Book: St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, May, 1878, No. 7.

V >> Various >> St. Nicholas Magazine for Boys and Girls, Vol. 5, May, 1878, No. 7.




I have written the foregoing part of my story at intervals, and I
would now bring it to a conclusion, for the ice is breaking up, and
we have before us our last chance.

Literature has been very scarce on board, and I had only brought
one book with me. It was Howard Pemberton's Bible. I found it in
the coat I had taken accidentally on the morning I left Blackrock
school, and I never parted with it, hoping I might be able to
restore it some day, for I found it was a sacred relic given to him
by his father, and bearing in its cover his portrait and a copy of
the dying words he spoke to Howard.

That book became my friend, and it led me to recognize a friend in
its Divine author. I had striven in vain to save myself from
myself. This book pointed me the way. I should never have read it,
however if it had not been for the kind sympathy of our captain. A
nobler man, or a truer Christian, I never met.

But our captain died, and my strength gradually failed from
privation. I cannot tell you here all that happened, but I must
refer you to a diary which I have daily kept posted, and that will
explain more fully what I am unable to write now.

We are free from the ice at last, and are drifting we know not
whither! My strength is well-nigh gone. Not a man on board can move
a hand to touch a sail. Perhaps these will be the last words I
shall ever write.

I crave from you, my dear father, and from all whom I have wronged,
forgiveness for the sorrow, distress, and injury I have wrought.
Return the Bible, please, if it ever comes into your possession, to
Howard, and tell him how I thank God for its blessed teachings.

Land is in sight; we fancy it must be the Orkneys. A storm is
gathering. Nine men lie dead upon the deck. There appears to be
certain death for us all.

As Mr. Morton finished reading the letter, he paced the room to and
fro, while the hot tears fell freely down his face; and his heart was
full of thanksgiving and praise as he cried, "This, my son, was dead
and is alive again; he was lost and is found."



CHAPTER XII.

A FAREWELL.


It was a fortnight before Digby was well enough to leave his room, and
then he had to be carried in the strong arms of Howard and Martin. So
weak--so utterly weak was he--that the strong man had become as a
little babe, and Dr. Henderson sometimes feared that he would never
know health again.

But he was bright and cheerful and happy. The joy he experienced in
finding so many dear ones around him, the relief in having unburdened
his mind, and being assured of a full and complete forgiveness; the
feeling of gratitude for the glad changes which had come to his father
and mother, and for his own happy deliverance from death, made him
think and talk so cheerily, that Ethel's heart rejoiced as she found in
the long-lost one more than her old ideal Digby.

Howard and Martin had exceeded the time of their leave from business
duties, but, in the circumstances of the case, they had been allowed
longer furlough, and were now waiting for the time when Digby would be
well enough to travel, so that they might superintend his journey home.

And the last day of the Shetland visit came. It was with a feeling of
sadness that our friends went round on the afternoon of that day to
call upon the cottagers and leave their little presents and say
farewell.

Not the least memorable event of the visit, was the gathering of the
villagers in the large room of the cottage, where our friends had taken
up their abode. It was the last night in Shetland, and it had been
Digby's earnest wish that, if he could bear it, the Hughsons and their
friends, and as many as were saved from the death-stricken ship, should
meet together to say farewell. Early in the evening, the villagers, in
their best Sunday clothes, began to assemble, and, before very long,
the room and the passage-way and the stair-way were crowded.

Dr. Henderson was there, too, and he reminded the folks present that
time was flying, and that the strength of his patients must not be
taxed too far. Then Mr. Morton rose. His face was very pale, and at
first his voice was tremulous.

"Good people all," he said, "a kind Providence brought me and mine to
this friendly island, and here we have seen and heard strange and happy
things. Curious circumstances have brought us all together; and, in
greater or less degree, we have been dependent upon one another; we
have shared suspense, joy and anxiety together; and we have received
mercies from the Great Father of us all more than we can trust our lips
to tell. You, my good sir," pointing to old Mr. Hughson, "have received
from the jaws of death two of your sons. Heaven bless them! You,"
pointing to a woman, "once more rest in the love of a husband; you, my
little ones, are rejoicing in a father's return; and I--I have received
safe and sound, my only son, whom I had long mourned as dead. Let us
thank God, all of us."

A fervent amen was uttered as if by one voice.

After this, with chat and with song, time stole away, and the happy
meeting would have been continued for an indefinite time, if Dr.
Henderson had not announced it as his opinion that it would be neither
wise nor kind to prolong it. And so with benedictions upon one another
the company separated, and the next morning our friends left the
island.

And now my story is done. I need only tell you that, after a long
time, Digby regained his strength; that he never studied law with Mr.
Vickers; but, having been started in business by his father, became a
successful merchant, with ships of his own, on which several of the
Hughson brothers found happy and profitable positions. Howard and
Martin grew to be prosperous men, and Madeleine and Ethel not only
rejoiced, but shared in their prosperity; for, of course, these two
young men could find no better wives than these two young women. But I
could not even begin to tell you of the happiness and thankfulness that
filled the heart of every person in this story, when thought arose of
that vessel which was so mercifully drifted into port.

THE END.

[Illustration]




JOHNNY'S LOST BALL.

BY LLOYD WYMAN.


Johnny had a silver dollar.

Johnny also had a good friend in the schoolmaster who, in various ways,
had so interested the boy in natural philosophy that he desired of all
things to possess a book on the subject, that he might study for
himself.

Therefore, on the very first spare afternoon Johnny had, he rolled up
his silver dollar in many folds of paper, tucked it snugly away in a
lonesome corner of an old castaway pocket-book, and started for the
village book-store; but, when he found the many nicely bound volumes
too dear for his pocket, he choked, and nearly cried for
disappointment.

"Hold on!" said the book-seller, as he slipped his lead-pencil behind
his ear, and stepped briskly to a little shelf of rusty-looking books.

"Here are some second-hand copies of Comstock, Parker and Steele, any
of which you can have for seventy-five cents,--have your pick for six
shillings. Comstock and Parker are in the best repair, and are finer
print; but for _me_, give me Steele! In buying second-hand books,
always choose the banged-up fellows. Comstock and Parker tell
everything that everybody knows or guesses. Steele biles his'n down.
But do just as you've a mind to: it wont make a bit o' difference to me
one way or the other."

Johnny took Steele, handed over his dollar, and received twenty-five
cents in change.

Before the money was fairly stowed away in his wallet his eye fell upon
a beautiful rubber ball, painted in various brilliant colors, which lay
in the show case. The book-seller tossed it upon the clean-swept floor,
and up it bounded to the ceiling.

"The last of the lot," said he; "filled with air; that's why it bounces
so; been selling at thirty cents; will close this out at twenty-five;
every boy ought to have one; children cry for 'em; just the thing for
'hand-ball,'--what d' y' say?"

"I'll take it," said Johnny; and he took his book and ball and hurried
home, "dead broke" financially, but happy, nevertheless.

Being open-hearted, he told his folks about his purchase, and they were
inclined to find fault with him, though I do not know why. He seemed
never to tire of his book and ball, but would change from one to the
other, and for some days was as happy as a king is supposed to be.

Then came his bad luck.

He was tossing his ball upon the roof of the house, and catching it as
it came down; but by and by it did not come down--it bounded into the
tin eave-trough and rolled slowly along till it came to the big pipe
that led to the cistern, and into this it dropped, and went whirring
down, and stopped somewhere with a faint plash.

For once in his life, Johnny felt as if the world had slipped from
under him.

For a few minutes he was bewildered; then came the joyful assurance
that his Steele would help him out of his trouble, and if Steele
couldn't, there was the schoolmaster.

The first thing he did was to lift the cover off the cistern, though
he knew well enough the ball was in the pipe, as he well remembered
that it ran nearly to the bottom of the cistern and then made a sharp
bend upward, "so that the water mightn't wear the cement," the mason
told him.

He found the water quite low, but not low enough to show the mouth of
the pipe. Of course, there was no ball in sight. He closed the cistern
with a groan, and got out his new book on natural philosophy. First he
glanced at optics; but that did not help him to see his way; then at
hydrostatics and hydraulics.

It was of no use; nothing seemed to hit the case. Then he gave it up,
put his book away, and went to consult the school-master. Johnny found
him among his books, and told him all about it.

"Have you tried to fish it out with a hook and line?"

Johnny's face brightened. "No, sir, I never thought of that."

"All right; you couldn't do it. Besides, if you could, it wouldn't be
scientific," said the school-master. "Now, go home, take a ten-foot
pole, and measure the distance from the eaves to the water in the
cistern, then find the diameter of the pipe, and on my way to school
to-morrow morning I will tell you the three things necessary for
recovering your ball."

Johnny fairly flew home, got a pole, measured the distance from eaves
to water and found it to be twelve feet; measured the pipe and found it
to be two inches and one-half. Then he put away the pole, did his
chores, ate a hearty supper, and went to bed.

He was up bright and early next morning, and got quickly through his
chores, so that when the school-master stopped, on his way to school,
he was ready to see about the ball.

"Good morning, Johnny! Glad to see you on hand. How long's the pipe?"

"Twelve feet, sir."

"Diameter?"

"Two inches and a half, sir."

"Ah! 2-1/2 square multiplied by .0034, and that product by twelve feet,
which is--"

"144 inches," Johnny quickly suggested.

"Will give the contents of the pipe in gallons," added the
schoolmaster. "You're quick at figures, tell me the answer."

Johnny groped among the odds and ends of his jacket pocket for a
minute, and then fished out a stubby lead-pencil, much chewed at one
end, and picking up a piece of smooth board, ciphered away swiftly and
carefully a few moments.

"3.06 is what I make it, sir."

"Very well; we'll call that right; that would be a little over a
pailful--say a pailful and a half. Now get a ladder to go up to the
roof with."

Johnny brought one in a jiffy.

"All right. Now, the three things necessary to get back your ball are,
a pailful and a half of water, a plug, and pluck."

Johnny looked as if he didn't quite understand.

"What sort of a plug, sir?" he asked.

"Oh, this will do," answered the school-master, picking up a pine stick
and beginning to whittle away vigorously. The plug was soon made. The
school-master lifted the plank cover from the cistern put the ladder
down, and said to Johnny: "Have you any pluck?"

"Lots of it," Johnny told him.

"Well, then, take this plug and stick it into the mouth of the pipe,
_snug_."

Johnny took the plug, went down the ladder into the cistern till he
reached the water, and then began feeling around for the pipe. By and
by he found it, and, inserting the plug in the opening, pushed it down
and screwed it firmly in place.

"All right!" he called out, and presently he came up the ladder.

"Now let's have the water--in two pails," the schoolmaster said, and he
saw by Johnny's face that he at last understood how the ball was to be
got out. Johnny ran to the barn, and soon came back with two pails of
water and a funnel.

"But what's the funnel for?" asked the schoolmaster as he drew the
ladder from the cistern and leaned it against the eaves.

"To pour the water into the pipe," answered Johnny, in a tone that
showed that he thought he had, for once, caught the school-master
napping.

"Ah, indeed! so you always put the funnel in when it rains?"

Johnny blushed, and did not attempt any answer.

"Now mount the ladder, and I'll hand you the water," said the
school-master.

Johnny ran up the ladder, and, when the school-master handed him the
pails, he said nothing about the funnel, but boldly dashed the water
upon the roof. When the flood began pouring into the cave-trough and
gurgling down the pipe, Johnny fixed his eyes upon the hole through
which his ball had taken its unlucky leap, and stared with anxious
expectation. The gurgle in the pipe crept steadily upward, the tone all
the while growing higher and clearer, till whish! came a dash of water
over the trough, nearly drenching the schoolmaster while the ball
bounded airily upon the eaves for an instant, before Johnny caught it
and cried out:

"Here she is!"

"Put things in shape, Johnny; I must hurry to the school-house," said
the school-master, going.




[Illustration: THE KING AND THE HARD BREAD.]


THE KING AND THE HARD BREAD.

BY J.L.


"When you want a thing done well, do it yourself," is an old saying,
and a very good one; but it is not always possible or desirable to
carry out this advice. Therefore it is sometimes better to adopt an
amendment to this proverb, and make it read thus: "When you want a
thing done well, do it yourself, or see it done."

So thought Louis IX. of France, sometimes called St. Louis, because he
was considered to be rather better than most people.

Among his good qualities was kindness to the poor. He would go about,
very plainly dressed, and attended by two or three courtiers, and visit
poor people in their houses. He took an interest in their personal
affairs, and when they were very needy, he would order bread and other
food to be supplied to them. Of course, this made him a great favorite
with the poorer classes of his subjects, and they were glad not only to
receive his bounty, but also to talk with him and tell him about their
many troubles.

One day, when he was making one of his customary rounds, an old woman,
leaning on a cane, and holding a loaf of bread in her hand, came out of
a door in a wall which led into a collection of wretched dwellings.

As this old woman stood awaiting his approach, the king could not help
feeling a little surprised. He did not often feel surprised at anything
he saw among these poor people. He had just been talking to a group of
strong, hearty fellows, who preferred sitting lazily about wherever
they could find a shelter from the rain and sun, and trusting in chance
charity for food and lodging, to working for an honest living; but he
was not surprised at them. Such men have always existed, and probably
always will exist.

He had seen all sorts of strange things among his poor people. He had
seen some who seemed to prefer to be poor; he had seen others who had
been rich, but who appeared to be happier now than when they had plenty
of money,--and perhaps plenty of anxiety with it; he had seen others
who were poor and did not know it; but this was the first time that he
had ever seen any one of them offer him bread or anything else to eat.
No wonder he was surprised when this old woman held out to him the loaf
of bread!

She did not wait for him to ask her what she meant, but immediately
commenced to explain. She told him that she and her sick old husband
were among those to whom he had ordered food to be furnished, but that
for some time all that his agents had given them was bread such as the
loaf in her hand; bread so hard that it was almost impossible for old
people to eat it, and yet they must eat it or starve.

The king listened with attention to her story, and then he took the
loaf in his hands, and broke off a small piece of it.

"It is rather hard bread," he said, thoughtfully, while his attendants
bent over to look at it, as if it were a matter of the greatest
interest to them, although it is probable that they did not care a snap
of their fingers whether or not the old woman ever had any bread.

"Yes," said the king, "it _is_ hard bread." And then he stood thinking
about it. The old woman thought he was thinking of the trouble she and
her husband had in eating it, but she was very much mistaken.

He was thinking that he had ordered that these people be well fed; that
he had supplied the money to buy them good and nourishing food. Now, if
his poor pensioners received nothing but dry bread, and very stale,
hard bread at that, while he paid for good food for them, somebody must
be making money out of him, to whom he had no idea of being charitable
in this way.

Therefore he thought that if he wanted a thing well done, he must do it
himself, or see it done. In this case he determined to see it done.

He went into the old woman's house, and he talked to her sick husband
and herself, and examined into their condition. The old people thought
he was very good to say so much about their hard fare, and so he was;
but if they could have heard what he said afterward to his dishonest
agents, when he went home to his palace, they might have been surprised
to know what an important thing a piece of hard bread may sometimes
become.

And they might have thought, too, that it was a good thing for them, as
well as for other poor people, that their bread had been so _very_ hard
that they were forced to complain of it to the king.




DISCONTENTED POLLY.


Polly ought to have been a very happy little girl, but she was not,
because she hadn't a doll. She had everything else: a beautiful
kitchen, a stove with everything to use on it, some pretty china
dishes, a table to put them on, and a neat little wicker chair to match
the table.

Only a little while ago she had three lovely dolls; but there was
another D to Polly's name--Destructive Polly; and now there was not a
bit of a dolly left, and mamma had determined to let her wait till she
wanted one so very much that when it did come she would be sure to take
care of it. But Aunt Alice said, one day, "That child shall have a doll
to-morrow." And sure enough! the next morning, in the little wicker
chair, Polly found the most beautiful doll she had ever seen.

It had fluffy, golden hair, and bright blue eyes, and a dress just like
Polly's best one with puffed sleeves. It could say "papa" and "mamma"
quite plainly, and could move its eyes.

Of course, the first thing to be done was to find a name for the new
treasure, and that made Polly discontented again. She wanted to call it
after herself, but she said, "Polly is such an every-day name, it would
never do; my doll must have a 'company' name." So she called her doll
"Rosalinda."

The next day, mamma said there might be a party in honor of the new
doll; so Polly carried Rosalinda into the play-room, put her in the
little chair, and began to get ready for the party. Rosalinda looked as
though she would like to help; so Polly filled one of her prettiest
cups with milk, and put it in the dolly's lap, while she went out for
three lumps of sugar.

Just then a dreadful thing happened. Puss, who had been hidden under a
chair, came out, jumped to Rosalinda's lap, and began to drink the milk
as fast as he could. Before it was half gone he heard Polly coming, so
he jumped down again in a hurry, and out of the window. But one hind
paw caught the cup by the handle, spilled the milk on dolly's dress,
dashed the cup to the floor, and broke it all to bits!

When Polly came in and saw this, what do you think she did? She just
looked at Rosalinda a moment, then she took her out of the chair and
shook her--shook her so hard, and sat her down again with such a bounce
that the pretty blue eyes shut up tight, and wouldn't come open.

Polly didn't mind that at first. She said, "Yes! you'd better shut
your eyes, you naughty thing! Don't tell me it was 'a accidence.' You
did it yourself, I know, and I don't love you one bit. You don't look
fit to be seen, and the party will be here before I'm ready. Oh, dear!
just open your eyes, and see what you've done."

But poor Rosalinda's eyes wouldn't open, and the more Polly shook her,
the tighter shut they stayed, till she ran, crying, to mamma, to ask
for help. Mamma had seen it all; so now she took Polly and Rosalinda
both on her lap, and gave what Polly called "a little preach."

[Illustration: "JUST OPEN YOUR EYES, AND SEE WHAT YOU'VE DONE."]

It did her good, real good, and at last she said: "Dear mamma, if
Rosalinda will only open her eyes once more and look at me, I believe I
will never be so naughty again."

So mamma found a way to open the pretty blue eyes, and Polly kissed
them both, and then kissed mamma for helping her.

By the time the party came, everything was ready. Polly was very good,
and let the girls play with her beautiful Rosalinda the whole time. I
do not know how long the good will last. I hope till every one forgets
to call her Discontented Polly, and learns to call her Darling Polly
instead.




[Illustration]

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.


Well, my dears, spring is here at last, and it is very pleasant to see
the buds and flowers again. I begin to hear the voices of the children
more often, too; and now and then I catch a glimpse of bright faces and
new dresses.

By the way, talking of dresses puts me in mind of a paragram that came
the other day, about


TRIMMINGS FOR COWS.

Something quite new to you, I dare say, for which of you ever heard of
trimming cows with their own horns and ears? How should you like to see
a cow with her ears--poor thing!--cut to the shape of a leaf with
notched edges, and horns trained in some queer shape, twisted into
curls, or divided into four, with two meeting overhead, and two turned
down toward the ground? It would be a dreadful sight to me, I am sure;
but the Africans admire such things. They consider this trimming of
cows a sort of fine art. You don't see how they manage the horns? Well,
they begin when the horns are young; divide each into two, or more, and
gradually train them, while growing, in any way they choose. Of course
it must hurt the poor cows, and take a great deal of time; but the
people who train cows' horns have not very tender feelings, and they
are richer in spare time than in anything else. Besides, they do not
have to trim their own clothes much--they're savages.


FEET AND WINGS.

I have been told that flies have suckers on their feet, and climb up
window-panes by using them, much as boys lift smooth stones with a
piece of soaked leather and a string. Is this so, little folks?

By the way, while you are thinking of flies, I once heard some
schoolma'ams (I'm sure our _little_ one was not among them) disputing
about the number of wings that a house-fly ought to have. And they
said, though it's hard to believe, that over the door of the Masonic
Temple at Boston there are bees, cut in the stone, each with only wings
enough for a fly!

Perhaps the sculptor had been reading Virgil before carving those bees,
for, as I've heard, that ancient poet in one of his writings made a
mistake as to the number of a bee's wings.


CETUS, NOT CYGNUS.

One of my sharp eyed chicks, S.E.S., of Canandaigua, sends word that
the star Mira, of which I told you last month, is in the star-group
Cetus (the Whale), not in Cygnus (the Swan). S.E.S. is right, I find,
and I'm much obliged to her.


PRSVRYPRFCTMN
VRKPTHSPRCPTSTN.

Deacon Green says that these letters were found on a wall in a church
in Wales, painted, like a text, above an inscription of the ten
commandments.

Some of you may have seen it before, he thinks; but, if not, it will be
good fun for you to find out what it means. He adds that there is but
one letter of the alphabet wanting, to make sense; this is used over
and over, and, if you put it into the right places, the text will turn
into a rhymed couplet.


A REMEDY FOR HARD TIMES.

I have a message from a bird on the Sea Islands off the coast of South
Carolina.

"Here," says my friend, "I lately found a remedy for hard times.
Looking for food one day, I came close to the home of a silk-spider who
was about to make a new web. Now, what do you think I saw him doing?
Why, he was eating up the old web, so as to turn it into thread again,
and use it a second time! Another curious thing that I found out about
this economical old fellow is that, although he has a great many eyes,
he can see only just well enough to tell light from darkness."

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