Part 7

"You fellows get down quick as you can," he cried to Tom and Phil. "Hurry!" The boys scrambled along the ledge and slid down the leader. "Get hold of that sign, the whole four of you, and stick one end of it up here like a ladder," went on Teddy, his voice all in a tremble, but the words coming with a rush. Up came the sign beside him. He got his legs over and around it, half wriggled his back onto it, reached his arms over his head, and by exerting every muscle in his body to the utmost, managed to pull and kick himself up enough to release his coat. Then he shot down the steep sign like a toboggan, and struck the ground all in a heap. Billy was coming down the street with his ladder and lantern. "Down with it!" said Tom, and he put his shoulder against the sign.

"No you don't," cried Teddy; "I've had enough of signs and Halloweens. Let's git;" and he did with all his might, a sadder but a wiser boy.

There has not been a case of sign lost on Halloween or any other day or night since in Scottsville.

THANKSGIVING.

BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

When the Indians used to prowl Round the house at dead of night, And the north wind's angry howl Sounded fierce by candle-light; When the very babies learned How to whisper when they cried, And the young boys early earned Right to carry arms with pride--

In those wild exciting days, Often hungry, often cold, Men uplifted songs of praise, Women's hearts were strong and bold. And amid their penury, In their want and peril, they Set apart, with courage free, Their first brave Thanksgiving day.

Over harvests gathered in With a stealthy foe anear, Over scanty byre and bin, Over joys which cost them dear, Gallant souls that would not bend Met their trustful grace to say, Heart to heart and friend to friend; So they kept Thanksgiving day.

Ours to-day a happier fate: Royal wealth on us outpoured, Wide our pleasant land, and great Is the throng about our board. Run the dear old flag aloft; Let it float from ship and spire! Wake Thanksgiving, field and croft, House and home, and child and sire.

MARTY'S PUMPKINS.

BY RAY STANNARD BAKER.

"M-a-rty! Mart--e--e!" called a shrill voice from the woodshed door.

The speckled rooster stopped scratching in the chip-pile, raised his head, blinked his eyes, and chuckled protestingly.

"Mart-e-e!" called the voice again, and a plain woman in a calico dress stepped out into the morning sunlight. "I wonder where thet child has gone. She'd try the patience of a saint. Mart--e--e!"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Come right here this minute."

Around the corner of the chicken-coop ran a little figure with flying hair.

"Where hev you been?" demanded Mrs. Tucker, impatiently.

Marty's bare brown toes burrowed in the chip-pile, and she hung her head. She was a slender girl, and a pair of big, wistful eyes looked out from under her sun-bonnet.

"Out lookin' after my punkins," she answered, shyly.

"Your punkins!" said Mrs. Tucker, explosively. "You won't have punkins long ef you don't answer when I call."

"I didn't hear you, ma'am."

"Stuff an' nonsense! I tol' Eb it wa'n't good sense to put such punkin notions in yer head. Now take this cup an' run over to Mis' Wiskins an' ask the loan of some yeast."

Marty's feet twinkled as she ran, and Mrs. Tucker was so surprised to see her back so soon that she sent her on another errand. But at last Marty was free to hurry again into the corn-field. Here she went about among the shocks, and lifted the yellow pumpkins, one by one, and carried them to a "double-decker" wagon that stood not far away, climbed up on a stepladder, and dropped them in. Some of them were so large that when she tried to reach around them the sleeves of her outgrown gingham dress drew up over her sunburnt elbows. But she tugged and staggered and wrinkled her freckled nose until the wagon was heaping full. Just as she was completing her task old Ebenezer Tucker came out to the field.

"Got 'em loaded?" he asked, gruffly.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, we'll take 'em to town to-morrow and see what they'll bring."

Marty jumped up and clapped her hands.

"Oh, Uncle Eb--"

"There! neb mind," he said, but there was a note of kindness in his voice.

The sun had gone down and the air was frosty and still. Marty's bare toes tingled with the cold, but her face glowed with joy as she trudged toward the house at her uncle's side. She would have liked to take hold of his hand, not only to rest her tired legs, but because her happy heart wanted to show the affection of which it was so bubbling full, but she was afraid.

Marty was happier than she had ever been before in her life. That wasn't saying much, for Marty's mother had died when she was very young, and had left her and little Tim alone in the world. They had been passed around from relative to relative for a number of years, and Marty had taken care of Tim, and lavished on him all the affection of her timid heart. While they were together she hadn't minded poor clothes and hard work, but when Uncle Ben had taken "the boy," and Uncle Eb had taken her, Marty's heart was quite broken. For Uncle Ben lived in Shelbyville, miles away, and how would little Tim get along without her?

Aunt Tucker was known and respected in the community as a "good provider" and a good Christian, but she didn't understand Marty. Besides that, she had Elly and Susie and John, her own children, to look after. Marty was shy and timid and dreamy, and so it happened that she became little maid-of-all-work, a kind of country Cinderella. But she tried to keep a brave face, and dreamed of the time when Tim would be big enough to earn his own living and could take her away.

As the summer passed, Marty had grown more and more lonesome; she felt as if she hadn't a friend in the world. One day she was in the barn-yard, and Dot--Uncle Eb's old white cow--looked around at her so sympathetically with her big, kind eyes that a knot tied itself in Marty's throat, and she ran and threw her arms around Dot's neck.

"You'll be my friend--won't you, Dot?" she sobbed.

Dot was evidently about to say something sympathetic, when Marty felt a hand on her head. It was Uncle Eb's.

"What's the matter, Marty?" he asked, and his raspy voice sounded as if it had just been oiled.

She had always been afraid of Uncle Eb. He was big and silent, and his bushy eyebrows scowled. But she said:

"I'm lonesome. I want to see Tim."

The old farmer stopped and patted her head, and then sat down to milk. One day he said,

"Want to earn some money, Marty?"

Marty's head swam. With money she could see Tim. Her face flushed faintly.

"Yes, sir," she said.

"Well, you pick up the pumpkins in the corn-lot and load 'em on the wagon every day, and I'll give you one load."

There were a great many loads of pumpkins, and it was very hard lifting for Marty; but she worked bravely, because she remembered Tim. She could have finished the loading much sooner if Aunt Tucker hadn't called her so often--Aunt Tucker didn't like the pumpkin idea; she said she didn't believe in children having money. But now, after weeks of work, the last load stood in the field.

"Thet's yours," Uncle Eb had said, quietly.

And that is why Marty's heart was almost bursting with joy.

The Tuckers were up at sunrise the next morning. For Uncle Eb was going to town with Marty's pumpkins.

"You're foolish to whim thet child," said Aunt Tucker, complainingly; "you're treating her better'n you do yer own kith an' kin."

Uncle Eb didn't reply; but an hour later he and Marty were perched on the high wagon seat, and the sun was looking jolly at the end of the long road to town. Marty wore Elly's hat and a plain but clean dress, and her eyes sparkled with joy. She wanted to tell Uncle Eb how happy and thankful she was, but she didn't dare to. So she tapped her precious pumpkins with her toes as she was bounced about on the high spring seat.

How proud she felt when they reached the Centre and the men on the street nodded to Uncle Eb! She wondered if they knew that the pumpkins were all hers, and that she would soon have the money for them. Only once in her life had she ever had any money of her own, and that was only ten cents, which had looked as big as a silver dollar when she first spied it lying at the road-side.

Now they had passed the post-office and were slowly climbing the Weymouth hill toward the depot. The Centre lay in a deep valley, with the railroad skirting the top of the hill to the east. It was a steep, smooth hill, and the backs of the horses straightened and strained under the crupper straps. Marty puckered up her lips and lifted on the seat, as if to ease the load of her weight. At the middle of the climb they stopped where a "thank you, ma'am," ribbed the hill.

"Get up," said Uncle Eb, after the horses had rested.

Just as the wheels jogged forward Marty heard a sharp crack, and then a loud plumping and plopping from behind. She looked around and gave a cry of alarm. For the back board of the wagon had broken out, and down the hill her precious pumpkins were dancing and bobbing with a mellow rumble. Before Uncle Eb could say a word, Marty sprung from the wagon and darted behind.

"Stop! stop!" she shouted; but the renegade pumpkins acted as if they didn't hear a word, and rolled on down the hill. In two minutes the wagon was empty. Some of the pumpkins split open, and their rich dewy halves, full of seeds, lay gaping in the sunshine. Farther down the whole hill was speckled with bobbing bits of yellow, and the boys of the Centre had begun a hilarious chase. The pumpkins seemed possessed. They went careering through open gates and bumping against doors and casings. They broke their heads on fences and the edges of the sidewalk, and they sent Nick Dusenberry's old white team, that hadn't run away before in fifteen years, snorting up the street. All the dogs barked, and the boys shouted, and the Centre stood in its front door and cheered. Such excitement had not stirred the village since Marston's store burned down.

In the middle of the hill sat Marty, each arm clasping a fat pumpkin, and the tears streaming down her freckled nose. The horses had been frightened and had run up the hill, Uncle Eb doing his best to control them.

"Oh, my punkins!" sobbed Marty.

"Are you hurt? Can I help you?" asked a pleasant voice.

Marty looked up. It was the postmaster's wife.

"Oh, my punkins!" choked Marty.

But the postmaster's wife bent over and questioned kindly, and Marty told her about Tim and Uncle Eb and the pumpkins, and when she was through there were tears in the eyes of the postmaster's wife. By this time a crowd of men and boys had gathered. It bruised Marty's sensitive heart that they should laugh and joke about her precious pumpkins. When Uncle Eb came back with the team he was scowling, and when Marty asked him to let her pick up the pumpkins he said:

"Let 'em go. I don't want 'em."

And all the way home he was silent, and Marty sat beside him biting her lips to keep from crying. It seemed to her since her pumpkins were gone that nothing else remained in life. As she crept off to bed that night she heard Aunt Tucker say,

"Now, Ebenezer, you see what comes from foolin' with children's bringin' up."

All the next day Marty's heart ached, although Uncle Eb had said, while he was rubbing his curry-comb and brush together, "Never mind, child," in a tone that showed her that he was still kindly. Towards evening the Perkins boy came with the mail.

"Here's a paper fer you, Uncle Eb," he said, "an' a letter fer Marty."

Marty flushed and trembled. The whole family looked at her. She had never before received a letter.

The Perkins boy was holding it out. "It's a fat one, too," he said.

Uncle Eb took it, put on his spectacles, and turned it over and over. Then he passed it to Aunt Tucker, and Elly and Susie and John all had a peep at it. Marty stood with a rapt expression on her face and her heart was throbbing wildly.

"Is it from Tim?" she asked.

"No, Tim can't write," said Susie, impatiently, for Susie could not help being envious.

"Here, Marty, open it," said Uncle Eb.

Marty took it and tore the envelope with trembling fingers, Elly showing her how. Inside there was a fat letter, and inside of that a one-dollar bill. Little John's eyes were popping in wonder. Uncle Eb drew on his spectacles and sat down in his rocking-chair. Marty was so excited that she crowded up and held fast to his coat as if she feared the precious letter might fly away. It was from the postmaster's wife, and this is what it said:

"DEAR MARTY,--I wish to pay you for the four nice big pumpkins that rolled into our front yard this morning. I've been wanting some pumpkins for pies ever so long, and they came just in time. Mrs. Brainard and Mrs. Peters also received a good supply. We enclose a dollar in payment. Come in and call on me when you go to see Tim, and have a piece of pie."

Marty's eyes sparkled. It wasn't so much the money as it was the fact that the letter was written to her own self, and that some one in the Centre knew about her.

The next day two more letters came--the postmaster's wife had done her work well--and when Marty counted her fortune, she had $4.25.

"That's more'n we'd got fer the punkins at the depot," said Uncle Eb.

The next week Marty, all in a new dress, her money tightly knotted in the corner of a handkerchief with pansies around the border, went to visit Tim. On her way she stopped to see the postmaster's wife and eat some pie made from the "visitin' punkins," as the postmaster called them.

Two of the most important interscholastic games of the year were played a week ago Saturday, the Exeter-Andover game at Andover, resulting in a victory for Andover of 28-0; and the New Britain-Meriden game on the Yale field, resulting in a victory for New Britain, 30-6.

The score of the Exeter-Andover game was somewhat of a surprise to the supporters of both teams. The Exeter team had been looked upon as a very strong one, and in spite of the fact that it was to play on strange grounds it was slightly the favorite. Looking back now it seems strange that this should have been the case, for Andover has nearly twice as many students to draw from, and had the advantage of home grounds. It is possible, however, that the reports of Andover's crippled condition gave Exeter the prestige which she seemed to enjoy before time was called.

The renewal of athletic relations between the two schools was very successfully opened by this game, and all through the day the two bodies of players and spectators did everything in their power to let bygones be bygones, and to contribute toward the success of the occasion.

There was a marked contrast between the playing of the two teams. Exeter entered the competition with a certain confidence which soon became akin to demoralization as the determined spirit of Andover began to exert itself. Andover's play deserves great praise, and her eleven earned every point scored. Exeter was outclassed in rushing and line-work, and was proficient in no especial point. The Andover linesmen opened up generous holes for their rushers when these were needed, and on end plays their interference was compact and effective. Every Andover man knew what was expected of him in the interference, and performed his duty. The tackling of the whole team was sharp and sure, and exceedingly distressing to their opponents, who were forced to call in a number of substitutes before the end of the game.

Andover's victory is all the more creditable when we consider that the regular captain was unable to play, and one of the best guards was not in the game. Quimby, who acted as captain, put up a fine game and commanded the men well. He showed that he has the powers of a good football general. Two other players who give much promise are Elliot, who played full-back, and Schreiber, who played left end. The former made several good rushes, and in individual play there was no superior to him that day. Schreiber broke up every mass of interference that assailed his end, and frequently tackled the runner for a loss. Burdick at right end displayed unusual talent, and from obscurity sprang into prominence by his bearing and skilful rushes. Pierson at centre was a stonewall, and did excellent work in making holes besides.

The Exeter players had but little method in their play, and were deplorably weak in team-work. The line was ragged, and, although heavy, it was no match for Andover's stocky forwards. Shaw, at end, made several brilliant tackles, but made as many costly failures. Highly, at tackle, managed to stop the heavy push plays of Andover, but was not able to break through them so as to down the runner. Sawyer, who played for a short time in the second half, was especially conspicuous for tackling behind the line. The clean play of the game was undoubtedly due to the efficient work of the officials, Messrs. J. H. Morse and Lorin F. Deland, umpire and referee. They watched every detail, and maintained strict adherence to the rules.

The detail of the play deserves some mention, and I regret that space alone prevents me from devoting more than a few paragraphs to the subject. Andover took the north goal, and Miller's kick-off was returned by Quimby. Exeter began her offensive play on the 40-yard line. Whitcomb got five yards at centre, and Miller added two at the same place. Whitcomb worked the same position for several yards, and also left tackle. By short plunges the centre of the field was reached, when Andover held, and got the ball on downs. Elliot immediately booted the leather, and as no Exeter player was ready to receive it, forty yards were gained. Andover prevented Exeter from advancing, and had the ball on her 25-yard line. White got in six yards at right end, and the playing became fierce as Exeter realized the approaching danger to her goal. Exeter braced wonderfully on her 2-yard line, and saved a touch-down by a superhuman effort. The ball was gradually carried out from her goal, and five yards for interference at centre aided materially. When the 30-yard line was covered, Andover got the ball for holding on her rival's part, and Burdick electrified the crowd by coming out of the bunch at left end and running the whole distance for a touch-down. It was a pretty exhibition of sprinting and interference of Andover. The try for goal was a dismal failure, the ball falling short.

As on the first kick-off, Quimby caught and returned inside the centre of Exeter's territory. Whitcomb got his length at centre, and Miller added four yards to that. Syphax on a tandem play got two yards at left tackle, and Miller the same amount nearer the centre. The middle of the gridiron became the battle-ground, when Andover secured the ball on downs. Andover did not want to rush, but Elliot punted well down the field, and the Exeter half-back fumbled the ball, allowing Wheeler to get it for his side. The referee allowed Andover five yards for interference at centre, which put the ball on Exeter's 35-yard line. The identical play that resulted in giving Andover her previous touch-down was repeated by Burdick, with an improvement in the interference. Elliot did not miss his second try for goal. Then for the third time Quimby returned Exeter's kick-off, this time much closer to the goal-line.

Exeter could not gain at end or centre, and resorted to kicking, Miller punting outside. Andover did not wait to rush, but kicked back, getting the ball on her antagonist's 15-yard line because of a fumble. Elliot was credited with four yards at centre. Holladay could not make an impression on the line; but Burdick was equal to the emergency, and eluded all tackles at right end, and scoring a touch-down--from which Elliot got his goal.

Right after the next kick-off a series of kicks were exchanged between the teams, until Andover gained the advantage at the middle line of the field. The play still continued to be through the air, till finally Andover settled down to a steady forward march for Exeter's goal by reeling off rushes, at the rate of ten yards each, made by different players in the line. When the teams lined up on the 18-yard line, Exeter had captured the ball on downs. Miller's kick was blocked, owing to the slowness of the pass, but Pyton was on hand to keep it in Exeter's possession. On the 15-yard line Elliot was signalled for a goal from the field, which did not materialize, the ball rolling in front of the goal-posts. Time was called soon after for the end of the half.

At the start of the second half, Exeter started to rush, ignoring the brisk wind at her back, which Andover had used so continuously and advantageously. When a kick did come, Quimby hurried the ball back to its original resting-ground. Elliot, by a remarkable run, in which he leaped over an upright Exeter player, accumulated sixty yards. Play was now being stopped after every other scrimmage for some injured Exeter player to recuperate or be taken off. Andover resumed her plugging away in the direction of the enemy's goal-line, getting only one setback by losing the ball on downs; and another touch-down was scored by Elliot.

Although the final game of the Connecticut Interscholastic Football League, between New Britain and Meriden high-schools, was in many respects not so good an exhibition as that given by Hartford and Bridgeport last year, it was nevertheless an interesting occasion. In one respect, however, this year's game surpassed any school game that has ever been played on the Yale field. This was in the display of a system of interference by the New Britain team which proved almost irresistible to their opponents. The backs ran in a line headed by an end. The end was followed by one of the backs, after whom came the man with the ball, followed by the two other backs and the second end. This formation worked almost every time it was used, and most of New Britain's gains were due to its practice.

The defence of both elevens was weak, Meriden's, of course, being the weaker. Lane of Meriden was the best back of either team. He ran hard and fast. Hubbard of Meriden worked to his greatest strength, but he was unable to achieve much on account of a lack of interference. All the Meriden men were remarkably good at tackling, Lane leading in this branch as well. O'Donnell of New Britain made four of New Britain's touch-downs, and put up an excellent game. He did some excellent line-bucking, and is undoubtedly the cleverest full-back among the Connecticut schools. Meehan of New Britain at quarter-back is a sure passer, and made many hard tackles. McDonald of New Britain had it all his own way with his opponent, Hirschfield, and made holes for the backs whenever these were called for. He is a good tackler and a capable ground-gainer. Porter of New Britain proved by his play in this game that he is undoubtedly the best end-rusher in the Connecticut Interscholastic League. He made numerous tackles, and it was but on rare occasions that the Meriden team was able to make distance around his end. Fitch, Flannery, and Griswold likewise did good work.