Chapter 1

The cruise up the Schroon was a delightful one while it lasted. The river was so narrow that the trees on either side frequently met, forming a green and shady arch. Although there was a road not far from the river, and there were houses and small villages at a little distance from its banks, the boys while in their boat saw nothing but the water, the trees, and the sky, and felt as far removed from civilization as if they were sailing on an African river. They saw nothing to shoot, after their adventure with Joe's bear, and there were no signs of fish in the water; but they delighted in the wild and solitary river, and were very much disappointed when, at the close of the day, they reached a dam so high that it seemed hopeless to try to carry the boat around it.

Before camping they walked some distance above the dam, and found that the river was completely blocked up with logs, which had been cut in the forest above, and floated down to the saw-mill. The men at the mill said that the boys would find the river choked with logs for a distance of nearly three miles, and that a little farther up it became a mere brook, too shallow and rapid to be navigated with the _Whitewing_.

It was clear that the cruise on the Schroon had come to an end, and that it would be necessary to hire a wagon to take the boat to the lake. Having reached this decision, the boys made their camp, and being very tired, put off engaging a team until morning.

When morning came, one of the men at the mill came to see them while they were at breakfast, and advised them not to go to Schroon Lake. He said that the lake was full of houses--by which he meant that there were a great many houses along its banks--and that if they were to go there they would find neither shooting nor fishing. He urged them to go to another lake which they had never heard of before--Brandt Lake. It was no farther off than Schroon Lake, and was full of fish. Besides, it was a wild mountain lake, with only two or three houses near it. The boys thanked him, and gladly accepted his advice. They had supposed that Schroon Lake was in the wilderness, and were exceedingly glad to find out their mistake in time to select a more attractive place. The owner of the saw-mill furnished them with a wagon, and soon after breakfast they started for Brandt Lake.

When, after a pleasant ride, they came in sight of the lake, they were overjoyed to find how wild and beautiful it was. Steep and thickly wooded hills surrounded it, except at the extreme southern point, where they launched their boat. It was not more than two miles wide at the widest part, and was about five miles in length, and they could see but two houses--one on the east and the other on the west shore. They eagerly hoisted the sail, and started up the lake to search for a permanent camping ground; and after spending the afternoon in examining almost the entire line of shore, they selected a little rocky island in the upper part of the lake, which seemed made for their purpose.

There was a great deal of work to be done, for they intended to stay at Brandt Lake for a fortnight. They had to clear away the underbrush and cut down several small trees to make room for the tent. A small landing-place had to be built of stones and logs, so that the boat could approach the island without striking on the sharp rocks which surrounded it. Then the stores were all to be taken out of the boat, and placed where they would be dry and easy of access. The provisions had by this time become nearly exhausted; but the boys had been told that they could get milk, eggs, butter, bread, and vegetables at one of the houses, which was not more than a mile from the camp, so they were not troubled to find that of their canned provisions nothing was left except a can of peaches.

Of course all this work was not done in one day. On the afternoon of their arrival at the lake the boys merely pitched the tent, and then went fishing, with a view to supper. Fishing with drop lines from a large rock at one end of their little island, they caught perch as fast as they could pull them in, good-sized pickerel, and two or three cat-fish. That night they ate a supper that would have made a boarding-house keeper weep tears of despair, and went to bed rather happier than they had ever felt before.

Tom was to row over to the house for milk and other provisions in the morning; but when morning came, the boat was gone. She had broken loose during the night, not having been properly fastened, and had floated quietly away. A faint speck was visible on the surface of the lake about two miles away, which Harry, who had remarkably good eyes, said was the _Whitewing_. Whether he was right or wrong, it was quite certain that the boys were imprisoned on the island, with nothing to eat but a can of peaches and some coffee and sugar.

The fish, however, were waiting to be caught, and before very long a breakfast of fish and of coffee without milk was ready. The boys then began to discuss the important question of how they were to get back their boat, or to get away from the island.

It was a mile to the shore, and nobody felt able to swim that distance. Joe proposed that they fasten one of their shirts to a tall tree, as a signal of distress, and then fire the gun every minute. The objection to this plan was that the nearest house was out of sight behind a little point of land, and that no one would see the signal, or would understand why the gun was fired. Then Tom proposed to build a raft, on which two boys could paddle after the runaway boat. This was a practicable suggestion, and it was at once put into execution.

It was hard work to cut down timber enough to build a raft, but by perseverance the raft was finished before noon. It consisted of four logs laid side by side, and bound together with handkerchiefs, shoe-strings, green twigs, and a few strips from one of Harry's shirts, which he said was unnecessarily long. It was covered with two or three pieces of flat drift-wood; and when it was finished, a piece of board was found, which was shaped with the hatchet into a rude paddle. Then Tom and Harry proceeded to embark.

The raft floated Harry very well, but promptly sank when Tom also stepped on it. Either more timber must be added to it, or one boy must go alone in search of the boat. Harry insisted upon going at once, and as the lake was perfectly smooth, and he could swim well, there did not seem to be great risk in his making the voyage alone. Bidding the boys good-by, he paddled slowly away, and left his comrades to anxiously wait for his return.

It was ticklish work paddling the raft. The logs were fastened together so insecurely, owing to the fact that all the rope was in the runaway boat, that Harry was in constant fear that they would come apart, and was obliged to paddle very carefully to avoid putting any strain on the raft. With such a craft speed was out of the question; and after an hour of hard work the raft was only half way between the island and the boat. Harry was not easily discouraged, however, and he paddled on, knowing that if nothing happened he must reach the boat in course of time.

Something did happen. When, after paddling for more than two hours, the _Whitewing_ was rather less than a quarter of a mile from the raft, Harry missed a stroke with his paddle, and tumbled over. He struck the raft with his shoulder, and went through it as easily as if it had been fastened together with paper. When he came to the surface again he found that the raft had separated into its original logs, and that his voyage on it was ended. Luckily the _Whitewing_ was now within swimming distance, so he struck out for her, and finally crept into her over the stern, so much exhausted that he had to lie down and rest before taking to the oars. Had the raft gone to pieces half an hour sooner, he would have been in a dangerous position; for it is doubtful if he could have clung to one of the logs long enough to drift to the shore without becoming totally exhausted.

The boys on the island did not witness the end of Harry's raft, for it was too far away when the accident occurred for them to see anything but a little black dot on the water. They became, however, very anxious about him as the hours went by and he did not come back. Tom was especially uneasy, and blamed himself for permitting Harry to go alone. He thought of making another raft and going in search of Harry; but there were no more strings with which to fasten logs together, and he did not quite like to tear up his clothes and use them for that purpose. He did, however, resolve that, if Harry did not come in sight within another hour, he would take a small log, and, putting it under his arms, try to swim to the mainland and borrow a boat, if one could be found, in which to search for his comrade. He was spared this hazardous experiment; for toward the end of the afternoon Harry and the _Whitewing_ came in sight, and were welcomed with a tremendous cheer.

Tom took the boat and went for provisions, and when he returned the _Whitewing_ was not only dragged on shore, but fastened to two different trees with two distinct ropes. The boys were determined that she should not escape again; and when Joe proposed that somebody should sit up with her all night, so that she could not cut the ropes and run away, Tom seriously considered the proposal. The next day a snug little dock was built, in which she seemed quite contented, and from which she could not escape without climbing over a stone breakwater--a feat of which there was no reason to believe that she was capable.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE TALL CLOCK.

BY MARY DENSEL.

One night our six tow-headed urchins were sitting round the table chattering like so many magpies. The tall clock in the corner insisted on talking too.

"Tick-tock--tick-tock. 'Tis eight--o'clock; Come, boys--cease noise, Quick tread--to bed; 'Tis eight--o'clock. Tick-tock--tick-tock."

That is what it said.

Then it rang out eight clear strokes, and the jolly red moon, which for two weeks had been slowly rising in the space above the clock's face to show how the month was passing by, and which was now full and round, like the real moon out-of-doors--this jolly red clock-moon seemed to wink waggishly at the children.

"Hurry! scurry! Here it is eight o'clock, going on nine--next comes ten--eleven--twelve. Half the night gone, and you not in bed yet."

How its eyes twinkled! It nearly burst its fat cheeks laughing at its own joke.

Out the door, up the uncarpeted stairs, clattered the boys--Solomon and Isaac, Elias and John, Philemon and Romeo Augustus.

They all gave a nod to the clock-moon. "Good-night, old fellow," they said. All but Romeo Augustus. He did not like the clock. That is what this story is about.

Solomon and Isaac marched off to their own chamber. They would not condescend to associate with "the babes." Solomon and Isaac were twins. They were, as I have told you before, ancient. They were fourteen years old. Philemon and Romeo Augustus were only eight, and they knew no pleasure equal to that of sitting bolt-upright in their trundle-bed while Elias peered down at them over the foot-board of his bed, and told them stories with gestures.

"Tell us about the clock," said Philemon, on this occasion.

But at this suggestion Romeo Augustus--poor little Romeo Augustus!--quaked in his red flannel night-gown.

Elias always spoke in deep and dreadful tones when he alluded to the clock.

"Persons don't live inside, but THINGS!" said he; and Romeo Augustus quaked afresh. "Two of them hang in air. They haven't a sign of a head, nor feet, nor arms, nor legs. They just dangle. And the other THING"--here Elias's voice was awful--"the other THING writhes in agony. It is never quiet; never, never, nevermore; not when we're asleep, nor when we're eating our porridge. Forever and forever it writhes--_anon_."

That was a capital word to end with. No one knew what "anon" meant. It was probably some especially horrible way of writhing.

Romeo Augustus shook with terror. He could hear that clock talking still down stairs.

"Tick-tock--tick-tock. 'Tis nine--o'clock. Ro-meo--be-low, Come see--in me THINGS drear--ap-pear. 'Tis nine--o'clock. Tick-tock--tick-tock."

That is what it said.

"How painful it must be to 'writhe anon'!" whispered Romeo Augustus to himself. "I wouldn't care if it was _persons_--but THINGS!"

For some unknown reason the idea was ghastly to Romeo Augustus.

Now, my little readers, wait a moment before you laugh at him. Hear what this eight-year-old boy did.

Once upon a time Solomon had composed the following somewhat startling proverb, "It is a wise fellow who wrenches forth the serpent's fang." Which dark saying, being interpreted, was, "If you are scared of anything, just trot right up and wrestle with it."

"For," continued Solomon, in a speech to the other five, "that's the only way to grow plucky. If you hear an odd noise, don't hide your head like a hyena or an ostrich, whichever it is, but hunt it up. If you happen to see a ghost, skip up and attack it."

Now the words of Solomon were always prized as gold. The boys reverenced Solomon, who could repeat the whole of a Latin verb, and was, moreover, "pitcher" on "the nine."

So the "babes" had made a solemn compact that if any one of them was ever "scared," he should step boldly out and "wrench forth the serpent's fang." Should he be too great a coward so to do, he should wear a huge letter =C= pinned on his jacket for a fortnight, and be subject to all the taunts which could be imagined at his expense.

No wonder the boys grew brave. They dared not be otherwise.

Philemon's special bugbear had been a dark cellar, filled to overflowing with shadows. Down into this cellar he had gone with a beating heart, and had forced himself to search out every crack and cranny, even to the coal-bin. Of course he found nothing to fear, and now it was Philemon who was always ready to go down for apples in the winter evenings, and that too without even a candle.

As for Elias, he had stood in much awe of a grove over the hill, and was obliged to spend the greater part of a whole month wandering solitary among the trees before he could snap his fingers at their shadows.

And now Romeo Augustus's turn had come. His poor little heart was filled with dismay when he found that he was in mortal fear of the clock. He felt sure that he should have to search the matter to the very bottom.

For a week he had been trying to bring himself up to the pitch of requisite boldness. More than once he had marched up to the enemy, and then marched back again, vanquished. He dared not breathe a word to Philemon. The big letter =C= was all ready to cling to his back, and how could he bear such disgrace? No sympathy could he expect from any brother. His work must be done, and done alone.

How loudly the clock called out from below! Could it be actually stalking up stairs?--so sharply did its tones ring in Romeo Augustus's wide-open ears.

"Tick-tock--tick-tock. 'Tis ten--o'clock. Make haste--don't waste Minutes--in fits Of fear.--Come here! 'Tis ten--o'clock. Tick-tock--tick-tock."

Romeo Augustus put one bare foot out of bed; he drew it back; he half rose, and sank on the pillows again. Then, with a mighty effort, he gave a bound, and stood shivering in the middle of the floor.

The house was still. Elias was sleeping the sleep of the just, never dreaming how he had terrified his small brother.

Out into the entry stole Romeo Augustus. The harvest-moon threw a broad band of light on the stairs. Down crept the small bare feet along the lower hall into the sitting-room. How weird everything looked in the dimness! Gaunt and tall stood the clock in the corner.

The outside moon tossed a handful of beams into the clock-moon's face. The clock-moon was so very jolly! Did he know that just beneath were THINGS?--two dangling in air, headless, armless? one "writhing in agony anon"?

Romeo Augustus almost turned and fled. His breath came in gasps. How could he go forward? But he creeps on. His hand is on the clock's brass-bound door. Will he open it now?

"Tick-tock--tick-tock. Past ten--o'clock. Turn key--and see Things three--in me. Past ten--o'clock. Tick-tock--tick-tock."

Snap! went the brass key. Into the dark were thrust two little cold hands.

Then, suddenly, "Ha! ha! ha!" a shrill laugh went dancing up stairs. "Ha! ha! ha! Hurrah! Ha! ha! ha!"

What could the matter be?

"Ha! ha! ha! Oh, ha! ha! ha!"

Father and mother, Solomon and Isaac, Elias and John, with Philemon in the rear--into the room they all rushed, winking and blinking, candles in their hands.

There, in his red night-gown, hopping up and down in front of the clock, was Master Romeo Augustus.

"Ha! ha! Hurrah! It's nothing but the _pen'lum_ and the two _weights_. Ha! ha! ha!"

Nobody could guess what he meant. If Elias knew, he kept his own counsel. But a gleam of intelligence broke over Solomon's face.

"It's a wise fellow who wrenches forth the serpent's fang," shouted he. "Three cheers for Romeo Augustus!"

The cheers were given with a will.

But mother caught her little son in her arms. "He's been walking in his sleep," she cried, "and it all comes from eating plum-cake for tea."

But the clock knew better. So did the clock-moon. It wagged its head at Romeo Augustus. "Brave boy! brave boy!"

And Romeo Augustus nodded back. "Good-night, old fellow!"

He could say that now with the rest. He was not afraid of the clock any longer.

YOUNG PEOPLE AT CHAUTAUQUA.

A BOY'S LETTER.

Dear Tom,--I last saw you waving your cap as our train rolled out of the station. That night I slept on a shelf in the sleeping-car, and the next morning we got breakfast at Hornellsville; and it was a good one, I tell you. About noon we got off the cars at Jamestown, and after dinner rode over the hill in a stage, and came to what looked like a narrow river winding among the trees.

This they said was the outlet of Chautauqua Lake. You would suppose that the water runs into Lake Erie, which is only seven miles away from Lake Chautauqua. But instead it goes into the Ohio River, and then down the Mississippi into the Gulf of Mexico.

We went on board a steamboat three stories high, with a big paddle-box fastened on the stern, and steamed up the outlet for about three miles through the wildest swamp I ever saw, until all at once the lake opened before us. I thought that we would be at Chautauqua in a few minutes, but the old stern-wheel kept pushing us on for a couple of hours. At last I began to catch glimpses of cottages among the trees. Then we drew up to a little wharf, and almost everybody went ashore. We followed the crowd through the gate, and so we found ourselves at Chautauqua.

The first thing that I saw was a park, with flowers and fountains and statues under the great trees. Then I came upon the model of a city, with all its houses and churches. This was Jerusalem. A man was explaining it to a crowd of people, and pointing out the places with a long pole. There is an Oriental house, and a park laid out to look like Palestine, with the top of Mount Hermon white-washed, and the Jordan with real water. A frog winked his eye at me, and then jumped into the Dead Sea. (That makes poetry, don't it?)

There are any number of streets laid out in the woods, and lined with all sorts of cottages. We all asked uncle to let us live in a tent, and you don't know how airy and pleasant it is. Cousin Jennie says she can't find any places to hang up "her things"; but I put mine on the floor, which is always handy.

I happened to be awake early the next morning after we came. Everything was quiet and still until the bell rang for six o'clock. Then there was a noise, as if all the boys in our school were hollering at once. I jumped up, wondering if the Fourth of July had come again. But pretty soon I found that it was only the newsboys (which means most of the boys here) selling the morning paper, _The Assembly Herald_. I went out and got a lot of papers, and made ten cents profit on them before breakfast.

There is a big bell on the upper part of the grounds. An old man rang it while I was standing by, and all at once I saw dozens and dozens of boys and girls running from all directions toward the corner where I stood. I asked one fellow what it all meant, and he said, "Why, don't you know?--it's the _children's hour_." So I just dropped into the stream, and went up the street to a large building with a dome and some wings. They call it "The Children's Temple." It was so full of young people that I had hard work to crowd myself into the corner of a seat. There was a platform in front, and a big black-board, and two gentlemen, both with foreheads that went clear over to the back of their heads. There was singing, and then one gentleman talked to us, and got us all to answer and repeat, and we never knew that he was teaching us a lesson until we had learned it. The other gentleman then came forward and drew a picture so fast that it seemed like magic, and so funny that we all laughed and laughed again. It's the jolliest "children's hour" I ever saw, and I'm going every day.

I can't begin to tell you of the good times here for boys. When you read in the papers about the big meetings and the long lectures, you might suppose that young people don't have much chance; but you'd be mistaken. We go boating on the lake, and fishing down at the Point, and bathing in a safe place along the shore. This afternoon all the boys and girls are going pilgriming through Palestine in a procession. Last evening I went out with little Susie for a walk. We came upon an immense telescope. The gentleman let me take a peek through it, and I saw the ring around the planet Saturn. Then he held little Susie up in his arms, and let her see it too.

There is a tent with a lot of microscopes, and two young ladies who show people how to use them. I looked at a drop of water through one, and saw in it an animal fierce enough and almost big enough to bite off your head.

And then there were the fire-works last night. I can't tell you how gorgeous they were: fountains lit up with bright colors; Roman candles flashing, and rockets soaring to the stars; the steamers all hung with Chinese lanterns, and sailing round and round upon the lake; the woods bright with the blazing electric lights overhead. Oh, it was grand!

I can't stop to write about the squirrels that run up and down the trees, nor the big tent where we get our dinners, nor the little tent where we sleep, nor the pictures at evening in the Amphitheatre (that's a great hall where they hold meetings), nor lots of other things. Next year I hope you'll come with us, and have a good time.

Your friend, BOB.

MIMIR'S WELL.

A SCANDINAVIAN MYTH.

BY JULIA CLINTON JONES.

In the north of Europe there is a rugged land, where the winters are long and dark, with short bright summers. Nine hundred years ago the people there were pagans, believing in gods and giants, and their mythology is full of wonderful stories. As these myths, or sacred fables, tell of strange adventures, I think you will like them quite as well as even the _Arabian Nights_.

Take your maps now, and find this wild north land. It is called Scandinavia, and comprises Norway and Sweden. The home of these Northern gods was a city called Asgard, built above the clouds, in the midst of which stood Valhalla, the hall of the chief god, Odin. Such a marvellous place as this was! It had a golden roof that reflected light over all the earth, just like the sun, and its ceiling was supported by spears, while millions of shields formed its walls, over which were draped coats of mail. A huge wolf stood before its immense gates, through which eight hundred men could march abreast. Around the walls flowed a deep river, through whose waves Odin's guests were forced to wade. But I can not tell you now of Odin's feast, which was always being held in Valhalla, nor of his guests, the heroes, whom the beautiful Battle Maidens brought there on bloody shields from the earth. Asgard was overshadowed by the mighty tree Igdrasil. This tree was more marvellous than any of which you ever heard; no cork, nor India rubber, nor banyan tree could begin to compare with it; for this was the Life-Tree, and had been growing before creation. The horrible dragon, Death, gnawed constantly at its roots, but three sisters, the Nornas, watering them daily from the Life-Spring, kept the tree flourishing. Seated under its shade, the elder sisters (Past and Present) spun away briskly at the wonderful web of Time, which the youngest (the Future) amused herself by tearing to pieces. Far down in Giant-land, where the roots began to shoot, was an ancient well, guarded by the good giant Mimir (Memory). There the gods always went for a morning draught that should make them wise in their daily tasks, since this was the well of wisdom.

On one occasion there was a disturbance in Asgard. Loki, a bad spirit, living there in disguise, had been playing tricks on the goddesses, and setting the gods by the ears through his mischief-making pranks, while leading them into many dangerous scrapes, though as yet he had not been found out. His children, too, were just as bad as himself, his son Fenris (Pain), a hideous howling wolf, being the terror of Asgard, while Hela, his daughter (Death), was more horrible than I can describe. Besides these, Loki had brought in other bad spirits, and altogether Asgard was greatly disturbed. Odin himself did not know what to do. He asked the Nornas, but they could not answer, although the youngest hinted that if her lips had not been sealed she could have told something. At last he determined to see Mimir, and take a drink from his well. Saddling his eight-footed horse Sleipnir, away he rode in the night, all alone, over the Rainbow Bridge that joins Asgard with Earth, down to dark Giant-land. He had often before been there to consult Mimir; for although Odin was very wise, Mimir was wiser still, since he guarded the source of wisdom.

The giant was sitting deep in thought by the well, his white beard flowing down far below his waist, which was clasped by a girdle graven with curious characters, as old as the world. He heard Odin coming, and rising to meet him, said this was just what he had known must happen; for what else could have been expected with such a set as Loki and his family living in Asgard? The first thing to be done, he said, was to cast them out from among the gods, then bind them fast in some safe place far away.

What do you suppose this advice cost? Giant-land, you know, was very dark, and although the well was full of wisdom, Mimir had not always light enough to read its secrets. Odin's eye was the sun; so Mimir was glad enough to give his horn of water for a daily loan of Odin's glowing eye, while Odin was willing thus to buy the advice that should make Asgard happy again.

[Begun in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE No. 37, July 13.]

THE STORY OF THE AMERICAN NAVY.

BY BENSON J. LOSSING.