Part 3

"Boys! boys! pull me up."

"You're the man for me," responded Put Boswell, for it was plain no harm had been done. "That's just the thing. Now we'll haul on the ram, at the broken side, and we'll get him up. There's just slant enough, if you'll boost him behind and get him started. Is the water very warm?"

"Hurry up, then. It's cold as ice. I'll shove him."

"Ba-a-a-a-a! ba-a!"

"Don't those two feel bad?" unfeelingly remarked Abe Larrabee. "Let's hurry, boys. Charley's all right. He's a brick, too."

So he was, and when the moment of trial came he lifted and helped with a will. All the ram really needed was to be helped to put his fore-feet on the tumbling stones, and then to be hauled and shoved until his hind-feet were compelled to follow.

Ten minutes more, and then, with a big pull and a great shout, out came the unlucky sheep. It had been an unsettled question in the minds of the boys, until that instant, whether his horns, or his neck, or the rope might not give way, and as for themselves, a redder-faced lot had not been seen in the whole valley since school closed.

"Now, boys," shouted Charley, "the rope. Hitch it strong."

Charley's weakness was for climbing, and he would have scorned the idea of not being able to master so simple a situation as that.

"Here comes the other sheep," shouted Put. "Charley, are your feet wet? Look at your friend."

He was worth looking at, for he was himself looking at the well mouth as if he was studying, under his much-pulled horns, how on earth he ever got out of that thing.

"Ba-a-a-a-a! ba-a!"

"I'll take the rope off, and then we'll cut."

Abe was saying that in the very act of loosening the rope with his jackknife; but he should not have stood right in front of the ram to do it, for the very second the prize brute felt himself free, Abe felt something bump against him just above his waist. It was not very vigorous butting, and was only done from force of habit, but Abe went down.

"Run, boys, run! He'll go for you next."

"Deserves to have been left in the well," exclaimed Jim Chandler, "the ungrateful beast!"

There was no need of any running, however, for the ram had no heart, perhaps no very serviceable legs, to follow them. Abe Larrabee was the only fellow who really hurried much.

It was just as they all got to the other side of the old bridge on the road to the village that Put Boswell suddenly broke out with:

"Look a-here, boys, wasn't we a-wondering this morning what we'd do with this here last day of vacation?"

"That was just the trouble," said Charley Farrington, "and we've put it in a-helping an old sheep out of Chittenden's well."

"Don't care for that," stoutly responded Put. "Didn't I say last night I'd find something to do? I say it's the best day we've had. We know just what to do with an old well now. It's been real interesting."

"Yes," drawled Abe Larrabee, "so it has. Interesting to the old ram too. Worst of it is, we daren't tell anybody."

That was too bad, but they could all go back to school more cheerfully for it the next day.

THE UNGRATEFUL WOOD-CUTTER.

Once on a time there lived in a village a wood-cutter so poor, that he had only his hatchet with which to gain bread for his wife and children.

"What am I to do?" said he, one day. "I am worn out with fatigue, my wife and children have nothing to eat, and I have no longer strength to hold my hatchet to earn even bitter black bread for my family. Ah! it is very bad luck for the poor when they are brought into this world."

While he was lamenting in this way, a voice called to him in a compassionate tone, "What are you complaining of?"

"Am I not likely to complain, when I have no food?" said he.

"Go home," said the voice, "dig up the earth in the corner of your garden, and you will find under a dead branch a treasure."

When the wood-cutter heard this he threw himself on his knees, and cried out, "Master, how do you call yourself? who are you with so kind a heart?"

"My name is Merlin," said the voice.

"Ah, master, God will bless you if you will come to my aid, and save a poor family from destitution."

"Go quickly," said the voice, "and in a year's time come back here, and give me an account of what you have done with the money you will find in the corner of the garden."

"Master, I will come in a year's time, or every day if you command me."

So he went home, dug the earth in the corner pointed out to him, and there found the promised treasure.

At the end of the year he went, according to agreement, to the forest. The voice cried,

"So you have come!"

"Yes, master."

"And how have you fared?"

"Well, master; my family have good food and clothing, and we have reason to thank you every day."

"You are well off, then, now; but tell me is there anything else you long for?"

"Ah, yes, master, I should like to be made Mayor."

"All right; in forty days you shall be named Mayor."

"Oh, a thousand thanks, my dear protector."

The second year the rich wood-cutter came to the forest in fine new clothes, and wearing tied round his waist the scarf of Mayor.

"Mr. Merlin," called he, "come and speak to me."

"Here I am," said the voice. "What do you wish?"

"Our Bishop died yesterday, and my son, with your aid, would like to replace him. A fresh favor, then, I ask of your kindness."

"In forty days it shall be done," said Merlin.

Accordingly, in forty days the son became a Bishop, and yet they were not contented.

At the end of the third year the wood-cutter sought his protector, and in a low voice called,

"Merlin, will you do me another favor?"

"What is it?" said the voice.

"My daughter wishes to be the wife of a Director."

"So let it be," replied Merlin. "In forty days the marriage shall take place."

And so it all came to pass.

Then the wood-cutter spoke in this wise to his wife,

"Why should I go again into the forest to speak to a creature whom I have never seen? I am wealthy enough now, I have plenty of friends, and my name is respected."

"Go once more," said she. "You ought to wish him good-day, and thank him for all his benefits."

So the wood-cutter mounted his horse, and, followed by two servants, entered the wood, and began to shout, "Merlot! Merlot! I have no more need of you, for I am sufficiently rich now."

Merlin replied: "It seems that you have forgotten the time when you had not enough to eat, possessed only your hatchet, and could scarcely earn sixpence a day. The first service I rendered you, you went on your knees, and called me 'Master'; after the second, a little less polite, you said 'Mister'; after the third, only plain 'Merlin'; and now you have the impudence to address me as 'Merlot.' You think that you have made your account well, and have no longer need of me. We'll see to that. You have always been heartless and stupid; continue to be stupid, and remain poor as you were when I took you up."

The rich man laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and did not believe a word that had been said to him.

He went back to his home. Soon his son, the Bishop, died. His daughter, the Director's wife, also had a bad illness, and she died too. To crown his misfortunes, a war broke out, and the soldiers of each army entered his cellars, consumed his wine and his granaries of corn, and burned his maize in the field. His house also they set fire to, so he remained penniless and uncared for.

LITTLE JACK'S DREAM.

Little Jack Jones considered himself the happiest boy in Jonesborough when his father gave him a gun. The fact that it was a weapon with which to shoot peas, and had a spring that did away with the necessity for powder, did not make it any less dangerous in Jack's eyes, and he felt very warlike with it in his hands.

He was positive he could kill birds, and even animals for that matter, provided his aim was true, and the peas could be sent with sufficient force. That the woods in the rear of his house were alive with all kinds of animals he had no doubt, even though he had never seen any, and his father had said rabbits were the largest game to be found there. He felt certain his father was mistaken, for what were woods made for if not to shelter every species of the brute creation?

For a long time Jack had been anxious to go out for a day, and shoot about as many animals as would be necessary to start a large menagerie; but until this gun was given him he could not satisfy his desires. Now, however, all was changed, and he began the most warlike preparations.

He found an old powder-horn which would serve to hold his stock of peas, and make him look like a hunter, and the obliging tinman cut him out one of the most ferocious-looking tin knives that can well be imagined.

That night his gun, carefully loaded, stood by the head of his bed, while his knife and powder-horn of peas were tucked snugly away under the pillow, where he could reach them at a moment's notice.

It was a long time before he fell asleep that night, and as the last idea in his mind when the sand-man closed his eyes was of his hunting expedition, when he thought he awakened he was not surprised at finding himself already in the woods.

His gun was in his hands, his terrible knife in his belt, and his pea-horn slung over his shoulder in the proper manner. He laughed to himself at the thought that he was in the woods without remembering anything about the disagreeable morning task of combing his hair or going for the milk; but he took good care to peep cautiously behind every bush or rock lest an elephant should pop out and trample on him before he had time to kill him.

With his gun ready for instant use, he walked on, but saw nothing, not even a bird, that was anxious to be killed, until he heard a gruff voice just behind him shout,

"Here, young fellow, what are you trying to do?"

Jack turned very quickly, for he had not supposed any one was near, and his surprise was great at seeing an enormous gorilla, armed with a large club, and wearing two feathers on his head, and an apron of leaves, coming directly toward him.

"I wasn't tryin' to do nothin'," said Jack, in greatest alarm, and doing his best to keep his knees from shaking. "I was only walkin' round."

"That's a story," said the old fellow, sternly, as he called up five chimpanzees, all of whom wore aprons and carried clubs, and ordered them to lead Jack away to the court-house.

Frightened as Jack was, he thought how strange it was that animals should have a court-house, and then as he looked at his captors more closely, he fancied they acted something after the manner of policemen.

How frightened he was then, and how he wished he had never seen a pea-gun or a tin knife!

The policemen did not speak to him, but marched him along, the gorilla leading the way in the most dignified manner possible.

The distance was very long and Jack was tired; but he would willingly have walked during the entire day if by such means he could escape going to that court, where he felt certain some terrible punishment awaited him. There was no such good fortune for him, however, for when they reached what it seemed must be the very centre of the woods, they entered a cleared space, which marked the end of the journey.

Jack knew he stood in the animals' court-room, for there, on a high bank on which moss had been spread for a carpet, sat a very ferocious-looking and very old lion, wearing an enormous pair of eyeglasses, while just behind him his wife looked over his shoulder curiously at the prisoner. Just below the lion a tiger sat on his haunches as if he was the clerk of the court; at one side stood a giraffe as crier, and on a swinging vine overhead perched an old crow, who, as the shade over his eyes plainly told, was the court reporter.

It was a terrible moment for poor Jack as he stood there before the savage-looking judge, and he resolved from that instant that there was not half so much fun in the so-called sport of hunting as some people seemed to think.

"What's your name?" asked the tiger, with a growl, and Jack's teeth chattered so that he could hardly answer,

"Jack Jones."

"What is the charge against the prisoner, Captain Gorilla?" asked the judge, as he stroked his whiskers and adjusted his eyeglasses.

"Carrying dangerous weapons," answered the old fellow, as he pointed to the pea-shooter, and then he motioned one of the chimpanzees to tell the story, he standing ready to corroborate what his lieutenant should say in case Jack attempted to deny his guilt.

The chimpanzee told the judge that he had been out with Captain Gorilla and his four comrades since six o'clock that morning, looking for some suspicious-acting animals who had been reported as being in that ward; they had discovered the prisoner, who was armed as his honor could see; he was, at the time of his arrest, looking around him in a singularly cautious manner, and was, to the best of his (the officer's) belief, a dangerous person to be at liberty.

The old crow looked down at Jack as if he was about to write a description of him for the next number of the _Forest Herald_, and the judge wiped his eyeglasses with his tail, as he asked, "Is his gun loaded?"

Captain Gorilla stepped forward, and was about to examine the weapon, when the giraffe put his hoofs in his ears, and insisted that if it was absolutely necessary to go into such slight details, the captain should go at least a mile from the court, since he was very nervous, and afraid of a noise.

The judge thought that perhaps it made no difference whether the charge was actually in the gun or not, since the prisoner had the ammunition in his possession, and then paused as if to consider what the sentence should be.

Jack, who was more frightened than ever before, had had no chance to speak since his trial began, but now he commenced to cry and plead his cause at the same time.

"Dear, kind, good Mr. Lion, if you'll only let me go home, I'll bend the knife all up, an' I won't ever shoot a single pea, except at the side of our barn, where they can't hurt anybody. _Do_ let me go, 'cause I'm afraid I didn't get the milk for mother before I came here."

"If you neglected to do the errands for your mother, your punishment must be all the more severe," said the judge, and his wife nodded her head as if to say she thought that decision exactly correct.

"I'll never come out here again, an' I'll always do everything mother wants me to," pleaded Jack, but all in vain.

The judge considered the case in silence for some moments; the clerk licked his chops hungrily, as if he expected to be called upon to eat the prisoner; the captain of police brandished his club savagely; the crow made preparations for writing down the prisoner's last words; and Jack's hair would have stood straight up, because of his fright, if he had combed the snarls out so it could.

"Tie him up to the tallest tree by the hair, so he may act as scarecrow to other boys who come out pea-shooting in the morning before they have done the chores," said the judge, with a roar, and no sooner had he spoken than the gorilla and the chimpanzees caught Jack up, climbing the tree with him in their arms without the slightest difficulty.

It hurt terribly to hang there by the hair, but the pain was still greater when the branch broke, and he fell to the--floor, now thoroughly awakened, because he had tumbled out of bed.

It was some moments before he could understand that it was all a dream; but it had frightened him so that he bent the tin knife double and threw it out of the window before he crawled back to bed.

The next morning his mother was pleasantly surprised by seeing him do his work without being reminded of it, and that forenoon, when some of the boys asked him why he was not in the woods shooting lions, he simply told them that it was because he was obliged to take care of the baby.

THE LAST FROLIC.

Three little children at grandpa's--Archie, Kitty, and May-- After a summer of sunshine have the last frolic to-day. High in the old farm wagon--never was carriage so grand-- Three little children are ready for a drive to fairy-land.

The ponies are off in the pasture, the black horse stands in the stall, But make-believe steeds are harnessed and there at the children's call; They'll race over hill and valley, they'll dash through village and town, And surely they'll find the fairies before the sun goes down.

Three little children at grandpa's have tossed the fragrant hay, Followed the cows to the meadow, and weeded the garden for play, Hunted for Tops and Speckle in every cranny and nook, Carried the eggs home gayly, and fished with pins in the brook.

They are going home to-morrow, this frolic will be the last; So trot away bravely, horses--no danger of going too fast. Aloft in the old farm wagon, dimpled and freckled and tanned, Hurrah for the dear little children, driving to fairy-land.

HACKENSACK, NEW JERSEY.

I would like to tell the readers of YOUNG PEOPLE how nice it is to go all through Harper's establishment. Papa took me there the other day, and got a permit to go through it, and we saw so many interesting things that I don't know where to begin to tell about them. We went into the rooms where all the machinery and presses are. I saw them printing _Harper's Monthly Magazine_ and a whole lot of things. I think it is very nice to look at the man spattering different-colored paints on the water to make the marbling on the edges of books. I liked to watch the women who were spreading gold-leaf on the covers of books. After this is done they are placed in a press, and the letters and pictures are stamped on the cover, and the gold-leaf that is not needed is brushed off. We visited the room of the Editor of YOUNG PEOPLE, and had a very pleasant time there. He showed us an Easter-egg which one of the young people had sent him. A great many people think that the letters in Our Post-office Box are not genuine, but I know they are, for the Editor showed me a pile of them which he had just received. He said he expected to get as many as that twice a day, and that they came from all parts of the United States, and even from Canada and Europe. If they printed all the letters which come from the children, they would have no room for anything else in the paper. I think HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE is delightful, and I mean to take it until I am a woman. I am eight years old now.

EMMA S.

Emma's papa assures us that this letter, in spelling, composition, and writing is entirely Emma's own work, without any assistance. It is a very well-written letter in every sense for a little girl of eight.

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MOLINE, ILLINOIS.

I think that a short account of the Artesian well which is being bored here will interest the members of the Young People's Natural History Society. The well is being bored near the Moline Paper-Mill for the purpose of procuring pure water to be used in the manufacture of paper. It is not bored with an auger like an ordinary well, but is drilled with a drill which works up and down in the well in the same way that a man drills a hole in rock to blast it, only of course this drill is larger, and is worked by a steam-engine and a walking-beam like those on steamboats. The drill is fastened to one end of the walking-beam by long wooden rods. It grinds the rock quite fine, like sand, and some of it is ground to a fine powder. They drill several hours or more, according to the hardness of the rock, and then pull up the drill, and let down a hollow iron tube with a valve in the bottom, into which the pulverized rock, which is mixed with water, runs, and where it is prevented from coming out by the valve. They have at present drilled to the depth of 700 feet, and expect to find water at 800 feet.

STILLMAN G.

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LYONS FALLS, NEW YORK.

I am eleven years old. I picked up potatoes last fall, and earned the money with which I bought YOUNG PEOPLE. Papa gave me one cent a bushel. I like to read the letters in the Post-office Box, and also "Tim and Tip." I took YOUNG PEOPLE to school, and we read "The Cruise of the 'Ghost'" there. I have a Newfoundland dog, whose name is Chuck. His color is old gold. We bought him to help us churn, but our milk now goes to the factory. I get up early in the morning and help milk. There is a little creek back of our house, and I skate there in the winter when it is frozen over. I have lots of fun. I fall down sometimes, but it don't hurt me much.

CLINTON H. J.

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CLARKE COUNTY, VIRGINIA.

Since school closed I've had a splendid time in the country, fishing in the Shenandoah, and doing other charming things. I am now going home with papa, and shall take my baby brother a great red apple. I mean to study very hard, and do everything I can to please papa, for his kindness in having sent me to the country.

W. H. T.

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I don't care about letting you all know where I live; but here I am, shut up in this great Noah's ark of a parlor, alone, just because the teacher came here last night and told Aunt Quillet that I had refused to write my composition. So aunt sent me here, where I could be quiet, and think without being disturbed. What is there to think about, I wonder? There's only a crack between the shutters to let in light, and the furniture is done up in linen bags, and the pieces peek and stare at me as if every chair were a mummy. Why can't folks buy things that don't need bagging, or else use the pretty things while they're pretty, and bag them after they've grown shabby? They make me think of that ship which Ike Walton dived into, where the men were all sitting round just as they had been doing when it went down. I hate parlors anyway. I hate things with Ulsters on.

Auntie opened the door just now, and inquired how I was succeeding. I told her I was writing to YOUNG PEOPLE. She said that letter-writing was a very fine variety of composition. I did not know that before, and have always thought it easy enough to write letters. If the teacher were of the same opinion, I would not be marked deficient so often in this study.

Aunt Quillet is spending a month here. Mother has gone to grandpa's. Aunt is very stylish, and spends most of her time in making edging. The time she spends in knitting she might employ better, I think. The other day I asked her about Moses--I was studying my Sunday-school lesson at the moment. She said. "Oh yes, Daniel, I'll help you. Slip one, knit two, pass, slip over, thread forward. I haven't had time--narrow three times--to read much lately--knit back plain. Things were very--make fagoting, thread forward, knit three--different then." So I had to depend on myself, for aunt could not stop her lace-work to pay attention to me.

DAN J.

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MUSKOGEE, INDIAN TERRITORY.

I have a little jet-black pony with a frizzly mane. Its name is Princess Ethelfrida--rather long, perhaps, but romantic and beautiful. My home is five miles back of Brushy Mountain. I enjoy reading Our Post-office Box.

ANNIE K.

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MONTICELLO, NEW YORK.