons were mounted. T could hear my
he.irt thumping against my ribs, as, with eager hand, T drew the first spike from
my pocket. I placed it to the touch-hole and struck it a blow with the head

I/OW CHIEF PR ISLE orTWlTTED THE ff A LEU RE EDS.

of my liatchc't. i'lic soiiiul raiij^' like a l)i'll on my car. 1 urahhcd ii|) my ritlo
in alarm and nislu'd outside. No one was near. 1 listened; all was still, so 1
went inside ajj:ain. This time 1 placed m\ mitt over the head of the spike and
manaf,a-d to mufde the sound slif,ditly.

" \\ hen the nail was driven in full len<.;th. 1 ruhhed off the head with the
file. Then 1 listened if anyone was cominjj^. I could hear nothing- but the
bealinjj; of my own heart, and a huzzinj^ sound was in my ears.

" I went on with my work and spiked the remaining three guns. When

^J^^

•

• r ^^^^Hk^

fc iH

1 .■ £^^1-:'

• i\

f^Vv

Fort Garry — The South Gatk.

•the last one was spiked, it was hard work to keep from giving <jne of our war
whoops, for the guns in which Riel had placed so much confidence were now
useless.

" My next thought was how to get out of the fort. I tried the big gates,
but they were both locked and barred, and I could not find the key, though T
looked high .id low for it. When I saw that I could not get out that way, I
looked abou\. to see if there was a plank or something that would aid me in
scaling the wall ; but I could not find what I wanted. There was but one
'chance left ; if the south gate — the one by which I entered the fort — was still
opened, I might get out that way. I could not make out whether it was open
or not, because, by this time, it was dark ".nd the snow was falling heavily.

HOW CHIEF f'RLWCE OirTWITTED THE HALF-BREEDS. IB

I secured my pony and made oflf in the direction of the gate. T was very
plad to find it still open. I was ridinjj at an easy pace that [
might not attract attention, when 1 heard a yell of alarm behind me; I
knew what it meant. I tXwf^ my heels into the bronco's tlanks and dashed for the
gateway. The guard tried to close the gate, but it stuck; then he jumped right
'in front of me, but I rode right at him, and he narrowly escaped being knocked
over by my horse. As soon as I had cleared the fort I turned my horse sharply
to the left and dropped over his right .side, leaving only my left leg visible.

"When the guard recovered himself he fired at my horse, but the bullet
lodged in my leg. The horse, being a good one. soon carried me beyond range,
and I gave one great yell of defiance as I passed out of range of tlie guard.

" When I had ridden to a safe distance from the fort, I stopped my horse
that I might examine my leg. and found that I had only received a flesh wound.
I tore up the sleeve of my shirt into strips and bandaged my leg. and then I re-
sumed my journey home.

" The next day, when my father arrived at the fort, Riel released the pris-
oners, knowing that resistance would be impossible with all his guns siMkcd.

WILLIAM E. GRANT.

Winnipeg.

Note. — This story is the combination of two incidents which actually oc-
curred in 1870.

Obedience.

H! mother, may 1 have Mary over to plav with me after
school to-morrow ? ''

" Yes, my pet, but you will have plenty of time to
sweep the dead leaves out of the arbor and dust the parlor
before she comes."

When Eunice came home from school she found her
mother had e^one out. She took the broom, and as she
was going to the arbor she noticed a stately lily withering" away. " Oh!" said
she, to herself. " it is too bad to allow it to droop like that ; I will go and get
some water." Near it she noticed a lovely pansy, which also needetl water.
" Now," thought the little girl, " I will water the plants in the window," and this
work was just done when the gate opened, and in came her little playmate,
Mary. They played together ciuite a while, and Eunice said: "I am so sorry,
Mary, 1 haven't the new game mother promised me."

" She may be getting it this afternoon, and we can have it the next time I
come."

" Perhaps so. I'll go now and get something for us to eat."
But the cook wouldn't give her anything.

"How horrid," she pouted; "there is no cake nor anything else!"
After this Mary went home, and lumice took up her broom again and went
to sweep the arbor. She saw something on the rustic seat with a napkin thrown
over it Tt was a lovely lunch, which had been prepared and placed there for
her by her riother. Then Eunice dusted the parlor and behind a chair there
was the nev; gasne her mother had bought for her! Now, Eunice wished she
had done her work as she had been told before Mary came, and she made up
her mind to be more careful in future and do what her mother told her.

CARRIE WILSON.

IVinnipeg, Man.

Ciliaii's Cbrisimas.

I HE sun was settiiij;- on (,'hiistnias afteriKv.ui, 1898. He peeped
out sleepily from iiiuler a dark cloud, and then went to bed.
At least, that was what Lilian thought as she watched the
light clouds in the east qratlnally become pink and then deepen
into crimson and i^old. A bird Hitted past her n-indow, flew
higher, ami disappeared in the ijlory of the drowsy sun. " I
wonder if I had wings, ami couUl fly like that little bird,
where would I go to?" Her face took on a puzzled look, but in a minute it
cleared again. " I would see papa first : 1 would just fly until [ found him, and
I would tell him I was going away to see mamma. I know he would want to
send his love to her, and he wouldn't like me to go without telling him. I won-
iler how long it would take me to go to him? lie said he was going a long way
on business, but he might be home in a week. T would try to find him first,
anyway. I know that I would find mamma (|uite easily; for when I got to the
gates of Heaven, an angel would say: ' What's your name, little girl? How did
you come up here without dying? ' I would point to my wings, and say: 'Please,
r just flew up myself, and I'm awfully tired. Won't you take me to my
mamma?' I'm sure he wouldn't send me away, for mamma wouldn't let him."
Here a voice was heard calling, " Lilian ! Lilian ! "

" I'm coming, Agnes." said Lilian, as she slipped down from the broad
v>indow-sill and walked slowly down-stairs. Agnes, the mtrse. gave her her
tea, which she ate in unusual silence.

After tea she went up-stairs again, and began rummaging in an old box.
which contained a great many bundles of turkey wings, destined to be used as
dusters. On a high shelf there was a large bottle of mucilage. By standing
on a chair, Lilian could reach it. She stuck her finger in the mucilage and
drew it over her sleeve near the shoulder. In and out of the bottle went the

/.//.MATS ( flh'fSTM.LS.

cliiihby linf;rr. until r.uli sKn-vr w.is wrll snuMicil with iinu-ilaj;;*.'. Lilian had
(111 a pti'ttv \w\\ (hTss : hut of what r()nsr(|uciuH' was that when sht" ha<l such
croat plans in her wiso littU- head! TIkmi. takini; up sunu' ol iho tuikov fcath-
ns. slu' tricil In slick thrni un her slocvcs. Alter a ^^ood deal of tronhlr she
sucrerdrd in qetliui; (|uitc a luunher fastened on. thottjL;h not very seetttely.
Then she went to i;('l hef warm eoat. hut. to her dismay, she found it would not
J40 on oviT the fe.ilhers: so she put on her hood and mittens, and, ^oinj; softly
ilviwM slaiis, slipped out without heinj; seen.

It was .iheatly .mowiuiL; (|uite dark and very eold. She wished thai she had
stuek the feathers on her eo.il ; hut it was too late now. Tier home was in a
i|uiet spot in the eonnlrv, an<l there was no one to see the odd little li,i;ure. trudi^-
in,i; aloujn toward the dark wood iti the distance. .She said to herself, "If I ^.jo to
the wood and llv up. 1 can rest in n tree."

.She walked on. ,ind the wind i^rew so cold that she shivered.

" To-tlay hasn't heen such a happv Christmas." she mused. " I'erhaps. if
pap.i h,\d heen at home. I wouldn't have come here. lie would have talked to
me. .and mayhe he would have j;iven me a pretty new doll to play with; hut it's
awful lonesome with nohody hiit Ayiies."

The wind whistled ahoni her. Tlu- wood was farther away than Lilian had
thou.nht ; hut ;U last she reached it. She Happed her arms stilHy; hut she did not
rise. .'Vyaiu and aq.iin she tried : hut she only yrew colder.

" The angels will all he sius^ini; in I leaven, hecause it's ('hristmas. and it will
he warm and heautiful. Mamma will he happv up there with (lod. ( )h, I'm .so
cold ! "

The wind roared throui^h the pines. Il was a very dark nijjht ; hut as Lilian
trudged wearily on, the lumihness in her lins^crs ;uul toes overcame her fear of the
dark. .^he was following; a path which seemed to take her further into the
wood. There was a little snow under foot, and a few flakes hejjau to fall.

Lilian could yo no further. She leaned ai^ainst the tnnik of a hu^qfe tree,
and cried aloud: "(Mi, mamma! my win.ys won't jjol T'm freezing:, and I'll
never i^et to Heaven!" Her words died away in a soh. and from cold and
e\hausti(Mi the little j;irl sank dcwvn in the snow.

She knew no tutMe imtil she lay in her own little cot at home. .Aj^ncs was
hendiuR- over her. and sayintj softly : " Poor latnh. how could T ever nejjlect
you so? "

Lilian looked ahout her in wonder. " Is it morning?" she asked. " What
have you got the lamp hurning for?"

/, II. I A A"S CI IN IS TMAS.

No. dear; il is Clirislnias iiij^dit.

(^Ii. I 'llUllll

•I'l- now, said Ijli.m.

Iro/.i'ii.

low (lid I ^('{ Ikti-

was iicarlv

Your nnclf caiiu- aloiij^ in his slcij^li. lie ln-anl a cry. and found yon ly-

in*r i" the snow al iIk- oI<I pine- (nr. I'.nt, iliild. wl

a tlnnir.''

lat ever niadf yon do sn

t-li

Ldian told Iut the reason, and iIumi added, " I was 1(

Tlicn .\}^ncs hioii^^rhi a nirc hot drink. As Lilian I

iicsonK', too!

K-j^^an to sip it, the front

door opened and immediately a heavy footstep was iieard on the stair. At th.
head of the stairs a little white fiKure rushed into her father's arms, eryinj,^ ex-
eitedly. " ( )li, papa! papa! have you eoine haek to me? "

es, I

ny Lilian," replied her f.ather, as he earried her hark to bed

and eovered her up snugly.

■'iRi

iin,

u: was not satisfied until she had told them all she had done that nijjht.

lien she (inished the stoiy. her father said: ' i'oor ehild, and

lonesome? I am afraid that livel

day. VVVll, papa is home now to kee|

so vou were

\ hrain of yours will \:^^.'\ you into trouble sunie

) you eompany,

Men Lilian, eoinpletely tired out with the eventful d;

l<» till' Land of Dreams, one
wouldn't j^o. but— hilt \ya\ya\ ln-re,

y, went j,'ently away

hand elasped in her father's, murnnu-inp;^ : " vvinps

So her Christmas, which had at first .seemed so d

Dundee, Mmiiloha.

reary, ended in joy

TSAHLLLA J. McKAY.

4:-^-:^:^

for mamma.

|T was indeed a beautiful afternoon to hunt pretty bluebells and
daisies, and to gather berries for mamma. The sun shone
brightly, the birds twittered and chirped from tree to tree, while
the soft summer wind wafted a glorious breeze from east to
west, completing the perfection of one of the fairest of all
summer prairie days.

Dear little five-year-old Dorothy, with her pretty yellow
curls and her dancing brown eyes did not wait to ask mamma, but, trilling softly
to herself, she trotted oflf down through the village, over the old white bridge,
and into the swamp across the river, to hunt for berries for mamma. Hither
and thither ran the little elf, but no berries could she find. Still she would not
give up; for Dorothy wanted to surprise mamma by bringing home her silver
cup filled with the pretty fruit, which she knew her mamma liked so well ; so she
patiently continued the search through all the bright afternoon till it began to
grow cold and late. Then, poor little Dorothy, her tiny cup overflowing with
berries, and lier sweet dimpled face overflowing with contentment, started for
home, little thinking she was on a strange path.

It was just about this time that Dorothy's mamma became very anxious.
She had been busy, and had not missed the child till near the tea hour, the time
when her darling always had her pinafore put on, and her little dimpled cheeks
washed clean to meet and kiss her papa. Thinking she was visiting some little
neighbor girl, Mrs. Wellington put on her hat and hurriedly went from one
house to another, where she knew Dorothy liked to visit, but no one had seen
the child that day, and the poor mother began to grow very, very anxious. Re-
turning to her home, she told her fears to her husband, who, much alarmed, in-
stantly started up, and, after searching every place he thought it possible for his
little daughter to be, summoned help, and soon about two hundred of the anxious
villagers were searching far and viear for little Dorothy.

FOR MAMMA.

It grew later and later, darker and darker, the rain fell fast and heavy,
still the search continued, and still Dorothy wandered on, till at length, overcome
with fear and weariness, she set her cup down, and resting her head against
an old tree, began to weep bitterly.

The storm ceased when daylight appeared; the men searched the woods all
the second day till night came on again, and then they fell to the last resource of
dragging the river. This was, however, without success, and they, thinking
some wild beast must have devoured the child, decided to discontinue the search.

Meanwhile Dorothy, unconscious of where she was, or of the trouble and
anxiety she was causing, lay moaning in the bluff, her little feet had tripped by
a pit coveied with water ; her pretty bright curls were matted and damp about
her chubby face, that had lost all its smiles and rosy color.

On the third day a man, riding through one of the most secluded parts of
the woods, was attracted by his dog whimpering around the foot of some old,
fallen trees. On going forward he found little Dorothy lying senseless on the cold,
wet sod, just near where he himself had searched for her on the previous day.
Hastily picking her up and wrapping her in his own coat, he galloped through
mile after mile of wood, till he came to the old white bridge, across which dear
little Dorothy had gone so happy that bright afternoon. The shock of again
seeing her darling was too much for the poor mother; she fell and lay uncon-
scious while kind hands were willingly helping Dorothy to return to her senses
again.

The mother and child regained consciousness almost at the same time, and
Dorothy's first feeble words, when enfolded to her mother's breast were : " The
- -berries — are — for — you — mamma ! "

The gloom that had hung over the village since the first news of her disap-
pearance gradually took flight, as, one by one, the people heard of her rescue,
and when at last, after many days of patient nursing, little Dorothy came again
among them rosy and bright, all were eager to kiss the little dimpled cheek
and listen to the pretty baby prattle of her search for the berries " for mamma."

MABEL CUMMINGS.

Kegina.

Cost and found.

JAR away in the west, among the foothills of the Rocky Moun-
tains, by the side of a brawling stream, stood the little village
of Rockvall. Hidden in the woods, and surrounded by hills,
u was little known save to peddlers. Sometimes, but rarely,
a traveller passed by. Here, amid green woods, backed by the
snow-capped peaks of towering mountains, grew golden fields
of waving grain, and here lived happy, contented people.
In a rose and vine-covered cottage lived Mrs. Wier and her little daugh-
ter, Nellie. Her husband had been killed by a snow-slide, the winter before,
while out shooting wolves. Since then she had sold her farm, reserving only
a small plot, on which she grew vegetables and a little grain. She now sat be-
neath a large tree, while little Nellie, a fair-haired child of some three sum-
mers, played by the stream.

"Look! Muddie, Look! See what I'se dot. Ain't dey petty?" said
Nellie toddled up, holding out a bunch of daisies.
" Very, darling," answered the mother.

" 'Oo is kying, Muddie. Is 'oo hurt?" cried Nellie, glancing up at her
mother's face and seeing the tears there.

" No, darling, not hurt — only a little sad. You're my little comforter,
aren't you, darling?" and she bent to kiss the rosy face.

"Where Faddie? 'Oo's not sad when l*"ad(lie here. Faddie been long
time 'way, Muddie. When Faddie turn home, Muddie?"

" Hush, my little dear, Papa's dead. Papa lives up above the sky. Papa
can't come to us ; w-e must go to him."

"Den I go to Faddie w-itc now, an' bring him home. When I get Fad-
die, Muddie will ky no more. Go to bing Faddie."

But Mrs. Weir had not heard her prattling. She was again lost in deep

LOST AND FOUND.

thought. So Nell , putting on her hat, toddled across the garden, and out
into the road. Unseen, the baby figure wandered up the road, till a bend hid
her from view. Her blue eyes were fixed on a pine-covered hill, where, be-
yond the clouds, her mother had often told her " l'"addie lived." Thither she
was going to get to the sky, and bring father back to mother, so that she
would be sad no more. Creeping through a fence and crossing a grain field,
she entered the dark, pine wood. L'p she went, unheeding many a lovely
flower, which, at other times, she would have plucked with delight. She did
not see them, for her baby-mind was trying to solve the problem of what death
was. "What was dead? What did Muddie mean by " I'^addie dead?" She
would ask " Faddie."

On and on she toiled, while the sun slowly sank towards the west. Up, up
she went, till her little legs ached. Still she did not complain — she had to get
" Faddie for Muddie." On and on she wandered till her progress was checked
by a stream. Here the tired limbs gave way, and, sitting down on a mossy
bed, her curly head drooped, and she fell asleep.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Weir had not noticed her little daughter's absence, and,
not until she went to call her to supper did she know that the child had strayed
away.

She first searched the garden ; Nellie was not there. Almost distracted,
she ran to a neighbor's house ; no news. She inirried to another. " Yes ;
one of the boys had seen the little wanderer tcxldling across their grain-field
about half-past five," and it was now almost seven o'clock.

A search party was soon formed to look for the missing child.

Mrs. Weir went home with her neighbor, Mrs. Char. Here she paced up
and down the veranda, listening to every sound, and crying, " jSIy little girl !
My only child! Are you gone, too? Where are you, Nellie?"

"Did she say where she was going?" asked Mrs. Char.

"No — I don't think so. No — 1 did not hear her. Nellie! Nellie! Where
are you? What shall I do without you? It seems to me that 1 get all the
trouble; no one else ever has any."

" Hush ! You must not talk that way. She will be found. If I were
you I would go to bed. Don't take on so ; she will be found. Do go to bed."

"Go to bed!" almost screamed Mrs. Weir. "Go to bed, when my darling
is out, no one knows where. Oh ! Nellie, Nellie — I know 1 shall never see you
again. You will never be found." And the agonized mother walked up and
down, refusing to be comforted.

Hour after hour went slowly by — so slowly ; still the searchers did not
return.

M LOST AND FOUND.

We left little Nellie gently sleeping on her mossy couch, all unconscious of
ihe agony she was causing. Presently, she began to dream that she had reached
the top of the hill. Before her stood her father. She stretched out her
hands, and cried, " Faddie, Faddie, tum here."

•Her father answered, "My little Nellie, I cannot go home to mother.
You must comfort her and love her."

" Faddie, tum home. Me tum to take 'oo home." There was no answer ;
the vision was gone. Nellie awoke.

Rising to her feet, she stretched out her hands. " Faddie, tum home — tum
home — Muddie ky all day — tum home." Again there was no answer, and the
child groped her way onward — stumbled — and, with a loud cry, fell forward ;
then lay still.

The searchers, hearing the cry, hastened in the direction of the sound, but
day was breaking before they found her.

She was still and cold. Her long, fair hair was wet with blood and dew.

They raised what was left of little Nellie. A few white daisies, dead and
withered, were still clasped in the little cold hand.

Sadly, they bore her to her home.

}.Irs. Weir heard them coming, and hurried out to meet them.

" What has happened ? There is something the matter. Let me see my
daning," cried the poor mother.

Three days later a quiet, solemn procession moved down the road to the
little church-yard. There, in a quiet corner, where the birds loved to sing and
the flowers to bloom, they laid little Nellie. She had joined the " Faddie " of
her vision.

KATIE OATWAY.

Lillvfield, Manitoba.

Cbe Riper.

^IN hour ago the sun had disappeared behind the western hills,
and left the cloudless sky tinged with a crimson glory. This
reflects on my face. All is calm around: not a hreeze stirs
the air, not the rustle of a leaf is heard. The birds have
gone to rest, but now and then I hear them twitter to their
young in the nests. The sleepy owl is awakening and silently
sweeps around searching for food and uttering strange,
screeching sounds.

I wind in and out through wooded belts of poplars, elms, maples, and for
miles I stretch along tlie open prairie, enfolding sunny spots of greenery re-
lieved by the pretty blue bell and the sweet-faced daisy, with here and there a
stately orange lily and various other beautiful wild flowers bowing to the breeze.
One by one the hot summer days swiftly pass by, and autumn, with her
chill nights, comes and withers my favorite flowers growing along my banks. At
first I feel sad because I know I will miss their smiling faces leaning over and
nodding at me every morning ;| but when 1 shall have said good-bye to them I
shall be very busy indeed. I must build a house to keep me warm through the
winter. I am sure the tall elms standing so stiff and straight envy me, for there
they are tossed to and fro by the cold, bleak winds. The roof of my winter
house is built of ice and snow ; the walls are built of frozen earth. The inside I
decorate with a delicate frost work of fern and flower to make it as much like
summer as possible. Many people suppose I am good for their amusement only.
They scratch my glassy face with their sharp steel skates and drive over me with
heavy loads. They take large blocks from my roof. They don't know I have
the trouble of building it all over again ! They don't know that I can feel en-

THE RIVER.

joyment: run and jump and leap over large stones called rapids and have the
best of times all to myself. Tlien the snow falls on my roof, making it warm
and cosy inside, scattering thousands of sparkling gems over me which wise men
say greatly add to my beauty.

When the night is cold, clear, and frosty, the stars peep out from their hiding
places ; the moon shines forth in all her glory, quenching even the brightest stars
with her kindling light.

Days pass on. Spring comes again. 1 can no longer live in my house, but
nmst open my doors to the sunlight and run to have a peep at the weather.
The sun comes out so warm and bright that my windows are broken, and 1 cry
at the thought of having to shiver in the cold spring nights. But, never mind,
brighter days are dawning for me.

This morning 1 hear the voices of children at my water's edge. The lark
and the blackbird are pouring forth sweet songs of melody as they hop from
tree to tree, from tiower to flower. The trees have shed their catkins and are
bringing forth numberless green leaves. The shy, little buttercup and the
anemone are blooming again. Everything seems to be happy. 1 am so filled
with joy that 1 rush over pebbles wildly, singing as 1 go.

The year has reached the month of July; the scorching sun has robbed me
of my wealth, leaving only stones and sand to be seen in places. 1 cannot run
now as 1 used to do, but am compelled to stand still.

It has been windy all day, but as the wind calms towards evening, I notice
dark clouds in the west. Before long the sky is overcast, and the gulls, with
noiseless wing^s, fly screaming over me. The clouds go hurrying on, but as
they see the gorgeous tints of the flowt-rs wilted and drooping (the hot sand
almost covering them up), they have pity on them, and each says: " I cannot
do much, but I will help."' A moment and all is still ; then the wind rushes in
from the north — the thunder growls — the sky is darkened, but is now and then
lit up by a bright flash of lightning. My peaceful waters are disturbed ; they
rise and are tossed hither and thither in confusion. The rain falls with in-
creasing violence.

The storm has been raging for hours, but, as the grey v'.awn creeps over
the earth, it gradually dies away and the clouds scatter in every direction. What
a change has come to me! My waters lie no longer in peaceful sleep, but leap
and dance over stones and pebbles. The sun flashes out so brightly that it chases
away the raindrops still lying on everything. I do not know how to express my
joy when, in the morning, I see how fresh and gay the flowers look ; but nature
appears to be so bright and cheerful that even the weary seem to catch the cheer-
fulness and go on their way rejoicing.

THE RIVER.

So I live througli the short, beautiful summer, with the flowers all around
me. Autumn comes; sunnuer throws ofi" her jjay attire and clothes nature in
autumn suits of red and yellow, and tlie time is coming when I will ajjain have
to say good-bye to all my friends and once more make preparations for the
coming winter.

Souris, Mattitoba.

ETHEL MADELINE HICKS.

^^^^^

Cbe Revenge of the niicniacs.

|0T long ago, while visiting in New Urunswick, 1 made a tour
of the country around the Restigouclie. My guide was a
half-breed, well posted in the history of the country, and in
answer to a question concerning an island we were passing,
he told nie the story of " The Revenge of the Micniacs." All
this happened many years before the white man visited the
country, and when the Indians were the unquestioned rulers
of the land.

The place was Bell's Island, and a mound about thirty feet long and two
feet high had attracted my attention. " Oh, yes," said the guide, " that is where
^licmac stack salmon. In winter, likely, game gets scarce, then Micmac break
stack, have some salmon."

There were two large tribes of Indians then — the Micmacs and the Mo-
hawks. The Micmacs were scattered around the Restigouclie and the Bay of
Chaleur. The Mohawks had their encampment near the mouth of the Metis
river, and there were also settlements along the St. Lawrence. But the trii.^ of
which he spoke was at the mouth of the Metis river. (The Metis and the R^....-
gouche both rise in nearly the same place, but the Metis flows north to the St.
Lawrence, while the Restigouche winds to the east and empties into Chaleur
Bay.)

A dozen or so of the Mohawk Indians were on a friendly visit to the Mic-
macs, and a number from both tribes were out in the forest hunting. A white
squirrel, leaping about in the branches, suddenly attracted the attention of a
couple of boys. Both raised their bows and let fly their arrows. The squirrel
fell, but it could not be settled who had killed it, so the boys decided to refer the
■jiiestion to the tribe.

Now, one boy was a Mohawk and one a Micmac, consequently the two

THE RF.VENGF. OF THE MIC MACS.

tribes were excited by the incident. No such iuss vvouhl have been made over
an ordinary squirrel but this was a white one, and was considered a very rare
treasure. Aticamic, the Micmac chief, decided to settle the (luostion by fitjhtin};.
Accordingly, three men from each tribe were chosen. One Micmac came home
alive. When the Mohawks saw that they were defeatetl, they returned to their
camp by canoe, only waiting for an opportunity to wreak their vengeance.

Late the same fall, when the salmon had l)een stacked, the Micmacs had a
great feast, and afterwards fell asleep about the fire. The Mohawks knew of
this feast and the condition in which it would leave their enemies; so they de-
cided to take advantage of the occasion and make the attack when the Micmacs
slept. Under the leadership of Sashawapanise, they made the journey up the
Metis and down the Restigouche. They spent some time in preparation on the
neighboring shores; then, when all was (piiet, they embarked for the island. A
.scout was sent on shore to see that all was ready for the attack. He crept up
quietly till he could peer through the branches to where the firelight flickered
on the forms of the Micmacs. stretched in gluttonous sleep upon the ground.
He returned as quietly as he had come, to report to the eager warriors waiting
in the canoes. With suppressed delight at the thought of their success, they
landed their canoes, and .scattered to the different parts of the island, till they
had formed a complete circle around the sleeping enemy. At a word from Sash-
awapanise they rushed into the clearing, giving a wild Indian war whoop.
Many of the Micmacs were killed befo'-c they were aroused to the danger; and
more were so stupefied that they did not know how to handle their weapons.
Sashawapanise sought out Aticamic, and they engaged in a hand-to-hand battle.
The Mohawk fell, and Aticamic. seeing his men lying around dead, made his
escape through the bushes, and swam the river.

Next morning he was discovered by a party of Micmacs, bathing his
wounds by the side of a mountain stream. Being nearly exhausted, he was
carried home by his men. When he had somewhat recovered speech, he told
them the story of the engagement of the previous night, and their fury knew no
bounds. They would have started in immediate pursuit, but the chief was some-
what wiser. He did not speak for some time. When he did, these were his
words : " No, no ! " he said ; " No, not now. Mohawk frightened now, Mo-
hawk run fast, we no catch Mohawk this fall. You wait, next spring we go.
Next spring, Mohawk have big feast all round big fire ; then Mohawk go sleep —
sleep sound, no wake up. Then we go kill Mohawk."

From that time till late in the winter the Micmacs were busy making pre-
parations for the journey and the attack. It was still winter when they set out
for the journey up the Restigouche. A number of squaws accompanied the

THE REVENGE OE THE MI CM ACS.

party to mind the snovvshoes of the men who were hauling the tohoggans. Each
Indian carried a spare snowshoe on his back, to be used in case of accident to
one of those he wore. The broken one was stuck in the snow, and when the
toboggan, on which the squaws were seated came alongside, the snowshoe was
taken in, mended, and then returned to the Indian.

The first ston was made at r.eH's Island, where they broke the stack of sal-
mon, and witli this proceeded on their journey. They lost no time in reaching
the head of the Restigouche, where they camped for the purpose of making
birch-bark canoes to continue their journey. My the time the ice ^-as out of
the Metis, the canoes were finished, and they proceeded without delay, making
their way down the river till they were near the Mohawk encampment.

One night, when the ukjou was at its height and the maple leaves were out
broad, the Mohawks had their feast, as Aticamic had prophesied. When their
weird, wild songs nnd yells had quite ceased, the Micmacs approached the scene
of the revels. They did not form a circle, but each warrior chose his man.
Aticamic picked out Sashaganise, the son of his old enemy. Then the signal
was given ; they fell upon their enemies like a pack of ravenous wolves. They
had boi i more cautious than their enemies; the surprise was complete, and not
a singi man was left alive on the field!

Nw V tney had had their revenge, and returned in triumph to report to the
rest of the tribe the result of the attack. Scouts were sent all over the country
to bear the news, and great feasts were held. To this day the Micmacs glory
in repeating the tale of how they so ccimpletely worsted their enemies, the
Mohawks.

JEAN RAYNE.

Winiipeg.

Row Santa €lau$ Came.

|ELL1E WINTERS was playinj^: in front of the little old fash-
ioned cotta^^e she called home. This Innnhle home was huilt
at the foot of a hij^h hill, howinji^ down as it were to the
large and handsome honse which stood at the top.

Nellie was wonderinjj^ whether Santa Clans would come
to her this C hristmas or not. There was just another week
till then. Would, oh! would he come to little Nellie? Her
iiopes were centred on a doll ; one with golden hair, with eyes that would open
anu shut in a most life-like way. lint how to get it? Suddenly a hright
thought flashed through her mi'id ; she would write to Santa Claus, — write to
him, and tell him that she wanted a doll more than anything else in all the
world. She was (|uile sure that if he knew how very hadly she wanted one, he
would not refuse her; for, had lie not the kindest of kind faces and the cheeriest
of cheery smiles?

It took Nellie several days to make up her mind how this very important
epistle should he addressed ; after many hlotted attempts and (|uite a few mis-
takes in spelling, the following, she thought, wcnild do: —
" Dear Santa Claus, —

" When you are l)uying things for other little girls at Christmas, i)lease do
not forget the little girl who lives at the foot of the hill. My mamma has no
money, and my i)apa is dead; mv doll. Miss I'^liza, has broken her leg; the saw-
dust runs out where her arm used to he, and she suffers awful. I think if she
got a rest she would get better; for, when people lose their legs and arms they
should go to bed to get better; but my poor i"!liza is the only child I've got,
and 1 am so lonesome for her when she is sick. I know there are plenty of
well dolls, because I see them in the sho]) win<lows, but I am afraid you won't

HOIV SAN'IA CLAUS CAME.

see them. In Mr. Seller's window there is a beautiful one with curls, but 1
think it would cuat, oh! such a lot of money.

"From the Little Girl at the foot of the Hill."

Nellie was much relieved when the letter was written; she was much puz-
zled, however, to know by what means it would soonest reach Santa Claus.
Should she put it in the big, red letter box at the corner? No, the postman
would never see it, it was so very tiny a letter, and he carried so many more im-
portant ones. Across Nellie's busy httle brain another bright thought tiashed;
she would give the letter to the Winds ! The Winds went everywhere, and they
would surely reach Santa Claus' far away home!

The wind took Nellie's letter up — she saw it whirl about; it circled above
her head in a dizzy way, and then went out of sight in a trice, even while she
stood looking. " Oh, dear ! 1 do hope it won't go to the wrong place or get
lost," cried Nellie; then turning, she ran into the house to tell Miss Eliza the
wonderful thing she had done.

Miss Eliza didn't say anything, but she appeared to be thinking very deeply,
and Nellie said a very great deal but thought very little about the matter for the
next few days; for her mamma fell ill, and little Nellie had to turn house-keeper
and nurse at once.

Christmas eve was a terribly windy day. The snow whirled about and
formed a fret-work of the most fantastic designs upon the window pane;
strangely enough, each design took on the smiling face of a beautiful doll! It
was the same wind that had born Nellie's letter away. Let us follow the letter.

Being lifted up by the winds, it made two or three great circles in the air;
then dashed itself against a fence. Again it rose and went in a zigzag way
up the high hill, where it very rudely struck in the face a stranger who was
carrying a bundle, sailo' fashion, slung over his broad back.

" Aha ! Aha I " he exclaimed, seizing the letter, " this is a queer welcome
home on Christmas ! It's the first letter I've had for many a dav. This one
appears to be from the winds ! It's a stil¥ struggle Jack Tar has had with these
same winds for the last five years ! " The man brushed the sleet from his eyes
and looked at the strange missive. " To Santa Claus ! " he read ; then he laughed
uneasily.

Standing at the top of the steep hill, the stranger threw down his bundle
and read the quaint message which Nellie had sent adrift. " The little girl at
the foot of the hill?" he repeated, softly; "some mate's little girl, like enough,
an' wanting a doll on Christmas eve? I've a little girl of my own as might be
askin' for the very same thing," he said, slowly; and I don't think it was
sleet that he now wiped from his troubled eyes. " This is the hill, I guess," he

HO IV SANTA CLAUS CAME.

said. " I see a shop to wind'ard, I'll just tack across and lay in a small cargo!"
The best doll on Mr. Sellers' shelf was paid for by an English sovereign : - tiny
box containing a real set of real china doll dishes; a snow-white laml), and (at
Mr. Sellers' suggestion) a work-box containing sundry shining things, includ-
ing a gold thijnble.

" Where shall I send the things ? "' asked the shop-keeper.

"Well, here is all the address I've got." was the laughing answer, and
Nellie's letter was laid upon Mr. Seller's counter.

'• Ah, that is Jack Winter's little girl "•— (the stranger started)—" she lives
at the foot of the hill." said ,Mr. Sellers. " she's a bonnv little lass. I know her
very well."

"Then I guess I'll take tht parcel njyself!'" the stranger said, quickly pick-
ing up his bundle.

That night Nellie and her mamma were busy bustling about the house, and
It was almost time to hang up the stocking ; poor Nellie's little heart was beating
hard, for no answer had come to her letter. A knock wao heard at the door,
and when :\Irs. Winters opened it. a stranger stood there, holding in his hand
a very large parcel. How Nellie's heart beat ! She could scarcely breathe with
excitement and hope. "Is there a little girl called Nellie living here?" in-
quired the stranger.

" I have a little girl Nellie." was the answer.

" Then, I have a message for her from "'

" Santa Claus ! " screamed Nellie, bounding forward.

" Yes," said the stranger, lifting his large hat, " from Santa Claus."

" Jack ! Has the sea given up its dead ? " cried Nellie's mamma.

" No, Mary, it has given up its living, and Santa Claus has brought me
home ! " the stranger said.

Need I tell you of that happv Christmas dav in that tinv house at the foot
of the hill ?

Need I tell you of Nellie's joy. hearing the wonderful tale of the ship-
wreck, in which her papa was cast away upon a wonderful treasure island ? Rut
more wonderful than all to little Nellie was the glad answer to her Christmas
letter and the coming of a real Santa Claus.

BONNIE SIMPSON.

Winnipeg.

Cbe Cbief.

II E Fisher district lies directly west of th little town of Den-
bow. There is nothing' very attractive in its scenery to the eye
of the stranger, ami this likely accounts for its few settlers.
Several small ranges of hills, which at some remote period
were heavily wooded, now stand destitute of almost every ap-
pearance of timber, excepting a few clumps of dwarf poplar,
birch and willow. These hills are the breeding place of many
of the smaller wild animals, such as rabbits and foxes, while the banks of a
neighboring creek afford excellent shelter for the young of the wary coyote.

For some time previous to the date at which my story opens this comnnm-
nity had suffered losses, which, though they were not heavy, were exceedingly
annoying to the careful farmer and still more so to his frugal wife. Scarcely
a night passed that a hen or a turkey did not mysteriously disappear from
some of the coops in the neighborhooil, and what made it more puzzling, no
trace, not even a feather, could ever be found.

" It's a human bein,' and no mistake! " said an old lady one morning, when
she missed an especially prized rooster. " I wouldn't put it past that Pat Doyle ;
he was over at my place the other night, and he looked as though he'd steal any-
thin' he c'ud carry." Indeed, opinions like these were freely expressed through-
out the neighborhood, and one woman even went .so far as to say she would
shoot the first man she saw near her hen coop, a threat which, though it sounded
dangeroais, was not so in the least, for this .same valiant lady would have run
screaming from a mouse. However, such a shock as the uso of firearms must
have been was spared her nervous system and a weight of suspicion lifted off
the shoulders of several unfortunate individuals bv the discoverv of the real thief.

THE THlEh.

One morning a farmer, living some distance south of the sandhills, arose
rather earlier than usual and sallied f<.rth to feed his pigs, which he had neglect-
ed to do the previous evening. Davlight was just beginning to appear and a
slight mist hung about the buildings. ( )n the way to the pig-pen he was sud-
denly disturbed by a loud flapping of wings in the direction of the hen roost,
and he rushed down just in time to sec the lithe, sneaking form of a very large
coyote disappear thrf)ugh the mist. The farmer naturally made some forcible
remarks, but the coyote showed no inclination to either bring back or drop the
turkey, for such it was that had given the alarm. The news that the thief had
been discovered soon spread, and to catch him became the chief ambition of every
boy in the neighborhood.

One morning my cousin Ah. rode over to where I was herding, and said,
" Jack, let's go for a hunt. We'll get some chickens, anyway, and we may run
,across that thieving coyote."

" Well, all right," I answered, " hut 1 don't think there is much chance of
seeing him on a wet day like this."

I had my gun with me. so 1 mounted my pony, and together we rode off.
Heaving my younger brother in charge of the cattle. My cousin had two hounds,
and these followed us, .sniffing and nosing all over.

" I wish the ugly brutes had stayed at home," remarked Ab., " they'll fright-
en every chicken in the hills."

" Yes," I answered ; " say we put a split stick on their tails and send them
home."

" Yes, sir," he said, " they'll make themselves scarce then." And he pro-
/ceeded to procure the sticks. When we had the sticks ready we looked around
for the dogs, but they were nowhere to be seen. We called and whistled, but
they did not come, so we concluded they had gone home, and we rode on, soon
forgetting rJl about them.

W f hail ridden some distance and had bagged several chickens, when we
began t;. feel hungry, and decided to camp for dinner. The place we chose for
our camping ground was a deep hollow between two large hills. At the bottom
of this hollow grew a small clump of birch, and the slopes of the hills were
covered with ground cedar. T proceeded to prepare one of the chickens, while
Ab. went to gather some brush for the fire. He had not long gone, however,
when he came rushing back.

"Jack! sure as I'm living. T heard those hounds yelp, and I believe, by
the sound they made, they're after something."

It did not take us long to climb the nearest hill, and, sure enough, there
came the hounds, dashing in full pursuit of a large coyote. The froth was

THE THIEF.

dripping from their jaws and their tongues lolled out, almost touching the
ground. The coyote seemed to know that the dogs were faster than he, for he
did not take time to look to left or right, but stretched straight ahead with that
long swinging gait peculiar to his kind.

" Catch him. Rex ! " " Catch him, Pete ! " shouted Ab., as he made a leap to
get on his pony, but in his excitement he misjudged the animal's height, and
went sprawling right over on to the ground. By the time he had picked
himself up I was some distance ahead, but 1 could hear him giving the pony
some very instructive hints. The hounds seemed to take a fresh start when
ithey heard Ab.'s voice, which, at this particular time, was no " still, small one,"
and we were now gaining rapidly. On they tore, over hills, through hollows,
jumping holes and ditches and baying a'ld howling like fiends. I was still ahead
of Ab., and was just makii.g a rush tc the north to head off the coyote when my
pony stepped in a badger hole, and over we rolled.

" Are you killed? " shouted my cousin, as he passed me at a bound.

" No-o," I answered, feeling my neck. to make sure that I spoke the truth.

" Well, get on. then. What are you crawling around there on your knees
like a nun for?" were the consoling remarks wafted to me on the gentle breeze.
I did get on again, but I don't believe 1 was quite as anxious to catch that
coyote as I was a moment before, and, like Mark Twain, I wished for a hun-
dred more hands to lay on the sore spots. However, I was soon on horse-
back again thoroughly excited and had forgotten all about badger holes.

The dogs were almost upon him now, but the coyoti> "-ris making straight
for a barb wire fence, and we knew that if the coyote got ihrough, the dogs would
kill themselves on the wire.

" Lie down ! Lie down ! " Ab. shouted to the dogs, for their value had risen
considerably in his estimation since morning; but it was all fh vain. On they
dashed nearer and nearer the wire, which seemed to wait their coming.

Sudd'^nly there was a crash and the barbs rattled down the entire side of the
fence.

" The coyote has struck the wire ! " Sic him ! Sic him ! " I shouted to the
hounds.

In a moment they were upon him, and a terrible fight ensued. Bunches
of hair f^ew in every direction, and I believe had we not come to the aid of the
dogs, the coyote would have held his own with both of them. As it was, how-
ever, he was quickly dispatched, av, 1 with the aid of a broken fence-post we
managed to pull off the dogs, who Mmped whining and shaking their heads
to get the hair away from their mouths.

Truly, he had lived on the fat of the land, for we found him even larger

THF. THIEF.

than we expected, and were obliged to place a pole across our horses' backs to
sling him on. Thus we marched proudly home with the " Thief's " head dang-
ling downward like a traitor.

Souris, Manitoba.

JOHN H. GRANT.

CittU Cim.

vviis ;i Iti'.intiftil Xinas mnniin^; ilic sim was sl'iiiinj^ hri^lilly
and a )^nillc Itrcczr stincci \\\r air. rnut l,i(ltlc Tim was
wandrriiif; sIdwIv up at\<l dnun llu- sliccis i»f a larm' city,
jnsllnl frnni side l<> sidr l»y tlic iTitwd itl lasliinnaltly dnsscd
prnplr, who wvvv on llu-ir wav to clinirli. His clollics were

^^Lll sranlv. and Ins feet pootlv riad. wliilr liis \\\\\v hands were

IK'IIS w

I)hi(' with (ohl. for the inornin^j air was slill froslv,
ch' ihiinitif.^ tnciiilv. ami lan^ clcai and sweet ihron^h the air

Little Tim wende<l his way onward with the erowd. waltlhn^ them as they
entered tlu' j^reat valhedral. Ihit. liaiK! What was that? The ^^reat otj^an sent
I'lirth peals of nnisie. and the ihoir sani; the heatilifnl ( hristinas hvinn. "The
Star of llethlehenr" Little Tim was spellhonnd hv the nnisie, and. drawing;
near the ehnivh. sat down on the sti'ps, listening; ea^erlv as the livinn rolled on.
He then venttned to inonni the steps and peep in. hnt ;i!thon^;li the nsher did
not look mdvindlv at him. the j^r.indiMn' of the phu'i- and people da/ed him. so
that his |>oor little lai^s sei-med ,ill the more eonspienons, and he retraced his
steps as fast as his little limbs eonid earry him.

Tim. who was hnt twelve veais old, was one of those poor little waifs who
lived ill tiK' shims. He had a swt-el. winning faee. with soft hrovvii eyes, whieh
looked onl from a golden mass of enrlv hair; altogether a little faee that yon
would lin^-r to look at twiee. and vet .Santa ( lans had never visited him or tlu'
wretched dwellini; whieh he e.illed home.

He really had no home. I)nl was mer»'ly allowed shelter with a s(|iiali<l
family in a tenement, his own father h.ivini: i^one to a drunkard's >.;rave before
lie eonld remember, while his mother was servin^^ a term in prison for, while
in a «lrniikeii spree. Iiavini: eommilted some otTi-nee.

N\>tliing ever had sneh a fasoinatior f.)r Little Tiin's quiek ear as nutsic,

I irirr iii\t.

u»

iiiid now, ;is lie flcst cihIciI fiorn tin- (IhikIi, ;iii<I waii*lrrc<| dovvii to tlic slrcct-
<(>rnri, no wondrr that llic soinid of ;i (Itiitii (oninij^ down tli<* sfr«v I had at-
lra(li(»n for liini, so lie soon found himself with many other hltlc ra^,'annlffin^
following' the Salvation Aimy, as they iriaK lied to the harra(l<s. It was
(lowdrd, and the ( apfain, in her neat, hhic suit and larj^c army lK»nnct, pro-
ceeded to open tin- ineelni^' l»v sinj^inj.^:

"Hail:! the herald angels siiij,',
(ilory to the new horn Kiti^."

This ran^,' in Tiin's ears, Then she opened fier I'.ihle and told liow tlie little
' 'hristdike < Iiild (ante to earth so lon^^ a^^Mi to save those wiio woiihl (rmfess tlieir
wron^' and he made i hildren of (iod. This was followed hy a chorus, wliich
Tim listened to with wrapt attention:

"Oil, yon tmist he a lover of the l/irrl,

yon can't ^o to heaven when yon di(

I do want to he j^'ood," said Tim, " anfl love Jesns; hiit \ wond«-r if lie
uoidd have ra^j^'crl little hoys'" I lope soon sprang; in the heart, however for
the captain, after addressin^^ the ohlcr people, did not forj^et to say someiliin^
which the little folks could understand, and she rea«l, " Suffer little chihlreti io
<duie unto Me, and forhi'l them not, for of such is tlw kingdom of fi')d."

icy sanj,' a^(am :

hen come, oh come, ;ind >^o with me

Wher

e jileasurcs never die

And yon shall wear a starry crown,
And rei^Mi ahove the sky."

/\nd iJttle Tim, with sparkling.,' eyes, went simply to the front, heedless r,f
Ins little hari; lej^'s and ra),'(.,'ed appearaiuc, and said to the captain:

" I Mease, ma'am, I do want to love Jesus, and ^^o to heaven when I 'lie."

'I'iie captain then jiointed to heaven and said how that ( iod was'ies all our
sins away in the hlood of the L.uiih, and vvatchc. over us with such teiuler, lov-
ing; care; so that morninj,', with a feu others, I.ittle Tim was ahle t'j sin^ with
■a \^\'m\ heart.

The little waif's feeliii^^^s were so new that he was loath to leave when the
meetinj.^ was over, and while he was linj^erinj^ the cai)taiti came and spoke a
few kind words to him, aiifl findiii^^ out where he lived jjromised to jjo and see
the morrow, s(^ Little Tim went on his way rejoicinj.;. .Although he

nm on

5i»

LIT'ILI': TIM.

had no Christmas dinner, lie liad at least received nnich food for thoiijrht, and. with
this new love in his heart, he thonj^dit of iiis poor mother, wlioni, with all her
fauhs, he loved dearly. Conld not this kind Jesns have helped her? Oh, if he
icould only go and tell her ahont Him.

The next day, true to her word, t' • captain son,t,dit ont T.ittle Tim. In this
miserahle ahode she found a rather hesotted looking woman and a tawdry look-
inj^ girl, hut they were civil to the captain, the mother offering Iut a chair after
wiping it off with the lower part of her skirt. The captain spoke kindly to them,
and after reading a few verses in her IJihle, and praying, she found that there
were no relatives who had a claim on Tim. conseiptently the little waif was placed
in a Rescue Home in a few days. This was like fairy land to Little Tim, after
coming from the wretched tenement to where everything was clean and spotless.
He soon made himself quite at home, and his hright. merry laugh was heard
ijuite often as he performed the duties that were given to him, hut the chief
thought in his nu'nd was that he might learn something so that in the future he
niij^ht lie ahle to have a comfortable home when his mother should come hack
In liim. Tim was one of those hoys who could he depended upon, who never
shirked his duty or put ofif for an instant whatever work he had to do. He re-
mained in the Home till spring, and great was his delight to work amongst the
fresh earth and flower beds. His one ambition was to go to the country, so a
jdace was soon found for him with a gentleman who needed an imder-gardener.
jlere Tim was industrious, and the gardener, who took a great interest in him,
laught him all he could.

Time passed quickly with Tim. and at the end of four years we find him
stil! in the same place, but now he has grown to be a big stout lad, and has long
since been promoted. He had always saved his wages, with the one thought of
his poor mother, so that with the promotion won his loving duty towards her
was now about to be realized.

The term of imprisonment was now completed, and Tim rented a small,
neat cottage, simply but tastily funiisherl. To this he took his mother, thus re-
moving her from old surroundings and temptations. She was very proud of her
dear boy, who thus helped her to lead a better life, and they spent many a happy
Christmas together afterwards.

KATHLEEN RROWNRIDGE.

Tamarisk, Manitoba.

Cbe Bcar'$ Cbrisimas.

I AID JJig i'.car to his wife: " You had hcttcr ask the childri-ii
what tlicy want," as he trotted away from his snuj^' den tcj j^et
some food for his wife and cliildreii. It was the hear's
Christmas, and when the mother l)ear came in to ask the three
children what they wanted for ( hristmas.the hahy hear said:
"1 want a handful of herries and some honey!" Said the
second child: "I want a handful of herries. /a horse, and
some candy!" "Oh, so do I." fairly screamed Fanny, "only I want a doll in-
stead of a horse '

" You shall nave it, you dear child." said Mother Bear, stroking I<anny's lonjr
Mack hair.

Fanny was the eldest, and crossest little bear you ever saw; for. if she
didn't get everything she wanted, she would snap the others' noses nearly off.

"Will we get just what we want, mother?" asked haby.

"Yes, pet," said Mother Bear; "but here is father, so we can have our
supper."

After supper, Mother Bear put the children to bed to dream of sugar
plums and Santa Claus. When all were asleep. Mother Bear went cnit to get
some honey from a tree, but the hole was not large enough, and her paw was
caught. She called loudly for help, but no one came. When she had given
up for lost, who should come in sight but Father Bear with his hatchet. He
had been chopping down trees, and hearing the cries of Mrs. Bear, came quickly
to the spot. He made the hole in the tree larger with his sharp hatchet but he
very nearly cut her paw ofif! After Mother Bear pulled her paw out, she got
all the other things needed, and then went home. Next morning, vvhen the

5-* THE REAR'S CHRISTMAS.

children got up, tliey ran to their stockings and found just what they had asked
for. They caugiit paws and danced round the lahle, and sang this song:

He happy, he hapi)y, the leaves all say.
Each little hear has a holiday.
And when with sunshine summer will come,
Right into the woods little hears will run.

This was a hear's Christmas.

Portage la Prairie, Manitoba.

KATIE MACDONALD.

|i I:

Olbat eri$$y Reard m Cily Say.

RISSY, a little ^n)l(tcii haired girl of five, sat in the front seat
of the schoolroom. 1 ler head was noddintj^. and she was
very tired. She wondered if four o'clock would ever come.
She was just ready to ^o to sleep, when she heard a voice
softly, i)ut sadly sayiiij^: " ilere 1 am. a jjoor Lily, in a
cup on the teacher's desk, dyinj^ for the want of a little care.
When I first came to live here. I was given a cool drink of
water every morning, but low 1 never have a clean drink; I am getting old
and worn out. No one comes to admire me. Once I was happy, beauti-
ful, and gay; but now I am faded and despised. Once 1 despised the little
shy buttercup, who lived beside me. What would I not give to see her dear
little face looking shyly up into mine! Hut alas, it cannot be. We are parted
forever.

" My life was one of happiness until I was brought here. My memory
reaches back to the day when my dear Mother Lily told me I must find a home
for myself. She said she was getting too old to support me any longer, and
•that her days were numbered. I was not as sorry as I ought to have been
when I heard those words, for I was so taken up with the thought of finding
a new home for myself, that 1 did not think of the truth which underlay those
words. I was sick and tired of being told not to go ou'.side of our home, for
fear some great monster called Wind wt)ul(l catch me, as he had caught my
neighbor Thistle. I was just crazy to have a race with him.

" But what do you think mother told me on the eve of my departure? She
said Wind would not catch me now, because I was too heavy, and. instead of
skipping along with Mr. Wind. T would niake a new acquaintance by the name
of Mother Earth. Mother told me that she was very kind to all little people
who first ventured out into the world. She said she would give me a home for

ly/iAT ch'/s-iy II EAR n run i.il y say

(he vvintcr, winrli would sIuIIct me from llu- rold Meak winds. Tlu'rc
I lonid sliTp all wiiifcr loiij;, and ulu'ii tlic wanii s|)iiiij,' rains fell, and tin-
liKr/rs from llif sunny sontli would lijow. Mollur l'',arlli would awaken me.
Aftir llial Iciliuf I cuddlfd down beside Motlur for the last time.

" The ne.Nt niorninj^ the sun eame foiling; up in stalely majesty, evi-ry where
dislriliutin^ liis l»rij.,dil heams. and making m\ nt-ij^dihois Violet, j'ntteieup and
Tliislle, nod and smile (o eaeli other, hrom hill top to tree top tlie meadow lark
was tiillinf^- forth ^lad anthems of praise, till the very world eemed touched
with ina^^ie. What a >;rand morniiif^ for my dejiarlnre. I hadi- ^ood-hyi- to
Mother, and lij^htly tripped down to the I'.arth. Somehow I stumbled while
^M)inj,', and fell with a thud a}.;ainst her. What would Mother ICarth think of
mc? Il«)wever, she did not scold me. hut told me Autitnm would send nic
some blankets. I buttoned my little brown eoat well around me, and lay tpiite
still. In a little while .some one, I don'' know who, laid a little red blanket
over me. 'Iiui over that they put brown and red (|uilts, and so on till I was
t'lll covered over. I was soon fast asleep. ;md there I sU'pt all winter louf^. What
passed durinj; the w inter I never knew, nor will I ever know.

" My dear Mother told the truth. .Sine enoUf^h, Mother i^arlh awakened
me. How nice it was to hear the little drops of rain paltering.; on my coveriuf^s.
I waited f«)r a few days, and then I peeped out. ivervthiiij; looked brij^ht
{ind ha))py. and every dav I {.jrew. Mow I did f^row ! I had to keep chauf^inj^
my clothes for new ones. V\ hen I (irst ventured out i was dressed in a sombre
brown. 1 soon chan^;ed that for a ^reen dress. Mother had told me that all
little Lilii-s should dress in dark colors until they were about threv months old.
Due day I looked down and saw my nearest neighbor. Her name was iUitter-
vup. She wore a pretty yellow dress, trinuned with ^reen. Of course I con-
sidered myself better than she, because I was ^rowin^ tall and dif^nified, while
she was small and shy.

At last I had to chanj^e my dress afj^ain. I was a youii}^ lady now and
could tlress in {;ay dothinjj^. I put on the newest style of skirt, which had just
come into fashion. It was a briijht oranjie color, iive-fj;^ored. with a graceful
flare at the bottom. How proud I was st.uidinfj; up higher than lUittercup.
How 1 longed for some one to come and admire me!

" lUit. alas! the day came too soon ""or me. How I wished then that I >vas
not so tall ami dij^nified. but shy and small. One morning' I heard stranjje
voices. On-.' of them said, ' Here is the first lily of the season. We will take it
to Miss I,ynne.' Who Miss Lvnne was, and wliere they were j^oinj.^ to lake
nie. was more than 1 could imaj^ine. Hut 1 soon knew. 1 was taken away
from my little friend, carried to the room, and put into this cup. where \ am to

lv//Ar r-A'/ssi' iiH.iki) 77 //c iji. y sa y

stay the- rest of my life. |.',,r a f

childrc'ii, but i iuanl ..m- ,,f tlic ^miIs say tl
I never hear one vvriid <,f praise ii..\v. I woiil

evv r'ays I was admired liy all the school
lis Ill^rnill^^ ' I low old and faded!"

one; if I ronid only Ik: haek hesidr my littlr l.,st frien.l

open pranie, where the l.ird

d not care if I had never heard
j,M(twin^' on the wide

line is I

lappy.

s sinj,^ all day lonj,' in the trees, and where e

ry-

Souris, Maniloh

HI.

MOLLIE M((;Ri:r;oR.

A fims €bri$fiiia$.

! '

Sa| RAINY day in October. Indeed, for about tbrce weeks, there
had been more rainy days than any other kind, a thing un-
usual in our suiuiy Manitoba.

The country was rather dreary looking. What leaves

remained on the trees were mostly of a dull brown color, as

if the pretty red shades were altogether too bright for such

a wet fall.

Looking away from the woods, the grey stul)ble. with, here and there.

a black furrow ; or the meadow, from which every trace of green hatl vanished,

met the eye. Overhead, the clouds hung ,so dense that a speck of the blue sky

could tiowhere be seen. The rain was falling heavily.

At tlic window of a neat little farm-house stood a boy of about eight
years of age. lie looked very nnich as if he did not like the weather at all.
Near by sat his mother, busy at her work.

" 1 do wish this rain would stop." said the little fellow, impatiently. " ( )ne
cannot play out of doors, nor have any fun at all, in this sort of weather."

llis mother looked up, and smiling rather sadly, held out her hand towards
him. lie came to her, and she said, in her sweet, gentle way: " No doubt the
weather is dull these days, but, do you know what is making the days still
harder for mother?"

He looked up into her face, puzzled. So she went on:
" It's my little boy's fretfulness." This made him feel very sorry, for he
was really fond of his mother. " Trv to be brave and happy." .said she, "and
hel]) me to be so, too. Soon we will have snow, and then you will have fine
times with your sleigh. It's only a short time till dear, merry Christmas comes,
and vou always look forward to that time, don't you?" and she stroked his
cheek.

" That's just what I've been thinking." said Roy (for that was the lad's
name). " When this rain stops we will have frost and snow, so things will be as
tiresome as ever, and one can have but very little fun at Christmas, because of the
cold. I wish Chri.stmas would only come in the pleasant summer time."

/I HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

" Vou do?" said his inotlu-r. " Wdl. I don't, and I dnn't tlimk ynti
nill ever say such a silly lliiii^r ;,^r;,i,,, wlicii yon think of it a httlc more. The
Slimmer is siicii a pk-asant tinir in itsrlf. that we would not lf)ok forward to
Christmas murh, if if lanif tlun. iWsidis, the siujimer is stich a busy time.
iVow, try to he happy, and try to d(» somethin),' ^n.od each day; then time will
pass (|iiickly and as happily as if it were snmnier. Will you not try?"

Yes, he did want to Irv, and he juit his arms aromid his mother's neck,
while his eyes filled with tears. She comforted him as only a mother can
comfort, and when he left the room it was with an earnest desire to he hraver
and to try to make others happy.

That nij,dit, when he went to hed, he asked the j.,'ood Lord, in his simple,
childlike way, to help him to he f,'oo(l.

Next morniiif^ this was firmly fixed in his mind, and he tried hard all the day
to carry it out, a?id felt much happier tlian hefore. It was surprising,' how many
chances he fftund to help' others. r)f course, only Iti small things, hut he soon
learned that "every little helps." I lis mother was verv j,dad of the change in
her hoy, and she heli)ed him in manv ways to reniemher what he was trying to
do. Tlie days follovvinj,' seemed more ])leasant to him and the time passed
(juickly. Xow. it did not matter what kind of weather came, Roy always foimd
something' helpful to do.

Christmas was hut a few days ofT. ft was evening. TJttle Roy was sit-
tinj.j with his mother hy the fire, and they were havinj.;: a nice talk. She told
him how fjlad she was to have such a thonj^ditftd little hoy. and that she hoped
he would always he so. Iff said he was K'oiuf,' to try. Then he told her f)f a
plan which had heen in his mind for some time. T^nly ahout half-a-mile away
there lived a poor fanu'ly. in which were five childreti who had hut few com-
forts of any kind. lie had heen thinking how tiicc it would he if he could, in
some way, hri{.^hten Christmas in that ])oor home, hut he needed his mother's
help. She was ^lad to hear what had heen said, and willingly promised tf) help
him. That \\\<^\\ they made all their plans. In due time everything; was
ready; a l)askctful of nice thinj^s to each, and a present for each u\ the chil-
dren as well.

That Christmas was a very, very hap])y one for Roy. His parents j^'ave
him heautiful }j;ifts, hut his s^^reatest pleastire came frf)m feelinjj that he had
helped to jjladden the lives of some poor children. TTis little heart was full of
love for he had found happiness in hein^ kind and useful to others.

BIN A JOHAXXSON.

Bru, Manitoba.

*S»w<-

M .

I>ard Pressed.

|N .1 sunny autumn nioniinif (if tin- yi-ar 1884 a yoinifi^ rancher
was IcaniiijLj over a stove, cookiu}; liis hrt-akfasl of tnusli and
bacon. His countenance was ])leasant, open, and well bronzed
by the prairie sun and wind. He was a perfect speciiuent of
a cowboy, tall and straij^lu. and .ijiviu}; an impression of jj^reat
strenjLrtb. M bis old boiue down east be was known as b'rank
Roberts. ( )n tlie plains be was called " Strai^^bt I'rank."
Havinjj prepared the simple meal, I'lank was about to call bis cowboys, when
in rusbetl one of the men.

" Say, boss," be exclaimed, " the Reds are on the rampaj^e again. They
have looted Bancroft's ranch and wiped out the whole lot."

Althoufjh the news wa:« serious, I'rank was not excited, but simply said:
'■ I'etc and Sam nuist ride to I'Ort I.aird for help. ^ on and I'ill can find out
where the Indians arc making" for."

Shortly after the cowboy left on bis errand, a stranger appeared, who
proved to be Walter Harris, a former cbiun of b" rank's. They greeted each
other cordially, and sat down to talk over old times, b'rank introduced Walter
to his dog Harney, an enormous Russian Vvolf bound. While at breakfast, Frank
told how the Indians were on the warpath again.

" Pshaw ! " was the answer. " Tf they are anything like the poor critters T
saw in Winnipeg, I can beat the tribe." Frank, bowevfcr, took a more serious
view of the situation.

They spent the first day inspecting the ranch. Walter was impressed by the
appearance of the i wboys. They certainly looked picturesque, their weakness
being for long hair, flapping wide hats, huge spurs, and fringed Mexican cha-
parejos.

HARD rREssr.n.

fi9

The scouts. Ike and Cill, n-tiirncd that ^v(•Ilil1^,^ and reported that flie huhaiis
were inovin^^ westward. His anxiety having been relieved, Prank arranj^'ed t(»
take Walter oti a hinitinj,^ trip next (hiy.

I'.arly next niorniiij^' they were np, and starterl off, aeeonipanied hy IJariiey.
P.olh were well-armed and well nioinited. f..r, thouKdi a tenderfoot. Walter was a
qo..d rider and a crack sli..t, Ihey ^^alloped across the rollin^^ prairie, over
vvifle alkali flats, and low liills cn.wne.l with stinKed tr^'cs. As they left the
miles behind, the country hecaine l.n.ken up into sr.iall pine-clad ravines in which
craiue al.'ouuded. \'.-ry soon, l-rank's trained eve cau^lil si.irht of a fme huck.
Luckily the two luuiters were on the lee side of their .piarry. and the animal had
not scented them. They led their hr.rses hack into a little hollow, leavinj.,'
Harney to pfuard thetu. When within easy rauf^'e. I>ank u-'ive the word. They
fn-ed toj,n-ther, and the huck fell. llaviuK^'cut up the meat, each placed a quarter
nil his horse and started for home.

'Ihey had proeeeded a .short distance only, when I'.anj.,'! P.an>:j! two shots
ranj.r ""t. in (|uick succession, from a small hluff near hv.

" Indians! hy thunder!" rf)ared h'rank. as he eiuptied his rei)eater into the
hh-ff. A wild yell showed that he lia<l found at least one mark,

'I he hunters dropped their meat, and, spnrrinj,,' their nmstan^s into a si:dden
C-allop, ihey }r,,t the start of the Indians. Yelling and flrinK^ the Indians leaped
-isfride their horses, l-'m-iously lashing- them into a K''ill"l'. tl'^'v k''ii'-d on the
fui.dtives. for the Indian ponies were the fresher.

"We'll never reach the ranch: so let's make for that lo^' cahin we saw on
(he wav out." called I'rank.

1 he Tndiaus were slowly hut surely f^'ainiufj. Their yells of exultatif)n
served only to j,r,,ad the flyinj,' htmters to more desperate efforts. .Stuldenly
they rounded a hluff. and the cahin was in sij,,dit.

"Thank flod ! " exclaimed h'rank, " we'll «-et there yet."
I'ut would they? The Indians, also perceiving,,' the cahin. and fearinp; their
victims nii^ht yet escape, fired on them. Both horses fell, hurling- their riders
headlonp^ to the f,rrotmd, Frank lit on his feet like a true plainsman, hut Walter
was dazed by the fall. Frank helped him uj). ai.d seizin}^ their rifles they dashed
forward.

They reached the cahin with the rerl flemons close behind. The door was
jammed. Was this tf> he the end of their struf^'j^dcs? No! With a mif^dity
heave of his shoidders. I'>ank burst the (]f)or f)pen, Kushinq- iti. it was but the
i\'ork of a moment to close and barricade the door, Firiiiff throup^h the chinks,
they broujrht the discomfitefl savap^es to a sudden stop.

Rut the Indians were not thus easily to be baulked of their prey. Retiring

HARD PRESSED.

out of range, they held a council-of-war. While they were deliberating, the
exhausted men suddenly missed Barney. They concluded that he had been shot.
At the same time, they discovered tliat they had but little ammunition left.

Spreading out, the Indians circled around the cabin rapidly. The circle
narrowed. They dismounted and made a determined attack on the south,
i^ast and west sides. The defenders were kept busy, rushing from on side to
the other, and constantly firing; they accounted for a good number of dead and
wounded. The Indians were giving back slowly, when a sound showed that
some of them had crept up on the north side, and were going to break the door in.

Springing to that side, Frank and Walter poured a hot fire into them, which
did great execution. The Indians suddenly retired before the determined fire.
The defendf^rs breathed more easily for a time ; but they knew it was only a
lull before the storm. They had now come to their last few cartridges. Know-
ing that they need expect no mercy from the enraged savages, they determined
to fight to the last gasp.

How hard it seemed to have to die ! It was so sunny outside ! A cool
breeze was blowing, and the woods glistened, crimson and yellow in the autumn
^unlight.

The Indians were e\ idently preparing for a last fierce charge. Their chief,
Tailfeather, was going among his braves, encouraging them for the final act in
the tragedy. Walter and Frank were ready, their last shots laid out beside
them. The Indians hesitated for a moment, and then charged.

Bang! Bang! Bang! spoke Walter's gun. At each report an Indian fell.
Bang! Bang! Frank's gun sent two more to the happy hunting grounds. It
was a grim fight. The little hut became filled with the stinking powder smoke.
The Indians still came on. The poor fellows gave up all hope, and
clasped hands in a silent farewell. Their thoughts ran back to their aged
()arents, and homes, far away. They were brought back to realities, however,
by the triumphant shouts of the braves. They clubbed their rifles and prepared
to die hard.

To their despairing ears came the welcome sound of revolver shots and loud
cheers. Rushing to the door. Walter and Frank saw a body of cowboys and
Mounted Police come dashing up the trail, while the Indians were seen scurry-
ing away in an opposite direction.

" Hurrah ! " sang out Frank. " Here come the police, our cowboys — and
Barney ! **

While the police followed the Indiar s, the co;vboys told how Sam and Pete
liad been to the Fort, and how u detachment had been sent back with them.
They had met Barney, making lor home at full rpeed. Suspecting that some-

HARD PRESSED.

thing was wrong, they spurred ahead, Barney leading. When they heard the
firmg thev increased their speed, and arrived just in the nick of time.

Waher and Frank will never forget that time when thev were "hard
pressed on the lonely prairies of Western Canada.

Winnipeg.

Written jointly by

FRED McLELLAN,
WILL I'.ROWN.

"Beity. "

T was an afternoon in early September, just the kind of day
when, as Jack said, " The tish 'd bite jolly fine," and Jack was
going tishing.

" I want you to help nie dig worms," he said to Betty, in
the morning, and she, being two years younger, never dream-
ed of relusing, though the crawling, earthy things made the
cold shivers run down her back.
After dinner they started for the little stream, which curved its way through
an adjoining farm.

" Betty, you carry the worms while 1 take the lines," commanded Jack,
whose word was law to Betty.

One fisher was there before them, but iie willingly made room for them.
Jack relieved Betty of the worm-can, and, as he took the cover oflf, he ex-
claimed, enthusiastically, "Ain't they beauts? 1 bet you can't beat em."

" Pshaw I " said Jim, " those ain't nothin'. You can get 'em as big as my
finger over'n the woods."

"As big as my finger! My, what crawlers! Just wouldn't I like to get
some."

" Jim Wilson," a sharp voice broke in just then, " what business have you
fishing in harvest time? You come right along home, you lazy scamp." So
Jira was marched off, and Betty and Jack were left in undisputed possession.

" Here, Betty, hold this can while I hang on to the line. My, but that
fish is pullin' hard. I bet he's a whopper. Watch out! I am going to land
him," and as he spoke he jerked in the line.

The warning came too late, however, and Betty got the full benefit of the
line right on the face. She dropped the worms with a scream, and the can
rolled into the water.

BE TTY.

" Well ! You are a nice one. Catch me bringing you with nie again."

" Oh, Jack, I am so sorry," sobbed Betty. " I didn't mean to — they just
dropped, and, if you'll only forgive me, I'll go and get some more. Please don't
be angry, Jack."

Jack pondered a moment. " Will you really get me some more, Betty?"
he asked, thoughtfully.

" Why, yes. Jack ; I'll do anything you ask."

"Will you get some from the woods, like Jim said?" eagerly looking
at Betty the while.

" Won't the little ones do? "

" No, no," he said, severely. " Else I won't forgive you."

" All right, Jack, I'll go; but what'll I carry them in?"

" In your hand, I suppose, seeing you've lost the can. I'll wait here, so
hurry."

Betty started on the run. The woods were not very far away, and she
soon arrived there. She dug and dug till her little hands were black, but not
a worm could she find. At last she turned to go back. Her feet were t'^-^d
and she stumbled over the stumps and roots. She was growing very hungry,
too, and when she came to a hawthorn, loaded with bright red berries, she was
glad to stop. There was one particularly fine bunch just beyond her reach.
This she determined to get, and was reaching up to do so when her ankle turned
under her and a sharp pain made her scream.

She tried to crawl a little bit, but her ankle was too painful, and Betty was
very much frightened. It began to grow dark and to rain, and she closed her
eyes to shut out the darkness.

In the meantime. Jack had grown impatient, and, thinking that Betty had
fooled him, he started for home.

" Where's Betty ? " he asked, as soon as he reached home.

"I don't know. Jack. Where did you leave her?" asked Mrs. Wilton.

" Oh, she'll be home soon, I guess."

But as supper time carrie and went, and no Ik'tty appeared, he grew re-
morseful, and could not keep his .secret any longer. " Betty's gone to the
woods," he said, hesitatingly.

"To the woods! Why, what took her there, child?"

" Well, I sent her for worms," he answered, trying to suppress his tears.

" Oh, the poor child ! Out in the woods all alone in the rain. You cruel
boy, to send here there."

" Mother, mother." Jack burst out. " I didn't think she'd go. I'm awfully
sorry,"

nil I Y

Mrs. Wilton Ictt liiin suMniij; niit Ins IumiI on i'h' liinn(;f, with li.iliy I'mlj^c
vainly Irviiif; to roinfort liiin. while she wrnt to speak lo Mi. Wilton,

Mr. Wilton and si\ otliers slaitcil oiu with lantiins. and wcic soon srairh-
inj4 the woods iti evorv direction.

At last, towards inorniiif^. the\ fomid her. '^he was soaUinjL; wi't, and
she elunj;' to Mr. Wilton, as he carried her home.

Tho doctor said she was in to|- an attack ol' levr, an<l his words proved
trne, !>v inorninj; she was delirions, and the dortor sImok his head as he drove

awav,

I'or many days little Hetty's life was despaind of. and jack went mnnd
with snspiciously rcil eyes.

•At last, one dav, the doctor s.aid r>elll\ wonld recover. Jack's f.ice shone

with joy. and Mrs. Wilton crt pi awa\ to her own room to whispir ;i pravei
of thanksj^ivinj;.

lU'tty steadih improved after this, ;md one <'a\ Jack was allowi'il lo see her.

" Onlv for a monient. Jack," his mother warned him. "And \on tlon't

viescrve

that.

Hetty was lyini; with her e\cs closed, llcr faci' w.is .is white as llu- pilk

."""■he tnrned as she h-'.'rd his fodtstv |), .and sa'd ea<;erl\, " I Iriid to L;et them.
Jack, hnt I conldn't iind anv. Inde<-d. 1 did trv. Won't \on forgive me,

Ja. k

Do yon think von can cvei- forgive me, Heltx ? " anxionsly asked Jack
h'orgive yon? W h.it for?""

'or scmlniL; \ on

to th

e W( )< X

Is. r.et'.v.

linl I ilropped yonr worms, lack.""

Von conldn"t help it. thonj^h, "canse 1 hit \(Ut with the line, and 1 kn

I was wronq. l )li, sav von 11 tt)r};ive me.

" 0\\. ves, of conrse 1 will, if there's anvtliiiii.; 1i> i'orqive.""
I'm so inlad. N'ow , yon nmsl Imrry and .qei well, "c.inse I'm Koi'ij; pick-
ing nuts, and I want yini to come. Will yon ? ""

\\\ love to i;o. Jack, hnt V(M1 said — ' viirls weren't a.nv .i;()od to lake.'"

"(.Ml, well, yon're dit'ferent,"" Jack said, rather sheepishly.

"Time's np ! " exdaitned Mrs. Wilton, as she opened the door, and Jack
reluctantly lefi the nxim.

r>etty tlid g-ct better in tiuie for nutting-, and many jolly hours she and Jack
l..ul tO|;ether, hut Jack never aj^ain asked her to hunt lish-worms for him.

WINNIE SMITH.

IFMMT M<

Olinfer in (be Bu$b.

|KANK MIRKW. wild had K'-'xlualcd first in first-dass tiic
prcviiiiis stiniiiuT at the i\^c of sixteen, accepted an otTer from
his father's first cousin. John llavihmd. to act as chain-bearer
in a Ciovernnient snrvey. Though tall for his af;e and ex-
tremely af^Mle, he was not rohnst, and the prospect of camp-
ing on! for a conple of months and roiif^hinp it seemed the
best tiling in the world for his health. ISesidcs, he had a
vague leaning; towards the profession of a civil en^,nneer. and. of course, survey-
ing was one aspect of that profession. <> he closed with the ofTer.

Haviland had been commissioned by the Canadian ( lovernment to lay o»U
the boundary lines of a new township north of (he most northerly settlements
.it the head waters of the Kiviere dti !-iiui) d'eii liaut. .\s hebruary was draw-
ing to a close, and the winter, which had begun unusually early, had been very
severe, everybody was looking forward to an early spring. Ft was hard to find
capable workmen willing to begin at what was suppf).sed to be the end of the
winter, a two months' engagement in the bush. I'ive of the men chosen in the
Three Rivers district wiie decent fellows, but there were two decidedly hard
cases, Lacerise. a bloated bully some forty years of age, and Marcotte, a slimj
young scoun<lrel with a foul tongue. It was too l.ite, however, to pick and
choose; so Haviland had to make the best of the bad material.

Trouble came the very first day they pitched their tents. The surveyor
chose a small clearing in tlie middle of a forest of tall trees. The men were
told to shovel all the snow ofT the ground and bank it tip on all sides, leaving
only one opening for entvaiun' and exit. .'\s the snow was three feet dee]) on
the level, it would make, when banked tij), a six-foot wall around the camp, and
thus be a splendid windbreak. The oi)eiiing faced liie southwest, whence none

WINTER IN run nrsii.

I)tit coinparalivrly mild wiiuls blow. Ilavilaiid liatl ilctaiU-d two Inst rate cliop-
|)<ts. Charland and liarilnan, to nit "vood for tlu- luij^r lirr to bo built in the
middle of ibe iam|). Tliese skilled woodsmen, wlio prided themselves on the
toiee an<l aeeuraev willi whieh tliey made the ehips lly. had already heaped up
some ten hnqe I014S, eaeh .'.bonl tui'lvt' feel in K'M.i;lh. The other live men il
will be reniembere*! that there w»-re seven in all wre shovelling at a ^reil

" N»)\V, C.O ON WITH TIIK JOll I CiAVI': YOir."

rate, when suddenly Lacerise stopped, swore a hij; oath, and growled to his
comrades :

" Vdu're a nice pack of fools (Tas (Xq fous tpie vons etes) ! WHio ever
hoard of diyyini;- down to the ijround? We've done enough of this bloominj^'
work: trample the snow level, and that'll do."

" Sacro tote pleumee d'Irlandais (That d d bald-headed Irishman) ! "

snarled^ Marcotte. "What does he know about campiu};- out in winter?"

Ilaviland. a stalwart son of the lUack North, was moppin.q- his endless fore-
head (for hard-workini;- ukmi will perspire even in the tjreatest cold) after help-
ing' Charland to lift a loq' and place it on the others. Overhearing these nice

WINTER IN THE liHSII.

remarks, iic Icajud to tlu- top of tlic woo(l;)ilc', and raisinj^ his fist like a man who
knew iujiw to list- it, \w. roan-d in a voice of tiumder:

" Lacerise and Marcotte, if I hear one word more of mutiny oi insult, I'll
clap you hotli into prison till your hones rot. Do you see that hoy there?"
pointiuff to I'lank. whr), having,' heard the driniiminj^ of a partridj^^e, had just
loaded his {^un, the only f'rearni in the rami), •'""' ^^''^ holdinj^ it ready for use.
" Well, his father is Judj,^' of the hi^du-st court in tlu- c<)initry and the hest crim-
inal lawyer in C'anada, and, if you dare to disohey my orders, he will send you
hoth to jail. .\ow j^o on with tlu- joli 1 \^i\\v you, and woe to the man that
does not clean up ;dl the snow."

llaviland's h'rench was far from perfect, hiU (|uite intelli^dhle, and. thou^di
there was a j^'ood deal of wild hinster in the threat ahont the Jud^'c a himdred
miles away in Montreal, and the prison cells fiftv miles off in Three Rivers, the
sij.,dil of his just ;mj,fer, the stentorian tones of his voice, and perhaps more than
anythinj.( tin- very name of Judj^n- Murrav, the huj^hear of all evil doers, struck
terror into the hearts f)f those simple woorlsmen. 'Ihey fell to shovelling.,' with a
will, they cut sprays of fir and laid them a foot rieep on the cold earth, now clear
fif snow, to make a soft, dry hed for the c;mipers ; then they set \\\^ two tents,
or rather two lean-tos of c;uivas, opposite each other facinj^ the open s\);\rv
where the loj^^s were preseiUly adjusted so that they would hurn easily.

These tents were simplicity itsdf. Two sticks ti'ii feet lon^, ff)rked at the
top, were driven firmly inio tlu' 1,'roimd, tv dve feet a])art ; then two poh s were
made tf) lean afjainst the forks at an -.xn^i^v of forty-five rlej.^rces ; upon these
latter was stretched a stout canvas skpin^' almost to the snow wall hehind and
fastened on hoth sides down to the j.^round. Thosi- who sat or lay in the tent
were thus protected on three sides, on the fourth side they faced the fire laid
lenj^thwise hetween the two tents. This was an excellent arrauf^jement for
warmth and fresh air. The redection of a lar^e fire — and of course there was
a whole forest to draw from — on the canvas heat pleasantly on the sleepers, whr)
had, nevertheless, practically all the henefits of the winter f)zone. h'rank, to
whom this was the first experience of sleepinpj outside in the snow, founrl the
tent dclifrhtfully comfortahle, alheit the theruu)meter that 26th of Fi-hruary,
i860, marked 25 helow zero.

Hut his nutid was not at ease. r)ne tent was reserved for the surveyor and
chain-hearer; the seven \^■orkmen occui)ied the other. .After a copious supper
of prime hccf hoiled in its own juice with potatoes, and tea which appetite and
thirst made delicious, innocent as it was of suj^^ar or milk, hrank unhosomcd
himself to his cousin. Thou^^h the latter was more than twice his apje, John

WINTER IN THE HUSH.

li.ul ioiiiikhI witli I5al)y I'laiik and still rcmaiiu'd, unmarried as hi* was, very
nnioli of a hoy.

" Sir liorc. John. I don't likr the look of things, ^'ou made thosf j^n-iiin-
hliTs shut ui). 1 know; hut that hulkinij hully of a Laocrist- and that vik- fellow
Mari'otto may oontaminali' llu" otlu-rs, and hni- we arc two aj^ainst si'vc-n, ten
niiUs from any human hahitation."

" Never you fear, I'rank. The nixt time one of th<pse hlacki^uards ,i;rum-
hles I'll knock him down."'

" That's all very well for you. John, with your terrilie hiceps. lUit I'm the
weakest fellow in the outfit."

"That may he. hut you're the nimhUst. too. .iiid I'll hack you for hrains
any day. No, I'r.uik, all you've i^Dt to do is to watch yotu" nerve. Never .show
the white feather ^■ou'II he dead tired the first few days. Chainint,' is hard
work for a youngster like vou. I'.ut don't let on vou're tired. When we
stiike home for camp after the day's work, try to run in ahead of all the others,
and thev'll think vou're a devil of a fellow. Then, my hoy. use that
j>lil) tongue of yf)urs. Stufl' them with stories, in which the lively David pets
the hetter of the unwieldy (loliath. I'll leave all the soft-soapiufif to you. l?e
kind: their hark is worse than their bite; like all peasants, they don't weif,di the
value of their words as we do; at hottom those nu-n are not dowm-if;ht had; you
can win them t)ver as ycni did that V\^, hlimdering Hlackmore in your last year
at collejje."

"You f(M-.q;-et that there were latent possihilities in I'dackmore's case; he
was the son of a j^entleman."

"Quite true; hut isn't the ijentleman latent in every t1u-istian? Now. all
those men over there have the faith, thout^h the ^ood works of .some of them. T
admit, arc not very evident, (io and talk to them to-ni,nht in yotu" best h'rench ;
they like to hear the pure article, perhaps, because it is so much finer than their
own patois."

" There you are. John, with yotir loft'- i.y-norance of Frencli ways. Those
Canadians don't speak patois. The fact 'hey spe.nk hetter French than the
majority of peasants in France. Their nn xes in the choice of words, in fjram-
inar and pronunciation are merely tlio ^' f all unedticated or half-educated
peojilc everywhere. Would you say that the farmers of the Eastern Townships
speak an F.nplish patois?"

"Yes; hut I fancy you pfive to the word /^ntois a meaninp different from
mine. You know. Frank, your admirable mother's influence has made you. in
some thinjjs. more French than Fntjiish. What do you understand by patois?"

WINTER IN THE BUSH.

"A distinct lanf:^iiagc, a survival of hyf^'oiu- aj^cs ; for instance, broad
Scotch, vvhicli has preserved many of Chaucer's obsolete forms of speech."

"Oh, well, that's not my view. 1 call jtatois the peculiar dialect of the
lower classes in any country."

" 1'hen we're a^need in all except the name of the tbiufj."

" This beinj;- the case, l'"rank, trot out. as 1 was saying', yonr I'arisian linj^o.
Don't let the men inside this tent, but j^o over to theirs or baranj^jue them across
the fire. We must never allow any of those tmwashed fellows to cross that big
bounfiary lop there," pointinj.^ to the tnmk of a tree connectinj,'- the twf) up-
ri}^di(s in front of the tent, " if we want to j^'et back to .Mr. barker's hospitable
liou.sc at Hnnterstown as clean and as free from parasites as we left it. When
you wind up, amioiuice that you're poiuj^ to say nij^ht prayers for them. I
always insist upon nijjht prayers in my camp."

This talk was a revelation to Frank. I'rom lonj^' intercourse with John,
who always spent a couple of months each year under Judj^e Murray's flelif,ditful
roof-tree, Frank had come to look upon the jolly oUl bachelor — a bald man of
thirty-nine looks old to a lad of seventeen — as a confirmed trifler. from whom
little wisdom could be expected. What he harl not yet realized was the con-
science of TTaviland. Lazy by nature he mifjht be and boyish with children,
but, when once be had undertaken work for pay, when, especially, he had the
fjuardianship of the promisinjj idol of a whole clever family laid upon him as
a sacred charjje by the most winsome of mothers. John's whole nature became
transfigured. The disused muscles of his j^reat frame came once more into
active play ;unl made him absolutelv mitiriiiff in work, while this practical joker,
whose cotniiif^ used to fill the mn-sery with p'lee, developed a wisdom and a
paternal thotip^htftdness that wouhl have done credit to a patriarch.

Frank reached for his immense bladder-pouch containing two pounds of
P.rahadi's mixture, and lit his briar pipe. As soon as he stood up on the
boundary log and his fine head of curly golden hair .shone above the camp fire.
Ivcblanc, the cherub-faced cook, whose fresh complexion made it hard to believe
what he used to tell about his mother teaching him to smoke as soon as she had
weaned him, sang out: " Mr. l'"rank, how difl vou like the supper?"

" T never enjoyed a meal so much."

" That's because you never were real himgry before."

" Perhaps ; but T say, T.eblanc. aren't you afraid the smell of that good
cooking will attract the bears?"

"En v'la tme bonne! (Well, that's rich!) Why. there ain't no bears here-
abouts."

WINTER IN THE BUSH.

" Don't be so sure," broke in Lacerise, through sheer cussedness. " Just
before we came here I heard a man who had been up north say that the long
winter was driving the bears south."

" If that's so," said Frank " I shall have to melt the lead of the tea chest
into bullets; the largest shot I hav«. is buckshot."

" That toy gun of yours couldn't kill a bear, anyway," sneered Marcotte.

" No, I don't really think it could," replied Frank, conciliatingly, " but it
is a much better arm than you think. I'll sho\v' it to you," and he went to get
it. As he was returning with it and going round the end of the fire to hand it
to the men, something white flashed across the belt of forest thirty yards away.
Up went the gun to Frank's shoulder ; he fired and. the- white thing dropped in
its tracks. It was a large hare. I'aribeau's dog retrieved it, and the men all
shouted their admiration of the quickness and sureness of the aim. Then they
carefully e.xamined the beautiful little single-barrel fowling-piece. Frank ex-
plained that it had been made by one of the best gunmakers in France and that
he had chosen it because it was so light that he could sling it round his shoulder
and never feel the weight. He went on to cpiestion them about bears. Only
one of them had ever met a bear at large : that was in summer, and the well-
fed animal shuffled away from him. Frank thanked his stars he had read most
of Mayne Reid's hunting stories, and gave a dramatic setting to the most thrill-
ing incidents of " Bruin, or the P.ear Hunt," where the habits of the different
races of bears all over the world are woven into a connected narrative. The
men hung on his words, putting in a question here and there, till Haviland
called out across the fire. " Time to turn in : we nnist rise to-morrow morning at
five. Now Mr. Murray will sav the evening prayer."

Frank immediately returned to his side of the fire, and prayed aloud in
.<hat persuasive voice which had earned for him the honors of many a college de-
bate. It was beautiful to hear, in the stillness of the primeval forest at night in
the wintry air, his clear tenor praying " hallowed be Thy name," and the men's
rough basses answering " forgive us our trespasses."

The next three days Frank found most fatiguing. When the surveyor had
marked out the line with his theodolite and sighting posts, the axemen cut down
the trees crossed by the line, two of them blazing, 1. e.. chopping a large slice
of bark off the trees on both sides, so as to leave a vista of white spots on
either band, thus making the line plainly visible for quite a distance, and then
came Frank, holding one end of the Gnnter's chain, while one of the men went
on ahead with the other end. Where the ground was level, the measuring was

i<u.

WINTER IN THE BUSH.

iiomparatively easy. But, where the ground rose or fell, and this was generally
the case, the country ])eing very hilly, the chain must always be held perfectly
horizontal, and so, while the front chainman. climbing uphill amongst twigs
and brushwood, held it firmly on the snow, I'Vank, having to hold it breast high
or even at arm's length over his head, had to brace his whole body to the strain.
This sort of thing, carried or. for five mortal hours at a stretch, was much more
fatiguing than the most violent lacrosse game he ever played. On the first
dav this steady manual labor lasted from 7 a. m. till noon, and from half-past
12 till 4, half an hour being allowed for rest and a light meal. When the order
was given to strike for camp. I<"rank felt thoroughly done up, and consequently
despondent. Could a stripling like bin), lacking yet many years of full maturity,
stand this hard labor day after day for eight weeks? Just then — "as when a
great thought strikes along the brain and flushes all the cheek " — he remem-
bered John's words. " Never let on that you're tired." The fine fibre of Frank's
mind and will held in solution resources unknown to grosser natures. The
spirit within him whipped the weak flesh into action.

The party had reached the frozen bed of a river, up which they had trudged
in single file that morning. There the snow, trampled by nine pairs of feet,
was hard enough to make the snowshoes unnecessary. As they had been worn
all day, since there was no stirring out of camp without them, the snow being so
deep, it was a great relief to take them ofif. tic them on the back and walk in that
most comfortable of all shoes, the Indian moccasin. Lacerise, ""itent upon the
coming meal, was plodding on in front of the party, his broad, round shoulders
bent forward, his head down as if meditating on pork and beans, when Frank
bounded through the snow past all the other men, and springing behind him
with noiseless tread, placed a hand on each shoulder and jumped far over his
head, leap-frog fashion. The surprise of Lacerise was comical, and it was in-
tensified by the united shout of admiration from the others. While those good
fellows were praising his agility, which they owned they could not equal, Frank
kept running on ahead and reached the camp several minutes before the rest.
During supper they talked of little else than the astonishing endurance and ac-
tivity of "ce collegien fluet." (that slender college boy'). This night they did
not want to wait long after supper before going to sleep, neither did they wait
for an order from the surveyor about night prayers, but of their own accord they
called out, " Monsieur Francois, la priere," and so it was every night after-
wards; they alway.=* reminded Frank when it was time for him to say the
evening prayer.

When he himself turned in and wrapped himself back to back with John in a

WINTER IN THE Bf/SH.

i r?i;ipf ill. Thereupon.
. I place. tlad Haviland
co;(S''v to work alone with

huge double blanket, his la.ssitude was so great that he wondered how in the
world he could go to work ne.xt morning. What an awful shame it would be
if he had to give up and go home! lUit he turned to Mini whom his mother
had taught him to love and who " tempers the wind to the shorn lamb." and
after a dreamless sleep before the blazing fire in the bracing air. he rose at five
fresh as a daisy. Twice again at night he experienced that jaded feeling of
extreme fatigue, but on the fourth night the excessive weariness had left him,
never to return. He had got his second wind.

A fortn'ght later, about the middle of March, the s'lrveying party had set
out after a hearty breakfast of roast part' ' Iges pM t t. e evening before by
Frank, when his cl linman. Pelletier. comf)*. '',;e'i
Marcotte, who was near him, vohuitcered to Mi-:
been present, he would not have allowed his ye r
such a shady character as Marcotte: but the surveyor was half a mile ahead.
Frank did not wish to trouble him. so he accepted Marcotte and sent Pelletier
back to the camp, advising him to keep the fire lit and lie down. No sooner had
the chain-bearer and his assistant begun measuring a level stretch of upland far
behind the sighting and blazing party, than Marcotte broke into a ribald song.

" Kindly cut that short.'' cried Frank ; " that's not my style."

" Oh, indeed," replied the other in a nettled, jeering tone. " Perhaps Your
Reverence would prefer a church hynm."

" My Reverence would most certainly," laughed Frank.

Then, with occasional stoppages to adjust the chain, while Frank was not-
ing down the measurement and the character of the forest, whether hardwood
or fir trees, Marcotte sang " Esprit Saint, descendez en nous." in a rich bari-
tone strained to its utmost loudness. Frank joining in with a falsetto treble,
carefully eschewing, however, the many quavers, flrawls and splittings of vowels,
in which the other seemed to delight. When Frank complimented him on his
fine voice. Marcotte modestly explained that he used to sing in the choir at St.
Paulin before he went to work in the shanties, and presently he intoned " Tra-
vaillez a votre salut.'' and after that 'was finished, he struck up " Beau ciel.
eternelle patrie." " Vive Jesus," and was in the middle of " Nous vous invoquons
tons," sung to the air of " God Save the Queen." when he literally struck a snag.

Just as he was priding himself on one of his favorite quavers (where the

music required none'), with his head thrown back and his long. wavy, black

hair streaming in the wind, he placed his snowshoe on the point of a small

•Sc pling stump cut close to the snow by Baribeau, whose duty it was to clear away

WINTER IN THE BUSH.

the underbrush. Rip went the front net-work of the snowshoe, as the pointed
sapling tore through it and held it fast. Checked in his long, swinging stride,
the poor fellow plunged headlong into the snow, rapping out an oath as he fell.
To the ignoniin}' of the stumble was added the smart of a wound in the cheek
from another pointed stump on which he struck his face. This was more thai,
his undisciplined nature could stand. As he pulled himself up he poured fci;i
a torrent of the most blood-curdling blasphemy. He cursed IJaribeau for cui
ting the saplings so close that they could not be seen, he cursed the snowshoe for
playing him false, he cursed the hymn for making him forget where he was
walking, he cursed Frank for praising his singing and thus laying a trap for
him. He fumed and stormed like an incarnate fiend. During a moment's lull,
while he fairly gasped for breath, Frank said, with a level, incisive tone:

" I hope you feel better."

" Better for what ? " shrieked the other.

" For uttering such horrible oaths.''

"Oh! If you object to swearing, you'd better go to c seminary."

" Yes, I almost wish 1 was there, to be free fron) ile < and blasphemy."

Marcotte'i blood was up. He began again v'< tsc tlian ever, blaspheming
everything that the boy held most sacred, and nioviiv oa with the chain in his
hand. It was Frank's turn to be justly indignant, lie raised his voice, pointed his
outstretched hand at Marcotte, and said, with tl re> ^ness of a military com-
mander: "If you don't hold your tongue, I'll liave you sent home this very
day. Mr. Havil^.iid told me last night he thought of dismissing one of you
because he had not enough work for seven men. H you don't stop your curs-
ing and swea.nng this minute, I'll get him to dismiss you."

This threa^ told. Marcotte was hard up ; the pay he was getting now — a
dollar a day clea." — was a high wage at that time. He turned and f^ed

Frank, twenty paces behind him. " I'll smash your pretty face, you d d

hypocrite of an altar-boy," he hissed. Then he rushed at the lad, his arms whirl-
ing about, his naturally handsome face marred by infuriate passion. Frank
went suddenly white. He was no coward ; he was an adept at the gloves and
had downed many an adversary much heavier than himself, but he had never
yet faced such inhuman anger. With a quick intake of breath and a wider
parting of his feet to settle himself down more firmly, he awaited the onset.
Owing to the forward part of the snowshocs. it is not easy to deliver a straight
blow without tripping. Marcotte knew this, and he charged at Frank side-
ways, aiming a round-hand blow at the side of his head. Frank ducked, and
as the mighty swing of Marcotte's arm met no resistance it turned him partly

WINTER IN THE BUSH.

round, and before he cuuld recover liimself, Frank hit him as hard as he could
on tho c rner of tlie jaw under the ear. Marcotte llung up botli anus, whirled
still fu .'icr round and fell senseless on his face. Frank ran to him with a
cold shiver lest he n.iglit have killed him, turned the limp body over on its
back, and began bathing Marcotte s forehead with snow, and, taking off his
mittens, chafed the apparently lifeless hands. It was an an.xious moment.
Aiarcotte's vitality had been sapped by riotous living, and, though only twenty-
three his drawn face looked haggard and old. Ai last he heaved a great sigh
and opened his eyes. At the sight of Frank bending over him and nursing
him with the tenderness and anguish of a mother, the wild fellow, now thor-
oughly tamed and humbled to the dust, burst into tears. What with the s'<!i-
bing and the aching jaw and the dazed brain, he could only nuunble at intervals>:

" Where am I? Oh! 1 remember served me right I'm so glad

i did not hit you Mr. Frank, will you forgive me? I'll never swear

nor use bad words again Only let me stay on Fll serve you like a

faithful dog Good God! What a brute I iiave been!"

Frank assured him he was forgiven and helped him to his feet. Tlcn.
seeing he w.'xs still half-stunned, he gently led him back to the camp, explai^'.-
ing to Pelleiier that Marcotte had fallen on a small pointed stump, which was
quite true, as the bleeding wound on his cheek testified. Ihey gave him
some hot tea, wrapped him up in warm blankets, put more wood on the fire and
hurried back to the line. I'elletier being now recovered from his indisposition.
Forunately the advance party, having been delayed by the felling of several
large trees that obstructed the line, did not notice the delay of the chainmen ; so
no questions were asked.

On their return that evening, Marcotte took l">ank aside and begged him
not to say a word of what had happened, imploring him to keep him on the
survey that he might prove to him the sincerity of his conversion. The latter
gladly promised to be silent about the past and took occasion of Marcotte's re-
pentance to impress on him that he had sinned more against God than against
men, and that he must turn to Him with sorrow and love. Aftc" supper, when
all had lighted their pipes and were sitting round the fire, Frank proposed that
Marcotte, of whom he had heard that he was a good raconteur, should tell them
a fairy tale. This is what the l-Yench-Canadian peasants describe as " conter
un con' ," a very conunon practice in winter evenings. Delighted beyond
measure, Marcotte began in a high-pitched key and unfolded a tale which,
though the telling of it took up (-ne hour and thirty-five minutes by Frank's
watch, yet was so symmetrically arraiigetl that anyone with a fair memory could

WINTER IN THE BUSH.

have repeated it almost word for word. Everybody was in good Inmior when
they got under their blankets that night.

It was the first week in April. Camp had been moved from place to place
every second or third day, according to the progress of the survey ; but now
there was a forced halt of nearly a week, while I laviland waited for a clear
night to make an observation of the pt)k--star in order to determine the exact
latitude of the northeast corner of the township. Clouds at night persistently
obscured the view, a good deal of snow fell, and there was as yet no sign of
spring. The winter had been one of the longest on record. In open spaces,
such as rivers and lakes, the bright March sun had thawed away much of the
snow, but in the woods there was more of it than ever.

While the axemen were put to various jobs and I laviland wrote up his re-
port and made his logarithmic calculations, sitting close to the fire so that his
ink might not freeze, Frank used to go off alone into the pathless forest, gun
in hand. There was no danger of losing himself, for his snowshoe tracks could
always show him the way back, unless, indeed, a heavy snowstorm were to ob-
literate them. Hitherto he had met with very little game; a partridge or a
hare now and then, that was all. Although he had forgotten all about bears,
he still had in one of the pockets of his blue blanket coat half a dozen bullets he had
made the day after the party pitched their tents for the first time. In those
days breech-loaders were unknown everywhere, excepi in (iermany, for that was
the very year of Sadowa, when the nee lie-gun became famous. However,
Frank enjoyed intensely the absolute stillness of the winter woods. It drew
him nearer to God. He was aloof from the strife of tongues and the tawdry
theatre of sordid ambitions. He communed, in the freshness of his blameless
youth, with the infinitely lovable. Albeit for him " thro' wild March " no
throstle called, for even the April of Canada was earlier than the March of Eng-
land, yet his soul was brimming over with gladness. He realized to the full
that time " when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God
shouted for joy."

One day, in the thrill of his solitary delight, his rambles brought him to the
picturesque Chute dn Brule (The lUirnt Wood Falls). More than once before
he had trod its frozen steps with the surveying party, but — was it the sudden
bursting of the sun through a rift in the woolly clouds, or the exhilaration of
his own heart? — it seemed to him loveiier than ever. It was, indeed, like that
" long brook " of the vale in Ida, " falling thro' the clo\'n ravine in cataract after
cataract to the " plain below, yet it had the additional beauty, undreamt of in

WINTER IN THE HUSH.

(Jrecce, of its closc-Httiiijj^ garment of ice. The river dropped about a hundred
feet in a series of short cascades. Loud as was the roar of the falls, little
water could be seen. Every detail of the surging flood was crystallized in white
and bluish ice, white where the swift. Hat stream curled over the rocks, blue
where the falling flood shone tiin)Ugh the solid pendent veil. The first time
I'rank had ventured on one of those frozen ledges over the thundering torrent
he needed the repeated assurance of tlie experienced backwoodsmen to realize
that there was no danger. Hut now. after three weeks of lengthening sun-
shine had fretted the continuous fal'ing veils of solid ice into separate icicles,
as he crossed the uppermo.st ledge, it seemed to tremble beneath his light
weight. He mentally resolved to be doubly cautious un his return.

Stepping off the ice-ribbed cascade to the high table-land from which the
river leaped, he found himself in a forest of tall red pines, whose lowest
branches were at least thirty feet from the ground. The dark green foliage
softened and tempered the rather blinding glare of tlie snow, still further re-
lieved by the sprinkling of pine needles over its otherwise immaculate surface.
Frank was loading his little fowling-piece with duckshot. As he glanced up-
ward at the canopy of pine branches, not vaulted and groined like a Gothic
cathedral, but flat and single-columned as a classic temple, the blending of green
and white reminded him of Christmas-tide, and he sang in silvery tones the
" Adeste, fideles." Hark ! Was that an echo of his own voice thrown back by
the pillared forest? No; it was distinctly lower in key and harsher. Hi lis-
tened. There it came again from the north, and it was unmistakably a growl.
Looking in that direction, he beheld a huge black bear some two hundred yards
off, making directly for him, swaying its head from side to tide and sniffing the
breeze that blew from the youthful hunter.

Frank's first thought w as, " Lacerise was right ; the bears have hibernated
so long that they can't stand the prolonged hunger ; they are coming down from
the bleak north." His next thought was to pray while he rammed down one
of those bullets — wasn't he glad he had made them?— on top of the duckshot
charge. The bear was still too far for a safe shot. The small smooth-bore
was not sure to kill at more than eighty yards. As Bruin rushed on head down,
it was not easy to find a vulnerable spot. Frank knew from Mayne Reid that
if you want a bullet to tell, you must get a bear sideways or fronting you on
his hind legs; so, planting the stock of his gun in the snow, he loosened his
hands out of the mitts that hung from his neck by a flat-cord yoke, and hollow-
ing his joined fists he blew a shrill locomotive whistle. The bear stopped,
threw up his big head and reared, beating the air with his great paws. This

WLWTEh' /A' T///-: RUSH.

Aas just what Frank c-xpcctcd ; ho aitnrd canfully at the heart and fired. lUit,
owing to the douhle charge, the Httle gun kiiked as it had ne\cr done hefore, and
the unexpected recoil deranged the aim. Tiie thud of the i)all on some stout
bone could he distinctly heard. Cirowling and grunting tk-rcely, the hear rushed
at hrank faster than ever.

The lad, having no time to reload, thought of his hunting-knife, hut feared
that he might be huggetl to eath hefore he could come close enough to use it.
Slinging his gun by the strap over his ba<'k, he turnetl to run. As he was
doing so, a bright idea struck hiin, and, instead of making for th" top of the
falls by the way he had come, he ran down the brow of the rav.nc, dodging
trees as he went. I lis record for a mile on snowshoes was 5.50, but he knew
a famished bear could beat that, and the camp was more than a mile off.

On reaching the top of a clisused timber-chute, which was his objective
point, he looked over his shoulder, liruin was hardly a hundred feet behind.
The chute, an almost perpendicular trough-like ditch, down which the lumber-
men shot their logs, was filled with snow and ended in a small clearing studded
with stumps. Frank sat down on the hind part of his snowshoes and had a
glorious slide to the bottom of the clifT. Looking up, he saw Bruin pause in
doubt at the steep declivity, rise on his hind legs, moving with them restlessly
on the brink, when suddenly he lost his balance backwards and came skittering
down the chute, vainly striving to assume a more aggressive posture.

Before he reached the level, h'rank. inwardly chuckling, had crossed the small
clearing and was lightly tripping over one of the lowest ledges of the cascade.
On the other side of the river he hastily laid aside his gun. there being no
time to reload it, anil ran back over the ledge.

There was not a moment to lose. The bear had recovered himself, and,
snorting and growling, with his tongue lolling out, was close to the frozen falls.
Though the ice seemed alarmingly thin and bent beneath Frank's 130 pounds,
ho had his doubts whether it might not stand even the bear's great weight, and
he wanted it not to. Yet. in order to weaken the ice, as he intended, without
running too great a risk himself, he must distribute his own weight over as
large a surface as possible. So, getting softly down on his stomach, with feet
in air to keep the snowshoes out of the way. he drew from his belt his hunt-
ing-knife and stabbed holes across the width of the ledge. The ice was thicker
than he thought. It needed all his strength to drive the knife through it. As
sooi. is he had made a transverse row of holes, he slid himself back with the
free hand and began cutting fresh ones.

By 'he time he had honeycombed half the length of the ledge, the bear's

82 WIXTE!^ IN THE lii'SH.

hind Icff crashed througli the ice, tiiakiiif; the whole ledge quiver. Frank's posi-
tiim was no longer tenable. To a man lying prone on a thin strip of ice, in
the very middle of a roaring cataract, with the tremor of the rushing torrent
heating against the ice-shield and through it on his own vitals, and with a huge
brute frantically breaking up the only thing that saved him from being hurled
over the falls, there was enough to make the stoutest heart (|uail. Small won-
der, then, that I'rank. seeing his trap now well laid, swiftly slid back to the op-

AN ICK TkAP.

positc bank and rose to his feet. Bruin, sinking at every step, yet managing
.ach time to pull himself up, plunged madly on till he readied the middle of
the ledge. There both his hind legs broke completely through so deej) that he
could not drag them out, and half his body went under. The sight of him
clutching at the ice with his front jjaws, while the swift current drew the lower
part of his body almost horizontally against the face of the cascade, sent I'rank
into roars of lauglUer all the more violent as he had just esca])e(l from so peril-
ous a situation himself. There was Bruin growling and howling, clawing with

iv/xt/-:a' in the hvsh.

his front paws at the ico-brink in a futile attempt to crawl over it. and tear-
ing with his hind claws at the icicles and the fallinp^ water, and there he was
likely to remain till he should he draj;j;e(l out.

]n order to do this, iMank needed help, and hurried hack to cam]). ( )n his
way thither he realized tor the first time the danjj;er he had just escaped and
thanked (lod for the happ\ thouj^ht that had saved him. Kuiniinfj^ into camp,
and shouting-. " .\ hear! a hear!" he hrst met llaviland. who was superinlend-
\\v^ some work just outside the tents.

"What's the matter, hrank ? Have vou really s"cn a hear? Are you
hurt ? "

" No; I'm rij^ht as a tri\et. I'lie liear isn't, though."

" Where is the brute?"

" L'p at the Chute du I'.rfde, cau};lii in the ice. I'etch a rope and all the
men and we'll have fun."

The entire party eaj^erly sHppe<l on their siiowshoes and ran to the h'alls,
plying Frank with cjuestions as to how the thing had happened. .\s .soon as the men
beheld Hruin raging tootli and nail against his ice-traj), they began taunting him
and throwing bits of icicle ;it his snout. "Oho! Air. IJear. so you wanted to
K\\\. our Mr. I'rank. Now were going to eat you." "Look at his fangs. "What
scratchers those hind claws are!" "Why, the brute must weigh six hundred
pounds." .\nd the missiles of ice and hard snow rained ui)on iiim. I'rank
could not help thinking of .Macaulay's words, "The Puritans hated bear-bailing,
lujt because it gave pain to tlu- i)ear, I)Ut because it gave ])leasure to the spec-
tators," and he felt no sympathy for the Puritans.

Meanwhile .Marcolte. being the Hth.est of the band, got tip on the ledge just
above that in which the bear was caught, and (!r-op])ed a noose over the animal's
head. Then, passing the rope n und a projecting rock, he called to the others
to pull all together. In a trice the struggling bear was lifted clear of the ledge,
and, in a few moincnts more, was dragged u|) liu' bank. The slip-knot had
strangled him, but, to make sure of him and put him out of useless mist'ry, La-
ccrisc ran a knife into his heart and amiounced that he meant to prepare the
skin, with head and daws undetached, as a trophy for .\lr. i'rank. whom they
all cheered as a hero. ( )n cutting the carcass up, the bullet from the small gun
was found imbedded in the breastbone.

b'or some days after this adventure the whole party enjoyed bear meat as a
welcome change of diet, finding bear's feet a real delicacy. Lacerise proved
hitnself an adept mi cleam'ng and trimming the long, thick fur. and, when, at the
end of the month, llaviland and i'lank [)arti'd from their m<'n on the best of

WINTER IN THE BUSH.

terms, there was but one voice among them as to the all-round success of the
survey. Frank had the bear's head specially mounted, with artificial eyes, by a
Three Rivers taxidermist, and, on his return home in Montreal it was with
jjardonable pride that he spread out at his dear mother's feet this magnificent
pelt, the hard-earned memorial of his winter survey in the bush.

LEWIS DRUMMOXD. S. J.

St. Boniface, Manitoba.

n Bird $0119.

When I was sick, and liatl to stay
III bed, with none to play with nic,
1 found a leafy playhouse, in
A maple tree.

It grew against the window frame;
And when the days were hot and long
The birds would make my prison gay
With sweetest song.

They Iniilt a nest among the houghs,
A little nest of grass and sticks,
And from the eggs tiiey laid in it
Came nestlings six.

I watched the little birdies grow.
And feed, and (lap. And bye-and-byc.
When mother-bird had made them strong,
I watched them fly.

And when the summer days were done,
And 1 grew well, and they grew wild.
They flew away : to cheer. I think,
Another child.

— Kathleen Kirchhoffer.

A fin-Back in Action.

BuHE^^ l'R( )IH )S of fishing, (."aptain," remark"*! Roger Passmorc, in
^7\ ^ the grand manner whicli is a sort <jf bow-the-knee procla-

mation with him among strangers, " I had great sport at
(iaspe last summer; almost landed a twenty-pounder first
day out."

Passmore and 1 had gone to the northeast coast of
Newfoundland to write up the l">ench Treaty Shore for
London and Xew York journals, and were coming hack on hoard the coastal
mail steamer / "irginxa Lake. It is one of Roger's characteristi<"s that he is unable
to hear about other men's exploits without introducing an exaggerated account
of his own; so at supper, when C'aj^tain Morriss began to relate rare fishing ex-
periences on Great Rattling llrook. I knew we should hear of the twcnty-
pounder that got away from Passmore at ( iaspe.

" Twen-tec poun-derr!" repeated a (|uiet-looking Xorwegian gentleman on
the opposite side of the table, speaking with the deliberation of a foreigner care-
ful of his English consonants. " I go you better ; my last fish w as too heavy
for small-fry scales; " and taking a long drink of coffee, with a droll look across
die brim of his cup towards Roger, he added. " ft weighed at least ten times as
many tons as yours did pounds.''

Passmore was not u.sed to having his fish stories overtopped in that prompt
fashion, and prepared to demolish the Norwegian's fiction.
" How much did your fish measure?" he asked.
" Snout to tip of tail, eighty feet." the foreigner answered ; '' head, about

twenty feet ; pectoral fins, almost nine feet six ; and "

" A whale ! " interrupted Passmore, quizzically.

" Yes, a whale/' replied the stranger ; and the world of possibilities in the

A FIN-BACK IN ACTION.

fSl

hooking of a whale suppressed the (Jaspe sahiiou yarn. lUit our nciu^hhor was
not disposed to continue the story. Hoping to draw him out, I remarked:

" I'd Hke to be on hand when ne.xt )ou*rc hocjking that sort of a leviathan."

" Be on hand, by all means, both of you." answered the Norwegian. " We
reach Snook's Arm at ilaylight. The whaling steamer Cahot leaves the factory
wharf when 1 arrive. If you'll rough it, you're welcome to come. \(\\\\\ see
one of the big fish \\c catch" — and he smiled pleasantly at Roger — "that
doesn't get away."

" If you were captain of the whaler. I'd not give you the chance to retract
that invitation." Passmore quickly retorted.

" He's a good deal better." interjjosed Captain Morriss. with a laugh at
Roger's expense. " He's superintenileiit of tthe factory himself. If you know
\our chance, you'll go."

'I'hat is how Roger Passmore and 1 were aboard the Cahot when she har-
pooned the biggest fin-back ever caught in the North Atlantic.

***************

The Virginia Lake approached .Snook's Arm before daybreak, but no har-
bor light was needed to tell which hole in the rock) wall was the entrance to the
whaling station. Far out, a reeking smdl of fish could be detected ; and nearer,
the air was thick with the stench from half a hundred whale carcasses moored
below the cliffs of Snook's Arm. Immediately the mail-boat had anchored
abreast the Cabot we three crossed the plank thrown from deck to deck. Toss-
ing the waves aside at a cutting pace, the little whaler was soon puffing away
from the foul atmosphere to open sea. The crew were putting final touches to
all equipments for the whale hunt. The swivel cannon that was to fire the har-
poon shone brighter than the gun on a man-of-war. A second harping-iron. ly-
ing close at hand lest the first should not be effective, was carefully exannned by
the mate.

" Is it all right ? " inquired the superintendent.

"This 'un '11 do. sir." answered the seaman. He ran his hand over the
great iron bar that stood higher than himself and might have been an ironw<)od
sapling. " This 'un won't twist into no letter S. Th ust sort of a hump
back can't bend this. It's a reg'lar crow-bar."

" Don't be too sure. I'd like to encounter a g' fighter this morning.
We want to show what the Cahot can do."

" There ain't nothin' like her on the .sea. sir." sai<' ihe old tar, proudly. He
cautiously fingered the blade-edged triangular proje !e on the end of the har-
poon. "There's explosives 'nuff here to blow up a giment of whales and keep

,4 I'7N-/LIC/<: LW ACT/ON.

'fill all afloat with ^as. This tliin,tj 'iid out tliioiij^Hi tin- touj^^lust-liidi-d Iniiiip-
barU casi' 'ii a hiitclior-kiiifo tlirou};!! paiuT."

lie felt down the main shank aloiij^ the llaiij^es that were folded hack to
tlie shaft.

" Y'll spread out y'r wintjfs like an anj^el when the oannon sends y' rippin'
through some whale aniidship.- ! \"\\ he hlowed inside out, my old haehelor
tin!" continued the exultant mate, first apostrophiziiiiL;' the harpoon aiitl then the
tinkiiown whale that was to he its victim.

I'ill those hnckets with water, and have more pails hv the coil." tin- captain
onlered a couple of sailofs. " N'ou see, i;i'ntlenien," he explained, pointinjj^ to
an enonnoiis coil of cahle on a steel axle. " th.il line holds fast to the butt-end
of the harpt^on shank. When the cannon is liretl. that rope unwinds at the rate
of a rifle bullet. The coil always smokes. If we didn't saturate it with water,
it would be ablaze in an instant."

The Cabot was now in N'otre Dame I'.ay. which is the very play>;round of
the j^rcat creatures of the deep. There was just enou.trh breeze to j^ive skylark-
injj ])orpoises the fun of whiskinij thnnitjh the waves' crests as they frolicked
over the water. We had been watching the drippinsjf brown backs and i;lintiutj
white throats, as the clumsy bij^; fish jum])ed into the air aii<l floundered down
liackwards. when a sailor on the look-out at the mast head shouted:

" Whale to the Ice ! "

Every man .spran.cf \o his post as if by electric mechanism. The superin-
tendent's glass was at once aimed towards a black object that disappeared amonjj;
the waves.

" Tt'w only a yoniijn hunij) -hack, not worth the powder; but there!" he ex-
claimed. "Look beyond! There's a bi.v; school of j>rev ones floatinu^ at their
ease."

All eyes were nt/ned in the direction indicated. The Cabot .slackened speed,
movinjj slowly and noiselessly leeward. .\t first iiothint;' v as visible but a con-
fusion if small wliite-ca]is. Thin, whitish lines, r -sonibliny columns of smoke,
>:i;ra(lurdly came into view. This was remarkable, for not a suspicion of mist
>vas in the atmosjihere. The dull boomiii}.'; of artillery discharj;es in the distance
came to us in a nnifned echo.

"A marine eng.i.cfement? ' queried Passmore, whose ficld-plass was poc^r.

"No." answerfvi the captain, "they're friskiny" like porpoises. See them
beat the water with their tails! It mi.trht be the hitf drum before action."

" You'll witness a marine enj^^^atrcment presently, with a fin-back in action.''
laconically observed the Norwc}.;ian. " I've never seen anythiiifj like it," he

/I FrNFiACK FN ACTION.

a'.UIcfl, contiiniinj,^ his scrutiny of the hrnl. " 'I'lu'ri's an i-nornious fin-hack in
that scli()(»l. It's a female — she's rolhni,' from side to side. |)layinK vvith her
yonnj^ one. (io cauti<iusly. cai)tain ; we must ),h'1 that ^iant."

He lowered his j^lass ahruptly.
! " A hoiinty to every man on the Cahot," he cried. " if we ^vi that hifj fin-
hack first shot."

I had scranihled part way up one of the masts, as well as a landlnhher could,
and was keepinj^ my ]M)sture l)y sticking- hoth feet thron>,di a tanj,de of ropes and
elinf,M'nf; with my hands to the upper rij^^j^nnj,^ The Ctihot was movin<j almost
imperceptihly. Tho vihrations of the eni,nne had ceased. T"",xcept the swish of
waves, not a .sound was audihle ahout the ship; hut from the whale llotilla
came the hollow poimdinj"^ of the fish striking,' the water with their tails. On
nearer view the dim lines mistaken for smoke turned out to he jets of spray; for
th': fin-hacks were hlowinj^ like trumpeters, ami throwinj^ up water .so that the
hay seemed alive with spouting' fountains, .\round the hip^ fellows raising the
uproarious noise the sea was whipped into a great conmiotion. .Active ones
were darting ahout their mates in swift undulations, dis])laying grace with fishy
vanity, and amu.sing the whale audience still more hy diving vertically down-
wards, till only tail-stimips remained visible above the water. The upright tails
were not unlike yr)ung trees — only the whale's caudal fin branches f)fF in two
barbed flukes, and the trunk is thicker and more oval than a tree. Rut the
whales were not playing. They were about to make music, with the ocean for
a sounding-board. Tails began thrasbiug fr. :■■ ide to side, thumping the sea
with heavy thuds that constitute whale harmomes. Their performance finished,
these players swerved up again, and others dived down to continue the tuneful
entertainment. Young- whales floundered about their mothers and old ones
floated lazily or rolled about, keeping watchful eye on their ofFsprinp^. T did
not count the number in the herd. They were swimming about too restlessly to
be distinguished. Indeed, T was so intent on watching their strange antics, T never
thought of collecting data: but not so Passmorc. His j"ournalistic in.stinct
wa.s alert.

"How many do yon think there are?"

He shouted quite loudly, for the captain and superintendent had gone
astern. '■ ^

" Square mile of 'em, sir," the mate answered in a stage whisper, that was
to rebuke boisterous tones at this critical juncture.

"Think my voice will disturb your g:ame?" Passmore asked, jokingly.

r1 FIN-RACK IN ACTION.

" More danger of the fj.aiiu''s voice disturhinj* you, sir." This sententious
reply was uttered in tlie same solemn wliisper.

" Are they all fin-hacks ? " persisted Rojj^er.

The mate condescended only an affirmative nod ; hut even the newspajjer
man was forpettinj; " copy "' in the interest of surrounding's. The Cabot had
noiseles.sly drifted to within a stone's-throw of the whales. We could see every
nioveinent among them. Slate-hhie forms and arched steel hacks were ap|)ear-
ing everywhere. .\ few paces away the dripi)ing Ix^lies glistened in the sun
hrighter than a coat of mail : and as the steamer drew closer, the naked skin,
smooth as oiled silk, showed stripes of lighter grey extending in deej) grooves
from head to tail. Each fish was the perfection of .symmetry and grace.

"Aren't they heauties, though?" exclaimed Passmore. voicing my own
thought. " Not much like the chunky caricatures you .see drawn, eh? These
old whale diagrams at C(y. > je were mighty poor likenes.ses. weren't they?"

When some of the fin-hacks rocked themselves in the water, affording a full
lateral view, we could see they were several times thicker than the height of a
man ; hut their groat length was in perfect proportion, and the impression gained
was of long, slender creatures, rather than the bulky, top-heavy representations
one sees in hooks. The wind had fallen, and the whaling .steamer was on the
ci\^Q of the fin-hacks' preserve. The old mate's tight-lipped stoicism poorly dis-
guised his impatience for action. Superintendent and captain, after eagerly sur-
veying the !>•:•'!. approached the cannon.

" We should get more than one." said the captain.

" You can't gamble on results." the Xorwegian answered, quietly. " I'll
be quite satisfied with the big female over there."

" The big female in the centre of the herd, men ! " commanded the captain ;
and each sailor straightened up. like a soldier under inspection.

A slight throb ran through the vessel, suggesting possibilities if a great fin
should take to arching his back benCcKh the Cabot and .scratching his barnacle-
infested hide against her keel ; but the danger was imaginary. The engine was
gently getting up steam, and the boat began skirting the field of whales. We
were w«rily making towards the big female picked out by the superintendent.
She lay about a quarter of a mile distant, with other fins all around and the
young one frisking under her nose.

" Mahomet ! " exclaimed Passmore. gazing through his glass ; " did you
ever see anything like her? She nnist measure more than a hundred feet —
tbi'ik of it ! Sixteen times my height ! One hundred feet ! " he repeated.

" Quite that," the Norwegian answered. " The right sort of a catch for an

'Kky

A FIN- RACK IN ACTION.

anihitious fishernian. Wish there were two on hand, and you niijjht hav<> a j,^)
with the second shot! i'.ut I can't chance this one. Slie's the bigj^est I've ever
encountered. We must have her."

I he whales lid not f)hject to our presence, though we made no unnecessary
disturbance. At first our intrusion was itjnored. rmd they kept up their thun-
derous music and l)lowinf,'. I'nsently they became interested. With the curi-
osity which is so hij^dily (lcvelope<l in the whale, some bej^an to follow us, and
several younq- ones poked their snouts under our stern. The Cahol was soon
directly opposite the bijr fin. She lay motionless, with the hujjfcs jaws agape.
Then she moved a little, siftinji: the inflow of wafer and letting' it stream out at
each side of her mouth. The bay w.is thick with mimite particles of marine life,
and she was probably too busy finishing; her breakfast to ol)servc us.

" Too close ! Too dose ! " muttered the superintendent. The Cabot l)epjan
to sheer off at ricfht an<jles to the whale's fore-fins, and the movement attracted
ithe youufj one's notice. We were at perfect rant^e when it mischievously
whisked up at our stern. At this the old mother headed about, swam a few
paces, then lay afloat directly behind us. She was now watchinpf the steamer
suspiciously. We veered about to take instant aim, but the fin-back was too
quick for us. .She too shifted, keepinq; in line with the stern. Ap^ain we
turned ; so did the whale. We re[)eated our tactics till we had completed several
circles, but the wily old watcher was yet in the rear. We reversed our man-
ojuvres and described more circles in another direction, but with no better re-
sults ; for the fin-back mother darted in our vvake. She had come many paces
too close for an effective shot, even if we cauirht her squarely broadsides. Tn
vnin we advanced a hundred yards. dod<?-incf from side to side. The clever old
whale evidently feared for the safety of her younpf one. somewhere beneath the
keel, and proved swifter and more tortuntis in her course than the Cabot.

" Between them two." trrowled the mate ruefully. " we'll waste the dav and
lose the 'hul herd." The fulfilment of his prophecy was not at all unlikely. T
listened to Passmore profTerinc: sus:c:estions, which the superintendent and cap-
tain heard with puckered brows.

"You'd better keep ahind the pun. sir!" remarked the mate, takinpf the cue
frotn the black looks of his chiefs and cfivine Rocfer a dose of his own medicine.
" The line'll fly out in a minit. and 'twouldn't be the first time them lines has cut
onlookers in two."

"Re quiet, old salt!" commanded the superintendent. "You know," he
added apo'op-eticallv to Passmore. " we crive the old man too much rope. It's
beginning- to look as if the men would not jrct much bounty from that fin-back."

I I

A FIN-B.ICK IN ACTION.

" Trick licr. sir ! Trick her. sir ! "' urjjfcd tlic privilcp^cd mate. " Ye'U have
to trick her ! "

And trick her we did. A tiioniejit later we liad reversed and were flying
backwards at a fine rate. Tlie whale was deceived, and jtjave chase for a hun-
dred yards. We slacken<Ml speed. I)n^ as if suspectinpf the latest ruse boded no
ijood. she dodged under the water.

The mate began to utter (kirk, uiiiiitelligibie words.

Rut she rose again, curious [o watch our whereabouts, and within direct and
sploinhd range.

There was an instantaneous bkize ! .\ sharp, tpiick crash set the boat a-
trenible from stem to stern ! I heard the rush of calile lengths and sizzle of rope
flying through the air at terrific speed. The harpoon had hurtled away in a
red meteoric streak! It struck the fin-back behind her head, but, glancing aside,
came out near her throat, so that the flanges which flew out horizontally were
exposed against her side. It was a quick shot, but the aim had erred.

The crew gave a wild shout; but their shoutings were drowned in the
thunderous roar that burst from the wounded monster. The vast, glittering
steel form leaped up from the sea, high above our mast-head, raining a shower
of blood and water from her gaping mouth and wounded side. Down she
plunged, throwing herself head foremost into the hollow of the great sea she
hat! raised, and diving fathoms below. .She jerked the line faster than the men
could let it out. and dragged the steamer right into the vortex of the watery
tumult. Buckets of water were poured on the cable lengths, but the coils were
smoking like pitch near fire.

" Look sharp there ! " shouted the superintendent, for the tightened rope
was relaxing. " She's coming up here ! "

I saw the water turning crimson on both sides of the steamer, and should rot
have been surprised if we had been the next to fly through mid-air.

" She's below us ! She's below us ! Full-steam ! '' bawled the boy from the
galley, who had noticed the blood-dyed stream oozing up on each side.

" Dolt ! " yelled the mate, who had no relish for orders from the scullery-
boy ; "I'll knock y'r head off!" Rut. all the same, he acted on the lad's hint;
and the Cabot sped away, keeping the harpoon-line taut.

The red flood told us whTe to expect the whale's reappearance, and we saw
the fin-back dash up. lashing the sea in her rage to a tempest. Roar after roar
broke from her like continuous bursts of heavy thunder, a tremor running
through the very depths with the awfid bellowings that rolled over the ocean's
surface. The frightful sounds shook the vessel like blasts of artillery, and the

A FIN.BACK IN ACTION.

air seemed surcharged with the deafening cLi'our. l he great fisli was pulling
'aterally, to get away from this unknown thing cmhedded in her tiesh ; but each
jeik on the Hne added pdignancy to the pain and increased her rage.

Suddenly siie rushed away from us in leajjs and bounds through the sea,
giving the Cabot a wrench which hurled nie from my perch to the deck, i'uttitig
on full steam, we tore after her. The Cabot, and not the whale, was now in tow.
She dragged us after her as if the steamer had been a chip. The tow-line was
straining so that I began to woiuler how long its tough fibre could stantl the
tugging without snapping, and how many somersaults the vessel would take if
the rope recoiled. Xow the struggling leviathan was under, now she plunged
along the surface, and at every few paces si)rang through the air like a tlying-
fish, with the great pectoral fins distended and tail thrashing violently.

" Steady there ! Steady ! Look alive ! She's up to some treachery ! "
shouted the captain.

1 had barely picked myself up and collected my wits, when 1 saw the giant
tin-back turn with the swiftness of a diverted lightning-streak. Hefore the
Cabot had time to head about, she was charging furiously towards us. With
glowing eyes and vicious jaws wide agape, bellowing frightfully, she seemed the
very incarnation of vengeance. .Ml the stories 1 had ever read of schooners be-
ing sent to the bottom with one blow from a whale's tail thronged through my
mind. I recalled pictures of Norwegian skii'fs being splintered into kindling-
wood l)y angry whales. The eyes of every man on deck were riveted on the liv-
ing fury which pursued the steamer. It seemed an age, though but an instant,
before the Cabot was flying from her enemy.

The tow-line tightened. Was it to be a tug-of-war. or was she feigning,
to entrap us? Again the great steel body shot to upright posture above the bil-
lows, but she rose only half as high as the mast-head this time. The loud, long
roar of bafik-d rage and defeat was weaker, and echoed dismally over the sea.
The jreat fisli Houndered di>wn helpless and fagged.

" She's done for! " yelled the captain.

" A big display," and the superintendent shook his head, " bu-t poor fishing!
That harpoon didn't hit her squarely at all. See! She's not quite tlead yet!"

The tail was twitching sjiasniodically.

" Lenime go out and lance her, sir ! " called the mate.

" Go! P>ut look out for yourselves; she may come to life."

Passmore scrambled into the lowered boat with the crew, and was in at the
death. Before they had speared her I saw him draw out his revolver and send
a bullet into her head ; which was a foolhardy thing to do, but it enabled Pass-

^J:

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TEST TARGET (MT-3)

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Photographic

Sciences

Corparation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. M580

(716) 872-4503

AlFIN-BACK IN ACTION.

more to treasure up a future anecdote to surpass the Gaspe salmon yarn or the
Lake '^t. John ouananiche story.

As the men, springing on the great floating body with their spiked boots
and spears, waved and cheered to us aboard the Cahot, I reflected it was not so
easy to " draw out leviathan with an hook."

A. C. LAUT.

Ottazva, Ont.

CDrjstmas at 6randina'$.

jHE day before Christmas, the Lavcrn household was astir, pre-
paring to go away for the holidays. The family consists of
four fine, rollicking children, their mamma and papa. Tommy,
the eldest, is a manly boy of ten summers. Muriel, two yeans
younger, is a sweet girl, with long golden curls and brown
eyes. Osmond is a sturdy lad of six years. Last, but not
least, IS baby Reggie, a merry, lisping child, with eyes of Heav-
en s own blue, face of a cherub, and the prettiest of little dimpled hands-the pet
of the famdy. Shortly before they left. (3smond's friend. Herb Spencer ban-
pened m. i • i

^' VVhere are you going, Osmond ? " he asked.

" To Grandma's. She lives in the pretty village of Hilton. It is the iolH-
est place to spend Christmas that could be found."

" In what kind of a house do they live ? "

" A lovely, large one, with a wide" verandah on the front, and windows that
go down to the floor, and open like doors. The hall that runs through the
centre is nearly as wide as some of the houses down here, and oh t there is a bie
garden, with lots of walks, hedges and trees, always green. It is iust like a
park."

" What else is there ? "

" Peacocks, roosters— fine ones. When I was there last, I chased one
around the barn and pulled nearly all the feathers out of his tail trying to catch
him I had great fun. There are sheep, too, with long crooked' horns, cows
without horns, and the best horses in town. There is nothing like a fine horse
I have not time to tell you all. The sleigh will soon be here."

A delightful ride of sixteen miles up Park Road brought the Laverns to

CHRISTMAS A T GRANDMA'S.

Hilton. Grandma was watcliinj^ at tho front window when they drove uj).
She met them at the door, and was hterally hesicj^'cd l)y her grandchildren with
showers of kisses. Soon there was scampering all about the hon.se — up-stairs and
down-stairs — making the place echo with their merriment. This was the house
they were allowed to rule once a year. Tea was over. Muriel went to the
kitchen and (jnickly espied something in a large hake-pan. Returning to the
sitting-room door, she gave the other children a hint io follow.

" Look here," she whispered, " I knew there would he doughnuts to-night."

When grandma had little hoys and girls of her own. it was her custom to
make doughnuts herself every Christmas eve. making part of them into all kinds
of fancy shapes to please the children and allowing them to eat them while hot.
It was dough for this purpose Muriel had found, (irandma placed a large iron
pot on the stove, into which she put some lard. The children crowded around
her at the table as she rolled and shaped the doughnuts. While Muriel, standing
on a stool, turned them witli a fork, Osmond stood on tip-toe to sec how they
were coming on. They were each anxious to have one.

" Mine is done ! Hurry, let me ha^'e it," .said Osmond. Turning excitedly
to grandma, he said, " My man is turning black."

" Here it is. It is done a beautiful golden brown," said she.

" Danma, danma, div me one,"' said Reggie.

" All right, dear, here's one for you."

" Thank oo, danma ; it tastes dood," he .said, as he bit off the head.

She had to make tall men, short men, fat men, thin men, and the more toes
and fingers they had the better it pleased the children, .\fter an hour thus spent
ihey went into the sitting-room, where grandpa was reclining in his large easy-
chair.

" Children, you seem to have had a good time in the kitchen," said he.

" I dess we did," lisped Reggie.

" You bet," said Tommy, " they were the best doughnuts I ever tasted."

" We had a lovely time, grandpa," said Muriel.

"Oh, golly! they were good," said Osmond.

" That's not a very choice word for a little boy," said grandpa.

" Well, they were so good, that that word just said itself."

" That will never do ; you must be more careful in future. What will you
do now ? "

" Tick-tack-to, if you will play with us," said Osmond.

" Agreed, but you will have to teach me."

He laid a large slate on the table, and drew a circle on it. " Xow, we divide
this into sections, and fill each with numbers. I'll play first. I shut my eyes

CHRISTMAS A T G'RANDAIA'S. 97

like this, tlien take the pencil this way. striking soniewlierc inside the circle as
i say ' 1 ick-tack-to, here 1 go, hit or miss. Til stop at this.' Then I stop short,
open my eyes, and whatever numher my pencil is on I have won. and it is
crossed out. The highest number gets the game."

'' Exactly," said grandpa, as he took the pencil and began, " Tick-tack-to—"

" Oh ! you peepin.' danpa," said Reggie.

" No, dear — here I go — "

" You are out, and got nothing." said ( )sniond.
" Just wait till 1 finish— hit or miss. I'll stop at this."
"(iood! grandpa; you have two hundred," said Muriel.
They had a lively game, and grandpa became a first-rate player, but Tommy
was the winner. ^

" Crandma and mamma must join in the rest of our games," said Tonmi)
Then came •• hide the thimble." " snap," " go-bang," etc.. until bedtime. '
Each chdd was given one of grandma's longest stockings, which was hung
I)y the fire-place in the sitting-room, because it would be so easy for Santa CI.-. us
to come down the big chimney to fill them. Baby Reggie insisted on sleeping
vyith grandma. He was greatly excited over Santa Claus coming. Every tinie
the trees rattled against the house, or there was any unusual sound outside the
chdd thought It was Santa Claus. If grandma moved, he quickly drew the cov-
en ng over their heads, and said. ' Hush, danma, hush; he's tumin, he's tumin "
Ihe darlmg thought the least noise would frighten him away. Grandma fell
asleep, and began to snore. The child was almost frantic. He drew the cover
*ng over their heads once more, and shook her violently by the nose " Oh
danma, don't, don't; he'll go away." The trees rattled again. -'Listen'
danma, listen, listen; here he turns down the "tove-pipe."

" All right dear, grandma will be very quiet." He put his arms around her
neck, cuddled his chubby face close against hers, and was soon in the land of
dreams.

Nature had allowed the elements to play in a manner to produce a most
enchanting winter scene for Christmas morning. The evergreen trees bowed
their heads low beneath the weight of their snowv plumes. The hedges were
snow-capped Icicles hung from leafless tree branches, and when the smi rose
from his h.ding-place everything glistened and sparkled like myriads of dia-

r.nJ; ?' ^""""^ •''''•'''■'" '''•"' "'^ ''"'"•>' ^^ ■'^^"^" ''^'^' Santa Claus had

ties t ku"'',''°'r"^.'f ''"'''"^' ^'""^^ ^" '^"'■^^'"^^ ^^'^'^ ""ts, candies,
ties, ack-knives, handkerchiefs, ribbons, mitts, picture-books and toys

After breakfast the children decided to take their hand-sleighs" and go
coasting down the hill at the rear of the grounds. When thev went to put 011

(< Tr^-^r'

isn't it lovkly? "

CHRISTMAS AT GRANDAfA'S.

their wraps, Tommy found a pair of skates and a tobogjjan hanging under his
overcoat. Wrapped in Muriel's cape was a heautiful wax doll, half her own
siJ^e. It had blue eyes, rosy cheeks and long Haxen ringlets, and was dressed
in the latest Pans fashion. Tommy was anxious to try his toboggan.

'^I^luriel," said he. "you can go wild over your doll later on. (ict vour cap and
come with me." She could not find it. " It's in the clothes-closet off vour
manmia's room upstairs."' said gran<lma. When she opened the door out' ran
a sweet lutle dog. with silky silver hair. It was a lovelv Skve terrier, and had
a pink ribbon around its neck. To this was i)iimed a piece of paper, on which
was written. " Top.sy, f,,,- Muriel." Her j.w was no less than her surprise.
She took up her dear little pet. and ran down to her mamma, saying, " Isn't it
lovely?" She was not long in finding out all Topsv's cute tricks, and thev be-
came much attached to each other. Of Reggie's presents he was most' de-
lighted with his rocking-horse, and gave it little rest. ( )smon(l was wondering
what extra thing Santa Claus had left him. When going into the library he
.stumbled over a box, on which his name was written, lie took it to the sittitig-
room, where the rest of the family were, and hurriedly opened it. Out jumped
a hen. Poor boy, his disappointment was great.

"The horrid old thing, I don't want it. it is the stupidest creature in all
the world, and no good for a boy. Santa Claus was real mean to me." lie
began to cry.

"Listen: it can cackle." saitl Muriel.
" What good is that to a boy?"
" Jt will tell you where the eggs are."
" I don't want eggs. I'oo-hoo-oo-o. I'll chase it out."
"Osmond, you nuist not be a naughty boy," said grandma. "Let me tell
you about a present given a little boy years ago."

The children were at once attentively listening.

" One winter this boy had been visiting his .\unt Polly in the country. His
mother and father had come to take him home. When tliey were in the sleigh.
Aunt Polly put a small wooden box. with little holes in the sides, under his seat.
■Phen she kissed the lad, and whispered. 'There is something alive in that; it is
for you. Take good care of it, and it will turn into a farm some day. if you
live.' All the way home he was puzzling over wdiat was in the box. When
it was opened, there sat a l)lack and white speckled hen. It was the very thing
he wished for, and he named it Aunt Polly. In the spring it laid many eggs,
and hatched lots of dear little yellow and black chickens. Next year most of
these laid eggs, and had nests full of chickens. The third year they became so
numerous that the boy's father persuaded him to sell all but a fcnv and buy
sheep with the money. The Aunt Polly hen was kept till she died 'a natural

100

CHRISTMAS AT GRANDMA'S.

(U'ath, and was given a hen burial. He had extra good luck with the sheep.
Every vear the number greatly increased. They were sheared, and the wool
sold at the highest price. \Nhen he became twenty-one he sold them Ihen,
witii what money he had put in the bank from time to time, he had enough to
buy a farm. Aunt Polly has gone to her home in Heaven, but the farm still
bears her name. "Osmond's hen was now on the high wave of favor. The other
children wished Santa Clans had given them one. They tried to make a trade
for it, but the owner proudly lifted it in his arm. and walked off, saying, " You
just bet I won't."

" Children, would you like Xo have a sleigh-ride and skate this afternoon,"'
asked grandpa.

" Yes, yes," they replied, in chorus.

They were in a hurry to be off, and were ready before the appointed hour.
While waiting, they raced up and down the long verandah, and had a lively play
at snow-balling. Jingle, jingle. " Here turns danpa." He had considerable
difficulty settling where they should sit. All wanted to be on the front seat
with him.

" There is not room for all to sit here, my dears."

" I believe we can squeeze in," said ( )smond.

" Can't iMuriel and Reggie sit on the back seat? " asked lomniy.

" Xo, me woi-.'t.'" So saying, Reggie dro])ped on his knees in the bottom of
the sleigh, and clung tightly to the dash-board.

^ can squeeze in between Tommy and me," insisted Osmond. " Then
all > )oys will be on the front seat."

"Are you a boy, danpa?"

" Yes, my dear, we are all boys on this seat."

Muriel and her mamma, grandma ami Topsy sat behind.

The robes were snugly tucked in, and merrily away they w'ent. It was
only a mile to the pond where they intended spending the afternoon. Quite a
crowd was already there. Happy skaters glided hither and thither, and the
older Lavern children joined the number. One sleigh-load after another ar-
rived, and many came on foot, till the pond was nearly covered with a joyous
Christmas gathering. In the last sleigh there were two barrels. It was driven
up the east side, and they were lifted out on the high bank. This pond is very
prettily situated on the south side of a lovely wood. The west side is fringed
with low-drooping water-willows, which in summer bathe the tips of their over-
hanging branches in the clear, cool water, singing " swish, swish," as the wind
tosses them to and fro. Along the south side runs the road, under which is the

CHRISTMAS AT GRANDMA'S.

mill-dani. Beyond this stands the old mill, no lonj^cr in use. On the enst, the
hank rises gradually as you leave the road till it is high ahove the pond. Mere
■die harrels were placed, horward. hackward, fancy skatiug and racing were in
full swing, accompanied hy the nmsical jingle of hells, as the sleigh,; went around
the margin. Tlie harrels were opened, and a ki.ullv-faced gentleman called out •
"Attention! Ready ! '• There was a lull f,.r a moment. Away went rosv snow
apples in rapid succession, houncing in all directions over the ice. It was the
climax of sport for the children. Little they cared how often they were hit hy
the ffying fruit. F.ach was hent on getting his or her share. This was a
Christmas treat which had heen given the children for a numher of vears hv the
«une gentleman. Skating was resumed, while rosy apples disappeared down
htt.e throats. The sleighs were again going around the pond, now at full
speed. Suddenly there was a crash, and a terrified shout from those on the
eastern hank : " Halt. halt, the ice is sinking." Im great excitement men. wo-
men and chtldren scramhled up the hank. The sleighs were in imminent danger.
1 he ice had given way at the low hank hy the willows, and the water was rising
rapidly. There was a wild rush of teams to get off the ice as hest they could.
One became frightened, and made a mad dash toward the dam where the ice was
thin. The crowd watched with suspended breath. A catastrophe seemed cer-
tain, but, with great presence of mind, the driver succeeded in controlling the
horses, and turned them in time to avoid the dangerous place. As the Laverns
rode home, feeling glad they were safe, they said they would never forget that
afternoon, they had such a good time.

"Grandma, how did you spend Christmas when vou were a little girl?"
asked Muriel.

" That's a capital idea," said Tommy. " Tell us all about it this eveninjr."

It IS so long ago, my dear, that I have forgotten many things about my

childhood Christmas. But I will give you a glimpse of a home, and tell vou

something about one Christmas that may interest you."

The lights were turned on. and our Christmas partv was in grandma's
pretty parlor.

" Now% grandma, tell us about that Christmas," said Tommy.

" I want you to go with me in imagination to your great-great-grandfather's
home. Seventy-five years ago this morning, my father, mother, and their eight
children went to my grandfather's, seven miles from our home. There was
bush all over the County of York in those days, with the exception of scattered
clearings. We had a long, deep box-sleigh, so deep that if Reggie stood on the

102

CHA'ISTM.IS .1 T i;RANDMA'S.

l)()ttoin his head wouhl just conif to thi- top. 'Hu're were five scats, ami it was
ven comfortable for a lar^c family."

" Wily don't we Jiave slcii^hs like that now,"" asked ( )smond.

" iSecauso they are too old-fashioned. l\o])k' iu)wadavs sacrifice comfort
in many ways for the sake of appearance.'"

" We were deli<;hted when we came to the s^ate, throut^di which we passed
u]) a lon^ij lane, with tall pines on each side, to my ijrandfatlier's home. It was
a lar^e two-story log house, with a stoop on two sides. An imposing structure

grandfather's homk.'

for those times. Grandfather and grandmother were at the door to welcome us.
Cjrandmother looked so sweet in her snow-white frilled cap, sontag and long
apron over her neat black bombazine dress. We entered by the kitchen door.
.A. flaming log was throwing out warmth from a large fire-place, where hung
many pot-hooks and pots, and as many dainties simmered or baked. Close at
hand was the pan-buoy, and ' little Tommy Toddy, all legs and no body.' *'
"What is a pan-buoy?" asked Muriel.

CHRfSTM.lS A I a R. I \ DM. VS.

lOB

" it is a lonpf, t1at stick, witli (k-i-p slantini;: notches down each side, and .'i
cross-piece on the lower end to l)alance it. When the i)an was put over the
coals, this stick was stood upritjht, and the Ions;' handle was hooked over one of
the notches to keep it from npsettinf,^"'

Totniny was anxious to know who Toniinx- 'Toddy was.

" Why. that (|ueer little fellow was the tire-tonqs. My tjrandniother's dish-
es were always an attraction. 'They were tastefully arranj^ed on an open-faced
cuphoard. There were ,i;dlden hrown tea-pots, with ,i;ilt edyes. and red and
white raised flowers, and hrijiht i;Teen leaves in ahiuidance. Then there were
([uaint hlue and white, and red. white and Ljreen-flowered platters, plates and
cups and saucers. The tin utensils, which decorated one side of the kitchen,
shone to such a dei^^ree that we coidd see ourselves retlecte<l in them. Grand-
father's clock stood in a niche in the sittinq^-room. It reached almost from floor
to ceilincf. and counted out the hours in never-to-he-fortjotten deep-toned, vihrat-
ing strokes. The heds were hi^-h. oval-shaped thin,q;s that retpiired ladder or
stool to j^et into them. Grandmother's had a canopy toj). with curtains all
around falling' to the floor. The lamps were small tin hoxes, with a tuhe in the
top for a wick. These were huns^" on wire hooks suspended from the ceilint:;.
When filled with fish-oil and lii^hted. they were not as pleasant to sit under as the
litjhts we have now. hut we were happy, never dreaminu' of all the thinii^s there
are at the present time for everyone to enjoy. \\'e had nothinpf hut rag; dolls,
and loved them dearly. We had no hought games. We played ' T spy.' ' hllnd-
matrs huff.' 'pussy wants a corner.' ' hutton. hutton. who has the hutton?' 'hot
hutter, blue-heans. all come to supper." and other games, and no children were
ever happier. The day was ended ; the moon had risen high. We were all in
the sleigh ready for home. We had started, when Grandfather, coming out of
the kitchen with a large parcel, called to us to stop. ' Here is some meat.' he
said. ' you may need it hefore you get home.' We had gone about half-way.
and had entered a dense wood, through which the road ran for a mile and a
half. We were startled, as howl after howl broke the stillness of the night.
We knew what it meant. Tt was enough to make the bravest quake with fear.
The smaller children were quickly huddled in the bottom of the sleigh under the
robes, h. large pack of wolves were on our track and were rapidly ncaring us.
The situation was desperate. They were hungry and ferocious. ' Light the
torches,' said my father, while he urged on the horses. The older boys got out
the long poles, with the tar-balls fastened on the ends, and lit them as quickly as
possible. On came the wolves, furious to possess their prey. ' Throw out the
meat," cried my mother. Out it went. The animals fought ainong themselves

104

CHR/STAfAS A T GRANDMA'S.

for it, and liiij^cred around tlio spot for sonic minutes. Then on they came,
fiercer than ever. Xow there were six l)lazjnjr torches waving over our sleigh,
and the horses on the gallop. Some of the more daring wolves came close
enough to have the torches thrust in tiieir faces, and with terrifying howls fell
hack and tied. Oh, what joy and thankfulness, our danger was over. We
passed out of the wood into the clearing, and were soon in the safe shellor of
our home."

" How strange," said 'Ponuny. " that great-great-grandfather put that meat
in the sleigh."

" Not strange, my hoy." said grandpa. " ( iod gave him the thought to do
It m order to save their lives. He always takes care of those who love and
serve Him. What your grandma and I wish most of all, children, is that you
wdl grow up tt) love and serve the One who saved grandma's life, and who died
to save us all, and whose birthdav we have been celebrating to-day."

As the good-night kisses were given, they thanked grandma for her story.
.\fter saying their prayers, and being tucked away in bed. four happy children
went to sleep wishing Christmas at grandma's came oftener than once a year.

ARAHNDA MYRTAL BLAKELY.

Winnipeg.

OKr Pnncb and :)ndy Sbow.

^ UNTIE, do you remember that Punch and Judy show those
two little newsboys y;ave last year?"

"Do you think you could tell us about it?"
" Just to think that they made nearly twenty-five dol-
lars, too, and ^ave it to poor little Ben, because he had
such a cold and could not j^o out on the streets to sell his
papers, and his poor mother was too sick to work."
" It was a wonderful show, too, for little boys to ^nve, wasn't it. Auntie?"
" Yes, yes, and yes, my dears. F do not know which <ptestion 1 am answer-
ing first, but I thiidv ' Yes * will answer them all. I know both Jack and Will,
or Uill, as he prefers to be called. They told nie about it before they had it fin-
ished, and I went around to the old shecl, where they had worked, to see if
everything was complete before they faced the public."

" Oh, we were the public, were we not. Auntie? For they showed it to us."
" Yes, dear, we and all the other people that saw it, but now, if you want
me to tell it to you, we had better begin at once, as it will take a very long
time."

" Begin at the beginning. Auntie, even at the building of the house."
" Tt would take too long to tell you how the little paper boys w(m ked to get
together the lumber, nails, hammer and dolls, but I will tell you how the house
is made, so if you should like to try for fun sometime, you will know.

" They got ten pieces of wood about one inch square and six feet long, and
six pieces just the same, only four feet long, and took their nails and hammer,
and set to work. Their house was to be six feet high and six feet wide, and
only four feet back to front. Then they nailed the upright pieces and cross

106

OUR PINCH AND JUDY SHOW.

pieces together, tacked on the curtains, ami soon had the house to look like this."
and Auntie drew, with a pencil, on a piece of paper, tl.is:

THB HOUSE.

" Why, Auntie, you are quite an arMst. 1 can sec now how Punch and
Judy jumped ahout ; why jack and Hill held them." cried May.

" Now, I'm going to show you Punch and Judy themselves, and then I will
tell you \\hat they said. Ncnv they arc coming. Listen!

"'What arc you doing there. Judy? Why don't you tell the man to ring
up the curtain ? '

"' Pll not do it; do it yourself,' said Judy. Just then up went the curtain,
and Punch and Judy appeared.

PUNCH AND JUDV.

" ' What do you want that curtain rung up for ? We are not at a show.
Why cannot you speak proper English ? '

OUR PUNCH AND JUnY SHOW.

107

" ' I tell you, Judy, all this world is a show — a play — and we are the actors.'

" ' IVetty actor you make, Mr. runch. with your j;roat red nose and those
dream-like eyes.'

"'And you,' fairly screamed iMr. Tunch ; "how much shorter is your nose
than mine? Where's my evening paper?' said he. tryinj^^ to change the sub-
ject, for mentioning Punch's big, red nose causeil a pang to his pride. Mr.
Punch was very handsome when he was young.

"' Well, Mr. Pimch. if you wish to get your paper, you will speak in more
respectful tones than those, and, tell me, plea.se. what this paper has to do with
your great, big, long nose?'

" ' There you are, Judy ; always trying to keep up a (juarrel. Tell me, this
instant, where my paper is, or I'll — ' but Judy was too quick for him, and soon
Mr. Punch was rushing in every direction, howling and weeping uiuuercifully.
for Judy had stepped on his very worst corn. Then Judy left him, but soon
returned, nodding and talking to a great bi^ cat.

" ' Purr — rr — rr,' said the cat. and Judy mewed and crooned to it, then put
it down to sleep in a slipper. One, unfortunately for poor kitty, belonging to
Mr. Punch.

" .After Punch had mirsed his fo<^t for a time, he thought he wotild put on
his soft slippers. One he found beside him, and the other we already know
was the one in which the poor cat was sleeping so cosily. ?Te did not see the
cat, and started to put on the slipper, but kitty was not .so easily put out of her
siuig little bed.

Mew — ew — ew,' wailed the cat, as she scratched and spat at Mr. Punch.
This made Mr. Punch furious, atid he at once thought of Judy.

" ' Of course,' he roared, as he held the cat uj) by the tail. ' Of cour.se, this
is some of your work. Mistress Judy. She loves this cat. Just to think of a
horrid cat in my woolly slipper!'

"'Mew — ew — ew.' screamed the cat. and she dug her claws into Mr.
Punch's hands.

" ' You wretch ! take that — and that — and that — ' Each time he hit poor
puss hard with a stout stick he had in his belt.'

" Of course, children," .said .\untie. " the kitten was only a toy one the boys
had bought; but it all .seemed very real to us. for the boys could me — ew just
like a real cat. and by this time nearly every boy and girl had their eyes wide
open. ' Ts Pimch going to kill it?' they cried. Yes, he did, and poor kitty
was just groaning its last, when Judy hearil it. and came rushing to the rescue
with a stick almost as big as herself. ' Take that — that — and that — , but poor
Judy had been hit by Punch's stick, too. and she lay dying beside her kitten."

" What a dreadful man Punch was. Auntie. T do not like him.."

108

OUR PUNCH AND JUDY SHO IV.

" Wait, dear ; Punch was well-punished, as every one is who cannot control
their angry feelings, and who will not be kind to animals as well as to ilieir
fellow-beings. Hardly had Judy and her lovely cat been carried away to be
buried, when a loud voice called, so loud that everybody in the audience could
hear it.

"' Punch, Punch, what have you done?'

" Punch was very much afraid, and waited for the voice to speak again.

" ' I am Weariness. You will have to fight me, for you have done a great
wrong.'

" So, children, we could see Punch fighting the air, we thought, but he
struggled very hard, and at last, the fight over, weariness was overcome.

" Hardly had weariness gone, when another great voice called :

"'Punch, Punch, what have you done?'

" But Punch was so frightened and tired, he could not answer.

" Then the voice said, ' I am Laciness. You have done a great wrong.
You will have to fight me.'

" So Punch fought again. We could not see whom he fought ; but he con-
quered again. Then he said to himself, ' What is the use of fighting? I will
rest.' But there w'as no time to rest, for another voice called :

"'Punch, Punch, what have you done? I am Disease. You have done a
great wrong. You will have to fight me.'

" Then Punch fought the air desperately, as before, and was again suc-
cessful. But Disease had left poor Punch, when Death came along. We could
hear his bones rattle, as Punch hit him, and he conquered the voice which called
itself Death. Then, last of all, we heard a loud rap. It was the policeman.
Not a voice, but a policeman, we could see, with his stick in his hand and his
big blue coat and hat, and his big brass buttons.

"' Punch. Punch, I am Justice. What have you done? You have done a
great wrong. You will have to go to jail.'

" Wilful, proud Punch, he was really sorry, too, children, I think, for I
heard him sob when he said it.' "

" Bravo, Punch! " shouted all the children at once. " Punch was sorry; he
was good, after all."

" But," said Auntie, " it would have been better had he never been so
wicked." • •

" Oh, Auntie." said a wee, husky voice, " I des I'll not be naughty any more,
if peoples that quarrels drow up tross an' look like ugly ole Punch an' Judy."

" It is only play, darling," said Auntie, " and the cross old Mr. Punch, with
shrill voice, and quarrelsome Mrs. Judy, are only in fun."

"And was the little newsboys in fun, too. Auntie?" ' * /'

OUR PUNCH AND JUD Y SHO W. 109

" Only in fun in their play, pet, but very much in earnest in helping little
lien, who was sick and poor." ^ ^

"Oh! can't I do something to help somebody. Auntie?"
''By being good now, darling-by being a he;,)ful little laddie now, and by

SristmasTimT" '"' ""' "''' "' '"^^'"^ °^'"^' P^^*'"^'^^'>' ^' '''' ^'^^

LILIAN BROWN.

Winnipeg.

Cbe Olcddind of fbe Tlowers.

LILY AND ROSE.

Once in the great forest cathedral,

With its aisles so shady and deep,
I was lulled by Nature's grand organ,

And charmed by the fair goddess Sleep.
How long I was sleeping, I know not,

A fairy had opened my eyes.
And I listened to heavenly music.

An echo dropped down from the skies.

And faintly adown the green pathway

Came the patter of little flower feet:
A perfume of pansy and violet,

And voices, low, silver and sweet.
They paused just in front of my arbour.

To chime of a faint tinkling bell;
And " The Voice that breathed over Eden "

Was wafted by winds down the dell.

I saw all the gay world of Fashion,

Elder, Balsanri, and all the Smart Set,
The Hyacinths, Trilliums and Larkspurs,

Sad Snow-drop and shy Mignonette;
Sweet William, Nasturtium and Bramble,

Spruce, Cowslip and tall Fleur-de-Lis,
Veronica, Iris, and Ivy,

Alyssum and blushing Sweet Pea.

The Groomsmen were Wild Wood-Geranium,

And Daffodil, handsome and straight;
The Bridesmaids were Primrose and Gentian,

So smiling, so modest, sedate.
The Bride gowned in white orange-blossoms.

To the altar by Poppy was led,
Where joining her tall, blushing lover.

The sweet, solemn service was read.

THE WEDDING OF THE FLOWERS.

When the vows of both had been taken,

The Prince, with a feehng of pride,
Took the ring and tremblingly placed it

On the hand of his beautiful bride.
Then he kissed right fondly and proudly,

Ere they rev'rently knelt on the floor.
When the Bishop pronounced his grave blessing,

And the charming IHower Wedding was o'er.

Then out through the archway so shady,

To an arbour amid the green trees,
Went the Prince and his beautiful Princess,

To the music of bird-song and breeze.
And there, 'neath the trailing Arbutus,

Were the presents so costly and rare :
Buttercups, Blue-bells and Fox-gloves,

Precious gifts for the happiest pair.

They partook of a fairy-like luncheon.

Nectarine in a pretty pink shell.
The toasts were proposed, and the laughter

Echoed far over fountain and fell ;
The guests wished them love Everlasting,

A home full of sunshine and joy,
A rule by the Rod that is golden,

Which nothing but Time can destroy.

Thus ended the famous Flower Wedding,

Of sweet Lily and charming Prince Rose;
They left on Thistle-down air-ship,

For the Land of Peaceful Repose.
And again the old forest grand organ

Rang down the great archway so deep,
That the Flowers fled away like the Goddess,

Sweet .Slumber, the Goddess of Sleep,

— Walter Edmonds.

Ill

Winnipeg.

Saved by a Bird.

JESSIE, Bessie, do you know what time it is?"

Bessie came running- to her mamma, and said, " Is it half-
past eleven, mamma, and may I go and tell papa dinner's
ready ? "

" Yes, Bessie, and you must hurry, because you will

have to go quite close to papa to-day, as the machine makes

so much noise."

So little Bessie Miller came into the house, where mamma washed her little

hands and face, and also the little brown, bare feet. Then she tied on her pretty

pink-checked sunbonnet (that her very own grandma had made for her and

sent from away down in Ontario), and off Bessie went.

" Good-bye, mamma," she said. " Won't daddy be glad to see me? "Speci-
ally when I say ' Dinner ! ' Perhaps mamma, I'll hide and tease him. Do you
think he'll let me ride old Bill back?"

But, by this time, Mrs. Miller had said. " well, good-bye, darling," and
Bessie was off.

Mr. and Mrs. Miller and Bessie had come to live on this lovely prairie farm
only a year ago. They had brought their friend, Tom Briggs, out to live with
them and help on the farm. Their prairie home was such a happy little nook;
Mrs. Miller had named it " Maplewood," " not," said she, " because there are so
many maples, but because there are none." Bessie thought that was very
funny.

The days seemed very long to little Bessie, who was not old enough to go to
school, and many times every day she would say, " Oh, mamma, what can I do?
What can I play?"

Mrs. Miller and Bessie had many tlelightful games together, and Bessie
would help her mamma do much of her work. She would bring in the wood.

6V? VED BY A BIA'D. ^^g

playing that each stick was a soldier, and she would stand each soldier up in line
lorn showed her how to drill thcin, and called her Captain Bessie

Then Bessie would dust the rooms and nianinia would let her change the
places of all the chairs. She would take all the mats up, too, and place them in
new places. But, still the days were very long sometimes

One day Bessie had said to her father: "Daddy, what can yot, find for a
httle girl like me to do out in the field ? "

"A little girl like you, Bessie?" said Mr. Miller. '• 1 thought you were
your mamma's girl, and helped her most of the time."

^ 1 °!'' l.t' l'"!^ ^'' '°*' '''"' '"''' ''"' '^''^"" '''^ S^^ 't all done, what can 1
do then? Oh, daddy, do let me help you outside!" Bessie crept closer and
closer, in a coaxing way.

'' How would you like to play that you are my clock? " said daddy

tock-tick llk."!^ ^ '''"' '" '*' "^' °" ' ''''^^ ""'^ "'"''■ '^' ^">'^^^'"^ '^''' " t'^k-

Daddy Miller laughed, and said. " Oh, no, I mean that when it is dinner

Umyou will come and tell me. That would help me ever so much, my little

So, with mamma to strike the hour, they decided that every warm sunnv
day Bessie would go to her papa and tell him dinner was ready ^

mammaT"'' ""'""^ ''""'' '^'' '""""^ ''""'' ''^' ^'''' " '' '' '"'''-P^^' ^'^^v^" y^t,

•'cloctwork!'' '"" ""' "' """""' '"''''' '" '"PP>' '^^"'^^ '^^' ^^-^-1 - her
Down she ran, and crossed the ravine. Oh, how proud she was the first
day she walked over the bridge alone. Then, on she went to the wheat fie W
She had run so fast she was very tired, so she thought she would sit down and
rest beside a great big sheaf of wheat. She sat there sorting the pretty wild
flowers into little bouquets. " This blue one, just like my mamma's eyes,'is"or
^'''- ./".P^''^ *^'f.^^ ^"^ tell mamma she must give me twelve kisses for them"
1 his great big red one is for my own daddy ; won't it look lovely pinned on
his coat next Sunday? Oh, what can 1 fix up for Tom? Oh, I know l"l i °
tie up some ugly weeds, and won't we laugh at him when he puts them on his
cost r

You see Bessie was so used to playing alone that she talked as freely to the
flowers as you talk to your little brothers and sisters.

"Oh, dear! what can I make for dear old Coley? Oh, I know Til m^h^
a dog-collar She looked around her for something'with whichT we ve h
collar, and then she saw a pretty bird flying in and out of the uncut wheat

114

SAILED BY A BIRD.

What (lid it have in its mouth? and where was it going? Oh, were there some
little birdies there?

liessie's flowers were forgotten, and she was in among the grain, down on
her knees, and almost shrieking with delight.

" The dear little bits of birdies! Oh, see the dear little open mouth? i How
yellow they are! and how big! One! two! three! four! five! Ugh! I don't
hke to touch them, tliey wiggle so."

Bessie gazed in wonder. The little birds chirped and opened tiieir hungry
mouths in the most wonderful way. I>essic thought they were the cutest little
things she had ever seen. She sat and watched and watched. She was not used
to sitting so still, and the little head began to nod and droop, and in a few min-
utes our little girl lay fast asleep beside the little nest of birdies.

At last the mother bird could stay away no longer, and came timiilly back to
her little hiding-place, but, with all her fluttering and calling, little Bessie slept
o\\ as soundly as if in her own little white crib at home.

>(:*Hi****H'* ******

Whizz! wb.izz ! wiiizz ! whirr! whirr! whirr. Nearer and nearer comes the
binder. Swift and swifter the sharp, cruel knives are cutting tiie grain. Fanner
Miller and Tom are in high spirits. The binder has done good work to-day, and
to-night will flnisii the cutting of the wheat.

Oh ! how that mother bird flutters backwards and forwards ! What funny
little chirps and shrieks she is making! In her own language she is crying:
" Oh! man, man! please stop that machine! My darlings will be hurt? Oh, do
stop ! do stop ! Please ! "'

Ye', nearer, ever nearer came the whirling wheels. Tom said, " Queer way
that old bird acts. What do you 'spose ails her?"

" Nest there, sure thing. Here, hold up the horses. I never like to meddle
with a nest if I can help it."

Mr. Miller dropped the lines, and went to the spot over which the poor
frightened bird was hovering.

Can I tell you what he said when he saw what was hidden there?

No ; because his words were few and sobbed rather than spoken.

He raised his darling little girl and pressed her tighter and tighter to his
beating heart. Tom ran to them with tears in honest, round eyes.

" Oh, would it not have been awful ! "

Mr. Miller could not speak, but many were the kisses and hugs her dear
daddy was giving bewildered Bessie.

Her eyes were wide open now, and she sleepily said, " Dinner's ready,
daddy."

SAVED BY A filRD.

116

Bessie could not u.ulcrstan.l why Iior father held lier so closclv nor why

Ins face so close to her own was wet with tears.

" Did you see the cunning little birdies, daddv? " she asked

"Yes, darling," said daddy. " Thev called me to you"

He carried her in his great strong arms all the way home, and did not

even trust her to the broad safe back- of old Bill.

"Turn out now. Tom." he sai.l. "'and this afternoon we'll just skip that
place and leave it for the birds."

Can you not hear daddy telli.ig all about it. with Bessie, wide-eyed and
.solemn, sitting on his knee?

Then her own mamma daspe.l her .larling to her heart, and kissed her and
cried and kissed her and cried again, until poor, tired little P.essie cried too

Don{y:; td^yP"" ""''' '''' '"^ ' ' ''''' '" ""^"^ ^" '^^^ "--' ''^ ->•
They all laughed then, but not very merrily.
''Just think, daddy, if you had not' seen that mother bird?" began Bessie

ays loved the little birds and tried to save them, we would have had no loving
1 ttle fi^T now I thmk we owe your life to the brave little mother bird, and to
dear daddy s kind thought for even a little nest of birds"

.nd T^"' ""' ""'^"'i Tr" '" '" ^•■"^'''^^"^^- through that little mother bird,
and I am sure we shall always feel very thankful when we think that the life o
our little daughter was " Saved by a binl."

MOLLIE MAYBURN.

Cbe Crue Story of mother Goose.

(Told for the First Time.)

|HIS," said North Wind, sulkily, " would be a fine world were
it not for a foolish and chattering old woman called Mother
Goose, who is singing silly songs all day long."

" Aye," answered East Wind sharply. " not only does she

sing all day long, brother, but I can't rest at night, after my

day's travels about the country, with hearing her whining

songs."

" I declare I sometimes think Til go out of the singing business," snapped

North Wind, turning up the autumn leaves with an annoyed sweep of his

heavy foot. " One good thing is that I can drown her voice when I feci like

howling."

East Wind laughed so hard at this remark of his elder brother that he fell
over against a tree, causing it to bend over the river bank near by, and its
branches, striking the face of the sleeping Waters, they woke right up.

" Don't you worry, my good friends," said the Waters, whispering glee-
fully; "we know something, don't we, sisters?" and the ripple of laughter
went around until the pebbles on the beach joined in the merriment.

" I suppose you know some of her silly old songs ? " answered East Wind.
" Or she has ro'-ked you to sleep with ' See-saw-ducksy-down,' added
North Wind, mockingly." I wish I could catch her out in the open just once,"
he said, " but everybody seems to run into the house when I pass by. I
wonder why?" he added, frowning.

No one answered, but East Wind was seen to turn away and smile. Just
then the sound of singing came up from the village, and the two brothers. Wind,

THE TRUE STORY OF MOTtfER GOOSE. \\t

grew purple with rage. " Hush," said the waters, and then the voice of Mother
Cioose was heard:

" Ride-a-cock-Iiorse-to-l'.auhury-cross,
To-see-an-ohl-woman-get-on-a-whito-horse;
Rinfrs-nn-her-finKa>rs-aiul-bcIls-()n-lier-toes, '
Aiul-she-shall-niake-nnisic-whcrever-she-gocs."

"Slu's sin„i„K Utile Jack Hcr.KT 1„ sl,q,." saM W,.s, VVi.ul, RlidinK itl

I c,r: ■" fT " "" 'f'"" ""' ''"'"""' '" "■^- "'K »'""" I- -eek vou

p k "ir; ; T^T^ '^ "■" '^^""^ "■ "- "'•'»■ Listen,- a,l,lc.,rthe
speaker, is it not beautiful? '

head' ^^^'r!^' ''' ''''''''''' ^"'^^^•" ^'^^'^^^<' ^^^'^ Wind, shakin, his
"What do you know about music?" screamed East Wind, turnintr sud-

: n^'l: T''"i '''"' ^.''' ': ^'^^ ''-■ - ''- ^-•^^ >-' ^^--k up 7^:1

.Oman cave, and even join in her yowlinj.." And East Wind j^lared wickedlv
at his httle sister, who shrank timidlv back uickcdiy

tunr'niVTVT ?T ""'•'' ''"^^'''^ ^^^"^ ^ind ; " 1 was trvinj, to ^ct the

r/nn o crv a d r* "I'l '-'-'—•-•-'—" M-e the poor^ittlf maid
Degan to cry, and she could say no more.

"We know something:, we know something! " said the Waters exultindv
Ix^Rinmnp to glide about and swav together. exuitinglx,

" Do tell." urged the brothers. Wind. " do tell if it is anything that will nut

:t, herT"^" ^" ''-''-' ^^'-'« ^ -^"'- Witch! See the way diildreil Z

" Who's talking about ME ? ' ' • ■

of thTfire^oln/''; 'rr"'"' ""^ ^'^ Witch, landing right in the middle
1 , um' , '"^"'^' '^^ ^""^P"'' •" ^ trice, shaking her broom at every-

body, while the embers scattered. •

• .• "Who's talking about ME?" she repeated, severely.

We were speaking of dear Mother Goose," said West Wind ; " she sin^rs
so sweetly to the tired and unhappy little ones." ^

"I'd like to scratch her eyes out ! " screeched the Witch, pointin^r a lono-
hony finger at everybody in turn. pointing a long,

but smning"'?r"'' Wind came running up the hill-side, quite out of breath.

^'L^T u u \ '"^ ^ "" ^ ""'' ^^''" «he said, casting down her eyes

but I really had to linger in the village." ^

"Was it a sunbeam dance?" asked the Waters, eagerly.

118

THE Th'( /■: STOh'V 01- r:oihi:k goose.

" Nay." saiil South Wind, soatiiif^ lursi-If on a mossy rook and playinjj
^I'litly with a prilty stii)K'd i-atcM pillar crauliii); uikUt a dead leaf, " it was
just a hillahy."

" 'riu'fi' it j;ois," slirirki'd N'oilh Wind, j^rnwlinj;. ;md wliilt' witli raj^i'.
" Iwcrybody dillydallies after that nuMldlini; old woman. I ean sin^,^" he
.'«eieamed, " I ean whistle, I ean danee : why don't pi'ople inn after me?'"

" V\'e know something;," ehornsi'd the Waters, rnmiinj^; in and t)Ut ainonj;
the stones; " we know somelhinj; that wonid soon stop her sinj^injjf."

"W-h-a-t?" (pieried North Wind, l^ast Wind, and Witeh. in a breathless
shout.

South Wind east an anxious eye and West Wind a warning plancc at the
W.iters. hut the hahhhuij w.ivelets he^.in to whisper: " Mother (loose won't let
the Mau-iu-the-Moon see her without her niqhteap. That is why she is never
seen out wheti it is hlowy."

" Yah ! " jeoerod North Wind, " she's afraid I'll jjrah her nijjfhteap."

" She comes down and washes her uinhteaji when the Winds are asleep,
and "

"Ha!" sereamod F.ast Wind, flappini; his lonij arms, "she won't catch me
snonzinjj aj;;ain." and he sent out a shrill whistle that woke up all the children
in the villaqe. When the disturbed cry of the children was heard, the Witch
gleefully danced around the fne. " TJsten to them cryinp^!" she screamed;
" there's music for yon. TTa, ha, ha, ha ! "

But before North Wind could caper tnore than a sinpfle round — before
Kast Wind could purse his lips toi;.ther for even one more shrill whistle. — to
their evil ears came the sweet, croonintj sound of ^fother Goose's voice. She
was singingf:

" Hush-a-bye. Baby, upon the tree top.
WHicn the wind blows the cradle will rock."

The Winds set up a shriek of despair, and threw themselves down on the
earth, where they lay sulking, while the Witch, stirring the drowsy Waters with
her broom-handle, screamed :

" Good lack ! are we to be laughed at to our faces ? Come, let us destroy
tliis singing old crone! Wake up, Kast Wind" (she tapped his crown), "wake up.
North W'ind " (she trod on his toes), "wake up Waters!" and then the four
\\'ickeds sat around the fire and fell a-plotting.

"The first thing to be done is to secure the nightcap!" said the Witch.

" I'll go bail I'll snatch it off her head the first time she ventures abroad,"
said East Wind,

THE TRUE STORY OF MOTHER COOSE.

11'.)

" You'ri- too noisy and too varial)lo." snapped Nortli Wind. " Wlicn \vc
tliink yon arr ^oin^ dni« west, the first tliinj^ we know you're veerinjj; round the
eoinpass ; no one quite kniiws where to find yon; hut when I start otit. there's
no inistakinj,' MY intention. I j;o strai^lit aliead, and woe to anythinj^- tiiat
Conies in my i)ath ! "

"True." said the Waters, eoininjj;' U|); " I heheve North Wind may l)e de
pen<Ied tipon to do the business, once lie sets out; hut, of course, we've jjot to
coax the old lady out."

"Aha!" cried the Witch, "\ know what is c()Inin{,^ Christmas Kve will
he here soon. Of course. Mother (loose will want a clean nij.jhtcai) for the
holiday; so when she conies down to the water to di|) Iut cap in the tide, some-
body must be waitiiif; to snatch it olT her <jld. silly head."

" Trust rue to do it! " screamed N'orth Wind.

"Oh, let me ju.st ^ct one }.jrab at her!" screamed ICast Wind; and then the
two brothers fell a (luarrelling. until even the old Witch became an).;ry, and
mountinjj her broom-stick, she slid up and up. until she reached Cloudland.
where she hid behind Thunder.

Down in the village the little children had made a great feast, for it was
Christmas Eve. The fisher folk had gone out to gather the nets and the boys
and girls were planning a tea-party for dear Mother (lOOse.

" She shall sit at the head of the table." said little Margery Daw.

"On this rose-leaf cushion." added Miss Muffet.

" The Mayor of F.anbury Cross will propose her health." Boy Blue shouted,
running in with Bo-Peep, who had wound her crtx)k with blue-bells for the
gala occasion.

" I've brought my very own pic," said little Jack Horner, running in ; ' see.
the plum is right in the middle. T did not ' stick in my thumb ' this time, did
I ."' '• and he wagged his wise little head very proudly. " What games shall we
play?" he asked, anxiously looking around him.

" Ring-a-round-a-rosy ! " they all shouted in one breath ; " but we are all
going down to meet and bring her up."

Away the happy children ran to meet Mother Goose, and this is what they
saw : The moon, wrapped in a cloud, was staring down, her face white with
terror; over the water's edge Mother Goose bent, trailing her nightcap in the
wavelets ; upon the hill-top stood the cruel Witch, waving her broom-stick,
beckoning to the North arid beckoning to the East, while she danced a hornpipe
for joy of what was about to happen.

120

THE I RUE STORY OF MOTHER GOOSE.

"A Witch! a Witch!" scrc.nmod the chihhen in terror. Hearing- the cry,
Mt)tiier ( loose Mftcd her Iiead a moment and loosened her grasp of the night-
cap; in a trice North Wind (who was in hi(hng hehind the I)ig rock) had
snatched it from her poor, tired hands; had whirled it olT, and was making
straight for Clondland. followed hy the Witch, who was circling ahont in the
air and screaming with langhter. The poor old lady. Mother ( -oose. standing
hv the river side, gave one wild cry. She saw the Moon looking down at her,
and siie knew the old-man-with-his-hnndle-of-sticks was looking on too. She
threw her apron over her head and ran into a cave, where the children followed
in great alarm. There they found the dear old lady crying:

"The North Wind doth hlow.
And we shall have snow.
And what will the Rohin do then?"

Meantime the had Witch and the hold Wind had lunig the pretty nightcap
high up on one of the horns of Taurus, where you may see it dangling any fine
night you go i iit and look at the stars. There it will hang until some hrave
little hoy will capture Taurus and rescue Mother (loose's nightcap; for. never
more will the dear old lady he ahle to come out and sing until she regains her
cap. South Wind and West Wind have hoth tried hard to hring it hack again,
and the children in the village have never since ceased to hope it will come
liack some day.

In that lonely cave the children's sweet friend sits, year after year, alone.
.\lone? Nay. South Wind. West Wind, and the little ones go into the cave
daily, and tell her to he of good cheer ; she sings her sweet songs softly yet to
the loving little children who cling ahout her. and the kind winds hear, to far
away, lonely and sleepless hahes, the pretty songs they learn from dear Mother
Goose. And if you listen, you'll hear them simg hy .South Wind and East
Wind to-night.

Rut, O! little girl, little hoy. if you ever get a chance to recover the pretty
nightcap, do catch it tight up in your arms and run with it quickly to me, and
I'M take vou to the cave where dear Mother Coose sits waiting.

MARY MARKWELL.

Winnipeg.

De Jinimals' Cbristmas €n in (be Jlrk.

ft Iiappciird oiu' day wlii'ti the I-'.arth was flat,
And till' Cow oiiild junip over the Moon.

When tlic Animals \i\fd in an Ark, like that
Von have up in voiu" I)!.-,-- pla\--rooni.

In Council secret the Animals sat,
Cock Robin, the Wren, the Lohster. and Cat.
The I':iephant jostled the Kan.qaroo;
'I'iie Womhat, the Weasel and I'.uffalo.
'Hie ]5i,ir, and the Middle and Little I'.ear
And Red Ridinj^hood's Wolf were also there.
The Duck and the Drake did also mcander
Ahout with the Hen ,->nd (ioosey Cander.
'i'he Im-oi,>- in im])ortancc sin-passod the ( )x :
The Monkey cracked jokes with the wily Fox.
The Ostrich and Heron di.sported j^alore
The feathery phimcs on which ladies .set .store;
Hut all admitted the liuckicst dress
Was worn hy her Lady.ship Leopardess!
Oh! you never saw such sii^lils. \ helicve.
As the .\niiuals on that Christmas Eve
Makin.yf out lists, "midst the .i^^reate.st applause.
Of gifts that they wanted

from

SANTA CLAUS!

Asked the Crow with a croak (for he's fond of a joke).

" Dear Hippo, of what do you dream?"
" For a f/j(//> with my hide, 'tis clear to decide,

" Give me Honey and Ahiiond Cream !
" Massage and Pomatum. X'aseHne, Petrolatum,

" For these I do soulfully yearn ;
" On sober reflection, I dream of complexion !
" For Fm only

Pachyderm ! ' '

Then said Spotted Giraffe, with a guffaw and a laugh,
" Surely the young Alligators —
" Though their socks are in holes, for they wear

long claws, —
"Will hang up their best new gaiters!"
In great agitation, with much palpitation.

The Crocodile burst into tears.
And said, " It is shocking, this lack of a stocking

" Confirming the worst of my fears ! "
Hippo' joined in the weeping, he could not help
greeting.
It filling his heart with dismay ;
But the Hyenas laughed, and the Saurians chaffed.
And Wallaby

wobbled

Away !

The next to speak were— \M,o do you think?
Ihe " Protoplasm " and " Alissinjr Link!"
' It makes us very, very weary
" To be a vain Darwinian theory.
''Our sphere in Nature is not defined.
'' Yet to plants and men we do you bind.
" The gift we want is ' Recognition,'
" And not be dubbed ' A Proposition ! ' "

At this the Monkeys began to quake,

And jabbered and screamed," It's all a fake!

" The Missing Link will cause disunion ;

" He shan't belong to our Trade Union l'

" He's only an evolutionist.

" A dangerous revolutionist !

" He's fit for only learned treatise,

" To him is due Appendicitis! "

The Mollusc then, from his oyster bed,

Tilted his shtlj and wearily said:

" I am an actual entity —

" The Protoplasm 's a nonentity,

" Either a plant or a base born beast.

" An atom, less than the very least,

" A levelling anarchistic thing—

" We shall have none of his fathering !

" I new disown him as kin to me,

" Animal, fowl, or fish of the sea ! "

Here the Ladybird " rose to a point of order —

" The Cats of Kilkenny were raising disorder.

" A breach of the peace was most clearly committed

" When they were in ' scraps,' and the pieces misfitted !

" 'T was no place for a lady — '' Here a fresh young Loon

Cried, " Your bouse is on Hrc, your Children alone!"

Then the Chairman, King Lion, with dignity rose,

" I assert my authority — let none oppose —

" Let the Whip-poor- Will whip that fool goose of a bird !

" Give it Rattlesnake's rattle, and, lest it be heard,

" Shut it tight in the trunk of the big Elephant

" Till it learns how to ladies to be more gallant ! "

" By my tusks," cried old Jumbo ; " my rights you abuse !
" My trunk's private property, not for public use

" As an infantile creche

" For the Loon baby race !

" I move the suspension

" Of the rules of the House,

" I appeal from the Chair,

"I appeal to the Mouse!"

But die poor little Mouse had just been devoured
By " Puss-in-Boots," who was then promptly o erpowered
By the " Honest Watch Dog."' after a short struggle
With the " Wolf in Sheep's clothing," who scented trouble
And yelped to his pack to assist in tlie fighting-
Then all the Wild Beasts started howling and biting!
The Lion called the Unicorn "A onc-honicd bnitcr
And about the British Crown began to dispute ;
The Beasts of Prey began to prey upon the weak ;
Then said Mary's Lamb. " 'TLs clearly time to make my snca
While Mother Hubbard's Dog. who poses as a Sage.
Thought that "Early hours contribute to Old Age!'

k!"

Oh, Dear! It was a very shameful sight to see
Such angry passions rise and such a Jamboree !
What happened after that. 1 never heard it said.
Nor yet what time on Christmas Eve they got to bed.
Tis said the meeting broke up at an early hour.
When they'd left nothing of each other to devour!

LOUISE MINTY.

Cbe 6old Cocket.

I HE half-breed runner. Jacko, whipped up his dogs as he came
to the banks of the Assiniboine, dashed down the southern
bank, quickly crossed the ice, and came with a grand rush up
the acclivity to Fort Garry. It was Christmas day. Governor
Finlayson had just come from attending church at St. John's,
and was enjoying his Christmas dinner. Into the northern
court of the fort the gay equipage of three toboggans, each
drawn by four dogs, richly caparisoned, jingling their bells, and answering to
Jacko"s shout, glided and came to a stand before the (jovernor's door.

The Governor's lady, who was an artist, saw the cavalcade from the win-
dowy and, as the sight appealed to her eye and was unusual, rushed from the
table and hastened to enquire what the gay turn-out could mean. Jacko, rather
out of breath, meeting her, began to explain : " Grand Chose ! Madame ! Just
from Pembina ! Les Ecossais ! Les Ecossais de Grand Bretagne ! Grande
dame! Monsieur a la militaire ! Les deux enfants — just like as two leetle peas!"
Moved by the broken exclamations of the well-known guide, Jacko, the laoy
asked the travellers to alight. From one toboggan was assisted a lady, under
middle age, of medium size, and richly clad in fur, also her son of nine years,
who had ridden beside her in the toboggan. From the other came a man of
noble bearing, somewhat older than the lady, and with him a lad of the same
age and size as his brother. Both boys were dressed in Highland costume, pre-
cisely the same.

Major Simpson, for such was the gentleman's name, came quickly forward
to make apologies and to state that they had come across the prairies from St.
Paul, and were unacquainted with the country. To the Governor's lady, know-
ing the long distance, and the dangers of the winter route, it seemed somewhat

THE GOLD LOCKET,

127

strange to have so sudden and unexpected a visitation. Hut hospitality was
the crowning virtue of a Hudson's Bay Company fort, and so the distinguished
visitors were ushered into Government House, and in due time were at home
enjoying the good Christmas cheer.

In the afternoon the two lads and their father sallied forth to sec the sights
of a northern fur-trading post, and the two ladies hecame very communicative
to one another. Madame Simpson, as of necessity, told her story. She said

. J ■. \ V

FORT GARRY.

her husband, Major Simpson, had heard in England of the death of a brother, a
trader in the far north of Rupert's Land, who had some time before lost his
mind; and he had come with his wife and sons to en(|uire about the unfortunate
man. The plan had ueen that the Major should leave his wife and boys at St.
Paul and come alone to Fort (larry, but when they arrived at St. Paul, and b ard
of the four hundred miles and more of a journey across the trackless snow, she
refused to allow her husband to proceed alone, as he at times had attacks of ver-
tigo, from a wound once received in the head, in a battle with the Afghans.
Now it was known to the people at Vox\. Garry that the mysterious death of a

128

THE GOLD LOCKET.

trader, Simpson, had taken place, and so the good hostess expressed her tender-
est sympathy for the travellers, who came on so sad a quest. The lady stated
that the boys were her twin sons.

The Major told his story also to the Governor. He was anxious to inves-
tigate the facts as to his late brother's mental condition and death, and sought
advice as to where he might bestow himself and family. The master of the fort
was called into conference, and it was decided that the Major and his family
should occupy a mansion on the banks of the Assiniboine river, known as
" Silver Heights," and that from this centre he should pursue his enquiries.
Silver Heights had been built by a famous Hudson's r>ay Company officer, and
was a beautiful spot. The occupant at the time was willing to give it up in
consideration of the generous out-pouring of sovereigns, with which the Major
seemed well-provided. Thus it was brought about that Silver Heights became
the home and kingdom of the bright Scottish lad\', Madame Simpson, and her
boys.

The Manitoba winter is bright and exhilarating, and under the guidance of
Jacko, who had been retained, the boys entered with great zest into winter sports ;
the mother seemed an incessant letter-writer, and her large contribution to the
fortnightly winter mail from Fort Garry to the outer world was a marvel to
the natives, and became the subject of gossip around the fort. Major Simpson
was somewhat listless and indolent, and it was remarked that he spoke little of
his lost brother. The boys made a few acquaintances among the neighboring
native people, but they were generally spoken of as queer lads. There was
plainly a strong rivalry between them.

Oscar, the mother's favorite and her very image, was short, well-knit and
active. He had something of a sunny nature, but there was a cunning and
smoothness about him, that caused the half-breed natives, whom Jacko met, to
call him " The Fox." He was Jacko's favorite, but he was not always amiable.
The people were anxious to know his history, but he kept them at arm's length.
^Vt times a wild flash of the eye told them of a burning fire within, that led
them to say, " Ah, The Reynard can show his teeth." He sang songs to the
natives in the cabins to which he resorted, but the common remark was, " Oscar
IS a strange boy; no one knows him."

Cecil was a different boy. Fie was studious and thoughtful. His fine blue
eye glistened with honest intelligcn :e. He had an expressive face, through
which his poetic nature shone. Generous to a fault, Cecil was the victim of
Oscar's craft. He was fond of reading the books, which his mother obtained
now and then from the Governor's library. He was his father's favorite, and

Til-

THE GOLD LOCKET.

12U

sought out his father to explain the difficuU words and hard sayings ui his books.
Among the other books he read "'as what he called " 'Ihe (iood Liook," and he,
by a sort of instinct, canic upon us stories and marvels. At times he succeeded
in interesting his brother, and they had hot debates on the stories as they came
\o them. At such times, Major Simpson found himself made referee, and
sought to judge between his sons.

One day the boys came to him in much excitement. They had been read-
ing the story of Jacob and Esau. Cecil was full of indignation as he submitted
his case. He turned up the story, and, reading it in a loud tone, closed with
the words, "And Jacob went near unto Isaac, his father: and he felt him, and
said, ' The voice is Jacob's voice, but the hands are the hands of Ksau.' And he
discerned him not, because his hands were hairy, as his lirother I'2sau's hands:
so he blessed him."

As he ceased reading, Cecil's face was pale with rage. His eyes glistened.
He stamped his foot, and declared, " Jacob was a villain ; he deserved prison
and chains!" But Oscar was the fox-like advocate. He maintained that Esau
had sold his right, and that Jacob was only getting his own: that old Isaac was
not fair in keeping back what was Jacob's right, and that Jacob's plan to get his
own was a clever one.

Major Simpson could not satisfy the rivals. His own mind was towards
Cecil, as usual, but the other skilful young pleader put his case very smoothly,
and the father told them that when they grew older they would understand
things beilcr for themselves. The mother over-heard the hot words, but said
nothing. Major Simpson muttered to himself, "Strange boys!" but he pon-
dered these things in his heart.

Spring came, with its anemones and crowfoots ; sunnner — rich, clear, Mani-
toba summer — with its painted cups and saskatoons ; and generous, lovely
autumn, with its gentians and prairie asters, but still the Simpsons lived at
Silver Heights, and gave no sign of crossing the prairies homeward. It was
noticed, too, that the Major, beyond a visit to the St. John's grave-yard,
where it was said Simpson was buried along the wall, had made no inquiries
about his so-called brother. Winter came and passed with little change, except
that while Oscar grew more sturdy, Cecil became slender, was paler and more
studious, and was becoming more gentle and winning in his ways.

The second winter was over, spring had opened, and the ice, turned to needles
by the burning April sun, had relaxed its hold and gone down the rivers with
crash and jam to the northern lake, when it was noticed that Madame Simpson
was losing her sprightliness. Her numerous letters, re-addressed from New

180

THE GOLD LOCKET.

Vork, had brought much news across the Atlantic. The Governor's lady sought
to befriend her, but found her distant and cold. The sense of some impending
evil seemed upon her and her house.

One day in May, the chaplain of the Fort came up from St. John's to see
the Governor, and was closeted with iiim for half an hour, lie had brought a
cop) of the London Times of March of the year current, in which the following
statement appeared :

" MYSTERY IN HI(;H LIFE.

" In West End circles there is much talk about the mysterious disappearance
of a prominent Scottish officer, his wife and children. A family secret, hard to
unravel, seems to lie at the bottom of it. It is hinted that the lady, who belongs
to a branch of the house of a noble peer high in public life, and who had a
twin sister, came more than two years ago into the possession of a considerable
fortune left by her father. The father's will was a surprise. The twin sister
tvas disinherited and the officer's lady became the possessor of the whole fortune.
Whether the fortunate sister exercised any undue influence over the aged father
in his last hours is not known, but the disinherited sister faded away, and in a
few months died in a state of melancholy. The officer and his family dis-
appeared from London in the middle of last winter, and are known to have gone
to America, but all enquiries have failed to elicit any further information about
them. It is thought impossible that they could have crossed the plains of the
frozen north, but it cannot be surmised whether they are in the remote western
prairies or in the everglades of the south. Anxious friends have sent letters to
the Governors of the various Provinces and States, but have obtained no re-
sponse."

The Governor read the extract with emotion. Chaplain and Governor sat
gazing at each other for some time in painful silence.

lie sic sk sic sic sic sk sic sic sic stc sic s4e sic

Shortly after this, an unhappy incident took place at Silver Heights. The
lady of Silver Heights had told her favorit'^ son, Oscar, the story of a curious
gold locket in her possession. Four generations before, an ancestress by the
name of Marjorie Gordon, had come into the possession of a large sum of
money from the great South Sea scheme. At that time a gypsy fortune-teller
had said that a gold locket, made from gold brought from the Pactolus, a river
in the far East, and with her name, '' Marjorie Gordon." engraved upon it, would
prove a charm, and bring fortune, but also sorrow, to whatever member of the

THE GOLD LOCKET,

181

family should receive it. After great effort and much expense, the jjold had
been obtained and the locket made. As Oscar heard the story, his eyes tilled
with excitement. His heart longed for the locket to be his. His mother said,
" Yes, but there is trouble with it." lUit Oscar declared the locket should be his.

There was an obstacle in the way. Jt was always understood that of the
twins, Cecil was the older, and Oscar knew this. One day the younger said to
the elder brother, " Cecil, there are only two of us in our family, and as 1 am
my mother's favorite, 1 would like to have as mine the gold locket which my
mother wears." But, Cecil said, " Shouldn't it be mine? I am older." " But,
I am my mother's boy," replied the bargainer. Day after day the contest over
the locket continued, till at last the question came before Major Simpson, who
said Cecil had the right. After this, hatred and anger filled the house at Silver
tfeights. Life became a burden to them all.

The boys had been allowed only one playmate, Amina Mactavish, the little
daughter of a retired Hudson's Bay family in the neighborhood. Perhaps
Amina would have been forbidden al.so, but that her persistent visits and her
winning ways overcame all obstacles. Her soft, dark eyes, her olive complexion,
and her rich black hair gave her an almost Spanish appearance, but they only
denoted that she belonged to our own native mixed race of the Northwest. The
boys quarrelled over her, of course, as they had got into the habit of quarrelling
over everything, and Amina often ran home in tears from one of those painful
scenes, to be irresistibly attracted back again. There need have been no quar-
relling had Amina held the balance even, but Amina preferred Oscar, who would
skate and slide with her in winter and roam over the i)rairies with her in sum-
mer in search of the wild flowers she loved, whilst Cecil was poring over his
books.

In the year following the discussion concerning the golden locket, the im-
pulse that comes over all his race — to wander in the spring — came over Jacko.
Jacko would go to hunt the geese and wavies. that were now tlying from their
southern homes to the nesting places on the Arctic Sea. His preparations were
all carefully made, and, bidding all good-bye. he started out to follow the prairie
trail to Lake Manitoba. But the natives whispered, " Jacko is a sly one."

The anemones, with their crocus-like cups, were blooming for the second
time since the arrival of Major Simpson and his family. The mimicking cat-
bird, about Silver Heights, gave his note of ill-omen morning after morning,
and at night the hum of the beetle disturbed the wanderer through the bluffs.

Madame Simpson and Oscar had gone to Fort Garry for a day or two,
but had suddenly disappeared from the sight of the denizens of the fort. True,

132

THE GOLD LOCKET.

tor a day no surprise was felt, but on the CJoveruor sctuling an orderly to Silver
Heights, and finding; no trace of the inissinj;' ones, then alarm seized them. The
natives now said Jaeko had been seen leavinj,' I'ort (larry to go northward to
Lake Manitoba, but they exclaimed. " Jacko is a sly one." Xot a trace could
be found of the refugees. At the loss of his mother and brother, Cecil was
inconsolable, and the thought came to him that the locket was gone.

The days were long to Major Simpson at Silver Heights; and Cecil grew
paler day by day. I'or a time it had been lioijcd that Jacko. on his nuirn,
would be able to give some clue to the lost ones. Ten days had gone when
Jacko returned to Silver Heights, and was greatly surprised to hear what had
happened, lie had brought back a pleiuifnl supply of wild geese, but had no
account of the flight of the fugitives. The natives smiled, and said, " Jacko is
a sly one."

Cecil was now more sedate and silent. Reading was his only occupation.
The lights and shadows of the (iood liook were often in his view. Among
the few hooks bnnight from F.ngland by the family was a small copy of Dickens'
" Old Curiosity Shop." ])ublished a short time before this. Again and again
had the thoughtful boy read this tale. One day he asked his father, who had
a rich, sympathetic voice, to read to him once more the story of the death of
Little Nell, for that was to him a sacred part of the book to which he often
turned. His teardrops now fell, as his father read, " She was dead. No sleep
so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of jiain, so fair to look upon. She
seemed a creature fresh from the hand of ( iod, and waiting for the breath of
life, not one who had lived and suffered death."

The father started and looked at his boy, as he finished the pathetic pass-
age. A great fear seized him. Was this description prophetic of his darling's
future .'' Of his ! the only one left to him ! No ! He would go and search for
the mother that had deserted her child. She would ^<urely return and nurse
him back to life.

For Jacko had, a few days before, dropped inadvertently a word or two that
seemed a clue to the mystery of the disappearance of his wife and son, and
Major Simpson had since that day dwelt much on the thought of reunion.

Summoning to his aid a kind-hearted but childless woman, he confided to
her the care of his dying child, and, after one long, almost despairing look at
the little pallid face, he joined a small company of freighters on their southward
journey to St. Paul. Major Simpson never returned to Red River. The
plains of Minnesota have guarded well the mystery of his death, as they have
done many another secret.

THE a 01. 1) LOCKET,

133

PART II.

Thirty years had passed away since the broken-hearted Major had followed
the slow-niovinjj caravan tliat wended its way over the prairie toward St. I'aul.
'IMie Canadian Dominion had now spread its wiiifj^s over tlie plains of Rupert's
Laud. The inhahitauts of the new Province of Manitoba shrank from the kind
of civilization that was l)ein.t; superadded to the "(iood ( )ld Times."' .Manitoba
needed all the assistance her more enterprisinj; and far-seeinj^ sons could give
to help her brid^^e over the chasm that threatened to remain between the old
and the new regime like a great gulf fixed. Among those who had the wisdom
then to look far into the future was a man about forty years of age. named
CrL'orgc Leslie, the adopted .son of a prominent Red River family. I'Vw indeed
thought of the fact that he was not the veritable son of his foster parents,
and fewer still would have recognized in this tall but firmly knit man of un-
doubted mental ability, the delicate boy. Cecil, left behind in Red River by his
father, Major Simpson.

What the young boy, Cecil, had needed was mothering, a kind of care de-
nied him by the family rivalries that had alienated his own mother. The jealous
temper of his brother Oscar had fretted his sensitive nature, and the lonely life led
with his father, after the disappearance of these two, was the final adverse in-
fluence that well-nig'.i dug for him an early grave. All the loving care and
healthful training he had missed in his own family he had found in his adoptive
home.

For some time after his father left the country he was addressed by the
name of Cecil, but Mrs. Leslie thought it too fine a name for everyday use. and
began to call him George, after her deceased brother. He himself acquiesced in
the name Leslie, as from some glimmering recollections of his childhood he
understood that Simpson was not his real name. All the advantages of educa-
tion the Red River settlement afforded he had enjoyed, and a few years spent
at an Eastern university had fitted him to be a leader among the men of the
country that was now his by every acknov, ledged tie. Having always been fond
of the study of law, he had a few years before our period, qualified for the legal
profession. He was consulted by the Government on tnany questions, and.
indeed, he was one of their most trusted advisers.

George Leslie had also been brought up to reverence the sanctuary, and
when he entered the House of God of a fabbath morning, there might be seen
leaning on his right arm a woman bowed down with years, his foster mother, to
whom he gave all the devotion of a son. and, walking by his other side, a tall

184

Tin: (..01. 1) LOCKKT.

atiil gracious matron, in wlmso soft, dark eyes, ulivr coinplcxiDti, ami still plen-
tiful raven loeUs niinlil he traeed the little /Ninina Maetavisli. the playmate of his
chiltlhood. the eompauion of his riper years, and the mother of his ehildren.

I'-verything in the eiremnstaiues of (ienif^r Leslie seemed to pinmise an
Imnored and sneeessfnl ear.'er. when ;in event neeniied whieh, with the ctTeetufa
tlunuier elap, awnKo hiin from his ilream of peace. ( )ne dav there arrived in
the city of Witmipe^ a gentleman, dark, an<l of middle si7(>. of distinguished
mien, and apparetUly forty years of ;ige. lie visited I'ort ( iarry, ,,nd seemed
interested in its old walls and hastions ll<' eame to hunt the game of the dis-
trict, (ioing oiit to Urokeidiead Kiver, he hagged in ;i short time, it was said,
fitteen hnntlrcd partridges. Heing atlahle in m.nmer. many friends visited him,
and his plentiful suppiv of moncv was spent verv freelv. The stranger gave his
name as "Lord (iordcMi." This enigmatical pers(Miage. although always pro-
testing his itmocence. was fonnd to he a tioted criminal, who. hy organizing
Iv\gus companies in the Ltntcd States, had victimizcil (juite a numher of men
of capital. TTe had tnadi good his e--cape. taking with him large sums of tnoney,
niul had fonnd a reftige for tli.-^ time heing in the Northwest on Canadiati soil.
Tl-,0 varions .nttctnpts maile to oaptiue iiim, even hv the dishotmrahle means of
kidnapping, .dmost led to international complications. ;md. as these efforts ceased
for a time, he lived peacefidlv at lleadinglv and in the neiidihorhood of Silver
Heights, to which he seemed \y> he attracted, and he endeared himself to his en-
tertainers In- his getitleman-like hearing and manv kindlv acts. Finally, thr
Canadian tiovermnent resolved to interfere, and \\ plan was laid for his arrest
ott a warrant from Toronto. The officials relegated to this painful duty heing
donhtful of sotne of the foitnalities to he gotie through, sent for ^^r. ( leorge
Leslie, the trusted ("loverntnent adviser, so that he might approve of and give
his sanction to the proceedinus. hut ere Mr. Leslie couM reach the peaceful farm-
house, where " Lord Gordon " had heen sojourning, a frightful tragedy had
been enacted. When the oiTicia's arrived, and had told their errand, the ui\-
forfunate man. knowing what his fate nmst inevitahlv he slumld he he handed
over to the Uiiited .*^t..tes authorities, made pretext of retiring to his room in
order to prepare for his euforceil journey. Tn a few minutes a pi,stol shot
was heard, and oti some one enteritig the room " Lord Ciordon " was fomul re-
clining upon his bed mortally wounded hy his (nvn hand. As Mr. Leslie neared
the dwelling he was met hy an old man. Jacques Desormais, who. in his early
years, had passed hv the tiame of Jacko. atid who had recently been observed to
froquenllv visit " Lord Gordon." TTe accosted ^Tr. T^eslie in excited toties. ex-
claimini.', " O. Master! Master! He was alwavs mv Ixiv! I loved him, but T

THE GOI.n iOCKET.

;:!;:;;;:;::::'„:.:: ^■~„.„n , .,„.,„..„.„, .„

He on,..,-..,, Hu. ; I ': " '"'"""' ''"' •"' ""■"■ '■•"Iv c.

is no, „, ,■„„„„,,„„,,. „'„,„,,^'' "'■',""'" "'""■ ■""•"I'-' "••" -'<■"'" i"t-rvi.>v

fn.....l woal.l, i„ ,l,c .an,r „,is.,al>l,. cause Wl.cn ,e re, n,l TL r' ' "?'
ma „!,o kept 1„, own co„n,cl-„n, even An.ina. knew ,l,a, Osrar 1 a,l l,ee„ in

CDe new Dtilc Riding Hood of m fancy Dress Ball.

V^ ,-

II! Iitnv iovch il \vill Ito. innlluM!"
s;ii(| si'vni MMroM jossic. hrralli
K~ssl\. " I wish we wi-ic tlirrc iinw!
I siiii|>iisi' lots ol poiipir ail' tlino al
H\itl\ , and I .atlv Minln, tud, aixl
wnii'l il l)(> nirc 111 SIT all liic Ian
U'liis onlsiilo, wlu-n v r i^t-l iIumc.
.nil! lu-ai (lie niusiv. and anil
I'vtMx (liinjL; ! "

vL^jl^-iw^flHliln ■ ^ . - cJks'^ spread itsolt' in iniai;inatiiin before

|essie"s eves, wliieh shone hiiqhilv
tioni iniilei ihe red hood Iut mother \v;is fasten
in^ nndei her ehin with its pretlv lihhons. What
Jessie saw al that moment \v;\s the swaviiiji;- anil
winkinj; hmierns. like qreal hnhhU-s of eoloreil
lii;ht amo;\y the trees in the qroniuls around
( iovenimenl House, whieh. in her fanev. shone
with hiillianth lighted window s. almost like a
l';»iv\ palaee. I'or it was the eveniuj; of the ehildren's fanev dress h.iU last ( K-
toher. the e\er.ini; .so oaj;er]\ looked forward to by lumdieds of \Vi1mipe14;
oliiklren.

" And hero is your little basket." said Jessie's mother. " and you must earry
it so on vour arm, and see. 1 have p>it in it the emi;s and the pal of butter and
the little oakes. And now you arc l.itlle Roil Killing Hood eoiupleto!"

in I: NEW I II 11 r: h'iniNd hood.

VXl

Jessie's lillle sislcr, ImHiIi, wIim Ii;i(| Imcii loi-kin^ on in toiiiid eyed wonder,
snddenly heriinie inlercsletl in llie l»;is|<e(. "Let i,ie see, loo, innvver," she
pleaded. " I vviuil a e;d<ie."

"< 'li. lint the cakies in Ji-ssie's little liasl<.t are for granny, dear," explained
Iter mother.

Now. I'.dilh knew that " Nanny," as she called her j^'randniotlier, liveil far,
lai away, and yon had to \n^ in a " ehoo ( lioo " to ^^rt there. She looked
perplexed.

" I'.die doesn't understand, dftes she, mother?" said Jessie, "It's only a
story, yon know, h'die." she explained. "I'm not Little Uerl Riding' Hood
really ;,!i(l truly."

No, i.ideed," said her mother, smiling; at the two eliildre?i. " [ shonldn't
like my little \^\\\ to meet a wolf."

" Kdir is Sf» lillle, yon know, mother," ft ssie went on earnestly, "that slur
miL;hl not tmderstand ahont it the way we dr),"

"I don't helieve she knows ahont Red Ridin^,^ Hood ,-if all," answere'l her
mother, still smiling'. l'"or Jessie, who the moment before had heen all eaf^erness
and delinht over her reel froek atid cape and hood, and h'-r new red slipjters. and
!ier little haskel, had sndflenlv heeome a Ihoiij^litfnl, old f.-ishionerl Irxikin'.^' Little
K'ed Ridiiif.,' lloo(|. It would never, never do, she was thinking', to have I'.ahy
r.die think that there was f^oin^' to he a horrid, dreadfid wolf, who wonhl eat
np Naimy!

Jessie's father came into the room just then. He said, " What a serious
lookin).,' Little Red Riding- HoofI! " as he stopperl to kiss her. Tie looked at his
waleh and said that ihrrr was nearly half an lionr before the eah would rome
wliieh was ^r"i'iR t'i bnkr Jessie atid her mother to the hall, and in which f'cc
I'rown, who lived next door, and Uec's brother, Wallace, wrrc >.(')injj too.

essie, who was still standiiif^ silent, l()f)kefl thoti^^ditfidly at her mother a
moment, and then sai«l, in her own wise little way, " \ know, mother. I'll be a
dilTerent f.ittle Red Ridinj,' Hood, and I'll tell iMlie the story T belrm': to."

lulitli, wlin had clambered itp on her mother's lap, was ddij^ditefl, you may
bo sure, to hear that Jessie was f.,'oin^- to tell her a story.

" (^iico upon a time," bej.,fan Jessie, slowly and impressively, " there was a
lillle fjirl named Little Re(| Rifling,' Tfood, and her mother p^ave her a little
basket with some e^^f^s and a pal of butter and some cakes in it, to take to her
Nanny. It was only a little way to her Nanny's house, anrl Little Red Riding
Hood was walking;- alon^-, when she heard something behind her Roinpf pitter-
patter, this way." And Jessie pilter-pattered on the tabic with her fingers.

138

THE NEW LITTLE RIDING HOOD.

•' Who do you think it was? It was Mr. Wolf! He was a nice Mr. Wolf, just
' Bobs,' " — " Bobs " was a dog that lived next door, at the Browns', and was a
playmate of Jessie's and Edith's — " and he came up to Little Red Riding Hood
and said, very nicely, ' How do you do? ' and Little Red Riding Hood said. ' Very
well, thank you, Mr. Wolf. And how do you do?' And she patted his head,
and he rubbed his nose against her hand, and then he stiifTed at the basket."

Baby Edith interrupted at this point to say that she didn't like very much
to have " Bobs " kiss her. because his face was wet, but that " Bobs " was a
dear, good doggie, all the same.

" And then," Jessie went on, continuing her story, " Little Red Riding
Hood, when she saw Mr. Wolf sniffing at her basket, asked him very politely if
he was hungry, and he said he was, so she gave him two of the little cakes, be-
cause she knew her mother would like her to. when Mr. Wolf was so hungry.
And then Mr. Wolf thanked her very politely, and said she was a dear, good
little girl, and he pitter-pattered awa) ..gain off to the woods, where he lived."

" Show me how the wolf pitter-pattered ! " demanded Baby Edith, and Jes-
sie had to imitate Mr. Wolf's departure by pitter-pattering again with her fingers
upon the table.

" When Little Red Riding Hood got to her Nanny's house," continued Jes-
sie. " she knocked like this." — here she rapped upon the tabic, — " and her Nanny
opened the door, and said, ' You dear Little Red Riding Hood ! ' and kissed her,
and then Little Red Riding Hood gave her Nanny the basket, and told her about
Mr. Wolf, and her Nanny said she was a good girl to give Mr. Wolf two cakes
when he was hungry. And when Little Red Riding Hood was ready to go
home again to her mother, her Nanny kissed her and gave her a kiss for Baby
Eldie, and then Little Red Riding Hood walked along, and pretty soon she
heard a pitter-patter behind her. Now, who do you think it was?"

" Mr. Wolf ! " cried Edith, in delight.

" Yes," said Jessie, " it was Mr. Wolf. And what do you think he had in
his mouth? A lovely rose and two beautiful pansies that he had picked in the
woods, and he had brought them to give Little Red Riding Hood, because she
gave him two cakes from her basket when he was so hungry. And he told her
to give one of the pansies to Baby Edie. And when Little Red Riding Hood
got home she gave Baby Edie one of the pansies, and she gave her mother
the lovely rose, and her mother put it in water, and she kept the other pansy
herself that Mr. Wolf gave her. And she thanked him very much, and patted
his head. Now, wasn't he a nice, good Mr. Wolf?"

Jessie's mother said that he certairly was a nice, good Mr. Wolf, and

THE NEW LITTLE RIDING HOOD. jgO

EcHth said she would like if he would come so.ue day and plav with her and
^ Jobs, and also that she hoped he wouhl bring some pretty' flowers in his

The sound of wheels was now heard, and almost in the same moment a

Rauibow and a khak.-elad trooper of Strathcona's Horse came j^aily in. Babv

Ed.e, after a brief instant of silent wonder. laughe<l gleefullv as she recocr„ized

hat the Rainbow girl was Bee Brown and the bov in khaki was Wallace, and

then asked her mother if they were going to see Mr. Wolf, too

T, K ^VTf '* "'''"■'' ""'""*^' '""'■'' ^"^^''^ -^^^^'^ "■'->« °" her wav to the ball.
Baby Eche s parting words to her having been that she should be sure and tell
iVir. Wolf to pick two more pansies. one for Bee and one for Wallace

W. J. HEALY.

Winnipeg.

Cbe Sandpipers.

Where the waves come rolling- in
(Lovely waves, all white and blue.)

With our spades and pails of tin
We have made a feast for you.

Gn the pchhlcs by the shore

Our " pretending- "' tables spread,

Common food you'll want no more
When on our mud pies you've fed.

Here upon this shingle, stand

Hits of sea-sheli honey -comb;
I'Vather cakes of yellow sand

StifT-whipped cream (made out of foam).

Pumpk-in pics, and lemon pies,

Shiny little stones for cg-gs ;
And we've made (a great surprise)

Ducks of mud, with sticks for legs.

Let's begin! And when we're done
We will go.— for mother knows—

To the edge, and (oh! such fun)
Dig the wet sand with our toes !

—Kathleen Ku-chhoffer

Brandon, }fanitoba.

.i- :

f^^££l' -*■■''■

THE vSANDPIPEKS.

Olbat (be Coin Cold marjory.

IH ! how odd ! " laughed Marjory, as she held in her hand two dis-
reputable ten-cent pieces. " They have each got the same
kind of a little eye in their faces, and they look just like twin
babies."

" Don't put them in your mouth, Miss Marjory," said
Nurse, " they're very dirty looking, and I wonder your papa
gave you such old bent silver."
" I wanted them 'cause they had holes in them, like eyes, Nursie, and they're
going to sleep with me to-night," answered the little girl ; and, indeed, in spite
of the good-natured grumbling of Susan, Marjory had her own way, and she
fell asleep with the two battered coins squeezed tightly together in her little
pink fist.

Now, whether Marjory dreamed it, or whether the battered old coins did
whisper together, I cannot say, but this is what the wee girl head a very short
time after she laid her curly head on the pillow :

" To think that we should meet again ! " one of the coins was saying to the
other. " Why, the last time I saw you was the day old Miser Clutch dropped
you into the collection plate in St. Stephen's church, where they were collecting
money for the orphans. Do tell me what has happened to you since."

'' That I will," answered the other coin, readily. " You see, it was a ter-
rible effort for old Miser Clutch to part with me ; but something the preacher
said must have softened his heart wonderfully. Well, I lay there in that plate
with ever so many more friends, until the service was over, and then I went in
the clergyman's pocket to a very dirty place called a slum, and was given to a
little girl to buy an orange for her little brother, who was dying in a garret they
both called 'home' (for there is much misery, you must know, in the slums),

WHAT THE COIN 7 OLD MARJORY.

143

She took me to the shop, and was just handing inc across the counter to the
man who sold oranges, when someone pushed her aside and down I dropped,
rolling away over the floor, and into a crack where no one could see me, al-
though they looked and looked, and in the end the grocer's hoy was accused of
stealing me, and he was sent home. 1 lay in the crack in a state of indignation,
longing vainly to cry out ' Here 1 am ! ' My heart nearly hursting with grief
as I listened to the poor boy protesting his innocence. It was no use, however,
the grocer only got angry, and told him to go at once or he would hand him
over to the police. I stayed in that crack for about a month, determined never
to go anywhere again, when 1 was picked up by the old woman who washed
the floor; and she, not knowing any better, kept me, and Ijought some bread to
foed htr little children. Then 1 was given in change to a very neat spinster, who
washed my face and brushed me nicely when she got me home. She went shop-
ping and exchanged me for a matrimonial magazine, and I lay in the money
drawer of the bookstore for many days, and made quite a number of very
pleasant acquaintances. At last I came into the possession of a sweet-faced
lady, who dropped me into a cake made for her little boy's birthday party, along
with a silver thimble, a little pearl button, and a tiny gold ring. You should
have seen the little fellow jump for joy when his mother dropped me into the
batter. ' O, mother! ' he cried. " 1 hope I'll get that money with the queer little
hole!' 'Hope, rather, that one of your little friends may get it," answered my
sweet lady. Well. I was picked out of the cake by a dear little girl named
Joan, who took me home, and her mother borrowed me to buy a lamp-glass.

" After that I passed through many hands, seeing much happiness and
much sorrow. Once I \a.y for nearly a year under a sidewalk, where a
careless man dropped me. and once I was stolen by a little girl from her
mother's purse, but she got sorry and put me back again. And once a kind old
lady gave me to a ragged little boy. who bought some tea with me for his poor,
tired mother, and I think that was my happiest day. Once I spent ten months
in a savings bank, and then went, with many other relatives, to buy a chair to
wheel a crippled child around, P.ut the strangest thing of all was when T
found myself once in a leather bag hidden in the chimney comer of old Miser
Clutch's house, with ever so many other imprisoned friends. He used to bring
us out every night, and count us over and over again. It was then I learned to
know the strange old man well, through his queer mutterings. He would sit up
and talk to himself till the room grew bitterly cold, and he would cough and
shiver, and then he would cower under the miserable quilts till his hands, which
were stifT with cold, would again take us up tenderly; then he would put us all

144

lyMAT THE COIN TOLD MARJORY.

back in the bag, hug us, and hide us again in the chimney corner. One night
he kept me out, and putting a cord through my eye (which he himself had made
so long ago), he tied me around his neck, ' for,' he muttered, ' 'tis like tne coin
I gave the preacher, who told of the orphans in St. Stephen's, and that remind-
ed of my poor, lost boy.' How I longed to tell him I was the very coin, and
how happy I felt to have been of some good to him.

" Night after night I used to nudge him, and the longing for his boy be-
came stronger, and I learned that he had let him go away, because he could not
bear to spend the money for his food and clothes! One night I just crawled
over to where his flinty old heart was calling, ' Harry! Harry!'"

" Did he send for his boy, Harry, to come home again ? " asked the other
coin, eagerly.

" Wake up, Miss Marjory, wake up! It's time for breakfast," cried Susan,
bending over the little girl's bed.

" Oh, I'm sure he did. I'm sure he did ! " said Marjory, rubbing her eyes.

" You're talking in your sleep, child," said Susan, reprovingly.

K. ST. CLAIR LIVINGSTONE.

Winnipeg.

Corporal Donaldson, or 'Xhz Spotted Dog/'

I^o^ /, T '•'' '" ''' " '^"^''* f ^'"t ^"-^'^v. and what
a lot of things the boys have to take witli than 1 Mic llovs"
Brigade camp, if their fathers will only let them gu' "

CtUhbert climbed up on the back of the chair, and looked
over \r. Donaldson's shoulder, as he read aloud: "Snap
towel hair-brush, two pairs of stockings, tooth-brush,' -and'
P r^ .. u , L»onaIdson paused and looked at his son.

to es^aTe Wh h' ^V"^' '^f '"^'''"^^ ""^ ^"^^'"^ ""^ ''^^' ^^^ '-'1 '-^P-1

la 1 St > He .f r '""^'' " '•""' ^'"^ ^ ^ootU-lnusU was mentioned

n that list? He might have known what that would do for him There was

sdence for a moment, and Cuthbert could hear his father's watch tic i^

Mr. Donaldson spoke again. ^

"Camp is not much like home; no soft beds and no mothers to ' tuck m '

could not bear a litttle pain, could he, eh?"

Just then a bright idea came to Cuthbert, and he said, " Well I miess 1

too"h 7c 7 ""' .' ^' '' ''^ °'"^ ''''''''' ^''^"' ^"^ '^ >-" '"-" al'ut my
"unlike an^yflTin^'^ '°"" '" ''' "^°"^*"^ '^"^' ^^^ ^'^^* ^^'^^ "-' - *^ ^^ ^••-

So it was arranged that, if Cuthbert proved himself a man enough to have
his tooth pulLcI out, then he would be hardy and strong enot^gh fortm;

Cuthbert climbed down off the chair, and in doing so stepped upon the cat
loor pussy! he did not mean to hurt her. Just then he felt as though he could
be friends with everybody. He was even sorry that he had teased '-'s sister
that morning, and he also made a half-resolve to present his little brother with

I4(i THE SI'OTTED DOG.

a certain pioct- of tlircc-on'ia-ri'd t;l;iss, which sliowcd colors and made thinjj^s
look futiny whi'ii yoii looked throiij^h it. As for his tooth, he did not care much
ii there were a dozen tu l)e pulled out; i)ut thai was partly because he knew

CORPORAL DONALDSON.

there was only one, and also hccause that one was not to he pulled until the
next day.

There was not a happier hoy than Private Cuthhert Donaldson, of No. 2
company, as he marched to the station to the sound of bugles and drums.

THE SPOTTED DOG.

147

After about an hour's run, the train i)ullecl up at tlic camping ^n-ouiul— a
splendid place, close by the river, with plenty of clear space for drill and ^anies.
Soon, amidst hammering ot pej^s and shoutinj^ of voices, there appeared three
rows of tents.

Supper, prayers; then off to bed. To bed? Well, no, not exactly, nor to
sleep either, but at least to the tents; for there are no beds in camp, and to sleep
the first niy^ht is said to be contrary to all the traditions of a I'loys" lirij^ade.

No need for the bugle to sound " reveille " next morning, for the whole
cam]) is astir at daybreak.

What a strange parade was that at breakfast time, when tlu' bugle sounded
" hot potatoes,'' and the boys fell into line, with plates, mugs, and spoons. It
w.is only equalled by the " swinnning parade " later in the day, when the boys
lined up in bathing suits of many colors and ilesigns, showing long legs, and
short legs, and straight legs, and crooked legs.

The quartermaster had attended to his duty well ; indeed, he must have been a
boy himself once, 'ihere was porridge in plenty, with milk and brown sug;ir,
too. How it disappeared and also the toast and coffee; it looked for a while as
if even the cook himself might fall a victim to a similar fate. Cuthbert was
soon to become well-acquainted with that same cook, for after breakfast he was
"told off" for "fatigue duty" as cook's assistant. It meant peeling potatoes,
cutting wood, going for water to the spring, etc. It was while chopping wood
that Cuthbert heard something which puzzled him not a little to understand.
The quartermaster and the cook were discussing dimier, and the cook was
asked what he would serve by way of dessert. After a moment's consideration
the cook replied, much to Cuthbert's astonishment and dismay, that he guessed
that some " Spotted Dog " would be best. " The very thing." resi)onded the
([uartermaster, and everything was settled.

Cuthbert could hardly believe that they would really cook a sjjotted dog: he
could stand a good deal but not that. Xot knowing what else to do. he
waited to see what would happen. The bugle .sounded " hot potatoes," and
again the boys lined U[) as hungry as ever. After meat and potatoes came the
dessert. Cuthbert was watching the cook very closely now. There was a
large pot of rice, with raisins in it. Cuthbert knew about that, for he had
helped to prepare it. Cook brought that on next, and as it was served out there
arose a cry of " spotted dog ! spotted dog ! '' from all the boys who had been
to camp before. Oh, that was how it was? Cuthbert saw through it all now.
It was the rice pudding, with the raisins for spots. Cuthbert felt that he had
already learned something of soldiers" life in camp. He had many things yet to
learn however, and about " spotted dog," too, as we shall see prcLeiitl\ .

148

THE SPOTTED DOG.

What a diflference that night in the way in which the boys " turned in "
and " rolled up " in their blankets. The loss of sleep on the previous night, to-
gether with the fresh air, made all more ready for sleep than for fun. " Lights
out" sounded on the bugle, and soon but little was heard from the bo)s. A
few told stories, which were never finished. Cuthbert lay awake listening to a
yarn spun by one of the boys in his tent. There was a dog and a horse and a
coA'-boy, and some Indians in the story. After a while the dog got mixed up
with the spotted dog at dinner, the horse cliangcd to a cow. Cuthbert became
the cow-boy, and the Indians had joined the lirigade and looked very funny in
their uniforms, and one of them had a tooth to pull out. Then he heard
music, a band he thought, and voices very near him, and laughing, and some-
thing was said about "spotted dog;" then he felt the dog licking his face, and he
rolled over, rubbed his eyes, heard no more laughing, and awoke to find that he
was about the last one up. The camp was astir and the boys in his tent very
jolly about something which Cuthbert felt he ought to understand, but could
not yet. He got soap and towel and started for the river. As he emerged from
the tent he was greeted with shouts and cheers, which told plainly t'^^t there
was a joke somewhere. Cries of "spotted dog! spotted dog! ' were heard on
all sides, and all eyes were fixed on Cuthbert. While he was trying to make
out what it all meant, it oocurrc.i to him that somehow as he slept his nose had
grown an inch or two. It stood out from his face in a most unusual manner,
and, though not sure, Cuthbert thought it looked a shade dark in color. Just
then another boy appeared, and again the cry of "spotted dog!" As Cuthbert
looked, he saw what explained the whole thing. Before him was an object
which did certainly resc.nblc a spotted dog more than a boy. A face daubed
all over with blacking, worse than any painted Indian. I*"or a moment Cuthber
forgot that he was in the same state himself. Then off he bolted for the river,
and there treated the spotted dog to a plunge, which removed the spots.

No more cook's fatigue. He was free to-day, and glad he was after
breakfast to join the bare-legged parade to the river. Wlien going back to
camp, Cuthbert noticed a place where he could cut a splendid, straight swag-
ger-stick, such as soldiets carry when off parade. He determined to get it after
putting on his clothes. Returning to the place, he put his hand in his pocket to
take out his knife, when, fo his surprise and alarm, he found thai his knife was
gone. It was a good knife, four blades and a corkscrew, one that had been given
him by his uncle, who \>as now in South Africa with the "Canadian contingent."'
Some one had evidently taken it out of his clothes while he was at the river. He
did not like to suspect any of the boys of the Brigade, for he felt that they would

THE SPOTTED DOG.

149

not do a dirty and dishonest trick; but who could have taken it? He remem-
bered having seen a cotiple of tough looking fellows near the tent when he
came back from, his swhn. Tie looked for them, but they had gone. Cuthliert
felt almost sure that they had stolen his knife. He could do nothing, so tried to
make the best of it. Cuthbert had another experience, which considerably
marred his enjoyment that day. It happened in this way. When the time for
tent inspection was approaching, Cuthbert got to work with the boys of his tent,
and soon every blanket was folded neatly and piled in place. Every bit of dirt
was raked outside the lines. Eight neat kits were placed in a circle just inside
the tent; on top of each were the owner's plate, knife, fork and spoon, on one
side ; cap, belt and haversack in the centre ; and on the other side a Bible. Then

THE SPOTTED DOG.

all was ready. The bugle sounded, the boys lined up outside, and the " officer
of the day" began his rounds. Slowly down the line he came, and presently
into Cuthbert's tent. Cuthbert knew he was there, though he could not see
him, foi he must not look about or move a muscle when standing at " attentioti."

"What is this paper lying here for?" ajked the officer; "there should be
no dirt within the lines; you must lose three marks for that; otherwise the tent
is perfectly neat and clean."

What could he mean? Paper! Cuthbert was sure there was none there when
he fell into line. As soon as he was " dismissed ' he went to investigate, and,
sure enough, he found a ball of paper lying beside his tent. It had evidently
been thrown there from annthcr tent, and the mern act of another had lost him
the honor of having " cleanest tent " that day. He thought he knew who had

150

THE SPOTTED DOG.

(lone the trick — a big fellow, who was considered somewhat of a bully by the
smaller boys. At that moment Cuthbert heard his name called, and turning about,
iie was surprised to see father and mother with his little sister and brother. They
had driven from town to see their boy in camp, and you may be sure they had
brought all kinds of good things along with them. How much Cuthbert had to
lell and how his sister and mother laughed at his story about peeling potatoes
and helping the cook. When they returned home they left behind a lot of cake
and jam and such like delights of a boy's heart. What a feast there would be
that day. He would invite all his neighbors in and have a jolly time all round
1'hen Cuthbert remembered that among his neighbors was the bully referred to,
and he did not much like the idea of feeding him with jam and cake. Cuthbert
was not the bo\', however, to repay one mean trick by another, so he decided to
make no distinction, and to invite all. In they all came, the bully with the
rest, and in a very short time there was nothing left but an empty jam pot and
some paper.

That day soon passed, and night came, and with it the " mounting of
guard," which was of great interest to Cuthbert. He wanted to go on guard,
though usually only the bigger boys were chosen. It meant being up very late
and marching up and down as sentry for an hour or so at a time. There was
some risk about it, too, for sometimes the guards, were assaulted and roughly
liandled. However, Cuthbert voluntec-ed and was accepted.

It was easy and pleasant at first, but as the night wore on, things became less
romantic, and when all was quiet in camp and Cuthbert had to go alone with
his rifle away down past those dark bushes to the very edge of the camp and
l)ack again, and thus walk to r id fro with no one near him, he felt, well, some-
times just a little sorry that he had asked to go on guard. Just as he was feel-
ing a little in this way he saw, or thought he saw, through the darkness, some-
one coming towards the camp. He looked again. Yes, he was sure ; and it
had been expressly told him that he must allow no one to pass the lines, either
in or out. He hesitated for a moment as to what to do. Everything was so
(juiet in camp, he seemed so much alone; he thought of how real soldiers had to
go into danger when duty required. He thought, too, of his uncle away at the
front, and though it cost him an effort, he decided to challenge this fellow. He
went forward in the shadow of the bushes, and then coming up in front of the
intruder and bringing his rifle down to the " charge," he said, as fearlessly and
as firmly as he could, " Halt! who goes there?" But he did not halt, he came
right on, and Cuthbert could see that he was a boy a good derl bigger than
himself, and a rough looking fellow. "Guard, turn out!" he shouted at the

^^^

THE SPOTTED DOG.

151

top of his voice, and just as lie did so, liis rifle was seized and wrenched from
him, and he and his man were face to face. Cuthbert couhl not hope to fi^ht
the fellow, but he know a thing or two about wrestHnj;', and when his assailant
came at him, C"uthbert dodged the blow, and. making a spring at him. caught
him in such a way that with the force of the spring he was able to throw him
and hold him down. It was no eas\' task, however, for he was strong, and
tried hard to turn on his side, so that he might get up. It could not last long,
and Cuthbert knew it, but he hoped to be able to hold out until the guard should
appear, and, sure enough, just in the nick of time he heard the sound of a voice
asking, "Which way?'" He shouted back, and in a moment a guard ap-
peared, a big fellow, to(.) ; Cuthbert did not see who he was. nor did he care then.
They secured their prisoner, and being joined by some others of the guard, they

C.\MP ARNOLD — BOYS BRIGADE.

inarched him to the guard tent. Cuthbert wanted to thank the bov who had
come to his help. As he turned to do so, he recognized in the dim light of the
candle none other than his friend, the bully of the next tent to his. " Thanks,
old man," said Cuthbert. Tt was all he could say. but the bully understood, and
coining nearer, he held out his hand and said, " Did you know I did that to-day
when you treated mc to cake?"
" Yes," said Cuthbert.

" It was very decent of you."" said the bully, " and I'm sorry, you know."
" It's all right," said Cuthbert. " You helped me out splendidly to-night,"
and he shook his hand.

Their prisoner proved to be one of a number of young toughs who had been
lounging about camp that day. and. indeed, Cuthbert recognized liim as the fellow
he had seen leaving his tent at the time the knife was stolen. In the morning he

152

THE SPOTTED DOG.

reported this to the " officer of the day,*" who made an investigation, which pro-
duced the knife itself. Other things had been stolen, some of which were also
recovered, and then, after a very decided warning, the prisoner was allowed to go.

Next day when orders were read out, among the promotions from the ranks
was the name of Cuthbert Donaldson, " to be corporal." It was the very thing
he had longed for most : his first promotion. He felt more than repaid for all
he had endured the night before, and ready now for any duty which might lie
before him.

So the week sped on, and Sunday came. There was " drum-head service "
in the large marquee tent. The drums were piled one upon another and draped
with the Union Jack, thus forming a pulpit. How the boys sang that grand
fighting hymn:

" Fight the good fight with all thy might,
Christ is thy strength, and Christ thy right;
Lay hold on life, and it shall be
Thy joy and crown eternally."

Prayer followed, and then Cuthbert's captain spoke a few words, in which
he reminded the boys that soldiering was not all play, that there were heavy
fatigues, hard marches, fierce fights to endure. " Our comrades, said he, " are
even now enduring hardness in the great war in Africa, and being brave and
strong, they are winning the fight. There is another, a holy war, a greater
one and a stronger enemy that must be resisted and beaten. The ' Captain of
our salvation,' Jesus, has placed Himself at the head of His men, and urges all
to follow to a glorious victory. Would any falter or hang back? It means
heavy fatigues, hard marching, and fierce fighting, but the cause is the noblest
and best, and the victory is sure to those who fight under Christ. Volunteers
are called for. Who will go? Who is on the Lord's side? Who?"

And Cuthbert felt that he wanted to be a man, brave and strong, to enlist
in this holy war, and to endure hardness for Christ to bring deliverance to the
oppressed and needy.

How many things, and what funny things happened during those days in
camp. Both officers and boys contributed their share.

When the last day came and the last night (a sleepless one, by the way,)
Cuthbert felt .himself a veteran about to return from active service.

He arrived home again, hungry, ragged, and tanned, an object of interest
and amusement to all his friends.

JJIE SPOTTED DOG. ^.^^

Cuthhcrt slept that „i.,!u in th. s-.tu-si Ik.I in the world, and there to his
n.eams ue „n,st leave hin, for a while, for to trv to descrihe the w^'uM e
snnply nnpossihle; yet. if we „,i,h, venture a ,ness at it, I s :' ^
safely say that ,n then, there fi,nre.! pnuninentlv a " spotted ,lo.. "

CHARLES VV. McKIM.

IVinnipeg.

Disobedience.

A little poly-woly-wog a-wiggling in the water

Went out one clay to have a play

With a king-fisher's daughter;

They played at this, they played at that,

At peek-a-boo and tit-for-tat ;
Then, high upon a rolling wave, a game of teeter-tauter.

II.

A tiny star up in the sky looked down and saw them playing ;
" Mamma," she cried, " beneath the tide
I'd like to go a-straying."
Then wisely shook the old moon's head,
" My child, it's time you were in bed !
And I myself am going out some orbit call a-paying."

III.

And then that naughty little star flat on her face fell weeping ;

Toys threw about in temper's pout.

Woke Ursa Minor, sleeping;
Then thinking only of her play, she ran adown the milky way,

Where, cap-a-pie, Anemones

With gold-fish were Bo-peeping.

DISOBEDIENCE.

IV.

She entered in a sea-nymph's cave, whose amber walls were shining,

Where soft upon a snow-white swan

A mermaid lay reclining.
She sang in every tender key. from A below to highest G,

And there, 'neath doric columns white

Oysters on pearls sat dining.

The sea-queen on a coral throne was by shrimp slaves attended ;

A dragon fly on guard stood by,

A sword-fish brave defended.
A green-eyed lobster waddled by (he had a most obnoxious eye!)

And when he 'spied the little star,

His walk at once suspended.

IV.

" Hey day ! " he cried, " an alien star ! " (with rage did ocean shiver).
" What brought you down to Water-town ? "

(With fear the star-lips quiver.)
The lobster raised a crooked claw, the turtles held their breath in awe,

Armed to the teeth came instantly

Wild inmates of the river.

IfiS

VII.

The court was called sine mora, the case crux criticorum;

Flagrante bello ex parte,

Evidence? not a quorum!
But sad and lone, that trembling star, from home and friends so sadly far,

Cried " Guilty ! " as she knelt before

Great Custos Rotelorum.

They pla>*etl at this,

They played at that,
At peek-a-boo and tit for tat,

Then hij^h upon a rollinn- wave
A game o^ teeter-tauter.

VA//

'/w

DISOBEDIEXCE.
VIII.

A Iranu'.l (j. C. snni.-.nic.l Si.ratl nia.lr hahc.is corpus ,u..tio,

I lo (|U(>tc(l I'vcry statute on

'riu- tal)li'ts of tlu- ocean :
ilis do(|iu'iuv it ran so lii-li tlir jnrv all lu-.t^an to cry,

■■ Nil- finis!" shrinked tlu> 'i'lirhot Jndj^v.
" llcr scntt'iu-i- : Dc-atli's ()roinotioM ! "'

157

IX.

I'ortli was she led to pnnisliinrnt : sharks, dolphins wildly c-yc-d Iut;

Lampivys and cds close at Ikt heels

Now tannted and i\v\\v^\ her:
Weepinn-, she turned upon the skies a 'ast fond look from her sad eyes.

W oke up- ( ) joy ! the mother moon

Was sniilin.L;- close htside her!

Mary Marh .•ell.

WiiiiiipCi^.

"Hi

'■I!

Cbe Boy Ofbo l>ad no Dame.

Dcdicatca to tbe Boys of m CDildren's JWA society of UKnnipeg.

[HIS is the story of Weckusk ; and this is how it came to be told.
Far away — further from Manitoba than our remotest Eastern
Province — stretches the wild North Land. A land of great
waters, of countless lakes and streams which roll on in soli-
tude and silence, broken only by the boat-song of the voyageur
or the tumultuous voices of chute and cataract. Then, one by
one, these waters blend, and cast themselves at last in a ma-
jestic torrent into the mysterious sea-girdle of the pole. A land of endless
forests, tenanted by the red man, the moose, and the 1-ear, and where the bison
has made his last stand in a neck of deepest wilderness. A land of primitive
stories, of Indian dreams, and mysteries and terrors ; where the spirits of the
dead still haunt the shores of sullen lakes, and the Weeghtego, the maniac can-
nibal of the North, prow'i in quest of his human food, and fills the mind of the
red man with horror ana the vague foreshadowings of nameless death. A land
into which came great explorers of old ; men of dauntless heart, un<lismayed by
its indescribable loneliness and dangers ; men of that British blood w hich has
carried, and is still carrying, life in hand, through every continent, the blessings
of enlightenment and liberty. Hither came Hearne, the first of white men to
camp upon the lonely shore of Lake Athabasca. Hiiiier came Mackenzie, the
first to find a path to the Northern Pacific Coast. Hither, too, came Franklin,
and Richardson, and Back, and Dease, and Simpson, and many another intrepid
explorer, in pursuit of science or trade. And hither, too, may some of you.

THE BOY WHO HAD NO NAME.

16!)

dear children, come, in the years of nianliood l-or that land of mystery is also
a land of promise, of sunshine and htipe, where all things thrive which are es-
sentia! to the needs of man, and where your industry may yet help to cement
more securely the great fabric of I'ritisii freedom. It was into a i)ortion of
this land that a party of men headed l)y the Hon. David Laird, under the auth-
ority of Government, was sent last year to treat witli its native people, its In-
dians and iialf-breeds. for the surnndcr to the (Jueen of their territorial rights
under such conditions as made the bargain a lasting ailvantage t(j them, whilst
assuring safety to the lives and properties of adventurous settlers. I'Or these
will still pour up the continent when our great plains and prairies to the soutli
are exhausted, and, hewing down its forests, will carve out in that wild North
Land their homes. The journey was a toilsome t)ne — there is not space to re-
count its troubles. Enough, that, after many days in open boats, the party
found itself encamped upon a height of land overlooking the continence of the
Saulteux river and the Lesser Slave — as wild and secluded a spot as the healthy
imagination of romantic boyhood could conceive. Accompanying the party
was Father Lacombe, one of the celebrated missionaries of our time, whose life
has been spent in a long effort to spread Christianity amongst the IMacUfeet
and Plain Crees — a man who reminds one of tiie heroic spirits of the past, of
the Le Jeunes and Manjuettes, of the Kliots, the I leckewelders and the Zinzin-
dorf, for missionary effort is not confined to one creed or sect, the Saviour's
mandate being, as Wellington called it. the " marching orders " of them ah.

But our night camp, made, as it was. in one of the imiermost recesses of
the wilderness, was an exceptional one in this, that the day was the jubilee anni-
versary of Father Lacombe. It was the closing day of fifty years of labor
amongst the wild tribes of the Northwest. It was. therefore, celebrated by the
party in unity of spirit, and with that instinctive respect in which right natures
ever, and everywhere, hold a life spent in doing gf)od. It was at the close of
this celebration that Father Lacombe. in sable soutane, turned up the silver lining
of his nature to his friends. Seated on the grass on the lofty bank, which over-
looked the solitary rivers, he recounted to those around him stories and legends
of the wild, but hospitable, tribes, amongst whom bis life had been cast. In
telling them, he was careful to point out the universality, self-felt, perhaps, of
the desire for distinction. It is as true of the savage as of the civilized man.
It is an instinct implanted in us which seems to imply a hereafter in which the
souls of men, who have done good things in this life, may still enjoy their fame
upon earth. The cravings of the soldier, the poet, the painter, the philosopher
and the philanthropist seem meaningless and vain, if this love of distinction,
which causes Genius to spend itself unstintingly for the benefit of others, exists

Hid

/■///•; /:<))■ u'//(> HAD \o x.i.u/:.

uitlioiil ;i final i-aiisf. (ir simply stands upun tlu' plane of tlu- (lc-sifi.s of tlu' sons
of Self. This iiKiy not Ik-. ( iivat lu-arts! ."solitary luarts! Isolati-d, lilvi- iln'
islands of onr own niotlu-r coinitry. yiM tiarliinj^ to tlu' ends of the earth.

There was once a yonth of the ^.^rt'at I'lain ('ret' raee, in thi' days when
the hnffalo retained where the ranchers" cattle now pastnre. and when the plains
and prairies of the .\orthuest wen- a wilderness, a vonth who was nnknown.
or Unowii in strange t'ashion. for lie was the onteast of his trihe. Me had

TIIIC liOV WIK) HAD NO NAMH

neither lather nor inothi'r. sister nor hrother. Me had no relatives, and was, in-
deed, perfectly friendless. .Mist'ortnne in varions wa\s had swallowed all in his
infancy, and left him to he the waif and stray of a _44reat trihe in a .nfeat camp
— a wanderer, to whcim no one even thouy-ht it worth while to t;ive a name,
fie had one, indeed, hut it helied itself. It was a hyword, a term of reproach,
which seemed to concentrate upon himself the contempt of the whole trihe, and
which, when pronounced, smote and stunj,^ him with the sense of his own utter
i.solation and insignificance. The trihe called him " The hov who had no name."

rilE ROY WHO HAD NO NAME.

161

He had no possessions, not rvon a doj^ to atom- l)y its tidrlity and love for the
aloofness of his own kind. Some starvelinj4- curs frolicked with liiiu, l)Ut they
eoiihl 1)0 beckoned otT in any instant, knowinj; where tlie hirders hiy. and that
he Iiad mine, lie lived hv snrferance of the ixmm- — the old crones of the tribe,
who fed and sheltered him. for they, the ])oor, have ever helpful hearts. So
there was a remnant of pity — a buffalo shin, or heel, for supper, a worm-eaten
robe and a corner for shelter under the worst rents of the lodjj;e. throuj^h which
he could look at the stars, and wonder. In a j^reat Indian camp upon the
plains of old. there were many amusements, especially in the sununer. There
were ceremonial dances, jj^reat feasts, races, jjfames. nuisic. to»). of its kind, and
much courtship. lUit in none of these could our youth take part, lie luinj,'
around the outskirts of the camp, lookinj^ askance at forbidden pleasures, or
linj^ered, alone, by the dyiiifj embers of some deserted tire, meditatinj^. And
yet, after all. this seeminj; cruelty of his tribe did not sprinj."^ from real unkind-
ness. but from a lony;, sinful indifference, which hati become a habit. He was
its waif and stray: its "r.oy without a name:" an apjjenda^e of the camp, whom
no one seemed to notice, or to care for. or to think in need oi care. He jjrew up
stmiehow. and he meditated. In time he discovered that he was a man. and re-
joiced exceedingly. He was still young, and he felt the consciousness of thew
and sinew, the keen delight of youth in its strength. He recognized, too. the
glimmering of undefined purposes springing up in his soul like the firstlings of
Spring in .some neglected garden : dim forecasts of things to come, which took
continuous shape, and bred at first to dreams, and at last to an idea which
grew, and developed, and l)rightene<i into a vision — the vision of Restitution.
l'"or this youth loved his peo])le with a great love — a tiling they did not know —
and he had a great soul, though he himself kne\i i' not, into which the idea of
avenging his wrongs upon them never entered. It was not what had been done,
but what had not been done, which spiuMcd his awakening energies. To
"restore'" them, rather than himself, was what he dindy recognized as his first
duty. And fate was propitious. .\ deadly hatred raged upon the Plains, the
accumulation of ages — the hatred of the Plain Cree and tlie Blackfoot. Where
the unconscious settlers to-day turn their furrows, deeds, in the past, of heroism
have been wrought, and of horror, unspeakable. The pile of bones on the
W'ascana was a note of triumph; the pile on Shell river another. lUit all over
our western territories raged this heroic and Homeric strife, and out of it came,
for " The boy who had no name," Restitution. The wealth of the Plain In-
dians lay in their horses. It did not lie in the buffalo — they were, though not
always, like the air they breathed — like water, t)r sunshine, omnipresent. They
could not be canoenien in an environment where canoes were useless. To them

102

THE BOY WHO HAD NO NAME.

the horse was all in all, and no moral maxim stept in to prevent them from
taking possession of it wherev.-r it :oukl be found. Reflecting on the cattle-
lifting in days gone by, in the mother land, we need not be surprised at the
Plain Indian's insatiable craving for the horse. Between stealing food, and
stealing the means of procuring it, the ratio is the same. So that, in thinking
ot the endless conflicts of the Plain mdians, so oft begotten of horse-raiding, we
nmst, in justice, apply to them the academic code which we now do to, mayhap,
our own forebea/s, remembering, too, that, unlike the " rievers " they were not
in possession of the Commandment. Put the necessity of the Plains, which
knew no law, at length ruled amongst the tribe to which our youth who had no
name belonged. Evil days had befallen it. The wealth to which we have al-
luded took wing; the buffalo ranged far oflf, and, upon a camp, once enlivened
by mirth and feast, fell the pall of hunger and despair. Starvation, with lean
visage, drew nisjii, and peered into every lodge, and so a raid upon the Black-
feet wai, determined. There was the customary preparation, the painting,
the war-dance, the shadow of a feast, and the leave-taking ; and then the strong
party set out in its quest of life or death. But no hand was stretched forth to
our youth, no voice said, "Come!" He, who was now a match for the best,
was still the friendless — the waif and stray of the camp, — whom no one ever
ihought of. But the crisis had come — the hour of trial — the putting to proof
of tliose vague ideas and self-confidences which had been springing up in iiim,
and were now things of growth, appreciated and handled by his mind, even as
his hands might handle the bow and the lance. These weapons he had secured
and mastered, and then he. too, set out alone, and sped straight on into the
very heart of the lilackfoot country. After many days what was left of the
chosen band ?/. warriors of his starving tribe returned empty-handed, dismayed
and spiritless. Then, indeed, was " the sacred range of hunger " sore in the
land of the Plain Cree. All the spells of the medicine-men were wrought to
bring back the distant bison, ard all in vain. Men of lustihood, whom want
had not yet reduced to skeletons, began to be looked upon wistfully, by the worst
of their fellows, and clung \ci the camp. Emaciated women moaned as their
babes tugged at the sterile breast, and a grin — Famine's welcome to Death — was
on every countenance, when the dread cry suddenly arose, " The iilackfeet ! "
But it was not they, 't was " The boy without a name," rushing upon them in
a whirlwind of horses. They were saved! In an instant the camp was throng-
ed with a noble band of ponies, sweating and tremliling amongst the doleful
lodges. But, who was this? The stoutest rul)bcd their eyes, and gazed again.
But it was he! "The boy without a name!" He had saved them; and a
shout rent the air such as had never been heard before in a Cree camp. The

THE BOY WHO HAD NO NAME.

163

" Rtstitution " he dreamt of had come. And how was this fjreat thinf^ done?
Ask Genius! And yet it will not tell you, for it acts unconsciously. Yet. it
was somewhat after this manner. He found his way alone to the Blackfeet
camp — the camp from which his people had heen repulsed — so lari^e and tri-
umphant as to he careless about its safety. The only outloi.k in our youth's
direction — if it could be called one — was a solitary and venerable warrior, who
had retired from his fellow-men to worship the (Ireat Spirit, whose abode was
the Sun. Whilst he stood before it, with (jutstretched arms in silent adoration,

IN A WIIIRLWI.VD OK HORSHS.

our youth killed him. Then, by methods which cannot be described, he, sinjjle-
handed. aven<;e(l the reverse of his tribe, and, rounding' up a s^reat band of the
enemy's horses, swept back with them to his own people. iUit not without a
name. Near the scene of his success was a patch of the fra;;Tant prairie herbatje,
in W'hich he had rested for a time, called by the frees, Weekusk, and by us the
Sweet Grass. As his tribe had given him no name, he named himself Weekusk,
and the name was acclaimed bv his people. And now he who had been
spurned and ncj^lccted became a leader. l>y prowess and skill in warfare, he
beame chief of his tribe, and, in time, the acknowledged head of the whole Plain

164

THE nOV WHO HAD SO NAME.

Crce race. His renown spread to the Canadians, and he became known to
them, in the adventurons days of settlement, as the chief who loved C'anada, and
who rnled his people with wisdom and humanity. re,nrettinj;- hnt one thinj;", the
killmg of the old Worshipper (»f the Snn. And for this seemin^h necessary
deed, perhaps, lonj^- afterwards, in the mystery of thini;s he had to " (lre( his
weird" by taking his own lif'- ."showing, in his lodge, to a near relative, a re-
volver i)resented to him, as a mark of resi)ect, by Lientei'.ant-dovernor Morris,
and handling it nnfamiliarly, a chamber discharged and killed him. .Xnd so
perished a brave and, considering his whole life, a good man — an exami)le to
every bov born into the world under hard conditions. .\ot that he can follow
it on its own i)lane, for his was the role of the Indian, but that he may perceive
what is possible to one whose early youth was so distressful as W'eekusk's. who
yet ])reserved. through it all. his sweetness of disposition, and strove not so nnich
to vindicate himself as to restore tenderness and compjission and the grace of
charity to his people.

And now. if 1 have expanded the good missionary's story. 1 am sure he will
forgive me, since its motive and moral have been both preserved.

Mv dear bovs, \.)ur sincere well-wisher.

C. MAIR.

/'/-//;(•,■ Albert, .V. W . T.

Cbe Cand Crab.

E T4DIC by Ernest Sctoit'Chompson.

IIK\ I set out U) (U) a tliinj^- I do it: nutliiiij;' can turn nic
aside," said the Land (rah, as Ik- (|uit his hole in the sprin,<;
time and made straij^ht for the (hstanl sea after the manner
of his kind.

I hit (huMnt;- his lonj;- winter's sleep, a hne of teles^raph
poles had heeti set up exactly on his oustomarv path.

When the Land Crah came to the first one, ])ride in his
fi.\itv of purpose would not allow him to turn aside or yo around it, he climhed
slowlv u]) its dizzy heij.jht, over its top, and down the otiier side. Tiien on to the
next one. where, with j.jreat exertion, he did the same thinj^. .\\u\ so he went on
all summer, elimhin^' poles, till he was completely worn out, and, at the end of
the season, his miserahle little dead hody was found near the sea, which lie nevi'r
reached at all, although he mijuht have got there in one day had he hcen wise
enough to swerve six inches from his intended course.

Cbe Coad and m jewel

By Ernest Seron-Choitipsoit.

(A Fable in reply to one who was Reviling the Decameron.)

NCE upon a time there was a Toad, who was covered with
loathsome slime, and whose mouth was full of venom, but who
yet had in his head a jewel of most exquisite beauty.

And those who felt that way turned all their attention to
the poison and slime, but those whose minds had other affin-
ities, saw only the jewel.

i with
It who

tion to
• affin-