Part 6

First set up the centre poles and ridgepole, placing the latter on top of the former, and sliding the iron pins down through the eyes. (_Fig. 3._) Then place in position the _rear_ wall. The side walls will come next, their clamps dropping easily at the corners into those of the end wall, and holding them firm while you slip the links over their hooks and twist them tight. Then set up the braces at the door end, and put up the front wall, turning down the tent pin on the ridgepole, to hold it firm, and locking the whole structure with the last link. Next, hook on the rafters, bolt the triangular gable walls to the upper part of the ridgepole, and set your braces at the sides. Nothing remains but to draw over your canvas, put your door upon its hinges, and hang up your hat. You are at home; a home you have put together at leisure hours in your barn or woodshed during the winter, have taken to the woods in a lumber-wagon, and set up with the help of a single companion; and when you are done with it you will carry it back to town and store it away in the woodshed or stable again.

In respect to the cost, I can give no estimates so good as in a few moments you can compile for yourself. It all depends on the price of materials and the cost of blacksmithing in your own neighborhood. The weight and breadth of the canvas purchased is also to be estimated variously, according to your selection, and the expense will be increased according to the degree of finishing, painting, and decoration put upon the structure. If I should make one for myself in New York or New Jersey, I should not anticipate its costing me more than twenty-five dollars ready for setting up; but this includes no floor and no painting. The interior furnishing of cots, cupboards, tables, stoves, _et cetera_, I presume you will understand as well as I. Also that you can contrive to put in windows as you want them, and provide a means of carrying your stovepipe through a tin ring in the canvas roof so as to be safe from ignition. I only wish I might help enjoy all the fun you will have!

XVI.—HOW TO MAKE A FERNERY.

AUTUMN is the time to be getting ready for your fernery—all you who are off in the country (or who live there), or are just getting back from your summer vacation, with a big parcel of ferns and things which you collected at the White Mountains, or among the Green Mountains, or the Berkshire Hills, or at Mount Desert, or in some woods, or by some pond, or by the sea, or somewhere, no matter where—lovely things were around you wherever you went.

I know what you have been doing: for, have I not seen in my summer trips for these twenty years, how you young people do; how it seems as if you wanted to carry all the woods home with you; how, hot and tired, but happy, you have been seen coming back to the farmhouse or hotel where you boarded, with your arms full; how you put your treasures safely away in the coolest, shadiest corner of the back piazza, and asked anxiously if they would keep till you could get them home? And when the morning of packing up came, what a stir to get them all into the smallest possible compass; for were not the older folks of the party all complaining because the boys had cut so many cones, and the æsthetic grown-up daughters had such bundles of cat-tails and sun-flowers, so that the “baggage” was already beyond all bounds of reason!

If it should happen that you have not secured what you would like to stock your fernery with, you can do it now: and if anybody should tell you that those frail-looking things will not stand the journey home, you can answer, on my authority, that they are mistaken. Just get the roots, and you are all right. I have not much doubt that there are ferns growing in a Western city to-day from some dry-looking roots which a lady from New England took out with her, and after being a week on her journey, distributed among her friends, so that the ferneries all about the city were beautiful with them by Christmas time.

There is a good deal of vitality in roots: their hold on life is something wonderful. Plant them, and you will hear from them, as Doctor Franklin did from a seed or two he found in a piece of broom corn, to which, I suppose, all the brooms in the United States may be traced.

Therefore, collect, and have patience. The way is to tear up a whole mass of the greenery from some moist knoll or hummock, moss and all. It will be sure to be full of things, gold-thread, bunch-berry, partridge-berry, mitre-wort and dew-berry; and every one of them will blossom in a fernery in winter. No knowing what will come up out of the moss. Get also from the woods the two-leaved Solomon’s seal—you will know it by the bunch of finely speckled berries; the Indian cucumber root, the rattle-snake plantain, lady’s slipper, wake robin, chick-weed, winter-green, princes’ pine, pyrola. All these and many others will bloom there, and violets. I might make a long list of flowers, besides nearly all kinds of ferns, and mosses. But it is well to get any and every little delicate woods’ plant that you like; roll them up in moss, which will keep them damp enough, and when you get home, fit up your fernery.

But first—in accordance with the principle laid down by the famous Mrs. Glass, in her cook-book, who says about cooking a hare, “first, get your hare,”—you will first _get_ your fernery.

Many persons would have one quickly enough but for thinking the expense too great. But it is not at all important that you have one of those nice black walnut cases with the costly oval or round glass. A home-made one is more convenient, and much cheaper.

This, which the artist has drawn from one in use, is, as you notice, proportioned like a house with a steep roof. The frame is of hard wood—a mere sash to hold the glass (for it is really a glass house), so are the bottom or floor, and the base, which is about four inches deep. A groove is cut in the sash, in which the glass is set firmly; no putty was used, though I should suggest it as being more secure. All the corners are dovetailed together and made sure by little brads.

The roof is separate, so as to be lifted off; and when on, is kept fast in place by means of two little corks the size of a pipe stem, which are fastened to the pieces of wood at the bottom of the roof, and shut into holes made for them in the strips on which it is set, so that when closed not so much as a crack is to be seen. This is eighteen inches long and fourteen wide, and from base to top is twenty-four inches. The glass sides are about ten by sixteen; the ends ten by twelve; the sides of the roof are ten by sixteen, and the triangular pieces at the ends, ten by ten. One could be more elegantly proportioned if the roof was not so steep. These figures are given as a guide. This is very roomy, especially in height; but that is no disadvantage, because a tall fern can be set in the middle and have space to spread off at will, or some little hooks can be screwed into the ridgepole (likening it to a house), and tiny hanging things suspended from them.

The glass is of the common window-pane kind, and was about eleven cents a pane; eight panes were required, and the man who had them for sale cut them to fit the sash. The wood was maple, and was hunted out of the odds and ends in the loft of the wood-house. Any thoroughly seasoned wood, even pine, is suitable, and the cost is not worth mentioning. The frame should be neatly finished and joined, should be strong and firm on account of the weight after the earth and plants are in; and before the glass is cut, should be stained, or oiled, or painted, outside and in. A pretty stain is made by stirring a tablespoonful of burnt umber into a cup of vinegar, more or less, according to whether you wish the color to be lighter or darker. Stir vigorously and put it on with a little swab: it will dry in the course of a few hours, and then can be varnished if you like. Five cents’ worth of umber is enough to do your fernery, with plenty left for three or four brackets besides.

All the work should be faithfully done, for you want no shrinking or gaping or warping afterwards. You must remember that it is to be subjected to dampness within and dryness without. Once done well, your fernery will last for years, and you can have something beautiful in it from January till January comes again, a perpetual delight to all who see it; and costing so little.

Now, an important part remains—the movable zinc tray, which must just fill the wooden bottom, and be of the same height, but not fit so closely that you cannot take it out when necessary. Ours cost fifty cents, but may be made for less; any tin-man will make it.

There you have the figures. You can proportion one as you like, but this is large enough unless you wish to set little flower pots in; but a larger one would be heavy to move about, and instead of a fernery one would need a Wardian case.

Now, for the fitting up. Last October we removed the roof and the tray and washed the glass, preparatory to having everything fresh and clean for the coming winter. The old contents were emptied, and we began anew. The first thing was to place a layer of broken brick, and small pebbles and gravel, on the bottom of the tray for drainage, perhaps an inch and a half deep, over which we scattered bits of charcoal to keep all pure. We had previously collected a great store of things from the woods with which to stock it, taking up a whole mat of moss with all that therein grew, and everything with a little of the woods’ mould on the roots; also we had a clump of pitcher plants from a cranberry meadow, and some rattle-snake plantain. Altogether for our fourteen by eighteen accommodations, I should judge that we had about a wheel-barrow load of material to select from; but we were in the country then.

It is always desirable to use the rich, mellow leaf mould that is found in the woods. You can easily take up your plants with enough of it clinging about them; and it is so loose and light it will not add materially to the bulk or weight. Not much is needed for the fernery; two or three inches of it only above the bed of drainage, mixed with a little sand. In the cities it can be obtained from greenhouses. Many of the plants would flourish if only moss was put in.

In ours we placed a good layer of such soil; and the first plant we set out was a tall, beautiful fern which reached nearly to the roof, for we wanted it to look pretty all at once without waiting for things to grow. Then a pitcher-plant, purple polygala, creeping snow-berry, lots of partridge-berry, with the scarlet berries on, and nearly all of the wild things I have named. Then we went into the garden and dug up lilies-of-the-valley that we were sure were going to bloom, which is indicated by the bluntness and plumpness of the crown just above ground (the leaves were gone), also roots of pansy and fragrant single violet. These we put into the corners where they would have the most light. We packed the tray full, too full, perhaps, not forgetting roots of maiden-hair fern. We had not much faith in trailing arbutus, though we set out a root or two; our hopes for that sweet flower we based on the clusters of buds we gathered from the woods, and these we put in a small tumbler of water and set among the greenery.

Then we gave our little garden under glass a thorough sprinkling, put the roof on, and set it in the light. Occasionally we raised it and admitted the air for a short time, but it does not answer to do this often. It must be kept covered, watered perhaps once a month, kept in the light and warmth.

The result to us was beyond our highest anticipations. Though the pansies did nothing but grow tall and rank, there was always a violet to give a friend—a delectable violet which made the room fragrant when it was taken out; there were “many flowers” week after week; mitre-wort bloomed, princes’ pine, gold-thread, and other little things; and while snow yet lay on the ground, the lilies-of-the-valley blossomed. Greatest success of all, and to our utter amazement, the pitcher-plant flowered, maiden-hair thrived, the great fern spread off till its tips touched the glass, the rattle-snake plantain sent up a spire of bloom, and everything was beautiful.

I have told you now the method, the expense, and how simple a thing it is to fit up a fernery. Another winter we shall put in tulip bulbs and some other garden plants there may be room for. Things will bear packing quite closely if you are careful to keep those that like the shade in the background, and let the others have the best chance for the light. Occasionally the fernery needs turning so the sun can reach all; otherwise it requires but little care.

XVII.—A BOY’S RAILWAY AND TRAIN.

IN a certain old-fashioned house that I visit, a large attic is set apart as a playroom for the boys, in which to keep their tools, their jig-saw, and their treasures of all sorts, dear to the hearts of young people.

All around the edge of this room runs a small railway with curves and switches complete, with bridges and tunnels, and an elegant station, made of a deserted dog house, and painted in the newest style.

Over this track, propelled by boy-power, runs many times a day, a train of cigar-box cars, engine and tender, baggage and passenger cars, all in order. And everything about it, from the ties to the latest parlor car, was made by two boys under fourteen years of age, at a very small cost.

These boys are no wiser or more skilful than other boys, and there is nothing about it hard to make. I thought many of you young readers of mine would like to copy it, and so I have studied the thing, taken my instructions from the builder himself, and here it is, so plainly told that no ordinary boy of twelve need make a mistake if he follows directions exactly, although to make it perfectly clear, I have to use a good many words which make it _look_ hard. To begin with the track: first, come

THE TIES.

To make ties for a single track, take a board one inch thick. Saw from the end a piece five inches long, and split it with a chisel into ties an inch square. The number you will need depends, of course, upon the length of your road. Having these ready, the next thing is the

RAILS.

Buy at a tinner’s sheets of tin which come fourteen by twenty inches in size, though any other size may be used. If convenient, have the tinner cut each sheet into eleven strips twenty feet long and about one and a quarter wide. You can, however, cut them yourself, with a pair of old shears, first measuring carefully, and ruling the sheet off.

Along one side of each strip of tin, near the edge, punch nail holes; one close to each end, and four between, making thus six holes about four inches apart.

To bend the rail to shape, take a ruler and scratch a line the whole length one quarter of an inch from the edge which has no holes. Lay this edge on a straight board, with the mark exactly on the edge of the board, so that the quarter of an inch sticks out beyond the board. Then tack the tin with two or three tacks, to keep it from slipping, while you take a hammer and pound the tin down over the edge till it is bent at a right angle to the rest. Then take out your tacks, and laying the tin on the board, pound this turned-up edge over till nearly flat. This makes the top of your rail, as you see in _fig. 1_ (which shows the end of a rail) at _a_.

To make the bend _c_ (_fig. 1_) draw a line the whole length half an inch from the edge where the holes are. Again tack the tin to the board, with the half-inch sticking out beyond, and pound this edge over into a right angle. This completes your rail, the holes being along the edge marked _b_ in the figure.

TO LAY THE TRACK.

Place a number of ties side by side, and with a ruler and pencil draw two lines across them, three and a half inches apart, having about three quarters of an inch beyond the lines at each end. These marks are to guide you in laying the track straight. When you have thus prepared a number of ties and rails, fasten them together by nailing, with small-sized carpet tacks, through each punched hole, on to a tie, being careful that the _end_ of each rail reaches no more than half over its tie, so that the next rail may join on right (_fig. 2_). The tacked edges of the two rails turn towards each other on the inside of the track, and thus do not show when a train is on, and the angle _c_ rests exactly on the line drawn on the tie. Go on in this way till your rails are all used, or you come to a curve.

TO MAKE A CURVE.

Take a cold chisel, or an old common chisel, and one of your finished rails. On the flat side (from _b_ to _c_, in _fig. 1_) cut slits reaching from _b_ to _c_, and half an inch apart. Lay a row of ties in the curve you wish to make, and bend the rail to fit them. The slits will enable you to bend them nicely, on one side by gaping apart, and on the other by slipping over.

If you want a guard rail to keep your train from running off at this point, lay an extra rail fastened in the same way inside of each rail on the curve.

TO MAKE A SWITCH.

Select a point where two rails join, for a switch, and take one length of rail for the purpose. This length, which includes both rails, of course, is to be movable, and so must slide over the common ties, and not be fastened to them. To keep them in place they must be tacked to special ties, much thinner, and coming between the regular ties that they slide over. Having prepared this length, put a tack, smaller than the hole you have punched, through the end hole at _a_ (_fig. 4_), so that the switch will move easily on it.

At _b._ (_fig. 3._), where your two tracks come together, you must put pegs (_b. b._) to keep the switch from moving too far either way, and throwing your train off. Also, from this point, the ties must be long enough to hold the side track till it is clear of the regular track (_fig. 3_). The curve of this side track is made, of course, by the directions for making a curve. The last special tie at _c_ (_fig. 3_) must run out far enough to take a hold of, to move the switch.

TO MAKE A FROG.

At the point where the rails cross (_d_, _fig. 3._) you will need a frog, to allow your train to go smoothly over. To make this, you cut your side rails square off at _d_, and begin it again on the inside of the rail, leaving a space of a quarter of an inch open to let the flange of your car wheels pass through.

Also, you must cut a notch in your regular track at the same point, so that the wheels on trains switching off may go through (_fig. 4_).

Now your track is ready, you may begin on the train; and first the trucks.

TO MAKE THE TRUCKS.

For wheels you need a lot of rather large spools with quite thick shanks, unless you can afford to have brass or wooden ones turned for you. The best spools come in the shops of New York, with French sewing cotton, and next best are those which hold the knitting silk, so much used nowadays by ladies.

Ask your mother and sisters, and all your fancy-work loving friends, to save their spools for you, and it will not be long before you have enough.

Saw each spool into three pieces, as at _a, a_ (_fig. 5_). The outsides form the wheels with their flanges _c, c,_ and the middle piece _b_, you will need later.

Now for axles, the best are cheap lead pencils (cost one cent each), but you can use common skewers such as butchers use, whittled down to fit. The axles are to fit tightly into the wheels, and turn with them.

Now take a block an inch thick, four inches long, and two and a half wide, to hold the wheels. In each corner of the underside of the block, three quarters of an inch from the end, screw a very light wire screw ring (or screw eye) with a ring a half-inch in diameter.

The axles run through these rings with the flanges of the wheels next to the block, to run inside the track.

Next comes the car itself.

TO MAKE THE CARS.

Cigar boxes are nice for cars, being already very neatly made. You can get at the cigar stores, at small cost, if not as a gift, any number of boxes with square ends, that is, with the ends of the box as high as they are wide. After you have washed off the paper, get two boards, one a quarter or three eighths of an inch thick, and the other somewhat thinner, both being the width of the box. Saw off pieces three inches longer than the boxes, for platform and roof.

First fasten your trucks under the thicker board, which is the bottom. To do this, bore a gimlet hole exactly through the middle of each truck block; put a six-penny nail from the bottom, first through the hole in the truck block, then through the cast-off part of a spool (_b_, _fig. 5_), or half of it if too thick, or a small twist spool a half-inch high. Nail one to each end of the board loosely, so it will turn.

Now, carefully take apart your cigar box, and mark on each long side a row of windows, like a passenger car, and in each end piece mark a door. Saw them out on a jig saw. (If you have no saw you can paint windows on the outside.)

After cutting the windows and doors, put the box together again, with the brads which held it before, and laying it on to the platform board, so that each end of the board projects for a platform, nail them together. Then open the cover (which must never be broken off) and nail the roof board on to it in the same way; that is, so it will project at each end. Use brads for this nailing. The object of fastening the roof to the cover is that you may open your car and fill it with passengers if you choose.

TO MAKE THE COUPLINGS.

Take pieces of stiff copper wire three inches long, and with pliers bend over one end of each to form a hook, and the other ends into a small ring. Turning your car upside down, lay one of these wires in the middle of the end, with only the hook sticking out, and fasten it by a small screw through the ring (_fig. 6_); do the same at the other end, and then with some small brass curtain rings, which cost two or three cents a dozen, you can couple your cars nicely.

Baggage and freight cars you can make in the same way, only cutting one large door in the side. You can make the cars as showy as you please, with paint of different colors, and finish them with a piece of muslin glued part way over the windows inside for shades. And now last comes the engine.

TO MAKE THE ENGINE.

For the foundation take a board one foot long, and three inches wide, which I will call the platform. To make the boiler, have a cylinder turned of wood, two and a half inches in diameter, and eight inches long; or take a square piece of that size and shave it down yourself to a cylinder; or—what is less trouble, and costs little—have a tinner make one for you, open at both ends, of course.

The one I will describe, since it is the most simple to make, is the wooden one. Nail it to the platform board in such a way that the board will project in front one inch. You will have to nail it from the bottom of the board.

Now take a three-quarter-inch auger and bore a hole one inch deep, in the top of the boiler, one half inch from the front end. This is to receive the smoke stack. To make the smoke stack, get a piece of dowelling three quarters of an inch thick, and four inches long, or use a bit of broom handle of that length. Shave the end down till it fits nicely into the hole on top of the boiler. Have it reach to the bottom of the hole, so as to be firm, and leave three inches standing up.