Part 15

"No, mother, for here is what my guide gave me to prove my story true." And Sella showed a sea-green scarf, adding, "And she told me to keep the slippers, and that whenever I put them on I could go down to the bottom of the ocean again and see all the lovely things. Oh, mother, it is so beautiful there! But after we had wandered about a long time I grew weary, and longed for my dear mountain home. And so she brought me back; and now I will never leave your side again." And she flung her arms about her mother and kissed her, begging forgiveness once again.

Sella kept her promise. But, sadly enough, she did not have to keep it long, for in less than two years from that May day her mother died. The little mountain home was very sad. But after her first grief passed, Sella was very often absent from the household, and her father and brothers and older sister knew that she was away in the world of waters with her friends the water-nymphs. When she was at home she often sat looking blankly into space, with her thoughts far away. Her brothers tried to persuade her not to go away from them so often, but she only looked at them sorrowfully, and wept, saying never a word in answer to their pleading.

At last there came a day of merriment and good cheer in the quiet home. Bella's sister was to be married. The guests came from hill and valley in all the country round. Sella welcomed them, beautiful and calm as usual, with her clear blue eyes, fair hair, and skin as white as the water-lily. She looked like a water nymph herself, so much of her time had been spent in her beloved water.

Now it happened that that very morning the older of her two brothers had been out upon the hillside and had seen Sella come out from the stream, and had noticed where she put her slippers in a cleft of rock behind a tree. Now, under cover of the merriment of the wedding while all the youths and maidens were dancing, the two brothers stole away to the spot where the slippers lay hidden, took them out, followed the brook down a little way to where its current flowed very rapidly, and dropped them in. The stream seemed to lift welcoming hands to catch them, and they slid rapidly out of sight. Then the brothers returned to the house.

As evening came near, Sella grew tired of the feasting and dancing and noise and longed for the quiet that she could find below the sea. So she ran out to the brook to get her slippers. They were gone! She searched all along the brookside, but could not find them. Frightened, she ran wildly from place to place, and searched in the same spots over and over. Someone had taken them; and it did not take her long to think who the someone was. She ran to the house and charged her brothers with the theft. They frankly told her all that they had done, saying that it was because they loved her so. "We could not bear to have the cold world of waters steal our sister from us. Now you can never go away from us again."

When Sella heard how the stream had seized and carried away her precious slippers, she gave a broken-hearted shriek. "They are gone forever! Oh, how cruel you have been to me!" And she left them and ran away to her room, locked her door, and would not let anyone in to comfort her. All night she wept and mourned, knowing that never again could she visit the sea caves and meadows where she so loved to roam, nor talk with the gentle sea-nymphs. All the next day she wandered alone by the brook, envying its shining waters which danced along on their way to the sea. But by the next day she became more used to her loss, and began to resolve that since it was no use to mourn for what was gone, she would begin a new life whose days should be given to quiet tasks of good in the great world. She knew that she had learned many things about the water that men everywhere would be glad to know. In patient, loving service she would forget her loss.

So the years passed. Sella still loved to haunt the springs and brooks as in her cheerful childhood. She taught men to know the right places in which to dig wells, so as to be sure to find water beneath the earth. She showed them how to build aqueducts by which to bring the water from the mountain streams to towns far away from any water. She showed them how to tame the rushing stream and make its water drive the millwheel. She bade them build cisterns and pools and reservoirs to catch the rain-water in the wet season, so that in the dry months of the year it could be carried in canals into the parched fields to irrigate them. Everywhere Sella's name was loved and honored.

Bryant, our first American poet, who has told this story in lovely verses which you must read some day, speaks of Sella's age and death in the lines which follow.

"Still she kept, as age came on, Her stately presence; still her eyes looked forth From under their calm brows as brightly clear As the transparent wells by which she sat So oft in childhood. Still she kept her fair Unwrinkled features, though her locks were white. A hundred times had summer, since her birth, Opened the water-lily on the lakes, So old traditions tell, before she died. A hundred cities mourned her.----By the brook That rippling ran beside the cottage door Where she was born, they reared her monument. Ere long the current parted and flowed round The marble base, forming a little isle, And there the flowers that love the running stream, Iris and orchid, and the cardinal flower, Crowded and hung caressingly around The stone engraved with Sella's honored name."

--_Mabel Dodge Holmes._

THE GHOST OF TERRIBLE TERRY

Here is a real boy story in real boy talk.

It is a first-class story to outline. Read it through--you will be so much interested that you can't help reading fast--then close the book and make an outline.

I am the ghost of Terrible Terry! I have murdered ten men in cold blood and buried their bones, in the dark of the moon, on the crest of Death-Rattle Hill! You will meet me there at dark on the evening of October 30! If you fail me BEWARE. (Following which was a crudely drawn skull and cross bones.)

"Gosh!"

That was all George Taylor could say as he read the letter which his father had just brought home in the evening mail. The mere thought of Death-Rattle Hill _after dark_ was enough to make a fellow's heart jump into his throat, for Death-Rattle Hill had received its name from a popular superstition that grew out of the murder there, in pioneer days, of an old trapper.

This trapper, "Dad" Smith, as he was known on the frontier, was returning to his cabin in the wilderness, after selling his winter catch of furs, when he was attacked at dusk by "Terrible Terry", a notorious desperado of the early days. He was found the next day with more than a score of knife-wounds in his body.

Legend credited Terry with numerous other ghastly crimes until at last he met his fate in a manner which remains a mystery. His body was found in the woods not far from the spot where Smith was murdered. A rifle ball had passed through his throat. From then on stories were circulated concerning peculiar noises that could be heard at dusk on the hill. These noises, so the tales agreed, resembled a choking, gasping sound--such as a man might make in struggling for breath. So it came about that this hill came to be known throughout all the country as "Death-Rattle Hill."

"Gosh!" said Taylor once more as these thoughts went racing through his head. Then he jerked his cap from its hook in the hall and ran down the alley to see if any other of the boys had received a similar message.

Carrots Crawford, Pepper Perkins and several other members of the troop were talking excitedly.

"Hey, George," they called as the scout appeared, "did you get one, too?"

"Do you mean a letter from Terrible Terry?"

"Sure thing," said Pepper; "all the fellows got them. It's just another of Mr. James' stunts. Say, Scouts, remember that party we had at headquarters last Hallowe'en? Didn't we have a circus! And I'll bet this year we'll have a bigger time yet!"

After much discussion the group broke, and only Taylor and Pepper Perkins remained. If the departing scouts had been thinking less about the queer noises that were supposed to be heard on Death-Rattle Hill, they might have observed that these two leading lights of Glenwood troop had their heads together in earnest consultation.

It was ten days until the last of October; ten days filled with the greatest anticipation for the members of Glenwood troop; although every scout in the troop felt a peculiar sinking feeling at the pit of the stomach at the thought of Death-Rattle Hill, not one of them would have admitted it, and not one of them thought of failing to keep his appointment with "Terrible Terry", especially after the rumor was spread that each scout should go armed with a fork, a spoon and a tin cup. The boys agreed among themselves that they would meet at troop headquarters and march in a body to Death-Rattle Hill.

Hallowe'en evening came at last. The members of Glenwood Troop reported at their headquarters to a man, quaking inwardly if the truth were known, but prepared to keep their rendezvous with the ghost of a cut-throat in the most haunted spot in all the land! Great was their relief when Mr. James appeared and said he had thought it best to accompany the boys on such a dangerous undertaking.

They started out, rather more boisterously than usual, laughing, shouting and singing, but the nearer they got to Death-Rattle Hill the quieter they became. By the time they reached the crest of the hill they were huddled together like sheep.

"Here we are, boys," came the Scoutmaster's cheery voice at last as the scouts reached a little clearing between two tall Norway pines. Not far from one of the trees a huge bonfire had been built. Mr. James struck a match, the flames ran quickly through the dry sticks and logs, and in almost no time the clearing was light as day.

With the lighting of the fire, the spell that had been cast over the boys by thoughts of Terrible Terry was partially broken, and they entered into the games and stunts that Mr James had planned for them with their customary spirit.

With their hands tied behind their backs they tried to bite apples suspended from the branches of the pine by long strings and bobbed for apples in a big tub of water. They had boxing and wrestling bouts, dug pennies with their teeth out of shallow pans partly filled with flour, held a war-dance around the fire and yelled as only hungry boys can yell when Mr. James produced a pail of steaming cocoa, a big box of "dogs", a pan full of doughnuts, and a box of red apples.

But in spite of all they could do to forget the stories of Death-Rattle Hill they could not escape a vague, uneasy feeling, and many a furtive glance was cast into the surrounding trees and bushes.

When the last drop of cocoa had disappeared and the last red apple had followed the "dogs" and doughnuts to their doom, the boys crawled close to the glowing embers of the fire and, following their usual custom, begged Mr. James for a story.

The fire was slowly dying, and the occasional flickering flames cast fantastic shadows on the hazel bushes and the trees.

"We have all heard more or less about strange sights and sounds in places where men have met with violent death," said Mr. James by way of beginning his yarn. "For instance, I have been told that in this very clearing there grows a peculiar red moss which traces in exact outline the spots on the earth where the old trapper Smith's life-blood dyed the sod. Hunters have told me that no animals ever cross this clearing--that in the dead of winter not even a rabbit track breaks the smooth expanse of snow which is marred only by a ghastly crimson stain where poor old Smith's body was found.

"But let me get on with my story. Thirteen years ago this very night an old hunchback peddler, who had been selling his wares in the backwoods settlements, lost his bearings in the forest and found himself at dusk in this very clearing. Being completely exhausted from his wanderings, he decided to make himself as comfortable as possible for the night. He built a fire in the early evening, and, as the embers slowly settled into ashes fell into a half sleep leaning against his pack.

"Just how long he dozed by the fire he could not tell, nor could he remember exactly what wakened him, yet suddenly he was startled into consciousness, every nerve a-tingle with a sense of impending danger. Some power he could not sense drew his attention irresistibly to a huge pine tree--that one right there!

"With his eyes starting from their sockets he sat incapable of movement, waiting--waiting--when suddenly----"

Out of the pine on which every scout was focusing his gaze came an unmistakable choking, gasping sound.

An instant later a faintly glowing light appeared.

"Great goodness! Look there!" exclaimed Patrol Leader Crawford in a husky voice.

With a piercing shriek a horrible apparition floated out of the branches of the pine. Its white hair was covered with ghastly clots of red. Its arms waved wildly, moving the folds of a flowing white garment splotched with blood.

Transfixed with horror, the boys sat frozen in their tracks as THE THING rushed toward them.

Then there came a huge splash in the bobbing tub behind them and an unmistakably human voice exclaimed, "Oh, thunder!" The voice belonged to Pepper Perkins, and the Scoutmaster's flashlight revealed its owner in a sitting posture in the tub of water, whence he had fallen from a low branch of a tree directly over his head.

Meanwhile the "ghost" that had floated out of the pine was having troubles of its own. It stopped floating with a sudden jerk and hung suspended in mid-air, with a pair of khaki legs dangling beneath the flowing garment and kicking around for something solid to stand on, while a very unghostly voice pleaded, "Gosh, sakes! Can't you help a feller down?"

A few turns of the flashlight revealed the whole plot. The "ghost" had floated on a wire stretched from the huge pine to the smaller one across the clearing. The faintly glowing light was a flashlight enclosed in a paper sack, the horrible head-dress a piece of old fur robe smeared with red paint, and the "shriek" a siren whistle.

You have heard how Death-Rattle Hill came by its name. And now you know how it came about that George Taylor of the Glenwood Scouts acquired the name of "Terry"--a name which he bears to this day.

--_Courtesy of "Boys' Life". Copyrighted, 1918, by "Boys' Life", The Boy Scouts' Magazine._

ROAST CHICKEN

All begin at the same moment. You may take thirty seconds to prepare to tell this story.

An American private spied a rooster prowling around a farm house in No Man's Land just after the Americans had captured Very. Being hungry, and having an appetite for roast chicken, this American private decided to crawl up on the rooster and trap him in the building.

The American was about to lay his hands on the astonished rooster when a German entered the rear door of the building bent on the same mission. Both were so surprised that they stood for a moment and glared at each other, then the American motioned for the German to do a right flank on the prey they were after and both closed in on him. The rooster was captured by the American, who later returned to the American lines with both rooster and German in tow.

Later, at the regimental P. C., the German roasted the chicken for his captor, who shared it with him.

--_Association Men._

WHY THE ECHO ANSWERS

Here is one of the beautiful Greek myths that everyone is supposed to know.

Try to read it so carefully in five minutes that you can tell it from start to finish without being questioned or prompted. Your teacher will let two or three of you tell the story. Perhaps some of you can do it well enough to tell it to one of the lower classes in the school.

In the ancient days in Greece, people believed not only in the great gods and goddesses, such as the god of the sea, the god of the sun, the goddess of the moon, or the goddess of the harvest, but also in many less important beings who took care of smaller things in the world of nature. In every river lived a god, for whom the stream was named. The woods were full of fair maidens called nymphs, whom mortal eyes could not see. They had various names, according to the particular objects which were their care. The nymphs who lived each in her own tree were called _dryads_; those who dwelt in the springs and brooks were _naiads_; while those whose home was in the rocks and hills were _oreads_.

Of all the mountain nymphs, or oreads, the most beautiful was a maiden named Echo. She was one of the troop of maidens who followed and attended Diana, the goddess of the woodlands. Echo was very faithful to all her tasks, devoted to her mistress, and beloved by all her companions. Her one fault was that, like many another girl, she was too fond of talking. Her tongue ran all day long. It did not matter whether or not she had anything important to talk about; talk she must. The other nymphs were used to it, and didn't pay much attention; indeed, they hardly listened to her, a thing which often happens to people who never know when to stop talking. But Juno, the queen of the gods, one day grew so tired of Echo's ceaseless chatter that she condemned her to lose her power to speak, except to repeat the words of someone who spoke to her.

This was hard enough when it meant simply that the maiden could no longer talk to her companions. If you have ever had so severe a cold that you have lost your voice for a day or two, you know how many things you think of that you want to say simply because you are unable to say them. That was poor Echo's case, only it was to last forever instead of for a few days. But far worse than this was to happen to the unfortunate maiden. One day, not long after she had lost her tongue, as we say, she saw for the first time the beautiful youth Narcissus, son of one of the river gods. From that moment Echo's heart was gone as well as her voice, for she fell in love immediately. But alas! how could she let him know it? She could not speak at all, except to mimic his last words whenever he spoke. And his words did not at all express the feelings which she wanted to utter. For instance, when Narcissus, who did not care anything about the lovesick Echo, and who was anxious to get away, cried to her, "Let us leave one another," she answered with all her heart, "One another," and tried to hasten after him. But he could not or would not understand, and did not wait for her.

At last Narcissus, who you can readily see was not as kind as he was beautiful, growing utterly weary of having the forlorn nymph pursue him, said rudely to her, "I cannot bear to come near you." "Near you," repeated Echo with all her heart, ready to fling her arms about his neck.

"Hands off!" he cried, starting back. "I would rather die than thou shouldst have me." "Have me," pleaded the unhappy Echo, but all in vain. The cruel youth would have nothing to do with her. From that time on she withdrew herself from the company of the other nymphs, and wandered alone in hidden caves and among the remotest cliffs of the mountains. Gradually she faded away till there was nothing left of her but her voice, which still repeated the last part of any sound she heard. Sometimes when you are in the woods or mountains, if you call aloud, you will hear your own voice seeming to come back to you like an answer. It is not your voice, you see, but that of the unfortunate oread; so we call the sound that rings and rolls along in answer to our voices, by the maiden's name, Echo.

Perhaps you would like to know what happened to the unkind Narcissus. Echo was not the only maiden whom he scorned. He avoided all the nymphs, for the only person whom he really loved was himself. As time went on he loved himself more and more, especially as he saw the reflection of his own beautiful face in the water. He spent his days stooping over the deep, still pool that made the best mirror. He talked to his own image in the still surface; he tried to embrace it, stooping so far over that he almost fell in. But the mirrored face made no response to all his pleadings. He was being well paid for his treatment of Echo. At last, in despair because his love was not returned, he pined away and died of a broken heart. Like other people who love themselves best, he got no happiness from his vanity and selfishness.

Perhaps you are wondering why the youth whom Echo loved bore the name of our delicate white spring flower. It is because that flower first sprang up from the ground on the spot where the beautiful Narcissus was buried.

--_Mabel Dodge Holmes._

THE FIGHT WITH THE SEA

Before you begin to read this selection, look up the word _reclaim_.

This is a good selection for outlining. You can write four or five topics that will cover the substance of the piece.

Your teacher will keep track of the time it takes each of you to read the selection and make your outline.

There are some learned people who tell us that a great many years ago the island which we call England, Scotland, and Wales was one with the continent of Europe. They say that the sea gradually made its way through a stretch of low-lying land, till at last Great Britain was completely cut off from the continent. We all know that the Eastern counties of England which face the little country of Holland are just as flat and marshy as the opposite shores. The farmers and laborers in these countries are continually endeavoring to make good pasture-land of the unhealthy marshes and fens, as they are called, and each year sees acres of land reclaimed and turned to good use; but also each year a little land is stolen from these counties by the greedy sea. The patient Dutch people on the other shore are carrying on the same kind of work. They make wonderful dykes and drive the sea always a little further and further back; and though much of their country is actually beneath the level of the sea, they jealously guard the treasure they have captured, with so much perseverance and energy that the tyrant sea is kept in subjection. Of course, as the land lies lower than the water, the natural result would be that the water would flood the land unless it were kept out by an embankment; and this wonderful little nation, so brave and daring as to defy the sea, have surrounded their land with dykes, which are huge banks towering above the lowlands of the country, and preventing the sea from obtaining entrance. Of course, these dykes could be made only gradually as the sea was turned from one spot to another by dams and locks, and these facts will give you a far better proof than any other I could find of the wonderful character and the great courage and perseverance of a nation which has reclaimed its fatherland from the sea.

You will not be surprised to be told that such a land is very damp and misty. All the surface is cut up by innumerable canals. If you could see the whole country from a height, it would look like an enormous puzzle. It consists of hundreds of green patches cut up by the waterways, and decorated with red-roofed villages and towns. Through all of these canals flows the same water; all of them are connected with one another. Here and there the canals are wide, and bear much traffic on their placid surfaces. Through miles of green fields wander little baby canals, draining the pasture-lands, and bravely carrying barges which drift slowly in single file from one busy centre to another.