Part 2

They were glad enough to get home safe and sound; but even when the _Ark_ was once more floating in Taponican Creek, near the bridge, Quill and Mort had to look hard at her and at each other, and then at the trout and their own strings of Pawg Lake fish, before they could quite make up their minds that they had not been dreaming a good deal that splendid Saturday.

THE END.

THE "FIRST GRENADIER OF FRANCE."

BY C. W. FISHER.

How many of the young people have ever heard the story of that simple-hearted, brave soldier of Napoleon's empire, so long known as the "First Grenadier of France"?

Born in the provinces, La Tour d'Auvergne received a thorough military schooling, and entered the army when quite young.

Throughout a career of nearly twoscore years, he served ever with fidelity and distinction, yet always refused the promotion which was constantly offered him, preferring, as he said, the familiar duties of the grenadier to even the glories of a marshal.

His wishes were, in a measure, respected. He held always the rank of Captain, though eventually his command equalled in numbers almost ten regiments.

After his death, which occurred in action, there was instituted in the regiment with which he had been connected, and by the express directions of Bonaparte himself, a most touching tribute to his faithful service. His name had never been stricken from the roll, and at its call, upon the daily parade, the oldest veteran present would step forward, and saluting, answer, "Died on the field of battle."

The details of his history show that his life was well worthy the honors thus paid to his memory, and many incidents are told of him which illustrate his unselfish devotion to the profession he loved so well.

Upon one occasion, being on furlough, he paid a visit to an old friend in a section of the country as yet remote from actual war.

While there, he learned that a detachment of several hundred Austrians, having in view the prevention of a certain important movement of the French, was on the march to a spot where this purpose could be easily accomplished. To reach this they must pass through a narrow defile, guarded by an old stone tower, which was garrisoned by perhaps half a company of French soldiers.

To warn these of their danger in time to prepare for defense was the aim of our hero, and putting up a slender store of provisions, he started off.

To his dismay he found on arriving at the tower that his comrades had been only too well warned already, and had fled, even leaving their muskets and a goodly supply of ammunition behind them.

He knew that if the Austrians could be held in check long enough to allow the completion of the French manoeuvre, by that time tower and pass would be of little use to either side. He determined, single-handed, to make the fight against a regiment.

There were many conditions which favored the successful carrying out of this brave resolve. The tower could be approached only through a narrow ravine, in which but two or three men could walk abreast, and as he was abundantly supplied with arms, the grenadier did not despair of at least partial success. He barricaded the doors, carefully loaded all the muskets, which he placed in convenient positions for instant handling, made a good meal off the food he had brought with him, and then sat down to await the enemy.

He was unmolested until near dawn, when unusual sounds without announced the Austrians' approach.

They halted at the mouth of the defile, and almost immediately an officer, bearing a flag of truce, appeared with a demand for surrender.

D'Auvergne answered the call, replying that "the garrison would defend itself to the last," and the messenger, little suspecting that the entire garrison was comprised in the person of the single soldier who stood before him, retired.

A small cannon was shortly after brought to bear upon the tower; but our grenadier made such good use of his weapons that half a dozen of the Austrians lay wounded upon the ground before they could fire a single shot. Finding this mode of attack ineffectual, an assault was ordered; but as the head of the column came within range of the tower, so deadly a fire was poured upon it that it was ordered back amid great confusion.

Two further attacks were made, with like results, and when night fell, the solitary grenadier was still in possession of his stronghold, and unhurt, while nearly fifty of the enemy were either killed or wounded.

Sunset brought a second summons to yield, with an intimation that, if refused, a regular siege would be entered upon, and kept up until hunger should compel submission.

Deeming the twenty-four hours which had elapsed sufficient time for the accomplishment of the French move, D'Auvergne returned answer that the garrison would surrender the following morning if allowed safe-conduct to the French lines, and permission to retain its arms. These terms, after a little parley, were acceded to.

At daybreak on the morrow, accordingly, the enemy were drawn up to receive the vanquished garrison.

The door of the tower opened, and a soiled and scarred veteran, literally staggering under the weight of as many muskets as he could carry, walked slowly between the ranks, and depositing his load at the feet of the Colonel, saluted. To the surprise of the latter, no one followed.

"But where is the garrison, grenadier?" asked he.

"Sir, I am the garrison," replied the soldier.

For a moment astonishment held the Austrian dumb; then ordering his command to present arms, and raising his cap, "Grenadier, I salute you," said he: "so brave a deed is without parallel."

The desired escort was provided, and with it was sent a dispatch relating the whole affair.

When the circumstance became known to the Emperor, the offer of promotion was renewed, and again declined, and D'Auvergne remained to the day of his death simply the "First Grenadier of France."

A NIGHT ON CHOCORUA.

BY ESEMEE.

"Where's your Tom Matthews, Ned?" said Phil Hartshorn. "Here it is half past nine by my watch, and he was to be on hand at nine sharp."

As he spoke a little freckled boy came panting up to them, saying: "Tom says as how he can't go up 'Corua to-day nohow. He's sick with suthin I've forgot the name of. He's awful sorry, and said if yer'd only hold on till to-morrer, he'd go; and he thinks it'll be a sight better day, too, for he's 'most sure there'll be a thunderin' big shower to-night."

"Nonsense!" said Dick; "there isn't one chance in a million of a shower; sky is as clear as a bell."

"But," says Arthur, "there are no two ways about it. Mother said we were not to go if Tom Matthews were not here."

"You don't suppose mother really meant that?" said his brother Phil.

"Now, Cousin Arthur," said Dick, "you just put that conscience of yours to sleep as fast as you can.

"'Hush-a-by, conscience, on the tree-top, Dear Mrs. Hartshorn would never say stop.'"

"But, Arthur," interrupted Ned, "she wouldn't care if she knew how many times I've been up Chocorua. Why, I've been to the top thousands of times. I know the way just as well as Tom."

Though Arthur's duty was as clear to him as at first, he decided to take Dick's advice, and silence his conscience.

Half an hour later they were climbing up the steep side of the mountain, laden with the tent, provisions, and other necessaries for their night's encampment.

Chocorua is one of the most difficult of the New Hampshire hills to ascend, not so much on account of its height as its rocky and steep outline. To Ned Brown, however, accustomed to scrambling over the hills of his native place, it was simply a very tiresome walk; but to the three city boys, who for the first time were spending part of their vacation among the mountains, it was a novel and rough experience. Nevertheless, their spirits did not flag, and about two o'clock they had reached the rocky summit, as tired and hungry a set of boys as you ever saw.

They soon found a comfortable spot, where they threw themselves down at full length, and at Dick Harris's suggestion pitched into the eatables which Mrs. Brown had put up for them.

After a while Ned exclaimed: "Look here, boys, you can't spend the whole afternoon eating. Just clap two or three doughnuts into your pockets, and come along. We've got to get ready for the night."

"Wait a week," said Dick, "until I take one more drink of coffee; then we'll go and explore the country."

"Can't you remember, Ned, where you generally pitch your tent?" said Arthur.

"Tom Matthews pretty much always bosses that business," answered Ned.

"I guess we can find as good a place as Tom Matthews," said Phil. "There it is now, right ahead--don't you see?--down in that hollow under that tall tree."

"All right; let's make for it, then," said Ned. "We haven't any time to lose."

Some hours later Ned called out: "Now that everything is ready for the night, you shall have a high old supper. You needn't any of you put your fingers in the pie either. I'm goin' to make a regular lumberman's pudding. Dick, just hand me that tin plate, will you?"

"No, sir, I can't even do that; it might be putting the very finger into the pie, or rather pudding, which would spoil the whole. I am not going to run any such risk."

"That's too thin--a capital excuse for laziness--but I can do it myself fortunately. First, you see, I cut a slit in this stick, and slip the edge of the plate into it, and that makes a tip-top spider. Next I put in some pieces of fat pork, and am goin' to fry them over this blazin' fire. When the pork is done, I'll take that out, and crumb this pilot-bread into the fat."

"What a mess!" the boys all exclaimed. "You don't expect us to eat that stuff, do you?"

"You needn't trouble yourselves; I can eat every bit of it. Wait till I sprinkle white sugar all over it thick and heavy, and then it is done. Come, do you want any, or shall I eat it all myself?"

"As Caterer Brown has made it, we won't hurt his feelings by refusing," said Arthur. "Hand it along."

"Well, Ned," said Phil, "this is capital. Do they teach cooking in your school, or has Miss Parloa been in this part of the country?"

"Oh, last winter when I camped out up North with father and the other lumbermen, they used to make this 'most every night, and I tell you it tasted mighty good."

After supper the boys whiled away the time telling stories. The most interesting one was the legend of Chocorua, the Indian chief after whom the mountain was named.

Chocorua had a son, a boy of ten or twelve years, who often visited the house of a white man who lived in Albany, at the foot of the mountain. One day while there he accidentally ate some food which had been prepared for a fox, and soon after died. This brought out the Indian spirit of revenge in Chocorua, so that he watched his opportunity, and when the father was away, killed the wife and children. Cornelius Campbell, the father, though a white man, was not a Christian, and the same revengeful spirit took possession of him. Not long after, Chocorua, while standing on the edge of a precipice, was shot by Campbell. He lived only a few moments, uttering fearful curses against the white men. He was never buried, but his bones were left to whiten on the rocks.

All Ned's talk tended to make the boys ready to start at every sound, and Arthur inwardly began to wish he had not disregarded the warning voice he had heard in the morning. Even the other boys felt a little dismal; but they all forced out loud exclamations over the pleasure of the day, and the moment after they had dropped on their bed of pine boughs were all sound asleep.

The clouds which, unnoticed by the boys, had been forming behind the hills, gathered heavily in a threatening mass over the mountain-peak, the air trembled with peal after peal of rolling thunder, the sky was brilliant with lightning flashes which sent gleams of intense and livid light over the white cliffs. Still the boys slept on. The furious storm-clouds gradually dropped lower and lower, until at last they burst in one torrent of hail and rain. Every hollow was fast filling up, until the one in which our boys were encamped became as it were the bed of a pool, and the white canvas of their tent seemed like the tip of a sail flapping in the wind.

One of those fearful claps of thunder which seem to shake the whole earth, and which are heard only among the mountains, at last roused the boys. In terrible alarm, they waded from their tattered tent, just in time to see the tall tree near whose roots they had been sleeping hewn into fragments by the glistening blade of the axe which the angry storm was wielding. For a moment they gazed on each other with mute horror, then, as with one voice, exclaimed, "Where's Ned?"

They wildly called "Ned! Ned! Ned Brown!" but there was no answer. They groped back for him in the darkness, lighted only by the uncertain flashes, which were growing less and less frequent; but the tent had been swept away, and their fire wholly extinguished, so they had nothing to guide them to the exact spot of their former encampment. For hours they searched in vain. Drenched and chilled, weary and bruised, at length, as day dawned, they found themselves in a dense forest, with no path and no guide.

"What shall we do?" said Arthur. "Why did we come? I will never do what I know to be wrong again."

"'No use to cry for spilled milk,'" said Dick, trying to speak cheerfully, while his face contradicted his words.

"Let us get out of these woods and down this mountain if we possibly can," said Arthur. "Then, if we don't find Ned, we can send some one up for him who knows something about the way."

"All right," said Phil. "It don't look as if we should have anything to eat till we do get down, and I'm 'most starved. Hark! What's that noise? I do believe that's a bear's growl. He is coming nearer, surely."

"Pshaw! nonsense! it isn't a bear; it's only the rustling of the leaves," said Dick.

But every little while some noise would cause them to fear that some wild animal was on their track.

Several times they were stopped by a precipice so steep that no human foot could descend it, and were obliged to retrace their course and seek another less difficult way.

Just at dusk they reached a farm-house, where, as it was on the opposite side of the mountain from their boarding place, they were obliged to spend the night.

Oh, what a night it was! The heavy supper after the long fast made them ill, and every limb was aching with pain and fatigue. Then the terrible anxiety about Ned! What might he not be suffering alone on the mountain, and what report could they give to his mother when they made their way back to the boarding-house? Surely three boys were never more severely punished for disobedience. Never again would Dick sing,

"Hush-a-by, conscience, on the tree-top."

When morning came three miserable-looking objects dragged themselves up to the gate of the old boarding-house. But who was that walking up and down the piazza at such a troubled pace?

Nobody less than Ned, who was fretting himself half crazy waiting for the party who had arranged to go in search of three lost boys. Ned had been more fortunate than they, for after the wash-out, which had separated him from his companions, he had happily strayed into the very path which led home.

Presently Mrs. Hartshorn came out, but after one good look at the party she apparently concluded that they needed no word of reproof from her. Conscience had evidently preached every effective sermon, for which the experience of the past thirty-six hours had supplied a powerful text.

THE DAISY TRAIL.

You'd think such a small boy would not know How to get back if he should go Without his mother so far away Beyond the garden fence to play.

But he lays a trail of daisies white, That gleam in the grass like stars at night; So running home he can never stray, With the scattered daisies to show the way.

MILLIE'S NILE-BIRD HAT.

BY ARTHUR LINDSLEY.

"Why, Millie, where did you get that bird-skin which you wear in your hat?"

"I am sure I do not know, papa. But it is very seldom you take notice of my hats, and I am very glad that for once I am wearing one which interests you. Mamma bought the bird somewhere down town; I did not ask her where. I think he is just lovely; don't you?" and off came Millie's hat for the Professor's inspection. "Only see his breast, so bright that it almost looks to be on fire, and just above it his throat as white as a patch of snow! Isn't he perfectly splendid?"

Her father had taken the hat in his hand, and was examining the bird with an expression of face that showed he was thinking of something more than what was before him. He stood so long without speaking that Millie broke out in her usual lively manner:

"Why, papa, I never saw you look at a girl's hat so closely before--mine or any one's else. I have had handsomer hats than that, and you did not say a word about them. The bird is very beautiful, I know, but what do you see so wonderful in him?"

"I was wondering how he could come here, my child. You do not know where your mother bought the skin, but do you know where the bird lives?"

"No, sir, not at all. I have no doubt you do, but I never thought of it. Did you ever see them in their native country?"

"Yes, Millie, I have seen them often. The species is African; I saw them very often in South Africa--once, I recollect, at Zanzibar, and on the West Coast I have seen them in Senegambia and at the mouth of the Gaboon. Shall I tell you where I first saw the bird?--for I can never forget it, and the sight of this skin brought back that day to me so forcibly, that for a moment I forgot where I was."

"Oh! do, papa, do. You know how I rejoice in the stories. What a favorite hat this will be!"

"Let us go into the library, then, where I can show you an engraving that I have. Please hand me the russet-leather portfolio from that lower drawer. See, I have opened at once to the very one I wished to find. It will give you an excellent idea of the two bright little kingfishers that I saw that day on the west bank of the Nile."

"The Nile, papa! I wonder if mine came from the Nile? Only think of my _Nile-bird hat_!"

"That I can not tell, Millie. But before I go on with my story it is well that you should know something about the family of birds to which this one belongs, for he has many relatives, and they are scattered in almost all countries, and one at least of them has been famous among poets for two thousand years. Did you ever hear or see the expression used of _halcyon days_, meaning days of great prosperity and happiness?"

"Yes, sir, I recollect it was in one of the pieces of poetry we read only last week in school, and I wondered at the time what it meant, and I intended to ask you."

"I will tell you. This little bird of the drawing and of your hat is a kingfisher, and the kingfishers are found, as I explained, in almost all parts of the world. We have one species, not at all uncommon, throughout the United States, which is known in the books as the belted kingfisher. Our little African here, you see, is not larger than a sparrow, but his belted brother is almost as large as a common pigeon, and well do I recollect what a time a lot of us had, when I was a boy about twelve years old, in trying to get at the nest of a pair of them. Kingfishers the world over build their nests in deep burrows which they make in river-banks and similar places. Eight of us gathered one Saturday, with Tom Perkins--a stout boy of fifteen--for a sort of Captain, and Charlie Mason for Lieutenant. We worked all that day, and then nearly until night, of the following Saturday, before we found the end of the burrow. Tom said he really thought we should dig across Deacon Moseley's farm and out into Widow Whitman's pasture lot. It was sixteen feet and a half that the birds had burrowed into a very hard bank of clay.

"This was our American species, whose name is _Ceryle alcyon_; but all about the shores of the Mediterranean a similar smaller species is found which by the old Latins was called Alcyon or Halcyon, though in ornithological works, now it is named _Alcedo hispida_. Most absurd stories have always been told concerning it. It was said to have the power of preventing storms, of keeping the sea perfectly quiet, so that while the female was sitting on her eggs the weather was always calm and peaceful, and you see readily how the word _halcyon_ came therefore to have in poetry the meaning to which I have referred. Of course this was all foolishness, but it was only one of many tales which have been told about that very bird, and some of which I have no doubt are believed by ignorant people to this day."

"Is he a handsome bird, papa, like this one in my hat?"

"Oh no; on the contrary, he is of quite plain plumage. You must not fancy that our species or the European possess any such brightness of color. Now look at the picture again. You see both the male and the female. Notice, by-the-way, that they are sitting near the mouth of their burrow. Look at those long crest feathers. They are shining blue, almost like the sky, with light ashy green spots, while the jet-black ones fairly sparkle on their blue background. And then his blazing red lower surface, with his white throat and that enormous bill of bright vermilion, makes such an assemblage of brilliant color as you seldom see."

"Let me get the map, papa, and then please show me just where you found my little bird."

"That is right, Millie; you will be more interested the more definitely you fix the knowledge. How well I remember that day. It seems as though it had been but yesterday. Among all the rivers of the world, there is not one which can be compared with the Nile. It does not seem like any other water. There's a sort of magic about it. All the time that I spent there I felt myself living in dreamland rather than in anything that belonged to this life and this world. It is not the river itself, for I have seen a number of much finer and grander streams of water in other countries. The Danube or the Ganges can either of them surpass it, while here in America I could select half a dozen which are more than its rivals. But any one of them I always felt that I could understand. They were beautiful, they were grand, with charming banks and forests and fields and cities, but there was nothing _strange_ about them. They seemed like other parts of the world. But the Nile is not like them; it never looked to me like a reality. Everything about it was so mixed with mystery that if I had waked any morning and found that there was no Nile to be seen where I saw it the night before, I should have thought it was all right.

"All around me were monuments and temples and houses so old that those who built them had died and been forgotten hundreds and perhaps thousands of years before the earliest history of which we have any knowledge commenced. Who were those people? I could tell how they looked, for there were their figures and faces carved on the stones, but--who were they? Where did they come from? Negroes, Asiatics, Egyptians, such as were about me every day; there they were carved, and sometimes painted, on the ruins, and I used to wander around and wonder, and dream, and wonder, and it was in the midst of just such wondering as that that a little kingfisher flashed upon me, and it is not strange that I remember him. Do you see the First Cataract, Millie, on the river?"

"Yes, here it is. P-h-i-l-a-e, Philae; is that it?"