CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SILVERWARE RETURNED.

The sabbath morning dawned cool, breezy and delightful, and the maiden twin sisters, Misses Annie and Lizzie Perkinpine, made their preparations for driving to the village church, just as they had been in the habit of doing for many years.

It required a storm of unusual violence to keep them from the Sunday service, which was more edifying to the good souls than any worldly entertainment could have been.

They were not among those whose health permits them to attend secular amusements, but who invariably feel "indisposed" when their spiritual duties are involved.

"I was afraid, sister," said Annie, "that when our silver was stolen, the loss would weigh so heavily upon me that I would not be able to enjoy the church service as much as usual, but I am thankful that it made no difference with me; how was it with _you_?"

"I could not help feeling disturbed for some days," was the reply, "for it _was_ a loss indeed, but, when we have so much to be grateful for, how wrong it is to repine----"

"What's that?" interrupted the other, hastening to the window as she heard the rattle of carriage wheels; "some one is coming here as sure as I live."

"The folks must have forgot that it is the Sabbath," was the grieved remark of the other.

"But this is something out of the common. Heigho!"

This exclamation was caused by the sight of Cyrus Sutton, as he leaped lightly out of the wagon and tied his horse, while Fred Sheldon seemed to be tugging at something on the floor of the vehicle, which resisted his efforts.

Mr. Sutton, having fastened the horse, went to the help of the youngster, and the next moment the two approached the house bearing a considerable burden.

"My gracious!" exclaimed Aunt Lizzie, throwing up her hands, and ready to sink to the floor in her astonishment; "they have got our silverware."

"You are right," added her sister, "they have the whole six pieces, slop-jar, sugar bowl, cream pitcher--not one of the six missing. They have them _all_; _now_ we can go to church and enjoy the sermon more than ever."

The massive service of solid silver quaintly fashioned and carved by the puffy craftsmen of Amsterdam, who wrought and toiled when sturdy old Von Tromp was pounding the British tars off Goodwin Sands, more than two centuries ago, was carried into the house with considerable effort and set on the dining-room table, while for a minute or two the owners could do nothing but clasp and unclasp their hands and utter exclamations of wonder and thankfulness that the invaluable heirlooms had at last come back to them.

The detective and lad looked smilingly at the ladies, hardly less pleased than they.

"Where did you find them?" asked Aunt Lizzie, addressing herself directly to Mr. Carter, as was natural for her to do.

The detective pointed to the boy and said:

"Ask him."

"Why, what can Fred know about it?" inquired the lady, beaming kindly upon the blushing lad.

"He knows everything, for it was not I, but he, who found them."

"Why, Fred, how can that be?"

"I found them in an old tree in the woods," replied the little fellow, blushing to his ears. "This gentleman helped me to bring them here, for I never could have lugged them alone."

"Of course you couldn't, but since you have earned the reward, you shall have it. To-day is the holy Sabbath, and it would be wrong, therefore, to engage in any business, but come around early to-morrow morning and we will be ready."

"And I want to say," said Aunt Annie, pinching the chubby cheek of the happy youngster, "that there isn't any one in the whole world that we would rather give the reward to than you."

"And there is none that it will please me more to see receive it," was the cordial remark of Mr. Carter, who, respecting the scruples of the good ladies, was about to bid them good-morning, when Aunt Lizzie, walking to the window, said:

"I wonder what is keeping Michael."

"I am afraid he will not be here to-day," said the officer.

"Why not?" asked the sisters together in astonishment.

"Well, to tell you the truth, he is in trouble."

"Why, what has Michael done."

"Nothing himself, but do you remember the tramp who came here last Monday night, and, after eating at your table, stole, or rather helped to steal, your silver service?"

"Of course we remember him."

"Well, that tramp was Michael's son Bud, who had put on false whiskers and disguised himself so that you never suspected who he was. Bud is a bad boy and is now in jail."

"What is the world coming to?" gasped Aunt Lizzie, sinking into a chair with clasped hands, while her sister was no less shocked. In their kindness of heart they would have been glad to lose a large part of the precious silverware could it have been the means of restoring the boy to honesty and innocence.

But that was impossible, and the sisters could only grieve over the depravity of one whom they had trusted.

They asked nothing about the money that was taken with the silver, but Mr. Carter handed more than one-half of the sum to them.

"Bud had spent considerable, but he gave me this; Kincade declared that he hadn't a penny left, but I don't believe him; this will considerably decrease your loss."

At this moment, there was a resounding knock on the door, and in response to the summons to enter, Archie Jackson appeared, very red in the face and puffing hard.

Bowing hastily to the ladies, he said impatiently to the officer:

"It seems to me you're deef."

"Why so?"

"I've been chasing and yelling after you for half a mile, but you either pretended you didn't hear me or maybe you didn't."

"I assure you, Archie, that I would have stopped on the first call, if I had heard you, for you know how glad I am always to have your company, and how little we could have done without your help."

The detective knew how to mollify the fussy constable, whose face flushed a still brighter red, under the compliments of his employer, as he may be termed.

"I knowed you was coming here," explained Archie, "and so I come along, so as to vouch to these ladies for you."

"You are very kind, but they seem to be satisfied with Master Fred's indorsement, for he has the reputation of being a truthful lad."

"I'm glad to hear it; how far, may I ask," he continued, clearing his throat, "have you progressed in the settlement of the various questions and complications arising from the nefarious transaction on Monday evening last?"

"The plate has been returned to the ladies, as your eyes must have told you; but, since this is the first day of the week, the reward will not be handed over to Fred until to-morrow morning.

"Accept my congratulations, sir, accept my congratulations," said the constable, stepping ardently toward the boy and effusively extending his hand.

The ladies declined to accept the money which the detective offered, insisting that it belonged to him. He complied with their wishes, and, since it was evident that Archie had hastened over solely to make sure he was not forgotten in the general distribution of wages, the detective handed him one hundred dollars, which was received with delight, since it was far more than the constable had ever earned in such a short time in all his life before.

"Before I leave," said Mr. Carter, addressing the ladies, "I must impress one important truth upon you."

"You mean about the sin of stealing," said Aunt Annie; "Oh, we have thought a good deal about _that_."

The officer smiled in spite of himself, but quickly became serious again.

"You mistake me. I refer to your practice of keeping such valuable plate as loosely as you have been in the habit of doing for so many years. The fact of the robbery will cause it to be generally known that your silver can be had by any one who chooses to enter your house and take it, and you may rest assured, that if you leave it exposed it won't be long before it will vanish again, beyond the reach of all the Fred Sheldons and detectives in the United States."

"Your words are wise," said Aunt Annie, "and I have made up my mind that we must purchase two or three more locks and put them on the chest."

"I think I know a better plan than _that_," Aunt Lizzie hastened to say.

"What's that?" inquired the visitor.

"We'll get Michael to bring some real heavy stones to the house and place them on the lid of the chest, so as to hold it down."

"Neither of your plans will work," said Mr. Carter solemnly; "you must either place your silver in the bank, where you can get it whenever you wish, or you must buy a burglar-proof safe and lock it up in that every night."

"I have heard of such things," said Aunt Lizzie, "and I think we will procure a safe, for it is more pleasant to know that the silver is in the house than it is to have it in the bank, miles off, where it will be so hard to take and bring it. What do you think, sister?"

"The same as you do."

"Then we will buy the safe."

"And until you do so, the silver must be deposited in the bank; though, as this is Sunday, you will have to keep it in the house until the morrow."

"I shall not feel afraid to do that," was the serene response of sister Lizzie, "because no man, even if he is wicked enough to be a robber, would be so abandoned as to commit the crime on _Sunday_."

The beautiful faith of the good soul was not shocked by any violent results of her trust. Though the silver remained in her house during the rest of that day and the following night, it was not disturbed, and on the morrow was safely delivered to the bank, where it stayed until the huge safe was set up in the old mansion, in which the precious stuff was deposited, and where at this writing it still remains, undisturbed by any wicked law-breakers.

You may not know it, but it is a fact that there are circuses traveling over the country to-day whose ticket-sellers receive no wages at all, because they rely upon the short change and the bad money which they can work off on their patrons. Not only that, but I know of a case where a man paid twenty dollars monthly for the privilege of selling tickets for a circus.

From this statement, I must except any and all enterprises with which my old friend, P. T. Barnum, has any connection. Nothing could induce him to countenance such dishonesty.

Trained in this pernicious school, Jacob Kincade did not hesitate to launch out more boldly, and finally he formed a partnership with two other knaves, for the purpose of circulating counterfeit money, engaging now and then in the side speculation of burglary, as was the case at Tottenville, where he arrived a few hours in advance of the show itself.

He and his two companions were deserving of no sympathy, and each was sentenced to ten years in the State prison.

The youth of Bud Heyland, his honest repentance and the grief of his father and mother aroused great sympathy for him. It could not be denied that he was a bad boy, who had started wrong, and was traveling fast along the downward path. In truth, he had already gone so far that it may be said the goal was in sight when he was brought up with such a round turn.

A fact greatly in his favor was apparent to all--he had been used as a cat's paw by others. He was ignorant of counterfeit money, though easily persuaded to engage in the scheme of passing it upon others. True, the proposition to rob the Perkinpine sisters came from him, but in that sad affair also he was put forward as the chief agent, while his partner took good care to keep in the background.

Bud saw the fearful precipice on whose margin he stood. His parents were almost heart-broken, and there could be no doubt of his anxiety to atone, so far as possible, for the evil he had done.

Fortunately, the judge was not only just but merciful, and, anxious to save the youth, he discharged him under a "suspended sentence," as it was called, a most unusual proceeding under the circumstances, but which proved most beneficent, since the lad never gave any evidence of a desire to return to his evil ways.

As for Master Fred Sheldon, I almost feel as though it is unnecessary to tell you anything more about him, for, with such a mother, with such natural inclinations, and with such training, happiness, success and prosperity are as sure to follow as the morning is to succeed the darkness of night.

I tell you, boys, you may feel inclined to slight the old saying that honesty is the best policy, but no truer words were ever written, and you should carry them graven on your hearts to the last hours of your life.

Fred grew into a strong, sturdy boy, who held the respect and esteem of the neighborhood. The sisters Perkinpine, as well as many others, took a deep interest in him and gave him help in many ways, and often when the boy was embarrassed by receiving it.

The time at last came, when our "Young Hero" bade good-by to his loved mother, and went to the great city of New York to carve his fortune. There he was exposed to manifold more temptations than ever could be the case in his simple country home, but he was encased in the impenetrable armor of truthfulness, honesty, industry and right principles, and from this armor all the darts of the great adversary "rolled off like rustling rain."

Fred is now a man engaged in a prosperous business in the metropolis of our country, married to a loving and helpful wife, who seems to hold the sweetest and tenderest place in his affection, surpassed by that of no one else, but equalled by her who has been his guardian angel from infancy--HIS MOTHER.

THE WALNUT ROD.

BY R. F. COLWELL.

My father was a physician of good practice in a wealthy quarter of Philadelphia, and we boys, four in number, were encouraged by him to live out of doors as much as possible. We played the national game, rowed, belonged to a well-equipped private gymnasium, and were hale and hearty accordingly; but especially did we prize the spring vacation which was always spent at our grandfather's farm, a beautiful spot in the Juanita valley, shut in by hills and warmed by the sunshine, which always seemed to us to shine especially bright on our annual visit, as if to make up for the cloudy and stormy weather of March.

At the time of which I speak, the anticipations before starting were especially joyous. Harry, Carl and Francis, aged respectively eleven, fourteen and sixteen, had after earnest efforts in their school work been promoted each to the class above his former rank, and were in consequence proud and happy, though tired. I, Royal by name, a junior in a well-known New England college, working steadily in the course, was not unwilling to spend a week or two in quiet, searching the well-stored library which had the best that three generations of book lovers could buy on its shelves, and before whose cheery open fire we gathered at evening for stories and counsel from older and wiser minds.

We packed our bags, took our rods--for trout fishing was often good, even in early April, in a well-stocked brook that ran along willow-fringed banks in the south pasture--and boarded the train. At the station the hired man met us with a pair of Morgan horses than which I do not remember to have seen better from that day to this, and we were soon at the hall door, shaking hands with grandmother and grandfather, and, to our pleasant surprise, with Aunt Celia, who, unexpectedly to us, was at home. She was a widow, having lost her husband in the Mexican war, and was a teacher of modern languages in a girl's private school in southern New York. She was one of those rare natures that the heart instinctively trusts, and no one of the many grandchildren hesitated about telling Aunt Celia his or her troubles, always confident that something would be done toward making the rough place smooth or gaining the object sought.

We had a cozy tea. The special good things that only grandmothers seem to remember that a boy likes were found beside our plates, and we did them ample justice. This was Saturday evening. The next morning we occupied the family pew, and raised our young voices in the familiar hymns so clearly and joyously, that I remember to have seen many of the older people looking in our direction, and one old lady remarked as we were going out, "Henry's boys take after him for their good voices." Father had led the village choir for several years before he went away from his home to the medical school.

The next morning we took our rods and went off for a long tramp. We fished some, and between us brought home enough for next morning's breakfast. The next day we climbed the favorite hills and gathered four large bunches of that spring beauty _Epigæa repens_, arbutus, or May flowers, whose pink cups and delicious woody fragrance we entrusted to damp moss, and sent the box with our cards to mother, for we knew how she loved the flowers she had picked from these same hills. Their scent comes back to me now, though it is many years since I have picked one. Carl and Francis were just at the age when feats of daring were a delight to them. Harry was of a naturally timid nature, modest, and lacking sometimes in confidence, and so was often urged on by the other two, when he shrank from attempting anything, by such expressions as "Don't be a coward, Harry!" "A girl could do that!" which, by such a sensitive spirit, were felt more than blows of the lash would be. When I was by, the boys would not indulge in these trials of strength or endurance, but in my absence I knew they hurt his tender feelings by their taunts, though really they did not intend to. A boy looks for what he calls courage in his playmate, and, if he does not see what apparently corresponds to his own, he thinks him a coward, while the braver of the two may really be the more diffident and shrinking one.

It was Saturday afternoon; we were to leave Monday morning, and I had gone to the post-office to mail a letter to our father, telling him to expect us Monday noon. Behind the barn was a large oak tree from whose trunk a long branch ran horizontally toward the shed roof, though at a considerable distance above it. The boys had been pitching quoits near the tree, and, having finished the game, looked about for some more exciting sport. Francis thought he saw it, so he climbed the tree, crept out on the limb, hung by the arms a moment and then dropped, with something of a jar, to be sure, but safely, on the roof, where he sat with a satisfied look. He called to Carl to follow him. Carl, though unwilling to try it, was still more unwilling to acknowledge any superiority of his older brother in that line, so he, too, climbed up, crept out, and, when he had found what he thought was a good place, and had called out two or three times, "Fran, shall I strike all right?" dropped and was happy. Then they both called to Harry, "Come on, Hal," but he, overcome by the fear he had felt that they would fall while attempting it, refused to make the trial. When they began to speak about what "a girl could do," grandfather came out of the back door, where he had been a silent spectator of the whole affair, patted Harry on the shoulder, assuring him that he'd more good sense than Carl and Francis together, and bade the climbers come down at once.

Grandfather was a man of few words, and they obeyed. Nothing more was said. I returned soon after. We had tea as usual and adjourned to the library, where a genial fire of hickory logs warmed and lighted the room. Grandmother and grandfather sat in their armchairs on each side of the broad hearth. I occupied an antique chair I had found in the attic, and which I was to carry home for my own room. Carl and Francis sat on old-fashioned crickets, while Aunt Celia had her low willow rocker in front of the fire, and Harry leaned against her, with her arm around his neck.

We remained silent for some moments, when grandfather said quietly, "Celia, hadn't you better tell the boys the story of the walnut rod?" We looked up in swift surprise. The walnut rod spoken of was one that had rested, ever since we could remember, across a pair of broad antlers over the fireplace, with an old sword and two muskets that had seen service at Bunker Hill and Yorktown. Often had we, in boyish curiosity, asked what it was, and why it was kept there, tied by a piece of faded ribbon to one of the antlers, but had always been put off with "by-and-by," and "when you are older." Now, when we saw a chance to know about it, we chorused, "Oh, yes, Aunt Celia, do tell, please," and she quietly saying, "I suppose they can learn its lesson now," began:

"I was, as you know, the only girl of the family, and also the youngest child, your father being two years older. There were few neighbors when we first came here to live; indeed, our nearest was fully a quarter of a mile away, so we saw few beside our own family. Your uncles, John, William, and Elijah, were several years older, and so were busy helping father in clearing the land and in its care. Accordingly, Henry and I were much together. We studied the same book at our mother's knee, played with the same toys, and were together so much that the older boys sometimes called us 'mother's two girls.' But your father, though tender and gentle in appearance, had a brave heart under his little jacket, and I knew better than they, that he was no coward. They called him so sometimes, thinking, because he seemed fearful about some things they counted trifles, that he really had no courage. I'm afraid boys have forgotten nowadays, that mere daring is no test of true courage." Here Francis and Carl felt their faces grow hot, but Aunt Celia said no more and went on.

"It was one day in April, very like to-day, that we all went upon the side hill to pick May flowers. Henry was nearly twelve years old--his birthday, as you know, is next month--and I was ten. It had always been a habit, when people went out in the spring for flowers, to cut a stout stick, to be used partly as a walking-stick, and partly as a protection against snakes, which were often seen, but which usually escaped before they could be reached. Old people told of rattlesnakes that used to be seen, but they were very scarce, even then, and none of us had ever seen one.

"We all had sticks, cut from a bunch of hickory saplings that grew beside the path, and your uncle Elijah said, as we were going along, 'I wonder what Hen would do if he heard a rattlesnake; turn pale and faint away, I guess,' at which the others laughed loudly, but Henry said nothing, though I saw his lips quiver at the taunt.

"We found the flowers, thick and beautiful, just as you have this week. We picked all we wished, ate the lunch which mother had put up for us, and were sitting on a large, flat stone, talking of starting for home. I saw a bit of pretty moss under some twigs at the edge of the stone, and stepped down to get it, when suddenly a peculiar whir-r-r, that we never had heard before, struck our ears. All the boys started up, looking about eagerly. The bushes at my side parted slightly, and the flattened head of a large rattlesnake protruded, and again came that dreadful sound. Then the boys jumped from the rock, each in a different direction, and screamed, rather than cried, 'Jump, Celia, it's a rattlesnake!'

"I could not move. I must have been paralyzed by fear, for, though I was but a child, I could not misunderstand my danger. Of course, what I am telling happened in a few seconds, but I remember hearing the swish that a stick makes when it cuts through the air, and the horrible head, with its forked, vibrating tongue, was severed from the writhing body, and fell at my feet.

"Harry had quietly stepped down by my side, and with his stick--the one you see on the antlers yonder--had saved me from a dreadful death. There he stood, pale and trembling to be sure, but with such a light in his blue eyes, that none of his older brothers dared ever call him coward, or girl, again. We walked quietly home, bringing the body with its horrible horny scales to show to father and mother. I shall never forget how they clasped us in their arms as they listened to the story, and how I wondered, as a child will, if everybody, when they were grown up, cried when they were very glad.

"Nothing was ever said to the older boys. They had learned what true bravery was, the scorn of self-protection when another needed help, and they have been better for it ever since. Your father has never had the story told to you, thinking that some time it might also teach you the lesson that true courage from its root word, the Latin _cor_, and down through the French _coeur_, is both below and above any outward manifestations, and belongs to the heart.

"The snake must have come out into the sun from his den under the rock, and was not as active as in warmer weather, or the bite would have followed the first alarm. There has never since been seen another in this locality."

We sat in silence for awhile, and then grandfather spoke, laying his hand on Harry's curls: "I seem to see my boy Henry again in his son, Harry. I hope he will grow up into the same brave, though tender manhood of his father, and remember, boys," he said, turning toward Francis and Carl, "that recklessness and a desire to be thought bold and daring are not an index of true courage and often have no connection with it. If the walnut rod teaches you this lesson, its story will be of great value to you."

HOW THE HATCHET WAS BURIED.

BY OCTAVIA CARROLL.

A feud, as fierce as that between the Montagues and Capulets, had for several years raged between the boys of Valleytown and the country lads living on the breezy hills just above the small village. Originating in a feeling of jealousy, it waxed hotter and more bitter with every game of ball and every examination at the "Academy" where they were forced to meet the rival factions, tauntingly dubbing each other "Lilies of the Valley" and "Ground Moles," while if a Lily chanced to whip a Mole in a fair fight all the town-bred youths immediately stood on their heads for joy, and if a Mole went above a Lily in class, the entire hill company crowed as loudly as the chanticleers of the barnyard. By general consent two boys had come to be considered the leaders of the respective factions; handsome, quick-witted Roy Hastings of the former, and stronger, bright Carl Duckworth of the latter; while it was an annoyance to each that their sisters had struck up a "bosom friendship" and stubbornly refused to share in their brothers' feud.

"It is so absurd in Roy," said Helen Hastings, "to want me not to visit Maizie, whom I love so dearly, just because one of her family has beaten him at baseball and shot more pigeons this spring."

"And Helen shall come to tea as often as she likes to put up with our plain fare," declared little Miss Duckworth, "even if Carl does look like a thunder-cloud all supper time and has hardly enough politeness to pass the butter."

So matters stood when, one evening in early June, the commander of the heights' coterie summoned his followers to a meeting in the loft of an old barn on his father's estate, that was only used as a storehouse since a better one had been built.

"Hello, fellows, what is this pow-wow about?" asked agile Mark Tripp, as he sprang up a rickety ladder and popped his head through the square opening in the attic floor.

"Dun'no; some bee, Duckworth, here, has buzzing round in his bonnet," replied lazy Hugh Blossom from the hay, where he reclined. "It takes the captain to have 'happy thoughts,'" while, playfully pulling a refractory lock of hair sticking out from Carl's head, he gaily chanted:

"And the duck with the feather curled over his back, He leads all the others, with his quack! quack! quack!"

"Good enough! All right, Ducky, proceed with your quacking! Let's know what's up! Are the 'low-ly lil-is of the val-ly' once more on the war path? And to what do they challenge us--a spelling match or a swimming race?"

"To neither. Those very superior posies are about to seek glory in another way. I have learned from a most reliable source that they are now hoarding all their pocket money in order to astonish the natives. In fact, fellers, they intend to fresco Valleytown a decided carmine on the 'Glorious Fourth,' and we have got to make the hills hum to quench 'em."

"What form is their celebration to take?" asked little Peter Wheatly.

"Fireworks, principally. Real stunners! Not just a few Roman candles and sky-rockets, but flower-pots throwing up colored balls that burst into stars, zigzagging serpents, and all sorts of things, such as have never been seen round here before. Why, our big bonfire and giant crackers will be nowhere."

"Right you are there, Cap," said Hugh. "They will have all the country down on the Green patting them on the back for their public spirit, while we occupy a back seat. It's a pretty bright move for the Lilies, and I don't see how we can prevent it."

"Get up a counter-attraction. Pyro--pyro--what do you call 'em will make a good deal finer show from Round Knob than down yonder in the dale."

"Sure. But where are your pyrotechnics to come from?"

"From the city, of course. See here, I wrote to a firm there as soon as I learned the Lilies' secret, and they sent me a price-list." Young Duckworth produced a very gay red and yellow circular, but the boys only looked at each other in blank amazement. The hillside farmers were nearly all land poor, gaining but a bare subsistence out of the rocky New England soil and seldom had a dime, much less dollars, to squander on mere amusement.

"Guess you think we are Rothschilds or Vanderbilts," snickered small Peter.

"Pennies always burn a hole in my pocket and drop right out," said Mark.

"I might chip in a copper cent and a nickel with a dig in it," drawled Hugh, and there was no one else who could do better.

"Well, I know you are an impecunious lot," continued Carl, "but next week the strawberries will be dead ripe. If you fellows will only be patriotic and pitch in and pick for the cause we can put Roy Hastings and his top-lofty crowd to the blush by getting up a really respectable show with a 'piece' as a topper off. I don't believe the Valleyites ever thought of a 'piece.'"

"What sort of a piece?" asked Bud Perkins.

"Why, a fancy piece of fireworks, of course. Just listen to what Powder & Co. offer!" and Carl read aloud: "'Realistic spectacle of Mother Goose, in peaked hat and scarlet cloak, with her gander by her side. The head of George Washington, the Father of his Country, surrounded by thirteen stars. Very fine. Superb figure of Christopher Columbus landing from his Spanish galleon upon the American shore. One of our most magnificent designs."

"There, don't that sound prime? They're expensive, awfully expensive, but we can economize on the rockets and little things to come out strong, in a blaze of glory, at the end. I warrant a Mother Goose or, better yet, a Washington would shut up the Lilies' leaves in a jiffy."

"Or Christopher Columbus--I vote for old Chris," shouted Mark.

"Yes, yes, Chris and his galleon," chorused the others.

"It is the dearest of them all," remarked Carl, somewhat dubiously.

"No matter, 'Chris or nothing,' say we." So it was decided, and before the boys parted they had all agreed, if they could win their parents' consent, to hire out for the berry-picking and to contribute every cent thus earned toward the Fourth of July celebration.

There is no spur like competition, and for the next three weeks the ambitious youths devoted themselves heart, and soul, and fingers to the cause; but the pickers had their reward, when, the berry harvest over, they found they could send a tolerably satisfactory order to Powder & Co., and when, on the third of July, a great box arrived by express, was unpacked, and its contents secretly, and under the cover of night, stored away in the lower part of Farmer Duckworth's discarded barn, their exuberant delight burst forth in sundry ecstatic somersaults and Indian-like dances.

It may be, however, that their exultation might have been tempered with caution had they been aware of two figures gliding stealthily through the darkness without, and known that the case, bearing the name of the city firm, when it was taken from the train, had not escaped the sharp eyes of Roy Hastings and his chum Ed Spafford.

"How do you suppose they ever raised the money to buy all those fireworks?" asked one shadow of another shadow, as they flitted down the hill.

"I don't know, confound 'em! But I do know their show is better than ours, and something has got to be done!"

"Yes, indeed, and surely, Roy, there must be some way!"

"There always is where there is a will, and--and--_matches_!"

Boom, boom, boom! Old Captain Stone's ancient cannon announced the advent of another Independence Day shortly after midnight, and Young America was quickly abroad with the Chinese cracker and torpedo.

Helen Hastings disliked the deafening racket of the village and, therefore, early beat a retreat to the hills, determined to enjoy the day in her own fashion with Maizie, who welcomed her with open arms.

"I am so glad you have come, Nell, dear, for I was feeling as blue as your sash, if it is the Fourth of July!"

"Why, darling, what is the matter?"

"Oh, I am so worried because pa is worried. He don't act a bit like his dear, jolly, old self, but goes round with a long face and can neither eat nor sleep. Ma says it is because a mortgage or something is coming due, and the crops have been so bad for several years that he is afraid he may have to sell the farm and move out West. It would just break my heart to leave this place."

"So it would mine. But there, Maizie, it is foolish to be troubled about what may never happen. It is so warm let us find a nice cool spot and finish the book we commenced the other day."

"There is a good current of air through the loft of the old barn. We will go there if you can scramble up the ladder."

This, with some assistance, Helen succeeded in doing, and the two girls were soon nestling in the sweet, new-mown hay.

"Eleven o'clock," announced Helen, consulting her little chatelaine watch as they finally laid down the entertaining story they had been reading, "and I am both sleepy and thirsty."

"Well, my dear, lie back and take a nap and I will go and make lemonade for us both."

"Really? Oh, that will be delicious!" and throwing herself back on the fragrant mow she closed her eyes as her blithe, hospitable friend skipped off toward the house.

The twittering of the swallows in the eaves and the hum of the insects in the meadows without were curiously soothing, and the fair maid fell into a light doze from which, however, she was rudely awakened by a terrific explosion. She sprang to her feet in alarm to find the floor heaving like the deck of a ship at sea and feel the tumble-down building rocking as though shaken to its very foundation.

"What has happened! Is it an earthquake?" she gasped, rushing to the ladder-way; but she started back in affright at sight of a mass of flame and flying, fiery objects below. "Oh, this is terrible!" Was she, Helen Hastings--her father's pride, her brothers' pet--to meet a violent death here in this lonely spot? Expecting every instant to have the boards give way beneath her, she flew to the window and, in her desperation, would have leaped out, regardless of a huge pile of stones beneath, had not the voice of Maizie at that moment reached her ear calling: "Don't jump, Helen; don't jump! You will be killed! Wait! courage! I am going for help." Even as she faltered hesitatingly, her strength failed, her senses reeled and she fell fainting to the ground.

Across lots from Round Knob, where they had been preparing for the evening exhibition, came Carl Duckworth, Hugh Blossom and Bud Perkins. They were in high spirits, discussing with animation the anticipated fun, when Bud suddenly stopped short, asking, "Who are those fellows making tracks so fast down the road?"

"Looks like Roy Hastings and Ed Spafford," replied Hugh. "Though what brings them this way on such a day as this puzzles me."

"I hope they haven't got wind of our plans and been up to some mischief," said Carl, uneasily, instinctively quickening his footsteps.

A moment later, as they entered the farm gate, the explosion that had awakened Helen made them also start and gaze at each other in dismay. Then a howl of mingled rage, grief and astonishment burst from the trio as through the open door of the old barn shot a confused medley of rockets, pin-wheels, snakes and grasshoppers, popping and fizzing madly in the garish sunlight; a howl that culminated in a shriek when whirling and spinning out whizzed the famous "piece," the Landing of Columbus, thrown by the concussion far upon the grass, where it went off in a highly erratic manner, poor Christopher appearing perfectly demoralized as he stood on his head in the brilliant galleon, with his feet waving amid a galaxy of stars.

"All our three weeks' labor and all our money gone up in smoke!" groaned Bud, flinging himself down in an agony of despair.

"And it is Roy Hastings' mean, dastardly work," growled Hugh; while Carl turned pale with wrath and shook his fist in a way that boded no good to his enemy. Indeed, at that instant, he felt that revenge, swift and telling, would be the sweetest thing in life.

Truly, then, it seemed the very irony of fate, when, from amid the wreaths of smoke pouring from the upper loft window, emerged for a brief second a girlish, white-robed figure, with beseeching, outstretched hands, that paused, swayed, then fell back and disappeared, while Maizie rushed toward them crying, "Oh, Carl, Carl! The old barn is on fire, and Helen is in there!"

"What! Roy Hastings' sister?" and Hugh actually laughed aloud.

"Serves the mean rascal right, too, if she was killed, for he would have no one but himself to blame," said Bud Perkins, whose bark was always worse than his bite, and who was really as kind-hearted a chap as ever lived.

"Oh, you bad, cruel boys!" exclaimed Maizie; "but Carl, I know, will not be so wicked," and she turned imploringly to her brother, in whose mind a fierce struggle was going on. In a flash, he saw his foe bowed and crushed with remorse, a "paying back" far beyond anything he could have dreamed of! Besides, the risk was tremendous, and why should he endanger his life? But the next moment humanity triumphed, and shouting, "We can't stand idle and see a girl perish before our eyes! So here goes," he sped off toward the burning building, stripping off his jacket, as he ran, which he plunged into a barrel of water and then wrapped closely about his head. Thus protected, he bravely dashed through the flames lapping at him with their fiery tongues. His breath came in short, quick pants, he was nearly suffocated, and falling rafters warned him that he had no time to spare. Valiantly, however, he struggled to the already charred ladder and groped his way up it, until, gasping and exhausted, he reached the window with the unconscious girl in his arms, as the fire was eating through the floor at his feet.

To the anxious watchers outside, it appeared an eternity before the lad reached the window and deftly caught the rope they had ready to toss to him. With trembling fingers he knotted this about Helen's waist, gently let her down into the arms of Bud and Hugh and then prepared to descend himself, when a groan of horror from the onlookers rent the air; there was a quiver, a sudden giving way, a deafening crash and roar. The flooring had at length succumbed to the destroying element and gone down. Mrs. Duckworth sank on her knees sobbing. "Oh, my boy! my boy!" and Maizie hid her face. But, as the smoke cleared away, the groan changed to a joyous shout and all looked up to behold the youth clinging to the casement, which was still upheld by two feeble supports.

Hugh sprang forward. "Carl, drop! Let yourself drop," he called. "We will catch you," and Carl, as a great darkness overwhelmed him, dropped like a dead weight and was borne, a begrimed and senseless burden, to his own little room in the cozy old homestead.

Summer was over ere a mere wraith of sturdy, lively Carl Duckworth was able to creep down stairs to sit on the veranda and gaze listlessly out upon the mountain landscape in its early autumn dress. But, after weary weeks of pain and anxiety, he was on the mend, and there was something of the old merriment in his laugh when he caught sight of a row of urchins, perched on the fence like a motley flock of birds, singing with hearty good will, "See, the Conquering Hero Comes!" and he was surprised to recognize in the welcoming choristers many "Lilies" of Valleytown, as well as his own familiar friends.

It was something of an astonishment, too, to have Roy Hastings hurry forward to offer his hand and say:

"I can't tell you, Duckworth, how glad I am to see you out again and only wish you would give me a good sound kicking;" while surely there were tears in his eyes and a curious break in his voice.

It was a boy's way of begging pardon, but, being a boy, Carl understood, while as he looked into the other's white worn face, so changed since he saw it last, he dimly comprehended that there might be "coals of fire" which burn more sharply even than the blisters and stings that had caused him such days and nights of agony.

So the grasp he gave Roy was warm and cordial as he said, "Well, I'm not equal to much kicking yet, old fellow; but, for one, I am tired of this old feud and think it is time we buried the hatchet."

"Oh, I am so glad!" cried a merry voice in the doorway, and out danced Helen with her hands full of flowers. "You dear, heroic Carl. I have come to thank you, too, though I never, never can, for rescuing me on that dreadful day, and, as some small return, they have let me be the first to tell you of the silver lining hidden behind that cloud of smoke."

"What do you mean?" asked Carl, thoroughly mystified.

"I mean that Christopher Columbus and his combustible companions did a pretty good turn after all. They plowed up the ground under the old barn so well that when the rubbish was cleared away there came to light what promises to be the finest paint mine in the whole country."

"Paint mine!"

"Yes, sir. Non-inflammable, mineral paint that will not only save the farm, but, perhaps, make all our fortunes."

"It's true, Carl, every word true," laughed Maizie, who had stolen softly up. "Papa has had the ore analyzed, and is so happy he beams like a full moon. Judge Hastings, too, has been so kind, advancing funds, getting up a company and preparing to build a kiln. It has been quite the excitement of the summer in Valleytown."

"Well, well! This is glorious news! Hip, hip, hooray!" a feeble cheer that was echoed and re-echoed by the faction on the fence.

"Dear me, haven't you finished your revelations yet?" exclaimed Mark Tripp, suddenly tumbling up the steps. "For if you have the 'Lilies of the Valley' request the captain of the 'Ground Moles' and the young ladies to occupy the piazza chairs and witness a pyrotechnical display postponed from the Fourth of July, but now given in honor of the recovery of our esteemed citizen, Carl Duckworth, and of our Peace Jubilee."

All laughed at Mark's pompous little speech and hastened to take their places. So at last in a shower of golden sparks they buried the hatchet and the feud between Valleytown and Hillside ended forever amid a generous display of fire-works.

HANSCHEN AND THE HARES.

FROM THE GERMAN, BY ELLEN T. SULLIVAN.

Long ago, in a little house near a forest in Germany lived a shoemaker and his wife. They were poor but contented and happy; for they were willing to work and they had their snug little house and food enough for themselves and their little Hanschens.

"Oh! if Hanschen would only grow like other boys, I should be the happiest woman in the land," the mother used to say. "He is six years old, yet he can stand on the palm of my hand."

"Well, if he is not so big as some of our neighbors' boys, he is brighter than many of them," the father used to answer. Then the mother felt so glad she would dance around the room with Hans and say, "Yes, he is bright as a child can be and as spry too. When he runs around the room I can hardly catch him."

One day she said to her husband, "I am going to the forest meadow to cut fodder for the goat. The grass there is so sweet and juicy that, if the goat eats it, we shall have the richest milk for Hanschen. That will make him grow faster. I will take him with me; he can sit in the grass and play with the flowers."

"Very well," said the father; "take care that he does not stray away from you. Give him some clover blossoms to suck. We are too poor to buy candy for him."

Out through the green forest went Hanschen and his mother. The boy was so happy that his mother could hardly hold him, as he laughed and jumped and clapped his hands. He thought the blue sky was playing hide-and-seek with him through the treetops; that the birds were singing a welcome to him, and that the bees, the butterflies, and great dragon-flies were all glad to see him. When they came to the meadow his mother put him down and gave him some clover blossoms. Then she began to cut the grass and soon she was quite a way from Hanschen, who was entirely hidden by the tall grass.

While the mother was working Hanschen sat sucking his sweet clover blossoms. All at once he heard a rustling, and there, beside him were two little hares. He was not at all afraid. He nodded to them and said, "How do you do?" The little hares had never seen a child. They thought he was a hare, dressed up in a coat and having a different kind of face from their own. They stared at him a minute and then one said, "Hop! hop!" and sprang over a grass stalk. "Can you do that?" said they to Hanschen. "Yes, indeed!" said he, leaping quickly over a stalk, as he spoke. "Now," said the hares, "we shall have a fine time playing together." And a fine time they did have, leaping and racing until the sun was low in the west, and the little hares began to think of supper and bed.

"Come home with us; our father and mother will be good to you;" they said to Hanschen. So he leaped away with the little hares toward the green bushes where they lived.

Now there was another little hare, who had staid at home with his mother that day. His bright eyes were the first to see the three merry friends leaping toward the bushes. "Oh, mammy! mammy!" he cried: "Just look through the bushes. Did you ever see such a queer-looking hare as that little chap with my brothers?"

"Bring me my spectacles, child," said Mrs. Hare. "It may be the poor thing has been hurt. That terrible hunter is around again. He chased your poor father yesterday. Then that wicked old fox is prowling about, too. It may be that one of them hurt the poor little stranger so that he does not look natural. If so, I'll soon cure him by good nursing."

That was what kind Mrs. Hare said to her little son. He brought her spectacles, which she wiped and put on.

Then she cried out, "Why bless me! this is no hare! This is a human child! He is lost and his parents will be wild with grief for him. My children, I fear you led him astray. Tell just where you found him and we will carry him back there in the morning. It is so late now he must stay with us to-night."

"We thought he was a hare because he can spring and leap as well as we can. We found him in the forest meadow and we have had splendid fun together," said the little hares.

Then good Mrs. Hare gave Hanschen some hares' bread for his supper, and soon after she tucked him snugly in bed with her sons. Before putting him to bed she drew over him, a soft silky hare coat. It fitted him nicely from the two furry ears to the little stubby tail. The three little hares were delighted and said, "He's a hare now, isn't he, mammy?" "Well, dears, he does look just like one of you; but you must all lie still now and go to sleep for we must get up with the sun, to-morrow," said Mrs. Hare.

In the meantime Hanschen's mother had finished cutting the grass, and she looked for Hanschen and called him until it grew quite dark. Then she went home, weeping bitterly, and told her husband that their child was lost. Out ran the father then to look for his boy; but he could not find him. All that night the poor parents wept and moaned, while Hanschen was sleeping peacefully with the little hares.

The Hare family got up at daylight, and all of them put on their Sunday clothes, for Mr. Hare had said to his wife, "I want folks to see that their child has been with good company; so please put on your very best cap and brush all our children's coats until they shine. I'll wear a high collar and my tall silk hat, and you must tie my cravat in a nice bow."

When all were dressed they ate a good breakfast, locked up their green gate and started for the meadow.

They had scarcely reached the edge of the forest, when they heard Hanschen's mother calling, "Hanschen! Hanschen! darling!" "Here I am, mother;" cried he. "I hear him! I hear him! Oh husband! don't you?" said the mother. "I do hear his voice but I can see nothing except a little brown hare."

Hanschen laughed in delight--sprang forward and pulled off his furry coat. How surprised his father and mother were! By this time the Hare family had come up and Mr. Hare took off his hat and bowing very low, he said, "Mr. Man, this is my good wife and these youngsters are my three sons. Their mother and I try to teach them to do right, and they really are pretty good children. Two of them were playing around here yesterday, and invited your son to play with them, not knowing what sorrow and trouble they caused you by leading him astray. They brought him home with them last night. My good wife gave him plenty to eat; he slept with my sons and you see the fine suit of hare-clothes he has just taken off. I hope you will let him keep it to remember us by. It is a present from all of us. We are only hares but we have done by your child just what we should like you to do by one of our children if you should find one of them astray. And now, my dear sir, we will bid you farewell and go back to our home."

"Not yet! not yet!" cried Hanschen's father and mother. "Tell us, do you have sorrows or troubles? One good turn deserves another. We should be so glad to do something for you."

"Sorrows and troubles are plentiful in our lives," said Mr. Hare. "If you can stop that terrible hunter from chasing us; and if you can manage to trap that wicked Mr. Fox, will make us very happy. And good Mrs. Man, if you will just throw a few cabbage leaves out on the snow for us in the winter, when every green thing is dead or buried; then we shall not have to go to bed hungry."

Hanschen's father and mother gladly promised to do all they could for the good Hare family; then the two happy families went home.

One day soon after Hanschen's visit to the hares, his father got up very early, for he had two pairs of shoes to finish that day. He had scarcely begun his work when a very loud knock was heard at the door. "Who can it be so early as this?" thought the shoemaker. He opened the door and there stood--Mr. Fox! "Good morning, shoemaker," said he; "I want you to make me a pair of shoes and do it right off, too, or I'll kill every one of your hens to-night. I'm hare hunting, to-day. I know where a whole family of hares live, down near the forest. I mean to bag them all before they leave their house this morning. They run so fast it is hard to catch them when they are out. But, see one of my shoes is torn, so I must have a new pair before I can walk so far."

The shoemaker bowed and invited the fox to come in and sit down. Then he said, "Mr. Fox, a great hunter like you ought to wear high boots; not low shoes like common folks." That pleased Mr. Fox, so he said, "Well, make high boots; but make them of the finest, softest leather, and do not make them tight." The shoemaker took the hardest, heaviest, leather he could find and soon finished the boots. He put a piece of sticky wax into each boot. He said to himself, "Mr. Fox thinks he is very sly but we'll see whether he can catch our friends, the hares, when he puts on these boots."

Mr. Fox proudly drew on his boots but he said: "They seem stiff and tight. I fear I cannot run very fast in them."

"Just wait till you have worn them a little while--new boots generally feel stiff," said the shoemaker.

"Well, I will hurry off now; but I'll soon come back and bring you the hares' skins to pay for the boots," said Mr. Fox.

A little while after the fox had gone the shoemaker's wife jumped up in alarm from her chair. A hare had leaped in through the window behind her. It was one of their friends--the father of the Hare family. "Save me! the hunter is after me," he cried. "Here, quick! jump into bed," said the shoemaker's wife. He did so, and she covered him up, then she dressed Hanschen in the suit that the hares had given him. She had scarcely done so when the hunter came in and said, "Give me the hare that I have been chasing. I saw him leap into your window. I must have him. There he is now, springing on your table."

"There is my little Hanschen," said the shoemaker. "No wonder you think he is a hare, for he can run as fast and leap as well as any hare." "Yes," said Hanschen's mother, "and he often goes out to play in this hare-suit--see how nicely it fits him. But, Mr. Hunter, you must not shoot my Hanschen when you are out chasing hares."

"Well," said the hunter, "if that isn't wonderful. But say, good people, how in the world am I to know whether I am chasing Hanschen or a hare?" "Oh, easily enough," said the shoemaker. "You have only to wait a minute and call out, 'Hanschen!' If the little creature sits up still and straight like a child, don't shoot, for that will be Hanschen." "I will remember and call out," said the hunter.

"Well, then, to pay you for your kindness, I'll tell you that if you hurry toward the forest, now, you will be able to bag a fox that cannot be far away; for the rogue has on a pair of boots of my making, and he has hard work to move with them by this time, I'll be bound."

"Thank you, Mr. Shoemaker," said the hunter; "I'll soon finish him and bring you his hide to prove it. Only last night he killed three of my hens." The hunter soon caught up with the fox, brought his hide to the shoemaker and went away.

Then Hanschen's father told the hare to go home to his folks and tell them that the old fox would never trouble them again, and when they heard the hunter they were just to sit still and straight on their hind legs. Mr. Hare flew over the ground on his way home. His good news made him light-hearted and swift-footed. Oh, how happy the hares were! To this day hares often sit up like a child.

Hanschen often spent a day with the hares, and learned to run so well, and spring forward so quickly, that all the people said when he grew up, "He is the best man to have for a postman for the villages around." So Hanschen became postman. He never forgot his friends, the hares, but always carried some cabbage leaves for them when snow and ice covered up or killed the green leaves. 'Tis said the hares used to watch for his coming, and sing this song when they caught sight of him:

"Our good friend, Hans, Is a brave young man; hip, hurrah! He springs as well As the best hare can; hip, hurrah! Beneath his coat Is a good, warm heart; hip, hurrah! We may be sure He will take our part; hip, hurrah! We need not starve Though the world be white; hip, hurrah! Our good friend, Hans Will give us a bite; hip, hurrah! This is his time He is drawing near; hip, hurrah! Off with hats; now Cheer upon cheer; hip, hip, hurrah!"

THE END.