Part 3

It is dreadful hard work to sleep when you've got anything troublesome on your mind. I tossed about and thought it over just what the Deacon would say when he found the calf was gone; and how Mrs. Dodd would worry. Finally I thought of the piles of doughnuts she had given us boys at one time and another. I got so wretched that I couldn't stand it any longer.

I didn't know how long George intended to keep it hidden, but I made up my mind to get up with the first streak of day, and went to see if I couldn't get the calf back by myself. Then I meant to leave George and Will to bother themselves awhile, wondering what could become of it. It was a long walk, but at last I reached the place, and then I tell you I stood and stared--that calf was gone!

I hunted and hunted all about there, but it was no use. The faces of Will and George grew as blank as my own as I told them, and we joined the fishing party of a dozen or so boys with a heavy sinking at our hearts, and many doubts as to what might be the outcome of our clever joke on the old Deacon.

Early in the afternoon we saw a spring-wagon working its way along under the willows where we were fishing. Two men were in it, one of whom, a stumpy, freckle-faced Irishman, I recognized as Deacon Dodd's new hired man. The other was a neighbor of ours, and it was not until he had beckoned George and Will and myself a little apart from the other boys that I remembered all of a sudden, with a great addition to the weight on my mind, that he was the deputy-sheriff.

"Yis, sor, thim's the very b'ys," said the Irishman, with a very positive nod of his head at us.

The deputy-sheriff looked puzzled.

"Why, my man," he said, "you don't mean it's _these_ boys you're after?"

"It's jist these same I'm maning--the very wans me own eyes saw shtalin' away the Daacon's calf."

At this we burst out laughing, and gave the deputy-sheriff an account of our frolic of the night before. Mike listened unmoved, simply asking, as we finished:

"But wheriver is the Daacon's baste, thin?"

This we could not answer. The deputy-sheriff whispered with the Irishman, seeming to intercede for us; but Mike only answered, doggedly:

"The Daacon was called away suddint lasht night, and only mesilf to see to things. Them b'ys had the calf--wheriver is the calf?"

His stubborn faithfulness was not to be shaken, and the deputy-sheriff gave up.

"Well, boys, seeing he's so set, I guess you'd better just jump in and go along with me--being such a valuable animal, you see. Of course it won't amount to anything, mere matter of form; only a little talk before Squire Granger."

We were a crest-fallen three as we mounted that spring-wagon, dimly realizing that, spite of the deputy-sheriff's politeness, the plain English of all this was that we were under arrest, and on our way to a magistrate's office. Our worst fears all the morning had been of our being called upon to pay the price of a choice specimen of blooded stock, but an indefinite train of horrible possibilities now seemed to open out before our imaginations.

How our cheeks burned as we found ourselves before the country justice, and perceived the crowd drawn by the excitement of a preliminary examination, and heard the astonishment and horror expressed that we should be the criminals. How our shame and confusion increased as the other members of the picnic, whom we had devoutly hoped would not allow their day's sport to be shortened by our leaving the party so early, quietly filed in, and added their gaze to the others'.

The justice seemed somewhat embarrassed himself. There did not seem to be much of a case, but what little there was was dead against us. The only thing about it was Mike's unwavering testimony to having seen us in the lane driving away the calf. This we could not deny, and all our protestations of its being only a joke were thrown into confusion by his stubbornly repeated question:

"Thin, wheriver is the Daacon's baste?"

The thing began to look less and less like a joke to us as we found it impossible to bring any witnesses for the defense. The justice and the deputy-sheriff whispered solemnly together.

All at once there was a stir in court. Deacon Dodd elbowed his way into our neighborhood, and as he looked us over, his genial face expanded into a laugh that shook the very rafters.

"Well, boys, have you had enough fun?"

We had nothing to say. The justice seemed cheered by the entrance into the case of something lively, and asked the Deacon if he had any evidence to offer. We, the prisoners, were not encouraged, feeling very sure his testimony could not be in our favor. The justice had some trouble in getting things sobered down enough to swear the Deacon properly, but when this was accomplished he was allowed to give his account in his own way, which went something like this:

"Yes, your honor, I felt bad when the boys wanted them pound sweets, for I always do take to giving to boys--used to be a boy myself, you know, and it don't seem so very long ago neither, 'though I don't pretend to be as young as I was once. Well, when I got into my little tool-room in the barn to hang up my scythe, and sat there to cool off a bit, being as the evening was warmish, and them poor chaps, after having tired themselves all out trying to find something nice in the orchard, and couldn't, come to take a rest at the barn door, and says they, 'The Deacon's an old skinflint, and wants to put every cent he can in his pocket.' Likewise wishing every apple on his place would rot and such like--I say, Squire, I could hardly forbear just getting up and going out to them boys and saying, 'Boys, just you go 'n' get every pound sweet on that tree--_don't you leave one_.' But, you see, my wife, Mis' Dodd, had told me how she'd been and promised every individual one of them pound sweets to the hospital; for them poor souls lying there sick found it hard to get anything real relishing, and liked 'em baked. So I couldn't help myself, seeing she'd passed her word for a charity, and would 'a felt hard at me, naturally, if I'd gone back on her.

"But when the boys thought they'd like a little fun with the Jersey calf, I knew they wouldn't do the pretty creatur' any hurt, for I heard 'em saying how they knew I set great store by her. The evening was getting cooler then, so I just took a walk along behind the hedge, they being on t'other side.--You did have a time with her, didn't you, boys?"

What a roar went up from that roomful of listeners!

"'Twas tough; yes, I could see that, a regular tussle to get her along. I'd 'a helped you, for she follows me like a lamb, only I was afraid 'twould spoil your fun if I took hold too. So I just kept along till you tied her up safe and comfortable--"

Here Mike broke in, in total disregard of the proprieties of a court-room:

"But, Daacon, wheriver's the baste _now_? Be the howly poker she's clane gone off the farrum!"

"She's in the northeast corner pasture. I'd been calculating to put her there, to be more in the shade, and the boys gave me just so much help with her, you see. After I'd put her there and got home, I found a letter from my son Isaac, telling how he was sick, and wanted to see me and his mother, Mis' Dodd. So I just hitched up, and without waiting to see Mike, me and her started off to drive over there--better than four miles 'tis--and the calf slipped my mind till I just now got back, and heard tell how Mike here was making a bother with the boys. That's all, your honor."

His honor, I knew, had been dreadfully worried at not having been able to give more dignity to the court, and he now opened his mouth, I suppose to dismiss the proceedings in proper form, but the Deacon gave him no chance at all. I am not prepared to say that we three are not legally under arrest to this day.

"Better go back to your fishing now, boys," he said. "Too bad to have your day broke up so; but Mike meant well, you know."

"Three cheers for Mike!" shouted some one, intent on pushing the fun as far as possible.

"Three cheers for Deacon Dodd!" came next, and when they had been given with a will by the merry crowd, a cry arose:

"Three cheers for the half-grown calf!"

Before they had died away, Mike turned with a most meaning look at us three boys, exclaiming:

"Ivery wan of 'em."

And they gave us a tiger.

A SWAN DESIGN FOR FLAT POCKET PIN-CUSHION.

BY MRS. T. W. DEWING.

Mark very exactly on some thin white material of a polished surface and fine quality outlines of the pincushion and the design. The best way to do this is to make a very careful tracing of the design, and transfer it by means of transfer-paper. Any carelessness in following the design loses all the style it may possess. This done, outline the swan and all the markings of the wing feathers, eyes, etc., with simple stitching in a gray silk so pale as to appear white until contrasted with the brilliant white cloth. Work the part representing water in simple horizontal lines of chain stitch, as shown in the design, with silk of light blue across the lower end of the circle. Work the rest of the background in darning stitch perpendicularly from the top of the circle to the water in a rich deep blue silk, being very careful not to interfere with the outline of the swan or of the water.

Cut two pieces of card-board exactly the size and shape of the circle. Mount the embroidery upon one of them, and cover the other with blue satin. Baste the two circles thus covered together back to back, having laid carefully between them three little circles of flannel a very little smaller than the outer circles. Then overhand the two edges of the pincushion very carefully together.

THE BUILDING OF ST. MARY'S OF THE PEOPLE.

A LEGEND OF CHRISTIAN ROME.

BY E. M. TRAQUAIR.

Entering Rome by what was anciently called the Flaminian Gate, but is now the Porta del Popolo, or People's Gate, the stranger finds himself in a large, beautiful open place called the People's Square. It lies at the foot of the Pincian Hill, called by the ancient Romans, in the language of the time, the Hill of Gardens. If it deserved this name in those days, it does not deserve it less now. The most beautiful gardens in Rome, laid out with lovely flower beds, commodious carriage drives, and shady walks, are on its summit. A military band plays there in the afternoons, and it is the favorite resort of the rank and fashion of modern Rome, from the King downward.

Like much else in Rome, the history of the Pincian Gardens is sad and terrible. The great Mistress of the World, if she was at times rich in virtues, was just as often famed for terrible crimes. These gardens belonged at one time to the famous epicure Lucullus. This man, possessor of enormous wealth, loved good dinners much, but hated the trouble of ordering them as heartily as many a fine lady of the present day. To save himself this trouble, then, he had a number of dining-halls in his house, each arranged in a different manner. His steward was so well trained that he knew to a nicety, on receiving the order as to which hall the supper was to be served in, how it was to be arranged, and what degree of splendor it was to be of. The banquets of Lucullus became proverbial for luxury. It is even told of him that being very fond of a certain sort of eel he had a pond made for them in this garden. Their favorite food being human flesh, the legend tells us that he occasionally ordered a slave to be thrown in to them, to help to make them fat and savory for his table.

After the death of Lucullus, these gardens passed into the hands of a certain patrician named Valerius Asiaticus. This was during the reign of the Emperor Claudius. The Emperor's wicked wife Messalina coveted them for herself, so she got up a false accusation against poor Asiaticus, who seems, on the whole, to have been a very worthy man. But his innocence did not save him. He was condemned to death, and his property given to Messalina. The wretched woman's triumph did not last long, however. Claudius was told of her wicked life, and she was killed by his command on the very place she had obtained for herself by such a horrid crime. Word was brought to the Emperor while he was sitting at table that his wicked wife was dead. He made no reply, and went on quietly eating his supper. They were a queer people, those old heathen Romans.

To return to the People's Square. In the centre is a tall obelisk brought from the Temple of the Sun in Egypt during the reign of Augustus. It was thousands of years old, perhaps, before Rome was built. A beautiful fourfold fountain at its base spouts clear sparkling water from the mouths of four antique lions of basalt. It is the most picturesque square in Rome.

At the left-hand side of the Porta del Popolo, as you enter, stands the ancient Church of St. Mary's of the People, concerning the building of which the following story is told:

When the bloody and cruel Emperor Nero, who had wantonly killed so many people during his short reign, was killed in his turn, he was so execrated by the people that none could be found to give him burial. Then his nurse Eclaga, who still went on loving him, as some gentle souls will do, in spite of his dreadful crimes, buried him, with the help of two other women, compassionate like herself, in a tomb at the foot of the Hill of Gardens. On this tomb, for many years, a wreath of fresh flowers was found every morning, no one knowing who had placed it there. So they watched one night, and just before break of day discovered this poor faithful old woman bringing this loving offering to the memory of him whom she remembered only as the innocent babe she had nursed in her arms.

As time went on, these offerings ceased. Eclaga was dead and gone, and with her had passed away every loving remembrance of the wretched man who was buried at the foot of the Pincian Hill. Horror and loathing were the only sentiments his memory inspired. By-and-by nothing marked the spot where his body lay but a gigantic walnut-tree which had grown out of his grave. It was so large that it overshadowed all the place and covered it with gloom.

This gloom was still further increased by an innumerable quantity of large crows that had taken up their abode in this tree. They darkened the air all around by their flight. The people inhabiting the neighborhood had no rest by night or by day by reason of their hideous, unearthly croaking. Every means tried to drive them away proved vain. They kept their abode on the tree above Nero's tomb, and defied all earthly power to assail them.

Then a great fear fell on all the people, for they thought that it was not with natural crows they had to do, but with demons who were keeping watch over the grave of the wicked Emperor. Then, as there was no help in man, they prayed to God.

Now Paschal the First, who was Bishop of Rome at that time, and a good and holy man, had a strange dream one night. In this dream it was revealed to him that no earthly power could drive away the demon crows, which, if not exorcised, would soon overpower the whole of Rome. The only way to do this effectually was to go forth at early morning, at the head of all his clergy, singing psalms and hymns and praying fervently. Then they were to cut down the tree, and take it out by the roots to the very last fibre of it, and build a church on the spot where it had stood.

Full of joy at this revelation, Paschal summoned his clergy, and told them of his dream. Then he went, as he had been directed, at their head in procession through the city, singing psalms and hymns. Arrived at the spot, they knelt down and prayed fervently. Then they commenced to hew down the tree, the supposed demons all the while uttering wild and unearthly croakings. After the tree was cut down, and every root of it taken up, the crows flew away with a terrible noise.

A beautiful church was then built on the spot; and as the funds for its erection were entirely collected and given by the common people, it received the name of St. Mary's of the People. There are some beautiful marbles in it, and many fine old paintings, some of them by the most famous of the old masters.

Oh, such a bunch of posies! We found them on our way, And gathered them for Robin, Who lies abed all day. "You'll soon be well, dear laddie," The posies sweet will say.

* * * * *

Oh dear, but he's queer, this wonderful snail, O'er the whole wide world he may travel and sail; But where'er he may go on the longest track, He carries his house on his funny back. What wonder, then, that he likes to roam, When the comical fellow is always at home.

* * * * *

Wilt thou listen, Jesus dear, To the prayer that I would say; Thou didst promise Thou wouldst hear When the little children pray. I would like, dear Lord, to be Patient, gentle, good, and mild, Ever growing more like Thee, And as Thou wert when a child.

OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.

Just about this time, dears, your mammas are very busy in looking at the fall fashions. They wish to dress their girls and boys so neatly and comfortably that they shall have no temptation to think too much about their clothes. And then, too, they want you to wear pretty things, because children should look bright and beautiful, just as flowers and birds do.

If you choose, you may ask them to make your own new costumes like some of these pictures. We think, too, the little women who write to the Post-office Box about their doll families, and who have so much on their minds in the way of caring for the Lady Bettys, and Miss Lucys, and Mabels, and Isabels, whom they so dearly love, will be glad to see some dainty fall fashions for dolls. The little girls in the picture are very graceful and sweet.

I wonder if I can help you a little in dressing these same dollies. There are two tall girls nearly in the middle. The one on the right we will call Alice. Her dress is of fine soft cashmere of an olive tint. She has a wide sash of satin a little darker than her gown. Her friend Florence has on a petticoat of Indian red, which is a peculiarly rich dark shade. If mamma will give you a few bits of velvet or velveteen for this petticoat, and also for the shoulder cape, Miss Florence will look very charming. Her over-dress may be of fawn-colored silk.

Shall we call the two little ladies on Alice's right Dotty and Dimple? Dimple has her face this way, and Dotty's is turned aside. We will dress Dimple in lavender and heliotrope, and Dotty shall be a cunning little maiden in two shades of brown.

Now for the others. Don't you wish we could see little Marjorie's blue eyes and rosy cheeks? But we can only guess at them. Our artist has shown us that she knows how to stand up straight, and the way she holds her head is delightful. She is wearing, as you see, a pretty gray check, and she is a very good match for her little sister in that stylish cadet blue, and her cousin Willie in his jaunty suit.

When you shall have succeeded in dressing some of your pets like these pictures, you may write and tell me all about the fun you had in cutting out the clothes and making them fit. Be sure you write about how you contrived the little bonnets and hats. Perhaps you will be trying your skill at dressing dolls for a fair this winter, or in making Christmas presents, and these illustrations may give you some new ideas.

The boys must not feel that they are left out of this pleasure. They may draw these little figures on bits of paper, and then color them beautifully with their paints. Or, if they do so very carefully indeed, they may color the figures as they stand.

* * * * *

FOOCHOW, CHINA.

I was very glad to see my letter printed in one of the February papers. I do not expect to learn to write Chinese, but I learn to talk a little from the servants. Our Amah talks "pidgin English." This is the way she talks, "Amy just now have got too muchee rain, no can go walkee."

I have a doll that can say Papa and Mamma, but my mamma does not let me play with it, as it is wax. There are a great many roaches here, and one bit a piece of my dolly's cheek out when it was put away in the wardrobe.

Our only pet is a small cat, which is very lazy, and does nothing but eat and sleep. Sometimes we dress her up in doll's clothes as a baby. We have a very nice aquarium with gold-fish, shrimp, and one other kind of fish in it. The gold-fish have double tails. In the fall we hope to get the aquarium nicely filled with plants and things.

It is very hot here in the summer, but there is a large island, called Sharp Peak, in the China Sea, thirty miles from here, where the missionaries have houses, and go to spend part of the time. There is a very nice beach, and the bathing is very good. We went down for two weeks in June, and had a nice time. My brothers and I found some pretty shells. Please tell me if the lady whom you heard talk about China has ever been in Foochow. I have 568 stamps in my album now.

AMY C. J.

Your cat is very accommodating to be willing to wear doll's clothes to please you. Ask mamma to let you play with your wax doll, and then she will not be in danger of making a dinner for roaches or rats. I think the lady I spoke of when replying to your former letter has been in Foochow.

* * * * *

BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.

All the young people will be writing about their vacations, I suppose, and so I will write about mine. The most interesting part will be, I think, about my visit to Nantucket. Nantucket is a very old town. The houses are all built away from the sea, so when one is walking through the streets one has no view of the water at all. The very old houses all have on their roofs what are called "Lookouts." These are small railed platforms for the people to stand in and look out for the whaling vessels. When one came in sight, whoever was on the lookout gave the signal, and then great preparations were commenced--cooking mostly, I guess, for they didn't illuminate and send up fire-works in those days.

A splendid view of the town of Nantucket is obtained from the Unitarian church tower. In this tower is a very old bell, with a cross on two of its sides, and a Latin inscription under each cross. This bell was originally intended to form one of twelve chimes in an ancient Catholic church in Spain, but it was stolen, and after changing hands several times, it was landed in Nantucket.

Whoever goes to Nantucket must be sure and visit the Old Mill, which is a great curiosity. There is only one other like it in America. The curious part about it is that it is so old, and it never has been changed since it was first built, many, many years ago. The town-crier is another ancient institution, and with his bell and tin fish-horn he goes about the streets crying out all the news. When they wish to have an auction in Nantucket, everybody who has anything to sell carries it to the corner of some designated street, and there the things are auctioned off. We did not have time to go over to Siasconsett, but I mean to if I ever go to Nantucket again. The next time I write I will tell you about Plymouth. Good-by.

A. B.