Part 3

The excited party started at once, dividing into two companies, each under an experienced hunter. It was thought by this method that the panther would have fewer chances of escaping, and be brought to bay with more dispatch than if the hunters marched all in one body.

Far up on the mountain the hounds took the scent and dashed away, followed by the hunters. But away to the left, on another ridge of the mountains, was heard the bay of the pack belonging to the other division. Still the enthusiasm of the settlers was not cooled. At noon the two parties met on the other side of the mountain. A light lunch was eaten, and then they started on the homeward track. Nothing had been seen of the panther.

On the Warner side of the mountain, late in the afternoon, the hounds of one of the parties made a great outcry. It was in a swamp, not far from the Goodwin pasture. The men hurried to the spot, jumping stones and bushes and the trunks of fallen trees in their haste. They met the dogs coming back. Two of them had bloody muzzles, and bore hideous wounds on their bodies.

"The dogs have had hold of something, and something has had hold of them," said one of the men, quaintly. "It's a painter's work; I know the marks of their claws."

The hunters went through the swamp cautiously. The dogs would not go back again. No trace of the panther was found. Disappointed and weary, they proceeded down the mountain toward the settlement.

"What is that?" asked one of the men, suddenly.

A sound like that of some one shouting was plainly heard. They all stopped to listen. The shout was repeated, and was not far off.

"It's my boy! It's Charley's voice!" cried Goodwin. "He must be alive," and he rushed in the direction of the sound.

At the foot of the hill before spoken of, in Goodwin's pasture, there was a large ledge of rocks. Toward that the party hastened.

"Charley! Charley! where are you?" shouted the pioneer.

"Here I am," replied the little fellow--"down here in the rock. I can't get up."

Several of the party had already mounted the ledge, and they now saw what was the matter. There was a crevice or crack running through the rock from top to bottom, all the way from a foot to a foot and a half in width. Into this fissure the boy had fallen, and as the sides were steep and smooth, he could not possibly climb out. A hazel withe was cut, and one end given him, and he was speedily drawn to the surface.

"How came you in there, Charley?" asked his father.

"I fell in," answered the boy. "I was out there under that maple when the panther jumped on to Tige. I ran to the top of this rock, and stumbling, fell down in there. The panther came several times and tried to reach me, but he couldn't. Oh, I'm so tired and hungry!"

"We'll be at home soon," said his father. "Your mother will be looking for you."

They hastened toward the cabin with eager footsteps, and soon met the other party, who were returning from a fruitless search for boy or panther. Just then the report of a gun was heard at the settlement.

"What does that mean?" asked a brawny pioneer.

"I don't know," answered Goodwin. "Something must be the matter."

The party hastened their steps to a run.

* * * * *

At the close of the long afternoon, Dolly Goodwin, a girl of about sixteen, had gone out to do the milking. The cows had not been turned to pasture that day, but had been kept in an inclosure near the barn, shut in by a stone wall eight feet high.

Her mother had objected to Dolly's doing this. "Father will be at home soon," she said, "and there will be time enough then."

But Dolly, who was a busy little body, insisted. "If you are afraid for me, I will take my gun. You won't have to worry then. The cows really ought to be milked, for it's almost dark. Besides, Brindle and Loo like me."

The girl took down a small, pretty musket from its place over the deer antlers; it was her own, purchased the year before from her own savings.

The yard seemed a safe, cozy place, and Dolly felt like smiling at her mother's fears as she sat down on a stool and began milking one of the gentle, mild-eyed animals that were complacently chewing their cuds. She had one of the pails about filled, when there was a sudden disturbance among the horned inmates of the inclosure.

Dolly rose to her feet and gazed around, grasping her musket in both hands. We can see how she looked--a thin slip of a girl, with bare feet and ankles, a gown of linsey-woolsey, her gingham bonnet thrown back from her curls, and hanging to her neck by its fastened strings. The red in her cheeks and the flash in her eye made her look very charming.

Her quick eye soon caught a glance of a lithe, cat-like animal creeping stealthily along the high stone wall. Its glaring eyes, the long undulating tail, and the tawny-colored hide told well enough the character of the intruder. She knew it was a panther.

Dolly's heart rose into her throat, and for a moment, as she said afterward, she thought she should run as poor Brindle had done. But she was a pioneer girl, strong and healthy, and her nerves were soon under control. She raised her weapon to her shoulder, and levelled it full at the tawny breast of the crouching panther.

Her aim was taken instantly. She saw the greenish eyes glitter, and the long tail lash the wall excitedly. The next moment the savage beast sprang toward her. At the same moment her finger pressed the trigger.

She knew no more until she heard the baying of hounds and the loud cries of the returning hunters. Her father opened the heavy wooden gate, and came in where she was leaning half faint against the wall.

"I am all right now, father," said Dolly, in reply to his anxious interrogation, "but I was kind of sick like a while ago."

She still looked very pale.

"The girl has beat the hull of us!" cried a rough pioneer. "It's the very beast we were arter. See, there's the marks of the hounds' teeth. Well, it's saved us a journey to-morrow; that's a comfort. But you beat the dickens, Dolly, you do."

They all crowded around, offering congratulations, and for weeks afterward her exploit was the talk of the neighborhood.

The panther proved on measurement to be one of the largest of its kind; lacking only an inch of being seven feet in length, including its tail. The State bounty was forty dollars. This sum, with what she realized from its skin, made Dolly quite a rich young lady for those times.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW.

BY ELLA RODMAN CHURCH.

"Once upon a time, a great while agoe," begins a strange fairy tale that was written in the days of bad spelling, "there was wont to walke many harmlesse spirits called fayries, dancing in brave order in fayry rings on greene hills with sweete musicke (sometimes invisible), in divers shapes; and many mad prankes would they play."

It was at this time that a mischievous imp, named Robin Goodfellow, who was half fairy and half human being, was going about from place to place, sometimes doing good-natured things, but often bent only on mischief.

All sorts of queer stories were told of him; and when anything happened that people couldn't understand, they were sure to say, "It's some trick of Robin Goodfellow's." When he was only six years old, the neighbors complained of him to his mother for tormenting their very lives out whenever her back was turned. Finally he was threatened with a whipping, and to escape this punishment Robin ran away.

After travelling a long distance from home he met a tailor, who engaged him as an apprentice. For a time he behaved himself very well. But finally his love of mischief got the better of him, and he was at his old tricks again.

One day his master had a gown to make for a woman, and it must be finished that night; they both sat up late to work on it, and by twelve o'clock it was finished all but putting in the sleeves. The tailor was very sleepy, and said that he would go to bed. He told Robin to "whip on the sleeves," and then follow him. Robin said that he would, and as soon as his master had disappeared, he hung up the gown and whipped it most severely with the sleeves.

When the tailor came down in the morning, he found him still busy at this work, and asked him what he was doing.

"What you bade me," was the reply--"whipping on the sleeves."

"You rogue!" exclaimed his master: "I meant that you should have set them on quickly and slightly."

"I wish you had said so," rejoined Robin, "for then I need not have lost all this sleep."

The tailor was obliged to finish the work himself; but before he could get through, the woman came for her gown, and scolded because it was not ready. Hoping to soften her wrath by offering her some refreshment, Robin's master told him to bring the remnants they left yesterday. The tailor had reference to some cold meat; but the mischievous apprentice brought down the remnants of cloth left of the gown, which the tailor had intended to keep. The man turned pale; but the woman declared that she liked this breakfast better than the other, and sent Robin to get some wine. He never came back.

One day Robin had made a long journey, when he became so tired that he sat down by the road and fell asleep. Here he had a wonderful dream, in which troops of fairies danced about him to the sound of sweet music. Among them was King Oberon, who laid a scroll beside him, which was there when he awoke. On the scroll it was written that he was the Fairy King's son, that every wish of his should be granted, that he should have the power of turning himself into any shape he pleased, and that one day he should be taken to Fairy-land--on condition that he played tricks only on those who deserved them:

"But love then those that honest be, And help them in necessity. Doe thus, and all the world shall know The pranks of Robin Goodfellow."

On reading this document, Robin was much delighted, and began at once to try his power. As he was tired, he wished himself a horse, and found himself leaping and curvetting as nimbly as though he had just come out of the best of stables. Then he tried being a dog, then a tree, and at last he was quite satisfied that he could do or be anything he pleased.

After this his pranks were worse than ever, but he obeyed his father's instructions, and harmed only vicious and idle and cross-grained people.

One day in crossing a field he met a rude fellow, to whom he said: "Friend, what is a clock?"--the style then of asking the time.

But the other chose to reply, churlishly, "I owe thee not so much service, but because thou shalt think thyself beholden to me, know that it is the same time of the day as it was yesterday at this time."

Then Robin resolved to amuse himself with this man, who was going further on to catch a horse that was at grass; and he turned himself into a bird to watch him. The horse was wild, and ran away over hedge and ditch, and the man after him as well, as he could. Presently Robin thought of taking the shape of the horse, and came near enough to let the churl get on his back. Then he stumbled, and hurled his rider to the ground. Robin allowed him to mount again, but only to throw him off in the middle of a large pond. Then, in the shape of a fish, he swam ashore, and laughed maliciously, "Ho, ho, hoh," leaving the poor man half drowned. It is to be hoped that this lesson in manners did the clown good.

Robin had more amiable moments; and often at night he would visit farmers' houses and help the maids to break hemp, to bolt, to dress flax, to spin, and do other work, for he was "excellent in everything."

Night was his favorite time for jokes, and he would sometimes walk abroad with a broom on his shoulder, and cry, "Chimney-sweep!" But when any one called him, he ran away laughing, "Ho, ho, hoh." Sometimes he would pretend to be a beggar in distress, and beg most pitifully; but when they came to give him alms, he would cheat them in the same way. Then again he would sing at a door after the fashion of wandering minstrels, and when people came to pay him, there was nothing left of his song but "Ho, ho, hoh."

King Oberon sometimes called his son to Fairy-land on nightly visits. He was summoned, to dance in the fairies' ring, by a shrill, sweet pipe, blown by little Tom Thumb, the order having been given,

"Whene'er you heare my piper blow, From thy bed see thou goe."

At last he was taken to dwell there altogether, and the world was rid of the pranks of Robin Goodfellow.

A KETTLE-HOLDER.

BY MRS. T. W. DEWING.

Kettle-holders are things that must be in every household, and there is nothing that ingenious little fingers can spend their time upon to a better advantage in the days when they are too young to undertake more elaborate and difficult fancy-work. Here is a design that can be easily worked, and will be sure to please mamma if it is only carefully put together, and all the stitches neatly taken.

Cut the four leaves of the clover, from grayish-green cloth or flannel, and baste them on a ground of pink cloth, as shown in the design. Sew them fast with a fine button-hole stitch. Make the ribs of the leaves, the stem, the little white triangular-shaped marking in the centre of the upper edge of the leaf, and the white crescent on the lower part of the leaf, also the four little white stems that join the four leaves together, in chain stitch of white saddler's silk.

Let the border be of pink silk several shades paler than the pink ground. Sew it to the main part by over-handing it neatly on the wrong side. Work the horseshoes in the corners in chain stitch with gray saddler's silk. Represent the nails by gold beads, which must be tightly sewed on. Line the back with green flannel, turning in the edges, and hemming it very neatly. The lining at the back should always be a little--a very little--smaller and tighter than the front, or, as the holder is constantly bent, the lining becomes loose and baggy.

THE PRISONER AT THE BAR.

"Stand up at the bar," cried the Justice severe. "And what you can say I will patiently hear; But you have been brought here so often before That I fear it will be the old story once more.

"Stop! You needn't repeat that you couldn't find work. For I know you quite well for a tramp and a shirk; You sneak round the farm-houses begging for bread, And will rob even those by whose hands you are fed.

"For a stout hearty fellow like you it's a shame To take the alms due to the sick or the lame; But to steal from the kind ones who pity your case, I must punish severely a meanness so base."

"Well, your Honor, I've nothing to say, for I see That nothing will change your opinion of me; I suppose you will tell me, as often before, That I must be sent to the tread-mill once more."

"You take the words out of my mouth," said the Judge; "You are sentenced a month on the tread-mill to trudge; And when your tramp's over, perhaps you will feel That it's better to work at the plough than the wheel.

"For good honest labor will bring its reward, While the way of the idle and vicious is hard; And 'tis better in youth to this precept to hold Than have to confess it when hardened and old."

I wonder if all the young people are as glad as I am that June has come again? You know the poet says:

"What is so rare as a day in June? Then, if ever, come perfect days. When heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And softly above it her warm ear lays."

Some of you are studying hard in these bright hours, so that you may be ready for examination. I hope you have been so faithful all the term that you will not need what some students call cramming to make you successful now. Others of my boys and girls are busy with their roses and honeysuckles. My thanks to the dear little hands that have gathered wild flowers for me.

You must tell us about your summer pleasures, children, and if anybody meets with an adventure, remember that Our Post-office Box would like to hear about it.

* * * * *

NEW YORK CITY.

I am a little girl nearly seven years old. We have no live pets in the city, but my little sister Anna and I have fourteen dolls. I am thankful to say they are very healthy; none of them have had the mumps or _cook_ing-cough, as my little sister calls it. In the summer we all go to Long Island. There we have a pony, two cows, one calf, two cats, a kitten, and some chickens. We have great fun bathing. I am writing this myself, and if you think it is nice enough to print, I shall be the proudest little girl in New York city.

HELEN B.

* * * * *

HENRY COUNTY, VIRGINIA.

I've been a reader of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE quite two years, but have seen no letter as yet from here, therefore I'll write at least one from this mountainous part of the State. My country home is in sight of the Blue Ridge, and one can get a distinct, grand view of some of its peaks a mile from our home. No one of your little girl subscribers enjoys the Post-office Box more than myself. In fact, both big and little folks here appreciate and read most of Harper's publications. I wish everybody who lives in low flat countries could at least visit our mountains, and our State's greatest, curiosity, the Natural Bridge, in Rockbridge County; it is worth a trip to Virginia just to see that wonderful work of nature. But I must not write too long a letter, for fear you'll not find space to publish it; so I'll close by stating that I'm the youngest of twelve children. With best wishes for our dear kind Postmistress,

MAGGIE S.

The Postmistress returns heartily the love of all the dear girls and boys who send her their pleasant messages. She has visited your lovely mountain land, Maggie, and it is her opinion that you can not praise its beauty too highly.

* * * * *

KING GEORGE COUNTY, VIRGINIA.

I am ten years old. I have one brother and three sisters. I have a cow and a calf. We have a play store; we make wooden dollies and many other things to sell. We have a dog and a cat. The dog's name is Trip, and the cat's Tiger. There is a little bird that comes down by the door, and we give him crumbs; he is real tame. I used to have a pet rooster, but papa sold him. He would fly up on my shoulder, and when he saw any one with a pan he would fly in it. I will tell you about a squirrel that lives in a very large hollow hickory-tree back of our house. He is so cunning! He comes out on the side of the tree and chatters at us, and the dog and cat try to catch him, but he is too sharp for that. He comes and steals walnuts from our store-house, and carries some to his tree. We have two small mules; I love to ride on their backs.

EMMA F. B.

* * * * *

DURBIN, DAKOTA TERRITORY.

I am a little boy thirteen years old, and I live on my father's farm, one-half mile from Durbin, in the celebrated Red River Valley, about six miles from the world-renowned Dalrymple Farms. Our house stands on the high beautiful banks of the Maple River.

Two months ago my sister and two brothers and myself were taken sick with diphtheria. I haven't been able to walk since. My little brother Allie died. I want to tell you what the sweet little boy said when he was sick--he did not like to take his medicine; and mamma said to him, "Allie, take it to please mamma," and then he took it; and a little while after mamma heard him say, in his sleep, "I will take it to please mamma." The last time he took his wine he said to papa, "Papa, I will never take it again." He was five years old, and could read and spell, and count up to one hundred without missing, and we never tried to teach him; he learned it all himself from hearing us. I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number. I could not live without it.

Please print this, as I am unable to walk, and have little to amuse me.

LYNN C. M.

What a sweet memory you have of the dear patient little brother, who was so ready to please his mamma, even when in pain!

I hope, as the summer days bring their pleasures, you will grow strong again, and be able not only to walk, but to run and jump as boys like to.

* * * * *

There will be a general clapping of hands when the Cot report is read this month. Here is a letter, which everybody will enjoy, from a friend who has the Cot on her mind all the time:

I am certain a great many of our young readers, when they see the Cot acknowledgments, will exclaim, "My! how did we get so much money all at once?" I don't wonder at your surprise; I am sure I was surprised when I heard the good news. Well, that $550 which you see put down as the result of a fair is what did the work. Sometimes in reading our fund column I have wondered why so few names from New York city appeared among our contributors; the greater part of the work before has been done in the East, West, or South. But now New York city has stepped up bravely to the front, and is worthy of great praise. Four little girls living here, namely, Madeline Satterlee, Helen Manice, Gertrude Parsons, and Mamie W. Aldrich, formed a club in Lent, and worked for this fair, and earnest workers they must have been. The fair was held April 22, in the Sunday-school room of Zion Church, Thirty-eighth Street, New York, which was kindly lent for the purpose. Of course I was at the fair, and a very pretty one it was. I only wish more people could have known about it, and have been there to encourage these little girls in their good work. Very busy they all looked, waiting on the tables. They had a fish pond and a large red grab-bag, both of which took in quite a sum of money; and I am sure these little workers must have felt very proud, and well repaid for any self-denial they had practiced, when they handed in to our treasurer the large sum you see acknowledged to-day. Now don't you think it would be a good plan if all the boys and girls who are well-wishers of our Fund--and I am sure they are many--would work hard this summer, while away in the country, or at home, and try and make the amount up to $1500? That would be just half the amount needed, and how fast we could go on next winter! You would have to raise $345.56, and that is not such a large sum among a great many. Some, like these four little New York girls, could hold a fair or festival at some of the summer resorts; others could pick and sell berries. There are many ways in which the little hands and feet could earn the pennies for our fund. Do not be disheartened at small results, but remember that every effort you make, if in earnest, helps both yourselves and the Cot fund.

I wonder if some of you are not curious to know where your money goes while waiting for the rest of the $3000. If any of you have ever gone in the Sixth Avenue cars, New York, past Waverley Place, you may have observed a large building on the southwest corner, with "Greenwich Bank" upon it in large letters; our treasurer wants me to tell you that she puts your money there; and, if I am not mistaken, some of these days you will see in our acknowledgment, "Interest from Greenwich Bank," which means that the bank pays you so much money for leaving your money with it. If you will ask your papas, I am sure they will tell you that it could not be in a better place. So you see what a good treasurer we have to take care of our money.