Part 2

Just a little distance below the fleet the river was completely hidden by a dense cloud of smoke that rested on the water, and rose like a heavy fog-bank above the tops of the highest trees. It was caused by a fire in the woods--probably the very fire which the boys had started on the previous night. How far down the river the smoke extended, and whether any one could breathe while in it, were questions of great importance to the canoeists.

The fleet stopped just before reaching the smoke, and the boys backed water gently with their paddles while they discussed what they had better do. It was of no use to go ashore with the hope of finding how far the smoke extended, for it would have been as difficult to breathe on shore as on the water.

"There's one good thing about it," said Charley; "the smoke blows right across the river, so the chances are that it does not extend very far down stream."

"We can't hear the noise of any rapid," said Harry, "and that's another good thing. There can't be a rapid of any consequence within the next quarter of a mile."

"Then I'll tell you what I'll do, with the Commodore's permission," continued Charley. "There is no use in staying here all day, for that smoke may last for any length of time. I'll tie a wet handkerchief around my mouth and nose, and take the chances of paddling through the smoke. It isn't as thick close to the water as it looks to be, and I haven't the least doubt that I can run through it all right."

"But suppose you get choked with smoke, or get into a dangerous rapid?" suggested Tom.

"There isn't any rapid near us, or we would hear it, and I don't think the smoke will hurt me while I breathe through a wet handkerchief. At any rate, I'd rather try it than sit here and wait for the smoke to disappear."

It was decided, after farther discussion, that Charley should attempt to paddle through the smoke if he really wished to do so; and that he should blow a whistle if he got through all right, and thought that the other boys could safely follow his example. Paddling a little way up stream, so as to have room to get up his fastest rate of speed before reaching the smoke, Charley started on his hazardous trip. He disappeared in the smoke, with his canoe rushing along at a tremendous rate, and in a few seconds his comrades heard him calling to them to come on without fear.

They followed Charley's example in covering their mouths and noses with wet handkerchiefs, and in paddling at the top of their speed. They were agreeably surprised to find that the belt of smoke was only a few yards wide, and that almost before they had begun to find any difficulty in breathing they emerged into pure air and sunlight.

"It was a risky business for you, Charley," said Harry, "for the smoke might have covered the river for the next quarter of a mile."

"But then it didn't, you see," replied Charley. "How cheap we should have felt if we had waited till morning for the smoke to blow away, and then found that we could have run through it as easily as we have done!"

"Still I say it was risky."

"Well, admitting that it was, what then? We can't go canoeing unless we are ready to take risks occasionally. If nobody is ever to take a risk, there ought not to be any canoes, or ships, or railroads."

"That Sherbrooke postmaster isn't afraid to take risks," observed Joe. "If he keeps on telling canoeists that there are no rapids in this river, some of these days he'll have an accident with a large canoeist and a heavy paddle. We've run seven rapids already, and have another one ahead of us. If we ever get to Sherbrooke, I think it will be our duty to consider whether that postmaster ought to be allowed to live any longer."

Just before sunset the fleet reached Magog Lake--a placid sheet of water about four miles long, with three or four houses scattered along its eastern shore. At one of these houses eggs, milk, butter, bread, a chicken, and a raspberry pie were bought, and the boys went into camp near the lower end of the lake. After a magnificent supper they went to bed rather proud of their achievements during the last day and night.

The next day the canoeists started in the cool of the morning, and as soon as they left the lake found themselves at the head of their eighth rapid. All that day they paddled down the river, running rapids every little while, jumping overboard when their canoes ran aground and refused to float, and occasionally slipping on the smooth rocky bottom of the stream and sitting down violently in the water. Once they came to a dam, over which the canoes had to be lowered, and on the brink of which Joe slipped and slid with awful swiftness into the pool below, from which he escaped with no other injury than torn trousers and wet clothes.

"That postmaster said there were no dams in the Magog, didn't he?" asked Joe as he prepared to get into his canoe. "Well, I hope he hasn't any family."

"Why, what about his family?" demanded Tom.

"Nothing; only I'm going to try to get him to come down the Magog in a canoe, so he can see what a nice run it is. I suppose his body will be found some time, unless the bears get at him."

"That's all rubbish, Joe," said Charley. "We wouldn't have had half the fun we've had if there hadn't been any rapids in the river. We're none the worse for getting a little wet."

"We might have had less fun, but then I'd have had more trousers if it hadn't been for that dam. I like fun as well as anybody, but I can't land at Sherbrooke with these trousers."

"I see Sherbrooke now," exclaimed Harry; "so you'd better change your clothes while you have a chance."

Sherbrooke was coming rapidly into sight as the fleet paddled down the stream, and in the course of half an hour the boys landed in the village, near a dam which converted the swift Magog into a lazy little pond. While his comrades drew the canoes out of the water and made them ready to be carted to the St. Francis, Harry went to engage a cart. He soon returned with a big wagon large enough to take two canoes at once; and it was not long before the fleet was resting in the shade on the bank of the St. Francis, and surrounded by a crowd of inquisitive men, boys, and girls.

It was difficult to convince the men that the canoes had actually come from Lake Memphremagog by the river, and the boys were made very proud of their success in running rapids which the men declared could only be run in skiffs during a freshet. Without an exception all the men agreed that there were rapids in the St. Francis which were really impassable, and that it would be foolish for the boys to think of descending that river. After making careful inquiries, and convincing themselves that the men were in earnest, the canoeists retired some distance from the crowd and held a council.

"The question is," said Harry, "shall we try the St. Francis after what we have heard? The youngest officer present will give his opinion first. What do you say, Joe?"

"I think I've had rapids and dams enough," replied Joe; "and I'd rather try some river where we can sail. I vote against the St. Francis."

"What do you say, Tom?"

"I'll do anything the rest of you like; but I think we'd better give the St. Francis up."

"Now, Charley, how do you vote?"

"For going down the St. Francis. I don't believe these men know much about the river, or anything about canoes. Let's stick to our original plan."

"There are two votes against the St. Francis, and one for it," said Harry. "I don't want to make a tie, so I'll vote with the majority. Boys, we won't go down the St. Francis, but we'll go to the hotel, stay there over Sunday, and decide where we will cruise next."

"All right," said Joe, going to his canoe, and taking a paddle blade in his hand.

"What in the world are you going to take that paddle to the hotel for?" asked Harry.

"I'm going to see the postmaster who said there were no rapids in the Magog or the St. Francis; that's all," replied Joe. "I've a painful duty to perform, and I'm going to perform it."

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

A SISTER WORTH HAVING.

BY MRS. W. J. HAYS.

It was a bright breezy day, clear sunshine after rain, and every one was full of energy. All the pleasure-seekers had gone off, some riding, some driving, and several walking parties had been made up.

Two boys on the end of the piazza were discussing a proposed excursion, while the sister of one, a slight, bright-eyed girl of twelve, stood silently listening to their plans.

"We can go and take our luncheon with us just as well as not," said Tom, the elder of the two.

"But it will be an awful climb, and you don't know the path," replied Stanton. "Besides, Cassie can't go so far."

"Leave her at home, then; girls are no good anyway," said Tom, rudely; then remembering himself, he added, "I beg your pardon, Miss Cassie, I didn't mean exactly that, but you know girls always give out on an expedition of this sort."

"Just you try me," said Cassie, not in the least put out, for she was accustomed to boys.

"Well," said Tom, reluctantly, "I suppose we must. But you will be fagged out in less than no time, and then you'll want one of us to go home with you."

"If I do I'll promise not to go again all summer. What are you looking for, Stanton?"

"My axe, to blaze the trees; you don't want to be lost, do you?"

"No, of course I don't. Then you will take me? Good. I'll go after the basket, and my pressing-book for ferns. Shall I get anything to read?"

"No. Who wants to read in the woods? There's always lots to do."

Cassie thought differently, and slipped a little thin volume beside the bread and cake and fruit which the housekeeper gave her.

The boys meanwhile had whittled three fresh sticks, and attached their knives and drinking cups. Their object was to explore a certain fastness of the woods which had no road through it, and to reach a mountain-top, the crags of which had seemed to look with scorn upon them all summer.

Tom was very much vexed that Cassie had heard their desire and shared it, and he was not disposed to be at all gallant. Stanton, being fond of his sister, was more concerned lest she should be, as he phrased it, "fagged out." So for a while their walk was a silent one.

Cassie did not care. She was not one of the pouting sort who shrug their shoulders and get huffy. She knew she was strong, and she hadn't time to waste on little humors and moods, and then she had so much to do. There was her collection of butterflies, her pressed flowers and ferns, her acorn work and her pine cones, frames to make for her sketches, and, besides all this, she was crocheting "Tam o' Shanters" for the boys.

Their path first led them through pasture-lands and stubble, over fences and stone walls. Then they plunged into the thicket, which was dense and brambly, and very rough every way. And now Stanton's axe became of use. "For you know we will want to get home again," he said, as he gave a vigorous cut here and there on each prominent tree, "and this is the way hunters always do."

As he spoke he struck what appeared to be a decayed trunk, when instantly out flew a swarm of angry bees. A ringing laugh from his companions was soon followed by an ominous silence, for all found themselves surrounded by the disturbed insects. Cassie, thinking discretion the better part of valor, hurried away with her dress over her head, but the boys had a hard fight to get off; as it was, both were stung, and had to apply mud poultices. This did not increase their good-nature, and the sun was now adding to their discomfort.

Cassie began a little song, but the way was so steep, and the rocks so precipitous and slippery with pine-needles and moss, that her notes died away for want of breath. She was getting very tired, when Stanton complained of hunger, and Tom espied a brook; so they all concluded to make a halt, and refresh themselves. After the rest and luncheon, with many a draught of the delicious spring water, on they again toiled; and now they seemed to have overcome the worst troubles of the way. The under-growth which had been so dense decreased; broad patches of huckleberry bushes offered their fruit; velvety mosses and nodding ferns made the way beautiful; and here and there through the trees came glimpses of the mountains stretching away in the blue distance. On the top of the crags which lay before them was an old leafless tree which had been scathed by lightning. Up this the boys proposed to climb, and fasten a little flag they had with them; so, hurrying on, they left Cassie to more slowly overtake them.

The spot was so pretty that Cassie lingered, picking a leaf here and there, and listening to the soft whisper of the breeze. Suddenly a crash as of a falling bough arrested her attention; then a cry of alarm, succeeded by as sudden a silence. Hurrying forward, she found Tom bending over Stanton, who was lying all in a heap at the foot of the tree.

"What is it--a fall? Is he dead?" she cried.

Tom turned his white face to her, utterly speechless.

"Get water--quick! But oh, look here!--he is bleeding!--he is cut!"

"Yes, he fell with the axe in his hand. The limb must have been rotten; it gave way," said Tom at last.

"But he will bleed to death, don't you see? What can we do?"

"What, indeed?" muttered Tom, still with a dazed look in his eyes.

The blood, warm and of a bright red, was gushing from the hand. It looked as if an artery had been severed. Cassie's heart sank as she saw Stanton white and immovable, and Tom transfixed with horror. She essayed to stanch the flow with her handkerchief, but it was useless. How could she let her darling brother die for want of help? Then a sudden inspiration came. She had heard of the tourniquet which surgeons use when amputation is necessary. She made Tom grasp Stanton's wrist, while she unbuttoned her cambric skirt and tore it into strips; with these she bandaged the boy's arm, tightening the knot by twisting a stick within it until there could be no longer any circulation between the hand and arm. Then she held it up and watched the success of her plan. Tom helped her as well as he could, but in a benumbed sort of way. He seemed to be in a dream, and the sight of the blood sickened him.

"Now go for water--quick!--quick!" said Cassie, taking her brother's head in her lap, and gently fanning him.

Tom obeyed. It seemed an age to Cassie before he returned, but her whole mind was absorbed in watching the wound. Already it had stopped that rapid flow, she was sure.

And now there was a change in Stanton's face--a little quiver of the lips and nostrils, a sigh, a shudder, and--oh, joy!--the boy opened his eyes and asked, "What is the matter?--where am I?"

"You have hurt yourself, dear. Lie still," whispered Cassie; "please keep still."

"But what is this? why am I all tied up? I can't use my arm."

"You have fallen, and been cut by the axe," explained Cassie, glad to have him conscious, but fearful lest any movement should start the bleeding again. "Do you think you are hurt anywhere else?"

"I don't know. I guess I am only bruised."

Tom now brought the two drinking cups full of water, and after his head was bathed, Stanton tried to get up and walk. But he was faint from loss of blood, and stiff and sore.

"It's no use; you'll not be able to go home," said Cassie.

"But what on earth will I do? I can't stay here."

"We'll have to rig up an ambulance," said Tom, now a little more self-possessed.

"You can not do that," answered Stanton, feebly, glad to again lay his head in his sister's lap.

"Sha'n't I take you on my back?"

"No; even if you were able to carry him all the long distance, he could not endure it. See how faint he is," Cassie whispered. "Besides, I am so afraid the cut may start again. Leave us both here, Tom, and go home as fast as you can; they will find some method for getting him back."

"And let you be all alone with him perhaps half the night? Suppose--suppose--" He could not say the words, but his anxious glance at the pale face and ghastly spots of blood betrayed his fear.

"It can not be helped. I see no other way."

"Aren't you afraid?"

Cassie smiled a little as she said: "Yes, I am. But there's no help for it."

"Wouldn't you rather go, and have me stay?"

"No, indeed; I could not leave Stanton. Only be as quick as you can, and tell them not to forget anything. Mother will think of everything, though, if you don't frighten her. Be sure and break the news gently."

So Tom went off, and Cassie fanned her brother while he slept. Then she opened her little book and read a page or two of Longfellow. The afternoon stretched on its weary length; the chirp of crickets and the hum of insects were all that broke the stillness. Stanton moaned in his sleep, and the flush of fever succeeded his first pallor.

The dusk came on, and stars began to twinkle. To Cassie's weary vision the woods became peopled with fantastic forms. She imagined she saw a snake glide stealthily past, and twist itself in and out the brake. A spider made her tremble. The hooting of an owl sent cold shivers down her spine; her limbs were cramped and stiff with sitting so long in one position; and when the men came with lanterns, blankets, brandy, and the village doctor, and carried Stanton to the nearest farm-house, Cassie was glad to throw herself in her mother's arms and have "a good cry."

"That girl's presence of mind saved her brother's life," Tom heard the doctor say next day; and then remembering his own speech of "girls being no good anyway," he began to think he had made a mistake. Stanton soon recovered. The cut, though dangerous, readily healed, and there were no bones broken.

Cassie did not have her surgical ability again tested, but the boys all avowed she was "plucky," and showed their appreciation by various gifts of caramels, popped corn, and green apples.

As for Stanton, he had always loved Cassie, and said she was a sister worth having.

EL BUCLE DE ESMERALDA Y ORO.

BY ARTHUR LINDSLEY.

Did you ever see a humming-bird? If you live in the country, or if you have been in the country during summer, very probably you may have done so, though in our Eastern and Middle States, and, in fact, in any part of the Atlantic States, they are not very abundant. Only one species, the ruby-throat, will you find east of the Mississippi, except that the Mango humming-bird comes over from Cuba into Florida, and then follows a little way further up the coast. But if you have ever seen one, you are not likely to forget it. There is no family of birds which attracts more attention, or which deserves more. Their size and their movements make them really objects of wonder. They are the smallest of all flying things, except insects, and in truth some of them are decidedly smaller than many of the large insects. And then, too, they come and go so like magic as always to astonish those who are not accustomed to watching them.

You see one hovering over a flower, but you can not tell how he hovers, for he moves his wings so rapidly that you can not see them; there he hangs in the air, making all the time a low _hum_, from which he takes his name, and which is caused by the flapping of his wings. You are looking at him, and all at once he is not there; but you probably did not see him go, for he shot away so quickly that you failed to detect it, and perhaps in another second there he is again, hanging in the same place, over the same flower. That is what a humming-bird does, and it is not strange that they are counted so wonderful, especially when you add to it all the fact that their colors are almost always very brilliant. Even our own little ruby-throat, which comes so far to the north, flashes like a fiery coal when he brings his red throat to glance in the sunlight.

I have said that humming-birds in general are marked with brilliant colors. This is strictly true; but among them all there is scarcely one more gorgeously elegant than the one whose picture you see here, and whose Spanish name I have placed at the head of this account. Perhaps you can not read it in Spanish, but you can in English; it means _the gold and emerald tuft or curl_; and when I tell you more about him, you will understand the reason for such a name. I do not think the name is a common one; perhaps it is called so only by the people who told it to me; but it struck me as being so beautiful, and fitting the bird so nicely, that I have always loved to remember it. In works on natural history it is called _Rhamphomicron microrhynchum_. What do you think of that? What a horrid long name to give to such a lovely little fellow! It is as long as the bird himself. I doubt if you can pronounce it. El Bucle (boo'-klay) de Esmeralda y Oro sounds to me like music in comparison with it. Shall I tell you where I first saw him?

It was in a place almost as remarkable as the bird himself. The species is found only on the west coast of South America, and even there you do not see it until you reach the high valleys of the Andes.

I had landed about two weeks before at Truxillo, which is a port in Peru a little more than three hundred miles north of Lima. Look on your map, and find it. You will see that it is about eight degrees south of the equator. The name is Spanish, and you must pronounce it Trooheel'-yo. Does that sound strange to you? It should not; you ought to be taught to pronounce it that way in school. The Spanish _x_ sounds like our letter _h_. Truxillo was founded by Pizarro nearly three hundred and fifty years ago, in 1535. But we must not stop here; we are looking for El Bucle.

It was the third day after my leaving Truxillo, when I found myself in a deep valley filled with flowers, and over the first flowering bush a humming-bird was hovering. I saw at once not only that he was very beautiful, but that he was different from any one that I had seen. It was my custom there to keep one barrel of my gun prepared especially for humming-birds, that is, loaded with what is called dust-shot, thus enabling me to kill them without tearing their skins, as large shot would do. It was but a minute, and I had my new bird in my hand. The right-hand figure of the two in this plate represents him as I saw him then, excepting that here the colors are not given, but I will describe them to you.

The top of his head and his back--his cap and mantle, so to speak--were of the most exquisite deep dark violet; his throat looked like polished gold, its long scaly feathers appearing to be gilded plates; while his sides and breast shone like emeralds, so bright was their green color. You see that his under surface was thus all emerald and gold--_esmeralda y oro_--only that his delicate little feet, almost too small to be seen, were so white as to fairly sparkle. At the same time his wings and tail were of a rich purplish-black. Can you imagine anything more elegant? I sat down to admire him, turning him over and over in my hand, and while I was thus engaged I heard a step, and looking up, I saw that one of the native girls from a house just below was coming toward me. I spoke to her, and after the usual salutation I asked her, "Señorita, como se llama este pajarito hermoso?"--"What do you call this beautiful little bird?"--and then she told me its name, just as I have told it to you. She also told me that the skins were sometimes set to wear as a brooch or buckle, and I did not wonder at it, so very beautiful were the colors.

These figures are of the natural size, and you can judge for yourself how small he is. Even with such a long tail as he has, his entire length is only three and a half inches, thus making him decidedly smaller than our ruby-throated humming-bird. As I went on down the valley I found them in abundance, and I found also that in that valley scarcely any other species was to be seen.