Chapter 3

"Wouldn't it be fine to send five things for the club individually?" asks one.

"Capital!" "Good!" "Just the thing!" cry all.

"And have their initials spell Aegis."

"What shall the first be?"

"A--Apples!" sounds a full chorus.

"It is a vote. And the next?"

"E--Eels," suggests fourteen-year-old Dick, whose suggestions are apt to be more ludicrous than elegant.

"Eggs; hard-boiled eggs are always dear to my heart in the scenes of my childhood."

"Bridget, put on a dozen eggs, to boil ten minutes."

"G--Ginger-snaps."

"Grapes."

"Gum-arabic," from Dick.

It takes so long to decide this important point that Dr. Clifford calls out the fourth letter:

"I."

A hush falls upon them, but, as Dick would say, made no noise, and did no damage in falling. No one can think of anything but ice-cream. And I challenge you: put your hand over your eyes, and name two other edibles beginning with "I."

At last Dick, in an ecstasy of inspiration, starts up, and cries, "Inch-worms!"

A peal of laughter, and each one suggests some impossible or awful article; and then the dauntless Richard again: "A few _I_deas."

"If we had them to spare," says papa, dryly.

"Irish potatoes would be like coals at Newcastle."

"I feel it in my bones that Bridget would suggest '_I_sters.'"

"Apropos of that," says Milly, "I think we shall have to adopt the sound, and send Inglish walnuts, as Anna loves them dearly."

"Now for the last letter."

"S--Sardines."

The things are collected, and stowed away in the box; it is sent off by express, and in a few days the following letter announces its arrival.

ELM BANK, ---- 16, 1880.

DEAR, DEAR, DEAR FAMILY,--I know I can't show you my delight better than by telling you all about it.

Yesterday we Aegises were out walking all the afternoon, and when we came home, hungry as wolves, were cheered by a chorus from the piazza:

"A Clifford box, a Wood box-- A Clifford box, a Wood box."

Perhaps you have no appetizing association with a wood-box, but the news quickened our steps, and inspired us with the elasticity of a quintette of rubber balls as we bounded up the steps, and fell upon our boxes with all the love of a father upon a returned prodigal.

I sat down on my box, and Gertie on hers, and there we sat, as happy as two enthroned queens, with serfs and vassals standing near. How every girl in school idolized us last night!

"George has driven Madame over to town, and won't be back till late," said Enid, coming from her expedition to the basement in search of George. (George is the man-servant who "does the chores" and "plays hero" for the school.)

"How can we ever get these up stairs?" asks Gertie.

"Carry them ourselves," cried a brawny girl; "we'll all help."

So, with a girl at each corner of each box, we struggled up stairs. Mine was not very heavy, but Gertie's was; and one girl let her corner slip, which threw us all into confusion, and in the midst of the hurly-burly we became aware of a majestic presence at the head of the stairs, and there stood--Miss Coningham, the first assistant. Our hearts stood still, for we had not asked permission; but Sallie, whom nothing overcomes, saved us.

"Oh, Miss Coningham," she called, "_do_ come and help us;" and she actually stepped down and caught it as the girls were losing control of it, and engineered it into our sitting-room.

You know we five Aegises have one sitting-room, with three bedrooms opening out of it. As she turned to go, I thought I saw in her face a longing to stay, and be a girl with the rest of us, and I said,

"Don't go, Miss Coningham; stay and see what is in the boxes."

"Thank you; I know you will enjoy yourselves more alone. Madame told me to give you five young ladies permission to have supper in your own room to-night."

"Why?" we all cried. "What made her?"

"Because it is Miss Wood's birthday."

"My birthday!" cried Gertie, in amaze. "I didn't once think of it;" while the girls flew at her ears.

"I don't see how any one could forget such a thing--do you, Miss Coningham?" I asked, as she stood in the door.

"No; I could not forget mine," she said. "This is mine too."

When I told the girls it was Miss Coningham's birthday too, they unanimously proposed to give her a present, and ran to their rooms for their purses.

"There are just ten of us," said Enid, counting.

"Pass round a hat," said Ida.

"This will do," cried Sallie, seizing an India rubber shoe, and taking up the collection. "If you have little, give little, but if you've got a lot, give a good deal. Six dollars and ninety cents," said Sallie, counting it. "Now what shall we get?"

"Flowers? They fade so quickly."

"Let's get something she can keep."

"Well, what?"

"A gold thimble. You know hers rolled down the register, and was lost."

We agreed upon the thimble. Then Enid went to Miss Coningham, and gained permission for us to go down to the jeweller's. So the five other girls left the selection of the thimble to us, and went down stairs.

"Wasn't 'Cony' good?" said Sallie. "Little did she suspect our object."

"Would it be a bad idea to ask her to feast with us to-night?"

"Not at all bad. Do you believe she'll come?"

"Very doubtful. Who will ask Madame if we may have the feast?"

"I," said Sallie; "my life for my country."

We bought a beautiful gold thimble for six dollars, and spent the rest for flowers; then hurried home to open the boxes, and get everything ready before study hour.

"What shall we do for a table-cloth?"

"Take a fresh sheet," said Sallie.

"Isn't there anything better?" asks Ida.

"Positively nothing," answered Sallie, throwing a sheet at her. "Take this, and be thankful it isn't sheet lightning that strikes you. Now I start for my interview with Madame."

"Good luck attend you! Enid, put the flowers in the centre, with a lemon pie at one side and a mince at the other."

"Here is a roast chicken," I cried. "Ida, put it at one end."

"Enid," called Gertie, "here's a duck in my box; put him opposite the chicken."

"'Dido _et dux_,'" said Enid.

"Well," answered Gertie, "I'm glad she didn't eat them all."

Here Sallie came in, triumphant.

"I showed her the thimble, girls, and told her all about everything, and she says we five and the other five and Miss Coningham--Elsie, she called her--can come up here right after prayers, and stay till ten o'clock."

"Could anything be jollier?"

"She says Elsie was our age when she first came here, and was as full of fun as we are."

Then I found your note, saying there were _A_pples for Anna, _E_ggs for Enid, _G_rapes for Gertie, _I_nglish walnuts for Ida, and _S_ardines for Sallie. We saw how hard up you were for I's, but we'd rather have the nuts than anything.

We had just got everything in order when the study bell rang. You can scarcely mention a "goody" that was not in one of those boxes. Gertie had a birthday cake with fifteen tapers on it, which we lighted.

I can't begin to tell you what a jolly time we had when we came back up stairs. All our invitations were accepted. Miss Coningham was charmed with the thimble. We "toasted" all you good people at home who were the cause of our joy, and sent the flowers to Madame when our revelry was o'er.

By-the-way, the boots are exactly right. Now, with the love and thanks of all the Aegises, I must close, for I haven't touched a lesson for to-morrow.

Lovingly, gratefully, and thankfully yours, ANNA I. CLIFFORD.

THE BABY ELEPHANT.

On the 10th of this month an event occurred in Philadelphia that has aroused universal curiosity and interest. It was the birth of a baby elephant, which immediately became famous as being the first of his kind, so far as is known, ever born in captivity. All other elephants brought to this country for exhibition, or used in Eastern countries as beasts of burden, have been captured and tamed, and it has heretofore been regarded as an unquestioned fact that they would not breed in captivity.

The mother of the cunning little fellow who is attracting so much attention is a large black Asiatic elephant named Hebe, and belongs to the Great London Circus. She is acknowledged by all the other elephants of the circus as their queen, and they are all loyally devoted to her. She and six other large elephants have been spending the winter in a stable at the corner of Twenty-third Street and Ridge Avenue, Philadelphia. Here the elephants stand in a large room, each with their hind-legs chained to posts.

Immediately upon the birth of the little elephant the others seemed to become crazy with joy. They had been very quiet, but they now set up the most tremendous bellowing and trumpeting imaginable. Some of them broke their chains, and danced about in the most grotesque manner, besides performing all the tricks they had been taught in the circus ring. The general excitement communicated itself to Hebe, and in a moment she became the most frantic of them all. Snapping the chains that bound her to the posts as though they were threads, and apparently becoming, for the first time, aware of the presence of her baby, she seized him with her trunk and threw him with great force, twenty yards or more, to the opposite side of the room. He fell close beside a large stove, around which was a railing of heavy timbers. Rushing after him, his crazy mother beat down this railing, threw over the stove, and in her madness would probably have killed her baby, had not her keeper, who had fled for his life upon the first outbreak, returned with help, and attracted her attention. With considerable difficulty she was secured and again chained to the posts, and the other animals were also quieted. During all the confusion the baby had stood motionless in the place to which his mother had flung him, and had regarded the whole scene with a look of wise solemnity such as only a baby can assume.

When quiet was restored, he became very frisky, and was willing to make friends with everybody. He ran about with his mouth wide open, and his little trunk pointing upward in the funniest way possible. He blundered about here and there, running against all sorts of things, and finally seemed overjoyed to be taken back to his mother, who has ever since shown the greatest fondness for him. He is thirty-five inches high, and weighs 214 pounds, so that he is about the size of a large Newfoundland dog. He is fed by means of a nursing-bottle made of a yard of rubber hose and a large funnel. One end of the hose is put in his mouth, and the other is attached to the funnel, into which the keepers pour warm milk until the baby shows that he has had enough by throwing down his end of the tube.

PRACTICAL JOKES.

BY FRANK BELLEW.

As a general rule, practical jokes are a kind of fun that should not be encouraged; but there are a few harmless ones which may be made the means of a good deal of innocent merriment.

Tom Hood, who was one of the most kindly and genial of men, as well as one of the greatest of poets, was very fond of playing little practical jokes on members of his own family and immediate circle of intimate friends. On one occasion, when his wife had made a magnificent English plum-pudding, as a Christmas present for some German friends, Hood surreptitiously got hold of it, and filled it with wooden skewers, which he ran through in every direction, and in this condition it was sent by the unsuspicious Mrs. Hood to her friends in Germany, who no doubt thought English cookery a most eccentric art.

On another occasion he wrote as follows, from London, to an intimate friend, one Lieutenant Franck, of the Prussian army:

"I also send for yourself an imitation gold-fish. It appears that there is something in the color or taste of the gold-fish which renders it irresistible to other fish as a bait. They are quite mad after it. It appears to be intended to be sunk with a weight, and pulled about under water, or else to float on the top; but they say it is taken in anyway."

This wonderful bait was made of wood, and painted yellow, or covered with gilt paper, and presented an appearance like the annexed engraving.

But under this innocent exterior lurked Tom Hood's joke. The fish was made of two pieces of wood, like Fig. 2, glued or gummed together, only one of which was attached to the line, and on this piece was burned, with a red-hot knitting-needle, the words, "_O, you April fool!_" Of course, after the sportsman had dragged this about in the water for some time, the glue melted, the loose half of the bait floated away, and when he hauled in his line to see how things were getting along, he discovered the inscription, and at the same time that he had been made a _fool_ of, whether it happened to be April or not.

THE CLOCK BEWITCHED.

I was once at one of those little social gatherings which the Scotch call a "cooky-shine," and the English a "tea-fight," where two young ladies appeared escorted by a rustic beau (for be it known this was in the country), who, like many beaux from both city and country, had a very well-developed opinion of his own shrewdness and sagacity, of which opinion he gave several rather obtrusive illustrations during the course of the evening. This peculiarity, added to the fact that, quite early in the festivities, he displayed an anxiety to hurry the young ladies home in the midst of their enjoyment, made him anything but popular. The fact was that the young man, having exhausted his limited stock of conversation, grew bored and sleepy, and wanted to go home himself. Not being able to accomplish this, he seated himself in an obscure corner of the room, where he soon dropped off into a doze. Now among the company was a little imp of a boy, a son of the hostess, who seemed to feel himself called upon to amuse the rest of the guests. He whispered a few words in his sister's ear, and then left the room. In about fifteen minutes the drowsy beau woke up with a start, and asked what o'clock it was.

"I really don't know," responded one of the ladies. "What time was it when you went to sleep?"

"Sleep--sleep! I haven't been to sleep--'wake all the time."

"Indeed you have," chorussed the party; "nearly two hours, and saying all sorts of things."

The youth looked blank, and rather frightened, but tried to brave it out. "Oh, pshaw! two hours. Sleep!--why, I haven't been to sleep ten--that's to say, I've been awake the whole time. Now we'll see." And he arose and walked into the next room, which was rather dimly lighted, to look at the clock. He remained there a long time, shuffling about, and emitting sundry whiffs and snorts, and then rejoined the company, rubbing his eyes, and rumpling his hair all over his head, with an expression of bewilderment on his countenance which set every one present tittering.

"All right," he said. "Guess't's 'bout time to start home."

"Oh no, not yet," answered the hostess. "We are going to have some cider and doughnuts."

The cider and doughnuts were brought in and handed round, the sleepy beau receiving his last. He took a good Irish bite. A pause. Something was the matter. He pulled, he gnawed, he wrestled, he grunted, he struggled: it was no use; that doughnut was too much for him. Suddenly, with a quick motion worthy of the late lamented Mr. Grimaldi, he whipped the doughnut out of his mouth and into his pocket. He thought he was unobserved, but a roar of rustic laughter from all sides of the room soon undeceived him. We will draw a veil over the scene, etc., etc., as the novels say. In a few seconds his two fair charges, in charity, proposed to go home; and they went.

Now what was this all about? I will tell you. When the young imp left the room, as before mentioned, he slipped into the back parlor, turned down the lights, and carried the clock off into the kitchen, where with some Indian ink and a brush he marked on its face half a dozen extra hands. He then replaced the clock on the mantelpiece in the parlor, and returning to the kitchen, procured two small balls of cotton batting, which he soaked in some batter the cook was using for doughnuts, and these he fried till they exactly resembled the genuine article the cook had just made. He had previously let the ladies into the secret, so that when the sleepy beau went into the back parlor to look at the clock, as they took care he should, they perfectly knew the bewildered frame of mind he was in while trying to find out the time. The sister, too, while handing round the doughnuts, managed to reserve the cotton ones for the same gentleman.

The next day our hostess received a polite note from the discomfited escort, thanking her for the gift of the doughnut, which he said had been of infinite value to him, as he had given it to a neighbor's dog which kept him awake all night, and the dog had since died. So he took it good-naturedly, after all.

THE JOLLY DOG'S PRACTICAL JOKE.

'Twas near dinner-time, and the pudding was hot, Nelly, her cheeks all aglow (The master liked icy-cold pudding), ran out, And popped the dish into the snow.

For though on that morn smiling April was born, A snow-heap that March left behind, When he hastened away, in a dark corner lay Of the garden, blown there by the wind.

Singing merrily, back to the kitchen went Nell, When a jolly dog came up the lane. "Aha! something good!" and he stopped and he sniffed, Looked around, cocked his ears, sniffed again.

Then, the gate being open, he boldly walked in, Going straight to the snowy spot where The dish sat a-cooling--three great gulps he gave, And a pudding no longer was there.

Down the stoop flew the maid. "I must now take it in, For I'm sure by this time it is cool." Said the dog, running off, "Pray don't trouble yourself; _I_ have taken it in--April-fool!"

CHATTANOOGA, TENNESSEE.

I wonder if the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE know how delightful the climate and surroundings of Chattanooga are. Near the base of Lookout Mountain, which has grown historical since the war, the views in all directions are magnificent, that from the point on the mountain being the grandest, where one can see places in seven different States. Chattanooga is an Indian word, meaning eagle's nest.

PAUL DWIGHT MOROSS.

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TRAVERSE CITY, MICHIGAN.

I live in a lonesome country, but it is very beautiful in the summer. We have nice lakes and woods, and all kinds of birds. There is a little bird which builds such a queer nest. It is like a hanging cup, and so small you scarcely notice it. There are five white eggs, with black spots on the ends, in it. The bird is blackish color, with a round white spot in the middle of each wing. There is a bird here called grosbeak. It is very handsome, and a splendid singer. You can hear its clear note in the morning above all the rest. My sister Julia found a nest, and took out a male bird. It had hardly any feathers. She brought it up on bread and milk, and it was so tame it would sit on her finger; but one morning it flew away, and never came back. Perhaps some of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE have tamed the little yellow-birds. Julia tamed one, and it was a great pet. I have a pet dove named Philip. He will follow me about in the woods. When he misses me, he hunts till he finds me. When we are eating dinner, if the door is open, I often hear a pat-pat on the step, and in comes Philip, nodding his head from side to side, and lights on my shoulder, for me to give him his dinner. He is now two years old. I will send you his portrait. I think Bertie Brown drew a first-rate picture.

ALLIE VOORHEES.

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TRAVERSE CITY, MICHIGAN.

The first hepaticas (liverwort) that I saw this year were picked the first day of March. Has any one living in the same latitude found them earlier? The arbutus is nearly in bloom. When we were out in the woods the other day we saw a beautiful gray fox.

MABEL BATES.

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COLLEGE GROVE, TENNESSEE, _March 1, 1880_.

I send you a violet, and also the earliest wild flower of this section, _Erigenia_, or "daughter of the early spring" [a species of groundsel]. We have had crocuses and daffodils ever since Christmas. I have lots of pets. We have nine cats. One is fourteen years old. And we have a shepherd dog that has a great deal of sense. I have three white hens--one top-knot, one plain, and one with pantalets. I have a chicken grave-yard, and we have funerals. The red and blue birds, wrens, jays, and woodpeckers, staid with us all winter. I found a nest of hatched partridge eggs, and the large ends were all picked round even, and opened like box-tops. We live in the woods, and I see many pretty things.

ANNA RUCKER.

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I am twelve years old. I live on the border of a large lake in the province of New Brunswick, Canada. Though so far north, our winters are often mild and pleasant. Father says it is because we are not far from the sea. I have been ill with acute rheumatism for six months past, and the weekly visits of YOUNG PEOPLE are a great comfort and pleasure to me, as I am mostly confined to the house. I found some willow "pussies" three days ago (March 4), and I send a few, to let you see what New Brunswick can do in this way.

W. SCOTT BUTLER, Jun.

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BETHANY, MISSOURI.

I see so many little folks writing to you, I thought I would write too. I am eight years old, and I live where the sun goes down. I never saw a railroad in my life, and never went to school. Mamma teaches us at home. I have a cream-colored pony, and sister Grace has a pet lamb. She had to get a baby's nursing-bottle to raise the lamb with, and it is just too funny to see her feed it. It sucks away at the bottle as hard as ever it can, and wags its little tail ever so fast. We have learned nearly all we know from HARPER'S MAGAZINE and the BAZAR and WEEKLY, for papa and mamma have taken them all our lives. We could not do without the pictures. I wish you could see our stacks and heaps of the MONTHLY and the papers. When we want a good old time, we get them all out, and they are as good as new. We think there never was such a splendid paper as YOUNG PEOPLE. My sister Grace wanted to write to you too, but mamma said one nuisance was enough at a time.

NELLIE BLACKBURN.

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CROOKSTON, MINNESOTA.

I borrowed HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE of one of my neighbors, and I like it so much I intend to take it as soon as I can earn money enough to pay for it. I am a cripple boy. I have no feet. One was cut off below and one above the knee, and when I move round I have to go on my hands. I want a pair of Newfoundland dogs for a team, but I can not find where I can get them. I knit a pair of mittens, and sold them to help pay for YOUNG PEOPLE, and now I am mending grain bags to earn the rest of the money. I am fond of reading, and feel lonesome without books and papers.

ELMER R. BLANCHARD.

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SALT LAKE, UTAH TERRITORY.