CHAPTER XXVIII.

Dolores's suggestion that he should purchase Rita from the Indian chief had made a great impression upon Murray's mind. Steve's advice also helped him to the conclusion that the plan was the best that could be devised.

Many Bears had taken a great fancy both to Send Warning and to Knotted Cord. The chief had indeed proposed more than once that his pale-face friends should remain among the Apache band, and cast in their lots with them. Meanwhile Murray held many an anxious consultation with Steve over their plan.

"It's an idea, Steve; it's a good one," he said, finally, "and I'm going to try and carry it out."

Still, it was a delicate piece of business, and Murray went at it very carefully.

That afternoon, as they were riding along, Many Bears again remarked to him that he would be better off among his Apache friends than anywhere else. "Have lodge. Have squaw. Be chief a little. Be great brave."

"Got good lodge now."

"Yes, but lodge empty. Want squaw."

"Send Warning is old. No child. Rather have daughter. He has taken the Knotted Cord for a son. All he needs now is a young squaw."

"Ugh! Good. All Apaches say Send Warning is wise. Know what he likes best. Buy young squaw. Braves get killed in fight. Plenty young squaws have no father. All glad to come into good lodge. Have plenty meat. Plenty nice blanket. Good for squaw."

The notion of Many Bears was one that fitted him very well, for, as chief of the band, it was his duty to keep an eye upon the fortunes of its "orphans." There could be no better "asylum" for one of them than the lodge of a wise old brave like Send Warning.

"No," said Murray, after a moment of silence. "Only one young squaw in camp for me. The great chief must let me have Rita."

Many Bears was as nearly startled as an Indian chief could be by this sudden and daring proposal. He shook his head. Only a chief who could bring rich presents could expect to buy the daughter of a great man like Many Bears. Something far beyond the power of a seemingly poor warrior like Send Warning.

"Good," said Murray, calmly. "Heap give. Suppose you say what you think. How big heap?"

There was a grim smile on the face of Many Bears as he turned and looked in the face of his friend.

"How much? Ugh. Suppose chief bring fifty ponies?"

"Good," said Murray. "Go on."

"Fifty new blanket?"

"Good. All right."

"Five new gun. Fifty knife. Much heap powder. Big roll cloth for squaws. What say?"

"Good. All right."

"Much pistol too. Suppose chief think of something more?"

"All right. Send Warning give it all."

"Ugh! No got 'em. No find 'em. Send Warning laugh at chief. Bad."

There was an offended look in his eyes, but Murray laid his hand on his arm, saying:

"Listen. Send Warning is white. He is a great man among his own people. He can give heap to chief. Can't find all here. Go to fort. See blue-coat chief. See traders. Get all he wants there."

"Ugh! Good. Make Talking Leaf. Send it to fort. Young brave carry it. All things come back."

Many Bears had seen something like that, and had never ceased envying the white man's power to obtain presents by means of a little piece of paper. Murray replied:

"No. Send Warning in no hurry. Wait till we get to fort."

That would not be for many days, and the more Many Bears thought of all the good things he had mentioned, the more anxious he became to see his adopted daughter set up in a lodge of her own, or at least under the care of a warrior who was willing to give such a "big heap" for the privilege. He "thought of something more" almost every hour from that time on, but his demands were mainly for items of moderate cost, and he did not feel at liberty to mention any larger number of ponies or blankets.

"We can buy the blankets easily enough," said Steve, when he was told the terms of the bargain, "but what about the ponies?"

"Cheaper than blankets, my boy. I've seen droves of them going for ten dollars a head. We won't have to give more than twenty. As to the other things, there are always traders around the posts."

They had already counted the contents of their little buckskin bags, and Steve had been surprised to find how much money there was in little more than twenty pounds of gold coin. He had found, indeed, a strange pleasure in counting it over and over, while Murray told him of his beautiful home away across the sea.

"You'll be a rich man there."

"Have three or four times as much as this every year. You must come and visit with me, Steve. As soon as you've seen your own people."

"I dare not think much of them, Murray. I can't talk about them. It will be time enough when I learn if any of them are yet alive."

"Your father and mother?"

"Don't, Murray. I'd rather talk about Rita and our plans here."

Ni-ha-be was indignant at the proposed change. Rita had never imagined until that moment how much she was beloved by the earnest-hearted Apache girl. Ni-ha-be's arms were twining around her neck, and she was weeping fiercely as she exclaimed:

"He shall not take you away from me. You are not a pale-face any more. You are Apache."

Rita could not help crying, and the two friends were glad to go into the lodge, as they were told, and mingle their tears together.

The nearest United States post at which there were likely to be any traders was still a "two days' journey" to the northward, but Many Bears had actually now received a message from his tribe that there would be "heap presents" for those who should come in time to get them, and he was more than ever anxious to discover if Send Warning had been telling him the truth. His first proposition had been, as before, that Murray should send for what he wanted, and have it brought to the Apache camp, but that had been declared out of the question.

"Ugh! Good. Then Send Warning go with chief. Buy pony. Buy heap other things. Come back and take young squaw to lodge."

"No. The great chief can bring young squaw with him. Send Warning take then what he pay for. Give pony, take young squaw."

After some little argument, this was agreed to, but there were almost as serious objections made to Steve Harrison's joining the party who were to visit the post.

"Tell them I'm going anyhow," said Steve to Red Wolf, "whether they like it or not. You come too. I'll buy you a new rifle. Best there is at the fort." That settled the matter.

Both Dolores and Ni-ha-be were to be of the party.

"Rita," said Murray, in a low voice, the morning they rode out of the village camp, "take a good look back. That's the last you will ever see of it."

Then for the first time it came into the mind of Rita that she loved not only Ni-ha-be, but all those wild, dark, savage people among whom she had been living ever since she was a little girl.

"Father, will I never see any of them again?"

"I think not, Rita."

"You will let me send them presents, will you not?"

"As many as you please, Rita."

"Then I will make the whole village happy some day."

On arriving at the fort they were fortunate in finding a trader who had bought a great many more ponies than he knew what to do with. Fifty of them were promptly secured and turned over to Many Bears.

Even while that was being cared for, Murray sought and obtained two or three important interviews. One was with the United States army officer in command of the post, to whom he told his story.

"It's a little the biggest romance I ever heard of," said the gallant Major. "I'll tell you what--you'd better have the final transfer made in my presence."

"Thank you heartily. That will be just the thing."

The Major told the story as a great secret to his wife, and she told it to the other ladies at the fort, and they all went wild together over a grand new wardrobe for Rita. Never had any daughter of the Apaches owned a tenth of the varied material the enthusiastic ladies prepared in less than twenty-four hours after their first glimpse of Rita.

"We must make quite an affair," said the Major to Murray, "of your making the payment. Then they will not think of trying to back out."

"There would be danger to Rita, I fear, if I were to make the truth known publicly too soon."

Major Norris was an experienced "Indian fighter," and just the man to be in command of such a post, for the reason that he had learned how much cheaper it was to have the red men as friends than as enemies. He sent word at once to Many Bears and a number of other "great chiefs" that Send Warning was also a "great chief," and that proper honor must be shown him by his pale-face friends on so great an occasion.

* * * * *

It was quite a procession that marched out of the fort barracks with Rita on the day appointed. The Apache warriors and squaws who were looking on felt that a high compliment was paid to their nation. There were the troops drawn up in splendid array, with flags and cannon and music, and the "white chiefs" in their bright uniforms.

There were the great warriors of several bands of the Apaches in their paint and feathers. There were the beautiful white squaws in their strange dresses. Many Bears had been looking very intently at a collection of things just in front of where Major Norris was standing with Murray and Steve Harrison. Ponies, blankets, guns--all, and more than all, that had been agreed upon. No chief who was looking on could say he had ever received more than that for one of his daughters, and the heart of Many Bears swelled proudly within him. There was a cloud upon his haughty face, however, and another on that of Red Wolf, who was standing at his side. The clouds did not go away when they searched the approaching party of ladies with their eyes for Rita.

Rita? Could that be the adopted daughter of Many Bears walking there behind Mrs. Norris and Mother Dolores--the beautiful young lady whose face was so very pale, and who was dressed so splendidly? They had never before seen her look anything like that.

The band played, the soldiers "presented arms," the officers touched their hats, and Murray stepped forward and held out his right hand to Many Bears, pointing with his left to the ponies and things.

"There they are. Send Warning has kept his word. Rita is mine."

"Ugh! Good. Presents all right. Young squaw is the daughter of Send Warning."

He shook hands heartily as he said it; but Murray had something more on his mind, and was only waiting for the music to stop.

"Listen," he said. "I tell you a big truth. Rita is my own daughter. When you burn ranche in Mexico many summers ago, burn mine, take horses, cattle, mules, take away little girl--all that was mine. Got little girl back now. Apaches all good friends of mine."

"Send Warning not come back to lodge?"

"Not now. Go to my own people for a while. Show them my daughter. Say found her again."

"Ugh! Send Warning is a wise man. Cunning chief. Throw dust in the eyes of the Apaches."

It was plain that the chief was troubled in his mind; he hardly knew whether to be angry or not. But there was no reasonable objection to Murray's doing as he pleased with his own daughter after she had cost him so many ponies.

Murray spoke again. "Send Warning say what great chief do. Let Ni-ha-be come with Rita to pale-face lodges. Stay awhile. Learn to hear Talking Leaves. Then come back to her friends. What say?"

The chief pondered a moment, but Ni-ha-be had heard and understood, and a scared look arose in her face.

"Rita! Rita! you are going away? you will not be an Apache girl any more?"

"Oh, Ni-ha-be, come with me!"

Their arms were around each other, and they were both weeping; but Ni-ha-be's mind was made up instantly.

"No. You are born white. You will go with your father. I am an Apache, and I will go with my father."

Many Bears was listening. "Send Warning hear what young squaw say? All Apaches say, good. She will stay with her own people."

Murray and Steve were anxious to begin their return to civilization, but it would be several days before a "train" would go with an escort, and they did not care to run any further risks. So the "farewell" was spread over sufficient time to make all sorts of explanations and promises, and Rita's mind became so full of dreams of her new life that she could easily give up the old one.

Ni-ha-be had never seen so much of the pale-faces before, and Rita tried again and again to persuade her to change her mind, but on the very last morning of all she resolutely responded: "No, Rita, you are all pale-face. All over. Head and heart both belong with white friends. Feel happy. Ni-ha-be only little Indian girl here. Out there on plains, among mountains, Ni-ha-be is the daughter of a great chief. She is an Apache."

No doubt she was right, but she and Rita had a good long cry over it then, and probably more than one afterward.

As for Dolores, she came to the fort to say good-by, but neither Many Bears nor Red Wolf came with her.

"The heart of the great chief is sore," she said, "and he mourns for his pale-face daughter. Not want to speak."

Out from the gates of the fort that morning wheeled the cavalry escort of the waiting "train" of supply wagons and traders' "outfits," and behind the cavalry rode a little group of three.

The ladies of the garrison, with the Major and the rest, had said their last farewells at the gates, and the homeward journey had begun.

"Steve," said Murray, "are you a Lipan or an Apache to-day?"

"Seems to me that is all ever so long ago. I am white again."

"So am I. At one time I had little hope that I ever should be. I never would if I had not found Rita. Oh, my daughter!"

"Father! Father, see--there she is! Oh, Ni-ha-be!"

A swift and beautiful mustang was bounding toward them across the plain from a sort of cloud of wild-looking figures at a little distance, and on its back was a form they all knew well.

Nearer it came, and nearer.

"She wants to say good-by again."

Nearer still, so near that they could almost look into her dark streaming eyes, and Rita held out her arms beseechingly; but at that moment the mustang was suddenly reined in and wheeled to the right about, while Ni-ha-be clasped both hands upon her face.

"Ni-ha-be! Oh, Ni-ha-be!"

But she was gone like the wind, and she did not come again.

"There, Rita," said her father. "It is all for the best. All your Indian life is gone, like mine and Steve's. We have something better before us now."

THE END.

MORE ABOUT KITES.

Last week, boys, I told you how to make a very simple kite. Now for a few variations from the usual commonplace plan. There are a number of novel designs in the way of kites that it only requires a little ingenuity to carry out.

Suppose that you want your kite for a travelling companion; It would be a very awkward piece of baggage, would it not? Well, you can make a very good kite of the shape shown in the illustration, covered with muslin, and the frame made to work upon a pivot, so that it can be folded and carried in a case. The muslin must be fastened permanently to one piece of the frame only; it must be simply tied to the others with small pieces of string. Thus, on being released, the laths may be worked round on the pivot until they are in a straight line, and the muslin wrapped round them. Sometimes they are made with only two pieces, an upright and a cross-piece, but the principle is the same. If expense is of no consideration, oiled silk is far better than muslin, since it is so much lighter.

In China, the boys about the streets of Hong-Kong have a very amusing and simply constructed kite, which can be made to perform the most astonishing gyrations in the air. You might be inclined at first to doubt if the thing could go up at all; but just give it a fair trial, and see. You will be surprised at the ease with which it catches the air and mounts upward.

The kite is composed of two very thin slips of rattan, or bamboo, properly smoothed, and a piece of colored tissue-paper cut in the form shown in the above diagram. The middle stick is flat on one side, and should be eighteen and a half inches long; the bow stick should be twenty-five inches long, and nearly round. The paper should be cut to measure fourteen inches on each side.

Lay the middle stick, well covered on the flat side with good stiff flour paste, diagonally across the paper, fastening it at both ends with bands across, and let it stand till dry; then fold down the upper corners of the paper over the bow stick, pasting it down firmly. Add a small fan-shaped piece of tissue-paper for the "bob-tail," and the kite is ready. Fasten one end of the "belly-band" to the two sticks where they cross, and the other end about the same distance from the tail of the kite. Be careful about adjusting the balance when tying on the string, as if that is not right the kite will not fly upward.

As to the decorations of his kite, each boy must follow his own fancy, remembering that, since the effect is to be produced from a distance, only the most glaring colors can be used, and that fine and finished details will be of no use whatever. One of the prettiest kites now in use is that which represents a hawk with outspread wings, and it can be purchased at almost any toy store. But if any boy will be careful in his work, he can easily make one. The frame must be made of cane or some very light and flexible wood. When in the air it will sweep backward and forward with movements exactly like those of a hawk when wheeling about in search of prey.

THE RATS AND THE MEAL.

BY PALMER COX.

One summer's night when all was still, And motionless the wheel, Some rats ran through the village mill, And stole a bag of meal.

And hurry-scurry, tooth and nail, They dragged it to the door, And then upon their shoulders soon Away the treasure bore.

But as they hastened from the room, Along a narrow plank, The heavy load went in the flume, And to the bottom sank.

And downward with the bag of meal, Ere they could loose their hold, With many a frightened squeak and squeal. The thieves together rolled.

So then for life they had to swim, But when they reached the shore, They dried themselves around a fire, And vowed to steal no more.

When the showers of April Are falling so fast, Just think, little dears, That they soon will be past,

And the grass will be springing, The birds will be gay, And soon, little dears, We'll have flowers and May.

Little hands up! Who has found the darling trailing arbutus? You, little Susie, and you live in Virginia? What New England girl will report first about the wild flowers that grow near her home? Which of the boys has seen the robins building? and who has been working out-doors with father, doing that hard spring work which will be so well repaid when summer and autumn come? Here are some more jingles for the wee ones:

Rain, rain, go away, Come again another day.

A sunshiny shower Won't last half an hour.

Patter, patter, patter--see the dancing drops! Clatter, clatter, clatter--and the shower stops.

Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle, there's the sun again! April is a pleasant month, spite of sudden rain.

* * * * *

I am a boy eleven years old, and my home is in Indiana, a mile from the State line of Ohio. My papa owns a farm here, and we are farmers, so that I have plenty to do in the summer-time working in the garden and around, and evenings and mornings I help to milk the cows. In the winter I go to school. I like to go first rate, especially when Miss Y. is our teacher. When we do not go to school, my brother Elmar and I and some more boys and girls who live near by go over to my grandpa's an evening or two in every week, and grandma teaches us. I like to study geography especially. My brother Elmar is older than I, and we take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE together. When we meet at grandpa's, Elmar and I take our YOUNG PEOPLE along, so that the rest of the children who go can hear the nice stories in it, and after lessons are recited, grandma reads to us all. I liked "A Battle of Icebergs" in No. 124; we all did. And I like the letters in Our Post-office Box, especially where they write from Europe. I should like to sail on the large steamers to Europe. I would want to visit Switzerland, where William Tell and his brave little Albert lived. And I would like to see Lake Geneva, and the tall white peaks of the Alps reflected in the clear water. And I think it would be gay fun to go to Berne in their holidays, and see the people marching around in the streets wrapped in bear-skins, "playing" they are bears. But we have some good times here. My grandma wrote a story, and read it to us last week after lessons. The story was concerning a lady who made a party to please a lot of young people. When the names were announced at the door, they were all our own first names. The surnames were changed. I will ask grandma for the story to send with this letter, and hope the Postmistress will please print both. If they should be printed week after next, I would read them for my piece at our exhibition.

IRVING P.

The Postmistress is sorry that she has not room for your grandmamma's story in Our Post-office Box with your letter. She has put it safely away in a drawer of her desk, and perhaps one of these days she will be able to find a niche for it. You were very kind to copy it so plainly. Although you have not visited Europe, your letter shows that you have read and studied about its peoples and places, so if you ever do go there, you will be prepared to enjoy the new scenes intelligently.

* * * * *

We are pleased to hear again from our correspondent Alberto, who has written to us from several places which he has visited in Europe. We are glad that his bright eyes see so well what the little ones at home will find pleasure in reading about:

VERONA, ITALY.

Perhaps some of the young people would like to hear about the Carnival of Rome. Mamma hired a window in the Corso twice, and also a carriage, so that when we got tired of our balcony we could see all the fun and frolic of the crowd. From the balcony we could see how gay the whole Corso looked, with flags and banners flying, and bright-colored strips of cloth hanging out of all the windows, and over the balconies, which were full of people. The street was filled with carriages going up and down, and a merry crowd on foot darted in and out among them, dressed up in comical costumes.

Then commenced the throwing of the _coriandoli_, which were little lumps of clay covered with chalk. People seemed to take great pleasure in throwing these at each other. This they followed by showering every one with small bouquets of flowers. I think the flowers were better than the _coriandoli_, as they did not hurt so much.

The fun every day closed with a horse-race. The horses had no riders, but attached to their flanks were leaden balls with sharp points, which urged them on like spurs. When the signal was given they dashed through the crowd, which just opened a moment to let them pass, and tore along until they were stopped at the other end of the Corso, where the judge sat to proclaim the winner. But the last night was very gay, for then every one had little candles, and the fun was to keep one's own light burning and blow out one's neighbor's. Some held a taper in one hand, and a fan made of feathers in the other for blowing out the candles. When the tapers were blown out all would cry "Senza moccolo," which means without light. The Carnival finished with a grand procession; maskers carried colored lanterns, which represented fruit, flowers, animals, moon, and stars; finally, a huge car came, in which was the King of the Carnival in a dying state, and a crowd of people behind weeping over him. It was a grand sight, and I wish that some of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE could have seen it also.

ALBERTO DAL MOLIN.

* * * * *

MONTICELLO, ILLINOIS.

I have a doll, and it wears No. 1 baby's shoes and baby dresses. My sister has a canary that will sing just as loud as it can when she plays the music it likes. I had a little dog eight years old, and some one poisoned him. His name was Dick. I have a boy doll. He was dressed in a little black velvet suit when I got him; I named him George. I think HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is the nicest little paper I ever had. My brother Willie has a wagon, and he takes me out riding every day; but the wagon is broken now, and he can not take me. I do wish Jimmy Brown would write some more funny pieces; I like to read them so much! I would like to get acquainted with him. We used to have three white rabbits, but a stray cat caught them.

LENA W.

Brother Willie must get the wagon mended.

* * * * *

The little sentence which inspired this graceful poem was written by Victor Hugo, the venerable poet of France, in the album of a young girl who had begged for his autograph. Victor Hugo is a lover of children, as our own Longfellow was. Shall we translate the French for those who do not read that beautiful language? It means "like glass to quiver," or answer back to the touch; "like brass to resist." The poem will help you to understand the meaning of this sentiment. "À vos pieds, mademoiselle," means "At your feet," or, as we would say, "Your most obedient, miss."

FROM YOUTH TO AGE.

BY AGNES M. ALDEN.

"_De verre pour frémir, d'airain pour résister._" "_À vos pieds, mademoiselle._" "HUGO VICTOR."

Maiden, with thine eyes of blue, Flow'ret gemmed with morning dew, Let thy stalk grow hard and strong, That when fiends of hate and wrong Bluster through thy youth's domain, Thou mayst well thyself maintain: _Pour résister, sois l'airain_.

When pure angels of delight O'er thy garden wend their flight, Show'ring magic gifts on thee, Music, art, and poesie, Then thy dewy heart lay bare To the loving, vibrant air: _Alors, frémis comme le verre_.

* * * * *

MARYVILLE, TENNESSEE.

My papa gave me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for a birthday present. I like it very much indeed. L. Pearlie S. said she had a hen that killed all but the black ones in her brood. Mamma says she once had a hen that did not like black chickens, so she tried to kill all she saw in her brood, and others too. I like chickens very much. I have twenty-one chickens--nine hens, one rooster, and eleven little chicks. One year I had thirty-eight chickens, two turkeys, and four Pintados.

I don't see how any one can help liking sweet, gentle, loving cats. I have a cat nearly four years old. She can't do any tricks; she only curls up under the stove when she can't get into my lap. But I like her very much; she is the only pet I have. I have no brother nor sister, except a grown sister who is married.

I have a flower and a vegetable garden. I like to go to school very much, but I do not go now, as I was sick and had to stop. I think Jimmy Brown's adventures are so very funny! I make a good many Wiggles, but I have never sent any. I often see some just like mine, though.

I am making two quilts. One is made out of the pieces that are too little for the other, and the other is a "memory quilt." Maybe some of the little readers would like to know what a memory quilt is. It can be of any pattern, provided it has a light-colored piece in the middle. The little girl who has it makes a square, and gives it to one of her friends, who makes another like it for her. The name can be worked or printed in the middle. When all her friends have made one, she puts them together, and has a quilt.

I would be very glad to see this in print, as no one knows I am writing it except mamma. Good-by.

SUSIE S. B.

* * * * *

The birthday verses which follow were written by a little girl to please her sister, and the Postmistress thinks they are very sweet. Mother did quite right in advising Maggie to send them to Our Post-office Box:

Behold our little darling In gorgeous garb arrayed! Her presents are before her, On the table nicely laid.

She smiles so sweetly upon all-- She's neither proud nor haughty; She's sometimes very mischievous, But hardly ever naughty.

Her lustrous eyes, of a dark brown hue, Are a match for her wavy hair; And of birthday queens our Annie dear Is the fairest of the fair.

MAGGIE J. L. JERICHO, LONG ISLAND.

* * * * *

SIOUX RIVER, WISCONSIN.

I am a little girl ten years old, and live nine miles from Bayfield. There is no school, church, or Sunday-school here. My sisters are older than I, and they stay in Bayfield and go to school. I am pretty lonely when they are all away and I am here with papa and mamma. But I have my pets as well as some other girls. I have a black cat which I call Pussy. I play with her, and I like her ever so much. I have ten dolls, and mamma says some of them are dilapidated. My oldest doll is a rag doll, which my aunt gave me when I was six months old. We live in Sioux River Valley, and the river is full of trout. I caught one in a little brook that runs past the door. A great many people come here in the summer to fish. There are some very large hills, all around us, covered with pine-trees, and pretty both in summer and winter. I never saw any hills, pine-trees, or rocks until we came here two years ago. About a mile from here is what we call the rapids. It is just beautiful! Such large rocks, covered with such pretty green mosses! I wish you could all see them, for I can not describe them. From the sitting-room we can see a "slide," and I love to watch the logs come tumbling and crashing down until they fall in the river.

ALBERTA S.

* * * * *

HACKENSACK, NEW JERSEY.

Mamma says I may tell you two funny stories, because they are true:

There are two old colored people living at Fort L., near the school-house. Their names are Toby and Isabel. Toby keeps the school-house clean, but Isabel is so old and fat that she can not work much. One day my aunt met her on the road, and asked her where she had been. She said, "Oh, I've been helpin' Tobe in de school." "Why, you can't help him sweep, can you?" said auntie. "No; but Tobe he make so much dust when he sweep, an' it make him cough so, I t'ought I would go an' stand by him, so some of de dust would go down my froat, an' den Tobe wouldn't get so much on his lungs to make him cough so."

My sister teaches a school in the country, and one of her pupils is a little colored boy by the name of Nick. The other day he came into the room, crying bitterly, and said, "Teacher, the boys are all the time calling me names." She said, "What do they call you?" "They call me Nicholas, and that isn't my name; it's Nicky."

EMMA S.

Thanks for your stories, dear. Isabel was very kind to Toby; and as for little Nick, we hope the boys were prevailed upon to stop teasing him.

* * * * *

WHITSTABLE, KENT, ENGLAND.

My uncle, who lives in New York, sends us HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE and HARPER'S WEEKLY, both of which we like very much. I must tell you about my pets. I have a black-and-tan terrier named Tiny, and a jackdaw which talks quite plainly. My sister has a tabby cat and a canary-bird. We have not had any snow this winter. We have had primroses and daisies in bloom all the time.

I went over the Canterbury Cathedral, and saw the tomb of Edward the Black Prince, and the shrine of Thomas à Becket, the murdered Archbishop of Canterbury. The stone in front of the altar is worn into hollows where the pilgrims used to kneel. Last Saturday Colonel Brine and Mr. Simmons went up in a large balloon from Canterbury, to cross the Channel from Dover to Calais. The wind changed, and they came down in the middle of the Channel, and were picked up by the mail-packet, and brought back to Dover. We are very sorry Barnum has bought our elephant Jumbo. I hope he will be stubborn, and won't go, for I'm sure we want him more than the little American boys and girls do. I hope I have not made my letter too long to go in your Post-office Box.

FRED P.

Going up in a balloon would be much better fun if people could only be sure that they would not come plunging down on the top of a high mountain, into the depths of a wood, or, like those unfortunate gentlemen, plump into the middle of a body of water. Why did you feel so badly about letting your little American friends see Jumbo? By the time you read this perhaps we will understand how it was that the English children were so fond of this big elephant that they grieved over sparing him to us. We wish we had some huge American pet to send over the Atlantic to take his place in your affections.

* * * * *

IRVINWOOD, VIRGINIA.

I am fourteen, and a fond reader of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. I have been papa and mamma's little housekeeper for four or five years, as mamma is often not able to leave her bed.

I never went from home to school in my life. Mamma has always taught us at home. Besides my other studies, I have map-drawing, French, Latin, and music, with an abundance of excellent reading, so I'm very busy.

Do you like to darn stockings, Postmistress? I don't enjoy it, though I have done it for four years, and mamma says I do it beautifully.

I have just read Ellen McC.'s letter, of Palmyra, Missouri, and am so sorry for her. I "always sew the paper." I hope she will be able to get out in the open air when the "leaves and flowers come." I should like to take her with me in some of my nice long walks to the tops of these high hills; to one especially, from which we can see a great deal of the country, and the mountains in the distance which bound the Shenandoah Valley--the beautiful Blue Ridge east, and the Alleghany Mountains west. Our farm is in a pretty miniature valley, with woods in front and in the rear, great oak-trees that wave and toss their huge arms in this raging March wind. Massannuten Mountain bounds our view on the north, and South Mountain on the south. About ten miles distant is the "Old Stone Church," the first Presbyterian church in the Valley of Virginia, built in colonial times, and used as a fort of defense against the Indians, and also as a "meeting-house." It is known now as Augusta Church, and is situated in a beautiful oak grove. In the suburbs of Staunton there is a large old-fashioned house that was occupied for a while by the Hessians during the Revolution. We live about three miles from Staunton.

MAY H. S.

Yes, dear, strange as it may seem to you, the Postmistress is fond of darning stockings, and when she is tired of other things, she finds it a restful occupation which composes her nerves. She hopes your nerves do not need to be soothed. It is pleasant for you to be your mamma's housekeeper, and she is to be congratulated on having so useful a little daughter. Your home is in a very beautiful part of our country. You must enjoy your walks and rides over the charming roads in the valley of the winding Shenandoah.

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RAPIDAN, MINNESOTA.

I think "The Talking Leaves" has been so nice. So many write about pets, but the only pet I have is my baby sister Maggie. I read about the violets that the little boy in Texas sent you. Last winter I went into my grandma's garden when the snow was about a foot deep, and pushing it away, found pansies as bright as in the summer. Papa, mamma, and I got that Monogram Puzzle right. I know three real nice games for playing in the house. One is "Forty Questions and Three Guesses." One player thinks of something; for example, the player chooses the word "Steel," but does not name it aloud; then the others ask questions about it--what it looks like, what its use is, and everything they can think of. By-and-by they find that it is a mineral, and they may guess three times as to what mineral it is. Another nice game is "Geographical Spelling." The first player spells the name of a city, river, lake, or whatever the players decide on. The next one spells the name of a lake (if it has been decided to have all lakes) the first letter of which is the last letter of the name that the first player spelled, and so they go around until the lakes are exhausted, after which you can take something else. The other game is called "Stillwater." One person is blindfolded, and stands and counts twenty. By that time the rest must have taken places, and must keep perfectly still until some one is found. The one who is first found takes the place of the one who was blindfolded. Good-by.

EDITH C.

We always feel a little timid about games which require the blindfolding of anybody, as accidents sometimes happen when little performers grow too merry in their excitement. We have tried the other games, and agree with Edith in recommending them.

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WEST CHESTER, PENNSYLVANIA.

I am eight years old, and the youngest of the family except my little brother Lionel, who has just begun to go to school, and he thinks he is a man because he wears long boots, a soldier cap, and can spell "my cat."

We have a dear little canary that Aunt Belle gave my sister Fanny. We call him Peter the Great; and indeed he makes a great noise sometimes, if he is little. We have a dog too, a setter, and my brother Charlie Ross, who is now at school in Rhode Island, named him Ivan the Terrible. He can shut the door, walk on his hind-legs, sit up and beg, and can jump a stick ever so high, and only has to be told a few times.

I must tell you now about my sister Fanny, who is three years older than I am. Her birthday came February 27, the same day that Mr. Longfellow's did, so she said she would write him a letter, and she did; and--would you believe it?--he sent her a dear little printed letter (for he was too ill to write), with his autograph and the date in it.

Now don't you think he was a dear good man to do that for only a little girl? Fanny is so pleased! She says she will keep it until she is old and gray, but she don't look much like it now. We have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE all its life, and expect to forever. I have written all this letter myself, and hope you will like it.

ETHEL D.

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Leon M. Fobes, 22 Cushman Street, Portland, Maine, wishes the address of Arch Carson, in order that he may return the latter his stamps.

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WILLIAM W. D.--Why not say, "I have a half-apple, or a quarter"? _Than_ is not necessary if you wish to show that you have only part of any whole number.

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C. Y. P. R. U.

HOW GIRLS MAY ENTERTAIN EACH OTHER.--The idea that in order to entertain company it is necessary to go to a great deal of trouble and expense prevents many young people from really enjoying themselves together. The other day I was present when Florilla asked her mother for permission to invite a number of her girl friends to a birthday party.

"I am quite willing, dear, to let you invite your favorite school-mates to luncheon or to tea, and I will provide a simple entertainment for them," said the mother, pleasantly, "but I can not consent to your having a regular evening company."

Florilla thought she could not be contented with a daytime party of any kind, so her birthday is to pass unmarked, and a dozen girls, who might have had some charming hours with each other, will all stay at home just as usual.

When you think of it, dears, it is not upon dainty eatables nor pretty dresses that you depend for enjoyment, but on the spirit which prevails, on bright talk, music, games, fun, and gay good-humor, all of which are within reach of everybody.

I have a friend who lives in a quiet little place near a beautiful sheltered bay. Her brother owns a boat. Sometimes, on a summer day, at the noonday meal, it will occur to one of the family that it would be pleasant to have a picnic in the afternoon. One child is sent off to notify the cousins up the street, and another messenger goes for Emily, or John, or Lucy, who is a favorite on such occasions. A basket of sandwiches and gingerbread is provided, and at three or four o'clock the large boat is filled, the white sail is spread, and away goes a merry party to enjoy the shining water, the salt air, and the hard, smooth beach.

A little mountain party might be arranged by girls who live among the hills, in just such an easy fashion as this.

In the city, most girls would find, now that fine weather is here, great pleasure in a morning spent in the parks, or the rural suburbs which are within a short distance of most towns. It would always be well on such occasions to ask mamma or some grown-up friend to accompany the party.

A hostess must never forget that it is her duty to see that her guests enjoy themselves. For instance, one girl may have travelled. Let her have an opportunity of telling about the lovely places she has visited. A good hostess would ask her beforehand to bring views and photographs with her. Another, who plays well, might be asked for music; but as everybody is not alike fond of even this accomplishment, the whole time should not be taken up with songs and pieces. Neglect nobody, if you wish your company to be a pleasant one, and if strangers are present, introduce them to those they are likely to find most agreeable.

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We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to Lieutenant Sturdy's account of "Tom Fairweather's Visit to the Sultan of Borneo," and to the story of "Captain Edwards's Big Whale," as told by Eesung Eyliss. Then there are some suggestions as to fancy kites, which will interest the boys this breezy weather.

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PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

1. Highest. 2. One of the United States. 3. To vex. 4. Part of a plant. 5. Pertaining to letters. 6. A species of mineral. Primals and finals stand for idle talk.

ICICLE.

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No. 2.

THREE ENIGMAS.

1.

My first is in apple, but not in plum. My second is in flute, but not in drum. My third is in river, but not in stream. My fourth is in whoop, but not in scream. My fifth is in help, but not in aid. My sixth is in wither, but not in fade. My seventh is in wealth, but not in gold. My eighth is in ancient, but not in old. My ninth is in summer, but not in fall. My tenth is in party, but not in ball. My whole's an inventor of worthy fame, And American annals hold his name.

EMPIRE CITY.

2.

First in valise, but not in bag. Second in hill, but not in crag. Third in catch, but not in keep. Fourth in otter, but not in sheep. Fifth in house, but not in barn. Sixth in horse, but not in colt. Seventh in shoe, but not in foot. Eighth in glue, but not in bolt. Ninth in sponge, but not in shoot. Tenth in owe, but not in earn. My whole is a famous author.

MARY E. D. W.

3.

My first is in big, but not in small. My second is in good, in bad not at all. My third is in young, but not in old, And my whole is eager, brave, and bold.

JULIE R. D.

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No. 3.

A WORD SQUARE.

1. A plume. 2. To attain. 3. Ardent. 4. A show. 5. A number.

EMPIRE CITY.

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No. 4.

THREE DIAMONDS.

1.--1. In pea-nut. 2. An animal. 3. A piece of furniture. 4. An animal. 5. In owl.

W. B. J.

2.--1. A letter. 2. An article. 3. A country. 4. The conclusion. 5. A letter.

3.--1. In snipe. 2. A cushion. 3. A fright. 4. Clamor. 5. In clams.

JOHN P.

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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 126.

No. 1.

J O I S T O U N C E I N D E X S C E N T T E X T S

No. 2.

H B L E A C O D H E A R T B O O T H A R T A T E T H

T C A T T A B L E E L M E

No. 3.

G R E A T R E A M E A T A M T

No. 4.

Ostrich. Victoria.

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Successful Wiggler--G. F. Weller.

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Correct answers to puzzles have been received from Lottie and Arthur, Anna Whitey, A. E. Cressingham, Samuel Bronson, Wroton Kenney, William A. Lewis, Jennie Day, Elsie T. Carr, Laura Richards, Johnnie Bigelow, Fred Smith, "Icicle," Georgie Wardell, Kittie Lerois, Percy Stuart, Elsie D., Grace Cooley, Eva M. Stevenson, Martin Best, Francis, "Lodestar," May Sherman, Dean Crawford, Robert Tice, and Jacob Rollauer.

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[_For Exchanges, see 2d and 3d pages of cover._]

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, April 18, 1882, by Various