Chapter 44

'Here they come,' Ping Wang said, and as he spoke a shouting, wild-looking mob of Chinamen came running down the road to the mission station. Halting about twenty yards away from the mission wall, they waited until their whole force had arrived, contenting themselves in the meanwhile with yelling 'Down with the foreigners!' brandishing their weapons and waving their flags. Soon there were quite three hundred Boxers in the road facing the front of the mission, it being their hope to strike terror by a display of their numbers.

At a signal from the leader of the Boxers, about fifty rifles were fired point-blank at the wall. Fred raised his rifle, pressed the trigger, and the Boxer leader threw up his arms and fell on his face. Fred's shot was taken by the other defenders as the signal to fire, and they did so promptly.

The surprise and terror of the Boxers on discovering that they were not invulnerable formed a sight which none of the defenders will ever forget. Every man was seized with a desire to escape from the foreigners' bullets, and they turned and ran in confusion.

'Cease fire,' Barton commanded, when he saw the enemy routed, and Fred, Charlie, and Ping Wang obeyed instantly.

'I don't fancy that the Boxers will trouble us again to-night,' Barton said, a few minutes later, 'for their leaders will have some difficulty after this in convincing them that they cannot be wounded. There is no need for all of us to remain on duty. I dare say you fellows are hungry; come inside.'

'We are not presentable,' Fred said. 'Just look at the rags we are wearing.'

'They are pretty bad,' Barton admitted. 'Come into my room, and I'll see if I can't find you some better ones.'

Barton went into the rooms of two other missionaries, and returned with an armful of clothes. 'Now I will go and see about a meal for you,' he said. 'I will be back in a few minutes.'

When he returned, he could not help smiling at what he saw. Ping Wang, wishing to dress like his friends, had put on knickerbockers and a college blazer, down the back of which hung his black, silky pigtail. Charlie was wearing flannel trousers and a khaki tunic, while Fred was attired in a black and somewhat moth-eaten suit, which was too short for him both in arms and legs.

'You look better than you did,' Barton declared. 'But, now, come and have your supper.'

He led the way along the verandah, and into a large airy room at the back of the building, where the supper was laid. Four ladies were hard at work making sandbags, a task at which they had been busy since early in the morning. Barton introduced the Pages and Ping Wang to them. In spite of the anxiety which the fact of the mission being besieged caused them, they were cheerful in their conversation, and insisted upon the new-comers making a hearty meal. After supper Charlie, Fred, and Ping Wang returned to their posts, relieving the missionaries, and enabling them to have some rest.

The night was very cold, and the sentinels had great difficulty in keeping themselves warm.

'I hope,' Fred said to Charlie, 'that the Boxers won't attack us while my hands are numbed, for I'm sure I could not shoot just now.'

'It's my opinion,' Charlie answered, 'that the reception we gave them has taken the pluck out of them, and that we shan't be troubled with them for some days. Then, perhaps, they will screw up their courage to make another assault.'

'Their silence strikes me as very suspicious,' Ping Wang declared. 'It's my belief that they are planning a surprise.'

Ping Wang's opinion was at once communicated to Barton, with the result that every man on duty was instructed to keep an extra sharp look-out. The order was, as a matter of fact, not needed; for the sentries were as alert as they possibly could be. Hour after hour they peered into the darkness, but without seeing any signs of the enemy.

At daybreak Number One and his assistant cooks brought breakfast to the shivering defenders. They enjoyed their breakfast thoroughly, and thanked Number One for its excellence. He smiled, and sent his assistants away with the crockery. He himself remained, without asking permission, upon the platform. A spare rifle was there, and he took possession of it. Barton was about to send him back to the kitchen when Charlie suddenly exclaimed, 'What's that, just over there?'

'It looks to me uncommonly like an overturned wheelbarrow,' Barton replied. 'We shall know when it gets a little lighter.'

'It is a wheelbarrow,' Fred declared, a few minutes later.

'Well,' Charlie exclaimed, 'this is the first time that I have heard of a man coming into battle on a wheelbarrow!'

'I can see what it was used for!' Fred exclaimed. 'It carried the ammunition. I can see the cartridges lying on the ground. We must have those. I will go down and get them. Where's the ladder?'

'We certainly need more ammunition,' Barton admitted, 'but it would be a dangerous job for you to get those cartridges.'

'I object too,' said Charlie. 'It would be madness to run the risk of losing our best shot. I will go and get the cartridges, and, with Mr. Wilkins and you two to keep off any one who approaches me, I shall be pretty safe.'

'Charlie's plan is the better of the two,' Ping Wang joined in; 'but he mustn't attempt to carry it out without help. If he has one or two men with him the Boxers will be less likely to attack him, and certainly the job will be done more quickly. I'll be one of the men to accompany him, and I should like Number One to be the other.'

Ping Wang asked Number One in Chinese if he would care to take part in fetching the ammunition. His face beamed at the idea.

'Get the ladder, then,' Barton said; and Charlie added, 'Bring a sack.'

Number One fetched both at once. The sack was thrown down into the road, and the ladder lowered quickly.

Charlie was the first to descend, but his companions followed so quickly that all three were on the ladder at the same time. Snatching up the sack the moment that he touched the ground, Charlie ran to the overturned wheelbarrow. Ping Wang and Number One were only a yard or two behind him, and soon all three were scooping up handfuls of cartridges and dropping them in the sack.

'Guns, mistah,' Number One exclaimed when the sack was about half full, and pointed to three rifles lying near.

'Pick them up,' Charlie said, 'and run back with them at once.'

'Can do,' Number One replied, and, collecting the rifles, ran back to the ladder, climbed up it, and handed his prize over the wall to Barton. Then, running to the barrow, he resumed his work of picking up cartridges.

'We needn't trouble about the others,' Charlie said when they had collected all but about thirty, which were scattered over a wide space, and, slinging the sack over his shoulder, he started for the ladder. At the same moment four shots were fired at him from the houses facing the mission, but without touching him or his companions. Mr. Wilkins, Barton, and Fred returned the fire instantly, but their opponents were hidden from view, and their shots were wasted--at least, they imagined that they were wasted; but it was a very fortunate thing for them that they had not touched a Boxer, for the fanatics no sooner found that they were unhurt by the foreigners' fire than they jumped to the conclusion again that they could not be wounded. One of them, springing up from his place of hiding on the roof, tried a standing shot at Charlie, but, before he had time to fire, Mr. Wilkins's rifle rang out, and the Boxer fell forward into the street. His death was not witnessed by the other Boxers, for they were in a different house. One of them exposed his head for a moment, and Barton and Fred fired simultaneously, and one, or perhaps both, hit it. But the other Boxers kept under cover, and one of them shot Number One through the left arm.

Ping Wang and Number One climbed the ladder in safety, but Charlie, whose progress was hampered by the sack, had not reached the foot of it.

'Drop the sack and run!' Fred shouted, but his brother either did not hear or would not take his advice.

'Run, Charlie! never mind about the sack,' Fred again shouted, but Charlie was now close to the foot of the ladder, and had no intention of losing his prize. A bullet tore up the ground a yard in front of him, and Fred, in desperation, fired the contents of his magazine at the spot where the man was hidden. The rapidity of the firing apparently frightened him, and Barton having wounded the other man, Charlie climbed the ladder without further harm; but just as he reached the safe side of the wall, a crowd of fully one hundred Boxers rushed round the corner, and began a determined attack on the mission.

(_Continued on page 398._)

INSECT WAYS AND MEANS.

XII.--HOW INSECTS GROW.

Those of you who have kept silkworms or other caterpillars must have noticed that these insects, from time to time, become listless, cease feeding, and finally 'moult,' or change their skin; but it may not have occurred to you to inquire _why_ this change is necessary.

The reason is certainly a curious one, since it is the caterpillar way of growing. With most living creatures, growth is continuous until the full-grown size is reached; that is to say, it takes place by imperceptible degrees. Boys and girls add to the number of their inches so gradually that neither they themselves nor their friends can perceive the change, except by reference to old measurements. You cannot _see_ people or animals growing, because the process is so steady and gradual. But with the insects, and their relatives, the crabs and lobsters, this is otherwise. Owing to its peculiar nature, the hard outer skin, which is of horny, or, as it is called, 'chitinous' nature, cannot grow gradually, and so the skin has to be cast off periodically. This casting-off process is known as 'moulting.' At each change of skin a sudden and easily noticed increase of size takes place; and, before further growth is possible, another moult must be undergone.

Directly after each moult the body will be found to be quite soft, but the skin quickly hardens again.

The manner in which the 'old clo'' are cast off is curious. For some time before the change takes place, the insect appears to 'sicken,' taking no food and wearing a very mournful air. At last it wakes up into something like activity. Now is the time to watch. If--in the case of a silkworm, for example--the watching is begun a little earlier than this, it will be found that the day before the change, the insect deliberately binds its hinder legs to the leaf on which it rests by silken threads. This done, it remains motionless. Soon after, through the transparent skin, a second head, larger than the first, will be seen; then the body is raised, and the skin is separated from it by the formation of a fluid which circulates between the old skin and the body. Next, by a series of vigorous movements, the old skin cracks along the back, and the insect first pushes out its head and the fore-part of the body, and then withdraws the hinder part. In a few minutes all is over, and the old skin is left bound to the leaf by the silken threads. How complete this change is may be seen from the fact that even the breathing tubes and the inner lining of the digestive organs are cast off.

This process, in the case of the caterpillar, takes place no less than four times--in some caterpillars five times. Ten days separate each of the first four moults, and an interval of sixteen days elapses between the fourth, or fifth, and last. This last moult is followed by a still greater change, the caterpillar passing into a state of coma, or sleep, during which it is turned into the butterfly or moth. For this purpose it spins a winding-sheet of silk, or digs down into the ground and forms a case, or cocoon; or else it hangs itself by the tail, and becomes strangely transformed into what we call a 'chrysalis.' From the cocoon, or chrysalis, as the case may be, the butterfly or moth sooner or later makes its appearance.

To give an idea of the great increase of growth in insects, let us take the case of the silkworm. At the time of hatching, the little worm weighs about the one-hundredth part of a grain; when fully grown, it weighs ninety-five grains. During this time, therefore, it has increased ninety-five thousand times its original weight, and it has eaten sixty thousand times its weight of food!

The change from the worm-like caterpillar to the butterfly is a great one, and, if we did not know it so well, would be startling. This change is known as a 'complete metamorphosis.' The dragon-fly is another insect with a complete metamorphosis. How the dragon-fly moults you will see in the illustration (fig. 1): even an acrobat might envy him!

Carefully examine the series of figures from A to D. The empty case at A shows the last stage of the larval life. Out of this case the young dragon-fly is just emerging. In C he has gained his freedom, and is stopping to take breath and allow his wings to expand. By the time this has taken place, they will be nearly as long as the body (as in D).

The locust furnishes us with an instance of what is known as 'incomplete metamorphosis.' In other words, the young, when they emerge from the egg, are very little different from the parent form. The youngest locust in the illustration (fig. 2) is obviously a locust, though he lacks wings; but there is no promise of the butterfly in the worm-like caterpillar.

The cockroach, like the grasshopper and the locust, only undergoes an incomplete metamorphosis. The empty case of a newly-moulted cockroach is shown in fig. 3. The slit(s) along the back marks the spot where the insect crept out.

TOYS FROM THE STREETS.

(_Continued from page 382._)

The most remarkable toy in our second illustration is that in the middle. It is a wonderful Japanese screen or fan, which shuts up into the space of a few inches. These fans are made in three sizes, the largest, and the very latest, as far as invention goes, being eighteen inches in diameter. The whole of the fan is made by machinery! An amazing machine cuts out each layer of paper of the proper size and shape, and when all the parts are ready, sticks them neatly together. Most Japanese toys--which really _are_ Japanese, not mere imitations of Japanese designs--are made by hand; but this one is due to machinery alone.

The other toys in this picture are mostly machine-made, and their uses can be easily seen. But the cup and ball, and the 'two bears,' as the strange figures hammering on an anvil in the top left-hand corner are called, are made by hand. The latter comes all the way from a little village in Austria, and the figures are cut out by the villagers in their homes, before being fastened together. The sewing-machine is one of the most popular toys: thousands of gross of these have been sold, according to Messrs. Lawrence, of Houndsditch, who very kindly gave us some facts about this business. A 'gross' means one hundred and forty-four; when you consider that many times one hundred and forty-four thousand have been made and purchased, you will see what a vast trade is done.

The little train in a box, a very popular toy, is made in Germany, mainly by machinery. All the wheels of each carriage go round, and the carriages themselves can be unhooked and used separately. The funny little camera--of course, it does not take real photographs--is an English toy. So is the tiny tin of biscuits. The biscuits are real, and are made specially for these wonderful little boxes.

(_Concluded on page 403._)

THE LOVER-DOLL.

Pardon, dearest Araminta, If I go not on my knees, For my joints are out of order, When I bend they crack and wheeze.

When I saw you in the doll's-house, Then I felt young Cupid's dart Striking through my crimson waistcoat, Till it stuck within my heart.

Though my blood is not the bluest, Still, for you (the fact remains) I would gladly shed the last drop Of the sawdust in my veins.

Do not scorn me, Araminta, To my suit your favour lend; I would fold my arms around you, Only that I cannot bend.

For, before I fell in love, dear, Ere I hoped with you to wed, Careless Mistress Baby dropped me Down the stairs upon my head.

But I'll probably recover When I've had a dose of glue, And, come life or death, will ever Be to Araminta true.

HIS FIRST WOLF HUNT.

By HAROLD ERICSON.

It happened in Russia, when I was spending the winter with a cousin who lives in St. Petersburg. This was ten years ago and we were mere boys, both of us. There is plenty to do in Russia, in winter, for those who like sledging, skating, ice-yachting, and so on, and I think I thoroughly enjoyed all these forms of amusement. Well, one day near the beginning of the winter, before the really great snows had fallen, a big wind came and swept away every particle of snow that had fallen from the twenty miles of ice which divided St. Petersburg from Cronstadt, thus giving us such an opportunity for a day's skating on a grand scale as we might never meet with again throughout our lives.

My cousin Tom had an idea in the evening just before bed-time, with the result that we ordered sandwiches for an early hour next morning and went to bed promptly, our minds full of the delightful day we were going to spend on the Gulf of Finland, now a shining field of splendid, smooth ice.

The great day broke magnificently, a glorious, sunshiny December day, the thermometer at zero, or near it, but the air so dry and bathed in sun that one was not conscious of the cold.

Oh, the joy of feeling oneself flying through the air as we raced side by side over the firm, glass-like plain of ice! We must have skated at full pace for five miles at least before we pulled up, puffing and gloriously happy, in response to an exclamation from Tom.

'It's splendid,' he said, 'and I should like to go on for miles and miles; but Father warned me to look out when we came somewhere near the middle of the gulf; he has skated here a good deal in former years, and he says one must be on the look-out for fissures which are caused by a very hard frost like this; the ice suddenly cracks and parts, sometimes only a few inches, sometimes several feet, even up to fifteen feet or so. I believe I see a crack on ahead, and that's why I stopped.'

We skated slowly forward a short way. Sure enough, there opened out before our eyes, plain as possible, a fissure of several feet in width, the water looking black and cruel as it welled up to the edge of the ice as though it longed to get at us.

'Nice sort of place if one had skated up to it at dusk, eh?' said Tom.

The water certainly looked very grim.

'It's all very well, but what are we going to do?' said I. 'It will be no fun if this is the end of our skate, and we can't get to Cronstadt!'

'Perhaps it's only a local crack; we will skate along it, first one way and then the other, and see.'

We did so, but it appeared that the spot at which we originally struck the fissure was the narrowest place; it widened at either side.

We stood and stared at it. Tom spoke first.

'_Dare_ you?' he asked.

I saw what he meant and remained silent, considering. 'It's about six feet,' I said, 'I suppose one could fly it--both feet together, eh?'

'Yes; come on--no use thinking--we will go for it; I will give you a lead. Hold out your coat to me and pull me in if I fall short.'

Tom took a good run, got up a great speed, and launched himself into the air. He must have cleared eight or ten feet at least. 'Come on!' he laughed, 'it's as easy as winking.'

I must confess that I was more than a little frightened as I prepared to follow my daring cousin. I imitated his methods as closely as I could; I got a terrific speed up and let myself go.

I cleared the open water easily, but so great was my impetus that I turned head over heels at the other side, and lay panting and laughing on the ice.

Presently we were in full sweep once more towards Cronstadt; we reached the 'half-way house' without adventure; this was a little wooden hut built on the ice for the accommodation of travellers in need of shelter or warmth. It was kept by a man and his wife, who must have found it a weird house to live in all the winter.

'We heard wolves last night,' they told us; 'get back before dusk if you are wise!'

We thought little of the warning. We meant to be home by daylight. As for the wolves, they would have to be active animals to keep up with us at our pace!

Having enjoyed a cup of coffee and a cake apiece we continued our journey, and a few miles beyond the rest-house, came across another fissure which we calculated to be ten feet across.

By this time we were reckless, or very over confident. 'My turn to give you a lead!' said I, and suiting the action to the words, I worked up pace, flew out, and cleared the black water with ease. Tom followed and cleared it also, but in alighting he twisted his ankle a little. He uttered an exclamation of pain and sat down a moment, rubbing his leg. He said it was nothing serious, however, and indeed, he was up and off again in a few moments.

(_Concluded on page 406._)

AN IMPRESSION OF ZANZIBAR.

A curious sight is told of by a gentleman who was lately in Zanzibar. 'Perhaps the most vivid impression that I brought away from my hurried visit to Zanzibar,' he says, 'was that of seeing the native carpenters in the Cathedral carving the memorial to Bishop Smythies, and planing with their toes, which were decked with silver rings!'

THE WRECK OF THE 'HOPE.'

A True Story.

'What a lovely day!' said Eileen, as she sat by her little brother's side, whilst John, the old boatman, rowed them across the bay. The rarest shells were only to be found at the Point, and both children were eager collectors.

'It seems always smooth water in this bay,' said Maurice--'so different from where we went last year in Cornwall. There the great, big waves seemed always dashing against the shore.'

'You wait a bit, Master Maurice!' said old John. 'You have only been here a week or two, and it has been fine weather all the time; but when a storm gets up, I will answer for it you would not know the place. There are no fiercer waves round England than those that beat against the cliffs yonder at times'--and the old man waved his hand at the cliffs just behind him.

'I should like to see a storm here,' said Maurice, as he clasped his hands round his knees and stared thoughtfully before him.

'Don't say that, sir,' answered John. 'It is a terrible thing, is a wreck on this coast; some poor vessel is sure to be dashed against the cruel cliffs in a storm, and then there are orphans and widows to mourn her loss.'

'Did you ever see a shipwreck?' asked Eileen.

'Many a one, Missy,' was the old man's quiet answer.

'But I mean, were you ever in a shipwreck?' pursued Eileen.

'I was, once,' said John, slowly.

'Oh, tell us about it, please!' begged Maurice.

'It's a long time ago now,' said the old boatman. 'I was a lad of twelve or thereabouts, on my first voyage. The vessel was the _Hope_, of Liverpool, and we had a cargo of Manchester goods. It was roughish weather when we started, and it kept on getting worse and worse, and by-and-bye such a storm arose as it seemed impossible for any ship to weather. Anyway, it was too much for the poor old _Hope_--she was driven on to the rocks off the Welsh coast and broke up like matches.'

'But the people on board! what became of them?' asked Eileen in an awe-struck tone.

'Drowned!' said old John, shortly.

'But,' said Eileen, suddenly, 'you were on that ship--you said so--and you are not drowned!'

'No, Missy, I am not,' said the old man suddenly. 'I had a most wonderful escape. It seems hard to believe that a little ignorant boy as I was should have been the only one saved out of that fine crew; but so it was.'

'Tell us about it,' said Maurice, fixing his eyes on the old man's weather-beaten face.

'When the storm was at its worst, and it was plain that the ship must founder, a kind-hearted sailor took me with him to the top of the main-mast. We had hardly got there before the ship gave a great lurch, and I believe the mast fell. Anyway, when next I knew anything, I found myself lying on the grass at the top of a low cliff, with the sea roaring below me. I had been thrown there as the mast fell.'

'Were you the only one saved?' asked Maurice.

'So they told me,' said old John. 'But come,' he said, in a different tone, and beginning to row at his utmost speed, 'we must get to the Point before high tide, or there will be no shells for you to-day.'

The mention of shells drove away the melancholy thoughts which John's story had occasioned, and the wreck of the _Hope_ was forgotten as the children landed at the Point and began eagerly searching for new specimens.

S. CLARENDON.

SPY OR GUIDE?

'I believe this forest goes on to the end of the world!' exclaimed the Colonel of the 18th Hanoverian regiment at the close of an autumn day in the year 1750. 'I was told it was a six hours' journey to Schustadt, but it seems as if we must tramp right across Germany to reach it.'

'I wonder if we have taken a wrong track?' answered the Major, who was riding by his side, whilst behind trudged the men, their white breeches, scarlet coats, and three-cornered hats looking strangely out of place in that dense pine forest.

'We must find out somehow,' said the Colonel, reining up his horse. 'There must be a peasant of some sort in these regions--a wood-cutter or charcoal burner. Call a halt, Wenzler, and let the men scatter in different directions, and tell the first who finds any one capable of acting as guide to bring him straight to me.'

The halt was called, the order given, and the soldiers disappeared amongst the pine trunks, amidst laughter and declarations from each that he would be the first to find a guide. The discovery, however, fell to Schmidt, a young corporal, who had hardly gone a hundred yards into the forest before he came on a lad who was amusing himself by gathering raspberries.

Schmidt was fond of what he called a joke, and laying a rough hand on the lad's shoulder, he said, in a voice purposely very fierce, 'You are my prisoner! I am to bring you to our Colonel, and you will probably be shot as a spy.'

The boy looked up in surprise, and turned pale as he answered: 'I am no spy! I have come out from the town to gather raspberries!'

'I know nothing about raspberries,' answered the man, still enjoying his joke, and taking small heed of the lad's evident terror; 'I must bring you before my Colonel,' and he dragged the terrified boy along the track till he reached the spot where the two officers and some of the soldiers were standing.

'Well, Schmidt; first capture!' said the Colonel, in a pleased tone, for he had not expected him to find any one in so short a time.

'Yes, your honour,' said Schmidt, now releasing the boy, who, placing his hands behind him, now addressed the Colonel in as firm a voice as he could muster.

'Please, Colonel,' he said, 'do not shoot me! I am not a spy--indeed I am not! My name is Fritz Nestor, and I live with my mother in Schustadt.'

The men standing round could not resist smiling at this odd speech, for they knew nothing of Schmidt's 'joke,' and the Colonel, bending down so as to be more of a level with the little fellow, said in a half-puzzled tone:

'You surely cannot think we should shoot you! We are not in an enemy's country, and if we were we do not shoot children. What could have put such a ridiculous idea into your head?'

'He said so,' said the boy, pointing to the corporal, whose very pigtail quivered with fear at being thus brought to his Colonel's notice.

The Colonel straightened himself and looked full at the corporal, who was standing stiffly at his right hand. 'Next time you wish to play a practical joke, corporal,' he said sternly, 'let it be with a man, and not a child! Now, my little fellow,' he said, turning to the boy, 'you may take my word for it that no one will hurt you. Can you show us the right way to Schustadt? I suppose you know it?'

'Oh, yes, sir,' said the boy brightly. 'It is barely a mile away.'

'That is good hearing,' said the Colonel, and the men were quickly recalled, and the march began once more, the boy stepping out bravely in front of the column, much preferring the part of guide to that of a spy.

THE PROMISE OF THE STORM.

I do not mind the hurricane, And biting winter rain; I love to watch them sweep across The woodland and the plain; For as they roar the trees among, I fancy I can hear A whisper like a fairy's song: 'The spring is drawing near.'

I do not mind the gloomy days, When clouds are dark and low, And rough winds from the meadows tear Their tattered sheets of snow; For through those ragged holes I've seen A sight the heart to cheer, The face of some sweet flower that tells, 'The spring is drawing near.'

O children big, and children small, This wisdom bear in mind: Frown not on any rains that fall, Nor grumble at the wind; And when the gloomy winter's day Is far from blithe and warm, Look well, and think, and you will find A promise in the storm.

A DANGEROUS TRAVELLER.

A True Anecdote.

'Cab, Madam?' said a driver; and a lady who wanted a cab got hastily in. But the driver had not proceeded very far before a loud scream from the lady startled him.

When he had recovered himself he got down, and opened the door of the cab. A strange sight met his eyes: the poor lady was huddled up in one corner, and a large and ugly snake reared its head angrily from the floor of the cab.

The driver helped the lady out, and shut the snake up in the cab, and drove as fast as he could to the police station. He remembered then how the keeper of a menagerie had that morning hired his vehicle. The keeper, while he took his drive, had placed the snake, for safe-keeping, under the seat of the cab, and, getting out at his journey's end, had forgotten the snake!

After some delay, a man was procured who killed the reptile; but it was a long time before the lady cared to enter a cab again without searching to see if there were any other travellers already in it.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

ANSWER TO PUZZLE ON PAGE 371.

16.--1. Alexander the Great. 2. Charlemagne. 3. Queen Elizabeth. 4. Catherine of Russia. 5. Marie Antoinette. 6. Cleopatra.

INDIAN WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY.

Ages before the day when Marconi succeeded in establishing his wireless telegraphy, the Indians of North America carried on a system of signalling by smoke rings and fire arrows.

The settler's wife, looking out from her lonely cabin on the prairie, at the band of roving Indians, learned to note and understand the Indian smoke signals, puffing lightly into the clear blue of the prairie sky. These smoke signals are always sent in puffs or rings, so that there may be no chance of mistaking them for a camp fire. The puffs are made by covering a fire with a blanket for a minute. Then the blanket is lifted quickly, and the smoke ascends in a ring or puff. The blanketing process is repeated until a column of rings warns the Indians far and near to 'Look out,' or 'Be on the watch.' Two smokes built close together mean, 'Camp here.' Three smokes signal 'Danger.'

Signalling at night was carried on by means of fire arrows. Their meaning was like that of the smokes. The fiery trail left by the arrow in its flight through the darkness was the same signal as one smoke. The others tallied, and a flight of several fiery arrows said, 'The enemy are too many for us.'

ROSS FRAME.

CRUISERS IN THE CLOUDS.

XII.--SOME WONDERS OF THE SKY.

Behind the clouds there are marvels as endless as those on the earth itself. Among those who have attempted to describe some of them, few have done so as vividly as the French astronomer, M. Flammarion. He has been up in sunshine and clouds, at sunrise and sunset, and looked down on the sleeping world all through the summer night.

On one of these pleasant voyages, M. Flammarion had for some time been sailing in a dense cloud, which made even the gas-bag above quite invisible, when suddenly the air was filled with most beautiful music. It seemed as though some mysterious band was playing in the very cloud itself, only a few yards away. M. Flammarion strained his eyes in every direction, but nothing except the white mist met his gaze. By-and-by, however, the cloud grew brighter, and a few moments later the haze seemed to open and let him into a world of dazzling light. He had ascended right through the rain-cloud, and broken into fine weather on the other side. On leaving the cloud the mysterious music had ceased. M. Flammarion learned afterwards that it had been produced by the orchestra of a small town over which he was sailing at the time. The rising sound had been caught and retained by the cloud, for, strange to say, while dead silence is found in the clear sky at a certain height, a cloud at the same level will often be full of sounds coming from the world below.

The object of M. Flammarion's voyage was to study the secrets of the air, and to do this properly it was necessary to go up in all sorts of weather. In a long journey from Paris across the border into Prussia, most of the distance was done in a dark and rainy night. Finding that the falling rain had made the balloon so heavy that it was sinking to the earth, he threw out ballast and rose above the cloud. But the struggling moon gave little light, and he was greatly struck by hearing, in the darkness far below, the constant noise of the falling rain. The sense of loneliness in such surroundings was very strong.

Experiments from the floating car have proved that the best echo is produced by the smooth surface of a lake. Thus when the balloon was once over a large sheet of water, the traveller called out the names of the stars reflected on its surface. Each name was echoed back with great clearness, as though some fairy of the lake were mocking him.

'Tell me, then,' cried the aeronaut at last, in fun, 'what the inhabitants of these stars are like?'

But no reply was made, for the balloon had sailed beyond the margin of the water, and his voice had fallen on the solid earth. To obtain an echo from _that_ is more difficult.

On one occasion, wishing to find out if the balloon were rising or falling, M. Flammarion dropped a bottle over the side of the car. To his astonishment it stood in the air as though hanging there. It would have been just the same if he had placed a table out there too, with a chair beside it, and a knife and fork and plate upon it. He might have got out himself and sat on the chair, and they would all have appeared to be remaining still in mid-air. But as a matter of fact the bottle and the balloon were descending to earth at exactly the same speed. This would never do, and so a little ballast was thrown out. The bottle immediately seem to shoot downwards, though not quite in a vertical line, for it still moved with the impetus it had been given when thrown overboard. Ten seconds later M. Flammarion saw it reach the earth in the centre of a large field.

Each voyage brought the explorer some fresh surprise; but we must say good-bye to M. Flammarion and his balloon, for his discoveries and adventures are too many to follow. Before, however, we end these cruises in the clouds altogether, there is time for a word or two about the many machines which have been made in the hope of enabling men to soar in the skies without the aid of a balloon. Attempts to do this were made long before the Montgolfiers sent up their paper bag at Annonay, and beyond the fact that machines have been invented which can lift themselves into the sky, very little progress has been really made. Perhaps the most important of these inventions are those of Professor Langley and Sir Hiram Maxim. After many years of labour, Professor Langley of Washington succeeded, on May 6th, 1896, in launching his flying machine from the shores of the Potomac. The broad sails, or 'aeroplanes,' as they are called, cleaved the air like the wings of a bird, and kept up a steady flight for a minute and a half.

Somewhat similar in outward design is the huge mechanical bird built by Sir Hiram Maxim. Broad stretches of canvas are arranged horizontally one above the other, tilting a little upwards in front. Instead of legs and feet, this strange bird has wheels running on rails. When the machine is put in motion it skims over the rails at a great speed, and the effort made by the 'aeroplanes' to climb the air shows a great power of flight. But the machine is prevented from leaving the rails by a second pair of small wheels running on the under-side, and the strain on these wheels shows the strength of the giant wings; for Sir Hiram Maxim's only object is to prove that aerial ships built in such a way would have great buoyancy. A number of them, in a modified form, have been fitted to a 'giant longstride,' and many of the London boys and girls who have been to the Exhibitions (at Earl's Court and elsewhere), where the longstride stands, know something of the principle of the flying machine.

But, after all, the greatest successes in human flight have been won in fancy. And here again, the honour belongs to France, for what more entrancing journey was ever made than that taken by the passengers in the late Jules Verne's 'Clipper of the Clouds?' Built in the form of an ocean-goer, but with large screws worked horizontally at the summits of the masts, this flying ship made a journey round the world, visiting the most distant countries, for when the broad, blue sky is the road no obstacle can lie in the way. True, when the enchanting book is ended, we know that it was only a dream, yet we must remember that many of the great French author's dreams have been realised before now.

JOHN LEA.

ANIMAL MAKESHIFTS.

True Anecdotes.

VI.--READY-MADE HOMES.

When men first made houses, with a view to their own comfort, they little thought that they were providing a ready-made home for a host of outsiders, who took so readily to our quarters that we wonder where they can have lived before. How did the stork get on without his chimney, the merry sparrow without his gutter, the clothes-moth without cupboards, the house-spider without dirty corners and ceilings? In Holland the stork makes free with the house-top as a matter of course, often dropping a stray eel, small snake, or frog, intended for his young, down the chimney into the fireless grate of his astonished hosts below. He knows that nobody would be cruel enough to meddle with that untidy bundle of sticks which houses his family circle. The devotion of these beautiful birds to the fluffy youngsters on the roof is an example to those beneath it. In Turkey the stork is greatly respected, and lately he has been better thought of than ever. A small village on the Gulf of Ismidt caught fire, and over two hundred houses were destroyed. Many storks' nests were there, and when the fire began to rage the terrified birds fled pell-mell, but for a few moments only. After a brief pause they recovered their presence of mind, and with a rush the same broad wings which had hurried them away from death bore them as swiftly back to the burning stacks, where, in each nest, there lay two or three helpless young. The old birds settled down over the broods, covered them with their wings, and one after another perished without another attempt to save themselves.

What the stork is abroad, the swallow is, or ought to be, in England, honoured and admired. Here he makes his summer home, and for the few months during which he stays amply earns his keep by clearing away the swarms of flies. The number of injurious insects consumed by one pair of swallows and their young during a single day cannot be less than one thousand, and the number killed during the season is beyond calculation.

Swallows are quick to avail themselves of ready-made nooks for their nests. When the eaves and similar places will not do, they boldly enter houses and churches, and take any spot that takes their fancy. A farmer at Crux Eastern was honoured by a couple who chose a door inside his home, and, when the nest was accidentally shaken down, pitched upon another door. The farmer's wife, fearing that this nest would be destroyed also, drove a large nail into the woodwork beneath as a support. But Dame Swallow could not put up with this interference, and, leaving the second nest, she chose the crank of a bell-wire in the kitchen. Without more ado she built, laid eggs, and hatched them, though the farmer gave a supper to his men while she was still house-keeping, and while the sheep-shearers enjoyed their noisy feast, the little pair flew in and out, feeding their young as quietly as if they were utterly alone.

Much might be said of the fondness shown by some unbidden guests for our food, of the trickery of the mouse, or of the cricket's habit of tumbling into the milk, while taking unlawful sips. But a plea can be found even for the most despised of creatures. Cheese is a dainty to the pilfering mouse, but the eggs of the cockroach are a still daintier morsel. The cricket is a scavenger, and besides cheering us by his sprightly song, rids the floor of tiny atoms of insanitary dust, and the house-spider preys on the clothes-moth. One lesson at least is taught by many a household insect, that of strict cleanliness.

Besides our regular housemates, many strange creatures will live with us in time of trouble, forgetful of their fear. The following is a true and delightful instance of this. On one of the Highland hills an old woman lived quite alone. After a severe snow-storm, some shepherds, fearing for her safety, went to the rescue and found her hut snowed up. They were unable to trace it till a curl of smoke was seen rising out of a drift. The warmth had melted a small hollow just above the hole in her roof which served as a chimney. Down this they called, 'Jenny, are you living?' For answer a fox darted out of the hole and ran away. Again they called. 'Yes,' answered the old woman. 'Heaven has been very good to me. I have been fed by the beasts of the wood.' 'What do you mean?' asked the men. She said, 'A wild fox came down the chimney to take shelter. I spoke kindly to it, and it came and sat by the fire, and every day he went out and brought me in a hare or a rabbit.'

This story makes one feel how easily the fear and dread of us, which so many creatures are forced to feel, might be changed into trust and love, so that we might fulfil the text, 'The beast of the field shall be at peace with thee.'

EDITH CARRINGTON.

AFLOAT ON THE DOGGER BANK.

A Story of Adventure on the North Sea and in China.

(_Continued from page 387._)