Part 3

Katie timed herself perfectly. She entered the class-room at the last moment, when the girls were all seated, and Madame in her place. They would have to endure her appearance in decorous silence, and she knew exactly how it would affect them. She advanced to her place, with a graceful indifference which she felt to be a triumph. Her place this morning was at the bottom of the class; she took it with a kind of deliberate pleasure. She knew that she was effectually scattering the wits of her class-mates, and some one would change with her before the recitation was over.

In ten minutes she had taken her seat at the head again. Clara May had not been equal to participles and conjugations in the presence of that violet velvet. On the contrary, there was a distracting calmness about Katie, and when the quarter's recess came she was not to be confused by the questions and compliments that assailed her.

"Where _did_ you get it?" said Julia Smith, who was not the least jealous.

"It is an imported suit."

"Worth's?"

"Oh dear no. Worth is becoming quite common. It is from De Lisle's."

"It fits exquisitely."

"I think it does."

"And is so becoming."

"Yes. Agnes Hilton says I look charming in it."

Katie was far too wise to undervalue herself in any way, and she accepted the girl's compliments as her right.

"Are you going to wear it every day?" asked little Florence Dixon, as she touched admiringly the wrought violets on the cuffs.

Katie stroked her curls with a patronizing kindness, and answered: "No, Miss Foolishness, that would be wretched taste. To the school-room, the school dress. Ladies have the proper toilet for all occasions." Then, before any one could answer her, she dropped her little air of instruction, and said, with the frankness of equality: "Girls, you must excuse me appearing in such a morning toilet. The fact is, I am going to the matinée, and one likes to be early at a Gerster matinée. You know how little time Madame gives us to dress in."

"Oh dear me, there is no need of apology," said Clara May, a trifle defiantly. "One understands quite well that there would be no pleasure in having a suit like that unless there were opportunities to show it; and whether it be in the morning or evening, in the school-room or the opera boxes, is all the same. I don't see why one should not wear as nice things in Madame Blanc's company as in Madame Gerster's; and some people would think a school-room just as worthy of a fine dress as an opera-house."

This argument was received with a murmur of approval. Girls rarely look beneath the surface, and it sounded well; but upon the whole, Katie felt that she had had a great triumph. For a month afterward she wore her brown cloth school suit with the air of one who has vindicated her taste, and who was quite content with its serviceable fitness.

The velvets began to look common, and a little shabby; imitations of a cheaper kind were plentiful on the streets. She almost wondered how she ever could have thought them so desirable. It was just when she had reached this position, when velvet suits had sunk below the tide of wishing for in her mind, that they were again forced on her attention.

One morning Clara May came to school in a state of great excitement. She threw aside her Derby and Ulster, and hastened to the group chatting by the open fire.

"Girls," she said, in a tone which implied something far beyond the words--"girls, I was at the charity fair last night."

"Oh!" from half a dozen voices at once.

"And I saw Agnes Hilton there. She had a stand--Japanese things."

"Did you buy?"

"I priced some scrolls; they were horrid, and very dear. What do you think she wore?"

"Could not guess; she has such lots of things," said an old pupil who remembered Agnes.

"A--violet--velvet--suit!"

"Oh!"

"Lined with pale violet satin!"

"Oh!"

"And little bunches of violets worked on the cuffs, collar, and left breast!"

"Never!"

"Yes, it is, I positively declare."

"Katie Dawson's?" inquired some one, in a hesitating voice.

"Or else--Katie Dawson wore Agnes Hilton's suit that day."

"They might have suits alike," said Julia Smith; "they are great friends."

"They _might_, but I don't believe they have."

Just then Katie entered the room, and there was a moment's silence. Then Clara said:

"Good-morning, Miss Dawson. Were you at the fair last night?"

"Yes. What a horrid crush it was!"

"Do you think so? What did you wear?"

"Navy blue silk."

"Why did you not wear your violet velvet?"

"In that crush? What an idea!"

"Agnes Hilton had hers on. I saw her; I priced some goods at her stand. I noticed particularly the flowers on her cuffs. It was a suit _exactly_ like the one you wore that morning you came dressed for the matinée. Your suit was made precisely the same as hers. Perhaps it was"--and then she stopped, and with a very irritating smile turned to her books.

The attack had been so sudden that for once Katie was tongue-tied. That group of inquisitive girls was too much for her. She turned haughtily on her heel, and disdained to answer, but she felt that her sceptre had departed. There were whisperings in her presence, and confidences in which she had no share. Girls looked meaningly at her dress, and a week afterward, when the day for translations came round, Clara May read aloud the fable of the jay in peacock's feathers, which she had freely rendered into French from the English version.

To Madame it had no particular meaning; to the whole school-room it was startlingly intelligent. Katie tingled with shame and burned with anger. She had pretended not to notice much that had wounded her deeply. Should she continue a course which left her a text for sermons of this kind, or should she boldly take her punishment in her own hand? She decided that the latter would be the bravest and wisest thing to do, and as soon as Clara sat down she rose and asked, "Will Madame allow me to answer Miss May's fable in English?"

"This is the French class, Miss Dawson."

"But, Madame, I desire all present to understand me clearly."

"You have a motive? Ah! then it is well you speak as you wish."

"Madame, _I_ am intended to point the moral of the jay and the peacock's feathers. If Madame permits me, I will explain."

"I desire not to interrupt."

Then Katie spoke frankly of her desire for a velvet suit, and repeated her mother's objections to it--to which objections Madame said, emphatically, "Good, they were good."

"Then I went to Agnes Hilton's, and she proposed I should wear her dress, and I agreed to it very gladly. Madame perhaps remembers the dress?"

Madame nodded her head decidedly.

"And then, Madame, Miss May saw Miss Hilton at the fair in the violet velvet, and Miss May is very shrewd, and supposed what is really the case. I might, of course, have said that Agnes and I had dresses alike, and so have left the matter in doubt. But I have regretted my folly very often since, and I prefer to tell the truth. Whatever punishment Madame thinks I deserve, I am ready to accept."

"This is a great pleasure to me," said Madame. "What is a velvet suit?--a few dollars, a thing that quite common people may have. But the truth!--but the brave heart to confess a fault! That is beyond all price. Miss Dawson has taken her punishment this morning; now I give to her, with great pride, my hand."

There had never been such a sensation in the school before. Katie lifted her eyes, full of tears, to Madame, and in that moment the girl gained a point in character which vanity and deception never again will conquer.

Then the translations went on as usual, but when the books were closed, Madame said: "We have learned a lesson this morning, young ladies, which is the same in all the languages--the power of simple truth to conquer even the vanity and the ill-will. If you forget the French, then you will try always to remember this."

The girl whom I have called Clara May told me the story of the violet velvet suit, and she added: "I like no one so well as I do Katie Dawson now. Madame Dubaney will make our school dresses alike next winter, and they will _not_ be velvet."

A PLAY-GROUND IN THE CZAR'S PARK.

BY DAVID KER.

No Russian boy with a half-holiday before him could wish for a pleasanter place to spend it than the great park which lies around the Czar's country palace of Tsarskoë-Selo (Czar's Village), sixteen miles southeast of St. Petersburg. The poor Czar himself very seldom goes there now, fearing to be shot or blown up: but plenty of his subjects do all through the summer, and many a hard-worked clerk or tired store-keeper, lying on the soft grass, with his children frolicking around him, or eating moroshki (Finland raspberries) and cream in one of the little trellis-work summer-houses near the lake, doubtless congratulates himself that he is not important enough to be assassinated, and can take a day's pleasure without fear of pistols, daggers, or dynamite bombs.

If you strike straight out through the park from the eastern corner of the palace, and head toward Pavlovsk (which lies two miles distant), you will soon hear a chorus of little voices, as if a party of children were enjoying themselves somewhere near. Ask any one what this means, and the answer will be, "Matchta" (the mast), and in another moment you see the top of a tall mast above the trees, and come out upon a small open space with a shed along one side of it, and the mast itself in the middle.

All around the foot of it, for safety's sake, is spread a strong net, upon which a crowd of girls and boys are dancing, rolling about, and jumping backward and forward, while other boys of a more adventurous turn are chasing each other up and down the "stays" and rope-ladders, laughing and hallooing at the full pitch of their voices.

See what rosy cheeks this little lassie in the pink sash has got. She looked pale enough two months ago, but fresh air and out-door games have done wonders for her already. She and her sister Alexia (Alice) have taken her big doll between them, and joining hands with their cousin Nadejda (Hope) are dancing round and round in time to a funny little Russian song.

But who is that tall, bright-eyed, curly-haired boy who is skipping up and down the rigging as nimbly as a cat, watched admiringly by the old Russian sailor who has charge of the play-ground? Young as he is, Michael Suvôrin has already made up his mind to go to sea, and never loses a chance of "practicing for a sailor." He is rather a wild boy, and just a little too fond of playing tricks upon his aunt and cousins, who are watching him rather nervously from below; but with all his wildness, he staid in only last week all through a half-holiday to read to his little sister when she was ill.

Suddenly he flings his straw hat to the ground, and starts right for the mast-head hand over hand in true man-of-war fashion. Up he goes--up, up, up--reaches the top, and giving a triumphant hurrah, turns to come down again.

All at once he is seen to lurch forward; a cry is heard; and the next moment he is hanging head downward in the empty air, caught by one foot in the strands of the rope-ladder.

Instantly all is confusion. Ladies scream, children cry, and the old sailor himself darts forward to mount to the rescue, when the mischievous boy clews himself up again with a loud laugh, and slides down unhurt, the whole thing having been only a trick.

But when he sees his aunt's white scared face, and his little cousins crying bitterly, Michael's warm heart smites him.

"I'm very sorry, aunt; I only meant it for fun, and I never thought I'd frighten you so. Scold me as much as you like; it'll just serve me right."

"Nay, don't be too hard on him, barina" (madam), puts in the old sailor. "Boys will have their fun; but he's got the heart of a man in him, and a man that you'll be proud of yet."

And I should not wonder if old Ivan's prophecy some day came out true.

THE KITTEN AND FALLING LEAVES.

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

That way look, my infant, lo! What a pretty baby-show! See the Kitten on the wall, Sporting with the leaves that fall-- Withered leaves, one, two, and three-- From the lofty elder-tree! Through the calm and frosty air Of this morning bright and fair, Eddying round and round, they sink Softly, slowly; one might think, From the motions that are made, Every little leaf conveyed Sylph or fairy hither tending, To this lower world descending, Each invisible and mute In his wavering parachute.

--But the Kitten, how she starts, Crouches, stretches, paws, and darts! First at one, and then its fellow Just as light and just as yellow; There are many now--now one-- Now they stop, and there are none. What intenseness of desire In her upward eye of fire! What a tiger-leap! Half way Now she meets the coming prey, Lets it go as fast, and then Has it in her power again; Now she works with three or four, Like an Indian conjurer; Quick as he in feats of art, Far beyond in joy of heart, Were her antics played in the eye Of a thousand standers-by, Clapping hands with shout and stare, What would little Tabby care For the plaudits of the crowd? Overhappy to be proud, Overwealthy in the treasure Of her own exceeding pleasure!

We feel sure that our readers will be pleased by the announcement on the next page of a serial story by their friend Mr. W. O. Stoddard. The story is a long one, and will contain a chapter of intensely interesting reading for each week of the coming winter.

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Sometimes when we open the Post-office Box, and read the letters you send us, we try to imagine how you look, and wonder whether we would know you if we happened to meet you going to school, or riding your gentle ponies over the hills, or perhaps busy feeding your pets, and helping along at home. We fancy we would recognize our own Young People by their bright faces and straightforward speech and polite manners. Though we can not print all the letters, we like to read them, and we think just as much of the letters we can not publish as of those which appear in these columns. Remember this, Hannah and Joe, Theodore and Bessie, and write to us again.

Please use black ink, boys and girls, and, to spare our eyes, do not use red ink nor a lead-pencil.

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FORT RENO, INDIAN TERRITORY.

Would you like to hear about an Indian dance, or "medicine," which I saw a little while ago? It was in a very large tent composed of several "tepees," or tents of the kind the Indians live in. The dancers were almost naked, painted black or yellow with white marks, and most of them had willow wreaths on their heads, wrists, and ankles. They jumped up and down, blowing on whistles made of the bone of an eagle's wing. In one corner of the tent was a "tom-tom," or big drum, which was beaten by five or six Indians, who sang at the same time, or at least did what they called singing, though it sounded more like howling in my ears. After much drumming and singing, the "medicine-man" and two or three others came forward and stood near the middle pole. One took down two ropes, while another sat down. The "medicine-man" then picked up a knife and some sticks and went up to the side of the man who was sitting down, and pinching up some of the skin on either side of his breast, ran the knife through it, and then taking one of the sticks, he put it through the hole. Then he and another man slipped the ropes over the sticks and went away. The tortured Indian got up and jumped first to one side and then to the other, trying to break loose. The skin stood out about four and a half inches, but would not break: at last it gave way, and the man went head first into the fire which was behind him. After this several others were tied up in the same way. The dance continued several days.

I like "The Cruise of the 'Ghost,'" "The Brave Swiss Boy," and "Across the Ocean," but "Toby Tyler" is my favorite. I have taken YOUNG PEOPLE from the first number, and could hardly do without it. I am just eleven years old.

WILLIAM WIRT L.

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COVINGTON, KENTUCKY.

Most of the young folks who write to you tell of their pets. To avoid sameness, I will not tell of mine, but briefly mention the many curious things I lately saw at Spang's Natural History Rooms.

There were four or five kinds of sharks, the most formidable-looking being the hammer-head. It was indeed a monster; its head was three feet across, and its great goggle eyes stood out on each side. The man-eater was a hideous-looking thing, and would not be a very pleasant bathing companion. It has double rows of teeth, and is fully capable of making mince-meat of a person in a very short time. The manatee, or sea-cow, is an ugly-looking customer, in shape resembling the whale. This specimen weighs nearly two thousand pounds. The saw-fish is a queer-looking fellow, who has the advantage of all other workmen, as he carries his tool-chest with him all the time without inconvenience. This chest contains one formidable saw, which grows out from his snout. We saw two or three very large fish of this class, the saws being fully a yard long, with teeth on both sides. The king of fishes, the whale, would not care to combat with a saw-fish. Of all the odd-looking reptiles we saw it would be too tedious to make mention, so I will only allude to the little alligators, all dead and stuffed, which the ingenious Mr. Spang has arranged in the most laughable attitudes. He must have at least five hundred, some of them not more than a couple of weeks old. I hope that those of your readers who are fond of studying natural history may have an opportunity to visit this or some other equally good collection.

EDITH C.

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CONCORD, CALIFORNIA.

My home is away out in the country, in Contra Costa County. I have two sisters and three brothers. My sisters are Emma and Tina, and my brothers are Charlie and Louis; the baby's name we have not yet decided upon. Emma, Tina, and I go to a little school about two miles from home. I have some chickens, turkeys, ducks, and pigeons, four dogs, and more than a dozen cats. I must tell you what my brother Louis did to a pet pigeon of mine. He saw it walking around the yard, and he thought he would make it a prisoner by putting it in the tin oven of the stove. We built a fire in the stove next day, and soon we heard a noise in the oven. We took the captive out, and tried to save it, but it died in the night. My papa gave me a nice little pony, which I ride. His name is George. I am twelve years old, and as this is my first letter, I would like very much to see it in print. Good-by.

BERTA E. L.

Of course your brother did not mean to leave the poor bird in prison, and he must have felt very sad at its unhappy fate.

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ELYRIA, OHIO.

I have been wanting to write you a letter for a long time, for I see many letters in the Post-office Box from little girls who are about the same age as myself.

I want to tell you about a large black and yellow spider that had its home in the corner of a house of ours. Of course it was out-of-doors, for my mamma will not have spider webs in the house where we live. In the middle of her web Mrs. Spider made a kind of curtain, behind which she retired to eat her food. One morning I went to look at it, and there hung a brown bag about the size of a hickory-nut. The bag looked as if it had been drawn together at the top and tied with a string. It had all been made in one night. There was soon another, and then the spider was gone. My papa took one of the bags and opened it. The outside was thick and tough like leather, but soft and smooth as satin inside. In it there was a little round bowl with a lid; we lifted the lid, and found the bowl full of tiny yellow eggs. All around this bowl was something that looked like fine brown cotton. I wonder if it was put there to keep the eggs warm, or as food for the baby spiders. I am going to let the other bag hang as long as it will, and watch it.

I have taken HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE almost a year; it was a birthday present.

ADA L. B.

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BETHALTO, ILLINOIS.

I want to tell you about my dear little sparrow, which I found in a mill, all covered with flour. I took him home, and fed him for a week. When I thought he was old enough, I let him fly, but the cunning little fellow did not want to go. He chirruped all day in the trees around the house, and at night, when I called him, he flew right into my open hand. We continued to feed him, and now think we will have to keep him always. He flies out every day, but is sure to be close to his cage at night, and there he is satisfied till morning.

I also have a canary, which always whistles when he sees my papa, and keeps on calling till papa answers him.

FREDDIE M.

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HAZELWOOD, KENTUCKY.

I sold my last year's turkeys, and invested a part of the proceeds in HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. It has proved the best investment I ever made. Papa, mamma, and my brothers and sisters older and younger than myself all enjoy each week's issue. I now have another flock of young turkeys, and when they are disposed of, I will certainly renew my subscription. I raised over two hundred chickens this year. I now have five brown Leghorn chickens, beauties, from which I hope to raise a flock next year.

MATTIE L. O.

When you write again, tell us something about your turkeys, whether they are fond of wandering from home, and which you like best to care for, turkeys or chickens.

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QUINCY, ILLINOIS.

My little son Alfred is, through his affliction, not able to write himself, so he requests me to say to you what he would like to say himself. When he wrote you the letter you were kind enough to put in your valuable paper for him, we thought it probable some few sympathizing children would send him something to read, and so help to pass away the to him weary time. He little thought of the almost universal interest it would awake among your readers. He has received, I suppose, one hundred and fifty letters, and books, magazines, and newspapers enough to last him some time. Letters have come to him from almost every State in the Union, and one from a very kind lady in Helena, Montana. I have answered several by mail, but a great many kind friends have sent papers without name, and we wish in his place to thank all who have so kindly answered his letter, and we hope some day to do to others as they have done to our little boy.

S. JUDD, for ALFRED.

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WINDHAM, NEW YORK.