Part 1

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VOL. II.--NO. 99. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR CENTS.

Tuesday, September 20, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per Year, in Advance.

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"RIGHT ABOUT FACE."

BY MARY D. BRINE.

"Now, right about face!" September cries, "Right about face, and march!" cries she; "You, Summer, have had _your_ day, and now, In spite of your sorrowful clouded brow, The children belong to _me_.

"Come, fall into line, you girls and boys, Tanned and sunburned, merry and gay; Turn your backs to the woods and hills, The meadow ponds and the mountain rills, And march from them all away.

"Are you loath, I wonder, to say farewell To the summer days and the summer skies? Ah! time flies fast; vacation is done; You've finished your season of frolic and fun; Now turn your tardy eyes

"Toward your lessons and books, my dears. Why, where would our men and women be, If the _children_ forever with Summer played? Come, right about face," September said, "And return to school with me."

SOMETHING ABOUT SHIPS.

Sailing vessels carry either square-sails or fore-and-aft sails. A square-sail is one the head of which is "bent" or made fast to the jack-stay--an iron rod on a yard. Fore-and-aft sails, instead of being bent to yards, are mostly supplied with a boom or gaff, or both. The lower corners of square-sails are called clews. The fore-sail and mainsail are often called the courses. Sail is seldom carried on the cross-jack (pronounced krojik) yard, the lowest yard on the mizzenmast.

The courses, when "set," are kept down by means of ropes leading from the clews fore and aft, called tacks and sheets. Above the courses come the topsails; above the topsails, the top-gallant-sails; and next above, the royals. Some very large ships carry still loftier sails, called sky-sails.

Most merchant ships carry double topsails, one above the other, for greater ease in handling; but on men-of-war, having large crews, single topsails are the rule.

The head-sails are those which the bowsprit and the booms it supports carry forward. These are the foretopmast stay-sail, the jib, and flying-jib. Large vessels carry even more head-sails. The spanker, or driver, as our merchantmen sometimes call it, is a fore-and-aft sail, and is the aftersail of a ship or bark.

A compass being divided into thirty-two points, sailors consider the horizon at sea as having an equal number of divisions, and speak of a ship as sailing within five or six points of the direction the wind is blowing from.

When the sails of a ship are filled with wind, they are said to be drawing or full. A good sailor is never so happy as when with a whole-sail breeze he sees all his canvas spread and drawing, and feels himself "off before it."

THE BROKEN VASE.

BY MRS. W. H. SNYDER.

"Now," said Mary, impatiently, as she came in from school, "I shall have to draw another hateful old design, for she wouldn't accept the one I took in this morning. She said it was drawn carelessly, and that I hadn't followed her directions, and that I had made thick lines, and hadn't properly erased my guide lines. She was ever so hard to please, and I hate her."

"I am sorry to see my little girl in such a bad humor to-day," said mother. "I thought I heard her say this morning that Miss Jones was 'so nice.'"

"Oh yes, but she isn't always nice. She's dreadfully particular sometimes--at least with me. She was pleasant enough to Jenny Kirkland and Clara Sackett, and she almost always says to those two girls, 'You have done very well, and you deserve a great deal of credit.' And to make matters worse, Miss Howland had to go and say, 'Mary, you must bring in a better design to-morrow, or I shall have to discredit you.' Well, I'll bring her in a design to-morrow," and she added, in an under-tone, "I'll just copy it off of grandpa's old Nantgru vase." So saying, she approached the table upon which stood the vase, with a few flowers in it tastefully arranged, and throwing her hat and books petulantly down, the corner of her geography struck the vase, and it fell upon the floor, and was shattered into half a dozen pieces.

Emma and Walter, hearing the crash, hastened in.

"See what I have done!" said Mary, sitting down upon a chair with tears in her eyes, and holding up a portion of the broken vase. "I am so sorry that I have broken dear grandpa's vase."

"And grandpa will be sorry too," said Emma, "for he highly prizes his vase. Grandpa"--as the old gentleman walked feebly into the room--"Mary has broken your vase, and she is very sorry."

Grandpa took the fragments in his trembling hand, and looked almost lovingly upon them.

"Oh, grandpa," exclaimed Walter, sympathetically, "I think father will be able to mend it with some of his new cement when he comes home to-night."

"I hope so, my boy," said the old gentleman, "for I value it very much. It was given to me many years ago by my friend Mr. Barr, who had a large porcelain manufactory in Worcester, England."

"Please, grandpa," said Walter, "tell us something of the history of your vase."

Grandpa sat down in the large easy-chair, and the children gathered around him, anticipating a pleasant story, for grandpa told a great many pleasant things about events that happened during his youth.

"One sultry day in May, in the year 1811," began grandpa, "I went to visit my friend Mr. Barr in Worcester. Mr. Barr had one of the most celebrated china manufactories in England. Barr, Flight, & Barr was a firm widely known in those days.

"I accompanied my friend to his factory, for I was greatly interested in the manufacture of porcelain, and indeed of any article. After spending several hours in passing from room to room, I noticed that it was growing dark, and drawing out my watch, saw that it was but little after four o'clock. Mr. Barr remarked at the same time, 'I shouldn't be surprised if we had a shower before long.' Just as we were speaking we heard the rumbling of distant thunder.

"We then walked to a window that looked out toward the east, and noticed that very dark clouds were rising in that direction, and that they extended to the south. We stood some time watching the rising storm. The sky in an incredibly short time presented a very threatening appearance. Inky clouds piled up rapidly in huge masses, and the continuous roar of distant thunder and the terrible flashes of forked lightning filled us with apprehension as to what the storm would be when it reached us.

"About this time Mr. Barr's attention was directed to something in another part of the building, and for a while we lost sight of the storm, but suddenly we were startled by a tremendous clap of thunder, accompanied by a flash of dazzling brightness, and then the storm swept upon us in all its fury.

"The roar of the tempest, the crashing of thunder, and the dashing of hail-stones against the windows and upon the roof of the factory were really appalling. Awe-stricken, we stood and listened.

"Presently a man rushed into the room, and approaching Mr. Barr, said, 'Oh, sir, I do believe that every winder in the whole factory is broke with the hail. I never in my life see such stones before; they are surely five or six inches round.'

"This was no exaggeration. We hurried through the rooms on the exposed sides of the building, and everywhere destruction met our view: broken glass, hail-stones, and broken china were scattered over the floors. The tempest continued to rage with unabated fury long after ordinary storms would have exhausted themselves or have passed away.

"After a while men came in with pale and anxious faces, and told us that the river Severn had risen six feet in one hour, and that it was still rapidly rising, and they feared great distress would be occasioned by the flood.

"The time seemed interminable while we waited and watched for the storm to subside. At last, as if reluctantly, the thunder became more and more distant, and the lightning flashes less dazzling and terrific. Every one breathed more freely now. We felt as if a terrible dream had been upon us, and we were just waking from it. By-and-by the clouds drifted away, and only occasionally a far-off flash illumined the horizon. The air was wonderfully pure, and the moon and stars shone out brightly over a scene of desolation.

"That night I spent at Mr. Barr's house, and the following morning, after visiting the factory, we took a drive through the town, and out into the surrounding country. In the city, gardens were laid waste, trees were torn and almost stripped of their foliage, and nearly every window that faced the east was broken. One of the newspapers of the day said that the town looked as if it had been besieged.

"But the country--oh, how sad and desolate it looked! The fields of grass and corn that yesterday were so beautiful, and the luxuriant crops that promised such all abundant harvest, were everywhere beaten down and destroyed. The river, too, had risen twenty feet during the storm, and had swept madly over the adjacent fields, carrying away houses and barns, destroying many peaceful and pleasant homes, and sweeping herds of cattle from the pastures."[1]

[1] A true account.

"As we reached the top of a certain hill, I looked anxiously toward the river for a picturesque little cottage that I had often admired on account of its pretty porch that was overrun with roses and honeysuckle, and because of the fine elms that overshadowed it. I had always imagined that place to be the home of some refined person. All the surroundings indicated it, although it was quite apparent that the owner was not wealthy.

"'Ah,' said Mr. Barr, looking in the same direction, 'the Professor's little cottage has gone too!' He reined in his horses, and sat silently looking toward the spot.

"'Mr. Barr, sir,' said a man, approaching the carriage, 'last night was a fearful night. We narrowly escaped with our lives.' And pointing in the direction of the cottage: 'The Professor yonder was drowned, and his house swept away by the flood. The Lord help his little gurl!'"

"'Where is she?' asked Mr. Barr.

"'She's with me wife in the hut over on the hill, and she's entirely heart-broken with the loss of her father, sir.'

"'We must do something for her at once,' said my kind-hearted friend. Then turning to the man: 'Jump in; we are going to drive up to the hut.'

"We drove on at a brisk pace, while the man related his sad story.

"'You see, sir,' he began, 'the storm got so fierce, and the water riz so high about the cabin, that I told Betsey to get the children ready and we'd take to the boat. Now the big boat had capsized at the stake, and I had naught but the little one, and I wuz afeared the weight of us would swamp her in sech a sea. Just as we neared the cottage the Professor he come out on the shed and shouted to me, sez he, "James, for the love of Heaven save my child." I sez, "Ay, ay, sir, I'll do me best." It wuz no small thing to get her aboard, I can tell yer, sir. The wind wuz a-blowin' a gale, and it wuz all I could do to keep the boat steady before it. After a good deal of hard work, and no little danger, we got her under the lee of the house, and took the little gurl in.

"'Oh! but, sir, it would hev made yer heart ache to see her there cryin' about leavin' her father. I really do think she'd hev staid with him and died if he hadn't hev sed, "Mary, my child, you must get into the boat at once; then I will only have myself to look after, and I will be much more likely to be saved. God keep you, my darling!" Them was the last words I ever heerd him say.'

"By this time we had reached the top of the hill, and we were not long in getting to the hut.

"What a lovely child it was that ran out to meet us as we approached, but soon stopped, and looking wistfully at us, inquired, in a low sad voice, 'Have you found my father yet?'

"The boatman in his gentlest manner said, 'Not yet, dear.'

"The child's large blue eyes instantly filled with tears, her lips quivered, and she turned quickly and went back into the hut. I felt a sudden sickness at my heart, and I saw my friend pass his hand across his eyes.

"Presently we followed her in, and Mr. Barr took her hand and kindly said, 'My child, you can not remain in this place. Come home with us, and we will take every possible means to find your father.'

"'Ay,' said the boatman's wife, 'Mr. Barr is a good gentleman, and he'll do all he ken for ye.'

"The child was attracted by his kindly manner, as indeed every one was with whom he had to do, and she readily consented to go.

"We gave some money to the boatman to relieve his present necessities, and tenderly placing our little charge in the carriage, drove rapidly back to the city. It is needless to say that her father was never found.

"Before I left Worcester I told Mr. Barr that as I was a young man of some means, and happily for myself had a disposition to do some good in the world rather than to live in selfishness, I would esteem it a favor if I might be permitted to educate this little girl, so that she could sustain herself in a manner that would not be burdensome, and that would at the same time give her a place among refined people. Mr. Barr was pleased with my request, and willingly gave his consent; so little Mary was at once placed in an excellent school."

"Grandpa, what was her name besides Mary?" asked Walter.

"I will tell you by-and-by," said grandpa.

"Shortly after this," continued the old gentleman, "I returned to America, and it was several years before I visited England again; but finally business compelled me to cross the ocean once more, and you may be sure that I was not long in seeking my old friends and my little protégée. But she was no longer little; she had grown to be a lovely young lady, gentle, intelligent, and beautiful."

"And what was her name?" we all asked, in chorus.

"Her name was Mary Ames."

"Mary Ames!" we exclaimed; "why, that is grandma's name."

"And she is grandma," he said, with a smile.

"What a beautiful story!" we cried, "and all about grandma."

"But you haven't told us about the vase yet," said Walter.

"Well, my boy," said grandpa, "Mr. Barr gave Mary an elegant set of china, such china as is rarely seen in these days; and he said to me, 'Farrington, I will give you a specimen of this new porcelain that I have been experimenting upon so much of late. I regard this as quite a success. We call it Nantgru.' And so I came by the vase, and on account of these associations I value it."

"Here comes father," said Walter. "Now I'll ask him to mend your vase," and away he ran to meet his father.

"Dear grandpa, how good you are!" said little Mary, standing very close to his chair. "I am so sorry that I broke your vase!"

[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2.]

TIM AND TIP;

OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A BOY AND A DOG.

BY JAMES OTIS,

AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," ETC.

CHAPTER VIII.

MINCHIN'S ISLAND.

"I thought I told you to go below," said an angry voice, and, looking up, Tim saw it was the Captain who was detaining him. "If you so much as make a motion to go on shore, I'll whip you within an inch of your life."

Then, without giving him an opportunity to disobey, the same heavy hand pushed him back on the deck, and Mr. Rankin led him forcibly below.

"I won't stay here. I won't go down stairs an' leave Tip there to drown," cried Tim, passionately. "It's awful wicked, an' I won't do it."

"Listen to me, Tim," said Mr. Rankin, kindly but firmly. "There is no possible chance that your dog will drown, and you must come below, for it is the Captain's orders."

"But I must go an' get him," wailed Tim.

"Suppose you could get him before we leave the dock, which you can't, and suppose you should get him aboard without the Captain's seeing you, which is an impossibility, what would be the result? Captain Pratt would throw him overboard after we got out to sea again, and then he would be sure to drown."

Tim knew the steward's reasoning was correct, and yet he refused to be comforted. He was led below despite his struggles, but when he reached the main-deck he ran to the rail, from where he could see all that was going on in the water.

"Do you s'pose he will get ashore all right?" Tim asked of Mr. Rankin, as he watched Tip's exertions to save himself.

"Of course he will; he's almost there now, and in five minutes more he'll be just as safe as ever, and a good deal cleaner."

By this time the freight for the island had been landed, and the steamer was already leaving the wharf. Tim was in an agony of fear lest he should be obliged to depart without assuring himself that Tip was a saved dog.

But in order that the steamer should be put on her course again it was necessary to back her for some distance, and that was a bit of good luck for Tim, since they moved in the direction taken by Tip. Tim could see Bobby at the extreme point of land that jutted out into the sea, urging the dog to increased exertion, and aided by all the boys who were on the wharf at the time Tip was thrown overboard, as well as by a number of others who had learned of the excitement by seeing Bobby as he ran around the shore.

Just as the steamer's paddle-wheels ceased to force her back, and began to urge her in the opposite direction, Tip's short legs touched the bottom, and in another instant Bobby was holding him, all wet and dripping, high up in the air, while he executed a sort of triumphant war-dance before Tim's delighted gaze.

Tim stood looking with his very heart in his eyes as the _Pride of the Wave_ carried him farther and farther from the only friend he had, and when he saw Tip run along the beach and shake himself, he laughed from very joy.

But in another instant he understood that if the dog was safe, he was being separated from him very rapidly.

"I sha'n't see him ever again in the world," he wailed, "an' he is the only feller that cares anything about me."

Then he ran to the little hole which had served Tip as a state-room, and there gave vent to his sorrow in passionate weeping.

When Tim had so far recovered from his grief as to present himself for work again, Minchin's Island was far astern, and the voyage drawing rapidly to an end.

Those who were friendly to the boy thought the wisest and kindest course to pursue was to say nothing about poor Tip, and as those who were not friendly did not speak of him, Tim got on without giving way to his grief in public. Captain Pratt seemed to have forgotten his threat of punishing Tim for venturing on the upper deck, or he may have thought best to wait until the end of the trip, for he said nothing to the boy, which was far more kind than he had any idea of being.

At the different landings Tim did not have curiosity enough to look at the towns, but worked as hard as he could, in order to prevent thinking about poor Tip. Captain Pratt summoned him to the wheel-house several times, and whenever he went there he felt certain he was to receive the promised whipping; but he was mistaken, for after ordering him to do some trifling work, the Captain paid no attention to him.

At about six o'clock on the afternoon of that day the steamer was made fast to the wharf at Bedlow, and the trip was ended.

After the work of cleaning the cabin was done, Mr. Rankin said, "You can go ashore and see the town if you want to; but be back by nine o'clock."

Tim shook his head; he had no desire to see anything new, since Tip was not there to enjoy the sights with him, and he crept off to his dirty berth in the forecastle, where he cried himself to sleep.

On the next morning he succeeded in supplying the Captain's wants at the table as quickly as that gentleman thought proper, and yet no mention was made of the events of the previous day.

The steamer was to leave Bedlow on her return trip at noon, and Tim took no interest in the bustle and excitement on the wharf, save that each succeeding moment was one less in the time that must elapse before he saw Tip again.

As the steamer started, his spirits rose, and he watched her course carefully, fretting at the time spent at each landing, content only when she was going at regular speed toward Minchin's Island and Tip.

He had formed no plan as to what he should do when he got there. He knew that Mr. Rankin's advice that Tip be left there was good, and should be followed, but he could not make up his mind to do so. Parting with Tip seemed like parting with a portion of his very life, and he could not bring himself to say that he would leave this his only friend, no matter how short the time.

It was nearly night-fall when the steamer neared Minchin's Island, and Tim was as far in the bow as he could get on the main-deck, in order that he might catch the first glimpse of Tip, for he felt sure Bobby would bring him to the wharf.

At last he could distinctly see the different objects on the wharf, and his heart sank when he failed to see any one who at all resembled Bobby. He looked eagerly among the crowd assembled, and could not even see one boy, when on the day before there had been at least twenty there. He was at a loss to account for this cruelty on Bobby's part. He knew the dog had been saved, for he had surely seen him held aloft in Bob's arms, and a cruel suspicion came into his mind that perhaps the boy was keeping out of sight with the intention of claiming Tip as his own.

The boat arrived at the wharf, and was made fast. Not a single boy or dog could be seen.

Tim's heart was full to bursting, and as he leaned against the rail he thought it was not possible for greater trouble to come to him, since he was denied even a sight of Tip.

Now he would willingly have promised that the dog should remain with Bobby if by making such promise he could see and hug him each time the boat arrived at that place.

So absorbed was he with his grief, caused by what looked very like an act of unkindness on Bobby's part, that he failed to notice what several of the employés on the steamer saw and wondered at. A man had called Captain Pratt on shore, and was talking to him in such a manner as to make him angry. So excited was he that he paid no attention to the fact that the steamer was ready to continue the trip, and that every one waited for him.

Tim saw nothing of all this; but when the Captain called loudly to him he started as if he had been caught in wrong-doing.

"Come ashore here," cried the Captain, much as if he was angry with himself for giving such an order.

Tim walked on to the wharf in a perfect maze of surprise, and when he went near his employer his wonder was increased by hearing that gentleman say to the one he had been talking with, "Here's the boy, and I wish you joy of him." And then to see him go quickly on board the steamer.

Before Tim had time to recover from his surprise the steamer had started, and as she was leaving the wharf he was almost knocked down by some soft substance that hit him on the legs.

It did not take him many seconds to discover that this substance which had struck him so suddenly was his own little bob-tailed Tip, and then he sat right down on the wharf, and hugged him desperately, giving no heed to anything save the happy fact that he had his pet to himself once more.

Some time before he had finished hugging and kissing Tip a noisy crowd of boys appeared from behind one of the freight sheds, where they had evidently been in hiding, and gave him such a welcome to Minchin's Island as he never expected to receive anywhere.