Brave and True, Short stories for children by G M Fenn and others. ________________________________________________________________________ Although Fenn's name appears on the cover, and on the title-page, hedoes not appear to have written more than one of the stories, and thestory that gave its name to the book was not by him. There are severalstories that were not signed by an author's name, so we have a mysterythere. They were probably just using Fenn's name to sell the book. The target audience appears to be seven- or eight-year-olds; certainlynot the sixteen-year-olds that Fenn generally aimed for. There aretwelve items, three of which are rather trivial "poems". The nine shortstories all have the theme "Brave and True", and vary in their settingsfrom small boarding-schools in the Home Counties, to the RockyMountains. We had originally intended to produce this book merely as a pdf (whichis of course still available), but with an effort of will we managed tomake an xhtml book of it, though this does not have all the delightfullittle line drawings that appeared throughout the eighty pages of thebook. It is possible that the principal merit of this book is the way itthrows light on the lives of the younger boarding-school boys and girlsof the nineteenth century, particularly eight to thirteen year-oldboys. I can tell you that not a lot had changed by the time I wasat such a school, less than fifty years later. Even the Eton collarand the bum-freezer jacket was familiar to me!NH________________________________________________________________________ BRAVE AND TRUE--SHORT STORIES FOR CHILDREN BY G M FENN AND OTHERS CHAPTER ONE. BRAVE AND TRUE, BY E DAWSON. "But I say, Martin, tell us about it! My pater wrote to me that you'ddone no end of heroic things, and saved Bullace senior from beingkilled. His pater told him, so I know it's all right. But wasn't it ajoke you two should be on the same ship?" Martin looked up at his old schoolfellow. He had suddenly become aperson of importance in the well-known old haunts where he had learnedand played only as one of the schoolboys. "It wasn't much of a joke sometimes, " said he. "I thought at first thatI was glad to see a face I knew. But there were lots of times afterthat when I _didn't_ think it. " "Wasn't old Bullfrog amiable, then?" "He was never particularly partial to me, you know, " answered Martin. "The first term I was at school--before you came--I remember I caughthim out at a cricket match. He was always so sure of making top score!He called me an impudent youngster in those days. " "He never was too good to you, I remember. I was one of the chaps helet alone. " "Well, he went on calling me an impudent youngster, " continued Martin, "and all that sort of thing--and he tried to set the other fellowsagainst me. Oh, it isn't all jam in the Royal Navy! You haven't leftschool when you go _there_, and the gunroom isn't always just exactlyparadise, you know! And if your seniors try to make it hot for you, why--they can!" "So you and Bullfrog didn't exactly hit it off?" "Oh, well, he was sub-lieutenant this last voyage, and you can't standup to your senior officer as you can to your schoolfellows, don't yousee?" There was a minute's silence, broken by an eager request. "But tell usabout the battle. What did it feel like to be there? How was it oldBullfrog let you go at all?" "He hadn't the ordering of _that_, thank goodness, " said Martinfervently. "And I was jolly glad he hadn't! We had some excitementgetting those big guns along, I can tell you! The roads weren't justlaid out for that game. " "Well, go on, " said another eager voice. "Then one day we came upon theenemy, and there was a stand-up fight, you know. How did it feel?Well, there wasn't much thinking about it. You just knew that you wereready to blaze at them, and they were popping at you from theirentrenchments; and that you jolly well meant to give them the worst ofit. " "Well, about Bullfrog?" "Oh, that was nothing, " said Martin, reddening. "He must have gotexcited or something, for he took a step forward, putting himself infull view, and just then I saw what he didn't see--that there were someof those Boer beggars just under our kopje, and that one of them hadraised his rifle to pick off Bullfrog. So I made a flying leap on tohis back and knocked him flat, and the bullet that was meant for himjust crossed the back of my coat and ripped it up. Didn't even scratchme!" The little knot of listeners around Martin waited with bated breath formore. "But he didn't escape scot-free after all, " continued Martin. "Tenminutes after that he got shot in the leg. The bone was fractured, andhe couldn't move. I saw him fall and I pulled him to a little hollowunder a stone where he'd be safe. And it was just as well, for thecavalry came up over there when the chase began. We gave them thelicking they deserved that day. But you know all about that. " "Wish I'd been you!" said Martin's old schoolfellow very enviously. "But what about Bullfrog after that?" "He was taken in the ambulance-cart and put in hospital. I saw himthere and he was getting on all right. " "And what did he say?" "He said I'd caught him out again and a lot more. But it was allnonsense, you know. " "I expect he was sorry he'd ever made it hot for you, " said one of thelisteners. "You ought to have a VC or something for it, _I_ consider, " saidanother. "Rot!" answered Martin. "If a schoolfellow and a shipmate of yourswanted a push out of danger, wouldn't you give it him? And you wouldn'tthink yourself a hero either!" "Other people might, though, " answered Martin's old schoolfellow. CHAPTER TWO. TWO ROUGH STONES, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. It does not take long to make a kite, if you know how, have the rightthings for the purpose, and Cook is in a good temper. But then, cooksare not always amiable, and that's a puzzle; for disagreeable people aregenerally yellow and stringy, while pleasant folk are pink-and-white andplump, and Mrs Lester's Cook at "Lombardy" was extremely plump, so muchso that Ned Lester used to laugh at her and say she was fat, whereuponCook retorted by saying good-humouredly: "All right, Master Ned, so Iam; but you can't have too much of a good thing. " There was doubt about the matter, though. Cook had a most fiery temperwhen she was busy, and when that morning Ned went with Tizzy--so calledbecause she was christened Lizzie--and found Cook in her privatepremises--the back kitchen--peeling onions, with a piece of bread stuckat the end of the knife to keep the onion-juice from making her cry, andasked her to make him a small basin of paste, her kitchen majestyuttered a loud snort. "Which I just shan't, " she cried; "and if your Mar was at home youwouldn't dare to ask. I never did see such a tiresome, worriting boy asyou are, Master Ned. You're always wanting something when I'm busy; andwhat your master's a-thinking about to give you such long holidays atmidsummer I don't know. " "They aren't long, " said Ned, indignant at the idea of holidays beingtoo long for a boy of eleven. "Don't you contradict, sir, or I'll just tell your Mar; and the sooneryou're out of my kitchen the better for you. Be off, both of you!" It was on Tizzy's little red lips to say: "Oh, please do make somepaste!" but she was not peeling onions, and had no knife with a piece ofbread-crumb at the end to keep the tears from coming. So come they did, and sobs with them to stop the words. "Never mind, Tiz, " cried Ned, lifting her on to a chair. "Here, get onmy back and I'll carry you. Cook's in a tantrum this morning. " Tizzy placed her arms round her brother's neck and clung tightly whilehe played the restive steed, and raised Cook's ire to red-hot point bypurposely kicking one of the Windsor chairs, making it scroop on thebeautifully-white floor of the front kitchen, and making the queen ofthe domain rush out at him, looking red-eyed and ferocious, for theonion-juice had affected her. "Now, just you look here, Master Ned. " But Ned didn't stop to look; for, after the restive kick at the chair, he had broken into a canter, dashed down the garden and through the gateinto the meadow, across which he now galloped straight for the newhaystack, for only a week before that meadow had been forbidden groundand full of long, waving, flowery strands. The grasshoppers darted right and left from the brown patches where thescythes had left their marks; the butterflies fled in their butterflyfashion. So did a party of newly-fledged sparrowkins, and, still playing thepony, Ned kept on, drawing his sister's attention to the variousobjects, as he made for the long row of Lombardy poplars which grew sotall and straight close to the deep river-side, and gave the name"Lombardy" to the charming little home. But it was all in vain; nothing would pacify the sobbing child, not eventhe long red-and-yellow monkey barge gliding along the river, steered bya woman in a print hood, and drawn by a drowsy-looking grey horse at theend of a long tow-rope, bearing a whistling boy seated sidewise on hisback and a dishcover-like pail hanging from his collar. "Oh, I say, don't cry, Tizzy, " protested Ned, at last, as he felt thehot tears trickling inside his white collar. "I can't help it, Teddy, " she sobbed. "I did so want to see the kitefly!" "Never mind, pussy, " said her brother; "I'll get the butterfly-net. " "No, no, " she sobbed; "please don't. " "The rod and line, then, and you shall fish. I'll put on the worms. " "No, no, I don't want to, " she said, with more tears. "Put me down, please; you do joggle me so. You'll be going back to school soon, and, now the grass is cut, I did so wa-wa-want to see the kite fly!" "So did I, " said the boy ruefully. "But don't cry, Tiz dear. Tell mewhat to do. It makes me so miserable to see you cry. " "Does it, Teddy?" she said, looking up wistfully in her brother's face, and then kissing him. "There, then: I won't cry any more. " She had hardly spoken when the sunshine returned to her pretty littleface, for, though she did not know it, that sorrowful countenance hadquite softened Cook's heart, and she stood in the kitchen doorway, calling the young people and waving a steaming white basin, which sheset down on the window-sill with a bang. "Here's your paste, Master Ned, " she shouted; and then, muttering toherself something about being such a "soft, " she disappeared. Five minutes later the young folk were in the play-room and Ned wascovering the framework of his simply-made kite with white paper, Tizzyhelping and getting her little fingers pasty the while. Then a loop wasmade on the centre lath; the wet kite was found to balance well; wingswere made, and a long string with a marble tied in the thumb of a gloveattached to the end for a tail; the ball of new string taken off the topof the drawers, and the happy couple went off in high glee to fly thekite. "It's half-dry already, " said Ned. "Paste soon dries in hot weather. " "Do let me carry the string, Teddy, " cried Tiz; and the next minute shewas stepping along with it proudly, while Ned, with his arm through theloop and the kite on his back, looked something like a Knight Crusaderwith a white shield. The grasshoppers and butterflies scattered; the paper dried rapidly inthe hot sun, as the kite lay on the grass while the string was fastened, Tizzy having the delightful task of rolling the ball along the grass tounwind enough for the first flight; and then, after Ned had thrown astray goose-feather to make sure which way the wind blew, this beingtowards the tall poplars, Tizzy was set to hold up the kite as high asshe could. "Mind and don't tread on its tail, Tiz, " shouted Ned, as he ran off towhere the ball of spring lay on the grass. "No; it's stretched right out, " she cried. "Ready?" shouted Ned. "Yes. " "Higher then. Now, off!" The string tightened as the boy ran off facing the wind, and, as if gladto be released, the kite seemed to pluck itself out of its holder'shands and darted aloft, the little girl clapping her hands with glee. For it was a good kite, Ned being a clever maker, of two summers'experience. Away it went, higher and higher, till there was no need forthe holder to run, and consequently he began to walk back towards Tizzy, unwinding more and more string till there was but little left, when thestring was placed in Tizzy's hands, and, breathless and flushed withexcitement, she held on, watching the soaring framework of paper, withits wings fluttering and its tail invisible all but the round knob atthe end, sailing about in the air. But alas! how short-lived are some of our pleasures! That fine twinewas badly made, or one part was damaged, for, just when poor Tizzy'slittle arm was being jerked by the kite in its efforts to escape and flyhigher, the string parted about half-way, and the kite learned that, like many animated creatures, it could not fly alone, for it went offbefore the wind, falling and falling most pitifully, with Ned going atfull speed after the flying string which trailed over the grass. Hecaught up to it at last, but too late, for it was just as the kiteplunged into the top of one of the highest trees by the river, and thereit stuck. Tizzy came crying up, while Ned jerked and tugged at the string till heknew that if he pulled harder the kite would be torn; but there itstuck, and Tizzy wept. "Oh, " she cried, "and such a beautiful kite as it was!" "Don't you cry, " said Ned, caressing her. "I'll soon get it again. " "Oh, but you can't, Teddy!" "Can't I?" he cried, setting his teeth. "I'll soon show you. Hold thisstring. " As his sister caught the string the boy dashed to the tree. "Oh, Teddy, don't; you'll fall--you'll fall!" cried Tizzy. "That I won't, " he said stoutly. "I've climbed larger trees than thisat school. " And, taking advantage of the rough places of the bark, the boy swarmedup to where the branches made the climbing less laborious, and then hewent on up and up, higher and higher, till the tree began to quiver andbend, and he shouted to his sister, breathlessly watching him, herlittle heart beating fast the while. She was not the only watcher, for another barge was coming along theriver, and, as it drew nearer, the boy on the horse stopped his steedand the man steering lay back to look up. And higher and higher wentNed, till the tree began to bend with his weight, and he laughingly gaveit an impetus to make it swing him when he was about six feet from wherethe kite hung upside down by its tangled tail, but happily untorn. "Look out, Tiz!" shouted Ned. "Yes, yes, dear; but do take care. " "All right, " he cried. "I'm going to cut off his tail, and I shall saywhen. Then you pull the string and it will come down. Wo-ho!" hecried, as he tugged out his knife, for the tree bent and bent like afishing-rod, the spiny centre on which he was being now very thin. Then, steadying himself, he climbed the last six feet and hung overbackwards, holding up his legs and one hand, as he used his knife anddivided the string tail. "Pull, Tiz, pull!" he shouted, "Run!" Tizzy obeyed and the kite followed her. "Hoo-ray, " shouted Ned, taking off his cap to give it a wave, when, crick! crack! the tree snapped twenty feet below him, and the nextmoment poor Ned was describing a curve in the air, for the wood and barkheld the lower part like a huge hinge, while Ned clung tightly for somemoments before he was flung outwards, to fall with a tremendous splash. Poor Tizzy heard the sharp snap of the tree and turned, to gaze inhorror at her brother's fall, uttering a wild shriek as she saw himdisappear in the sparkling water; and then in her childlike dread sheclosed her eyes tightly, stopped her ears, and ran blindly across themeadow, shrieking with all her little might and keeping her eyes fastclosed, till she found herself caught up and a shower of questions wereput. They were in vain at first, for the poor child was utterly dazed, hardlyrecognising the friendly arms which had caught her up, till those armsgave her a good shake. "Master Ned!--why don't you speak, child?--where's your brother?" "Oh, " shrieked Tizzy, "the water--the water! Tumbled in. " "Oh, my poor darling bairn!" cried Cook, hugging Tizzy to her, as sheran towards, the river. "I knew it--I knew it! I was always sure myown dear boy would be drowned. " There was no ill-temper now, for Cook was sobbing hysterically as sheran, with the tears streaming down her cheeks, till she saw somethingtaking place on the river which seemed to take all the strength out ofher legs, for she dropped upon her knees now with her lips moving fast, but not a sound was heard. The next minute she was hurrying again to the river-bank, towards whicha man was thrusting the stern of the long narrow barge which had beenpassing with the heavy long boathook, which had been used to draw poorNed out of the water as soon as he had risen to the surface. Cook reached the bank with the child in her arms just at the same momentas the man, who leaped off the barge, carrying Ned, whose eyes wereclosed and head drooping over the man's shoulder. "Oh, my poor darling boy!" wailed Cook. "He's dead--he's dead!" "Not he, missus, " cried the bargeman. "I hooked him out too sharp. Here, hold up, young master. Don't you cry, little missy; he's on'yswallowed more water than's good for him. Now then, perk up, my lad. " Poor Ned's eyes opened at this, and he stared wildly at the man, then, as if utterly bewildered, at Cook, and lastly at Tizzy, who clungsobbing to him, where he had been laid on the grass, streaming withwater. "Tiz!" he cried faintly. "Teddy! Teddy!" she wailed. "Oh, don't die! What would poor Mammado?" "Die?" he said confusedly. "Why--what? Here, " he cried, asrecollection came back with a rush, "oh, Tizzy, don't say you've lostthe kite!" "Lost the kite!" cried Cook, furiously now. "Oh, you wicked, wickedboy! What will your Mar say?" "As she was precious glad I was a-comin' by, " said the man, grinning. "There: don't scold the youngster, missus. It was all an accident, wasn't it, squire? But, I say, next time you climb a tree don't youtrust them poplars, for they're as brittle as sere-wood. There: you'reall right now, aren't you?" "Yes, " said Ned. "Did you pull me out?" "To be sure I did. " "Then there's a threepenny-piece for you, " said Ned. "I haven't got anymore. " "Then you put it back in your pocket, my lad, to buy something for yourlittle sis. I don't want to be paid for that. " "You wait till his poor Mar comes home, " cried Cook excitedly, "and I'msure she'll give you a bit of gold. " "Nay, " growled the man. "I've got bairns of my own. I don't want to bepaid. Yes, I do, " he said quickly; "will you give me a kiss, littleone, for pulling brother out?" Tizzy's face lit up with smiles, as she held up her hands to be caughtup, and the next moment her little white face was pressed against abrown one, her arms closing round the bargeman's neck, as she kissed himagain and again. "Thank you, thank you, sir, " she babbled. "It was so good of you, and Ilove you very, very much. " "Hah!" sighed the man, as he set her down softly. "Now take brother'shand and run home with him to get some dry clothes. Morning, missus. He won't hurt. " He turned away sharply and went back to his barge, from which he lookedat the little party running across the meadow, Cook sobbing and laughingas she held the children's hands tightly in her own. "And such a great, big, ugly man, ma'am, " Cook said to her mistress, when she was telling all what had passed. The tears of thankfulness were standing in Mrs Lester's eyes, andseveral of them dropped like pearls, oddly enough, just as she wasthinking that the outsides of diamonds are sometimes very rough. CHAPTER THREE. A GRATEFUL INDIAN, BY HELEN MARION BURNSIDE. Jem could not walk any farther; his ankle was badly hurt, there was nodoubt of that, and, brave little lad though he was, his heart sankwithin him, for he knew all the consequences which might ensue from sucha disaster. It was not the pain that daunted him--Jem would havescorned the imputation; neither did he fear to spend a night in theforest--he could sleep under a tree as soundly as in his own bed underthe rafters of his Father's cabin. It was warm dry weather, and he hada hunch of bread in his pocket; there was nothing therefore to be afraidof except Indians, and his Father said there were none in theneighbourhood at present. Jem's mind would have been quite easy on his own account, but he was onhis way through the forest to a village on the farther boundary toobtain some medicine for his sick Mother, which the doctor had desiredshe might have without fail that very night. Our hero, though buteleven years old, had just finished a long day's work, and it wasalready dusk, but he loved his Mother dearly, and gladly volunteered forthe ten-mile walk to fetch the medicine; he did not even wait to eat hissupper, but, putting it in his pocket to munch on the way, trotted offon his errand. Jem's Father was a small farmer, who had built his own log cabin andcleared his own fields, with no other assistance than that of his littleson; this was, however, by no means small, for frontier boys are, ofnecessity, brought up to be helpful, hardy, and self-denying. Jemtherefore felt his life of incessant labour and deprivation no hardship:he was as happy and merry as the day was long. But the misfortune thathad now fallen upon the brave little man was so severe and unexpected, he did not know how to bear it. The thought of the dear, sufferingMother waiting patiently for the medicine which would relieve her, andof the anxious, careworn Father, who would look so vainly along theforest track for his return, was too much for his affectionate littleheart; so, leaning his arms against a tree, he dropped his head uponthem and sobbed bitterly. Then, struggling up, he made another attemptto walk, for he knew he had accomplished more than half the journey, butthe injured foot would not support him, and the attempt to stand causedhim the sharpest agony. "It is of no use--I _cannot_ stand, " groaned Jem half-aloud, as, resolving to make the best of circumstances, he sat down, settled hisback against a tree, and munched up his hunch of bread. Then he saidhis prayers, with the addition of a special one that God would make hisdear Mother better without the medicine, and prepared to wait with whatpatience he might till morning, when he knew that some fur traders orhunters would surely be passing along the track, who would give him theassistance he needed. One thing Jem was determined about: he would notgo to sleep. He set himself to count the stars which peeped through theleaves above his head, and listened to the occasional stir of birds andsquirrels in their nests. He knew and loved them all, and they on their parts knew that Jem neverstole birds' eggs or merry baby squirrels, as the other boys did. "It is only Jem, " they would say when they saw him coming, and theynever thought of hiding from him. But somehow Jem did not get very far in his counting of the stars--theydanced about too much, his head _would_ drop down, and his eyes would_not_ keep open. It is not easy for a tired little boy of eleven yearsold to keep awake at night, and so in a very few minutes Jem was fastasleep. It seemed to him that he had scarcely closed his eyes when a slightnoise caused him to open them, and then he was wide awake in a moment, for, with a thrill of horror, he became aware of two Indians standingclose beside him in the strange pale-green light of early dawn. As theysilently gazed down upon him his heart seemed to stand still, and hisnext impulse was to cry out, but he had learned to keep his wits abouthim, and remember that even an Indian has a certain respect for a manlyspirit. So he sat up and boldly returned the gaze of the fierce blackeyes--but at the same time he had heard too many tales of the crueltiespractised by Indians on their captives not to realise the danger he wasin. The younger of the red men was already fingering his hatchet, whilst hemuttered some hostile words which boded no good to our hero, but theelder, who appeared to be a man of some importance, silenced hiscompanion with a gesture, and then, crossing his arms, said, in musical, broken English: "My young brother is abroad early. " "I was going across the forest to get medicine for my Mother, " repliedJem. "But the medicine-man of the palefaces does not live in the forest, "returned the Indian. "Where does the Mother of my brother live?" "In the clearing of the entrance to the west track. It was nearly darkwhen I started and I fell and hurt my leg, so that I can go no farther. " "Hu, " exclaimed the Indian, kneeling down, and taking Jem's injured footgently in his hand. "Then my brother is the son of the good palefacewoman who tended Woodpecker when he was sick, and made him well again?" "Are you Woodpecker?" exclaimed Jem gladly. "My Mother has told meabout you. " The Indian nodded, and, tearing a strip from his blanket, he dipped itin a spring of water which was near at hand, and bound it firmly roundthe boy's swollen ankle. "The Mother of my young brother is very sick?"he inquired. "Yes, " replied Jem, "and she is waiting for the medicine, and I cannotfetch it. " He winked bravely to keep back the tears which filled hiseyes at the thought. "Woodpecker will fetch the medicine. Woodpecker owes a big debt to hispaleface sister, and Indians have grateful hearts, " said the red mangravely. Jem eagerly held out to him a piece of paper, but Woodpecker shook hishead. "My brother shall speak himself to the medicine-man, " he said, and, raising the boy on his broad shoulders, he strode away quickly towardsthe village. It was scarcely daylight and no one was yet stirring, orthe sight of an Indian carrying a white boy would have excited somecuriosity. The doctor's sleepy assistant, who hastily answered Woodpecker's loudrap on the door, rubbed his eyes and stared, but he had a wholesome aweof such a visitor, and, making up the medicine, delivered it to Jem withunusual speed. The second Indian had disappeared on the way to the doctor's, and thetwo strangely-matched companions immediately set out on their returnjourney through the forest, which was rapidly traversed by Woodpecker, and by four o'clock in the morning he set Jem down on the threshold ofhis Father's door. "Will you not stay and see how Mother is? Father would like to thankyou, " said Jem. "Not now, " replied Woodpecker, taking with a grave and courteous smilethe small hand extended to him, "but say to my good white sister thather Indian brother does not forget kindness and that Woodpecker willreturn. " And as the farmer, roused by the sound of voices, opened the door, thetall figure of the red man disappeared into the forest. Jem was madehappy by finding his Mother better when, after having explained mattersto his Father, he was carried in and placed on the bed beside her. Andafter they were both recovered he had many a grand day's hunting withthe friendly and grateful Indian, who had taken a great liking for thebrave little lad, whom he ever afterwards caused his tribe to respect ashis English brother Jem. CHAPTER FOUR. IN THE COUNTRY, BY F GRAY SEVERNE. Ducklings big and ducklings small, This is how we feed them all-- Yellowbill and Featherbreast, Speckletail, and all the rest:-- On sweet meal they dine and sup-- Oh, how fast they eat it up! 'Tis indeed a pretty sight-- Soon the bucket's empty quite. "Quack!" when dinner is begun; "Quack!" they say when it is done; Though it wasn't known before, "Quack's" a duckling's word for "more. " Then the pretty feathered things Tuck their heads beneath their wings, Just as if for rest inclined, Quacking: "How well we have dined!" Later on, at evening cool, You will find them in the pool; Yellowbill and Featherbreast, Speckletail, and all the rest! CHAPTER FIVE. MY ENCOUNTER WITH A GRIZZLY, BY ARTHUR J DANIELS. The winter had set in early, and with unusual severity, when I reachedLogville, the appropriate name given to the little mining camp which hiditself away in the vast wilderness of the Rocky Mountains. A rovingdisposition, combined with a love of sport, and a desire to put oncanvas some record of the wonderful scenery of the locality, had guidedmy steps to this out-of-the-world spot. One morning when the winter was beginning to break, and the snow to showsigns of disappearing--sure evidence that the severe weather was passingaway--I slung my cloak and a bag of provisions across my shoulders, seized my rifle, and set forth on a solitary stroll. I had gone someconsiderable distance from the camp when a sudden darkening of the skytold me only too plainly of an approaching storm. Fearful of beingcaught in the downpour, I began to retrace my steps. Scarcely had I commenced my homeward journey when a sudden cry caused meto come to an abrupt standstill. A few moments of intense stillnessfollowed. I listened attentively, surveying the surrounding landscapeon all sides with the close scrutiny of an experienced hunter, who hadenjoyed many a lesson from the Indians. The piled-up rocks, scantyherbage, leafless and motionless trees gave no sign of life. No soundbroke the intense solitude. Then, with startling suddenness, anothercry, louder and more agonising than the former, echoed across the waste, and this was followed by a deep significant growl. I knew at once that the voice was that of a human being, and I knewequally well that the growl proceeded from a bear. I had heard that abig "grizzly" had been seen in the neighbourhood, and that a party hadbeen organised to track him to his lair, but had failed to come to closequarters with the wily old fellow. As these thoughts shaped themselves in my mind there came a shrill andpiercing shriek which set every nerve in my body tingling. It was thescream of a woman in mortal terror. I shouldered, my rifle and turned in the direction from which the soundsproceeded. Descending a steep cliff, I found myself in a narrow canon through whicha mountain stream, swollen by the melting snow, rushed with considerablerapidity. The first object that caught my eye was a woman carrying achild and struggling through the foaming torrent. Then I observed, somelittle distance to the rear, but following with incredible rapidity, anenormous black bear. He measured at least nine feet from his nose tothe tip of his tail, and was broad in proportion. Though of enormoussize, he progressed at a speed which was surprising. Something hadevidently irritated the brute considerably, for his whole appearance wascharacteristic of unrestrained ferocity. I dragged the panting fugitive from the water and, without asking anyquestions, advanced to the bank of the stream and prepared to take aim. Whether my gentleman had at some period of his life been so closelyassociated with the barrel of a sporting-rifle that he understood thesignificance of my movement, I know not; but certain it is that as soonas I raised the weapon, the bear first of all reared himself on his hindquarters, displaying his long narrow muzzle adorned with an assortmentof ugly fangs, and then uttering a loud noise, curiously resembling theheavy breathing of a human being, he fell down on all-fours andretreated behind a convenient boulder, over the top of which his littleeyes gleamed fiercely every now and again. The woman, who proved to be the wife of the innkeeper at whose "hotel" Iwas sojourning, was shivering with the cold, and her wet garments wererapidly congealing in the keen frosty air. Her little girl was cryingpitifully with the cold and fright. It was a question whether I should remain and finish off Bruin or hurrymy companions homeward at a fast trot. I decided to adopt the lattercourse. "The bear can wait, " I said, as I turned away; "I'll settle him anotherday. " We turned our steps in the direction of the camp, and for some distancewalked in silence. Then of a sudden a plaintive moan from the childreminded me that the wee mite and her mother, soaked with wet, were, inthe cutting air, rapidly assuming the condition of living icicles. Fortunately I had a flask with me, and, telling the exhausted andshivering woman to sit down, I rested my rifle against a stump of a treeand proceeded to prepare a dose of brandy, at the same time cheering herwith words of encouragement. "We are not far from home now, " I said, "and--" I did not finish the sentence, for a movement behind caused me to turnround. To my utter astonishment and horror I found myself face to facewith my old friend, or rather enemy. He had evidently followed withstealthy steps, the snow acting as a carpet to deaden his heavyfootsteps. My first idea was to give the intruder a dose of cold lead, but that Isoon discovered was out of the question, for the bear had calmlyappropriated my rifle, which lay beneath his paws. It seemed to me indeed that his ugly face bore a look of triumph as hecrouched over the weapon, and, judging from the blinking of his eyes, heseemed humanly conscious that, having become possessed of my trusty anddeadly friend, he had me completely in his power. To obtain possessionof the weapon was out of the question; it would have been fatal toattempt it. Motioning the woman to seize the child and hurry forward without me, Iprepared to rout the enemy by some means other than powder and shot. What means I intended to adopt I frankly admit I had not the remotestidea. The incident, so unexpected, so strange, took me completely bysurprise, and it was some moments before I recovered my senses andpresence of mind. Then I remembered that grizzlies, despite their hugebulk and ferocious tempers, are curiously alarmed by noise. I had even heard that they had been driven off, with their tails betweentheir legs, by the mere beating of a tin can. With this idea in my mindI hastily produced the metal cup of my flask, and striking it furiouslywith the hilt of my hunting-knife, I continued to produce a din whichought to have taken effect upon my four-footed adversary. I am sorry tosay it did not, however. Uttering the curious sound peculiar togrizzlies, the brute made as though it would approach still closer. The bear was somewhat lean after his long winter's sleep in some holescooped out of the earth, whither he had retired with a substantialcoating of fat upon him, as a protection against the chills of winter. The nap had gradually reduced the thickness of this protection and nowthe hungry animal, weary of search for berries and roots, contemplatedme with a look which seemed to express that a morsel of something moresubstantial would not be out of place. I commenced to retire cautiously, but I had not taken many steps whenthere came a flash, followed by a sudden report, and I staggered andfell on my knees--shot in the leg. The bear had accidentally pulled the trigger of my gun, and the bulletintended for him had found instead a billet in poor me. I tried tostaunch the wound with my handkerchief, but the blood flowed freely, andI soon began to feel exhausted. I felt my knees quivering and giving way beneath me, and a deadlyfaintness crept over me. A mist came over my eyes, and I seemed to sinkinto a deep sleep, the landscape slowly vanishing, and even the big bearstanding up before me disappearing in the darkness which envelopedeverything. The rescuing party sent in search discovered me, still breathing, thethick snow into which I had fallen having congealed over my wound andstopped the flow of blood. The bear had fled without touching me, the report of the rifle havingapparently proved too much for his nerves. He did not live long, however, for the following day he was tracked to his underground home, and there despatched. His skin is among my most cherished trophies, andI never look at it without remembering my first and last encounter witha grizzly. CHAPTER SIX. UP THE MOUNTAIN, BY FRANCES E CROMPTON. Little Kirl kept the goats on the mountain. Little Kirl was verylittle, his legs were very short, his body was very round and chubby, and he could certainly not have overtaken an active and badly-disposedgoat, whatever had been the consequences. So it was a fortunate thingthat they did not require much herding. He had only to drive them tothe pastures on the mountain in the morning, and home again in theevening, and the young ones followed the old ones, round whose necks thetinkling bells were hung. Little Kirl had only begun to keep the goats this summer, and he thoughtwhen one has become a real live goat-herd one is in a fair way to becomea man. How all the other little boys in the village must envy him--poorthings, not yet promoted to manhood! And he had a crooked stick also, and a little pipe on which he could really play several notes; and thiswas the way he went up the mountain. First there were the goats to be driven out of the gate, and what athing it was to walk after them, playing those three notes withvariations, and trying not to look too proud of himself! It was not avery large village, to be sure, the little cluster of brown chalets andthe tiny pink-washed church beside the pine-wood; but to Kirl it was awhole world looking on and admiring. He blew his three notes louderwith a more and more cheerful trill all down the street. At thecross-roads below the church the greatest caution had to be exercised tokeep the frisky kids from going the wrong way, but it was worth thetrouble. Only think how well it looked to drive them close together, and to fence them off, first on one side and then on the other, with thecrooked stick, and then, with an air as if he thought nothing of it, turn them all successfully into the narrow path, and strike up the threenotes more gaily than ever! It was the pride of Kirl's heart to countthe goats up in a business-like manner, and call them by name, and shout"thou" to them, as if he were quite hard-hearted, instead of loving themwith all his might. There was one goat in particular that was the pride of Kirl's heart; shewas not more than a kid, and snowy white, with a beautiful little headand a bright eye, a credit to any man's herd. How little Kirl lovedher! He called her Liesl, as if she had been his sister. The path ledupwards first through the pine-woods, with moss a foot deep on eitherside, where the wood was damp with the dividing arms of the stream, andthe moss on the trees hung in solemn grey clusters, like bannersswinging from the branches. And then the path grew steeper and runnelsof water dripped down the rocks, all covered with ferns and saxifrage. Down below on one side lay the rushing stream and the valley where thevillage was, and up above on the other side rose the great mountains, dark with pine-woods about their feet and glittering with snow upontheir heads. Little Kirl loved the mountains. He had been born under their shadow, and perhaps it was this that made him wander up them as far as he daredgo, for they seemed to draw him to them. Some day--it was such atremendous thought that little Kirl kept it quite to himself, deep downin his mind--but some day, when he had got beyond even herding thegoats, he meant to become a guide. The way up the mountain hitherto for little Kirl ended in the grassypasture where the goats stayed. Here was a pleasant slope thick withglobe-flowers and narcissus at the lower end, and fragrant with wildthyme at the upper ridge, where the precipice began. And now this is the story of little Kirl and the goats. For it was atthis place one hot day in July, when little Kirl sat clasping his kneesand looking up at the mountain-tops, that he was suddenly wakened fromhis dream by seeing Liesl perched on the extreme edge of the precipice. It was a spot to which the goats were not allowed to go, for, sure-footed though they were, it was crumbling and unsafe. And therestood Liesl, the flower of the flock, her pretty snowy figure againstthe dark-blue sky. Even as little Kirl leaped up and called her, shethrew up her graceful head as if in pride. And then there came the most dreadful thing that had ever happened inlittle Kirl's life. Exactly how it was he could not afterwardsremember, but all in a moment Liesl, who could perch herself, as itseemed, on nothing at all, pretty, sure-footed Liesl was over the edge!Little Kirl threw himself down on his face in an agony, and peered overthe edge, calling and screaming wildly in his despair, for there was nohope of saving poor Liesl. But yes, there was! Down there she had gother fore-foot on a ledge below the brink, and was fighting andscrambling to regain her foothold. The loose stones were slipping awayunder the pretty tufts of "student roses" that grew amongst the shale, and poor Liesl was slipping away too, down and down. She was staring up at him with imploring eyes, with a look that seemedto call aloud for help. But little Kirl had got her. It was not fornothing that little Kirl's eyes were so steady when they looked in yourface and his face was so square about the chin, however much he smiled. Those stout little arms were clinging to neck and leg as if the owner ofthem would be dragged over the ledge himself before he would leave poorLiesl to her fate. Let her go? No! _That_ was not the way little Kirlkept his charge; _that_ was not the way of men on the mountains. But Liesl was not light, and Kirl was only little, and his breath cameand went, and his eyes saw nothing, and the world was whirling round, and a great sob burst from him. And then a big, big voice said: "Thoulittle thing! Thou little, good thing!" And two big, big arms camedownwards and caught little Kirl and Liesl up together into--oh, suchblissful safety! And little Kirl stood clinging to somebody; and whathappened next he did not know. Careless, ungrateful Liesl only shookherself and frisked off, with a little squeal of relief, to join theolder and wiser goats. But little Kirl, when he next knew what he was doing, found that he wascrying and sobbing uncontrollably, and big Kirl, the tallest, handsomestman in the village, was patting his shoulders, and soothing andconsoling and praising him. And yet more--big Kirl, one of the bestguides in the canton, whose fame had gone far abroad, by whom it was anhonour to be noticed at all, said, and little Kirl heard it with his ownears: "Na, if I had not seen it, I would not have believed it! But yes, I saw it, and I saw also in days to come the little man will make such aguide of mountains as Switzerland may be proud of!" CHAPTER SEVEN. A NEW SET. An old Crocodile Once lived near the Nile, Whose teeth began useless to get, oh! But he cried with delight: "I shall dine well to-night Now of teeth I have got a new set, oh!" CHAPTER EIGHT. GRANDFATHER'S HERO, BY ANON. "Harry Moore's a milksop, " said Bob decidedly. "Why?" asked his sister. "I thought you liked him. " "So I did, " answered Bob, "but I hadn't found out what a stupid he was. " "And how did you find it out?" asked Maud. "Well, I'll tell you, " said Bob. "Last Saturday, you know, we had apaper-chase, and the track was over the bog meadows down by the river. Harry Moore and I were last, and all of a sudden he stopped and said: `Ican't go over these fields. ' I asked him why not, and he said they were_too wet_. " Bob uttered the last words very contemptuously. "Well?" questioned Maud. "Well, I told him he was a little milksop and had better go home, and hewent, and I haven't spoken to him since, although I met him and hislittle sister and brother with their go-cart this morning. I don't careabout being friends with milksops, " Bob added frankly. "Of course not, " Maud agreed. "Oh, bother this rain, " said Bob impatiently. "It's going to be wetthis afternoon. What shall we do?" "Come here, children, " said their Grandfather, from his chair by thefireside. "I will tell you a little story to while away the time. " The old man had been sitting with his eyes closed, and the childrenthought he was asleep. But he had heard Bob's anecdote. Grandfather's stories were always interesting, and the children wereglad to forget the weather in listening to one of them. "I was thinking just now, " said their Grandfather presently, "of a greatand good man, who is now one of the greatest officers in the army. Iwant to tell you a little incident that happened when we were schoolboystogether. We were three years together, then he left, and I have neverseen him again, for his life has been spent in foreign lands. He wassome years older than I, and I daresay he soon forgot the little fellowwho used secretly to look up to him and worship him. But now I musttell you why he became my hero. One day a party of boys had arranged towalk to a place four miles distant, where there was to be a meet of thehounds. I wanted very much to go; I joined the party as they set out ontheir expedition. There were six boys, all older than myself, one ofthem being the handsome, clever fellow whom even then I thought superiorto all the rest. Well, it was a good long walk, over fields and hedgesand ditches. I had some trouble to keep up with the others, for youmust remember I was a very small boy then, and once, in jumping a ditch, I gave my ankle a little twist which made it still more difficult to goalong fast. However, no one noticed me, and I was determined not to bebeaten. "At last we came to a large field, where some cattle were grazing whichwe had to cross. "`There's a mad bull in this field, ' said one of the boys; `he chasedFarmer Jones the other day. ' "`We can run for it, ' said another coolly, `if he comes after us. ' "Now, I knew I could not run with my sore ankle, and the idea of thebull terrified me. `Can't we go another way?' I asked. "Fear must have been written on my face, for some of the boys burst outlaughing. "`Little Morrin's afraid, ' said one mockingly. `Sit down under thehedge, dear: then the bull won't see you. ' "`Go on, ' said another; `never mind the little milksop. ' "But my hero, the biggest and strongest of all, looked at me kindly andsaid: `Is anything the matter, little Morrin?' "And, reassured by his kind tones, I told him I had hurt my foot alittle, and did not think I could run. "`Get up on my back then, ' said he, and, before I could say a word, hestooped down and lifted me up with his strong arms, then strode on asbefore. "The others began to taunt and mock me. "`Let him alone, you fellows, ' said my champion. `He's a plucky littlechap to come at all with such pleasant companions as we've been. ' "We got through the field without attracting the attention of the bull. The place of the meet was just beyond, and we were in good time to seethe gay scene. We went back by a different road, and my hero made themall march slowly so that I might be able to keep pace with them. "It was a little thing, was it not, Bob? I say: a little thing. Perhaps you will hardly believe that one little act of kindness alteredmy whole life. It taught me lessons which I might never have learnedotherwise. It showed me how we can help one another by the simplestkindness and sympathy. All through my life his influence has helped andencouraged me--though, as I tell you, I never saw him again. " "Is that all, Grandpa?" asked Maud. But Bob did not speak. He was thinking of what he had said about HarryMoore. "I think, " he said to Maud that evening, "I'll just ask Moore why he wasafraid of the wet fields. Perhaps he's delicate, or perhaps he'dpromised not to go. " "Grandfather's hero wouldn't have called him a milksop, " said Maudthoughtfully. "No, " answered Bob, "and I wish I hadn't; but then, you know, I hadn'theard about Grandfather's hero. " CHAPTER NINE. BERNARD'S EXPERIMENT, BY ANON. When the Headmaster sent for Gray Minor, on receipt of a telegram fromhis home, the boys were in great consternation, because they allregarded him as a "ripping good fellow. " "I wonder what's up, " said one, and this speech expressed the feeling ofevery boy. Then Gray Minor appeared, white, but determined, and toldthem that, his widowed Mother being suddenly ruined, he would have toleave the school at once. "I say, Gray, you're such a chap for experiment, perhaps you'll see yourway out of this fix; but, all the same, it's jolly hard lines on you, "said his greatest chum, wringing Gray's hand. The boys expressed theirgrief in different ways, but each was equally sincere, and Gray Minordeparted, universally regretted. Mrs Gray sat by the fire of the little cottage parlour, a black-edgedletter lying idly between her fingers. Very pale, she had theappearance of one who had passed many sleepless nights. Outside, theNovember sky was overcast, the rain was coming down in torrents, andsad-looking people picked their way down the muddy lane under streamingumbrellas to the railway-station. Suddenly, a quick, firm footstep sounded on the little garden path, anda boy's round face smiled in at the diamond-paned window like a ray ofbright sunshine. Mrs Gray almost ran to the door. "Bernard, you mustbe drenched!" she cried. "No, Mother, not a bit of it, " he laughed, taking off his streamingmackintosh. "It is such a dreadful day, " she said, but her face had brightenedastonishingly at the sight of her brave boy. "Yes, but it has put a scheme--a grand scheme in my head! Wait until Iget my wet togs off and I'll tell you. " "An _experiment_?--already! oh, Bernard!" Mrs Gray laughed with actualjoy: her faith in her only son was so unquestioning. As Bernard came downstairs, the faithful old servant was carrying in asubstantial tea for her young master. "Hullo, Dolly, " he cried; "Ihaven't stayed up the remainder of the term, you see. " "Ah, Mr Bernard, it's well you take it so lightly--but it's black ruinthis time and no mistake. My poor mistress has been fretting night andday over it. Whatever is she to do?" "Trust herself to me, " said Bernard valiantly. Dolly laughed. "Why, you ain't sixteen, Mr Bernard, and not done withyour schooling. But, as parson said, so strange-like, on Sunday, forhis text--`the only son of his mother and she was a widow'--you're allshe has left. " When Mrs Gray and her son were alone she told Bernard the whole historyof their misfortunes. An unfortunate speculation on the part of theirtrustee had left them almost penniless. "There is nothing left to us, "she said, "but this little cottage and seventeen pounds in the cash-box. But, Bernard, " she added, "I grieve over nothing but your school. Youhad such a brilliant future, and so many friends. " "Oh, but there were to be so many new fellows next term--nearly all mychums were to leave, so don't grieve over that, " answered Bernard, ignoring her words about his future. Then he explained his"experiment. " "I have decided, " he said, "to sweep a crossing. " "Sweep a crossing! Ah, that is what so many people say, but they wouldnever do it when it came to the point. " "It's what I mean to do, " said Bernard quietly. "It's an inspiration, Mother, I assure you. You say this cottage is freehold, is it not, andworth--how much?" "I have been offered one hundred pounds for it, but it is too near therailway, and too much out of repair to be valuable. " "We shall do better than that. Do you know how many people go down thisroad daily to the station since all those new villas were built?" Mrs Gray shook her head. "Five hundred, and the place is growing like--well, like old boots. Now, Mother, this is my scheme. You know how bad the approach to thestation is. You know, also, that the new asphalt path from the newblocks of houses comes to our very garden gate. Well, people can comeso far without muddying their boots. Now, our garden abuts almost onthe railway-platform, so I propose sweeping a path straight across fromthe road, putting up a gate at each end, and saving people five hundredyards of quagmire, and a good five minutes in time, and a lot ofswear-words, and my charge for all these improvements will be onepenny!" The next morning, at half-past seven, the new path of forty yards wasswept from end to end, some of the palings were pulled down near therailway-bank, and another small path swept up to the platform. An old door was placed lengthwise over the front gate and painted white, and on it, in somewhat clumsy printing, was the announcement:--"Quickestway to Endwell Railway-Station. Dry all the way. Admission, onepenny. " About eight o'clock the business men came hurrying along under theirumbrellas, for it was still drizzling. They looked at Bernard in acurious way and then at the signboard, but they scarcely grasped thesituation, and plunged heroically into the five hundred yards of mud. At nine o'clock a wealthy stockbroker came panting along, late for histrain; so Bernard shouted to him: "Come my way, Mr Blunt; it will saveyou five hundred yards and all that horrid mud!" "Hullo, Gray; back from school?" he gasped. "What's the idea, eh?" So Bernard told him his scheme in as few words as possible. "Then I'll be your first patron, my boy, " and Mr Blunt held out ashilling. "There's your first capital. " "Only a penny, " laughed Bernard, pushing back the kind hand, andpointing to his signboard. "Oh, we are proud, " said Mr Blunt. "Well, I wish you luck! Throughyou I shall catch my train, and it means a little matter to me to thetune of three hundred pounds. " A week after this, scores of people went through Bernard's gardenmorning and evening, and the whole place rang with his pluckyexperiment. "Four pounds, five and sixpence for the first week, Mother;but we will do better yet, " said Bernard. Many people came through the gates from sheer curiosity, and nearlyeveryone preferred paying him the penny toll, instead of walking thefive hundred yards of uneven road, even on dry days! In the followingspring, Endwell suddenly grew into such an important place that therailway company was compelled to enlarge the station, and a directorbeing informed of Bernard's experiment, and the distinct value of ashorter approach, came to see Mrs Gray about her little property, butshe would not be "talked over" by the smart director. Then anenterprising builder came, and made a very tempting offer. Still sheresisted. At last, however, the railway people offered a price which itwould have been folly to refuse, so Bernard was forced to give up his"scheme. " Mrs Gray now lives in a pretty flat in South Kensington with herfaithful old Dolly, surrounded by many of her former luxuries, but sheis happiest in the possession of such a brave and noble son. Bernard'sfuture is assured, for he showed all the qualities that command successin his last _experiment_. CHAPTER TEN. TOBY THE CLOWN, BY ANON. Toby's the most famous clown, In the country or the town; Never was a laugh so ringing, When the children hear him singing! See, he stands upon two legs, With his hat for coppers begs; Do you think that you, if you Were a dog, as much could do? Little maid and little man, Throw him all the pence you can! When perhaps he'll show you how He says "Thank you, " Bow! wow! wow! CHAPTER ELEVEN. A CHRISTMAS PARTY, BY JOHN STRANGE WINTER. It was getting very near Christmas-time, and all the boys at Miss Ware'sschool were talking excitedly about going home for the holidays, of thefun they would have, the presents they would receive on Christmasmorning, the tips from Grannies, Uncles, and Aunts, of the pantomimes, the parties, the never-ending joys and pleasures which would be theirs. "I shall go to Madame Tussaud's and to the Drury Lane pantomime, " saidyoung Fellowes, "and my Mother will give a party, and Aunt Adelaide willgive another, and Johnny Sanderson and Mary Greville, and ever so manyothers. I shall have a splendid time at home. Oh, Jim, I wish it wereall holidays, like it is when one's grown up. " "My Uncle Bob is going to give me a pair of skates--clippers, " remarkedHarry Wadham. "My Father's going to give me a bike, " put in George Alderson. "Will you bring it back to school with you?" asked Harry. "Oh, yes, I should think so, if Miss Ware doesn't say no. " "I say, Shivers, " cried Fellowes, "where are you going to spend yourholidays?" "I'm going to stop here, " answered the boy called Shivers, in a veryforlorn tone. "Here--with old Ware?--oh, my! Why can't you go home?" "I can't go home to India, " answered Shivers. His real name, by thebye, was Egerton--Tom Egerton. "No--who said you could? But haven't you any relations anywhere?" Shivers shook his head. "Only in India, " he said miserably. "Poor old chap; that's rough luck for you. Oh, I'll tell you what itis, you fellows: if I couldn't go home for the holidays--especiallyChristmas--I think I'd just sit down and die. " "Oh, no, you wouldn't, " said Shivers; "you'd hate it and you'd get everso homesick and miserable, but you wouldn't die over it. You'd just getthrough somehow, and hope something would happen before next year, orthat some kind fairy or other would--" "Bosh! there are no fairies nowadays, " said Fellowes. "See here, Shivers: I'll write home and ask my Mother if she won't invite you tocome back with me for the holidays. " "Will you really?" "Yes, I will: and if she says yes, we shall have such a splendid time, because, you know, we live in London, and go to everything, and haveheaps of tips and parties and fun. " "Perhaps she will say no, " suggested poor little Shivers, who hadsteeled himself to the idea that there would be no Christmas holidaysfor him, excepting that he would have no lessons for so many weeks. "My Mother isn't at all the kind of woman who says no, " Fellowesdeclared loudly. In a few days' time, however, a letter arrived from his Mother which heopened eagerly. "My own darling boy, " it said, "I am so very sorry to have to tell youthat dear little Aggie is down with scarlet fever, and so you cannotcome home for your holidays, nor yet bring your young friend with you, as I would have loved you to do if all had been well here. Your AuntAdelaide would have had you there, but her two girls have both gotscarlatina--and I believe Aggie got hers there, though, of course, poorAunt Adelaide could not help it. I did think about your going to CousinRachel's. She most kindly offered to invite you, but, dear boy, she isan old lady, and so particular, and not used to boys, and she lives sofar from anything which is going on that you would be able to go tonothing; so your Father and I came to the conclusion that the very bestthing that you could do under the circumstances is for you to stay atMiss Ware's and for us to send your Christmas to you as well as we can. It won't be like being at home, darling boy, but you will try and behappy--won't you, and make me feel that you are helping me in thisdreadful time. "Dear little Aggie is very ill, very ill indeed. We have two nurses. Nora and Connie are shut away in the morning-room and to the back stairsand their own rooms with Miss Ellis, and have not seen us since the dearchild was first taken ill. Tell your young friend that I am sending youa hamper from Buzzard's, with double of everything, and I am writing toMiss Ware to ask her to take you both to anything that may be going onin Cross Hampton. And tell him that it makes me so much happier tothink that you won't be alone. "Your Own Mother. "This letter will smell queer, darling: it will be fumigated beforeposting. " It must be owned that when Bertie Fellowes received this letter, whichwas neither more nor less than a shattering of all his Christmas hopesand joys, that he fairly broke down, and, hiding his face upon his armsas they rested on his desk, sobbed aloud. The forlorn boy from India, who sat next to him, tried every boyishmeans of consolation that he could think of. He patted his shoulder, whispered many pitying words, and, at last, flung his arm across him andhugged him tightly, as, poor little chap, he himself many times sincehis arrival in England had wished someone would do to him. At lastBertie Fellowes thrust his Mother's letter into his friend's hand. "Read it, " he sobbed. So Shivers made himself master of Mrs Fellowes' letter and understoodthe cause of the boy's outburst of grief. "Old fellow, " he said at last, "don't fret over it. It might be worse. Why, you might be like me, with your Father and Mother thousands ofmiles away. When Aggie is better, you'll be able to go home--and it'llhelp your Mother if she thinks you are almost as happy as if you were athome. It must be worse for her--she has cried ever so over thisletter--see, it's all tear-blots. " The troubles and disappointments of youth are bitter while they last, but they soon pass, and the sun shines again. By the time Miss Ware, who was a kind-hearted, sensible, pleasant woman, came to tell Felloweshow sorry she was for him and his disappointment, the worst had gone by, and the boy was resigned to what could not be helped. "Well, after all, one man's meat is another man's poison, " she said, smiling down on the two boys; "poor Tom has been looking forward tospending his holidays all alone with us, and now he will have a friendwith him. Try to look on the bright side, Bertie, and to remember howmuch worse it would have been if there had been no boy to stay withyou. " "I can't help being disappointed, Miss Ware, " said Bertie, his eyesfilling afresh and his lips quivering. "No, dear boy; you would be anything but a nice boy if you were not. But I want you to try and think of your poor Mother, who is full oftrouble and anxiety, and to write to her as brightly as you can, andtell her not to worry about you more than she can help. " "Yes, " said Bertie; but he turned his head away, and it was evident tothe school-mistress that his heart was too full to let him say more. Still, he was a good boy, Bertie Fellowes, and when he wrote home to hisMother it was quite a bright every-day letter, telling her how sorry hewas about Aggie, and detailing a few of the ways in which he and Shiversmeant to spend their holidays. His letter ended thus:-- "Shivers got a letter from his Mother yesterday with three pounds in it:if you happen to see Uncle Dick, will you tell him I want a `Waterbury'dreadfully?" The last day of the term came, and one by one, or two by two, thevarious boys went away, until at last only Bertie Fellowes and Shiverswere left in the great house. It had never appeared so large to eitherof them before. The schoolroom seemed to have grown to about the sizeof a church; the dining-room, set now with only one table, instead ofthree, was not like the same; while the dormitory, which had neverbefore had any room to spare, was like a wilderness. To Bertie Fellowesit was all dreary and wretched--to the boy from India, who knew no otherhouse in England, no other thought came than that it was a blessing thathe had one companion left. "It is miserable, " groaned poor Bertie, as they strolled into the greatechoing schoolroom after a lonely tea, set at one corner of the smallestof the three dining-tables; "just think if we had been on our way homenow--how different!" "Just think if I had been left here by myself, " said Shivers, and hegave a shudder which fully justified his name. "Yes--but--" began Bertie, then shamefacedly and with a blush, added:"you know, when one wants to go home ever so badly, one never thinksthat some chaps haven't got a home to go to. " The evening went by; discipline was relaxed entirely, and the two boyswent to bed in the top empty dormitory, and told stories to each otherfor a long time before they went to sleep. That night Bertie Fellowesdreamt of Madame Tussaud's and the great pantomime at Drury Lane, andpoor Shivers of a long creeper-covered bungalow far away in the shiningEast, and they both cried a little under the bed-clothes. Yet each puta brave face on their desolate circumstances to each other, and soanother day began. This was the day before Christmas Eve, that delightful day ofpreparation for the greatest festival in all the year--the day when inmost households there are many little mysteries afoot, when parcels comeand go, and are smothered away so as to be ready when Santa Claus comeshis rounds; when some are busy decking the rooms with holly andmistletoe; when the cook is busiest of all, and savoury smells rise fromthe kitchen, telling of good things to be eaten on the morrow. There were some preparations on foot at Minchin House, though there wasnot the same bustle and noise as is to be found in a large family. Andquite early in the morning came the great hamper which Mrs Fellowes hadspoken of in her letter to Bertie. Then just as the early dinner hadcome to an end, and Miss Ware was telling the two boys that she wouldtake them round the town to look at the shops, there was a tremendouspeal at the bell of the front door, and a voice was heard asking forMaster Egerton. In a trice Shivers had sprung to his feet, his facequite white, his hands trembling, and the next moment the door wasthrown open, and a tall, handsome lady came in, to whom he flew with asobbing cry of: "Aunt Laura! Aunt Laura!" Aunt Laura explained in less time than it takes me to write this, thather husband, Colonel Desmond, had had left to him a large fortune, andthat they had come as soon as possible to England, having, in fact, onlyarrived in London the previous day. "I was so afraid, Tom darling, " she said, in ending, "that we should notget here till Christmas Day was over, and I was so afraid you might bedisappointed, that I would not let Mother tell you that we were on ourway home. I have brought a letter from Mother to Miss Ware--and youmust get your things packed up at once and come back with me by thesix-o'clock train to town. Then Uncle Jack and I will take youeverywhere, and give you a splendid time, you dear little chap, here allby yourself. " For a minute or two Shivers' face was radiant; then he caught sight ofBertie's down-drooped mouth, and turned to his Aunt. "Dear Aunt Laura, " he said, holding her hand very fast with his own, "I'm awfully sorry, but I can't go. " "Can't go? and why not?" "Because I can't go and leave Fellowes here all alone, " he said stoutly, though he could scarcely keep a suspicious quaver out of his voice. "When I was going to be alone, Fellowes wrote and asked his Mother tolet me go home with him, and she couldn't, because his sister has gotscarlet fever, and they daren't have either of us; and he's got to stayhere--and he's never been away at Christmas before--and--and--I can't goaway and leave him by himself, Aunt Laura--and--" For the space of a moment or so, Mrs Desmond stared at the boy as ifshe could not believe her ears; then she caught hold of him and halfsmothered him with kisses. "Bless you, you dear little chap, you shall not leave him; you shallbring him along and we'll all enjoy ourselves together. What's hisname?--Bertie Fellowes. Bertie, my man, you are not very old yet, soI'm going to teach you a lesson as well as ever I can--it is thatkindness is never wasted in this world. I'll go out now and telegraphto your Mother--I don't suppose she will refuse to let you come withus. " A couple of hours later she returned in triumph, waving a telegram tothe two excited boys. "God bless you, yes, with all our hearts, " it ran; "you have taken aload off our minds. " And so Bertie Fellowes and Shivers found that there was such a thing asa fairy after all. CHAPTER TWELVE. HAGGART'S LIE, BY GERALDINE GLASGOW. Crawley Major was talking very impressively in the great class-room ofFelton College. Even the few slow boys who were still mumbling overtheir Latin grammar for next day had one ear pricked up to hear what hewas saying. "I'll tell you what it is, " said Crawley Major, addressingthem generally: "the Doctor is in a furious wax, and he will be prettyfree with his canings and impositions to-morrow. I just happened to betaking a message to Barclay, when he comes fussing in, not seeing me, and just _swells_ up to Barclay, _purple_ with rage. `Somebody has hadthe boat out on the river again, Mr Barclay, ' he says, `notwithstandingmy orders and all the fines and punishments I have imposed, and I'mdetermined to find out who it is. ' Then he saw me and turned purpleagain. `Now, Crawley, you have heard what I said, and you can justreturn to the class-room and tell your companions that I shall come downin half an hour, and I intend to have the truth about that boat if Ihave to keep every boy in the school under punishment for the nextmonth;' so here I am. " "Oh, stop that, Crawley, " said a bright, handsome lad, who was standingon the table so as to get a better view of the proceedings. "TheDoctor's not often in a wax, and it's no joke when he is. I didn'tthink there was a fellow in the school would have touched the boat afterwhat he said last time. " All the boys hurled themselves at the table from which Haggart had beengiving out his opinions, and there was a general shout of: "No!" "It _must_ be all right, " said Haggart again. He was looking carelesslyround, and he suddenly caught sight of a frightened face a long waybeneath him. "Don't be in such a funk, Harry, " he said good-humouredly. "It will all come right in the end! The Doctor's awfully hardsometimes, but he's always just--eh, Crawley?" "He canes you first, and he's just afterwards, " said Crawley grimly. The little boy shivered, and, when he tried to speak, his teethchattered. "Does--does he cane very hard?" "Oh, dear, yes, " said Crawley mischievously; "you don't forget it forsome days, I can tell you! Just look at little Parker, " he went on, pointing to the child's terrified face: "wouldn't any unprejudicedperson think he had done it himself?" "Oh, no, no, " cried the boy angrily, "how dare you say so? How could I?What would I want with a boat?" "Reserve your defence for the Doctor, sir, " said Crawley impressively. Something in the boy's piteous eagerness had attracted Haggart'sattention, and he turned and looked at him sharply. His eyes were wideopen and had a terrified look, and his thin lips were trembling, hissmall childish hand was fidgeting with the buttons of his coat. First, a breath of suspicion came to Haggart, and a great rush of pityand contempt; then, as the child's eyes seemed to rise unwillingly tohis, the secret leaped from one heart to the other, and he knew. Hislips curled disdainfully, and he jumped off the table, hustling hislittle band of followers out of the way. "There's the Doctor, " he said; "let me pass. " All the boys stood up as the master majestically moved over to thefireplace and kicked the logs into a blaze. Then he faced roundsuddenly, and spoke in his peculiarly clear, decisive tones. "There hasbeen an act of great disobedience perpetrated here during the lasttwenty-four hours, " he said. "Crawley overheard me speaking on thesubject to Mr Barclay, and has probably told you what it is. I had, asyou all know, given strict orders that the boat was not to be taken onthe river by any of the boys, and this morning it was found outside theboathouse tied to a stake. There is no doubt that one of my boys didthis, and the only reparation he can make is to own his fault at once, and take the punishment!" There was dead silence. One heart in the room was beating like a sledge-hammer against the Etonjacket that enclosed it, but no one spoke. Only Haggart turned hishead, and looked again at the fourth-form boys, and as if they wereunder a spell, the grey eyes, full of terrified entreaty, were lifted tohis. He tried to forget the look. He wished he could make that foolishchap understand that a caning was nothing, after all! All fellows worththeir salt got caned at school. Well, after all, he had to take hischance with the others, but he wished he would not keep looking acrossat _him_ in that beastly way, as if _he_ had the keeping of hisconscience! "Well?" said the Doctor. But no one spoke. "I am sorry, " said the Doctor more quietly, "that the boy who did it hasnot had the courage to own up, but I will give him another chance. Iwill take every boy's separate answer, and, after that, the whole schoolwill be kept in the playground until the end of the term, unless theguilty boy will take the punishment on himself. " Haggart's face was very anxious as he, too, leant forth to see thefourth-form fellows, but all he could catch a sight of was a smooth, fair head that had drooped very low. The Doctor, with a disappointed face, turned to the senior class. "Itseems hardly necessary to go through the form, " he said. "I think I cancount on my senior boys. You, Crawley? You, Brown? You, Haggart?" "I did it, " said Haggart, in a clear, loud voice, and the Doctor'soutstretched finger fell. "You, Haggart--_you_?" he said, in an incredulous voice. "Impossible!You?" said the Doctor again. "Yes, sir. " "Then there is nothing more to be said--_now_. Only, I am surprised, and--disappointed. You can go now; you will sleep to-night in the smallspare room, and I will see you to-morrow. Go!" Haggart moved slowly to the door, and as he turned the handle, he hearda noise, and then the Doctor's voice, speaking sharply: "What is that?What are they doing on the fourth form?" "Harry Parker has a fit, or he's dead, or something, " said a scaredvoice. "No, he has only fainted, " said Mr Barclay. "Take him to Miss Simpson, Barclay, " said the Doctor. "He is a delicate little fellow. " ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Wasn't there a fellow called something Curtius, who saved a city once?"said a first-form boy, in a whisper. "Yes; he leaped into a gulf. " "Well, that's what Haggart's done, " said the boy. "Rot!" said the other boy, still whispering. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Nothing seemed very clear to Haggart's mind as he slowly undressed inthe cold, unused room. His brain was worried and confused. He wishedhe could have had the light of the Doctor's clear mind upon it, but, ofcourse, that was impossible. "If he _is_ waxy, he's always just, " he found himself saying out loud;and then, just before he went to sleep, "but, at any rate, I can bear itbetter. " There is no need to dwell upon the weeks that followed. Haggart tookhis punishment bravely enough, but that time was always, in after-life, a hideous memory to him. To be unloved, untrusted, solitary, anddespised, to be coldly disbelieved or contemptuously contradicted, wasso very hard to bear! But, with a strange and sickening sense of dread, he found himself longing, most of all, to hear of Harry--to know if hewere sorry, or remorseful, or only thankful to be spared! Then, atlast, in some roundabout way the news came to him. Harry had been taken ill with brain fever the very day after thetragedy, and had been sent home; and it gave Haggart his first moment ofconscious happiness to realise that he had perhaps saved the poor, weak, little, trembling creature from one night of fear and anguish. The boys were always kind to him in their peculiar way. There seemed tobe a bewildered feeling in their minds of cruelty and injustice, andthey were glad that he had not stuck out to the last and included thewhole school in the punishment; so sticks of liquorice, and jam-tarts, and even white mice, were secretly conveyed to his desk as tokens offriendship; but, although Haggart was grateful for the attentions, hecould never quite shake off the longing to make a clean breast of it tothe Doctor, and get his troubled mind set straight. But one morning before the holidays a thrill went through the wholeschool when the Doctor stood silently for a minute after prayers andthen in his peculiarly quiet voice called to Haggart to come forward. "Boys, " he said, "I have had a letter this morning from Harry Parker'sMother, and she says that he has told her the truth about the boat. Hehas been very ill, poor child, and, in his delirium, it haunted him thatHaggart had suffered for his sake. Let him be cleared before you allfrom the unjust suspicion. But, Haggart, " and he laid his hand verykindly on the boy's shoulder, "you must remember that the injustice camefrom _you_--no one would have doubted you if you had not first accusedyourself! I had my doubts always, but I did not know enough tounderstand. You told a lie; nothing can palliate or do away with that!No _motives_ can make a lie anything but a lie, and a lie is always acowardly thing, whether we try to shield ourselves with it or others. "But the kindness which prompted it, the courage that bore thepunishment so bravely, the silence that has made a false heroism out ofit--these are fine qualities, Haggart, and I hope you will carry themwith you through life. "