CHAPTER XXVI.

During the time spent by Murray with Rita in the lodge, Steve Harrison found his position a little awkward. The chiefs had by far too much dignity to consult with so young a brave, especially as he had not even one of the "Talking Leaves" to listen to. He knew that not only Dolores and Ni-ha-be, but half a dozen other squaws, old and young, were staring at him, and he could not understand a word of the low-voiced remarks they made. He was very glad, therefore, when his friend once more appeared, and he saw by the light on his face that he had no unpleasant news to bring.

"What find?" asked Many Bears. "Send Warning and Rita hear anything?"

"Hear a little. Send Warning will take the Leaves to his own lodge and hear more."

"What say now? Hear about big talk with blue-coat pale-faces?"

"Tell you what I think."

"The chief is listening."

"Break up village. Move west right away. More news come soon. Hear about treaty when you see the lodges of your own people. No time to lose."

That advice agreed so exactly with the notions of Many Bears that he was ready to accept it at once. He turned to his two councillors triumphantly.

"What did I tell you? It is wisdom. We will go. Tell the braves to get ready. Tell all the squaws to pack up. Send on hunting braves. Good many. Kill plenty meat."

There was no opposition.

The only objection that could reasonably be raised was that so sudden a departure gave no opportunity for a grand celebration of their victory over the Lipans. They could attend to that, however, some other time.

"Come, Steve," said Murray. "We want an hour by ourselves."

They were quickly inside their own lodge, and were sure there were no listeners.

"Steve!"

"What is it, Murray?"

"That little girl is my own daughter!"

"I've suspected it. And this was the very band of Apaches that broke up your home and your mine."

"Yes, and it is a wonder they have not recognized me. If Apaches of some other band were to join them, some of them might remember me. They have seen me in more than one of their fights with the Lipans."

"It would be all over with us then."

"Of course it would. I am dressed differently, to be sure. I can change a little more. Must crop my hair and beard closer. They know me for a long-bearded old man; I must turn myself into a short-haired young one."

"Can't you dye your hair?"

"Not until we get to the settlements. There are no barbers among the Apaches."

"How will we ever get her away, Murray?"

"Oh, my girl! my poor, dear little girl! I dare not think about my wife. No wonder my hair is white. Steve, I must not let her live and die among these wild people. They have been kind to her, she says, and I do not hate them so much, now I know that; but she shall not be an Indian."

He was getting feverishly excited, and Steve replied:

"Now, Murray, of course we will get her away. Haven't you some plan?"

"Only to draw the whole band nearer the frontier or nearer to some fort or other."

"That's good. We would have a shorter distance to run if we should escape."

"Now, Steve, I'm all upset and unstrung. That's the reason I came in here. I've got to get my wits about me again, or I can't plan anything."

"Sit down and read."

"Read? Do you suppose I could do that just now? Why, Steve, I've found my little daughter."

"So you have. I don't wonder you're excited. I am myself. Here, give me a magazine. I'd like to find out how much of my reading will come back."

Murray handed him one and Steve sat down. He had been fond of books in the days before he was captured by the Lipans. He had not forgotten his reading at all, and it came back to him in a way that made his heart jump. But that was after he had made a great effort, and driven away the faces of Rita and Ni-ha-be.

Both of them would somehow come between his eyes and the paper of those printed pages at first. Both of them were such nice, pretty, well-behaved girls, and yet one of them was white, the daughter of his friend Murray, and the other was only a poor little squaw of the Apaches.

Murray picked up a magazine and sat down. "It will do for a sort of medicine," he muttered. "I may learn something from it, too. The world has changed a great deal since I have had newspapers or magazines to read. There may be some new nations in it for all I know, and there surely must be a new lot of Kings and Queens and Presidents, and all that sort of thing."

It was that thought which made him turn over a little carelessly all the illustrated articles and the stories until he came to the "news of the month" among the Leaves at the end.

There he began actually to read and read closely, for it was all new to him, although the magazine in question was several months old. There was a good deal told in a short space, for the editor had condensed everything into the fewest words possible.

At the same time, it must have been a remarkable news item that could make a man of steady nerve bound suddenly to his feet, and hold that magazine out at arm's-length.

"Why, Murray!" said Steve, "what can be the matter?"

"Matter? My dear boy, read that! Rita is an heiress."

"What?"

Steve certainly had good reason for thinking that his friend had lost his wits, but he took the "Talking Leaves" held out to him, and read the few lines to which Murray's finger pointed.

"The great English estate of Cranston Hall, with a baronetcy, is waiting for an heir. The late baronet left no children, and his only brother, to whom the title and all descend, was last heard of in America. He is believed to have been interested in mining in the far West, and the lawyers are hunting for him."

"Well," said Murray, when Steve ceased reading, "what do you think of that?"

"I don't know exactly what to think. Your name is Murray."

"Robert Cranston Murray, as my father's was before me. It was because he left me only my name that I left England to seek my fortune. Oh, Steve, I must find my way back now! Rita will be the lady of Cranston Hall."

"Instead of the squaw of some Apache horse-stealer."

Steve felt a little like dancing and a good deal like tossing up his hat and venting his feelings by a good hurrah, but the next thought was a sober one.

"How are we ever to get them to give up Rita?"

Murray was thinking the same thought just then, and it seemed to him as if he must go out to the door of the lodge for a little breath of fresh air. The chief and his councillors were nowhere to be seen, but there was Mother Dolores by the camp fire. Murray tried hard to assume a calm and steady face and voice as he strode forward and stood beside her. He spoke to her in Spanish.

"Well, Dolores, which do you like best, cooking for Mexican miners or for the great chief?"

She dropped her stew-pan, and stood looking at him for a moment, drawing her breath hard, and then she exclaimed:

"I was right. It is Senor Murray. Ah, senor, it is so long ago! The poor senora--"

"Don't speak of her. I know. We found her. My Rita?"

"Yes, she is your Rita. But they will kill you if you tell them. I will keep your secret, senor. I have kept it until now."

She had dimly recognized him, then, and she too had been in doubt what to do or say. In answer to a few more questions she told him, very truly, that she had been better off among the Apaches than before she was captured. Less hard work, better treatment, better food, better position, just about as much real civilization. Poor Dolores had never known anything much better than the hard lot of a Mexican woman of the lower class among the rough miners. It was better, she said, to be the wife of a chief, and have plenty to eat and little hard work to do.

"But about Rita?"

"If you had your mine, now, and your great droves of horses--"

"What could I do?"

"Do, Senor Murray? Why, you could buy half the young squaws in the village if you had husbands for them. But you are poor now. I suppose it can not be done."

It was no wonder he had not thought of it before. It was so strange a thing to propose. That a father should buy his daughter!

He turned from her and strode back to his own lodge to see what Steve would say.

"He's a mere boy, but he seems to have a great deal of sense."

Steve's remark, after he had heard about Dolores and her idea, was simply: "That's nothing new, is it? If we can't run away with her, we can ransom her."

"Ransom? Well, now, that's a great deal better word than buy. But our gold coin won't do. They won't take the whole pile for her. They don't really understand the value of it."

"They want ponies and blankets and all that?"

"That's it. Why, Steve, it's the queerest thing. I'm so excited I can't think. If we can make a bargain with them, they'll be glad enough to go with us to the nearest trading post. We can buy all we want when we get there. You've helped me out of my scrape."

"Seems to me it was easy enough to think of that."

It may have been, but Murray felt very grateful to Steve.

The latter now put down his magazine, and went to the door in his turn, for he too had a large amount of thinking to do.

"Murray, they are taking down the lodges again."

"Going forward to-night, eh? I'm glad of that. I must spur old Many Bears up to it. Don't want him to lose a day on the road."

"Nor I, either. They'll move slowly enough anyhow."

"Oh, they'll find a good place to leave the village, while the chiefs and warriors go on to be present at the treaty talk."

"Suppose there isn't any?"

"There's pretty sure to be something of the kind at this season of the year. Anyhow, we will get them to a place where we can buy ponies and blankets, and we will have Rita with us."

Murray felt it very hard that he could not send for her at once, and tell her all about his plans for her release. Yes, and about the beautiful English home to which he meant to take her, away beyond the great salt sea she had never seen.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

Come, dears, gather around the Postmistress, while she has a moment to look at you, and let her see how many merry faces she can count in the throng. There are some which are paler than they should be--little Gustave's, for instance; but no wonder, for he has been very, very ill, so that the house was all hushed on his account, and papa and mamma were afraid they would have to say good-by to their darling boy. But God answered their prayers, and now he is getting well fast, and soon will be as strong as ever. Here is Phoebe, who sends her love, but does not know how to write a letter. Never mind, dear; the love is the best part of any letter, and you will learn all about the rest when you are older. There are Kitty, Molly, Ted, Margaret, Frank, Bobby, and Jack, and ever so many more. The Postmistress knows your names by heart, and is sure she would know you if she happened to meet you on the way to school some bright spring morning.

She wonders if you would be willing to share your luncheon with her, and let her peep into your school-books. She doesn't wear spectacles, and she hasn't seven-league boots, but her eyes are pretty sharp, and she thinks she could walk as fast on her feet as Robin A. says he can on stilts, and she would not need more than one glance at a girl's exercise to know whether the little lady did her best,

Or did not work, And tried to shirk.

And now for our letters, children.

* * * * *

WAYNE, ILLINOIS.

I am a little girl seven years old. I have a doll; her name is Amy. My papa bought me some calico, and I am making her a dress, and mamma says it is done nicely for the first one. Papa went to St. Charles yesterday, and bought me some card-board and worsted, and I think it will keep me busy for some time. I can work my name. I hope my letter will be printed.

ALICE M. K.

* * * * *

We thank Miss L. C. for her kindness in sending us the nice little budget of letters from her pupils. They were all of nearly equal merit, and those children whose letters are not printed may be sure that we liked them just as well as we did that of Allie D., which follows:

STATE CENTRE, IOWA.

Our reading class have been reading out of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE instead of our Readers this term, and I like it very much. In No. 114 was a very interesting article on the sponge, and for our examination last month we had to write a composition on it. In No. 117 was a very interesting article on the cigarette. I think if boys and men knew what is in cigars and cigarettes, they would not smoke them. Just think of men and boys smoking cigars that are made up of stubs that are found in gutters in large cities! I think some of your puzzles are very interesting. I like the monogram puzzle very much. You have had some very pretty illustrations in your papers, especially the "Little Dreamer," which is pretty enough for an oil-painting. I have not been very much interested in the "Talking Leaves," because we did not have the first numbers; but we are waiting very patiently for the next story by Mr. Otis.

ALLIE D.

* * * * *

PICTOU, NOVA SCOTIA.

I am a little boy living in Pictou, Nova Scotia, in the Dominion of Canada. Papa takes your paper for me and sister Eliza, and we like it immensely, as we hear some people say about anything they like very much. It is now winter with us; we have a heavy fall of snow on the ground, and it is banked up as high as the windows at our house. The harbor is frozen over altogether down as far as the light-house, about three miles from town, outside of which it hardly ever freezes, but is open all winter. Some parts of our harbor are three miles wide, other places one mile. The ice is now about one foot thick, and carries horses and sleds with large loads of coal. It is marked in many directions with long rows of trees not very far apart, which were put into holes in the ice when it was about four inches thick, and having frozen there, they stand quite firmly. They are for guiding people on stormy days and nights, when they can not see from shore to shore.

There are extensive coal mines about eight miles from us. Some of them are very deep under-ground, but others are not, but the coal is brought up a slope in wagons on wheels. I was up last winter, and saw the men and boys that work in the mines. They were terribly black with coal dust. Each of them carries a safety-lamp, which gives but a feeble light in such dark places. I was up two winters ago, and saw one of the places for myself. At one of the largest mines, about two years ago, there was an explosion, which killed forty men, and ruined the mine. It has never been worked since. For days and days you could see great clouds of smoke rising toward the skies from where we live. Our town is not large; there are only 4000 people in it. But we have some fine houses and public buildings. We have a $20,000 brick and stone academy, with 200 students. We have a railway connecting us with other places in the Dominion and the United States. My papa has travelled a good deal; he has been in Boston several times, and in New York and Philadelphia. He was at the Exhibition there in 1876. He thinks it was a bigger show than Barnum's Circus, which was here some years ago. I wish I could visit your great city, and see the East River Bridge, and the elevated railway, and Broadway, and all the other great sights.

WILLIE M. H.

* * * * *

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

I don't believe that any of the subscribers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE enjoy reading it more than I do, though I can not read much for fear of hurting my eyes, so I read a little every day. When I was sick papa read it to me, as I could not read it then. I wish Mr. Otis would hurry, and give us the story he promised. I like Jenny Wren, or "The Little Dolls' Dressmaker," the best of any story in a long while. I have no little pets. Like a great many, I go to school, and have to study my lessons quite hard to know them. I received a very handsome album for advertisement cards Christmas. I hope my letter will be printed. Mamma says it will not, and I said it would; so please put it in the paper. I never wrote before.

CAMILLE P.

No doubt the girls will all laugh with pleasure, and the boys throw up their caps with delight, when they see that Mr. Stubbs's Brother makes his bow in this very number. We expect he will be rather more popular than poor Mr. Stubbs, and that is saying a great deal. The story is very bright and entertaining, and Mr. Otis could not write a dull one if he tried, could he, children?

* * * * *

GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA.

I am eight years old, and papa writes for me what I say in this letter. I have a doll, dressed in baby clothes, called Daisy. Mamma knit a pretty afghan for her of pink and white. She goes to sleep under it in her carriage. Mamma knit her a hammock. I have a larger doll, who is Daisy's mamma; her name is Violet. She has a muff and hat and shawl; the muff is made of cotton flannel, trimmed with silk. My boy doll Ray is the baby's papa. The baby doll's aunt, Doll Elsie, gave me HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for a Christmas present.

EDNA.

* * * * *

SHREWSBURY, NEW JERSEY.

I am a little girl eight years old, and have taken your nice paper for two years, and like it very much. This morning a dog came into our shed, and we let him into our house; he was a beautiful dog, with great long white silky hair, and great black spots over him; his ears were just as black and silky as could be. You said to tell about our pets and dolls, so I will. I have no pets except an old puss, which I love dearly--his name is Jack--but I have a lovely waxen doll with flaxen hair; her dress is of light blue satin and plum-color mixed; it is trimmed with lace. My papa is a traveller, and is away eight months a year; Please put this in the Post-office Box.

ANNIE L. P.

* * * * *

A CURE FOR CROSS LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS.

One night we all were at the supper table. We were in a very bad humor, and did not know what to do with ourselves, and in a minute or two Aunt Sue said, "When we get up stairs we will have a growling party." We thought that would be a very good plan, as our aunts and grandma and mamma did not like noise at the table. So after supper we went up to the little sitting-room, and mamma told me to begin. I told them my collar was very stiff (to tell the truth, when Aunt Sue said a "growling party," I thought we were going to howl all the time). They all thought that was very funny, and asked me what else. I said that was all. Then they asked my sister Lucy what was the matter with her. She said she had the toothache and ear-ache and headache. Then mamma said she had a pain, and she might have something else. Then Aunt Sue said her head hurt, and Aunt Nell said her feet hurt, and Aunt Bessie said she had a sick headache. At last we began to laugh at so much misery, and that put us in a good humor right away. Now, whenever we are in a bad humor, we have a growling-party, for this is all a true story.

HELEN D. F. (nine years old).

* * * * *

Please read Aunt Edna's letter, children. You will find it worth thinking about, and we slip it in like a sandwich between your own letters, instead of printing it in the column with the treasurer's report about the Cot, because we want you to pay attention to what this kind lady has to say.

TO MY DEAR LITTLE "COT" FRIENDS,--I want to write and tell you something very funny about the "mite chest" in our ward. You remember I told you I put one there; and last Ash-Wednesday--the first day of Lent, as many of you know--I thought I would take out what money was in it, so as to empty it again at Easter, when it would all be Lenten offerings. Sister Catherine told me when I went into the hospital that measles had broken out in our ward, and the little children had all been taken out. Those with the measles were put in a large room at the top of the house, so that they would be away from the rest, and the others were taken to a ward across the hall, and there I found Robert McGee, the little boy I told you of, who was to be in our Cot _that is to be_. He was just as merry as ever, and put his fat little legs out of the covers to show me how nice and straight they looked. As the mite chest had not taken the measles, I went into our ward to see how it was getting on. The room was very still, windows wide open at either end, the little beds unmade, with the mattresses turned over to air, and little red flannel socks or wrappers hanging on the posts of each crib. The only occupants of the ward were several large dolls, sitting quietly in their chairs, and to judge from their pale faces, they had not taken the measles. However, they did not seem to feel like talking--perhaps they were lonely without their little companions--so I left them, and went to our mite chest. As I took it up, a few pennies rattled, but that was all. But still it seemed to be full of something; so, looking closely, I found it was filled with _little scraps of worsted_. Some little hand, I imagine, thought the opening at the top looked inviting, so put in the worsted, and no doubt thought it fine fun; but we who are older, and know more, know very well that scraps of worsted won't endow our Cot. So while we will not trouble these little ones who put them there and enjoyed it, no doubt, as it helped to amuse and keep them from fretting while sick, we will work all the harder; we who can run, jump, and play heartily out-of-doors will try and think more of these little ones, ill and suffering, many of whom will never again be able to run, or play, but may have to suffer pain as long as they live.

Now, my dear little friends, I want to ask you all--those who have done so well thus far (and many of you have worked bravely)--not to stop yet; and those who have not yet begun to help us, to do so at once; for, remember we will have to do our share, and also the share of the little ones who give us only _scraps of worsted_.

Hoping all will do their best; I must say good-by, with love from

AUNT EDNA. NEW YORK, _March_, 1882.

* * * * *

OUR KNOWING JEFF.

My father has a dog named Jeff. Harry, our little brother, will say, "Come, Jeff, take a ride." Jeff will jump into the wagon, Harry will pin a shawl around him, and he will sit and ride until Harry tires of drawing him. It is a comical sight to see those two going about the garden, Jeff sitting straight up with a shawl on, looking so patient.

Not long since Jeff had a sore foot. The first we knew of it he would keep coming in to us and holding one foot up. Sister got a pail of quite hot water, and put his foot in. He looked thankful for having it done. After soaking it long enough, we put some liniment on it, and bandaged it up. Thinking he was all right, we went up to our rooms; but as soon as Jeff found we had gone, he began to cry and whine dreadfully, so we came down and made him a new bed, and covered him. After leaving him, we heard no more from him that night.

For a week or more it was a comical sight to see him limp about the house on three legs, but out-of-doors he would run on all fours well enough. The very instant he entered the door, up would go one foot, not always the same that had been sore--he seemed to forget which one had been. We would say, "Jeff, that is not your lame foot." He would look ashamed, and walk off, only to return and look up at us; he would whine until spoken kindly to. Sometimes we would shake his paw, when he would walk away perfectly satisfied.

ONE OF JEFF'S FRIENDS.

* * * * *

CUSTER CITY, PENNSYLVANIA.

Glad to see my other letter in a book--the print not so big as mine, though. I sent it to Uncle Joe 'way off in California. He wrote me a poetry postal when I was a little fellow only a month old. That was ever so long 'go, but I have it yet; and some gold sand and lumps and stones that came to me from him.

I got a valentine of two gooses; one has a eye-glass on.

They torpedo oil wells here to break the oil loose from the stones. It flies more'n a hundred feet high, and sprinkles in the air, and looks like wet sunshine.

The girls and boys that send letters have dolls and cats to put in. Well, I have a dog, too, only it is brown cloth sewed 'round a lot of cotton. It looks 'zactly like a true dog, but its legs is so straight it can't run and bark.

Papa says you won't print two times 'bout me. Won't you 'bout Uncle Joe and the woollen dog anyway? It's nearly seven years old too, but I can read in the First Reader, and make letters like the ones here.

JOE A. V.

We think we would like your woolly dog much better, Joe, than we do a woolly one which belongs to a young lady we know, and keeps us awake at night by howling while his mistress is absent at a party or concert. Yours, we presume, is very well behaved.

* * * * *

Little friends who send us puzzles will please remember that they must always send the answers at the same time they inclose puzzles. Little folks who find our puzzles out must not omit their names, as we like to give them credit for their clever wits.

* * * * *

C. Y. P. R. U.

MY LADY'S TOILET.--This is a pretty game for a number of children to play some rainy day at recess when they can not go out of doors. To each of the performers is given the name of an article of dress. Chairs are placed for all the party except one, so as to leave one chair too few. All seat themselves but one, who is called the lady's-maid, and who stands in the centre. When the maid calls for any article of dress, the one who has that name instantly rises, repeats the word, and seats herself again directly. For instance, the maid says:

"My lady's up, and wants her dress."

"Dress!" says the one who hears that name, rising as she speaks, and sitting down again very quickly.

"My lady's up, and wants her brush."

"Brush!" says Brush, jumping up in a hurry, and sitting down again.

"My lady's up, and wants her handkerchief, watch, and chain."

Handkerchief, Watch, and Chain spring up together, and repeat their names.

"My lady's up, and wants her whole toilet."

At this every one must rise and change chairs. This makes necessary a general scramble, in which some little player is left standing without any chair. This person must take the place of lady's-maid.

* * * * *

PAUL.--"Red tape" is used to tie official documents, and as there is often considerable delay in obtaining decisions from courts and public offices, people have come to speak of "too much red tape" as a convenient way of saying that things are not going on as fast as they would like.

* * * * *

ANNIE M.--School-girls make a great mistake, dear, in wishing to be young ladies too soon. If they could see how perfectly charming their lives look to older persons, and if they realized what delightful times they are having, they would not be in such haste to grow up. The Postmistress advises you to wear your hair in simple braids, to be contented with the pretty dresses your mother provides for you, and to wait until you shall have left school before you assume jewelry and gay ornaments.

* * * * *

We would call the attention of the C. Y. P. R. U. this week to an interesting article on botany, by Mrs. Herrick, entitled "Flowers in Fancy Dress." The girls--many of whom, we know, are anxious to master all the secrets of housekeeping--will be glad to read what Aunt Marjorie Precept has to say on the "Fine Art of Cooking." The boys will be interested in Mr. Hardwick's description of the game of "Rackets."

* * * * *

YOUNG PEOPLE'S COT.

Once more we have pleasure in presenting the monthly report of the treasurer of the fund for Young People's Cot. We trust our little readers will remember our hint about devoting an Easter offering to this beautiful charity.

We print a selection from the letters received by Miss E. Augusta Fanshawe, to whom contributions for the Cot should always be sent.

* * * * *

DAYTON, OHIO.

I am a little boy only nine years old. Papa has taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE for us ever since the first number. We have two volumes bound. I have two sisters and one brother. I thought I would like to send something for the Cot, so here is a dollar. I earned it myself by doing errands.

PERCY W. HYERS.

* * * * *

MADISON, NEW JERSEY.

Inclosed you will find a check for three dollars, which is a contribution from my little girl, Mary Louise Anderson, for the Young People's Cot. She has earned this money herself within a few weeks by drinking her milk and taking her medicine. For nine weeks she has been in bed. Before Christmas she was taken ill with typhoid fever, from which in four weeks she had recovered sufficiently to sit up a few hours every day. Then she had a relapse, followed by what seemed at first to be neuralgia, but which has proved to be a slight inflammation of the hip-joint. She has been a great sufferer, but is more comfortable now. She has not been out of bed for nearly four weeks, and has an extension on her limb and a weight of three pounds. We hope she will be quite well in a month or perhaps longer, but still it is all a matter of hope. During her illness she was once so near death that it seemed but a matter of moments when she would go. I fear I have trespassed upon your time in thus writing, but you will understand that this money is a real offering of love and peculiar sympathy. My little girl was eight years old on the first day of January.

MARY'S MOTHER.

It was very sweet in little Mary to forget her own great pain in trying to provide for the comfort of some other little sufferers in days to come. We hope she will very soon indeed be perfectly well again.

* * * * *

MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN.

We inclose $1.50 for the Young People's Cot. We have been saving this money for a long time. We could have sent it sooner, only every now and then we see something that we want, and we take a few pennies to buy it. When we do take any money for ourselves, though, we are 'most always sorry. We feel very sorry for the little ones who are sick and have no pleasant homes. We are much interested in all the letters about the Cot. We hope you will soon have enough money to put a little boy or girl in the Cot. We will try to save some more money to send. We have a pet bird; he is very tame. Good-by.

CHARLOTTE C. ELEANOR B. C.

* * * * *

FORT UNION, NEW MEXICO.

My papa gave me a dollar to buy a pair of slippers, and I thought I would do without them, and send the money to Young People's Cot.

MARGARET R. MCNAMARA.

* * * * *

BROOKLYN, NEW YORK.

I send you twenty-five cents, which I have earned myself, for the Young People's Cot. I will send more by-and-by, as I earn it, for mamma says little people should earn the money they send. I want to help reach the "clump of elms." I feel so sorry for the little sick children. I like YOUNG PEOPLE so much!

BESSIE W.

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Contributions received for Young People's Cot, in Holy Innocent's Ward, St. Mary's Free Hospital for Children, 407 West Thirty-fourth Street:

Isabel Ross and Ethelwynne Kate Maclean, Winnipeg, Manitoba, $3; Laura May and Albert C. Davies, Marion, Iowa, $1; M. Fannie and Thomas B. Peck, Jun., New York, $5; Mrs. S. Lawrence, New York, $5; Margaret R. McNamara, Fort Union, New Mexico, $1; Bessie W., Brooklyn, 25c.; Mary Louise Anderson, Madison, $3' Eddie N. and Arthur M. Anketell, New Haven, 28c.; Rev. G. G. Carter, New York, $5; Percy W. Hyers, Dayton, Ohio, $1; Josephine W. Kingsland, New York, 50c.; Wallace Morgan, New York, 50c.; Mrs. G. G. Carter's Sunday-school Class, Church of the Transfiguration, $4; Charlotte and Eleanor B. Campbell, Milwaukee, $1.50; M. J. C., 25c.; from "Mamma and Willie," New York, $5.10; A Little Boy and Girl from Cuba, $2; Anna M. Buzzell, Barrington, Vt., 10c.; Worthington S. Tilford, St. Albans, Vt., $1; total, $39.48. Previously acknowledged, $258.04; grand total, March 15, $297.52.

Received from Samuel Lee Ingram, Missouri, two pictures; and from Florence R. Hall, Woodbury, N. J., one doll.

E. AUGUSTA FANSHAWE, Treasurer, 43 New St.

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PUZZLES FROM YOUNG CONTRIBUTORS.

No. 1.

CONCEALMENTS.

1. Hidden Trees.--1. Will you help Amy? 2. That is a high crib. 3. Even I prefer the other. 4. I am less studious than you are.

2. Hidden Places.--1. It is strange no abler advocate could be found to plead this cause. 2. Was that a knock? It Is papa, then, surely. 3. At a barbecue they have roasted ox for dinner. 4. O ma, haven't I been good to-day? The teacher marked me only once.

B. J. L.

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No. 2.

DOUBLE ACROSTIC.

1. A famous African tree. 2. A great white water-lily. 3. To recede. 4. A small fort. 5. Shining with shifting color. 6. The American ostrich. 7. A young unfledged hawk. Primals and finals are two favorite spring flowers.

MOTHER BUNCH.

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No. 3.

TRANSFORMATIONS.

1. I am a rascal. Behead me, I am soldiers' quarters. 2. I am a garment. Behead me, I am a grain. 3. I am a tiny spot. Behead me, I am a measure. 4. I am an instrument of punishment. Behead me, I am an inclosure. 5. I grow in every garden. Behead me, I threaten. 6. I am a medicine. Behead me, I am an instrument necessary to civilization. 7. I am essential to beauty. Behead me, I am a contest. 8. I am an expression of scorn. Behead me, I am a relative. 9. I am a spice. Behead me, I am a unit. 10. I am something girls do. Behead me, I am used for skating. 11. I keep out the weather. Behead me, I produce. 12. I express greediness. Behead me, I am a testament.

M. V. M. and I. V. M.

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No. 4.

NUMERICAL ENIGMA.

I am composed of 11 letters. My 1, 2, 3 is an article. My 4, 5, 6 is a girl's name. My 7, 8, 9, 10, 11 is a fortunate lady. My whole is a poem by Tennyson.

BRIGHT EYES.

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No. 5.

ENIGMA.

My first is in Philip, but is not in James. My second in Arthur, but is not in Joe. My third is in Robert, but not in Eugene. My fourth is in Rosa, but is not in Flo. My fifth is in Oscar, but not in Katrine. My sixth is in Thomas, but is not in Clo. And I am a bird you would all like to know.

JAMES EUGENE M.

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No. 6.

TWO EASY DIAMONDS.

1.--1. A letter. 2. A utensil. 3. An elevation. 4. Conclusion. 5. A letter.

2.--1. A letter. 2. To permit. 3. One of the United States. 4. To knock. 5. A letter.

SAM WELLER, JUN.

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ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN No. 124.

No. 1.

"Wealth gotten by vanity shall be diminished, but he that gathereth by labor shall increase."

Bath. Thyme. Hearth. Sabbath. Bullion. Heather. Battledore. Coleridge. Gymnasium. Lawn tennis. Honesty. Vigilance.

No. 2.

Box. Brush. Hand. Limp. Sweep. Bracket. Clove. Pill. Chair. Brook. Blot.

No. 3.

H A N D H E A R A R E A E A S E N E A R A S I A D A R E R E A R

No 4.

Snowball.

No 5.

Penmanship.

No 6.

R H R O E S I P R O U G H H I V E S E G G P E N H S

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Correct answers to puzzles have been received from "Dimple Darling," Ezra Burt, Blanche P. Hayward, "Fill Buster," Charles F. Wagner, Belle Van Buskirk, Charlie Jones, Max Frost, Susie Passmore, Earle Jessup, "Ben Bolt," Alice Chisholm, Kenneth McGovern, E. C. A., Henry Berlan, Jun.

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

THE CLOWNS' DUEL.

When Jack and Jerry, both of them merry, Met at the circus one day, Over Jerry's crown leaped Jack the clown. And knocked off his hat in play.

Jerry's rage was great, and from the ground straight He leaped ten feet in the air, And as he came down, he said, with a frown, "Replace it, sir, or beware!"

Jack would not comply; the ring-master sly Handed them "pistols for two." They both knew 'twas cruel to fight a real duel-- What could they possibly do?

But the duel was fought, and a lesson taught Of sorrow, remorse, and woe. Jack lay like one dead, as heavy as lead, While Jerry with grief bent low.

Jerry, faint with fright, and in a bad plight, Straight to the ring-master ran; But he was afraid; to Jerry he said, "Get him home quick as you can."

To get a long plank was an easy prank, And back did poor Jerry fly. Stiff as a poker lay one young joker; The other with grief did cry;

"He's dead, that's a fact; now how shall I act? I think I'll tip him up so. Now across my back I'll take poor Jack, And then home with him I'll go."

"He's light as a song! what can have gone wrong? O gracious, just look at that! He's straight up and down, like a cast-iron clown Or a clumsy base-ball bat."

"Ho! ho! here's a cask; 'twill be no hard task To put him snugly inside. Again he is straight; but now he's too late, For home in the cask he'll ride. Now, there! isn't he snug--a bug in a rug-- Yet I feel awfully bad."

"I can not tell why my poor Jack should die, And leave me lonely and sad. Why, just look you here! If this isn't Jack dear! A joke on me he has played. I'll love Jack, the merry, forever," said Jerry; "Right here shall anger be laid."

End of Project Gutenberg's Harper's Young People, April 4, 1882, by Various