Part 3

On hearing this, I affirmed that in my opinion the pleasure of standing next the driver was worth double the money, and hinted that I would much prefer returning home in that exalted locality. However, Mrs. Freemack begged that I would not think of doing so with a basket of eggs to guard; and after she had put on her hat and gone out to the gate with me, to make sure the car would stop, I stepped carefully aboard and took a seat inside. The basket I established safely on my knees, with both arms encircling it by way of protection.

Just as we reached the city gates a man came up and got into the car. He did not sit down, but glanced at the lady, the girl, and the soldier, and then at--the basket on my lap. With a quick stride he placed himself in front of me, and put out his hand to catch up the treasure in my charge, calling upon me at the same time to _vous-vous_ something or other, in very stern tones.

Of course no American boy was going to stand being robbed in this daring daylight fashion without making an attempt at defending himself; so I grasped the basket with a firmer grip, and pressed it closer to my heart, as I cried out, "Don't touch this, if you please!"

You see, I never could remember that nobody would understand my English; and besides, it comes a great deal more natural to stand up for your rights in an easy language like your own.

Well, the man stood and looked at me a minute when I said that, while the old lady, the little girl, and the soldier all moved toward me, staring as hard as if I had suddenly been transformed into a three-legged chicken.

"What's the matter? what do you want?" I continued, still tightly hugging the basket.

Another outburst of French followed, in which the other three passengers, and also the driver and conductor, joined, and I began to grow somewhat alarmed.

Still, there were the eggs I had promised to guard, and I was determined not to give up that basket; so I planted my arms firmly on the cover, and sat there confronting "my man" like a dragon--at least I hope he thought so. By this time two other men had entered the car, and my persecutor left me for an instant to speak with them.

This was my opportunity, and with the basket still pressed close to my breast, I sprang up and made a dash for the door. But alas! that soldier saw me just in time to put out his foot and seek to stay my course. And this he did most effectually; for I tripped, and fell full length to the floor, and might have been badly hurt had not the basket acted as a sort of cushion to receive me, for of course it went down under me.

And the eggs! There were two dozen of them, and they and I and the bottom of the car were all "scrambled" together with a vengeance before I got up. Oh, how I wished I was young enough to cry, as I heard the roars of laughter!

But I had one consolation: nobody wanted to touch either me or the basket after that, and I was left in peace to wipe off my jacket with my pocket-handkerchief as the car rolled on its way again into Paris.

I took the basket and a few of the egg-shells home with me, where I learned from father that there is a sort of custom-house at every gate of the city, and that if I had only shown the man what I was carrying, it would probably have been all right. It seems Mrs. Freemack forgot to tell me about it.

Somehow I am not as fond of omelet as I used to be.

RABBITS AS PETS.

BY SHERWOOD RYSE.

Perhaps the reason why rabbits are so popular with boys is that they are something which they can attend to and care for entirely alone.

A rabbit-hutch is a simple affair, but if the animals are worth caring for, they are worth something better than an old packing case for a house. One of these, if water-tight, does well enough for the shell of the hutch, but it will require some fixing up before it is ready to be the abode of a rabbit that "knows what's what."

In the first place, as regards the floor. If this is not kept sweet and clean, the inhabitants will be liable to disease. Let the floor slope gently to the back of the hutch, and let it be double, so that the upper one can be drawn out to be cleaned. This upper board should be painted with two or three coats of paint, and every day it should be drawn out to be washed and brushed. The advantage of the slope is that the floor may be easily drained, and to carry off the drainage a gutter should be placed along it. When the board is cleaned it should have a layer of sand sprinkled over it after it has been put back in its place.

The hutch should be from thirty to thirty-six inches long, eighteen inches wide, and about as many high. As a rabbit should not be expected to eat in its sleeping-room any more than a human being should, the hutch should be partitioned off by a board, leaving the sleeping-room about twelve inches long. In this board should be a round hole large enough for a rabbit to pass through, and protected by a door sliding up and down in a groove.

The simplest way to make the front of the hutch is to nail strips of wood down it, but this is not the best way. Galvanized (white) wire netting is perhaps the best thing, and it can be bought very cheap at any hardware store. The mesh should not be more than three-quarters of an inch wide, or some prowling cat may get her paw into the house and do mischief. The writer lost his first young rabbits by allowing too large a space between the bars of his hutch. The open front of the hutch should extend as far as the end of the living-room. The sleeping-room should be inclosed by a solid door, opening in the ordinary way; and inside this should be a shutter about six inches high, sliding in a groove up and down. The advantage of this is that when the doe has young ones you may open the door and look at them without danger of their falling out.

The bedding should be of straw, well broken and bruised. It need be used only in the sleeping-room, except in very cold weather, and it should be changed at least once a week. It should always be put in dry. The hutch should be raised about a foot from the ground.

It used to be thought that cabbage and bran were all that were necessary for rabbits, but modern fanciers have learned better. The principal thing in rabbit-feeding is variety, and as rabbits will eat almost every kind of vegetable, this is easily managed.

A little book called _The Practical Rabbit-Keeper_ gives a table of diet for a week. This is printed here, not because it need be strictly followed, but to show what is meant by variety of feeding:

SUNDAY.--Morning, roots and dry oats; afternoon, green food and hay; evening, mash of potatoes and meal.

MONDAY.--Morning, roots, crushed oats, and tea leaves; afternoon, small quantity of green food and hay; evening, bread and meal mash.

TUESDAY.--Morning, soaked oats; afternoon, roots and green food; evening, crusts of bread (dry).

WEDNESDAY.--Morning, barley or wheat (dry); afternoon, roots and green food; evening, mash of meal and pollard.

THURSDAY.--Morning, roots and dry oats; afternoon, green stuff and hay; evening, soaked pease or lentils.

FRIDAY.--Morning, hay and roots; afternoon, green food; evening, meal and potato mash.

SATURDAY.--Morning, dry oats and chaff; afternoon, green stuff and roots; evening, bread.

The diet given above provides for three meals a day, which makes the rabbit appear to be a very greedy animal. But, on the contrary, it is very dainty in its feeding, and will neither eat much at a time nor return to that which it has left. Hence it is best to give but little at a time, and to feed regularly. Food should be given in a trough like a gutter, and to prevent the rabbits getting into it, it is well to fasten wires from end to end of the trough, just far enough from the sides to allow the rabbits to get their heads into it.

When a doe has "babies," she will eat nearly twice as much as at other times, and she should be separated from the little ones at her meal-times, so that she may eat in peace. The young ones may stay with their mother for seven or eight weeks, but should then be taken away, one at a time, and put with other young rabbits, if there are any, the bucks and does being kept separate. The father buck will often kill the little ones, so he should be kept apart from them.

If good care is taken of the rabbits, they will probably escape disease, but in a long spell of wet weather, or in a sudden cold snap, "snuffles" may make its appearance. The symptoms are like those of a severe cold with us--running at the eyes and nose, etc. A good authority recommends sponging the eyes and nose with warm tea, and a few drops of camphorated spirit given twice a day.

FALSE COLORS.[2]

[2] Begun in No. 132, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.

For the first ten minutes our drive was enchanting. But presently the chatter of the others became more personal, and on subjects of which I knew nothing. Before we reached the academy, they had begun to whisper now and then, and I felt a little embarrassed; but this feeling wore off under the excitement of entering the noisy lecture-room, where we took our places with a great deal of flourish, and where a circle of Mattie's boy friends was soon around us. Kate Rivers sat on one side of me, and Mattie on the other, and the two leaned across me, continually chatting on things I did not understand, while the boys now and then spoke to me with an easy tone, half jest, half, as it seemed to me, rude familiarity.

Slowly it began to come upon me that these fine friends of Mattie's never would be ladies and gentlemen. Fine as they were, much as they talked of "fun" they had had and were going to have, I knew they were unlike the simple-minded, refined young people I had been among in my quiet country home; and then I began to wish I had not come.

I was ashamed of sitting there in Mattie's finery--of being teased about "running away," of being asked if it wasn't "too jolly to escape the dragon," as Bob and Mattie called our dear Miss Harding, and last, but worst of all, glancing across the crowded hall, I saw in the distance Philip and Laura Sydney. Then they had come! The voices of my new friends buzzed in my ears, their loud laughter was dreadful for that moment.

I shrank back, afraid to meet Laura's gentle gaze, ashamed to have either her or Philip see me in my borrowed plumes, and with such a company.

I heard Kate Rivers's voice in a whisper behind my back.

"Your _old_ muslin, isn't it?"

"Yes," was Mattie's giggling rejoinder. "She hadn't anything of her own."

A contemptuous "Humph!" from Bob's sister followed.

My cheeks flamed. Could I get away? No; the speeches were beginning. How it went on for an hour I do not know. It was a dreadful period for me, and Mattie vainly tried to rouse me. Finally I managed to say:

"Mattie, I see the Sydneys," and to my horror she answered, promptly:

"Oh, what fun! I do want to know them. Come, Cecy, after all I've done for you, you'll have to introduce me."

"But, Mattie," I faltered, "how can I--I--"

"Nonsense!" was the retort. "Here, now, we have an intermission. Come along, Kate, Bob; we're going over to see some friends."

How it was done I never knew, but in a few moments I was following Mattie along a corridor, ashamed of everything about me, the more so when we got into the side room, where she knew the Sydneys were to be found, and I saw Laura's startled recognition of me, and Philip's evident surprise. Mattie pushed me forward. I managed the introductions; and, oh! what a contrast there was between the two girls! Laura's pretty, gentle manner, Mattie's boisterous, dashing one, and Bob and Philip looking at each other with nothing to say, while I stood back, ashamed of my position among them all.

"We went to the school for you," Laura said, presently, "and Miss Harding was out."

Mattie said nothing for an instant; then, with a blush, she said, looking straight into Laura's honest face:

"Miss Harding made an exception in our favor. She refused the general invitation."

In the silence which followed this audacious speech I turned away, not daring to meet the look Philip gave me. I stood by the window, looking out, and while Mattie chatted on, I tried to see how this day would end. Not that I feared Miss Harding, but that I felt I never should know how to shake myself free of the vulgar associations in which my dear Laura had found me; nor could I ever forget I had so placed myself that a lie was told for my benefit. Benefit! If you could have seen me, a miserable, unhappy little girl in borrowed clothes, standing in that window, with a forlorn expression and tightly clasped hands, you would not have thought there was much "fun" in this escapade, nor much "benefit" in its results; I heard the voices in a dreamy sort of way; I heard Philip and Laura saying they were going to take tea at Professor Patton's--the big brick house next the academy. Then, to my surprise, I heard Mattie say _we_ were to stay all night at the Riverses'. There was to be a sort of party. I felt desperate. Laura and Philip said good-by pleasantly, and I could only look at them with a piteous air of appeal. They were gone; we were again in the lecture-room, and I had not recovered my wits, or at least my sense of what I ought to do, until I found myself, with the same boisterous party, driving to Mrs. Rivers's house, half a mile from the academy.

The Riverses had a large showy house; and on entering I was received by an overdressed stout lady, to whom all the young people talked with the sort of rough freedom which is sometimes called "Young America," and which so completely does away with the sacredness of "Mother."

We went upstairs to lay aside our wraps; and remembering I had left something I needed in the hall, I ran down for it while Mattie and Kate were busy washing their hands in the dressing-closet, chattering all the time. As I passed a hall window I saw it had grown suddenly dark, and that rain-drops were pattering against the pane. It was a sudden summer storm, and I began to think of my particular dread--thunder and lightning.

I found what I wanted, and sped back; but on entering the room, I heard my name spoken by Mattie, and stood still in a sort of nameless wonder or dread.

"I _had_ to bring her," Mattie was saying; "I wanted to put her under an obligation to me, don't you see, so that she wouldn't tell of different things. I can always hold this over her. Doesn't she look horrid in my clothes?"

A laugh from Kate was the answer.

"Little goose," Mattie went on, "I wish we could get rid of her. She'd spoil any fun. I've taken to her at school because all the girls told me she was Miss Harding's favorite, it's a good thing for me, you see."

For a moment the revelation of Mattie's real character overpowered me. I do not remember that at first I thought of anything but that she was not what I had believed her to be. Then mortification, fright, tears--everything--seemed to follow, and then, in a sort of dream, I turned and ran down-stairs and out into the rain, thinking only that I must find Laura and ask her to help me.

I knew the way to Professor Patton's house; but long before I reached it I was drenched through, Mattie's thin muslin being draggled and soaked when I stumbled up against the big doorway, within which lights were shining, and voices sounding of laughter and happy cheer.

I wondered, long afterward, what the servant thought of me, standing there in my soaked finery. Whatever she thought, little was said. In a moment Laura appeared from a side door, coming out with a look that went to my heart. I tried to speak. I began to cry; then I remember moving a little toward her, and darkness seemed to close in about me.

* * * * *

Laura Sydney was--and is--one of those people who always know just what to do on every occasion. So it was no surprise to me to find myself, on coming to consciousness, warm and snug in a comfortable bed, with a tray of tea and toast at my side, and curtains drawn about the windows, on which the rain was beating. It took only a few words to make Laura understand everything. She sent a message to Mattie and one to Miss Harding, and the next day brought that kind lady to Professor Patton's house. I was ill with a feverish cold: perhaps that is why they were all so good to me. At all events, when I had freely confessed all of my wrong-doing there seemed no more to be said, and the only reference made to it was when I went home and Aunt Anna reminded me I had spoiled Mattie's dress.

"I think, dear," she said, one morning, when we were in the garden, "you had better send her a new one. Perhaps it would be a good idea to save some of your pocket-money for this purpose." And very gladly I consented to this little discipline.

Laura, who is opposite me as I write, teaching my little girl to pronounce _f_, has just asked me if I remember how long ago all this happened.

"Can it be fifteen years?" she says--and in my heart it seems only yesterday, although never since have I forgotten the lesson that day taught: that false colors never help us to be happy, and that "fun" built up on wrong-doing never can be honest enjoyment.

THE END.

Oh, lovely days are hasting here, when Summer's tripping feet Will dance along the clover fields and o'er the golden wheat, When winds will wander through the rye, and merry brooks shall sing, And scarlet-vested orioles in cradle nests shall swing.

Then up and down the sunny hills, and o'er the velvet turf, And where the great waves thunder in to break in foamy surf, You'll see the little children come, so quick to hear are they When Summer bids them follow her, and tells them what to play.

She'll show them where the berries ripe are blushing thick and sweet; She'll lead them where the tangled boughs in fragrant arches meet; She'll smile when in the shady pool the little fishers dip, And hush the prattling breezes near with finger on her lip.

What fun to pitch the new-mown hay, and climb the load so high That proudly lifts the darlings up between the earth and sky! What joy to build the mimic fort, and pelt it down with sand! What wealth to fill with buttercups each small despairing hand!

And, oh, to toss the torn straw hat upon the shining curls, And after Bess and Brindle trot through pastures strung with pearls! What bliss and what supreme content in afternoons to lie, And from the hammock watch the clouds like white sails gliding by!

Ah! sweet it is to sit and dream, my little Golden-Hair, And picture summer's happy days without a single care; For blither than your gladdest thought the summer-time will be, That hither comes with tripping feet to reign o'er land and sea.

The Postmistress would like to hear from each little reader of Our Post-office Box who has a garden which he or she takes care of without any help from papa, mamma, or older brothers and sisters. What have you planted in your gardens? Which flowers are in bloom now? When do you work in them? What do you do with your buds and blossoms? The pleasure of having flowers to give away is very great. If you have a little friend who is ill--too ill to see playmates, or talk, or hear merry voices--you can show how sorry you are for Jack or Fanny, or whoever it may be, by leaving a tiny bouquet at the door, with your love. A few pansies, a rose-bud tied up with a couple of geranium leaves, a bunch of mignonette or lilies-of-the-valley, do not cost much, but they show your good-will, and cheer a sick-room with their sweet faces and sweeter perfume.

Of course you all know what Flower Missions are. There are many suffering children in hospitals who are made very happy by the gift of flowers, either daisies and violets from woods and fields, or roses and lilies from gardens. Some of you, no doubt, send flowers every summer, that poor, or sad, or sick people in the cities may be comforted by them.

Now remember, little gardeners, that you are to have your turn, and tell us all about your successes and your failures.

The vegetable and fruit gardeners may speak too. Let us hear about the lettuce, the onions, the radishes, and the strawberries. If there are any little business men or women who earn money of their own by selling the nice things they raise, they are invited to write and tell us how they manage their affairs.

* * * * *

STODDARD, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

I am a little boy eleven years old, and live on a farm in the town of Stoddard. I have a dog, and call him Jack, two nice calves, a very pretty lamb, four doves, and some hens. I like to attend to my father's stock. He keeps horses, oxen, cows, sheep, hogs, and some young stock. I let out the cattle to water, and tie them up again. When my father is away in the summer-time, Jack and I go after the cows. Sometimes Jack trees a woodchuck, and then he and I have a grand time digging him out. He and I caught twenty-one last year. Jack is a splendid dog. You ought to see him drive up the cows; they have to go home when he says so, and they will start when they see him coming.

I have been making sugar for myself this spring. My father let me have twenty buckets, and my mother let me take her large brass kettle and two pots. I hung them up by a large rock, and tapped fourteen trees, and have made forty pounds of sugar, which I sold at ten cents per pound. I have bought me a pair of boots and some books, and have almost enough left to pay for YOUNG PEOPLE next year. I start to school next week.

J. W. T.

Well done, my little man! You worked faithfully, and spent your money very wisely. I wish you had told Our Post-office Box what books you bought, and I hope the boots will wear well. And then you had a splendid time making the sugar. I wish some of us had been there to help you.

If woodchucks were not such pests to the farmer, I think I would feel sorry that Jack trees so many of them. I think I can see him bounding along after the cows. What is your name? J. stands for Jonathan, James, Jerome, and a number of other names; and I like my boys to send more than their initials to me, so that I can remember them when they write again.

* * * * *

HONOLULU, HAWAIIAN ISLANDS.

I read your Post-office Box with a great deal of interest every time it comes. I used to live in Kansas, and often saw prairie fires there, and one nearly burned up my father's hay-stack and barn. But we fought it, and saved them. My father and mother moved to these islands from there, and landed here the last day of 1878. We have Kanaka policemen to guard the streets, and most of the sidewalks are made of lava sand: some are of broken boards, and there is a nice stone pavement once in a long distance. So when it rains the sidewalks are muddy. Most of the yards are very beautiful. We have a nice band. They are all Kanakas except the leader, who is a German. They give moonlight concerts free in the Park several times a month, and every Saturday afternoon at half past four o'clock. The little Park is very nice, and has plenty of seats in it. I went to Hilo with my papa, and also to the lava flow, which is only a mile and a half from that place. It is still too hot to step on in some places, though the flow stopped on the 9th of last August. When it rained you could trace it a long distance by the steam. I am nearly eleven years old, and go to school, and have not been absent or tardy this term.

CHARLOTTE H. P.