Part 2

Toby was somewhat surprised at seeing them, for he knew their busiest time was just at the close of the circus, and while he was yet wondering at their coming, he saw Ella approaching from the direction of the dressing tent.

He had not much time to spend in speculation, however, for Ben said, as he came up:

"Now, Toby, you shall see Mr. Stubbs's brother, and talk to him just as long as you want to."

The skeleton and his wife and Ella looked at each other and smiled in a queer way as Ben said this; but Toby was too much excited at the idea of having the monkey in his arms to pay any attention to what was going on around him.

Ben, unlocking the door of the cage, succeeded after considerable trouble in catching the particular inmate he wanted, and handing him to Toby, said:

"Now let's see if he knows you as well as Stubbs did."

Toby took the monkey in his arms with a glad cry of delight, and fondled him as if he really were the pet he had lost.

Whether it was because the animal knew that the boy was petting him, or because he had been treated harshly, and was willing to make friends with the first one who was kind to him, it is difficult to say. It is certain that as soon as he found himself in Toby's arms he nestled down with his face by the boy's neck, remaining there as contentedly as if the two had been friends for years.

"There! don't you see he knows me?" cried the boy, in delight, and then he sat down upon the ground, caressing the animal, and whispering all sorts of loving words in his ear.

"He does seem to act as if he had been introduced to you," said old Ben, with a chuckle. "It would be kinder nice if you could keep him, wouldn't it?"

"'Deed it would," replied Toby, earnestly. "I'd give everything I've got if I could have him, for he does act so much like Mr. Stubbs, it seems as if it must be him."

Then Ella whispered something to the old driver, the skeleton bestowed a very mysterious wink upon him, the fat woman nodded her head until her cheeks shook like two balls of very soft butter, and Abner looked curiously on, wondering what was the matter with Toby's friends.

He soon found out what it was, however, for Ben, after indulging in one of his laughing spasms, asked:

"Whose monkey is that you've got in your arms, Toby?"

"Why, it belongs to the circus, don't it?" And the boy looked up in surprise.

"No, it don't belong to the circus; it belongs to you--that's who owns it."

"Me? Mine? Why, Ben--"

Toby was so completely bewildered as to be unable to say a word, and just as he was beginning to think it some joke, Ben said:

"The skeleton an' his wife, an' Ella an' I, bought that monkey this forenoon, an' we give him to you, so's you'll still be able to have a Mr. Stubbs in the family."

"Oh, Ben!" was all Toby could say. With the monkey tightly clasped in his arms, he took the old driver by the hand; but just then the skeleton stepped forward, holding something which glistened.

"Mr. Tyler," he said, in his usual speech-making style, "when our friend Ben told us this morning about your having discovered Mr. Stubbs's brother, we sent out and got this collar for the monkey, and we take the greatest possible pride in presenting it to you; although, if it had been something that my Lilly could have made with her own fair fingers, I should have liked it better."

As he ceased speaking, he handed Toby a very pretty little dog-collar, on the silver plate of which was inscribed:

MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER,

PRESENTED TO

TOBY TYLER

BY

THE SKELETON, THE FAT WOMAN,

OLD BEN, LITTLE ELLA.

Toby took the collar, and as he fastened it on the monkey's neck, he said, in a voice that trembled considerably with emotion:

"You've all of you been awful good to me, an' I don't know what to say so's you'll know how much I thank you. It seems as if ever since I started with the circus you've all tried to see how good you could be; an' now you've given me this monkey that I wanted so much. Some time, when I'm a man, I'll show you how much I think of all you've done for me."

The tears of gratitude that were gathering in Toby's eyes prevented him from saying anything more, and then Mrs. Treat and Ella both kissed, him, while Ben said, in a gruff tone:

"Now carry the monkey home, an' get your supper, for you'll want to come down here this evening, an' you won't have time if you don't go now."

Ella, after making Toby promise that he would see her again that night, went with Mr. and Mrs. Treat, while old Ben, as if afraid he might receive more thanks, walked quickly away toward the dressing-rooms, and there was nothing else for Toby and Abner to do but go home.

It surely seemed as if every boy in the village knew that Toby Tyler had remained in the tent after the circus was over, and almost all of them were waiting around the entrance when the two boys came out with the monkey.

If Toby had staid there until each one of his friends had looked at and handled the monkey as much as he wanted to, he and Abner would have remained until morning, and Mr. Stubbs's brother would have been made very ill-natured.

He waited until his friends had each looked at the monkey, and then he and Abner started home, escorted by nearly all the boys in town.

The partners in the amateur circus scheme were nearly as wild with joy as Toby was, for now their enterprise seemed an assured success, since they had two real ponies and a live monkey to begin with. They seemed to consider it their right to go to Uncle Daniel's with Toby; and when the party reached the corner that marked the centre of the village, they decided that the others of the escort should go no farther--a decision which relieved Toby of an inconvenient number of friends.

As it was, the party was quite large enough to give Aunt Olive some uneasiness lest they should track dirt in upon her clean kitchen floor, and she insisted that both the boys and the monkey should remain in the yard.

Toby had an idea that Mr. Stubbs's brother would be treated as one of the family; and had any one hinted that the monkey would not be allowed to share his bed and eat at the same table with him, he would have resented it strongly.

But Uncle Daniel soon convinced him that the proper place for his pet was in the wood-shed, where he could be chained to keep him out of mischief, and Mr. Stubbs's brother was soon safely secured in as snug a place as a monkey could ask for.

Not until this was done did the partners return to their homes, or the centre of attraction, the tenting grounds, nor did Toby find time to get his supper and go for the cows.

Not once during the afternoon had Toby said anything to Abner of the good fortune that might come to him through old Ben; but when he got back from the pasture and met Uncle Daniel in the barn, he told him what the old driver had said about Abner.

"Are you sure you heard him rightly, Toby, boy?" asked the old gentleman, pushing his glasses up on his forehead, as he always did when he was surprised or perplexed.

"I know he said that; but it seems as if it was too good to be true, don't it?"

"The Lord's ways are not our ways, my boy, and if He sees fit to work some good to the poor cripple, He can do it as well through a circus driver as through one of His elect," said Uncle Daniel, reverentially, and then he set about milking the cows in such an absent-minded way that he worried old Short-horn until she kicked the pail over when it was nearly half full.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

THE LITTLE GREEN BEDS.

BY MRS. M. E. SANGSTER.

There are little green beds in many a row On our hill-sides fair and our valleys low, And lying still in their hollows deep, The gallant soldiers are fast asleep. Oh, gently we tread when we pass a mound Which under the flag is holy ground.

And over our country here and there Those little green beds grow bright and fair When the May flowers drop in the lap of June, And sweet in the pastures the wild bees croon. With banner and bugle and beat of drum, To honor the brave, then the people come.

They come with the roses red and white, And the starry lilies as pure as light; They scatter the blossoms everywhere, And the perfume thrills on the sighing air As they wreathe with beauty each lowly mound That under the flag is holy ground.

O children, glad as the summer skies, With your dancing dimples and laughing eyes, Little you dream of the wild work done Ere the soldiers' rest in these beds was won; And you only know that here brave ones lie Sleeping so soundly as years go by.

Nothing they heed of the work or play Of the busy world in the merry May. Though life was sweet to the hero band, They died for love of our native land; And so we garland each lowly mound That under the flag is holy ground.

MY FIRST KANGAROO HUNT.

BY MRS. J. C. GIFFORD.

My husband and I were staying at a country house sixteen miles from Champion Bay, quite in the "bush," and miles away from any one. Our host was an influential person, and the owner of one of the largest stock farms on the great continent of Australia.

Everything was arranged for the hunt the day before, Mr. B---- having selected and had brought in from the bush those horses which he thought most suitable. The luncheon was all packed up overnight, and sent to the hunting ground at four o'clock in the morning, accompanied by a barrel of water, a luxury unattainable in the country we were bound for.

When we rose in the morning we saw from our windows some of the gentlemen already starting, and about an hour afterward the carriage which was to convey our party of five to the meet was brought round to the door.

After we had driven about nine miles we came to a hollow, where we found our horses waiting. Mine was a very neat gray, full of spirit, but very good-tempered, while my husband's mount was a pretty bay mare, very fast, which pulled considerably. We set off, each of us armed with boomerangs, or heavy curved sticks from eighteen inches to two feet in length. Our horses were excited, but we had to ride along as quietly as possible, for fear we should start a kangaroo and let it get away too far ahead.

We had not long to wait before a beautiful "flying doe" got up about three-quarters of a mile in front of us, when every one let his horse go as hard as he could, until the pace became tremendous, the horses having to jump all the bushes they came to.

After we had galloped for several miles, the country became rough and thickly grown with black-boys--a species of palm-tree, so called from its black stem. Unfortunately, my husband, in avoiding a collision with a lady, managed to come up against one of them, and it being strong, did not give with the weight of the horse, and knocked him out of the saddle. For a moment I was rather frightened, but as he called to me that he was all right, and told me to go on, I did so. He soon got his horse back, and came after us as quickly as possible.

Of course this little episode rather threw me out of the hunt, and in the distance I saw Miss L---- going a good pace with the kangaroo close ahead of her. She rode very well, and never once left it. After a while I found myself pretty close to it, and by this time our horses were getting a little bit used up. It seemed a long time before the kangaroo was knocked over. As soon as one of us got alongside of it, it doubled, and then the work of getting sufficiently near to upset it had to begin again. The pace they go is almost incredible, especially that of a "flying doe," and before one is accustomed to it their hopping has a peculiar effect. Each spring they give, their tails beat the ground as if worked by machinery. Mr. B---- eventually knocked over the "flying doe" at Miss L----'s request, she being uncertain how it ought to be done. I am glad to say it was not killed, but "ear-marked," and let go.

We gave our horses a little rest, and then started off again. Luckily the day was cloudy, or the heat on the sand plains would have been unbearable. This time again we were most fortunate, and soon saw a very big kangaroo going away ahead of us. After a short time we came to a bit of thick bush which the kangaroo made for. If not excited, one would think twice about going straight into it. However, I saw two bush-riders go at it, so thought I would try too, much to their amusement, and I was rewarded. Just in the middle the kangaroo doubled, and being then quite close to him, I had all the fun to myself, and Bismarck--my horse--entered into it perfectly.

Crash we went through the bush regardless of the possibility of eyes being poked out by boughs, and our faces being scratched all over. In fact, I found the only thing to do was to sit tight, keep my head down, and let the horse go. He followed the kangaroo until we found ourselves in the open again. Then we came alongside of him in a canter, as he was getting tired, so I got Bismarck very close, and knocked him down. I then thought he would give us no more trouble, but much to my surprise, when pulling up the horse, I saw him get up and begin to go off. I was determined he should not get away, so our chase began again. We soon were together, and I made Bismarck keep a little bit ahead of him, waiting for our opportunity to upset him. He was actually hopping along under my feet, and I knocked his head with my foot. He tore my habit by putting one of his paws through it, and scratched one of Bismarck's fore-legs in trying to cross him. This he was not quick enough in doing, and was soon down on the ground. The actual run was, I believe, only two miles. The kangaroo was afterward killed, and his paws cut off for me as a remembrance of my first hunt, but in drying they were spoiled, and I never got them. His tail was taken home to be made into soup, which is most excellent.

After luncheon the gentlemen went off to find another kangaroo if possible. They were all on foot, except my husband and Mr. B----'s nephew. However, they soon found a fine one, and four of them carried it in to us alive. They tied a rope round it, and fastened it to a tree. At first the animal tried hard to get away, but finding it useless, remained very still. We had a few dogs out with us, but they are not required if there are a good many people mounted. Of course, to any one hunting by himself, they would be a necessity. Just before our start homeward it was proposed to let the kangaroo go, and with some difficulty they managed to untie the rope. The kangaroo being at bay, it stood upon its hind-legs, with its back to a tree, and kept striking out with its paws. It really was a piteous sight, standing there with its big brown eyes, and it did not seem to realize it was free, although the dogs barked and people shouted to make it move.

At last it went off, and I longed for it to get away; but before going any distance it stood up again, with the dogs round it, and the poor brave kangaroo was soon dragged by them to the ground. It seemed quite a melancholy ending to our day.

JUST ONE LOCK OF HAIR.

"You see, mamma dear, Charley asked For just one lock of hair; I thought I'd cut it off myself, I knew you would not care.

"Please now, mamma, don't look so grave, The piece is very small; And, see--I cut it off just where It doesn't show at all."

OILING THE WAVES.

We have all heard of pouring oil on the waters, but most of us have supposed that the phrase meant only the soothing of angry people by gentle words, and that it was what the grammars call a figurative expression.

But sailors and fishermen have often tried the experiment of sprinkling oil upon stormy waves with great success. The oil when dropped upon the billows spreads over their surfaces, forming a fine film, and smoothing a safe path for ships that would otherwise be in danger.

Many curious instances of this are given by the captains of whalers and merchant ships. The master of the _Gem_, a British brigantine, bound from Wilmington, North Carolina, to Bristol, encountered a hurricane, which blew frightfully for thirty-six hours. The vessel was in the utmost peril, when the captain remembered to have read an article on the use of oil at sea. He at once poured a quantity into a canvas bag, and fastened it to a rope six fathoms long, trailed it to windward of the ship, and the oil leaked out, and made smooth water around the vessel.

In September, 1846, a terrific gale of wind lashed the Atlantic to fury, and a little fishing-boat was seen tearing her way through the white waves to the coast of Sable Island. Watchers on the shore saw two men on board throwing something at intervals into the air.

When the boat arrived on shore, as she did in safety, with all her crew, it was found that the captain had stationed two men near the fore-shrouds, where he had lashed two casks of oil. Each man was armed with a wooden ladle two feet long, with which he dipped up the blubber and oil, and threw it as high as he could into the sea. The wind carried it to leeward, and as it spread far over the water, though the waves rose very high, they did not break. The little _Arno_ rode into Sable Island, leaving a shining path in her wake.

The way in which the oil is used by those who wish to preserve their boats from wreck is very simple.

The _King Cenric_, for instance, a sailing ship bound from Bombay to Liverpool, with coal, was caught in a heavy gale, which lasted five days. Her officers filled two canvas clothes-bags with oil, and made two or three small holes in each. The bags were then towed along by the ship.

Our own Dr. Franklin, who always used his eyes, tried the experiment of calming rough water by oil in the harbors of Newport and Portsmouth. He had observed the serenity of the waves around the whaling ships, and he said that even a tea-spoonful of oil produced a wonderful effect.

Mr. John Shields, of Perth, Scotland, has been trying the experiment on a grand scale in Peterhead North Harbor. His apparatus carries twelve hundred feet of piping into deep water two hundred yards seaward of the bar. There are three conical valves, fixed seventy-five feet apart, at the sea end of the pipe, and when the pipes are charged with oil, by means of a force-pump in a hut on shore, the oil escapes so rapidly that the wildest waves become gentle ripples.

Mr. Shields has been improving and testing his invention for two years, and expects by means of it to make the dangerous harbor of Peterhead entirely safe, however furious the weather.

PHOTOGRAPHY AND WORK.

BY ALLAN FORMAN.

Amateur photography is getting to be exceedingly popular. The price of outfits is so low that they are within reach of all, and from what we hear it would seem that a goodly number of the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE are engaging in it. A few words therefore on the subject from one who has been through the first few months of enthusiasm and disappointment which succeed the purchase of an instrument may be of service to those who have embarked on the ocean of amateur photography.

Of course you will use the dry plates. I say of course, because for the amateur they are cheaper, more convenient, produce better results, and afford a wider latitude of subject than the wet plates. We will suppose, then, that you have provided yourself with a good camera and lens, chemicals, plates, baths, and all that go to make a complete outfit.

Your first trouble will be with your dark room. It must be _absolutely_ dark; the faintest ray of white light will destroy the most perfectly timed picture. Any closet will do, so long as you can have perfect darkness and room to work. The most luxurious dark room I ever saw was ten feet square, provided with hot and cold water, and lighted by two large windows with panes of ruby glass. The gold-colored glass looks the same, but is worthless for photographic purposes. On the other hand, I have worked in a closet two feet deep, by the dim light of a single ruby lamp. But in photography as in everything else the "golden mean" is preferable.

If kept in a perfectly dark box, the dry plates need not be developed for months. Travellers often change plates, and even develop and fix them, at night, in their rooms, by the aid of a ruby lantern. As the changing of plates is an operation which consumes but little time, this may be done with safety, but we would recommend the young photographer to make use of his dark room for the process of developing.

Besides the pans, or baths as they are called, for the chemicals, you must have in the dark room a supply of clear water, and a vessel in which to throw it after it has been used. Dry plates require frequent washing, as we shall see further on. Your dark room must be, then, of moderate size, free from white light, provided with clean water, and free from dust. If it is dusty, you will have minute specks on the picture. The plates must be kept in this room, and must be transferred to and from the plate-holders here.

Next comes the business of mixing the chemicals. There are several different formulas for the development of dry plates, but I have found the ferrous-oxalate developer to be the simplest and best. The most convenient way to prepare the solutions is to take two common glass preserve jars, put in about a quarter of a pound of neutral oxalate of potash in one, and about the same amount of protosulphate of iron in the other; then pour on warm water, and let the crystals dissolve.

It makes no difference how much water you put in; the object is to get a "saturated" solution; that is, a solution in which the water has absorbed all the chemical matter it can take up. After the chemicals have had time to dissolve--say fifteen or twenty minutes--filter the solutions into separate bottles, and cork them tightly, to keep out the dust. Always filter all your solutions before using them; even filter the water if it is not perfectly clear. Cleanliness is a prime necessity in photography, and the amateur can not be too careful.

Now comes the "fixing" solution, which is made by dissolving four ounces of hyposulphite of soda in twenty ounces of water. Filter into a bottle, and cork it until used. Make at the same time a saturated solution of common alum, and use it for washing the plates after taking them out of the developer, and before fixing. Directions are given by many involving the use of cyanide of potassium, tartaric acid, bromide of ammonia, and the like; but it is better for the beginner to use as few chemicals as possible. More pictures are spoiled than saved by inexperienced doctoring.

After your chemicals are all prepared, put a plate in your holder, or wooden box with slides, one or more of which accompany every outfit. Focus your camera on some object; a row of buildings, the side of a house, or a board fence is preferable for this experiment. Take off the cap, and pull the slide about half of the way out. Expose about six seconds, and pull out the slide the rest of the way. Expose this six seconds again, and replace the slide. You now have two exposures, of six and twelve seconds respectively, on the same plate. This is for timing the lens. It is impossible to give any definite rules for the time of an exposure; experience must teach this.

In a gallery where the surroundings are the same and the light varies but little, it is comparatively easy to determine how long a plate should be exposed in the camera. But in out-of-door work the amateur must take into consideration the state of the weather and the atmosphere, the presence or absence of reflecting surfaces, such as a stretch of sand-beach, a sheet of water, or the proximity of a light-colored building, and time the plate accordingly.