Part 3

In a minute he was swept out of sight, and with an awful feeling of loneliness, she crouched on the roof, holding Nance in her arms. Each moment passed slowly as an hour, while the waves crept ever higher and higher, until they washed against the children's feet as they clung closely together. What had become of Rupert? What would become of them? Nance's sobs were hushed from sheer exhaustion, and she only moaned and shivered slightly when the crawling water gained on them inch by inch. Some of her brother's courage had entered Margery's breast in this extremity of peril, and mingling with her broken prayers for aid were words of comfort to her little sister.

But every minute it became plainer to her that they could not keep their hold much longer. Chilled to the heart, their stiffened arms were gradually relaxing. The morning was beginning to break, and its dull gray light showed her nothing but the angry waves on every side. Familiar landmarks were all gone, and the child's lonely heart grew despairing in the midst of so much desolation. All hope was dying fast, when far in the distance came a dark speck, moving steadily over the solid waters, and growing larger and clearer every moment. It was a boat rowed by strong arms that shot forward to help them.

"Nance! Nance!" she sobbed, "they are coming! they are coming! Rupert has sent them, after all. He has saved us, as he said he would."

Another minute, and the two cramped and wearied little figures were lifted down from their perilous resting-place, and laid gently in the boat, Nance hardly conscious, but Margery trembling with the question she scarcely dared to ask.

"Where is Rupert?" she cried. "He sent you, I know; but where is he now?"

The men, two laborers from the manor farm, looked at each other with troubled eyes, but made no answer. Margery's pitiful glance wandered from one down-cast face to the other, as she strove to understand what this silence meant.

"He must have sent you to us," she said, slowly, and as if talking to herself; "else how would you have thought to come?"

"Ay, that he did," answered one of the rowers. "He sent us truly, but he spoke no words to tell his tale. If we had not been a parcel of frightened fools, we would have remembered you before."

He stopped, and Margery looked at him with dazed and startled eyes. As gently as he could he told her how, two hours before, the drowned body of a little fair-haired boy had been swept by the torrent past the windows of the manor farm. Every effort had been made to bring back some spark of life, but it was too late. Struggling alone through the night in the great waters, the child's slight strength had long since given out, and the waves tossed their light burden hither and thither in cruel sport. He had striven with all his might, for his sisters' sake, and he had rescued them; for when the little dead body was recognized, all remembered the helpless family in the cottage cut off from any assistance, and a boat was sent out instantly for those who might still be alive. Here they were, just in time, and Margery and her little sister were that day restored safe and well to their mother's arms.

And long years after, when children of her own gathered around her knee, Margery would tell them on each All-hallow-eve the story of that dreadful night, and of their brave little uncle Rupert, who with boyish courage had risked and lost his life to save the sisters committed to his care.

ANECDOTES OF COUNTRY LIFE.

We once had a piping bullfinch that was given to my mother as a birthday present. Bully was very tame, and used to fly about the room every morning, settling now and then upon somebody's head; but he loved his mistress much more than any one else, and was never so happy as when perched on her shoulder, piping his little song, or pecking seeds from her lips. He once showed his love for her in a very pretty way. She had spent several days away from home, which made poor Bully very dull and sad, and returning late one evening, long after children and birds had shut their eyes for the night, went into the room, and spoke to him. Bully woke up, and was so delighted at the sight of his mistress that he at once began piping his tune in joyful welcome to her. The poor little bird had a sad end. It is, I believe, a well-known fact that bullfinches often die of grief or jealousy, but we did not know it at the time; and when we had the large cage of birds, our pretty bright Bully was put into it. He was so much vexed at seeing them share his mistress's attention that he sickened and died in a few days.

One summer we noticed that regularly every morning when the dining-room window was open, a small wasp used to fly in, generally with something in its mouth, and settle on the writing-table. On the side of the table nearest the window there were only sham drawers; but they had key-holes, and into one of them the wasp always crawled, coming out again in a few minutes, and flying away. But it was sure to come back several times, and occupy itself very busily in the hole. In a few days a little white wall gradually rose up in front of the opening, and at last quite closed it, as though it had been built up with a fine cement. About the same time several other key-holes in different parts of the house were closed in this manner, and that so effectually, that no key could be introduced into them. We once opened one with a sharp-pointed instrument, and found inside some fat green caterpillars. The wasp had laid its eggs inside the little house, and imprisoned the caterpillars to serve as food for its young ones as soon as they were hatched. We often wondered how the caterpillars lived so long, when there was apparently no food provided for them. But I have since read in some book of natural history that the wasp, when carrying them by their necks to their prison, sends them into a kind of stupor, which, fortunately for themselves, lasts until the end of their lives.

WINDOW GARDENING.

BY A. W. ROBERTS.

A window containing a collection of healthy and blooming plants stamps the owner as one possessing refined tastes and a kind disposition, together with a love for all that is beautiful in nature. Window boxes ornamented with English or American tiles, and lined inside with zinc, are too costly for the size of young people's pockets. Besides, there does not begin to be as much fun in a "store" window box as is contained in one made at home with the assistance of father or big brother.

A well-made window box for the cultivation of plants during the winter and summer months will last a number of years with ordinary care.

Fig. 1 represents a home-made window box when completed. The box consists of well-seasoned one-inch white pine thoroughly nailed together. At one end of the box (A) a hole is bored to allow all surplus water to drain off and into the pan, also shown at A. To prevent the water and moisture contained in the soil from rotting and warping the wood-work, several coats of hot asphalt are applied with an old paint-brush--asphalt varnish will also answer--thus closing up all possible leaks, and thoroughly protecting the wood-work. There is no rule for the proportion of window boxes; the requirements of the plants used and the widths of windows and sills govern the proportion of the boxes. If the windows intended for boxes are very wide, braces of wood should be fastened across the tops and bottoms of the boxes to strengthen them, and extra feet nailed on to support them.

All boxes as well as flower-pots containing growing plants should have a thorough "bottom drainage." This is accomplished by placing on the bottom of the box a layer of broken earthenware or old bones broken into small pieces. The bones answer a double purpose, that of drainage and a supply of plant food (ammonia, etc.).

Fig. 2 is a spruce-wood panel. A square is first drawn on the outside of the window box; this square is painted a light green, to contrast with the brown of the spruce twigs. After the paint has dried, the guide lines are ruled from corner to corner through the centre. Small twigs of dried spruce-wood of a uniform thickness (about that of a lead-pencil) are selected. If the leaves do not fall off readily, the twigs are placed in an oven and thoroughly dried, so that they fall off at the slightest touch. The twigs are bevelled at the ends, as shown in the engraving. In the centre of the panel is nailed a square of wood equal in thickness to the spruce-wood twigs. This square is painted white, and is also ornamented with spruce twigs and the small cones of the spruce, the intention being to produce an elevated centre to the panel. The spruce twigs are firmly fastened with small brads. Over all two or three coats of furniture varnish are applied to develop the rich colors of the spruce-wood, as well as to protect it from outside moisture.

Fig. 3 is a cone panel. The outer border is composed of the burrs of the liquid-amber tree ("alligator-wood"), with corners of pine cones. The next line consists of a band of spruce branches with the cones attached. The centre is a sheet of white-birch bark, with hemlock cone corners. The ground consists of two coats of paint of a cream-white tint. The cones are fastened on with small brads, or pins that have been shortened to a convenient length.

Fig. 4 is a tasteful grape-vine panel. The canes are first softened in boiling water or steam to make them pliable for bending into curves. The shorter curved branches consist of short sections neatly joined to the leading curves. The centre is composed of a frame-work of liquid-amber wood, with grape-vine monogram or other device. The grain of the white pine when brought out with the varnish answers for a groundwork.

Fig. 5 is a panel covered with marbled oil-cloth (such as is used for covering tables and desks) of a light tint. It is first cut exactly the size of the panel, on which it is glued, the edges being secured by nailing on to them narrow strips of floor oil-cloth of a checkered or vine pattern. The corner pieces and centre consist of simple and neat patterns in oil-cloth, but rich in contrasts of colors. Brilliant oil-colors can be used for borderings and framing in lines; intense blacks, reds, and whites are best. Over all, a coat of varnish is applied. In Fig. 6, the materials consist of "clinkers," or slag, from furnaces, stoves, glass-house furnaces, and iron foundries. These are fastened to the wood-work of the box by means of hot asphalt.

The corner-pieces in the illustration are composed of clinkers of a light color. The central group consists of vitrified clinkers from an iron foundry or glass-house. The handsomest clinkers are to be obtained from glass-houses, as they are composed of more or less glass of different colors.

After the groups of clinkers are firmly fastened in position, a coating consisting of varnish, mixed with any of the chrome greens is applied to all parts of the exposed wood-work. The clinkers look much more brilliant when touched up here and there with gold or copper bronze. This is accomplished by applying varnish to the clinkers, which before it dries, touch on the bronze with a clabber of cotton or wool.

Fig. 7 consists of cross sections of various kinds of woods, which are well seasoned previous to being glued together.

Straight branches of red cedar, black walnut, red birch, etc., etc., are selected; these are cut into uniform lengths, and tightly bound together with strong cord or wire, after which a sufficient quantity of _very_ hot glue is poured on one end of the bundle to fill up all the spaces and join the branches together. After the glue has become dry and hard, the bundle is sawn into cross sections of one-half inch thickness.

These cross sections are smoothed down with emery paper and sawn into strips, which are glued on to the window box when forming the panel. The centre of the panel is composed of various kinds of woods, polished to bring out the grain, after which they are inlaid, the spaces between being filled in with glue. Over all, several coats of varnish are applied.

A handsome panel may be made of plaster of Paris. On a sheet of wrapping paper, exactly the size of the panel, draw the design to be worked in plaster.

In mixing the plaster a solution of glue and water is used; the glue is for the purpose of delaying the setting of the plaster, in order to gain time to trim up the plaster when necessary. To the glue and water is added the coloring material. A small quantity of plaster is mixed with the glue water at a time, to the consistency of a thick paste. The plaster is urged from the point of the spoon with which it is applied with a pointed stick that has been thoroughly oiled to prevent the plaster from adhering to it. Some practice is required to guide the plaster so as to keep it within the outlines of the drawing. Another way is to make a coil or cornucopia of stout, well-glazed, and thoroughly greased writing-paper, made small at the point. A quantity of the plaster is placed in the coil, and by gently squeezing the top of the horn a continuous stream is forced out; this may, by moving the horn in straight or curved lines, be made to fill in any pattern drawn. After the plaster patterns have thoroughly dried they are glued in position in the window box and well varnished.

NORWALK, CONNECTICUT.

When I was in Palatka, Florida, last winter, my mamma wrote a letter for me, which was published in YOUNG PEOPLE. I have always been very much pleased and interested by the children's letters, and have begged mamma to write again for me.

So many have written of their little pets, I want to tell of our little pet robin. It fell from the nest when very small, and we thought it would die; but my auntie made a nest for it in a basket, and fed it often with meal and water, and it grew to be quite tame, and when big enough would eat worms, taking them down whole, until it could hold no more. It would fly across the room, and alight on my auntie's thumb, and stand quietly if she was paring fruit. We were all very much attached to it, and were hoping to be able to have it when a full-grown pet; but one day it flew over a kettle on the stove, and the steam scalded it, though how badly we did not know until it died a week later. We buried it in a little box, and really felt very lonely without it. I now have a pretty Maltese kitten, which, like several other readers of YOUNG PEOPLE, I have named Toby.

BERTHA S.

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MONTICELLO, ILLINOIS.

I was visiting in Chicago this fall. I went to the Exposition, and at night I attended the Grand Opera, and saw the electric light. I went to Lincoln Park, and saw a petrified alligator lying on the bank of a pond, with its mouth wide open, and I kept close to mamma till the lady we were with said it was dead. There were two live alligators in the same pond, but they were small ones. I saw a live buffalo. There were some swans there, and I poked my parasol at one, and it ran at me. I saw some panthers and bears, and two sea-lions, which would stick their heads up out of the water, and bark like dogs. A gentleman was pointing at something in the water, and a sea-lion, being hungry, thought he was going to feed it, and it jumped almost out of the water. I went to visit the greenhouse, and there was a parrot which would talk, and a whole cage full of other kinds of birds. I talked to the parrot, and said, "Robin," and it repeated the word after me. Not long ago I saw a letter signed Lena W., and as I have sent two other letters which have not been published, I thought it was my own name until I read the letter. I am ten years old.

LENA W.

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NEUCHÂTEL, SWITZERLAND.

There is a very large museum here that was founded by Agassiz. One room is entirely devoted to the fauna of Neuchâtel. Among the animals is a beautiful flamingo, and a very huge wolf and a very small bear. There used to be people here who lived in houses that were built on piles driven into the lake.

A few years ago Lake Neuchâtel was lowered seven feet, and many remains of the lake-dwellers were found. Among them was a boat, supposed to have been used by them. Everything that was wooden when found had turned black, and glistened just like tar.

My sister and I have some Alpine flowers that we would like to exchange for pressed flowers from the Southern, Northern, or very far Western States, but not from Illinois.

Please write before sending, and state whether you want them on cards or not. We do not want ours on cards.

Pressed ferns and small autumn leaves desired, and also maiden-hair ferns.

KENNETH BROWN, Care Messrs. Munroe & Co., No. 7 Rue Scribe, Paris, France.

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The following two letters are in direct contrast with each other, and are illustrations of the different experiences of exchangers.

SENECA, KANSAS.

I wonder if all the boys who patronize the "exchange" column have had the experience I have. I advertised to exchange some pictures I had for stamps, and received about sixty letters. I could exchange with only one, and to the rest I have written, and sent their stamps back. Those six stamps have cost me about two dollars. I think hereafter I will buy what stamps I want. I hope I shall not receive any more stamps.

I enjoy the YOUNG PEOPLE very much. My papa is a printer, and I have learned to set type. We have fine times going out in the woods after wild plums and grapes.

PAUL WILKINSON.

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CENTRE, ALABAMA.

I have been taking YOUNG PEOPLE two years. I like it very much. I wait for its coming eagerly every week. There are so many pleasant things with which it is associated. Last spring you published a note from me desiring to exchange. That little note has given me many pleasant moments--I had nearly said pleasant acquaintances. It brought me many letters, from every part of the country. I have answered all, I think. I have yet some quartz crystals, country postmarks in Southern States, strange rocks or petrifactions cut or shaped like iron screws, small cones gathered from swamp pines, to exchange for stalactites, ocean shells, or other curiosities.

SCHELE DE VERE MCCONNELL.

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BERKSHIRE, VERMONT.

I have had a rabbit die. My sister Flora found it dead. I have a little kitty. It is mine and my little brother's. We have a dog named Rover. I have dug thirty-seven bushels of potatoes this year. My papa is going to pay me for digging them.

I am eight years old. My name is

SAMUEL SYLVESTER D., JUN., per Mamma.

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FRIENDSHIP, NEW YORK.

I am a little girl of seven. My sister and I have YOUNG PEOPLE by the kindness of our uncle living in Long Island City. I think Jimmy Brown a funny boy. I cried when Mr. Stubbs was shot. I live on a farm, and have a horse twenty-one years old, which I ride after the cows. Her name is Pet. Our mamma teaches us at home. My sister writes for me. I hope "Tim and Tip" will end well.

MARY C. E.

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PITTSFIELD, NEW HAMPSHIRE.

As so many of the children write about their pets, I think I will write about mine. I have a gray and black kitty which came to us three years ago. When he appeared some one called him Tramp, which made me cry; so mother would not let his name be Tramp, but called him Puffy. Now he is a very handsome cat, and walks in and out in the most dignified manner. I have two snow-white kittens, and I love them very much.

My brother has a dog three months old named Carlo. He is very playful and mischievous, and teases the kittens, until they get out of patience, and give him a cuff on the ear for his insolence. I have also a canary-bird that sings beautifully.

Dearest of all my pets is my horse. His name is Jerry, and I harness him when I please, and some of the rides I take over our beautiful hills and around our little village would do all the young people good. I wish they could ride with me some bright, cool morning. They would return with good appetites for dinner. I am thirteen years old.

ROSA M. F.

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ROSEVILLE, NEW JERSEY.

I have been spending the summer in Dutchess County, New York. I have a fine Maltese cat whose name is Velvet. I brought him from the country; he weighs ten pounds. I earned the money to pay for YOUNG PEOPLE by rising at half past five in the morning for seven weeks. I am ten years old. Last year, when in the country, I had eight cats.

We have a baby boy six weeks old named Jasper. He was born on my sister's sixth birthday.

EDNA B. D.

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HOUSTON, TEXAS.

We are two little sisters, eight and four years old, and have taken YOUNG PEOPLE ever since the first number, and enjoy it very much. We liked the story of "Toby Tyler" best of all. "Mildred's Bargain," "The Moral Pirates," and "The Daisy Cot" were splendid, and we look for Jimmy Brown's stories every week. Our baby sister says she likes "Tim and Tip" ever so much.

We have a dear little pet rabbit, some pigeons, and two sweet little calves. We have a doll house and fifteen dolls. We hope our letter is not too long.

LOTTIE and LILLIE.

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PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA.

I have just returned from an excursion to Watkins Glen, Niagara, Montreal, Quebec, the White Mountains, and Boston.

I want to tell you about a curiosity which I saw at Watkins, and which amused me very much. It was a blind bat from Havana. The cage was covered with a cloth on which was a label that read, "A blind bat from Havana."

I lifted the curtain expecting to find a great curiosity, but instead of that, I brought to view a brick suspended by a wire from the top of the cage. It was a "brickbat," and it came from Havana, a neighboring town, where there are brick-yards.

C. B. F.

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HENRIETTA, NEW YORK.

I have been wanting to write you a letter for a long time, for I see so many letters in the Post-office Box from little girls who are about the same age as myself. I am thirteen years old. I can play on the violin, organ, and piano. All my sisters play the organ also. I have four sisters, two older and two younger than myself. Their names are Fanny, Carrie, Martha, and Alice.

I am learning to ride horseback. Our pony's name is Billy. I do not go to school, and we have had no school since June. We have an aquarium, and in it we have a fish, a bull-head. We have had three mud-turtles. The one we have now is about as large as a silver dollar. I like the story about Toby Tyler and "Aunt Ruth's Temptation" the best. I think "Tim and Tip" promises to be a very good one. I think Jimmy Brown's stories are very funny. I hope he will soon favor us with another story about his misfortunes.

ELLA J. N.

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JEFFERSON, IOWA.