Pluck And Luck (no. 552) (1908 12 30)
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fe Jo icra HOR, ox SOLOS 2.50 per year, Entered as Second-Class. Matter at the New York Post Office, November 7, 1898, by Frank Tousey. Price 5 Cents. TIN ‘< OX UES aun bs, raat eo AEA s ih o think what the result might be, h thered his muscles together, and with a Swift, agile bound was upon the hideous serpent. His face was actually bloodless—his eyes gleaming—his teeth set.
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PLUCK AND LUCK Stories of Adventure. Issued Weekly——By Subseri; November P tess. Congress, Washington, D. C., by Frank ‘on $2.50 per year. Entered as according to act fC in the 1908, the iiice of mg 0} “artes in the year 1908, in the o, Tousey, he ver tin th aes of the Ld F pod Cts, Publisher, 24 Union Bintee We No. 552. NEW YORK, DECEMBER 30, 1908. ’ Price 5 Centa. DICK “I WILL” fE oy) ea ; | By Allyn Draper The Plucky Fight of a Boy Orphan CHAPTER I. THE HALLOWE'EN PARTY. We have been waiting What “Oh, Della, Iam so glad to see you! for you, wondering what could possibly detain you. Was the matter?” The speaker, Edith Cross, better known among a number of the girls with whom she was not at all popular as “Cross Edith,* smiled sweetly at pretty Della Cornell, the minister’s only daughter, at the same time holding up her face as if expecting a kiss. But Miss Cornell very coolly gave her the tips of her fingers, for she knew that the black eyed Hdith cherished no particular love for her, in spite of her sweet, honeyed words. “T stopped on my way here to see Jane Stone, who is very ill,” Della answered in her clear, ringing voice, “and——” She got no further, for Edith interrupted her with a little . shriek. ; “Oh, Della, how could you go into that dreadful tumble- down hovel?” she cried, holding up both hands. “She may have some terrible disease that we are all likely to catch. 1 am so nervous ania it, that I shall not te over it ade the| . bp entire evening.” ~~ “I would not worry if I were in your las: Edith,” Della replied, quietly. “There is not the slightest danger of you ever suffering from Jane’s malady, for she has—brain fever!” A suppressed titter went around among the boys and girls, for not one of them liked Edith Cross, while Della Cornell _ “was beloved by rich and poor, young and old, high and low. The former’s. black eyes glittered with an angry light, but she - managed to smile. - Della was as quiet and serene as ever. mm a manly youth, whose frank, pleasant face was indicative Rei aa is character, came forward to greet the new-comer, his gray eyes telling but too plainly what she was to him. te ewe are all here now, save Dick,” he said, holdjng her hand +a trifle. longer than was teally. iene. » keeping him?” “ _ “Oh, he was spat 8 around the ne the last te saw of him,” ‘finish hi ae Y wonder what is is work |: before he could come, and father had something extra for him ~ to do to-night.” : “Then why didn’t you stay and help him so he would not keep us waiting?” Della Cornell asked somewhat sharply. “For you know we never begin anything unless Dick is here.” AG Walter Jones, for that was the name of the shallow looking vs boy who had spoken so slightingly of the absent’ one, flushed — hotly, but he said nothing. He was the only child of Nathan Jones, the richest farmer in that part of Vermont, and he had made up his.mind long ago to win pretty Della Cornell, — the minister’s daughter, who was a general favorite in the i small town of Burrville, a flourishing hamlet nestling 6s oe the midst of the green Vermont hills. Both father and son were thoroughly disliked, but money will speak for itself, and : many a petty failing was overlooked on that account. 4 “I fail to see Miss White. Is she too detained?” Frank Spencer, the young man who had first addressed Della Cor- nell, remarked inquiringly, looking at Edith Cross. “It seems as if half the company had taken their departure when she _ and Dick are absent. She will be with us soon, I hope?” Edith’s face burned, but there was nothing for her to. do cit but answer his question. } fe “She has not been feeling well for a few days, and mamma thought the excitement of to-night might prove too much for her, so. she had her retire,” she replied in a rather embarrasset Pre tone of voice. “She believed a, rest would do her more , “Nonsense,” Della said prikkly, “A jolly evenin, more to cheer her up and drive away the blues thar m ¢ Besides I want to see Hope. She is the dearest girl : world, and I suppose the poor child is lonesome.” : “IT see no reason why she ould be lone some,” Raith 'Tex F marked, stiffly. “I am sure she ha 2 home: good: enough for any poor girl, in fact better ‘tha Ss ever ) z before in all her life. She should feel deeply grateral to but I am sorry to say that she does Be appear ciate it” et phy: owly. : | she said, slo c she has. not et hen
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- “Long enough to know the value of a good home,” was _ the crisp retort. “Time may make a change,” and Della’s bright eyes met the sullen black ones unflinchingly. “Ah, here is your mother now! Good-evening, Mrs. Cross, Edith was just telling me _ that Hope is not feeling well, and would not join us to-night, - but I told her I thought she would feel better to come down- stairs, With your permission, I will see her, and try to induce her to leave her room.” : Mrs. Cross, a large portly woman, with a florid face, looked first at the speaker, then at her daughter, hardly knowing what to say. She did not like to offend Della, for she was under deep obligations to her father. “She is not in her room,” she said, uneasily. “I was obliged to send her into the village after something I had forgotten ~ to order. She thought the walk would do her good.” A silence followed her words—a silence that would have been very embarrassing had she a more sensitive nature— “put every eye was fastened upon her face as she stood there, and no wonder, for it was at least two miles into Burrville, ne long way to send a young girl alone at night. The Cross \ residence, a magnificent place, was just far enough from the _ village to be pleasant. Della was the first to speak. “Then : we shall have to wait until she returns, before we 20. on with our games,” seating herself gracefully in a-deep, _ easy chair, “for Hallowe'en would not be Hallowe’en unless ‘Hope had a share in it. Hdith, will-you play a waltz to kill time until Hope comes?” Quiwardly smiling, but inwardly furious With rage, Edith _. took her place at the piano and played a brilliant waltz. A number of the young people kept time to the music, and it Was a prety sight to see the young people gliding over the floor in the long drawing room. Della did not join them, but sat talking to Frank Spencer. ‘She was fonder of Dr. Spencer’s clever son than she cared to oa admit, and indeed he was-a young. man whom any girl would - admire. Fle was as fond of his intimate friend and chum, ‘Richard Barker, better Known as “Dick I Will,” as she was ‘of pretty Hope White, the young orphan who made her home 7 with Major Cross and his family. She was as good as she was ~ fair, and it was well known among the boys and girls that ‘Edith was jealous of the poor young dependent’s béauty and grace. ; : bie am puzzling my brain as to what can keep Dick,” the young ‘man said. to his companion. “He is always on time, and he promised to be here early to-night. I wanted him to “meet Hope, you know, for they are sure to be great friends.” } “How strange that she should have lived here for a year : ‘and never met him,” Della remarked, smiling. “Yes, it is rf ; SEER PRR aad ata gL PENIS TES eR ahd BSE Sa Ee AR PE NS ae AE EE RES Sin estan 0 Be a Sal eee ae = | > 2 igh, just a year ago this yery night since she came on from New “York. . And from the moment I caught a glimpse of her sweet, tired | ‘face, I felt as if she were something near to me. ever ‘met anyone I liked one half so well.” ae you mean that?” reproachfully. “Well, never mind. il we begin our games, and then we shall soon see. Hoy metimes, — you know, people say a great many things they don’t mean. And girls are noted for that. Boys always say just what they mean. I know I do. And T’ll tell you some- ig else if you wish to hear it. I’m a‘sort of prophet, you Nt wager you a box ‘of #loves, that’ ‘Dick I Will.’ falls. in 10" with Hope, | and more than that—one year from. to- = will find him at Burrville Academy, for he has. made vow to earn: the money | to pay for a full course, and when ays ‘I ‘Will,’ rest assured he means it. He'll earn it hon- I never knew another like /him. That fellow. will | ‘rich man, f for he has a ies, atettonty? (“8S ha I DICK “I WILL.” clothes, and they were plain enough, he was on his way to the | scene of the Hallowe’en party, a distance of nearly four. ; CHAPTER II. . THE FACE OF ONE WHO WAS DESTINED TO BE HER PATH. While‘ our hero’s friend and the young girl he was so fond of, were awaiting. his arrival in the luxurious drawing room of Major Cross, the boy himself was busy finishing his work about the premises of Farmer Jones, the selfish, hard-hearted man who grudgingly gave him a home for the labor he exacted of him. Although Nathan Jones was a very rich man, and his home was a large, comfortable farm-house, — Dick’s. room was in the attic away up under the eaves, hot~ and stifling in the summer, cold and bleak in the winter, He had occupied those dreary quarters ever since he had come to the farm to live, and when he was a small boy, he used to think it the greatest treat in the world to get into Walter's dainty chamber for an hour. Yet when as small boys they attended the country school it was Dick who helped the stupid Walter through with his lessons. And Dick with his coarse, — copper-toed shoes and faded clothes, was a greater favorite in — those days the same as he was now, than Master, Walter in, his velvet suit and lace collar. , “It seems to me that there is always something extra for me .to do whenever I want to go anywhere,” he muttered, pitching the fragrant hay before the long line ‘of eager. cattle. “And if it were any other boy, he would give it up. “But Row will get through this work and be there in .time for the games. Yes, yes, Princess Bonnie, I am coming,” in answer to a low whinny of impatience. “Please don’t break your — 5; manger all to pieces.” ar Throwing down his pitchfork, he walked over to the side of the big barn where the horses were stabled, and opened the small door before the manger. A black head with sharp, pointed ears, and great bright eyes was thrust out, the velvet nose poked lovingly against his arm, while the iron-shod HORE pawed the floor of her stall. “You beggar,” the boy laughed, his handsome face. glowing id with pride. “You are making love to me because you. want some oats! Oh, I know you, Princess Bonnie! - You are like all the rest of your sex—sweet as sugar when you want ADY thing. Well, you shall have your oats.” eh A generous measure of oats was poured into ihe. mare's” manger, and as he watched her for a few moments, he smiled. ae “Wait until-a year roms now, my peauty, and then we shall’ i ne see. You will be covered with glory, and I shall be the een proudest fellow in the country. We will win, my pet, for we 2 will never give up the fight. Farmer Jones did not dream — what he was doing when he gave yow to me, a little puny,’ — weak colt. He would not bother with you, for he thought you _ would surely die. But we know what: we are doing.” ; ‘ Half an’ hour later, his labors finished, dressed in his. best Bi ry for the village of Burrville was situated between . the farms, one lying on- either side. He did not mind that, ; ever, for he was a fast walker, and. he covered the ground We rapidly. Fy y At the foot of a jong, steep ‘hill ran the railroad, and ‘a da gerous ‘place ‘it was, too, for a Tunaway horse” coming @own that hill was sure to meet with death. It would take a giant ‘arm to stop a maddened animal time ee ‘save it from a awful fate. ; bade Tt was 'sttange that such simmer ‘should enter. Dick's as he crossed the track and started to cli the: hi could never account: for it. But we canno thi It is mys s
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tall, athletic figure was vanishing swiftly up the hill. - much I want for it. But in spite of them all, in spite of the fact that old Farmer Jones took me from the Orphan's Home, I will yet rise anes: dhem all, 1 ‘will compel them to treat me with respect.” Suddenly a pair of horses coming at a terrible pace ap- peared before him, and at the very moment the shrill, sharp whistle of the last passenger train that stopped at Burrville, sounded upon the chill night air. A thrill of terror struck through the boy’s heart, for how could he alone stop those two maddened, fiercely plunging beasts? It was impossible. Nearer and nearer they came. Louder and louder grew the rumble of the approaching train. And then Dick caught sight of a white, horrified face from which every spark Of life or | hope seemed to have fled. That settled it. His mind was made up, and taking his stand in the middle of the road, he set his teeth tightly to- gether. “IT will stop them'if I lose my life in the attempt!” he vowed, and although his heart beat so loudly that he could hear its every throb, not for a single instant did he waver from his purpose. Our hero was an honest, EE abe boy, and a silent prayer went up to heaven—a prayer that his strength would not fail him in the hour of need. They were almost upon him now, those mad joka with glaring eyes and, fiery nostrils, yet he never flinched. His arms were like iron, so tense were the muscles, aud his face was ghastly. 5 By the bright moonlight he saw that the occupant of the carriage was a man of middle age, with snow white mustache; The reins were hanging loose over the dashboard, for he was hopeless from fright. Another second and they would be upon him. But te was ready for them, and with one mighty bound he was at their heads, his nerves and muscles like iron. His strong hands clutched their bridles, and it seemed as if all the strength in his. body was concentrated in his hands and arms. There was a struggle, short, brief yet terrific, between man and beast—a determined battle between human strength and brute strength, but the former conquered, and trembling in every nerve, the horses crouched back upon their haunches, cowed, awed, subdued by the youth, “who looked fearlessly into their eyes. A moment later he Bave the reins into the driver’s hands. “You need have no fear of their running away again, bis he said, politely. “They are qifiet enough now.” “By Heaven, boy! but you are the bravest hero I ever knew of!” the stranger exclaimed, looking admiringly at the young man. “How can I ever repay you for what you have done this night?” Our hero was as aes! as he was brave, and he drew back : haughtily. ~ “I want no pay, sir,” he said, coldly. knowing that I have saved your life.” “But, my boy, I cannot a it go in this manner. I want-——” He was talking in the air, for Dick had disappeared. His He knew the man he had rescued was safe, and he waited no “t am amply paid by long ger, “It seems that T am doomed to be insulted for everything I do,” he said to himself. “If I save a life, I am asked how Other boys are not treated in that way. As { have said before, our hero -was proud, almost too ae _ proud for his station in life so many would say, but I do not “agree with them, He was poor, to be sure, But he was one of ature’s ‘noblemen. ye He was destined to meet with sSetiog: adventure ere he r ached his destination. DICK “WILL” | waters. spun gold.” A head thrattel. ceaey grove in whoss quiet deaths a silver stream rippled, he was attracted E by what be supposed was something bright and golden, but — a second glance revealed the truth to him. It was the shining — yellow of a young girl’s head, and the silver moonbeams touched it to a living, burning gold. It was Hope, our dainty heroine, and on her way to Bute ville she had paused to kneel down beside the murmuring ~ waters, more in a spirit of curiosity than anything else, Her heart was heavy, for her life had been so empty, so lonely that she felt keenly the position she held in the Cross house- hold. Little did he dream that to-night life would change for her, that through the dark clouds of sorrow, the golden sunshine of pure joy would shine. set Suddenly she started. Mirrored in the depths of the stream ‘the young girl beheld a handsome, boyish face—the face of one who was destined to be her fate. CHAPTER IIL. BRAVE DICK “I Wiad.” one a Dick had stolen upon her and looked over her shoulder, thus she beheld his face in the shimmering, moon-filtered Her heart gave a great leap, then seemed to stand — still in a new and, sudden terror, for it suddenly dawned upon her that she was alone in the grove, and the face she saw was that of a stranger, a flesh and biood mortal, not a mere vision as she had at first: imagined. era Her beautiful face was covered with blushes, and she was — deeply embarrassed as she sprang to her feet and faced him’ He spoke first, yet he, felt his heart throbbing yun than ae) usual. 5 “IT beg you aantcas he said, with a low bow: “I aia ae i mean to interrupt you, but when I saw your hair glistening in the moonlight, I was puzzled as to what it might be, for I could not see your face, you know, and your hair looked like It was a pretty compliment, but he paid it in such a. frank, manly way, that she knew he was not flattering her. Neither — did he intend it as such, for. he could not help admiring the.) lovely face and golden hair, the brightest he had ever seen. “I suppose you think I am very foolish,” she murmured — shyly, her eyes hidden by the snowy silken’ fringed lids. “But you ‘know it is Hallowe’en, and in a sudden spirit of fun T ; knelt beside the brook, for they say——” Waeh ota “That the maiden sees the face of the one who is destined to be her’ fate,” he interrupted gently, noticing her em-— barrassment and kindly, eos to her aid. “ah, hi a for- however, that I would prefer to galerie “Tt ig at the home of Major Cross,” he went o: we have met in this strange, romantic way, don’t ; 5 we ought to know each other’ s names? Now you fairy princess, ¢ a wood aytiph in disguise, “ta Sak # . time?” she exclaimed ‘ oaen' - aeeae “ey have for nearly a year, and I haye always wanted to kno it happened that I never had the opportunity. live. ne Grows, you know. eae name is HOba feat hs
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ay ee PICK “1 WILL.” friend, Frank Spencer, is always talking about you and sing-| for her to be out alone, and she was kind enough to allow ing your praises. Are you a relative of Major Cross?” me to accompany her. I am sorry to kave kept you waiting, “No; I—I am given a home for my services about the| but I know you will forgive me this time.” ' * house, and act as Hdith’s maid,” she answered, a hot flush| “I will forgive you this once, Dick,” and she pressed his staining even her brow, while her voice trembled. “I have| hand slightly. “Hope,” turning to the young girl, “mamma no parents, no friends, no home, and—and they are very kind | would like the vanilla now.” indeed.” “You surely would not deprive us of the pleasure of your Dick’s heart grew very tender toward this beautiful girl] society, Miss White,” Dick called after the fair girl as she -who was so utterly alone in the world; and impulsively he| started to leave the room. “We shall not begin our games — héld out his hand. until you return.” ? ’ “J, too, am’alone in the world,” he'said, sofily. “Iam given| “No, indeed, we could not get through the evening without a home with Farmer Jones for my work on and about the| you, Hope,” Della chimed in. “So hurry back ie a dear good farm.\ The old saying that misery loves company, seems to| girl.” be true, for we are both in the same position. But let us| Hdith was beaten, and she had to submit “gracetially, for | hope that better days will come, and soon, too. Were you on} she saw the smiles upon the faces of several, and she did not ' your way home?” want to be the laughing stock of her guests. Ina few mo- She shook her golden head. ments Hope returned, and the fun and frolie began. rie “No, Iam going to Burrville on an erratid for Mrs. Cross,”| My dear young readers, I will not weary you by a descrip- she replied, touched by his gentleness. “She discovered at the! tion of the games of Hallowe'en, for really all of them are last moment that she had no vanilla in the house, and she| known to you. But the greatest interest was entered in the always uses it to season her ice cream.” big silver basket of great red-cheeked apples, that were “It seems to me that she might have sent one of the farm} brought in later in the evening. And a great shout went up. ‘hands, or at least taken out a horse,” he said, dryly. “It is| from the boys and girls, when pretty Hope carefully pared _ , rather an unusual thing to send a young girl alone at night.| one of the juicy beauties, throwing the long, ribbon-like strand — Hs | But I shall accompany you to the village.” over her shoulder, for the letters formed by the bright red ; “TI fear they would not like it at home,” and she clasped, apple peeling, were the initials of the hero of the evening— her hands together nervously. “I do not mind going alone,| brave Dick “I Will.” indeed I do not!” j “Nevertheless, I am going with you,” was his cool answer. _—— “I should not care to have a sister of mine out alone in these Sar ma woods at night. We shall be back in time for the games.” Bee cet She said no more, and to tell the truth she was glad of CHAPTER IV. j Pere? hhiscompany. They laughed and chatted merrily as they walked along in the soft, October moonlight, so by the time they ALONE, AND CAST UPON: THE WORLD. reached Burrville, they felt like old-time friends. ' Bdith Cross would have been wild had she known that the) There upon the floor, plain, crimson, glowing, lay the ‘thtes | young girl she hated was with handsome Dick “I Will.” He| letters, D. I. W. And the young man for whose name they ‘was poor, but she was determined to win him, firmly believ-| St0od, felt his heart throb faster. Boy though he was, he felt — _ ing that some day he would be both rich and famous. ‘In| from the moment his eyes rested upon the sweet, flower- fact, there were many who predicted a brilliant future for the| like face of Hope bide a that fate had intended them for each _ boy, who worked simply for his board and clothes on Farmer other. re Jones’ farm. “Your initials, Dick, ” Della Cornell cried gleefully, ewien Although our hero and pretty. Hope became the best of her hands as she spoke. “See how gracefully the letters are . es friends on that mellow October night, they did not dream| curved. Did you ever know of such a strange thing? They ‘how their lives were to be drawn together.’ And they were|ate not R. B. standing for Richard Barker, but just plain beth: happier by far than they had ever been before, why|D. 1. W- And that is the name by which you are best known. ‘they could not say, yet it seemed to them that a goodly por- Now, don’t tell me that there isn’t something strange and tion of the elouds and shadows. that had been their portion “during their brief careers, had been swept away. “The vanilla Mrs. Cross had been so much in need of at the - last moment, was purchased, and they. started homeward. Strange to relate, the distance between the village store, and| that he was deeply interested in her favorite friend, and she “Major Cross’ home, appeared to have jengthened, for it re-| Was glad of it, for’ while’she was not of a spiteful nature, yet quired about twice the usual time to walk it. But I oH she was delighted that Hdith Cross should be made to suf er, — * mystic about Hallowe’en, for I know better, and then bara apple peelings tell this story.” Dick laughed gayly, yet his cheeks burned, and the merry, light-hearted girl was keen enough to see it ‘all. She saw not tell you why, boys, for we have all been through the For she was weary of her airs and graces. An honest, true f game thing, everyone of us, and we would not have missed it) ‘child of nature herself, she could not tolerate deceit. and. for: all the ‘wealth the world contains. Yet we would give| treachery in others. She ‘Bagh he a bit’ hasty, but, he er I eart many, a Jong weary day of later years to go back ‘and live) ¥as_ pure gold. ay ver again. But here, T am growing sentimental, and I “Since you take such an. Antbrest in Hallowe’ en sports “a st not forget my readers by allowing ag own memories games, Miss ‘Della, suppose you try and see what a simp! [allowe’en to interfere. little apple peeling will do for you,” our hero retorted. “Here was amusing: to see Edith Cross when the youthful couple| is. the largest, finest apple in the basket,” cane BEC 1 the juicy, red-cheeked beauties. “And we will possess our souls in peace white eer ma’ .| preparations. Ah, you hesitate. ‘Surely, you: are not that Cupid will outdo you?” ; ‘His laughing, half-mocking words. amused hher pri : ETS: ae Eines White on “her way to the village, ana: I walked| ck with her,” he answered baat te was: rather late ‘threw her head hae ‘piney ame
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DICK “I WILL.” “No, Master Dick ‘I Will,’ I am not afraid of Cupid, as you are pleased to put it. In fact, I am not afraid of anyone 0: anything. But you need not think to have the laugh on me. I am peeling your apple, and I can tell you very easily what the letters stand for if you wish to know, shall I?” - “T shall be delighted to know in advance,” he answered with a low bow. “It is quite likely the letters formed by this apple peeling will be N. G.,” and she shrugged her shoulders as she spoke. “I know they will.” A merry laugh greeted her, and she bit her ‘tiider lip, for pretty Della did not like the laugh at her expense. By this time she had finished peeling the apple, and with her bright eyes meeting Dick’s defiantly, she tossed the long red satiny strip over her shoulder. An-‘instant later and the big room with its old-fashioned fireplace resounded to the merry shouts of laughter coming! be the best of friends: And better days are in store for us — both. I know it, I feel it. Fate Btn sent me! ‘ACTOSS era es pathway to-night.” 4 She looked up into his handsome face, her eyes ahiding through her tears. E “And I am glad, too,” she answered, indies: “For I have so few friends, indeed I have none, save noble Della Cor- Y nell. Oh, she is the dearest, truest friend in all the wide world, and were it not for her I should be desolate. Ah, how ~ sad a thing it is to be alone and lonely! But you are better - able to understand it, for you, too, have lived among strang- ers, knowing naught of a home or love.” ; “But now I know the latter,” was his fervent reply. “And 1 shall néyer be lonely again.” Hope was about to, speak, when the sharp, disagreeable | yoice of Mrs. Cross sounded upon her ear. “Hope, Hope White, come into the house this instant!” aii $ from the throats of every boy and girl present, for the letters called out. “Whatever do you mean by staying out in the lying in bold relief against the background of the velvet carpet cold night dampness and at this late hour? Come right in!” were F. S. With a hasty good-night to our hero, the young girl obeyed The spirited girl, although she was embarrassed, had tooj the call, knowing full well that she would haye avery un- much sense to allow any of her thoughtless companions io pleasant interview when Mrs. Cross met her. see it. She joined in the laugh with them, thus one half of | And she was right. No sooner had the hall door. closed be- “the pleasure at her expense was lost. S “Well, Frank, it seems that you are my fate,” she said, hind her, than that lady said furiously: “You bad, wicked girl you, how dare you disgrace yourself gayly, yet not one.among that thoughtless throng dreamed! while you are in my hotise, and openly insult my daughter? _ of the tempest raging in her breast. “And on Hallowe’en everything is supposed to be true. I hope you believe in the new woman,” Frank Speticer’s clear, honest eyes met hers, and a pang of keen disappointment pierced his manly breast. He was not able to understand this girl, of whose heart he had been sure two hours ago. One moment she was tender, gentle, confiding. . The next, and her merry, scornful laughter would fill the air with its silvery echoes. “Yes, I believe in the new woman, providing she is like you,” he answered, and something in his earnest elance caused her heart to thrill. “For if she is so charming a creature, who would not believe in her?” Before she had time to answer him supper was announced, and nothing more was said regaiding the letter. Hdith Gross ‘hoped that our hero would offer to escort her to the dining _ room, but he did not, and,she was furious when she saw him give his arm to Hope, with a bow that would have done + eredit to a Chesterfield. I need not add that Frank- Spencer “was Della’s escort. « The long table in the big dining room fairly groaned under - the weight of good things with which it was spread. It was an evening never to be forgotten, and there were at least four happy young people who remembered it as long as they lived. = did Edith Cross, for it was the death of her fond dreams. i 7 | Tn spite of her selfishness she had a heart, and she had given it unasked, unsought, to handsome Dick “I Will.” ree thought only of Hope, the golden haired girl, whose face he he beheld that night for the first time. My dear young readers, I will not weary you by giving the | details of that Hallowe'en party. Suffice to say that it was a $3 success, and everyone present enjoyed it hugely. All save the youthful hostess, and her heart was full of envy and bitter jealousy to think of enjoying anything. If wishes ‘could have - killed dainty Hope, she would never have lived to‘ enjoy that i ‘ brief hour at the garden gate with the boy whom she real- : ized was her fate. The apple peetings had told her 50, and now she. knew it. : ray aS L flo 0 a was to Hope. At last she could not ‘control herself, thus Yer mt But he} herited the mother’s nature, therefore it was not ia bowie jood-night, Hope, for you will et me call you Hope, I Ww,” he - whispered, holding her hand, while the soft mellow | October ‘moonlight bathed her beautiful face ang: be head | ag ‘6 i I want you to leave the shelter of my roof at once, do you hear? You shall not sleep here another night. Sleep in the fields, if you like, it matters but little to me. In the morning you may come back and get your few miserable rags. Here, throw this about your shoulders,” tossing her a thin, worn ~ shawl. “But go, go, go! You shall not breathe the same air” with my pure Edith. Oh, how I hate you!” ra Thus poor Hope was rudely thrust out into the night with- — out a dollar in her pocket, or even warm clothing to protect her from the chill autumn night. She was utterly dazed, ‘Her * brain was numb, yet she remembered one thing, one bitter, awful truth—she was alone, and cast upon the world. > CHAPTER V. ee: A NEW. FRIEND. Unger Edith Cross, treacherous, jealous, spiteful, had watched Dick all the evening, ‘and it maddened her to see how devoted he — tale of woe was poured into her mother’s ears. Mrs. Cross was like her daughter. In fact, the child Ge they should agree in everything. Mrs. Cross stood like a statue, her eyes ‘iccalhic., an those last cruel words left her lips. Her lips were white, and she would have liked nothing better than to Rate ewer 1e bee ful, helpless girl a heavy blow. ‘ ‘ The echo of thé heavy hall door rang through the house, causing the chandeliers to tremble, and dice as. the sages listened, but nanan no_ neat voice pleading pees t= tance to the home which had been ‘so grudgingly siven he she said to her dohetiet in her hard, cold voice: “460 upstairs to your room, ‘Raith. She will not. ‘trot . morning if she comes back after her ‘but . would “Sy altos “her 1
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. neath my roof again for a single hour. Of all the ungrateful creatures that I ever saw, she is certainly the worst.” “She will never have a chance to meet Richard Barker again while she is under my roof,” Hdith ground out between her set teeth. “The impudent ungrateful thing. I feel like boxing her ears whenever I think of her. And he acted like a fool over her just because she happens to have a wax doll face and silly blue eyes. I thought he had more sense than that.” “And I thought you had .more sense than to fall in love: with a beggar,” her mother chimed in, her sharp voice sound- ing sharper and more disagreeable *%han ever. “For Richard Barker is nothing but a beggar in spite of his handsome face. And the airs and graces that he uses. It is realy enough to make anyone sick. For my part, I fail to see anything won- derful in him. He is not my style at all. I can tell you that when I was a girl, it took something beside a handsome face and an empty pocket to catch me.” “Well, I don’t see that you did such a wonderful thing after all,” mamma’s very dutiful daughter answered, with a- shrug of her plump shoulders. “For papa is just about as poor as they make ’em at present, and——” _ “Wdith!” Mrs. Cross interrupted, her voice trembling with _anger. “Edith, how dare you? Do you forget you are address- ing your mother?” “No, mamma, I could not forget that,” very calmly, “And you know yery well that I am only telling the truth, for papa is poor at present. I know he is heavily in debt, and but for that stupid old’ minister, Joseph’ Cornell, we should be home- less. To be sure he holds 4 mortgage on the place, but thank goodness he don’t know enough to foreclose it. If he did we should have been homeless long ago. As it is, his stupidity is our salvation. And that is why I am so sweet and agreeable to that hateful Della, when I hate her, the mean, saucy little cat. I would like to box her ears and tell her just what I think of her, but I dare not.” “No, it would not be well for you,” her mother said, with a smile, “for it might result in your having to work for your living—a very unpleasant future for one as indolent as you are, my dear.” “T am not indolent, but I see no reason why [I should work the same as other common people do,” Edith answered, sulk- ily. ~ “It is only the very vulgar who work. Ladies do not degrade themselves so.” Mrs. Cross winced and her heavy face flushed. She had been cook in a wealthy brewer’s family when Major Cross ‘found and married her, and that one subject was always a/|' very tender one with her. She did not care to have it men- aa Aionéd, but her daughter was not the most considérate dae in all the world. : ' “Some of our cleverest men and women have at some time in their lives been obliged to-work for a living,” she said, severely. “That is one of your faults, Edith—always speak- ing slightingly’ of those who are poor and lowly.” - Bdith laughed outright. “I wonder who taught me to speak in that way, mamma!” Very coolly. rh same thing, and now you blame me for echoing the very senti- ments you impressed upon my mind.” “You may go to your room, Hdith, and remain there until 5 you learn to address. me in a more respectful tone,” and - Mrs. Cross walked slowly across the floor in what she con- - gidered her queenliest manner. ; yer » | The dante lady did not ‘answer net save by a shrug of the houlder, ‘but tossing her head, retired to her dainty chamber. | while she nestled warmly beneath the soft, silken cov- et, stay of the young man who never gave her even| “I believe I remember hearing you say the self-|- “I am more than surprised at’ ddl STE, ROOK ope, stood alone in ae chill DICK “I WILL.” q : = eae. oe 7 autumn night, her heart sore and bruised, her red lips quivers ing, while the great hot tears rolled down her cheeks like pearls. She was dazed by the eee shock. She could not | as yet hardly realize it. Homeless ang friendless!’ Those two words rang in her ears like a knell. She did not have a roof to shelter her from the night, not a dollar in her pocket with: which to pur- chase one.. Her only protection from the frost and cold was the thin shawl that Mrs. Cross had thrown to her. And ates was poor, indeed, for it was worn and old. ® “Heaven pity me!” she sobbed. “I have done no abel and yet I am turned adrift upon the world because they do not like me. Where shall I go, oh, where shall I go?” , In her sorrow and terror she had forgotten all about her kind friend Della. She suddenly thought of her, ane a ray of hope entered her breast. “Della will give me a home, oh, I know she will!” ake mur- mured, and drawing the folds of the worn shawl closer about her, she started briskly toward the village. “Ah, how thank- | ful I am to have such a friend in the hour of need.” She had taken but a few steps when the sharp clatter of iron-shod hoofs, finally accompanied by the roll of wheels, struck upon her ear, At first she was somewhat startled, and she looked about her, wondering where she could conceal her- self until the vehicle had passed. But there was no place near enough for her to reach, so a walked on, guanine her heart... throbbed fiercely. The horse was close behind her now, and the PES Hoa rein. It was something unusual to see a young girl alone on the publie’s highway at that late hour. “Do you know that it is very dangerous for such. a , young girl as you are to be out alone to-night,” a man’s musical voice asked kindly. “I should dislike very much to “see a daughter of mine out so late. If you will tell me. where" “you are bound, I will take you safely to your destination. Do not be afraid to trust me, for I live near here. My name is Richard Cadwell, and I live at the Pines.” Hope started. So this was the rich stranger who had pur- chased the magnificent old place on the hill just out of Burr- ville. She had heard many stories of his vast. wealth, but she had never seen him until now, She stole a look at a sad, handsome ‘face and felt that she could trust him, there was nobility stamped updh every feature, in every line. - “You are very kind,” she answered, timidly. “And , will accept your offer. I am going to the Rey. Joseph Cornell’s. My tame is Hope White, and I lived at—at Major Cross’ until to-night, Now, I—I have no home, sir, if they do not wi ish me to stay at the clergyman’s house. R _ He looked at her keenly as he helped her into the light bugey beside him, and he understood the situation at once, for he knew the pretty golden-haired . child, as he called her, ff ad been very unhappy in the home of Major Cross. Z — ae ' CHAPTER VI. A GENEROUS OFFER—AN UNKIND aie
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DICK “I WI.” y oon Hope swallowed the big lump in her throat before she could answer him. “They did not- wish me to remain longer,” ate answered, "bravely, trying to shield the woman who was so unkind to her. “I—I do not think they liked too large a family, and I made one too many.” Loyal little Hope! She would not even betray the one who had treated her unkindly, unjustly. And Richard Cad- well could read her heart aud thoughts like an open. book. He said nothing, however, and in a short time they reached the home of the minister who was so well liked by the people of Burrville. They had retired, but it did not take long to awaken them. “You poor child, of course you ate come here,” Della ex- claimed when Hope meekly asked her fer shelter. “Come right in. I thought there would be trouble there to-night. I ‘saw it brewing, and I half expected something like this, but I hardly thought she would go so far as to turn you out into the night. I always knew she was hard-hearted, but this beats me.” ‘The minister himself welcomed her, and Richard Cadwell ans drove away well satisfied with Hope’s friends and her new hs , & foolish thing for you to go to such a place, when you ain’t ~ thing to look forward to. home. Before going, he’ said to them: “I am glad to see this young lady in such good hands. 1f _ will drive over and see her to-morrow. Good-night, and Heaven bless you all.” Della would not let Hope talk any that Aight: and an hour later she was soundly sleeping in her own comfortable room, all troubles forgotten, dreaming of handsome Dick “I Will.” Now to return to our hero. He too was in a happy frame of mind when he reached home after the Hallowe’en party. He forgot that, he was bound out to Farmer Jones until he was twenty-one—forgot that he was penniless, homeless, without a dollar to bis name, for he felt rich and proud as a king.! The way to success and riches seemed open before him, and so easy, so pleasant to traverse. ‘. - *T cannot possibly fail after to-night,” he said, triumph- antly. “I will win now, for I have an object in view—some- Before, I had nothing. But won’t Master Walker be sulky for the next week, though! And Edith! They will be justified in calling her Cross Edith from now on. Iam sorry, though, for that-beautiful girl. She Jooks so fair, so sweet, so gentle—neither strong enough nor fitted to battle with the world.” He slept soundly that night, and hjs dreams were very pleasant ones.. He was up bright and early the next morn- ing, busily at work as usual, when in the barn the farmer appeared, hig face heavy and sullen. ‘ _ “Walter told me last night, after he Zot home, that you acted like a fool,” was his first greeting, “and I thought *twas used to high-toned society. You know you're only a bound poy, and that makes a pile of difference.” Dick’s face flushed hotly, and he bit his under lip. The "tone in which the words were spoken, was worse than the _ words. They cut like the sharp thrust of a knife. “You are right,” he said, very lowly and distinctly, his clear eyes meeting the ‘shifting gray ones of the farmer. “You are right. I am only a bound boy, that is true, and Iam “not, used to good society, for where have I ever been to meet "people of refinement? My life has been spent on this farm, my days in toiling faithfully for sat e Farmer Jones gasped. ome?” he managed to say, wondering if he had niade a mis- take, for never before since he had lived with him, had Dick ade such remarks. He was: getting too ‘independent. He You—you sassy young rascal, do you dare talk pack to. “Look here, young man,” he said, gruffly.. “Tg you don’t Keep a civil tongue in your head, Pll give you a taste of the strap. You ain’t too old yet-for it, and you're in my hands for two years yef. ‘I'll learn you some manners before long.” - Dick threw down the pitchfork he was handling, and folding his arms across his breast, looked calmly back at him. “One word if you please, before I do another stroke of work,” he said, quietly, but with a meaning the other understood per- fectly well. “I am doing the work of a man; saving’ you a man’s wages, simply for what I eat and the roof that shelters me. I am not a child. I fill a man’s place, and I insist upon’ being treated with proper respect. You will never lay one hand on me, for I tell you plainly that I will not submit to ‘such an outrage. “Let me alone, and for the next two years 1 | = I will work as faithfully as I have worked in the past, ae do not attempt to force me to do anything.” Muttering to himself the farmer turned away, and Dick, picking up his fork once more, resumed his work. . But he was left in peace after that. It was that very afternoon that Farmer Jones was surprised to receive a visit from the rich owner of The Pines. He had - seen him before, but had never spoken with him, therefore he felt quite honored at being noticed by so distinguished a man, “Good-afternoon, Mr. Jones,” he said, kindly. “I have often” seen you in the village, and have admired your farm in pass- ing by.’ It shows that a careful hand is at the helm.” “Well, yes, it does look pretty fair, that’s a fact,” the farmer answered, proudly. “It shows that I don’t have any lazy sticks on my seis but I’ve got to keep right behind ‘em.all the time.” a “Of course, of area was the hearty reply. have to do that. Now, I called here to-day to make you an offer. *You have in your employ, a boy by the name of Rich- ard Barker, have you not?” ee “Yes, he’s bound out to me,” was the reply pane with tightly pursed-up lips. 2 “T like him, and I would be bias to pay you for his time during the next two years,” Richard Cadwell continued pleas- antly. “For the money you would be able to employ a strong man who would do more work, and I will send the boy to a good school fora number of years. When he is done, he will — be ready to make his way in the world, and who knows but what he may win fame and. fortune! Name your pele: and the money is yours.” Nathan Jones shook his head, His eyes glittered greedily, for he dearly loved money, but he would not yield. “No, sir,” he said. “Keep your money, and rl keep Dick. : Go to school indeed! The best school for him is in the — stables, where he belongs.” ; “But we all CHAPTER VII. BE BRAVE; BE PATIENT. Richard Cadwell stared at the farmer, for never in. all his. life had he heard such a disagreeable voice, nor witnessed such a light’ of narrow, petty meanness as the one that shon in. Sree: of Nathan eiecnct a ‘dhahoa™ he ane ina Suevied, tone. “here isa re future before him if he is Ep a ape he wil brilliant career for himself. 4
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1 him along. I feel as much interested in him as though he | for himself and a career. were my own son.” DICK * “I WILL.” I do not understand your motive, but I know it is not a good one. Of course, you have the right “Well, he’ll have to make his future and hig career for} to control him two years longer, and I cannot interfere. Rest himself, and he'll have to start it out here in the barn, for | assured of one thing, however, if it lay in my power, I would that’s about all the school he’ll see for the next two years,”| do so very quickly. the farmer chuckled. “He’s a mighty good worker, Dick is. I never knew him to shirk, only he’s got too big ideas for a bound boy. No, I ain’t going to let him go. and my son says he can curry a horse fit to beat the band. He’ll outgrow all his notions of college in time, and settle | ness. Book learning is a curse to boys| ter and have no trouble.” down into a good farmer. nowadays. Why, sir, when I was a boy, all we expected to know was to read, write and cipher. I need him, | farmer retorted. But two years will soon pass away, and then we shall see.” “You don’t know what may happen in two years,” the “And I don’t care very much, for my part. I’ve got all I can attend to in looking after my own busi- If other people did the same they would get along bet- His manner was so insolent that it fired Dick’s blood. He And I guess what’s good| managed to control himself for a moment, then he could do enough for me, is good enough for a boy who don’t know who| 80 no longer. his folks were.” Dick, who had overheard the conversation, felt his face| turning upon the fafmer. burn hotly, and he knew the stranger was looking at him| have mine. If there was anything in the world that during that period I belong to you. After that we are strang- kindly, pityingly. our hero disliked, it was to be pitied. He could not bear to] ers. even think of it. _ “I see no reason why he should not become a prominent] in wonder. “See here, Nathan Jones,” he said, in a clear firm voice, “You have had your say, now I will I shall remain here two years longer, for While I am in‘ your employ, I shall work faithfully. I shall not grumble, but I shall yet cause you to open your eyes I will make a name, a place in the world for my-— man, no matter who his parents are,” Richard Cadwell said| self. Two years is not so very much to lose out of a life, yet finally, unable to hide the ring of indignation in his voice. “He is not to blame, whoever they are. —that boy comes from good old stock, for he shows it in his face. you refuse my offer.” Nathan Jones ‘shook his head stubbornly. “No, I never regret anything,” and he showed his long,| 2°t try it if I were you. it is more than I eare to lose. What can’t be cured, though; ~ But this I will say|™must be endured.” *“T have a good mind to give you a taste of that fc boy,” And I am inclined to think that you will regret it if| the farmer muttered, glaring at the youth who dared speak his mind plainly.’ “And for two cents I’d do it, too!” “Better not, Mr. Jones,” was the quiet answer. “I would ~ I have got to be a trifle too large yellow teeth ina grin. “And right here on this farm he’s got| fr that sort of thing, don’t you know.” to stay until I’m ready to let him go. learned enough at the district school.” “And yet you send your boy away to school! * Richard Cad- well broke in, unable to conceal his disgust at the petty na- ture of the other. “You believe in giving him every chance College indeed! : He h Richard Cadwell spoke to Dick then, holding pee, one and. “Well, my boy, I am sorry that my plans failed, _ but a us: ae hope for the best, and two years is not a lifetime, After they Ke have passed away we shall do something, and you must ‘be. to improve and make a career for himself. Strange then that| P™@ve and keep up a stout heart during those years. We are you should feel go toward this young man.” Hes Nathan Jones bristled up like an angry gobbler, while his pale, gray eyes snapped... “There's; a mighty difference between my son and the hound boy,” he snapped. “You forget, sir, that my son is a gentleman! And as such, he must haye a fitting education, for he will be a great man, a great man, sir.” ‘Richard Cadwell bit his lips, an amused look . creeping ‘into hig fine dark eyes, while Dick turned his back to hide his broad smile. The mere idea of Walter Jones ever making a great man, was simply amusing. He was not even clever in one particular line. At school he was always behind in his}. lessons, the most stupid boy in his class, and but for Dick| had taken his departure. many a fine trouncing would he have received. “Well, Mr. Jones, ;we will not argue upon the. question,” signin ah toa and the: dark eyes good-naturedly met the farmer’s gray ones, eae 8, T | tell you that you are only wasting time,” ‘the ae ‘next two years. ith me, for I never give in.” SOR _ Richard Gadwell by this time lost his temper, n ‘said sah f 1 listened. to ‘me. For some Rehan you dislike this Sie are paaecatnet to. ner him from pan a name| ‘tard ‘nett "oan caim, an at - came. ‘ _* My. only object now, is to see if I cannot win you over re-| and again during that day. garding this boy. I will even double the amount, and I will; cause he likes me or appreciates my work, but it is out of pure t a either has a profession, or if he prefers busi-| meanness and spite. not the only ones who have to wait. Be brave, be patient!” - “T will!” Dick answered promptly. “I will!” vou Ne \ ros Mu 3 7 } / | CHAPTER:VII. = * 4 + ee ese THE GOApD BUNT On FEF, YEAR. Nathan Jones had nothing to say, after Richard: Cadwell RS Dick was greatly surprised, for he e had expected to get a severe lecture, but he was iiss | “How can aman be so sean” the boy asked himself again “He is not keeping me here be- Well, I would rather be in my oT can stand it, and I will conquer ‘them! ” us relates Walter said nothing t m” eithery, but he knew foes ‘the | E said ‘doggedly, growing more stubborn and set every moment.| grin upon his face and the leer in his eyes that his father h ; “He belongs to this farm, and here he’s going to stay for the] told him all. Now, there ain’t one bit of use in arguing ing steadily at his work as if nothing. ha havbenee: He sel Our hero never let on that he noticed it, keep: and with aimee his patience, sh
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\ DICK “I WILL.” : Be Se greeted with joyful eagerness, not only by the boys ar the! number ot rabbits, too, and a few lucky marksmen shot some neighborhood, but the men as well were pleased. It was the quail. grand hunt that took place every year. To be sure the game} Dick’s gamebag was half full before some of the others was small, nearly all squirrels ahd a few stray rabbits or birds,| brought down a single thing. Always an expert with rifie or and once in a great while a fox was scared from cover. But] revolver, to-day he appeared to be charmed, and sent mystic so far no one had ever seen a deer in the woods about Burr-| bullets speeding through the air.* ville. At noon they halted, and building a huge fire, had their This year, however, there was great excitement. A very}lunch. Then they were i again, each one eager to win the large, red deer had been seen several times in and about the} coveted medal. : big wood near Burrville. More than one person had seen it,j The short November day was drawing to a ees as they too, so it was no idle tale. , were returning from the hunt. The windows of the Jones It was the custom after the hunt to have a supper at the] farm house, all aglow, was the first welcome sight that home of one of the hunters, followed by a dance at which all} greeted them, and they hastened their footsteps, knowing full the sweethearts, wives and sisters were present, And while} well what awaited them. the game brought in did not amount to much, it"gave them} Ten minutes later, they were gathered in the huge old din- a long day’s sport and an evening of enjoyment. The one who| ing room, which was very seldom indeed the scene of such ° could ‘show the biggest lot of squirrels’ tails, received a] merrymaking, and by the way the oyster stew and fried medal as a token of his marksmanship. -| chicken disappeared, quickly followed by pumpkin pies and The eventful day dawned, cold, sharp, frosty, just the kind tarts, great sugar dipped doughnuts and sparkling cider, one of weather for a tramp through the woods or a run over the| Would declare they had not eaten for a week. . hills. They were to meet at Nathan Jones’ house early in the} After supper would come the counting of the bushy tails in morning, and start from there. Inthe evening there would be| the different gamebags, the presentation of the medal, and the supper and the dance. then, last of all, the dance. The girls could hardly control There was vot a single man in the party who really liked| their impatience, so eager were they for the first waltz, and it the farmer, but he had money, and a certain amount of in-| was with a sigh of relief that they viewed the men arise from fluence. “And this year it was his turn to entertain the/ the table. . hunters. ; eis % The rosy sunshine of the bracing autumn morn was just eats é beginning to peep through a mist of clouds, when amidst ‘ : : f xe much, laughter and many jokes, the party started off over the : ; eet i ! hills in search of their day’s sport. And in the old farm CHAPTER IX. house there was a delightful fragrance, revealing the fact that “when the hunters returned, hungry and tired, they would not} § A WICKED SCHEME EXPOSED, be greeted by an empty table. 7 Dick was with the party, of course, and so was Robert, The| Shouts of laughter filled the air as the contents of the dif- ‘farmer had intended leaving our hero at home to superin-| ferent gamebags were emptied, for it told the ‘skill of some of é tend the work on the farm, and he had his own reasons for the farmers as marksmen. One man’s bag, who always — - not wishing our hero to be.one of the hunting party. He| boasted that he never missed a shot in his life, was found, was a crack shot, and the honors of the day would be show-| to contaim the tails of two chipmunks, and so it went. But ‘i ‘ered upon him. ‘ Dick had beaten them all. In fact they all expected he would _ Frank Spencer made such a violent protest, however, that} win the medal, many of them having seen him shoot before. ' Nathan Jones had to yield, and smothering his wrath he told); Walter Jones came next, and he had one thing in his’ game- the boy to get ready. bag that not another in the party could boast of—a black | “J believe that infernal old skinflint intended to keep you squirrel’s tail. There had been but one killed Saas the’ day, at home purpo ely, Dick,” he said, in confidence to the boy.|and it was his rifle that brought, it down. “Confound his ‘ugly mug, anyway, I never in all my life saw’ Apparently his face wore a very proud and hae amile” a8) such a man! The! only thing I am sorry about is, that We} he stepped forward and laid the leathern pouch. upon the will have to have the supper and the dance in his house, It table, bit a close and keen Shaarrar would have noticed a casts a shadow over the whole evening.” queer expression in his light, gray eyes. Proudly opening “Neyer mind, Frank, he’s got a couple of women there to-| the bag, he laid out, one by one, the bushy trophies of the — = oday 'who can make an oyster stew that will make your mouth| punt, reserving his treasure for the last.’ £ Bahia ‘water, and as for pumpkin pies and tarts—don’t say a word.” Suddenly his face grew a bit grave, then _grayer: ‘still, and a “That settles it then, Dick,” and the doctor’s son smacked finally quite serious. The black tail of which ae was | $0 his lips and laughed. “And I'll soon settle the good things proud, was not there! . onee I.am at his table. Wait until you see the expression| fe looked about him in sudden bewilderment, frst to one . upon his face when I finish enough for six men.” ms then at another. Pe _ For Farmer Jones was very meangand ; stingy regarding his! “Where can it have gone?” he asked them all.- “You: ow table: His motto was, eat just enough to live, pot’ live and I was the only one who shot a black squirrel, and I want ted enjoy the good cheer of a luxurious, well appointed table. to show his tail last. It is not in my bag, ant ae where can And who knew it better than Dick, whose fare had always] it have gone?” been of the plainest, coarsest kind. To be sure, there was} No one knew. They looked at each other, ak ‘said ‘noth ; “plenty of rare and delicate food purchased, but it was for| ing, andgthen Dick brought his game bag forward ‘to empty. “Walter who was not really very strong, so his father said.| Out rolled a pile of red, fluffy tails, followed by. ‘long plu um s Therefore he must have an extra breakfast aes a for him| of silver gray, and then, last of all, its. sombreness all t every morning, — ; plainer because of ‘others surrounding ea came he hunt was a grand success. evi before had the woods squirrel’s ‘tail! B see emed! to be so full of both red and ‘gray. squirrels, with Dick was more surprised than any of sie stata: : ) w and then a. dies black ees oe ‘There were coproay eh shad at it as ia it had ‘been a snake, while tte'ot Aethet: i i~ ¥) os } x et
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lv DICK “I WILL.” looked at him, then at one another. How did it come to be in his bag, they asked in subdued whispers. Our hero was the first one to speak. Dazed, mystified, but never dreaming that they suspected him of being dishonest, he turned to Walter, asking in a, low voice: “Ts that your black squirrel’s tail, Walter? ever get in my bag?” \ His eyes met those of the other, clear, bright, fearless. His voice was filled with ‘surprise, and as bad as he was, Walter Jones dropped his eyes, not daring to look Dick in the face. “That is for you to answer, not for me,” he mumbled, not playing his part as well as he had intended., “I put that tail in my gamebag, and the next thing I find it in yours. I can’t answer as to how it got there. You must do that.” For the first time it dawned upon Dick that he was sus- pected of having stolen the tail. His face flushed, his eyes glittered, and he took a step forward. “See here, Walter Jones,” he said in a low, suppressed voice. “Do you dare infer that I stole your wretched old squirrel’s tail? From the tone in which you speak, and the way you look at)me, I know that you do. Now, come out and be a man. Don’t play the part of a sneak, if “Well, Dick, I don’t see any reason why you should i mad and jump on me in that Nie a Walter begun, but Dick eut him short. “That will do,” he said, crisply. question, and no beating about the bush. Say either yes or ‘no. I am not going to wait, very long, and if you refuse to answer me, but keep- on with that infernal hinting; I'll break your head!” “Oh, yes, I suppose you would like nothing better than _ to get a chance at me,” Jones sneered. “I know I am not as big as you are, but I am not afraid. Yes, you did steal that _ squirrel’s tail, and you know it! You wanted that medal, and _ you stole to get it!” One bound, and Dick was at thd accuser’s side) hig eyes flashing, his face pale as death. Another instant, and he would have had isd by the throat, had not Frank Spencer interfered. “Hold on a bit, Dick,” he said. “Wait a minute, and let’s see if Wwe can’t get at the bottom of this thing. I don’t blame you if you punched his head all the way through that wall behind him, but go at it in the proper manner. Now, look here, Jones. How do you know that Dick stole your squirrel’s tail?” ; “Didn’t he find it in his bag?” the other asked, with a show of bravado. “And what was it doing there when I was the only one in the party who shot a black squirrel?” How did it “Well, the next question is—who put. it in his bag?” Prank Spencer asked, sharply. “You did not. miss it until now, and you did not see him put it there—your proof is too weak.” . “Don’t you dare insult me under my own roof!” blustered the cowardly Walter, for at heart he was a coward. “Re- member, please, that you are in my father’s house, and he will . never stand this,” “Suppose we make a thorough investigation,” Dick said, athe white lips. “This is too serious a matter to let rest, and I will have my name cleared! It is too deep a stain to let rats die! bes ni At that pata one of the farm hands, atiracted by the - sone of loud, angry voices, came to the door and listened to what was going on. His face suddenly brightened when he Hy - learned what it was about, and coming forward he said re “Ty want you to answer my |: @they are of the same size. That might be the case, Yee ‘i =e who slipped past me and went out there alone. I can’t say how long he was gone, not more than ten minutes anyway, but Mister Dick never left the room this night. Now, sir, there’s all I know about it, but Mister Dick, he never stole anything, and T’ilstake my life on that, for I’ve known him ever since he was a boy. i : CHAPTER X. & pICK “I WILL” IS CLEARED OF ALL STAINS. oo A silence followed the words of the farm hand—a silence deeply oppressive and painful, and the men present looked into each other’s faces, yet they did not say a word. They were the guests of Nathan Jones, and they could not very well appear against their host. It was indeed a very embar- rassing position for them to be placed in, still what could, they do? : Waiter spoke first, and it was merely aia that caused | him to say what he did. Even then, his eyes were Wasaga and he dared not look anyone in the face. ; isc “Well, for my part, I don’t see how the tail could ever have worked its way into Dick’s gamebag. I was in the room... where all the bags were, but the reason [ went there, was: to. get my knife. I left it there in the morning, and I missed me all day. It was only after we were home that I. remembered where I put it. I had a long sliver under my thumb nail and I wanted to get ‘it out, So that accounts for. my. being. the room where the bags were. Say, Dick,” he broke ine Su denly as if an idea had darted through his head. “You: don’t suppose you shot a black squirrel long about dusk,’ and in the uncertain light mistook it for a gray one? .You know know.” a Dick’s under lip curled, and he turned away his head while ihe others present covered their@faces with their hands or — walked to the other side of the room. _ Pretending to look ate something else. en It was such a sneaking, cowardly thing to do, such’ a ‘mean, crawling way to try. and get out of ‘it ets what could one expect of such a nature? es: j “No, I did not shoot a black squirrel, * our hero. anewered, calmly, unable to hide the scorn in his ‘voice. hid show you are sitlatied that I did not tale the tail in your bag, or do’ you still suspect me? Tf you do, say so, for I want this thing settled. It is the first time in my life that I was ever Me eused of being a thief, and I will never allow such a Ste to hang oyer me. Out with it now. I am waiting.” f “Well, how could I think ‘any differently, when ‘the: tail was found in your bag?” Walter whined, uwheasily. “Put pone in my place,. Dick. Wouldn’t you think the ‘Ss thing? Of course you would, and, so would anyo pes Ise, ‘But, as ‘oe as you did not ks it, 1 believe, you. I'll take a. word for-——”" > 4 “That will never. do,” Diek ieee: “gternty. T you to come right out in. plain English, and say that y: believe me imnocent. | I will listen to nothing . se know in your heart and soul that I never meddle E of. the bags, and if you don't end ju wrete Tet
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DICK “I WILL.” 1 severely one or two shart young chaps who had spoken falsely of him, and he did not care to receive the same treat- ment. At the same time he knew he would keep his word. More than that, he would be upheld by everyone present. It was either apologize or take the results. The former he hated to do, the latter he feared. A bitter morsel indeed for the rich farmer’s son to swallow. Hvery eye in the room was fastened upon his face, and in his heart, although they were his guests, he knew they were longing to see him chastised. He looked around him. No, there was no pity, not a spark, stamped upon the faces there before him. Once, twice, thrice, he swallowed the big lump that arose in his throat before he could speak. His lips were dry and clung together, and his breast was filled with a rage such as he had never known before. . “Come, I am. waiting, and I am not the most patient person in the world,” Dick said impatiently. “If the evening’s pleas- ure was to be ruined by the dispute between us, suppose we go outside and settle it, and not cast a shadow over the end- ing of the day’s sport.” 8 ~.-Nathan Jones muttered something beneath his breath about beggars, but his remarks were‘ not heeded. He would have liked nothing better than to have taken our hero by the collar and pitched him through the door out into the night. “Well, Vl take it back,” Walter muttered, sheepishly. “I ~den’t want to spoil the entire evening for the rest, and I see no reason why we should go out of doors in order to settle it. It is better to stay in here where the others can hear every word. I suppose you are satisfied now?” ; “No, Iam not satisfied,” grimly. “I want an open apology, and—I will have it! You can’t get out of it this way, and I should say it is far better for you to remain in here. You don’t want to go outside, Walter, you know you don’t. [ll “wait just five minutes longer and then by Jove, if you don’t ome right out and act like a man, I'll insist upon your going with me where’ we'll have it out!” - Dick was getting really angry now. His eyes flashed and he ‘went hearer the coward, who hastily drew back in fear. “He saw that he could dilly-dally no longer, so he resolved 0 save his own head, so to speak, for he did not relish ap- earing before the girls with a black eye or a swollen lip. ir ““T am sure I beg your pardon, Dick,” very faintly. “I—I ‘Spoke impulsively, and if I had stopped to think, I never gwioald have said what I did. We—we are all apt to commit landers: sometimes, you know.” ~ Dick nodded, saying briefly: “Very well; I accept your apology.. But—let it be the last to me. Salschood. As to how it got in my gamebag,” his clear eyes Meeting the other’s shifting ones, “we will leave for a sharper brain than either yours or mine to solve.” That ended the matter: Dick “I Will” was cleared of the “stain that only a féw moments before had rested upon him, and the remainder of the evening was passed in the games a nd dances which all young folks enjoy so well. There was Mousic and songs, and, best of all, a chance to whisper a few arm house has secluded nooks and corners wherg tiny Cupid er lurks. Ab, youth is ever eee happy—in spite poverty and trials! ,- ers Ki - CHAPTER XI. ; “HE ig tmarnine PRINCESS RONNIB, FATHER.” Walter did ‘not E speak to our h hero again that evening. ‘ot ime you accuse me of taking an article that does not belong | You know when you said it that it was a downright y, .der words in some fair maiden’s dainty ear, for every old. worked Me 1A. for the fair - Baith being asked ag bea her x thing was the absence of Edith Cross. She was not thera, neither was her mother. Then the story of Hope leaving the Cross household, and making her home with the Rev. Joseph — Cornell, had been talked over by the whole county, of course, being drawn upon and enlarged each time it was discussed. Yet nearly all the neighbors were in sympathy with the young girl, for they knew she had been a mere drudge, and all for a few scanty, worn-out clothes, that had once belonged to Bdith, and the plain food that was grudgingly doled out to her. In spite of the fact that Major Cross was reported well’ to do, the Rev. Joseph Cornell held a mortgagegon his farm, and had for years. Not that the kind-hearted man had ever told anyone of it, nor did he even ask for his interest. When there was company present, Mrs, Cross entertained lavishly, and her table fairly groaned beneath its weight of good things. But once they had departed, the jellies and jams were securely locked up in the closet, the key safely stored away in her ample pocket. The fine china was banished +o its dark corners there to await the arrival of the next visitors, the silver was carefully polished, wrapped in thick layers of flannel, and stored carefully away, not to see the light of day again until another state occasion. They, were simply like hundreds of other farmers—great at making an outside show, but very poor home livers. It is a mistaken idea that farmers use the best of everything, when the truth of the matter is, the choicest. of everything is sent to the city market. Skimmed milk is plenty good enough for the farm hands, says the ~~ housewife, with cream bringing such a big price in the city. Tender spring chickens are too dear to place upon the table when there are plenty willing to buy them, and there is salt pork in the barrel for the men who possess such appetites. So iteis with fruit. Dried apples left over from last year take the place of great ruby-hued berries and juicy melons. New potatoes are shipped and sold, for oldones; no matter if they are strong, do just as well to fry. Do you wonder then that the farmer is always complaining of indigestion? The only marvel is that he lives so long. So it was with the Cross family. And eowe: our dainty heroine, found a vastly different home with, er ‘Triend Della. “Dear child, I am. only too glad to have you here as a com- panion to my wild girlie,” the clergyman had said very gently, for she needs one gentle and mild such as you, to subdue her natural gay spirits. I welcome you to your new home, the same as I would a beloved daughter, for you are to be my daughter from now out.” : “Glory!” Della eried, dancing about the room, too over- _ come with joy to stand still. “Glory, Hope, only think of it! You are to be my sister, my own dear Lng and we'll have no end of fun here now! whe e “Hush, hush, my child, do not let your ‘eplrtta, “Ur with you,” her father broke in. “Remember that child takes the place of one long since gone dut of but not our memory. She can never outlive that,” his. voice trembling. “She would have been about Hope’s age, too, for you, I should "judge, are a trifle older. But we will not speak of that now, for it clouds our newly found joy.” “Thus was Hope welcomed to her new home, a far different | welcome than she had received at the Cross household. And « life seemed bright and cheerful to her at last. For the first Sag time she was really happy. at Mrs. Cross did not ask her to come pack, though she would * very much have liked to. When it was too late she saw her mistake, for she was obliged to hire an extra girl to do Hope’ Ss work. Hven then she growled ‘because of the, labor she re compelled to do, saying it was the hardest place she had eve | ee EAT) hs ee
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14 DICK “I bie ae Baar " ‘dainty fingers in dish water, such a question was unthought of, Thus a year passed away, nothing out of the usual run happening. There were sleighing parties, skating con- tests, in fact, all such sports that are popular in country towns. And through it all, Dick never for a single instant faltered in his resolution to gain his point. He did not say much, but he was none the less earnest. He kept his plans to himself, and some days Nathan Jones believed he had given up all hope of getting the education he craved, but he did not know him. Dick “I Will” had gained that name honestly. Walter, however, kept a closer watch upon him than did his father. In the first place he was shrewder, and he was insanely jealous of our hero. He was determined to stop him too, if it were possible. So when Dick believed that he was alone, Master Walter was sneaking around watching and listening. Dick used to retire to his room very early, but that was not strange at all, for it had been his habit for years to do so. Those hours after his day’s work was done were the only ones he had to study, and he made good use of them. * One night Walter made a discovery that filled him with glee. His narrow, petty nature rejoiced, and he hastened to his father with the startling news. “Tye just found out what makes him sneak off to his room so early every night, father,” he cried with a chuckle. never got onto it before; now I see through the whole busi- ness. Do you BONE what he’s doing every single night of his life?” “No, T-can’t say that I do,” the farmer answered in some surprise, looking up from his paper over the tops of his glasses. “What’s he up to now? Some new scheme to get away to schaol?” Walter nodded his head. ; “Hfe’s laughing to himself, thinking he will beat us yet,” he said. “But he don’t know that I found out. He is training Pringess Bonnie, father, in the hopes of winning: the prize at _the County Fair this year. He hopes to. win the purse, But that mare will never win. Some night, though, I shail follow him on horseback, and just satisfy myself if. there’s any good in her. If there is—well, I bet I'll fix it some way so that ‘T’ll get her. I’ve always wanted a good horse, but I never thought she would amount to anything. Why, don’t you re- member what a poor, sick, wretched colt she was when you . gave her to him? I never thought she would live. She’s a - peauty, no mistake about that, but the next thing is, can she run?” i CHAPTER XII. “WILL BLOCK HIS LITTLE GAME.” p : ‘ * Nathan Jones was silent for a few moments, his withered face wearing a thoughtful expression. Then he looked up at his son. 6 “So youre sure he’s ‘training her?” he asked, stroking his » grizzled beard. “It never struck me before that he was, but now come to think of it, I shouldn’t wonder a mite. Well, as you gay, she’s a regular beauty, and no mistake. If 5 had any dea, that she ‘would turn out to be any good, I would have topped to: think before I ever gave her to him. ‘But she was uch a sick-looking beast that I was glad to get rid of her.” Yes, T know, but what is that to us now?” Walter asked. her. well, and. enters her. in the race, and. she eu ae. pe: the result? / He me have thel: “I! torted, for there were times when his son’s attempt at airs. fe ee 2 SEE es ES SR ae ee PE ea eR ee money to buy his time of you, and enough left to go to. school and make a gentleman of himself. I hate him too much to see him do that,” setting his teeth together with a sharp, snapping sound; “and you know he has only another year to work for you, so the price now is smaller by one half than it was a year ago. Oh, he is a shrewd one, I tell you.” Suddenly Nathan Jones laughed outright, as if a sudden, happy thought had occurred to him. | “By golly, I’ve got it now!” he said, heartily, slapping one | hand@ down upon his knee. “And he can’t get out of it, even if he wins the race. I will block his little game, be will, or my name ain’t Nathan Jones.” “What do you mean, father?” Waltér asked, in a puzzled, yet eager voice, “I haven’t the faintest idea, but hurry and tell me.’ “Old heads are better after all than young ones, my boy,” the farmer chuckled in evident glee. “And I'll bet my coin money; every dollar of it; that you would never have even thought of such a thing. Ha, ha, ha! Your old dad knows more in one minute than you'll know in your whole life.” “I see no sense in your keeping me waiting so long, father,” Walter remarked impatiently. “Why don’t you tell me what you refer to, and have done with it?” “Now, don’t you crow too loud, sonny,” | the farmer re- made him angry. “Please remember that your old father 3, doing ‘the talking, and if it wasn’t for him where would yo ay be?” : Master Walter calmed down a bit. He knew when he gone too far, and he dared not offend his father, for he not eapable ef earning his own living, and he was well a a of the fact. So he waited in seeming patience, yet longing get up and leave the. room. ‘“¥ gin’t asleep, though a good-many smart young folks ehinid I am,” the farmer said, slowly, lighting his pipe and ‘puffing away at the tube of discolored clay, for ‘Nathan’ Jones W too thrifty to indulge in anything “but a clay pipe. — you listen to me. If Dick enters that tnare and she win race, what do you think I am going to do? Of course he ¥ offer to buy his time of me, and all that. Well, ‘sir, I sh put in a bill for stabling vei Sita EaeORe Bonnie three years!” iY Walter looked at his father aghast. Mean as ng wa d such a petty trick that it took his breath completel a and yet lie was: ‘glad to hear it, for it would i his rival. ee He always had looked upon Dick as his rival, # ] he should I am unable to say, for poor Dick never outrival anyone. He had gone on in his own way, no ill, no evil of any man, woman or child. All he was to accomplish his object in life, and he felt that $00: jater he would do so. ve “Well, father, you have: a good, Jong head, and man’s gine nse shiiting in his pale eyes; ‘that is best thing I have heard in Be nd a cua How #9: “ to think of ate ad “Never mind how I happened to ‘think of answered. “But don’t you say a. word. You ; on trainingsthe mare, and pretend ‘that about it. Let him enter her at the: Coun as when he springs it on me that he’s ready ] year of time, I'll just spring it on. ‘him abo board pill, for three years. ‘On accoun , a WI
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DICK “I WILL.” golly! if that mare is any good, I'll have her, or my name| by a few days of warm, balmy weather, as fragrant and agreeable as June. And as good luck would have it, the young — ain’t Nathan Jones!” yas: CHAPTER XII, THE NUTTING PARTY, AND HOPE’S PERIL. Farmer Nathan Jones and his worthy son Walter slept bet- ter that night than they had for many a week. They felt secure in the belief that they could place a stumbling block in the way of our brave Dick “I Will.” Ah, how little they knew. the character of the boy with whom they had to deal. As usual, that night Dick had Princess Bausis out for her He knew the value of a good horse, and he had raised her up from a colt. No one knew the hours he Had passed in nursing the small, sickly animal. But now he felt that his efforts were about to be rewarded and all would be gallop. well. “They little dream what a gold mine is in those slender, graceful, limbs of yours, my beauty,” he said, stroking her “Ah, how we have fooled Tt has been ‘a ‘velvet nose with loving hands. them! And how we will fool them again. hard, hard struggle, but in the end we have conquered. » And one year from to-day will see you in a luxurious stable, your own private stall made of polished hardwood, not this rough dingy hole, the meanest, poorest corner in the barn. And your- master, will be something beside a bound boy! Ah, well,, my princess, time works many a wonder. _ the first to come up from. the stable to the palace nor will we be the last. Brace up now, like a good ‘girl, for we are off for our usual spin.” _. The intelligent mare seemed to understand all he said to her, for she pricked up her sharp ears, and tossed her dainty forth, her small iron-shod hoofs making no sound on the straw-covered floor of the big barn. Out in the moonlight, he vaulted into the saddle, and an in- head. Then he led. her stant later was riding swiftly toward the hills, where he al- ways exercised her. Ah, but it was rare sport, dashing on- “ward in the silver moonlight, feeling those satiny sides be- ' tween his legs, knowing. full well that in this dainty crea- ture he had a small fortune. The hopes he builded, the dreams he dreamed, but youth is full of hopes and dreams, and we _ know them but once. Dick was. very quiet regarding his plans for his gallant little mare and himself, for if she failed .to win the race, then his hopes for the future would be shattered also, for ‘upon her speed and strength he depended entirely. Walter Jones chuckled wickedly when ue Saw our hero tak- ing his horse out for a gallop over the hills, and setting his teeth he vowed that he should never win the great race of the year, for in that part of the country it was considered a ‘great Trace. “Go on, you silly fool, and train that. mare to your heart’s content, ” he would mutter, with -evil’smile. “It is all the good it will do you, for she shall never run any if she does, . she shall never win the race. That I swear, and when I take an oath of that nature it requires a. good deal to break it! So, = ae Barker, look out ie bis) and for your mare, é t anne pie ‘did ‘not dream. that he had been watched, and he did ot know - that every move of his had been spied upon. So he d himself a famous man in the years ms ‘come. We are not ne went his way, blissfully content, hoping against hope, and i okey inclined to oe silent and somewhat wenerved;: ut 81 people of Burrville seized upon the very last day as the one’ for their nutting party. In a lurge grove about two miles from the village, the huge beech trees were loaded With the shining brown nuts, whose shells glistened like satin be- -}neath the sun’s warm rays. There our party intended to pass an entire day, starting early in the morning and returning in the evening. There would be lunch nae a jolly time taken all in all. The start was made tron the home of Nathan Jones, be cause it Was nearer the grove than any other, residence about there. And it is safe to add that not a single boy or girl missed that nutting party. It was clear, crisp and frosty, when they started, and the girls were all glad to wrap themselves in thick, warm woolen shawls. would have! New York City, know nothing of the sports and pleasures of their country brothers and sisters. As good luck would have it, Dick) was in the same wagon with Della Cornell and Hope. I need not add that Frank Spencer found a place there also. — Amid shouts of merry laughter and careless, hapey - eee the thoughtless party drove away, the cracking of the long- lashed whips, the rattle of the wheels over the rough roads, — sounding above the many fresh young voices. ° The sun was just beginning to glow red and rosy in the east, and a bright hoar frost covered the dead brown grass’ and withered leaves that lay in sodden mounds in the fence corners. Tt was quite a drive to the grove, and before the day’s frolics would begin, breakfast must be cooked and eaten. Not that it was at all — needed, for everyone had partaken of the morning meal, but it was Such fun to cook over a glowing fire beneath the morn- ing ‘ky. The sun was high before they reached the grove, and while the boys were unhitching the horses from the wagons, the girls busied themselves in preparing the breakfast in true — sypsy fashion. It was eaten amidst much merriment, and then when the dishes were washed and packed: away, the 2 young folks wandered off in search of the brown, tempting nuts, whose Haver cannot be equalled by any other nut that grows. Reader, have you ever been “beech-nutting?” course you have, so I will leave it all to your vivid imag- ination and to memory. No boy or girl brought up on a country farm ever missed the chance to go “nutting.” those who have been denied that great Borate IT am truly sorry for them. Gradually the young people pared off in couples, each — couple wandering in different directions from the others. As for _ The long six and eight-seated wagons were already waiting for them, and oh! what a jolly day they | Our boys and. girls; born and brought up in © f But of | al Although Walter Jones tried his best to reach the side re ; pretty Hope, he was bitterly disappointed, for Dick was al ready at her side, while Frank Spencer and pretty ‘Della. Cornell wandered off together. So Master Walter had to con- tent himself with the society of Susie Martin, a stupid, haired girl, whose open adoration for him had long ‘be standing jest among his companions. Poor Susie was at first in a perfect heaven of rapture, fo she believed that he had preferred her to. the other girls. But she soon realized her mistake by his gruff and rude manner. Stupid as she was, she could not fail to see it very plainly, and the day she had looked forward to as being 80° bright, was” aul and gloomy enough. | ~ Not so with our hero. ‘and pretty Hope. At fines, a :
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14 DICK “I WILL.” ? merriest of moods. Neither the young girl nor her compan- “ion ever forgot that day, and for the first time Dick “I will’ had the smallest basket of any in the crowd, a fact which was greeted with shouts of laughter whe the party met that night. Tt was in the middle of the afternoon that Hope wandered off a short distance from him, catching sight of a large tres well laden with choice nuts. The warm sun hdd dried the dead leaves, and not a sound was heard in the grove. seas Dick lingered behind her for a few moments, having found @ rare nest of the nuts, and then missing her he arose from his knees to go in pursuit ofeher. As he did so his heart gave a great leap of terror, and then seemed to stand x still, for only a few yards distant, standing like a statue, her face whiter than death itself stood Hope, her eyes fixed in terror upon some object directly before her. Our hero’s eyes sought that object, and the very blood within his veins seemed turning to waves of ice while his limbs grew numb, for in front of her, its horrible head waving from side to side, its forked tongue darting swiftly back and forth, its little fiery eyes glowing, was a huge rattlesnake! No wonder that both Hope and Dick were both powerless from fear and terror, for the loathsome reptile was all ready to spring upon the helpless girl and bury its deadly fangs in her body. It was so near her, that she could not escape, even had she not been terror-strickeri and dazed. God help her, it seemed that she was,doomed. -No power upon earth could save her from her awful, awful fate. CHAPTER XIV. THE COUNTY FAIR. A hundred different ideas darted through our hero’s head _like keen-edged flashes of lightning. He had no weapon, there was none near at hand, and what was he to do? To the Jast hour of his life Richard Barker never forgot those few brief fleeting moments that seemed to his tortured mind like so many years. He lived a lifetime while he stood there, each instant expecting to see ths snake spring upon its helpless ~ victim. ‘His first impulse had been to rush forward, and throw him- self between the young girl and the reptile, but a second later he saw that such a move would endanger both their lives. A cold sweat broke out on his brow, and his teeth chattered to- gether, ‘ : “My heavens!” he muttered, hoarsely. “What shall I do? What shall I do? J can’t save her, I can't!” and then as the » full meaning of the terrible peril the girl he loved was in, he ‘clenched his hands until the nails cut into the flesh. at ““T will save her!” he panted; his eyés flashing, his nostrils dilating. “I will save her if I die the instant later. Oh, Hope, Hope! ‘What would I have to live for if you should be taken out of my life.” In: a sudden, frenzied desperation he looked about him to see if there was a stone or some kind of a weapon with which ; he would be enabled to defend himself. And he could hardly -suppress the cry of joy that arose from his thankful heart when he saw a heavy, knotted stick lying ei the ground close beside him. } t a eT patel ness that had enwrapped him, gave place to warmth and fire. Never stopping to think of what the reswlt might be, he gathered his muscles together, and with a swift, agile bound was upon the hideous serpent: His’ face was actually blood- less, his eyes gleaming, his teeth set, and he never expected to see another sun rise or set, but he would not have drawn back for all the world. ‘Wild horses could not have held him. He was never able to tell how it happened afterwards, but the heavy stick came down with crushing force on the snake’s head, leaving a long, horrible, writhing body lying in con-— vulsive agony upon the ground. ; It was a full moment ere he realized what hd: happened, and then a sudden weakness overcame him, and he thought he must surely fall to the ground. But he chanced to look at’ Hope, and the sight of the young girl’s white face and swaying figure gave him a new strength, ; ‘ He was just in time to catch her in his arms, for another instant would have seen her lying beside the serpent whose victim she had almost been. ‘And as she lay there in our hero’s arms, her flower-like face pillowed against his broad shoulder, all he could compare her to was a frail, white lily. In a few moments she opened her eyes atid looked at him, first shudderingly, fearfully, as if expecting to again meet the: glance of those small, fiery orbs whose baleful gleam had fascinated her. A shudder of horror swept her slight figure from head to foot, for the ordeal through which she had passed * could not soon be forgotten. “You are safe, Hope,” Dick whispered in her ear. “So do not tremble so. I will protect you from all and every one ~ of life’s rough blasts, the same as I have to-day. Hope, Hope, my dear little girl, you ought to know how dear you are to’ me! ” Aye, she did know, but her natural shyness kept her wiles Her heart was throbbing thick and fast, but her lips were — mute and yet’the pressure of those strong, warm arms about — her, the clasp of his firm hand sent a thrill through her maiden bosom that she had never known before. ; . He waited a few moments before speaking, and then Hie ; went on, his yoice tremulous with emotion: “We are both young, Hope, we are only boy and girl, ee know, but that cannot make the love within our hearts ates the less. If I live to be a hundred years old, it would ze make you any dearer to me. Love is not: measured by years TS but by heart throbs. We are alone in the ‘world, _ why th n should we be desolate? I am going to make a name for my se self, dear—a name that will live long after Iam dead. There 4 are many” who laugh at me and call me a dreamer, put time | will tell. It is hard .work, uphill-work, but I never yet failed in anything I attempted to do. Nor shall I fail in. my life’s ~ purpose. A few years from now and we shall be happy, you and me, and all our sorrows be forgotten. We will have to wait, and be patient. Are you willing to wait for me, Hope?” 4 She bowed her curly head and was silent. Then eRe looked! : at him again. % “T will wait, no matter if it be ten, heut thirty yeu m she answered, in a whisper. sarod jong before that time you. will haye forgotten me. With success will come a change of heart, and Hope White, tle poor, homeless dependent, wh ih does not know who her parents are, will have no. place your heart or life. It‘is all very well now, but later— He gently silenced her. “Hush, » he said,’ pagan ee firmly. s ; 7 Py Yow Jenow m say hone: can never change me. Bia you, ought to: kno ‘than anyone else. h Time, siecess, all the money in ‘the pias at
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DICK “I WILL.” Hope. is not right to keep them waiting. You know the. County Fair begins day after to-morrow, and between what you have to do, and what I have to do, we shall be kept pretty busy. I suppose, of course, that you have a lot of fancy work to ex- hibit,” laughing. “All girls usually have.” ; “No, I have no fancy work, but I have one or two pencil sketches that Mr. Cornell says are good enough to be put on exhibition—in fact, he insists that I exhibit them,” she an- swered, modestly, “and I really believe I will do so.” ’ The County Fair! Ah, what a hogt of memories come thronging before me at the mere mention, I can see it all to. this very day. The fat horses, the sleek cattle, the cluck- ing hens and turkeys, the big loads of yellow pumpkins, and jars of jellies and jams. Then the bands, the throngs of men and women, who would no more think of losing this yearly holiday than they would of not keeping Christmas or New Year’s. The swings and little side booths, where all kinds of useless articles are sold, and——- Well, I don’t like to write’ about it, for it really makes me homesick—that dear old County Fair! 4 CHAPTER. XV. THE RACE OF THE YHAR. The nutting party was voted a grand sticcess, and it was not until they were all homeward bound that the story of Hope’s peril and Dick’s heroic deed became known. Then there were little shrieks of terror mingled with obs and ahs, while our hero would have been crowned with rae had the impulsive crowd possessed any. “And to think that you were in such peril, Howe, dear,” one of the girls fluttered. “Dear, dear, I shall not be able to sleep to-night.” ; ' “T-am as well as ever,” Hope laughed. “Tt was merely a scare, that wag all, and I am not ope bit the worse for it. But you should have seen Dick kill that snake. One blow, ‘and his snakeship never knew ete hurt him. Ugh! he was a wicked-looking customer, too.” Hadith Cross, who was one of the party, said nothing. But ‘in. her, heart and ‘soul she wished that Dick’s strong arm had not been so “strong, for in her wicked heart she would have rejoiced to see Hobe lying. dead before her. And Walter Jones felt the same concerning Dick oP Will.” They reached home safely, and nothing more was said con- ‘cerning Hope’s narrow escape or Dick’s heroic act. {ft was ‘all the County Fair. Nothing else was talked of, nothing else was thought of. It would last three days, and to surrounding country people those three days were one grand lohg hok- day of pleasure. a The third ‘day was the race, to be sure ile a: different af- fair from the Handicap or the Suburban, but it created fully : as much interest in and about. Burrville, as cithet of the two manted. It was all pC eRE:: for there was a good-sized purse up. Not a whisper, not a lisp ee been heard ‘that Dick had entered Princess: Bonnie, at the, Jones’ farm, and the boy’s isa heart. beat high - ‘with hope and happiness for he wanted to : surprise them. Then too, he- feared: treachery should they Jearn of it too soon. “Hope's” ‘drawings were also on exhibition, and the young 2 girl was amazed at the praise they received. She had never | | taken a leszon. in her life, but she was a natural born artist: as SE iN eee me ee a al ee cera ees os Re es BA a ee a ae as as oar ‘fer | her to draw as it was for the. other, girls better. i The rest of the party will be looking for us, and it} to write, and the little Pactihes ae ae andl during an 1 idle hour, bade fair to make her a name and a _ Seputation as an artist. a Poor Hope! Life for her had always been so gray and: gloomy that she could hardly realize her good fortune. Her lovely face was wreathed in smiles, but she was very calm. And Dick was prouder even of her success than she was. The fair was a grand suecess. In fact, there had not been | so successful a one for many years. This year everything seemed to go right. The cows and horses were sleeker, fat- ter, more contented looking and juicy, and it seemed as if every housewife had outdone herself in the way -of patch- work and pickles. But best of all, was the last nee race of the year! Everything was in readiness. The track was maga and even, not a lump as big as a penny could be seén. The gun shone bright and warm, the band played a popular air, and % the throng in the grand stand sat Piqvowiees waiting for the horses and riders. Among those who appeared io be the most deeply inter- tested, were Walter Jones and his worthy father. They were both very nervous, and the ‘elder chewed away on a bit of. rank tobacco as-if- his very life depended upon it; while the younger one grinned nervously. At last the shrill whistle of'a trumpet announced the com- ing of both men and horses. The starter, who had once wit- nessed the Brooklyn Handicap, believed in “doing things up in city style,” as he expressed it, and since that time the irumpet had played a prominent part in every race. He was avery dignified person, and et respected. by the citizens of Burrville. ' Out they came, one by one, all ae his own favorite color, and last of ail came Princess Bonnie, and her young ye master. He wore national colors—red, white and blue. — It was a great surprise to everyone present, and many arose in their seats with wide open eyes and gaping ‘mouths. - They had not dreamed of seeing Nathan Jones’ bound boy. in the race, and with such a horse... Why, the mare’ was a perfect beauty. From her dainty hoofs up to her sharp-point- ed ears she was a model. No wonder the crowd stared and. . stared, ‘ a, “Waal, by gosh, she’s a ‘dave ie critter,” was heard on every side., “And whar did he git her? She’s worth money, I. tell yer.” Princess’ Bonnie seemed to understand her own worth, for she tossed her dainty head, the ribbons in her mane fiut- tering gayly, and then as Dick vaulted lightly into the saddle, lifting his cap gracefully to the cheering crowd, the bell was. sounded, the horses formed in line, and after just 80 much! / waiting and fussing about, the start was made. Princess Bonnie took the lead and kept it up, too, very easily, and as the cheers grew louder and louder, Nathan Jones grew ghastly, while his son did ‘not er much: sty ‘ “By golly,” the farmer muttered thickly, “I wonder durned fool of a boy has ‘made a mistake. ‘TU bet a he has, and. we’ve ruined our own horse!” It was very plain that Nathan Jones and his had been up to some nasty, sneaking trick, else wk é remark? It was entirely uncalled for, and the. expression upon both: their ie showed their oe
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i@ that infernal drug goes through her system. Hang the luck, I wish I had attended to the thing myself.” “And so do I,” Walter retorted, sulkily, “for when every- thing goes wrong you lay iton me. Now, you will blame me for your colt’s being spoiled, and yet you expected me to do the thing right, and in the dark, 106: Next time do it your- self.” “See here, young man, don’t you talk back to me,” his father said, sternly. “Don’t you forget for a solitary minute that I’m your father and your boss, and I ain’t going to ‘stand no impudence from you, sir. You're the one that put up the job, and by golly I won’t take all the blame!” “In the first place you had no business giving Dick that; zolt, and you know it,” Walter growled. “But of course when you once gave it to him you can’t take it back. Next} time maybe you won’t be quite so generous about giving things away.” “How was I to know whether the colt, would live or die?” his father grumbled. “It was such a worthless, miserable sickly looking beast, that I was glad to get rid of it. Tf I had known that it would ever have grown into a decent horse with any vim in it, you can bet he would never have got his hands on it. As it is, we can only make the best of it. But how the dickens did you ever happen to give Flora those pills? I warned you to be careful, and you know it just as well as I do.” é “Tt’s too late to ery over spilt milk now,” Walter’ sulked. “He'll come out ahead, you see if he don’t, for that mare is sure to win. If I hadn’t been afraid of her, I’d never have bothered with the pills. She was too dangerous a customer _to let alone. Now he’ll be able to go to school and come out on top. si “Well, you had ten chances to his one, and it’s your own DIGK “I WILt.,” hope shines brightest, the hidden storm clouds are darkest and heaviest. But.who can describe the workings of fate. To-day may be all sunshine; to-morrow all clouds, and we alas! poor mortals, must bear it all in silence and patience. CHAPTER XVI. “MY BOY, YOUR PLUCK HAS WON, AND THE PURSE IS YOURS.” Yes, Princess Bonnie had won the race of the year, and our hero felt@richer and prouder than any king, for now his hopes would be realized, his ambitions statitied, and he could be a man among *men. t Frank Spencer was fully as happy as Dick, and when he é wrung his hand in warm friendship, he exclaimed: . “By Jove, old man, you are in ahead at last, and you were rightly named, for if ever I knew a chap who possesses an iron will, you are that chap. God bless you, but I’m as tickled — as you are.” Dick returned the warm hand pressure, and his bright eyes - were dim. He was possessed of a very tender nature, a loy- ing heart, and he appreciated a true friend, but alas, he had’ i so few. All his life long he had pined for love and sympathy, but he chad found so little of either. Now, it seemed as though fate intended to atone richly for her past unkind- i ness. ae i 5 Hig heart swelled with pride when he looked at the noble ~ mare whose speed had entirely changed his entire fortune, | and he stroked her satin nose tenderly. “Don’t praise me, Frank,” he answered, laughingly. “Give | e }your praise where it ig due—to Princess Bonnie, for she is the heroine of the hour. Heaven bless her, she has saved me i fault that you’re not ahead of him,” was the only consola-| from a life of toil and misery!” tion he got from his father. “If a fellow hain’t got any brains, who’s to blame for it?” . “I’m glad you are able to appreciate your bound boy,” the son sneered, “and I suppose you will be glad to see him win. But when you have to pay another one in his place, you will - not feel quite so good over it. Money and friendship don’t go hand in hand.” — : ; The gallant Princess Bonnie kept up the pace all the way round. Not for a single instant did she lag behind, on the contrary each stride forward seemed to infuse a new life and vigor into her sleek limbs. And the crowd in the grand stand shouted until it seemed as if their throats must surely burst. Every eye was fastened upon the bits of well-known, well- beloved colors—red, white and blue—and every pair of lips _ silently prayed that the gallant little mare would win. And _ their prayers were answered, for with a sudden outburst of speed that amazed even her’ owner, Princess Bonnie sprang _ forward, her eyes plazing, her nostrils dilated, every nerve i beneath | her satiny skin aquiver, A great shout went’ up } from. both ‘men and women, ‘and then like a gayly colored flash, the brave little mare shot past the winning post the victor: by| a full head! oe Such cheering was never before heard upon the fair grounds of Burrville, and both Walter Jones and his worthy father vould gladly have throttled the noble mare and her youthful ywner, for the prize was his. He had won at last, and the way. seemed clear. and full of ‘hope. “But alas! how little he of sidan t lay before. him. Oftentimes when the star. of chy He was careful to blanket the mare and lead rae ‘quickly. ; away to the stables, and he would allow no one else to touch. — her. He had trained her, and now that she had triumphed, he i would still care for her comforts, he said. The handsome floral wreath had already been ining about, the silken neck, and tossing her dainty head proudly, as if " she realized what she had done for her young master, Princess, Bonnie followed*him. Cheer after cheer rent the air as. she | was led away, and they grew still louder when he once mor reappeared before the excited throng. He did not have to stand there, Bowing and seit in os response to ‘their calls, for he was naturally modest, ‘but what else could he do? He could not be rude when they re- ceived him so kindly, but he would far yather have stolen quietly away. ered The only two persons present who did not join in the cheering were Nathan Jones and his son, who both sat near with scowling faces. Their sullen manner was soon noticed, and there were smiles upon every face. : “They take it rather hard, eh?” went from. one ig ‘anbiie “and after all the years the boy has worked like a dog, t One would suppose they would of course be glad to see ti get on in the world.” : “That’s not the style of Nathan J ones,” another ‘inte neigh bor of the speaker's replied. “And they say that C just, ‘about like the father, if anything he’s’ mi ty Well, cia will soon shai san now, for a can
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how friend ‘Nathan will fume!” the other laughed. “I’m ' mighty glad to see the boy rid of him, for he’s the hardest ‘man in the country to work for. Mean to his help even when - he pays no wages. And poor Dick only had his board for his | work. Why I’ve seen that boy ready to drop when he’d | come in from the field, and then that old catamount always had extra work for him about the stables.” It was very easy to see how our hero stood with all the ' farmers in and about Burrville. They all liked him from the oldest to the youngest, for his kindness of heart and his ' struggle to accomplish his ambition was known far and wide. ' Many a man with means would have sent him to school, but ‘Nathan Jones knew his power, and wickedly refused. Perhaps he would not have been so bad were it not for his son a tr “who was so jealous of our hero. i Dick was happiest when he received the whispered con- gratulations of pretty Hope White, and his heart throbbed while his boyish face flushed. And then the distinguished- hand outstretched, his kindly face aglow. 4 “My boy, your pluck has won, and the purse is yours. In five years from to-day, I shall expect to ‘read of Richard : Barker as one of our leading young men, and I shall not be Mistaken, either.” > “Thank you, sir,” our hero answered, modestly. “I shall _ surely do my best, and I will not fail for the want of hard work.” “Hard work is the best thing in the world for a young man,” a and a shade of the sadness swept over the fine face. “That is the right kind of hard work. And,” with a deep sigh, ‘ “the best thing to cause one to forget.” - Dick looked at him curiously. He had wealth, position, in fact, everything that the heart could wish for, and yet he was not happy. His life seemed shadowed by some deep sorrow, and his face showed it too. Boy though he was, Dick could read in his eyes that his heart was sad and heavy. “T shall never forget your kindness to me, sir,” the boy Said suddenly, why, he was never able to say, but a queer im- | pulse caused him to say it. For some unknown reason he ‘had always felt drawn toward this man, who was so far above him in everything. : “I have never ‘done anything for you, my boy, that you i “should thank me, though God knows I would have been the happiest man in all the world had I only been allowed to,” ae the reply, given in a husky voice. “But some day it may is om Bt come all right. At any rate, I. hope so. Well, good-by, and > God bless you. . ‘With those words he turned abruptly away, ‘Noatiane Dick ' standing and staring after him in amazement, for from the “1 sound of his voice the boy was sure he strangled a sob, and a “\strong man’s sob of hopeless: despair and great griefi—well, I heard but one in all my life, which is by no means a short one, and God grant that I may never hear another. I can bear a woman’s tears, for they are like an Aprii shower, but a man’ a—ah, they are too’ fierce, too bitter, and they seem to - scoreh and blister the wretched eyes from which tee) fall. ee sued and so. ‘is he,. therefore det us eats them out of his DICK “I —— ‘looking stranger whose life he had ‘saved, came up to him, his Ls remember why you gave her to me? Wy autumn day, as if it too, rejoiced that virtue and honesty had conquered vice and eae: CHAPTER XVIL “I KNOW ALL, AND YET I AM WILLING TO FORGET ALL.” Dick returned quietly to the farm and went about his tasks as though nothing of importance had taken place that day. Walter did not even look at him, but sat sulking all the evening. His father, however, could not contain himself, and at supper he remarked sulkily: “I suppose you feel mighty big and set up > because you have won the race to-day?” q “No, sir, Iam not at all set up, as you put it,” Dick an- swered in a respectful tone, but with a smile which he strove to conceal. “It is but natural, however, that I should feel proud of Princess Bonnie when she has shown herself to be such a fine mare. And then I also take a little credit for her training.” ae “Yes, and a fine way you took to train her,” Walter broke in. “Sneaking off nights without a word to eee T would never have done such a thing.” ; “I.had no other time to train her,” was Dick's quiet reply,’ “and my time was my own when. my tasks were done for the day. As for telling you or your father, why should I? You would have planned to stop me in some way or other.” “Don’t forget your manners, sir, because you've got/a little money,” Nathan Jones retorted, wrathfully. “You will please remember that I taught you all you know, and but for me where would you be anyway? Answer me that if you can, sir.” / Dick looked at the farmer, and his under lip ‘red: “T should be much farther along in the world than I am to- day,” was the calm answer, and he looked him full in the face, never for a single instant flinching. “I might have ~ something and be where I ought to be.” ' “You would be still in the place I took you from, and I’m sorry now that I didn’t let you stay there,” savagely peeling an apple. “For of all the ungrateful cubs that I ever saw, you are the worst. Where did you get the mare that won — you the race to-day? Who gave. her to you?” { i “I must admit that you gave me the noble mare whose speed to-day was the means of changing my whole life, and ; making my future,” Dick answered, promptly. “But—do you a What was she then? ak A sickly, weak colt whom no one, not even I, believed she would live. I cared ‘for. her, nursed her out of pure, ‘simple pity, for I could not bear to see her suffer. And even had sh snever amounted to anything I should still shave been glad yi do as I did. Then when I saw there was. something in’ her, I made up my mind to train ner) and eater) her for the race, while I must thank you for he: gift, of the colt, yet to r self alone I am grateful for what she has proven to be.” “That's it,” the farmer growled. it “You're like all lash: cubs, filled full of ft geLABHy ingratitude. ie 28: lo obi ‘life: for. the day. And even tes sun shines: biage on ° Mee
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¢ tj u " _ it up,” the farmer said, for he and Walter knew the exact | * peared to have grown dark,.and all hopes forever more dead. DICK “I WILL.” years. nothing, you can bet on that.” Nathan Jones was apt to sometimes forget his polished | and much studied language, and now that he was excited, he relapsed back into his own ways. Dick ‘looked up at him quickly, his face growing pale and anxious. He had never thought of such a thing before, be- lieving that his labor on the farm was sufficient for both his keeping and that of Princess Bonnie. If he should be obliged to hand over the sum of money he had won at the race, it would be hard indeed, ‘for it would result in more slavery, for he expected to have to pay double its worth in order to buy his freedom. “Will you kindly tell me what you consider me indebted to you for?” the boy asked, his lips quivering, for he knew well what to expect. “It might just as well be settled now as any other time.” “Here, Walter, since you’re good at figures, you just add amount of money Dick had in his possession, and they deter-| mined to get every dollar of it away from him. “He knows what it will cost him to buy his time of me, so add the mare’s board and keep to it.” Dick sat silent while Walter, with a grin upon his face, added up a long column of figures that | seemed to haye no limit. ' Poor Dick! How sutidenly the bright future ap- At last Walter handed the paper to his father who first. ee adjusted his glasses, then slowly read it. A mo- ‘ment later he looked up and ‘smiled, shaking his head, re- ; "marked with a grin: “Well, Dick, I’m afraid you won’t go to school this year, - for ‘the mare’s board and cheeeld time takes every dollar you’ve got.” Dick was silent, for he knew he could do nothing since he Was under age, and the farmer really had boarded the mare for three years. But his spirit was not broken, and he was fat from beifig conquered. “I will find a way out,” he said, in determined silence, and raising his eyes, he answered cahnly: pURUA SAE ete SE IMC A PSA IN SERS Lori cn Tee Pca ac ee I NE ae Een eae ee “J expected as much as this, in fact, it only equals the treatment | I have always received at your hands. I under- a stand this scheme perfectly, . and I’ am sorry for you—sorry ewe from the bottom of my heart that a man should stoop so’ low as to rob a boy. But I bear you no ill-will, for I know al], and yet I am willing to forget all, since { am to ‘Teave saa “Ss "shelter of your roof for r good and all.” The boy’s words cut the man, hard and mean though he was, Turning: to Dick he asked with a leer: it “And where will you go when you leave me withont a nu in and give you a home.” se ur hero. smiled. “I shall go to work and earn ‘the money with which I ae fit: myselt £0. face the world,” he answered, proudly. “And pe Bat fail. a never yet made up my mind to do a (one ee stelter,: -Good-night, may you ‘sleep, aad ies orig he lett father a iz ain’t going to keep no Eis esses for nobody for] for the mae first time in their lives they were both ashamed ‘to ‘the quick.: He winced, and was silent, but not for louig. |* single dollar in your pocket. You won’t find many to take] of their own conduct. CHAPTER XVIII. ANOTHER DISAPPOINTMENT. Poor Dick! He did not close his weary eyes in sleep’ that night, for his disappointment was too _keen, too sharp. To think that after all his hopes and pe he should have failed. Oh, it was too bad! . Who could blame him if in the first few bitter hours, a BS great hot tear would now and then roll down his cheek, 3 his lips quivered pitifully. “And I expected to do so much in the next two years,” he said sadly to himself, looking out through the one small window at the clear, cold autumn moon, that floated in the — heavens. “And now—now, I am as poor as ever!” t He bowed his head for the first time in all his brave vould” life, utterly hopeless, and then he started up, a sharp ery | breaking from his lips, for a sudden idea darted like a flash ~ te: of fire through his brain. : i “No, no, I can’t do. that!” he said, ent fancies to. 0 taht against the thought. “Oh, it would seem like selling a dear, true friend, who had aided me, and I had = nat with: pase is ingratitude,” ae For he had for a moment thought of selling, Erivceae Bonnie in order to carry out his cherished plans, “bn seemed so heartless, so wicked, that he gave up the idea. a i once. What! sell her, the beautiful creature whose intelligence | was almost human. Part with the only thing upon earth, whe really and truly loved him. No, no, he eons not, he woul not do it, Then he suddenly thougtit of sweet Hope “White, and heart softened. She loved him, God bless her, and she woul never forsake him. ? “Tf I only knew of peene who would buy hii geen « Ronnle not feel so mean abous Ts? bs muttered: all at sea.” “But as iy tee whom he, mish possibly Be ‘vie Sais not sell her back to him againy Tn es first place they woulay not give him, _ the stable where his wet: mare was “comfortably cr her oats, i B A soft, low whinny of delight greeted him,. aaa a velvet a was rubbed against his arm. ‘The boy tae both a eu Rates. tts Bona e my / beauty, how: you ‘do. love sib sf pered,' and the Tmargs as if understanding a, he s softly. 4 For some time he stood there ine silence, neck, and she Tne her head nelle
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f was so quiet, so still out there, and every dumb beast was ' so safely sheltered from the night and cold. They had roofs } to cover them—aye! they had homes while he was home- | less. “Oh, beauty it is hard to be homeless and friendless both,” he murmured.’ “And you, ah, how you would hate me if you knew what was in my mind only a little while ago. Poor as I am, lonely as 1 am, J know you would far rather be with me on a bed of straw with the coarsest of fare than be owned _ by the richest man in all the world. And yet I thought of } parting with you for money in order to gratify my ambition. ' How you trust me, Princess Bonnie, how you trust me!” ' . And so ghe did, It was strange to see how the animal loved | him, seeming to understand every word that came from his lips.) And she was, as he said, the only thing in the wide ! world that loved him so faithfully. Even the young girl he } was so fond of, could not have that same loyal affection. In -a few years, when time had changed the maiden into a woman, she would then be able to know and understand love, but not | now. Y _ Suddenly he again started, a bright smile breaking over his “face. “At last,” he muttered. “At last. He will take you, Princess Bonnie, and you will live like a queen until I can ‘once more claim you. I will see him to-morrow morning early, and there will be no more barriers iptote me. Thank Heaven for the thought!” After seeing that the mare was all right he went back to the house, and throwing himself, dressed as he was, across his poor bed, soon sank into a peaceful sleep. He was young, and in youth, there are few clouds so heavy that the sunshine can’t get through. Then he had found a way out of his oubles, and all appeared bright and fair. ; He ‘was up as early as ever the following morning and went about his work, saying nothing whatever of his intentions. But after breakfast and the work was done, he quietly, made his way to the Pines where Richard Cadwell lived, and of the stately footman who answered his ring, asked permission to see the owner of the place. ‘He was not refused admittance, and while he sat in the big hall looking about him in wonder, he thought that he had never even read of such a magnificent place and he sighed, _ wondering if he would ever be the owner of such a grand old _ Five minutes later the man returned and politely informed im that Mr. Cadwelh had unknown #6 him, quietly taken his departure for New York over half an hour ago. So there Was nothing left for poor Dick but to go away again, which he did, his heart like lead within his breast, It seemed that he was doomed to disappointment on eve side, for the utler told him, that: none of the servants at the Pines could ay when their master would return, for he never left word ith them as to when he would come or go. His return was ery uncertain and poor Dick returned to the farm, “his eyes ot with ‘unshed tears. Both he and the Princess Bonnie er ‘n0W homeless and friendless. He did not go to the house, but made his way to the barn. at was his nook of comfort as he always. called it, and Whenever the world casa colder, Bue than ed and his DICK “1, WILL.” 19 than the most of men with whom he was associated. For — he knew they all loved him, and that, it. was an honest, pure, love. ‘Animals of every description loved Dick. Stray dogs, fierce, wicked, dangerous, snapping at everybody else with whom they chanced to meet, would come to him and lick his hand. Horses.so vicious that but very few could manage them, suddenly became gentle and submissive at the sound of his voice. It was wonderful to note the power, he had over the animal world. Show me the man or woman, the boy or girl whom all dumb brutes and children love and trust, and I will show you a heart that is both brave and pure. But when you hear a person speak harshly to either, and declare they are afraid of even a kitten, then I will show you whom to avoid. If you have a friend who vows he hates ‘dogs beware of that friend; don’t irust him; don’t pin your faith to him, for the day will surely come when you will rue it. And when you hear a girl utter an affected scream simply because a harmless kitten springs playfully into her lap, my boy, look out for her. I; will be just as well if you begin to make your Sunday ‘night calls at the home of the girl where poor tabby has a Shi & snug corner by the fire. She is the girl for you. - Dick indeed found comfort with his beloved Princess Bon- nie, and he stroked the velvet nose fondly. The dainty mare seemed to understand what he meant when he whispered to her that they were both homeless and friendlegs, for there was a world of sympathy in her bright eyes. Stili she could not comfort him entirely, and with a deep sigh, he left her alone and wended his way to the house—the house within whose walls he had never SEGWD. one hour’s happiness. * r CHAPTER XIX. . A NEW FRIEND. Bick was indeed sick With despair. It seemed to him as though fate would not let him succeed in any undertaking, no matter what it might be. The walk back to the farm, —— which he must soon leave, and which had been the only home — ‘he had ever known since he left the Orphan’s Homie, was longer than the trip to. The Pines. Then he had been in th best of spirits, his heart was light, and every cloud seemed ti have been swept away from his pathway. forever. : ey “I don’t honestly know what to do,” said, despairingly, suddenly halting in the middle of the road; his head bowed his young face grave and drawn. “I hardly think oh deserve such a fate, for what have T ever done to deserve it? T have: zi worked faithfully, aye, I have been a “perfect. s 2 fo the / roof that covered me; the bite I ate, and this is my row rd Men whom Farmer Jones paid good wages. took no | whatever in his work, and the moment the “hour to : work struck, they would not do another siroke. But aes too as much, interest in my labors as ‘though* the farm ie to me. Well, it is usually the way. Those who ati wel and. faithfully, receive the. least: thanks. v He stood for some mome’ ts in. silence, too ‘hear ak
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his breast, for how could he fail, he asked himself. battle was ever won without a hard, hard fight. He was young, and life stretched out before him. Others had over- come the barriers that;blocked the way, why then should not he? “T will succeed!” he breathed, his eyes glowing, his nostrils dilating like those of his beloved Princess Bonnie. “I will not be downed! There are a hundred ways open before me, and I am young yet. It may be that I shall be delayed for a few years, but then I am young, and I can afford to wait. There may be some kind friend of whom I do not dream, for ' such things have happened. I-ought to be ashamed of myself for giving up for even a moment.” The sun shone brightly over his head, and the bare, brown fields took on a new beauty. He threw his head back, and walked briskly on to the farm, bravely determined to face the future without flinching. ; “I’ve been thinking since you went out, Dick, ” he said, slowly, avoiding the boy’s eyes, “and since you seem to be so set on going to school, I’ll make you an offer. I don’t sup- pose you'll do it, but maybe you'll look at it in the right light. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do. Vl) take that mare off your hands. of course, she won't be much good to me, but I can sert of work her in for a third horse, you know, .- in haying and in the spring work. I can’t afford to give you much, for it’s money out of my pocket; good money, too, However, I’m anxious to help you, since you're trying to help yourself. Now, what's: the smallest price you'll take for dr LOT F i He did not notice the strange expression that came into ‘Dick's eyes, and the boy’s face was very sober as he answered calmly: i, “T leave that to you, sir. Surely, you ought to know what such a mare is worth. u have lived longer than I have, and you have had more aetna than I have with BERGE You may set the price.” ‘Nathan Jones grinned, and his eyes twinkled greedily. He i smacked his lips once or twice as if rolling a very sweet morsel under his tongue. Then he drawled: Oe “Well, ‘as I said before, I can’t afford to give you much, but Tl do the best I can. The critter will be dead property on omy hands; still I can work her in for extra work. She'll) eat ; hundred and fifty dollars for: her.” ‘Dick's. lip curled. Ais Cuancats h c VOU! are too. generous, ‘sir,” he replied, half mockingly. ow ean you ‘do so well, by me? Now here is my answer— me ‘hundred and fifty thousand dollars would not buy Princess 1 before I would ca her pass into your hands 1 DIOK “I WILL.” morning appealed to him. A new hope sprang to life within} to go,” our hero replied. No great {did not earn and I expect nothing. Go, I win, and I- ‘shall ance. Seoncnomacee ” ue her head off, too, during ‘the winter, but I'll give you a ‘ “yp ve had nothing from aoe | that, I : never cross your threshhold again.” » fe Dick turned away without a word and started for the barn where his mare was, the farmer following behind him. ie “PH see that you don’t take anything that don’t belong to ; you,” the latter growled. “And why, if there ae ae A minister! ” vat It was true. The Rev. Joseph’ Cornell was driving slowly down the hill towards the farm house. He drew up before the gate just as Dick came out of the barn leading Princéss is Bonnie, all his worldly possessions wrapped in a small bundle eC and slung over his shoulder. sear aes ? “Good-morning, parson, how be you?” the. farmer aed, agreeably, hastening to meet the newcomer. se ‘ The clergyman answered him ee but briefly, and then: “ turned his attention to Dick. 4 _ “Why, my boy, what is the meaning of this?” he aBkea in his pleasant voice. “You look as if ox were going aie long journey?” } “And go I am, sir,” our hero replied with a bright. ‘mile, “I do not know how long it will be, but. time will tell.” — “Why are you going forth in this manner?” the. kind a ie questioned, a perplexed look coming over his face. — won a goodly sum of money the other day at the race, am told. Why not use some of it to present a better mir ance?” patting his mare’s neck lovingly, “ won me ‘money nough - accomplish my object in life. We forgot, howeve th board for three years had to be paid.” = “Ah, I understand now,” and the clergyman looked the farmer. “You are both homeless and penniless. Be eagieh to fasten Princess Bonnie behind ose sinees Sok x a _ 4d : aaa a a Tat * f - os ee 34 * an * CHAPTER XX, sty eee ie Nate Sones saw Dick art
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DICK “I WILL” whe “Got it in the neck, that time, didn’t you, dad?” remarked Walter, who was near by, and had witnessed the entire affair. “The old chap gave you a look that would freeze a stone.” “Shut up!” growled his father, glaring at him savagely. “You are the one that started the whole business, and I have _to face the music. Confound you, i have half a mind to take - that whip to you, big as you are!” “Well, you were pretty well paid for facing the music,” retorted the son, “and as you give me the credit for putting up the whole business, what’s the matter with giving me a part of the money? I have honestly (?) earned half of it, I think. You had to face the music, to be sure, but then ae didn’t | have to dance, so hand over part of the doug fap i make you dance, you young sassbox, you!” roared. the farmer, making a grab for the large whip that hung on the wall. “Ill learn you that I’m your father, sir.” “T have learned it long ago,” Master Walter sung out, but _ he was careful now to put a goddly distance between himself 3 head. . ‘ and his father, for when Nathan Jones was fully aroused, he -. was an awful man despite the fact that he was a “pillar” and deacon in the church. j "They're all a bad lot,” the “pillar,” that upheld kind- . ‘ness (2?) and generosity (?), remarked, wiping his brow with J a huge, red handkerchief. “And all they want is my money. But Ill fix them. Not a durned cent will that cub of mine ‘ever get, if he dares sass me again.” ~ Not very choice language for the pious Deacon Jones to use, ; and regarding his own son, too. But as my young readers must know, even a “pillar” sometimes loses his temper. Meanwhile Dick,, with his new friend, was slowly driving. s homeward, and as they rode along Lo de clear, fresh air, in response to the clergyman’s earned! * questioning, the boy told the story of his lite from the very hour that he, entered the Jones farm house up to now. The kindly man listened in silence, every BOW and then gravely shaking his When Dick. had finished they had reached the parsonage. “Two fresh young faces were at the window, and as they saw who their guest was, both disappeared as if by magic. One to hide itself in the ‘shadows of the room, the other to appear at the door, which was flung open with a bang. “Oh, ‘Dick, how glad of am to sed you! ” Della’ cried, giving “him her hand. “Come right. in this. very pete for ies “ will be ag pleased as I am.” We haye a new addition to: our family, my dear, in fact “Give them both a most two of them,” her father ipuntets | poyel woleome. $i | view with him in his study. Believe she would not eat her oats if anyone a gave them to her.” “She would eat them from a certain pair of fair hands 8 that I know of, I am sure she would, and you know it,” the - merry girl retorted, with a wicked look. “But go on and make haste for Hope and I have been trying our hand at cake-_ making. We want you to try a piece, and—we both pity you from the bottom of our hearts, we do.” He led the mare to the neat stables, and in a very few moments was back in the house with the kind friends who made him feel at home at once. whose sweet face he was destined to see every day for some time to come. That day was one jong to: be remembered by Dick, and in the evening after tea, the clergyman requested a short inter- “I know your ambitions, my boy,” he said kindly, “and I am going to help you. Now, Iam not a sporting man as you must‘see,” smilingly; “but I intend to indulge in a bit of it ior a time.’ Will. you sell.me Princess Bonnie for any sum you may need or wish, allowing her to remain with me here? se aS a There he saw the fair girl. Whenever you wish, you may buy her back, and’ I promise : you that I will take the best care of her.” . Dick’s eyes filled with tears, and for an instant te could not speak. He understood perfectly well why the good man made him that offer. He did not wish to hurt his feelings by offer- ing him the money outright, so he took that way. “You are too kind, sir,” he finally managed to falter husk- p ily, “and I feel as if I ought not to accept it.” ; ’ “That is a very foolish way to look at it, my boy,” was the grave reply. “You musi accept it. I insist upon it!” So it was all arranged. The clergyman paid over to him a neat sum for the mare, and also found him a suitable school in New York State. Within two weeks he was ready to start, and while he was overjoyed at the prospect of accomplishing his object, he was sorry to leave the kind friends and ae i -only happy home he had ever known. “The last evening spent there was neyer forgotten. He was — to go away in the early morning, and while all were merry and gay, yet a sadness hung over all, for op ever brings iv a cloud over the fairest ray of sunshine. He slept well that night, and was up bright and Bs i: next morning. Everything. wag in readiness. His trunk stood ‘in the hall all packed, even to a huge cake that. Dell: _| Palked for ici and which she declared would ah anyone
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‘22 - DICK. “I WILL.” - FE ge, ; 2 sbi alt _ time more thoroughly than before. ~ taken. It was not there. J Faint, sick, dizzy, he reeled away, wondering if it were not some horrible dream from which he would soon awake with a sigh of relief. Oh! what evil fate was it that so per- sistently pursued him? Ten years seemed to have been added to his age as he went slowly down the stairs, and he walked like an old man. The clergyman looked up at him in surprise. “What is the matter, my boy?” he asked, going quickly toward him, for he knew that something had happened. “You look as if you had seen a ghost.” “It’s gone,” the boy answered, hollowly, sinking into a chair as he spoke. “The—the money is gone!” His friends stared at him, not thoroughly understanding him, and then the clergyman spoke again, this time very much excited: “You mean that your money is gone? The money you re- ceived for Princess Bonnie?” Dick could not speak for the big lump that stuck in his throat, but he simply nodded his head. “You must be mistaken, oh, Dick, are you sure that you _ have locked well for it?” Della cried. ‘ “I kept it in. the little cupboard in my room,” the boy y answeréd, faintly. “I was the only one who knew where it was ee and I am not mistaken in the fact that it is gone.” % “Then we must search high and low for it,” the clergy- man said. “Come, girls, both of you go over the house and look +well into every nook and corner. There is no time to be lost.” t : Every corner of the old-fashioned parsonage was searched, but not a sign of the missing money was to be found. It had disappeared as completely as though the ground had opened and swallowed it up; and the strangest part of it all, there was no one to suspect. Old Martha, the faithful ser- -. vant, who had been with them for years, was not to be even 2 spoken of, for the good man would as soon have suspected his own child. ; ' At last they gave up in despair, and sat facing each other _ in the pleasant sitting room where they had spent so many _ pleasant hours together. | “J can’t understand it,” poor Dick said, his lips white, his ~ eyes hopeless. “Not a living person knew where I had hidden ; it, and now it is gone!” he “Well, my boy, it cannot be ualbed: now,” the clergyman answered, with a sigh. “The only thing for us is to wait a few _ days and see if we'can find any clews. Then if we fail, we can, oo Sand plan, : oe sorry i sapere go to-day; ‘arabes if} t ok am. | av seas ret. sven up in b dosnt” the clergyman wala: with | But no, he was not mis- a smile. “I greatly feared that this last blow would prove too _ much for you, but I am glad to see that it has not.” *S “You have paid me once for Princess Bonnie, sir, and that is quite enough,” our hero remarked, with a ring of sadness in his voice. “And I shall have no peace either day or night until I find the coward who robbed me. If I,never go a day to school I shall find him, rest assured of that!” And so he would. While his heart was almost broken by his great loss and his courage well nigh crushed out, yet he would not for a single moment falter nor rest until he had found the guilty one or ones, whichever it might be. But. he realized that he had a hard task before him, and he could aly not help sighing. oe 4 Before retiring to his room that night, as he sat alone in the dusk, a soft little hand was thrust gently into his own, while : 4 a sweet voice whispered: ; cies “Dear Dick, I wish I might do something bs ‘help you. You do not know how my heart aches for you.” ) «An so you can help me, Hope,” he answered, pressing ie lips to the rosy fingers, “by giving me your love and friend- , ship. That will be more to me than anything the world might give me. .It is a gift I prize more highly than gold or diamonds. ” “You know you are sure of my love, Dick,” was her simple ; answer, and he was well satisfied with it. eee se : Restless, feverish and broken were his dreams that night He was in constant trouble, always in danger, and yet just. at the very last moment Hope, like a sweet, white angel, ale e ways came to save him. ieee: Suddenly he was awakened by the sound of excited voices, AS the patter of fea. running wildly about the house, and spring- _he had reason enough even in his’ half- % dazed condition to Arey dress himself. Then he ran ‘down the stairs only to be met by‘ the girls and the clergyman, who | half frantic with fright did not know what to #o. The mo~ ment they saw him, they made a wild rush for him.’ ie “Oh, Dick,” they panted. “The barns, the barns!” Ri Bee Rushing to the front doorhe flung it wide open and rushed. oe out into the night. “There before him, red, fierce; threaten- ing, stood the, snug barn a mass of. flames that shooti heavenward seemed to defy the power of man to stop them: : His first thought was of Princess Bonnie. - ‘Heavens, but she suet be saved. It was: sure acath to ae ing from the sgh beautiful animal ‘pariae ; He sprang toward the heavy ors ‘that he never heeded them. He was hent 1 upon. One hiss pc a he ‘paused and looked NG A second later an n extra,
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TTR A Ae ar yee, “DICK “I WILL’ - her head, and still talking to her in that soothing voice, she ‘And then, as that beloved name died upon her white lips, ' followed him out of the stall like a dog. Her own planket| she sank fainting to the ground, her beautiful face whiter - protecting her satiny sides from the shower of sparks that] than it ever would be again even when she was lying in her fell like red hot snowflakes about and above her. But would horse and boy ever live to reach the open night coffin, Della knelt down *peside her with a ery of alarm, a raised _ outside? It was something awful in there, and yet on and] the bonnie, helpless head in her arms. She feared she was on they fought—one fearing, the other trusting. , dead, too, for she was so frail, so fair, so acre gee like Those outside waited with beating hearts and silent prayers; a@ flower than a flesh and ree: mortal. rar ie upon their lips, Ah, how long each passing instant seemed to them, and how rapidly the’ flames gained headway!. It was Oh, Hope, my dearest sister Hope almost impossible for any human being to live in such an at- - mosphere; yet they hoped and prayed. Would Heaven answer those prayers? Alas! There was a sudden, sullen roar, a mighty crash, and then the building, tottered, and fell like a groaning, living thing. pe in ? ¥ ! CHAPTER XXII. BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. — lessly watching the mad leaping flames, for by this time the} Bs reveal that they were too late, for no power upon earth could save the minister’s stables. ‘Those present did not know that Dick had entered the burn- - ing building, and they were surprised at the cries of horror and dismay that came from the lips of the clergyman and the two girls, for he was a rich man and could well afford the loss of his property. of course they realized that his kind heart was filled with sorrow at the thought of the unfortunate animals am within that flery furnace meeting with such an awful death, and yet he would never hayé-allowed any man to risk his own life to. save them. No wonder they turned their gaze from the flames to look at him. “Dick! "the panted, hoarsely. “Dick! ‘He is in there! ‘a A sudden’ chorus of horror ‘greeted him, { for now they under- tod,” and the awful, awful | fate of t “them | erow cold and shudder. ees made everyone of : oice cried, sound- - above rhea eas flames. “He n being could tive in alt pit of fire! A ery of horror went up from the group who stood breath- from many throats—a shout that “eo haves er lespair—and | aalicrt above it— “The shock has killed her. open your eyes and look Speak to me, Hope—speak to me!” “She is dead, too!” she sobbed. at me! But ‘no answering rane came from those closed eyes, over every timber still ablaze} which the snowy lids were closed—no word left the asher lips. It did indeed scem that the girl who loved brave Dick “I Will” so dearly was dead. Just then the clergyman interfered. He too knelt beside the prostrate form lying upon the frozen ‘ground and shook his head sadly. ~ / “We must get ioe ito the house without further: delay,” he said slowly, his voice husky with emotion, “For——” He never finished the sentence, for a sudden wild shout filled the air—a shout of joy, wonder, so glad and triumphant that it caused him to spring to his feet again; and it came forgot to his dying . day, for there before him, just emerged from the fiery ruins _ fire had been seen for miles around, and every man in and beneath which he believed both brave Dick and sPrivieaas about Burryille had hurried to the rescue. One glance sufficed Bonnie to be buried, they stood, the woolen blankets thst ; were wrapped about them, Berane in a dozen different places, _ He could searce believe the euidenes of his own eyes, and that picture never left him. He lived to be an old, old man, and after his days of toil were ended, and he sat upon the vine-wreathed porch of his house, his grandchildren clustered about his knee, he would tell them again and again of how their father saved the noble mare he loved so well, at the risk | of his own life.” They never wearied of hearing it, and it” was’ a pretty scene, the saintly looking old) man with his fa \ child-like faith and irust, waiting for the hour when he should jour the wife of his youth beyond the River of Glad- ness, the silent little ones, open-eyed, awed, eagerly listening ¢ to every word, Ah, me, such scenes are only too rare in. this : busy, cold world of ours. : z A doxen men rushed: forward; a dozen a at ot hands 42 te sata Fortunately Dr. Spencer was presoint, ee he was. administer to the sufferer. Dick was almost overcom but he maneecd to easp a are = fainted: paint: ant ia as ph voice Peete se ied: the ee os : er: ‘girl, and brought. her ack to ees ante She ¢ ae
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24 oad ale DICK “I WILL.” ice ne from es heart when they told her so. But alas! she little; membered by us as a feast of peace and good will toward et knew how near death he really was. friend and foe alike. Friends, gather about the board.” oa In silence they sat down, and after a few simple words of grace, in which the good man earnestly thanxed God for the recovery of one who was like a child of his own, flesh and blood, the pleasant, ever-to-be-remembered dinner began. — The solemn atmosphere, made so at first by the clergyman’s is 3 words, quickly gave place to a mirth and cheerfulness. Merry laughter and lightly spoken words, ringing out upon. the night, caused the passers-by to look wistfully at the bright eyes, and then hurry on with a sigh, at the thought of others being so happy while their lives were filled with woe. Yes, it was true. Brave, noble Dick “I Will,” was indeed so severely burned, that at first Dr. Spencer shook his head gravely. He never left his bedside all that night long, and tears stood in hig eyes, strong man though he was, as he wit- nessed the agony of the sufferer. But he bore it like a hero, and the kind-hearted physician bent over him, whispering huskily: ny _ “My boy, you should have lived in the olden times, for you. are the material that heroes were made of. You' will pulll, through in spite of all. Another boy would have died.” Fate had indeed blessed those five people, who were gathered — about that well-spread te. Life reikiay, 1092 out before the Night ater nen he bor ero Ms tenth nen gon, | ‘2 ba esis the ls oe mal, Deal Aad Pi vowing that he would live, he could not, would not. die. i : i And so they fought we grim battle—relentless Death and rif i i i ghing, AP salt Hest’. Ke santiered. * “Woy Pearaue diel: take itve drifted away. And sitting there, facing each other, iasigh ng, Dick “I Will.” jesting, feasting, four young hearts throbbed faster as the — tiny god of love touched them with his sweet-tipped arrow ~ ; Ah, cupid, sly, yet ever welcomed guest, although your pres- ence is not seen by human eyes, the human heart i) ms when you are nigh! ; “3 The good man whose life had been ‘so clear, so whiter 2 so unblemished, he too was happy, and yet there was a sor- row in his kind heart—a shadow that he was forced to walk ‘ in alone, for there was no one to share with him. Stille was thankful that life was as rich as it was. ee Ha) for Hope!” Never did a suffering youth have a tenderer, gentler nurse than the girl who watched over him day and night. The mere sight of her sweet face was better than medicine, so the’ doctor laughingly declared, and when the fight was ended, and Dick out of danger, he realized that but for. her, pikouel though he was, he could never have recovered. Suddenly there came a sharp peal at the bell, and the maid, after answering it, returned, saying:- oe “A gentleman io see ‘you, sir.” Rae sy “Did he not give you his card, Mary?” the slay asked, somewhat annoyed at being thus interrupted. “Strange that he did not do so. And did you not tell him that io at dinner with a party of friends?” i “I told him that, sir,” the maid answered. “And he me that he would join you if you did not wistk to be disturbed, im The clergyman’s brows contracted, while a ripple: of. Jeugh ter went round oosy en: the’ oun people,’ | : ae Tepaat ever be rev ae Here 3 an ees. of Bue se burst.
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DICK “I WILL.” face and snow-white hair, revealed the fact that the self- invited guest was none other than Richard Sadwerks the j wealthy owner of The Pines. . “Why, Mr. Cadw ell, what a pleasant surprise,” the delighted clergyman cried, wringing the other’s hand cordially. “I did not dream that you were the gentleman whe——”' “Was so prudent as to invite himself to dine with you,” Richard Cadwell laughed gayly. “I must make you an apology for intruding thus, but the truth is I'am here on a very pleasant errand. 4 “Sit down, my dear sir, ian join us in our dinner,” the \ clergyman said. “We shall rejoice with you, for it gives me happiness to see others happy.” : : What happened to change the once sad master of The Pines so? What sudden joy had come into ‘his life that had “the power to drive the expression of sorrow from his fine eyes, and sive place to hope? It was marvelous. . He stepped around to the other side of the table where pike was sitting, and laying one hand upon his shoulder, said slowly, proudly: , “My dear Mr. Cornell, allow me to introduce to you my Only brother’s son, heir to a large fortune left him by his sate father. ~ Young ladies, young sir, my nephew, Master Richard ‘Cadwell, called after his fond uncle—myself.” : "Need I describe—nay, need I try to describe, for I cannot Aare ‘describe it—the scene that followed. Never before did ‘the walls of the old parsonage echo to such happy, voices as. on that eventful night. It was a long story, and the errand that took the owner of The Pines to New York. He had al- Ways felt strangely drawn to our hero, and the first time he ever saw him he noticed the striking resemblance he bore i o his late brother, whose only child had been stolen when a “mere babe. Going to Nathan’ Jones, he learned all he could bout him, then to the Orphan’s Home, and on to Ney, York, “where he obtaineé all the evidence needed. So lo and behold! ve find our hero, brave Dick “I Will,” no longer the home- ess, friendless wanderer, but Richard Cadwell, heir to a for- tune, the size of which caused the citizens of Burrville to open eir eyes in’ vamazement. . \ hile congratulations tate being offered, Hope bent down ck up her handkerchief that had fallen to the floor. Ay _ CHAPTER XXIV. LL Tsai Ee | op Aas her { ether’ s voice, and she, 00, was tegniendd a “Papa, what is it? Are you ill?”: “No, no; I—I,” and he sank panting into a chair , his face like marble—the great beads standing out upon his brow like drops of dew. “Hope, ay. child—come here.” The young girl obeyed him, wondering and half afraid, for she had never befere seen the clergyman so affected. She came close to him while the snes in the room looked on in silent amusement. He held out one trembling hand. “Let me—see your—your locket, my child.” Still wondering, Hope reached up, and, unclasping the slender golden chain from about her white throat, gave it into the eager hand stretched out to receive it. Attached to it was a small golden locket in the shape of a star curiously en- grayed. It was an odd, frail ornament—one that would be no- ticed at any time or place. The clergyman’s fingers trembled so that he could here hold it. Once, twice, thrice, he dropped it, and then setting his lips firmly, he pressed a sprig so small that it could not be seen. The case flew open, and inside were two locks of hair, one a dark, rich brown, the-other a bright gold. ‘’ long, low quivering cry of joy burst from the clergy- man’s lips—a cry: always remembered by those who heard it —a, cry like that\of a dreamer suddenly awaikened from some — horrible dream of torture and fright, and to whom the joy of awakening is the delight of Heaven—and letting the tiny toy fall to the floor, he sprang to cite Ss side “es ee Fed: in his arms. “At last!” he panted, half delirious with rapture. “At last my prayers are answered, oh, God! be praised! Look at me, child, look at me, for I am—your father!” Again silence, but only for an ‘instant. ‘This tte Della was the one to break the stillness. With a ‘shout like a, young savage, she danced about the room, crying out: - \ “T knew it, I knew it. I always felt it in my bones. I told you, Hope, that you seemed to be my sister from the very first time that I laid my eyes upon your dear face. Oh, but I could: sing for a week without stopping, and Pence : or I shall begin to get jealous.” a “By this time they were all sufficiently composed to down and listen to the story. like a story one reads, than a page from ca every | day — life. f P “First. of all tell me, how long ive you had this locket, my child?” the clergyman asked, huskily. a “Byer since I can remember,” Hope answered. “It is the first object I ever remember seeing, so I must have been eee . small. Sometimes they used to try to take is away frc me, but I always cried and then ee ane ae up. ‘It has 1 bee Eek Sse about my neck for years. ” ie ps a “The same,” the dlergyman said, with a sigh 0 relief she laid o one hand up nr his arm, cerying ‘content. “Della . sie the eee ous te i Come, come, papa, stop hugging Hope and tee us all sah: it, : RE It was a strange tale, more
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26 DICK “I WILL,” : bs 23 “Yes, papa, though why I wore it to-night I cannot say,” the | and in the handsome dashing man known far and wide as phe ae happy. girl replied brightly, at the same time unclaspin® from | great criminal lawyer, whom he calls papa, we recognize our about her neck. and giving to him a _ locket exactly like} old friend, Dick “I Will.” Thus the curtain is rung down Hope’s. “Thank goodness I did, however.” upon one of life’s dramas, and now comes the blessed peace — and rest of ec happiness. “T am glad you did so,” said the clergyman. Then he opened the locket. “This little locket contains a lock of your dear, dead moth- er’s hair, and also one of my own,” the clergyman went on, THE END. : a Read “LARRY OF THE LANTERN; or, THE — SMUGGLERS OF THE IRISH COAST,”, by Howard Austin, which will be the next number (553) of ik and Luck.” his voice tremulous with emotion. “See, they are just alike, the coils of gold in each, the lock of dark brown. Heaven has restored you-to my arnis, dear child, and when I had given up every hope of ever seeing you again. When you were a child your nurse disappeared with: you one day, and that was the last time I saw you. We never could find the faintest trace of either, and we believed you were dead. The blow killed my dear wife. She pined and died at last of a broken heart. Ah, if she might only have lived to look upon the face of her beloved child again! But I must not rebel. Thy will be done, oh Lord, for Thou art indeed kind to me, Thy humble servant. My daughter,” smiling half sadly, “you are just one year’ younger than your sister. Your birthdays ‘come on the same day. Friends,” turning to those assembled, “we have double cause for rejoicing this night. Ah, who shall ‘Say that life is not blessed; and earth a heaven of happi- ness?” ! : SPECIAL NOTICE: All baci numbers of this weekly except ihe following are in print: 1 to 5, 7, 8, 10 to 13, 15 to 1820, 22, 25, 29 to 31, 84 to 36, 89, 42, 48, 48 to 50, 54, 55,57, 60, 64, 68, : 69, 75, 81, 84 to 86, 89, 94, 100, 109, 116, 119, 124 to 126, 163, -y 171, 179 to 181, 212, 265. If you cannot obtain the ones you 4 want from any newsdealer, send the price in money or postage stamps by mail to FRANK TOUSEY, PUBLISHER, 24 UNION © SQUARE, New York, and you will receive the eoptes yous order, by return mail. i —_— “HAPPY DAYS The best illustrated weekly story paper published Such ‘a happy night was never before known by any one of those gathered within the walls of the parsonage, and right merrily did they celebrate it in good, old-fashioned country style. But there was more Tapptnias SN BOSS SIS SEE a as See eS Er ee eS eet See In the! midst of their pleasure dame another ring at the ‘ISSUED EVERY FRIDAY] a bell. This time it was Hiram Gregg, the man of all work |} r : Mi Yh at the Jones’ farm. He was accompanied by Walter Jones, ‘ PRICE 5 CENTS jeer aie has F who looked shame-faced enough. 3 et | . A New ‘Stony’ Beauin Hives Weer 1 The farm hand was evidently very angry, for his face wals In “HApPy Days” flushed, and he carried a heavy whip. . He led Walter up before the clergyman. Interestin Stories, to ee Sketches, bill $s ri oy, “Here he is, parson,” were his first words, “ard here’s the 9 to sabi % Jokes, Answers to Correspondents, and many othe money he stole from Dick there. 1 knowed he took it, and bright features. Its Authors and Artists have a na- I jest followed him to-night and saw where he hid it, so I tional re utation, No amount of money is BRAPRE to jest took this ’ere whip, and you kin see fur yourself.. He’s make this weekly the best published. got to tell the truth, or I'll lick him so that his own dad | Out To. da vt Out Sedna -won’t know him. Why don’t you lick him too, Dick?” £ 1 - *No, he has been _punished enough, Hiram,” our hero an- --swered. “Let him go. It may be a lesson to him and in the ‘ future be the means of making a man of him, “T hope he wil reform his ways.” , f -_ Walter Jones was beaten at his own game, and oaly. too - glad to get out of the trap so easily. He went abroad very Making Money i in Wall: suddenly, and it was many years before he was seen inl} - vy % a “Burrville again, and Edith Cross Iived and died an old maid, [J By Harvey K. She had been bitterly disappointed. “ Rae ear ; "Reader, you know the rest. as es as I do. ‘There is no Begins i in No. 743 of "HAPP Y DAYS, »” iste 5 : : gent “ need for me to say more, save this: “Ina magnificent resi- |} eg eae. gi ae a denep not far trom The AS ies ig assturdy’ tis of | Frank Tousey, P ‘ —on—
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PLUCK AND LUCK. 27 * Pluck and Luck. NEW YORK, DECEMBER 30, 1908. Terms to Subscribers. Single Copies One Copy Three ost sage | « One Copy Six [lonths.. One Copy One Year Postage Free. How To Sxmnp Ménzy, Aft our risk send P. O. Money Order, Check, or mittances in any other way are at your risk. istered Letter; re- e accept Postage _ Stamps the same ascash, When sendin sian wrap the coin in a separate piece ae a paper to avoid cutting the envelope, Waite your name and address plainly. Address letters to Frank Tousey, Publisher, 24 Union Sq., New York. THINGS OF INTEREST. A writer in a well-known household magazine has the follow- ing: “We descended into the basement, and there I saw one of the completest electric installations for housekeeping that it is: “possible to imagine, On the range were various electric ap- “plianees, with ‘incandescent lamps and reflectors. Suppose _ you wish to cook some eggs. No need at M. Knapp’s to boil them in water. You put them in a special oven, and when they are cooked, at the end of two or three minutes, the cur- rent is cut off and a bell rings to inform you that they are % ready. If you are going to have roast fowl for dinner, you put it on the spit, turn on the current, and leave it to cook by itself, without troubling yourself in the least until the and that it is done to a turn. The timing machine in connec- - tion with the electric current is simply. an ordinary alarm : clock transformed. Knowing that it requires so long for this or that article of food to cook, you merely have to set the “machine to “go off” at a stated time, and are then free to occupy yourself with other duties. in another corner of this ~up-to- date kitchen, and on a circular “table, I noticed a num- ber of useful household machines, all worked by electricity, ‘the motor being a tenth of a horsepower, with a flexible cardin utachable ‘to any of the apparatus, ‘These consisted of a little churn for making fresh butter, a mincing machine, a coffee grinder, a whisk for aaking mayonnaise sauce, another for preparing whipped cream, a knife polisher and a pastry ixer, Here, again, you can set the machinery in motion and attend to other duties while the work is being performed.” . Im Syria and Palestine, from ihe. beginning: of April until October there is practically no rain, yet in July the fields teem bete., all flourishing without artificial wate: g, although at , that time no rain has fallen for many weeks, In faci, the 4 bell rings, in haif an hour’s time or so, when you will find) Play cards, bowl and cuss like a trooper.” hat it has been well basted by means of a special apparatus ied sabes NGS he’s too little for that.” oration from the subsoil. The great point is to keep the upper six inches of soil perfectly loose and friable, so that the mois- ture from below is not drawn upward and lost in evaporation, but does not ascend higher than the compact subsoil that is not broken up by the plough. For this reason the ploughing is. shallow, averaging from four to six inches in depth. When the time for sowing the seed arrives the land is ploughed to a depth of about six inches and the seed is sown from an arrangement attached to the plough, falls on the damp sub- soil, and is covered by the soil closing over behind the plough- share, From this time the upper stratum of loose soil pre- yenis the escape of moisture upward beyond the wet subsoil on which the seeds rest, and into which their roots, after the process of germination, spread. be OUR COMIC COLUMN. “Send me up two bags of oats and a bale of hay.” All right, sir. Who is it for? “The horse, of course, you idiot!” ‘ Church—I see Mrs, Bensonhurst has raised a Merry Widow hat at last. Flatbush—I don't see how on earth she did it; they’ye only got an acre of ground. ¢ t Voice— _ “You certainly wouldn’t marry a girl for her money, would you, Tom?” “Of course not; neither would I have the heart. to let her become an old maid because she happened to be well off.” i “Yes, your reverence, our Johnnie is a wonder. He can “Can he say his The barber paused in his fretwork operations. “Will you have a close shaye, sir?” he asked. “It looks like it,” returned the victim, moodily. “At present the odds against me getting out of this chair alive seem very ROB, indeed. 4 “Pye got you down for a couple of saeketas We're ging up a raffle for a poor man of our neigh——” “None for me, thank you. I wouldn’t know what to do with a poor man if I won him.” ies Oy f Niece—Uncle, they say that there are more marriages of blondes than of brunettes. Why is it, I wonder? Uncle Sin- gieton (a confirmed bachelor)—-H’m! Caller—I see you keep chickens. What breed do you ‘con sider the best? Suburbanite—It’s hard to tell. I notice, though, that more of my white Wyandottes are stolen than = with a vigorous growth of watermelons, tom toes, cucumbers, any other kind, N Manager—Sir, your performance of Hamlet is ee very Naturally, the light- _ headed ones go first. sesh y Nise Syrian peasant, from the moment hig seed has been} sown, | worst ever represented behind the footlights. If there had prays that no rain may fall. During the period of growth of, heen any money in the house I should have been bound in . crop the surface of the soil to a ‘depth of six or eight inches honor to return it at the doors. As it is, several friends haye is perfectly dry and loose. Below this surface layer will) sent in and peremptorily ordered me to remove their names Ue be found moist soil, in which the roots extend and grow vig-| from the free list. : PE Bees ‘orously. Th this moist subsoil plants continue to grow until SBURS oe As When the crop is removed in the autumn the} _ Congressman Reeder of the Sixth District tells this” deep ete rains. commence, and the land is ploughed after each heavy} on himself: Meeting an old German farmer in Li i Coun- as soon as, the soil begins to dry. Two primary objects ‘ty he extended ‘his hand, saying: My: name is I Reet Um in ploughin —to. furnish a favorable surface a candidate for Cong ress, 2 . ¥ th nt it upward aye ( hope you make a, better 1
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t | wee PLUCK AND LUCK. How My Life Was Saved By COL. RALPH FENTON. Puff, puff! swing, swing! puff, puff! Almost had the: swift swaying of the railroad train banished my mind to the “Land of Nod”—that happy land of dreams and rest—-when the sud- den, stoppage of the carriages, and the noisy opening of the door of my compartment, called me back to things mundane— called me back with a start, and a keen, sudden interest in the traveler, who, politely noticing my presence with a nod, pro- ceeded to throw off his heavy coat and scarf—for it was a cool day, and warm wrappings were in vogue. Surely that tall, stately figure was—or rather had been some years before—very familiar to me; and my heart began to beat more quickly as I held myself ready to greet the dear old col- lege chum who for four years had shared my room, and my every plan and thought, in the quaint old German university where both had been sent to “finish” our education—he an Englishman, I an American. We had been like brothers in our deep attachment, and for some months after our departure to our respective homes had corresponded faithfully, until one day came a short, incoherent letter from Harry Lacy, saying that he was married, had quar- reled with his father and elder brother, bad enlisted as a pri- vate soldier, and was just starting for India with his regiment. Would send me his address thereas soon as he arrived. But that address never came, and half a dozen letters I sent him, , under cover to his father, were returned to me unopened (my address being on the envelope. ) J : Neither did I receive any reply to a direct appeal for news of my beloved friend. And so, for ten years now, I had lost all trace of Harry, and finally had come to mourn for him as dead. ' And now here he was before me, evidently well-to-do in the world, stately, proud°as ever— But, stay, was I mistaken after all? The form was Harry’s, the brown eyes, the hand- some face, were Harry’s, but the hair—his was brown, and this man’s was white as snow—a startling contrast io the ‘pright, youthful head it crowned. ' No, it could not be my dear old chum; and yet, even that ira- patient flinging back of the straggling locks from his forehead was a trick of Harry’s. Fascinated, my eyes kept straying furtively to the stranger’s face, and after awhile I became aware that I was myself the object of a similar secret attention on his part. “Why,” I asked myself, “can it really be he, after all?. But surely he would know me; my hair is as it used to be.” And then I remembered that when we parted my complexion was fair and my face smooth, and now I was bronzed, and my face well hidden by beard and mustache. I did not want to ' elaim acquaintance with a stranger, y' yet I was determined to - end my uncertainty. In my pocket-book I had carried for years a little photograph of my old friend, given me on the day we parted, and taking it out, T managed, as if by accident, to _ let it fly from my, hand and alight on the seat near the myster- - ous stranger. As I had anticipated, common politeness led him _ to pick it up, to return it to me; it was an anxious moment for me, but only a moment, and then—it would have done the heart of any old cynic good to have seen the joyful embrace and glis- en tening eyes” ‘of two strong men who were not ashamed to give ; fe full sway to their love for each other, and their: emotion at 'so ps unexpected a reunion. _ ‘That night I slept not, as 1 had intended, at a hotel, but in % ly led me, Antrodivetng, me to hig lovely. young. heart-brother sh f the het 3 old family mansion of the Lacys, to which my } end had ; fallen heir during our Jong separation—to which hej n “And now, Phil,” said my dear old friend, “come, before it is too dark, and let me make you acquainted with Tonka; he has heard my voice before now, and is fretting because I have not gone to him yet. Tonka is a great pet of ours, let me tell you, — and you owe him something, too, old fellow—‘ and you love me’ . —for but for Tonka I had not been here now. I will tell you all about it to-morrow.” He led the way to a small apartment, built like a conserva de tory, with glass sides, and having even on this cool day a tropical temperature. There were no flowers in it, however, only two small trees growing in boxes, and some rocks and — stumps s¢attered about. The moment Harry opened the door, a small, dark object. made a flying leap to his shoulder, and nestled up against his | cheek in perfect contentment, while he gently stroked its bedu- tiful gray fur. It was a slender, fairy-like little thing, and its sparkling eyes surveyed me with some curiosity, not ase with uneasiness. “This is Tonka, Phil, the friend who has done me the a signal service of any, yourself not excepted. He isa mongoose — —in other words, an East Indian ichneumon. This room is his — especial property, and I believe he includes me also under that — heading. Well, he earned the right, certainly. Begins ni Tonka!” He carried the little creature to a hole scooped out m ke stump, and it obediently crept in, and curled itself down, look- ¥ ing wistfully after its beloved master as he closed the door ~ “And now, Phil,” said my friend, as we settled down the next day for a quiet talk, “I will tell you the story of my life since I parted with you in Germany. Raley “You will remember how I used to talk to you of the 0 bearing dispositions of my father and elder brother, and the consequent discomforts of my home, so it was with no Joyfu, anticipations that, I turned my face hontewards. ie desired, and there seemed nothing for ce to do but away my time like other young men about town, a thing ways detested. But I found an absorbing interest. from: t first day TI set foot in the house, and then time took to h golden wings. My little sister had a governess, ‘a youn, whose father had been a wealthy merchant, but had lost. thing at one blow, and died from the: shock, leaving’ hi child a penniless orphan. “My father was looking for a suitable teacher “268 m and Alice Scott happened to be thrown in his way—p tially, as I now think, but most ‘unhappily, as I one for things looked. awfully dark for awhile, as you “To cut a long story short, T loved Mise Scott fr day I met her, and very soon I saw that, for once | my brother and I thought alike. He was very quiet al on i and my father never suspected the ae his tavonte 300 son’s marrying her. ~- “One day I told Alice ‘the ola, ois satan happiness , found it was not told in vain. Bu e us was by no means smooth. I did not 60 for Alice, knowing it. ‘would be the ance, and IT was wholly’ dependent w luetantly consented to keep ‘our enga ment a Teg, he present. stk hosby “Meantime, fealousy
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PLUCK AND LUCK. yielded to my entreaties, and we were quietly married. I had made up my mind by this time just what to do; so, as soon.as __ the ceremony was over, I went straight to my father ene told him the whole story. “As I had expected, his rage was fearful, and I left his house, | turned out of it forever, with only a few odds and ends of per- sonal property to commence the fight for daily bread. I tried again and again to get a clerkship, or a post under government; but I feel sure now, as I did then, that some coy- ert influence was exerted against me, and so I failed in every attempt to secure employment. for me to do. I said good-by to my dear wife, and, leaving her in the care of her aunt, who was in comfortable circum- stances, though far from rich, I enlisted as a private soldier. “T had carefully kept my troubles from you all’ this time, but ag soon as I enlisted and found that my regiment was to go out at once to India, I thought it wrong to keep you in igno- rance any longer. “TI felt the parting with my dear wife keenly, but at the same time I was glad to go in active service, for some of the native tribes were making trouble for us out there just then, and I _ felt confident that with a chanee given me I could work my way up from the ranks; and that was the only howe I saw for ‘our future comfort. “Well, Phil, we reached India in due time, and went into quarters. There were no actual hostilities in our section just eben. though they were constantly threatening, Inaction fret- Hed me, but what was far worse was the fact that month after month rolled by without my hearing a& word from my dear wife. In vain I wrote again and again; IT never received a line ‘in return. I grew desperate, and fell into bad ways and bad company. I got drunk, and was several times put under arrest ~==you see, 1am making an honest confession—but I had grace i enough left to be ashamed of myself all the time; and that is why I did not write to you, old boy-—-though, to be sure, I did "write once, just after I arrived in India. But it seems you " hever got my letter. After things straightened out, I wrote you again and again in vain——’- _ “Qur whole family had left the States, as I told you. eetitad,* Tinterpolated. | EYes, that must have been it. My letters came back to me with the indorsement that your present address was unknown. That By found a couple of natives torturing a poor little mongoose, I rescued it from them, and, carrying it home with me, nursed it until its wounds were completely cured, “No one need ever tell me that animals are not capable of ‘Teason, of love and gratitude. By the time that Tonka was well, and I was ready to set him’ at liberty, he had become so | attached to me that he was uneasy if I was out of. his sight. following close at my heels. He was so tame and gentle, and So ‘useful in catching the mice, rats, lizards, and snakes that ye infested our barracks, that he became a general favorite. “Well, one day, after the monthly ‘mail. came in, and, as usual brought no letter for me, I tried, like the coward I was, to drown my sorrows in drink, The result was ‘that I was ar- “rested, severely reprimanded, and ordered to be shut up in the ; cl hole—a dark, dungeon-like room, where obstreperous 801 ers. ‘were confined, It had no windows, except high up on the wall were two little iron-slatted slits for ventilation. “Halt S| tupefied with drink, I heard the key turned in the h as none in the black hole. long I had lain there I could never tell, but suddenly Hs There was only one thing left | “You. know I was always fond of animals, and so, one day, when _ “He } ‘was never happy unless éither settled on my shoulder or lock, and then threw myself down on the floor, for bed there ack to aa consciousness that tae cold and 7 -| tite, and Alice and sth eri ere ia bat ‘too © ond for. him.” bd 29° stant. I knew it was a snake, and had no doubt a poisoncus one, for nine out of ten are deadly in their bite. I told myself that the only chance I had was to lie perfectly still, for if I moved ever so slightly the snake would strike its deadly fangs into my flesh—for a snake never strikes at an inanimate ob- Ject, and that was what the creature evidently took me for. “So by a tremendous effort I forced my muscles into quiet- ude, while the terrible reptile crept slowly along, pausing every now and then, over my hand, up my arm, then over my face, and then, horror of horrors! it thrust its head inside my shirt, and, creeping inside, coiled itself up on my bare skin and set- tled down for a cozy nap, more oblivious than I was of the fact Iwas a human being. The cold beads of perspiration stood out on my forehead, and my heart beat like a hammer. I think it must have been that horrid thumping that disturbed the erea- ture after awhile; for, after what seemed ages to me, it moved, lifted its head, looked warily around, then crept out, and coiled up again outside on my jacket. “I felt that I could not bear this agony much longer. My feet and hands were momentarily growing eolder and colder, and it was all I could do to keep my teeth from chattering together, “I was fast becoming aware that my nerves would hold out but a few momenis longer, when all at once, without a par- ticle of noise heralding its approach, a dark object leaped downward and outward from one of the narrow windows and alighted on my chest. ‘The startled snake made an answering spring, and then, freed from its horrible pressure, I raised my head, and saw my little Tonka in fierce combat with a cobra di capello, for my ‘visitor was that most deadly of all reptiles. I knew then that I was saved, for Tonka, quick, | active, skillful, never failed to kill and rend his enemies to pieces with his sharp teeth and claws. sey realized that I was safe, and then I fainted ae guard “found me still insensible when he looked in some time after, Tonka sitting on my shoulder, uttering a mournful little ery, and the mangled yemains of a cobra lying close by. I was ill for weeks, and it was not until T was almost recovered that I discovered that my hair had turned perfectly white dur- ing those moments of horror. I was sitting in the convalescent hospital one afternoon when my attention was aroused by a conversation between two of the surgeons. ' “Tt is odd, and no. mistake,’ said one. ‘Colonel Brown will have to send it back. to the writer. There is no Sir Henry Lacy anywhere in this section, so thg letter can’t be delivered to him. Yet it is directed to this regiment, and Colonel Brown’s care, plainly enough; and it is a lawyer’s document.” “I sprang to my feet and approached the officers, forgetting my position, and that I enlisted under an assumed name. y “ Tt is for me—that letter. Iam Henry Lacy. My father 48; or was—for he must be dead, I fear—Sir John Lacy: but there was my elder brother——” “Sir John Lacy and his son Charles were both drowned by the capsizing of a yacht; this last mail brought the news. And you say you——’ “Then T am in truth Sir Henry Lacey.’ “As you will believe, Phil, I found no difficulty In procuring “my discharge, and then I hurried back to England, careless of title, fortune, estates, everything, except to learn the fate of my — beloved wife. I found her, to my intense joy, just where I hqd- left her, only mourning me as dead. She had not heard a word from me since my departure from England. Inyestigation re- vealed the fact that her trusted servant maid had been hired by my brother to intercept every letter passing between us. ee “My wife intrusted to her the posting of her letters” to me, © Ne and she always received mine from the Sle eae and they alt went into the fire together. pineal ( Ae ‘Tonka I brought home with me, of ealicdes He haved my . The — t
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¢ a) These Books Tell You Everything : 4 COMPLETE SET IS A REGULAR ENCYCLOPEDIA! a / Sans Hach book consists of sixty-four pages, printed on good paper, in re type and neatly bound in an attractive, illustrated cover. Most of the books are also profusely illustrated, and all of the subjects treated upon are explained in such a simple manner that child ean thoroughly understand them. Look over the list as classified and see if you want to know anything about the sub: mentioned. THESE BOOKS ARE FOR SALE BY ALL NEWSDBEALERS OR WILL BE SENT BY MAIL TO ANY. ADD — FROM THIS OFFICE ON RECEIPT OF PRICE, TEN CHNTS EACH, OR ANY THREE~BOOKS POR TWHENTY- Me CENTS. POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY. Address FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Saunt: N. MESMERISM. No. 81. HOW TO MINSMIURIZH.— Containing the most ap- proyed methods of mesmerism; aiso how to cure all kinds. of diseases by animal megnetism, or, magnetic healing. By Prof. Leo I¥ugo Koch, A. C. &, author of “How to Hypnotize,” ete. PALMISTRY. No. 82. HOW TO DO PALMISTRY.—Containing the most ap- proved methods of reading the lines on the hand, together with a full explanation of their meaning. Also explaining phrenology, and the key for telling character by the bumps on the head, By Leo Hugo Koch, A. ©. S. Fully illustrated. HYPNOTISM. No. 83. HOW TO HYPNOTIZH.—Containing valuable and in- structive information regarding the science of hypnotism. Also explaining the most approved methods which are employed by the leading hypnotists of the world. By Leo Hugo Koch, A.C.S. SPORTING. No. 21. HOW TO HUNT AND FISH.—The most- complete hunting and fishing guide ever ptblished. It contains full in- Structions about guns, hunting dogs, ape trapping and fishing, together with deseriptions,of game and fish. No, 26. HOW TO ROW, SAIL AND BUILD A BOAT.—Fully By ‘illustrated. Every boy should know ‘how to row and sail a boat. Full instructions are given in this little book, together with in- structions on swimming and riding, companion sports to boating. No. 47. HOW TO BRDAK, RIDE AND DRIVE A HORSH.— A complete treatise on the horse. Describing the most useful horses for business, the best horses for the road; also valuable recipes for bee ecaliar to the horse: . HOW TO BUILD AND ‘SAIL CANOES -A. handy bilbie: “for. boys, containing full directions for constructing canoes and the most popular manner of sailing them. WPully illustrated. me CG. Stansfield Hicks. FORTUNE TELLING. No. 1. NAPOLEON’S ORACULUM AND DREAM BOOK.— Containing the great oracle of human destiny; also the true mean- ing. of almost any kind of dreams, together. with charms, ceremonies, and fa th games of cards. A complete book. 23. HOW TO HXPLAIN DREAMS.—Lverybody dreams, from ‘the little child to the aged man and woman.) This little book gives the explanation to all kinds of dreams, together with lucky yee unlucky days, and “Napoleon’s Oraculum,” the book of fate. No. 28. HOW TO THLL FORTUNES.—BEveryone is desirous of knowing what his future life will bring‘forth, whether happiness or misery, wealth or poverty® You ean tell by a glance at this little book. Buy one and be convinced. Tell your own fortune. Tell the fortune of your friends, ~ No. 76. HOW.LTO TELL FORTUNES BY THE HAND.— Containing rules for telling fortunes by the’aid of lines of the hand, or the seeret of palmistry. Also the secret of telling future evenits _ by aid of moles, marks, scars, etc. Illustrated. By A, Anderson. ATHLETIC. . No. & HOW TO BECOME AN ATHLETE. —Giving fall in- struction for the-use of dumb bells, Indian clubs, parallel bars, horizontal bars and various, other methods of developing a good, healthy muscle; containing over sixty illustrations, Byery boy can become strong and healthy by following the instructions contained in this little book. No. 10. HOW TO BOX.—The art of self-defense’ made easy. Containing over thirty illustrations of guards, blows, and the diifer- -.ent positions of a good boxer. Every boy should obtain one of these useful and instructive books, as it will teach you how to box without an instructor, No. 25. HOW TO BECOME A GYMNAST.—Containing full, instructions for all kinds of gymnastic sports and athletic exercises. Embracing thirty-five illustrations. By Professor W. Macdonald. A handy and useful book. No. 84. HOW TO FENCH.—Containing full instruction for fencing and the use of the broadsword; also instruction in archery. Described with twenty-one ‘practical illustrations, giving the best Rositions ip fencing. A complete book. ,- @ TRICKS WITH CARDS. * No. 51. s10W TO DO TRICKS WITH CARDS.—Containing | 2 " gaplanations of the ‘general principles of sleight-of-hand applicable ca 4 ‘Geighto hand; of tricks involving sleight-of-hand, na the use of cks; of card tricks with ordinary cards, arid not requiring eetee? on By Professor x Haffner. eee e little book, containing full directions for writs f£ | taining full instructions for “|also les f fore ea Biden see No. 72, HOW TO DO SIXTY TRICKS WITH CARDS. — bracing all of the latest and most deceptive card tricks, with Les gee By A. Anderson. 7. HOW TO DO FORTY TRICKS WITH CARDS Containinte deceptive Card ‘Tricks as performed. by leading conjure and magicians. ae for home amusement, Fully illustrate d MAGIC. No. 2. HOW TO DO TRICKS.—The great book of ma: cs une card tricks, containing full instruction on alt the leading- of the day, also the most popular magical illusions as ot oie ; our leading magicians; every boy should obtain a copy of this book as it will both amuse and instruct. No. 22. HOW TO DO SECOND SIGHT.—Heller’s second sigh! explained by his former assistant, Fred Hunt, Jr. Wxplaining hov the secret dialogues were carried on between the magician and t boy on the stage; also giving all the codes and signals, The @ xi authentic explanation of second sight. No, 43. HOW IO BECOME a MAGICIAN. —Containing t th grandest assortment of magical illusions ever placed before t thi Pee Also tricks with cards, incantations, ete. ; No. 68. HOW LO DO CHEMICAL TRICKS, Containing « one hundred highly amusing and instructive tricks with chet . Anderson. Handsomely illustrated. NS: 69. HOW TO DO SLEIGHT OF HAND -Containisi fifty of the latest and best tricks used by gicians. Also contair ee ae; secret of second sight. Fully illustrated. By A, Andersor . HOW TO MAKEN MAGIC TOYS. ntaining a eh neat for sates Magic Toys and devices of many kinds. | A. Anderson. Full y illustrated. No. 73. HOW TO DO TRICKS WITH! NUMBERS Showing many curious tricks with foe and the magic of numbers. B, Anderson, La illustrated, No. 75. HOW TO BECOMD A A CONT UROR. — = Gout tricks with Dominos, Dice, oe and Balls, Hats, ete, Embi thirty-six illustrations, By A. Anderson. No. 78. HOW TO DO THe BLACK ART.—Containing a com plete description of the mysteries of Magic and, Slei ht of B ni together with cand wonderful experiments, ae A, & Illustrated. MECHANICAL. : No. 29. HOW TO BECOME AN TEV aia very. b0 should know how inventions originated. This. book explains thet all, giving examples in electricity, hydraulics, magnetism, optic pneumatics, mechanies, etc. The most instructive book published No. 56. HOW TO BECOME AN ENGINEER, R.—Containing instructions how to proceed in order to become a loc gineer; also directions for building a model locomotive with a eet description of everything an engineer should. he No. 57. HOW TO MAKE MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS steer how to make a Banjo, Violin, Zither, Alolian Harp, phone and other musical instruments ; together with seription of nearly every: musical instrament used in modern times. -Profusely illustrated. By pees 8. for twenty years bandmaster of the Royal Bengal _ No. 59. HOW TO se A MAGIC, LANTERN fee No. 71. HO LETTER WRITING. _ 0, 11, HOW TO WRITE LOVE-LETTERS.— and when to i them, giving specimen letters for No. 12. HOW TO WRITE LETTERS TO ! complete Rr aed for writing Nigh to 0 ladles ‘a ; also letters of cag ag to! notes and ; 3 No. 24. HOW TO WRITH LETTERS 1 ‘TO. GEN’ IMEIN. Containing full directions for writing to eontomigg: eek subject also giving sample letters for instruction. $ . No. 53. HOW TO WRITE. peal se A. wonder book, telling you how to write to your Sorte ou: mother, sister, brother, employer; pale ies face ee body you wish to write to. Hyery. inet | lady in 1 HON should have this boo No. 74. HOW TO WRITE L se
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. ea THE STAGE. --No. 41. THN BOYS OF NEW YORK END MEN’S JOKH BOOK.—Containing a great variety of the latest jokes used by the most famous end men. No amateur minstrels is complete without this wonderful little book. ; No, 42. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK STUMP SPHAKER.— Containing a varied assortment of stump speeches, Negro, Dutch aud Irish. Also end men’s jokes. Just the thing for home amuse- Meat and amateur shows. No. 45. THE BOYS OF NEW YORK MINSTREL GUIDH AND JOKH BOOK.—Something new and very instructive. Bvery - boy should obtain this book, as it contains full instructions for or- ®anizing an amateur minstrel troupe. - ees No. 65. MULDOON’S JOKES.—-This is one of the most original joke books ever published, and it is brimful of wit and humor. It - contains a large collection of songs, jokes, conundrums, etc., of Terrence Muldoon, the great wit, humorist, and prattical joker of _ the day. Hvery boy who can enjoy a good substantial joke should ' @btain a copy immediately. » No. 79. HOW TO BECOME AN ACTOR.—Containing com- - plete instructions how to make up for various characters on the stage; together with the duties of the Stage Manager, Prompter, _ Scenic Artist and Property Man. By a prominent Stage Manager. No. 80. GUS WILLIAMS’ JOKH BOOK.—Containing the lat- est jokes, anecdotes and funny stories of this world-renowned and -eyer popuJar German comedian. Sixty-four pages; handsome _ Colored cover containing a-half-tone photo of the author. é HOUSEKEEPING. ‘ “. No. 16. HOW TO KEEP A WINDOW GARDEN.—Containing ‘full instructions ‘for constructing a window garden either in tewn ®r country, and the most approved methods for raising beautiful “owers at home. The most complete book of the kind ever pub- on cooking ever published, It contains recipes for cooking meats, fish, game, and oysters; also pies, puddings, cakes and all kinds of pastry, and a grand collection of recipes by one of our most popular ke Be : ; 7 No. 87, HOW TO KHEP HOUSE.—It contains information for “everybody, boys, girls, men and women; it will teach you how to “take almost anything around the house, such as parlor ornaments, brackets, cements, Aeolian harps, and bird lime for catching birds, $y eo | ELECTRICAL.. . No. 46. HOW TO MAKH AND USE ELECTRICITY,—A de- -Reription of the wonderful uses of electricity and electro magnetism ; jfogether with full instructions for making Wlectric Toys, Batteries, OS By George Trebel, A. M., M. D. Containing over fifty il- j lustrations. eye ¢ No. 64. HOW TO MAKE ELECTRICAL MACHINES.—Con- taining full directions for making electrical machines, induction foils, dynamos, and many novel toys to be worked by electricity. By &. A. R. Bennett. Pally illustrated. .. No, 67. HOW TO DO ELECTRICAL TRICKS.—Containing a arge collection of instructive and highly amusing electrical tricks, ) together with illustrations. By A. Anderson. : ENTERTAINMENT. : No. 9. HOW TO BECOME A VENTRILOQUIST.—By Harry Rernedy. The secret given away. Hvery intelligent boy reading is book of instructions, by 2 practical professor (delighting multi- tudes every night with his wonderful imitations), can master the ma Se ¥ art, and create any amount of fun for himself and friends. It is the. eatest book ever published, and there’s millions (of fun): in it. No. 20. HOW TO ENTERTAIN AN EVENING PARTY.—A ‘Very valuable little book just published. A complete compendium of games, sports, card diversions, comie recitations, ete. [suitable li for parlor or drawing-room fete a Sat It contains more for the Money than any book published, % \ “No. 35. HOW TO PLAY GAMES.—A complete and useful little book, containing the eae and Tegulations. of billiards, bagatelle, backgammon, croquet. dominoes, ete, Ge oe 0. 36. HOW TO SOLVE CONUNDRUMS.—Gontaining all oe ading conundrums of the day, amusing riddles, curious catches f }d witty sayings. ; a aig : FINo. 53, HOW TO PLAY CARDS.—A complete and handy little # 00k, giving the rules and full directions for playing Huchre, Orib- “Jee, Casino, Forty-Five, Rounce, Pedro Sancho, Draw Poker, Auction Pitch, All Fours, and many other popular games of cards, =No, 66. HOW TO DO PUZZLES.—Containing over three hun- ed interesting puzzles and conundrums, with key to same. A Ro mplete book. Fully illustrated. By A. Anderson. pi eae ETIQUETTE. ee No. 13. HOW TO DO IT; OR, BOOK OF HTIQUETTH.—tIt 8 a aveat life secret, and one that every young man desires to know ' good society and the easiest, and most approved methods of ap- hearing to good advantage at parties, balls, the theatre, church, and n the drawing.ronm. Ze |. DECLAMATION. | be No. 27. HOW TG RECITE AND BOOK OF RECITATIONS. Containing the most popular selections in us¢, comprising Dutch leet, French dialect, many standard readings. — ; FR K TOU dished. é No. 30. HOW TO COOK.—One of the most instructive books’ | Transparencies. @ll about. ‘There’s happiness in it. \ ‘ t OW TO BHHAVE.—Containing the rules and etiquette | G Yankee and Irish dialect pieces, together RICE 10 CENTS. EACH, OR 3 FOR 25 CENTS. R , Publisher, 24 Unio oy a No, 31. HOW TO BECOME A capri stmpati een: em teen illustrations, giving the different positions requisite to ber a good speaker, reader and elocutionist. Also cone a all the popular authors of prose and poeiry, arrange the mos simple and concise manner possible, o. 49. HOW TO DEBATE.—Giving rates for conducting de- bates, outlines for debates, questions for discussion, and the best sources for procuring information on the’ questions given. s SOCIETY. ‘ No, 3. HOW TO FLIRT.—The arts and wiles of flirtaifon i fully explained by this little book. Besides the various methods handkerchief, fan, glove, parasol, window and hat flirtation, it con- tains a full list of the language and sentiment of flowers, which ig Everest to everybody, both eld and young. You-cannot be happy without one. : ._No. 4. HOW TO DANCH is the title of a new and handsome littie book just issued by Frank Tousey. It contains full instruc tions in the art of dancing, etiquette in the ball-room and at parties, yes to dress, and full directions for calling of in ali popular square ances, é No. 5. HOW TO MAKE LOVE.—A complete guide to love, eourtship and mnarriage, giving sensible advice, rules and etiquette to te gee Ne with many curious and interesting things not gene erally known. ' No, 17. HOW TO DRESS.—Coutaining full instruction in the art of dressing and appearing weil at home and abroad, giving the selections of colors, material, and how to haye them made up.. No, 18. HOW TO BECOME BHAUTIFUL—One of the brightest and most valuable little books ever giyen to the world, Hiverybody wishes to know how to become beautiful, both male and female. ‘The sécret is simple, and almost cestless. Read this bool and be convin¢ed how to become beautiful. BIRDS AND ANIMALS. No, 7. HOW TO KEEP BIRDS.—Handsomely illus?rated and containing full instructions for the managenient and training of the ‘canary, mockingbird, SE one blackbird, TRY Phowon ete. No. 39. HOW TO RAISE DOGS, POULTRY, PIGEONS AND RABBITS.—A useful and instructive book. Handsomely illus trated. By Ira Drofraw. No. 40. HOW TO MAKE AND SET TRAPS.—Including hinte on how to catch moles, weasels, otter, rats, squirrels and bi : oo how to cure skins. Copiously illustrated. By J: Harrington n Ca No, 50. HOW TO STUFF BIRDS AND ANIMALS.—A valuable book, giving instructions in collecting, preparing, mounting and ing tA birds, animals and insects. No. 54. HOW TO KEHP AND NANAGE PETS.—-Giving plete information as to the manner and method of raising, keeping, | taming, breeding, and managing all kinds of pets: also giving instructions for making cages, ete. Fully explained by twenty-eight illustrations, making it the most complete book of the kind ever published. MISCELLANEOUS. — Wo. 8. HOW TO BECOME A SCIENTIST.—A useful and in structive book, giving a @omplete treatise on chemistry; also ex- periments in acoustics, mechanics, mathematics, chemistry, and di- rections fo making fireworks, colored fires, and gas balloons, This book' cannot be equaled. eae ; No. 14, HOW TO MAKH CANDY.—A complete hand-book for nang ee Kinds of candy, ice-cream, syrups, essences, etc. ete, No. $4. HOW TO BHCOME AN AUTHOR.—Containing full information regarding choice of subjects, the use of words and the manner of preparing and submitting manuscript, Also containing valuable information as to the neatness, legibility and general com- position of manuscript, essential to a successful author. By Prince -Hiland, ; im No. 38. HOW TO BECOME YOUR OWN DOCTOR.—A won- derful book, containing useful and practical information in the treatment of ordinary diseases and ailments common to every brite Abounding in useful and effective recipes for general com- laints. : ‘ "No. 55. HOW TO COLLECT STAMPS AND COINS—don- taining valuable information regarding the collecting and arranging of stamps and coins. Handsomely illustrated. j : No. 58. HOW TO BE A DETHCTIVH.—By Old King i the world-known detective. In which he lays down some valuable and sensible rules for beginners, and also relates some adventures and experiences of well-known detectives. 3 s Ege No. 60. HOW TO BECOME A PHOTOGRAPHER.—Contain- ing useful information regarding the Camera and how to work it; — also how to make Photographic Magic Lantern Slides and other i Handsomely illustrated. By Captain W. De W. Abney. 3 f : ‘ o. &, YOW TO BECOME A WEST POINT MILITARY CADET. “taining full explanations how to gain admittance, course of Study, Examinations, ties, Staff of Officers, Post uard, Police Regulations, Fire Department, and all a boy should oo to “ Cadet. alas oe written by Lu Senarens, author -of “How to Become'a Naval Cadet.” : ie No. 63. HOW TO BECOME A NAVAL CADET.—Complete in- structions of how to gain admission to the Annapolis Naval Academy. Also containing the course of instruction, ‘description of grounds and buildings, historical sketch. and cyeryiiine aber ‘should know to become an officer in the United States ny Com piled and written by Im Senarens, author of “How to Become , Ln ca) West Point Military Cadet.” Rak sea eee | Square, New Ye
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___w> Latest Issues wa “WORK AND WIN” ConNTAINING THE GREAT FRED Frarnot Storizus we CotorEp « Covers. 32 Pacus Price 5 CEnts. ~~ 516 Fred Fearnot’s Best Trick; or, Fooling Them All. 522 Fred Fearnot’s Diamond Skates; or, The Race that Lost. 517 Fred Fearnot's Blocked Kick; or, The Play that Won the Him a Friend. | y Championship. ' 523 Fred Fearnol’s Tussle With Toughs; or, Holding Out for 518 Fred Fearnot’s Night of Terror; or, In Deadly Danger. His Rights. d 519 Fred Fearnot’s Desperate Stand; or, Winning in the Last | 524 Fred Fearnot and the Norwegian; or, Using Skis to Save Half. a Town. 520 Fred Fearnot’s Secret Foes; or, Standing on His Guard. | 525 Fred Fearnot’s Jealousy; or, Beating be a Rival, 521 Fred Fearnot’s Stand for Justice; or, The Only Way to) 526 Fred Fearnot’s Ice Brigade; or, Running a Mid-Winter Win. Carnival. “WIDE AWAKE WEEKLY? ConTAINING SrortEs oF A Boy’s ScHooupays. CoLoRED Covers. 32 Paces. Price 5 Onvrs. - 133 Young Wide Awake’s Deadly Peril; or, Good Work at an j138 Dick Daresome and the Midnight Hazers; or, Turning the Insane Asylum. Tables on His Enemies. Siete 134 Young Wide Awake’s Struggle in the Dark; or, mesibed in| 189 Dick Daresome’s Bold Rescue; or, Saving the Academy a Flooded Cellar. “ef Girls. 5 135 Young Wide Awake’s Swift Run; , Saving the Mia- 140 Dick Daresome and the Burglars; or, Risking Eiae Life; for | a Roommate. night Express. 7 141 Dick Daresome Missing; or, The Academy Girls te cy 136 Young Wide Awake’s Last Chance; or, Rescued from Certain Death. Rescue. ae 137 Dick Daresome’s pape ch or, The Victory of the New | 142 am icon. Fight for Honor; or, Clearing a School eas BOY uspicion ; “FAME. ‘AND FORTUNE WEEKLY” — w Conrainine Storizs or Boys WHo Mare Money. Cotorep Covers. - 82 Paaus. : Price & eae 160 Ted, the Broker’s Son; or, Starting Out for Himself (a 165 Lost in the Tropics; or, The Treasure of Turtle Ke Bi Wall Street Story). : 166 Ten Silent Brokers; or, The Boy Who Broke th 161 Dick Darrell’s Nerve; or, From Pasine- -House to Man- Street Syndicate. : ager’s Office. \ 167 Only a Factory Boy; or, Winning a Name for ‘Him el 4 162 Under a Lucky Star; or, The Boy ene Made a Million in| 168 Fox & Day, Brokers; or, The bie Money-Makers of Wall Street. Fe Wall Street. 168 Jack’s Fortune; or, The Strangest Legacy in the World. 169 A Young Mechanic; or, Rising to Fame and Sintdie 164 Taking Chances; or, Playing for Big Stakes. (A Wall} 170 Banker Barry’s Boy; or, Gaitering the Dollars Street Story). y Street. 2} oe t For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or nunteee 8 a PRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, ah y TF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS of our Weeklies and cannot procure them from newsdealers, they can be obtained from this office direct. Cut out an in the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you Ww ant and we. ae send thent t return mail. POSTAGH STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS eg c FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 wate aoe. New York. Ta bbe eden eoeticneeeane Dear Sin—EHnelosed find...... cents for which please send me: as Ae ae of WORK AND WIN, Nos...... 0... -.eeeeenes ge eu dyn wiere | “ WIDE AWAKE WEEKLY, Mano Frcien sein atau Ce TaN see Bee wa. © “ WILD WEST WEEKLY, Nos. et eee “ Mes eae detest! sf) LIBERTY BOYS! OF 76, Mob gihauttcunseslieatsewensp eect ‘ vigee cay sins nap AND, LUCK, gee ee eet ee o. “ caer (4 eee “
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PLUCK 32 PAGES Contains All Sorts of Stories LATEST ISSUES : AND LUCK. Beautifully Colored Covers PRICE 5 CENTS VWire-Chief Warden. 519 A Mireman at Sixteen; 6r, Through Viame and Smoke. By Bx- 483 Newsboy Nick; or, The Boy with a Hidden Million. By Howard | °29 100 Feet Above the Housetops: or, ‘The Mystery of the Old ‘Austin. Church Steeple. By Allyn Draper. 484 North Pole Nat: or, The Secret of the Frozen Deep. By Capt. | 521 The Boy Explorers; or, Abandoned in the Land of Ice. By Capt Thos. H. Wilson. Me Thos, H. Wilson, os 485 Thirteen White Ravens; or, The Ghostly Riders of the Forest. | 522 The Mystery of the Volcano. A True Story of Mexico. B By Allyn Draper. Howard Austin. 4 486 Little Dead Shot; or, The Pride of the Trappers. By An Old | 523 Fighting with Washington; or, The Boy Regiment of the Reyol!s- Scout. tion. By Gen’l. Jas. A, Gordon. z 487 Shimer, The New York Bootblack; or, The Secret of a Boy’s Life, | 524 The Smartest Boy in Philadelphia; or, Dick Rollins’ Fight for a Allan Arnold, _ Living. By Allyn Draper. 488 Whistling Walt, The Champion Spy. (A Story of the American | 525 The White Boy Chief; or, The Terror of the North Platte. By Revolution.) By Gen. Jas. A. Gordon. An Old Scout. J 489 The Boy Maroons; or, Cast Away for Two Years. By Richard R. | 526 The Boy Senator; or, How He Won His Yoga. By Allan Arnold. Montgomery. y 527 Napoleon's Boy Guardsman; or, A Hero at Wighteen. By Rich- 490 oe eee The Hero of Greystone No. 1. By Hx-Fire-Chief ard R, Montgomery. x arden. 528 Driven Adrift; or, The Trip of the Daisy. By Capt. Thos. H. 491 The White Wizard of the Bowery; or, The Boy Slaves of New ‘ Wilson. “f aye nore York. By Allyn Draper. : 529 Bob the Waif. A Story of Life in New York. By Howard Austin. 492 Harry Dare; or, A New York Boy in the Navy. By Capt. Thos. | 530 The Wildest Boy in New York; or, Saved at the Brink. (A True H. Wilson. A Temperance Story.) By H. K, Shackleford. 493 The Little Unknown; or, The Young Hero of the Reign of Terror. | 531 Bushwhacker Ben; or, The Union Boys of Tennessee. By Col. By Allan Arnold. Ralph lWenton. ; 494 Jack Quick: or, The Boy Engineer. By Jas. C. Merritt. > 532 The Night Riders of Ravenswood. (A Strange Story of Arizona.) 495 Lost in the Great Basin; or, The Wonderful Underground City. Allan Arnold. By An Old Scout. 533 Phil, the Boy Fireman; or, Through Flames to Victory. By BEx- 496 oi oo to Senator; or, Bound to Make His Way. By Fire-Chief Warden. oward Austin. 534 The B Sheek : gee 497 seo con ee me pee Mountain; or, All for Love and Glory, me By ae Young New, Moreen tn eee y Richar . Montgomery. sie as ? 498 Slippery ren ee connitis Spy e the abe: Hh 735 Dang a aoeae Boy. Brokers. (A an tory of the American Revolution), By General Jas. A. Gordon, ne si 4 ey 4 - AAT, 499 seni we Ly deal or, Lost Among a Strange Race. By Capt. 536 DT asen eae beni The Perils of Thos. H. Wilson. ; basic 500 pee eee tee ocr Salle Boss Tire Company of the*Tow 537 a a ek Boy: or, The Struggles of a Pd . y_Ex-Fire-Chie arden. 5 ©° ‘he "Tw ¢ " : A 501 The Swamp Doctor; or, The Man Witch, By Allyn Draper. 22° ine age oe a cee Voyage is ectiaell 502 ues Soh Roads; or, From Engineer to President. By Jas. C.1539 Columbia; or, The Young Firemen of Glendale. By Wx-Fire- Merrit P wey n Top , Chief Warden. 5 B 0} ; Peta s le f Brave han. z dit, Coward pre a eee cre BEave: OMEMEP. Byy 540 Paddling on the Amazon; or, Three Boy Canoeists in onthe 504 Kit Carson, the King of the Scouts. By An Old Scout. i America. By Richard R, Montgomery. ; 505 Lost Among the Slave Hunters: or An American Boy’s Adven- | 541 Happy Jack, the Daring Spy. A Story of the Great Rebellion, | tures in Africa, By Richard R. Montgomery. > «BY Gen'l Jas. A. Gordon, 506 Rattling Rube; or, The Jolly Young Scout and Spy. (A Story of | 542 Nameless Nat; or, A Millionaire in Rags. By Allyn Draper. the American Revolution.) Ey Gen'l Jas. A. Gordon. 543 The Bo. ail-Carrier; or, Government Service in Minnesota. By 507 The Doomed City; or, The Hidden Foe of Plummerdale. By An Old’ Scout. Howard | n. i 544 The Boy Messenger of Russia; or, The Czar’s Secret Despatch 508 The Pride*of* Volunteers; or, Burke Halliday, the Boy Fire- Bearer. By Allan Arnold. man. By Ex¥ire-Chief Warden. 545 Monte Cristo, Jr.; or, The Diamonds of the Borgias. By Howard 609 The Boy Mutineers: or, Slavery or Death. By Capt. Thos. H. Austin. \ Wilson. 546 The Boy Privateer Captain; or, Lost on a Nameless Sea. By 510 Always Ready; or, The Best [Ungineer on the Road. By Jas. Capt. Thos. H. Wilson. i C. Merritt. 547 The Boys in Blue; or, The Football Champions of Cherryville. By Al-| 511 ae rhs ieee eh a or, Boy Rivals in Love and War. By Gen’l lan Arnold. “ as. A, Gordon. . Pp 7, : 512 A Fie at 16; or, A Boy’s Wild Life on the Frontier. By An 548 Mahi geal to Broker; or, The Luck ofa Wall: 8; Boy. oBy ARe Scout. : A i > ‘4 i 513 we ieee choy hat cole fone The Search for the Great Blue |>49 The Biggkbause Bars} or, The Young Flongenof the Great tat ae } one. 3B char . Montgomery. r 3 or, Student Exiles of Siberia, ar 614 ore tts Corsican; or, The Boy of the Barricades. By Allan 550 Toe ee ate ae By rnold. " or ison; or, The Two Boy Hermits of the Indian Ocean, 4 $15 Headlight Tom, the Boy Engineer. By Jas. C. Merritt. 581 A Corel eee Et wriegteth me inte 516 The Sealed Despatch; or, The Blind Boy of Moscow, By Allan | 552 Dick “Iwill!”’;or, The Plucky Fight of a Boy Orphan, By Allyn Dra: Arnold. per. ar 517 The Swamp Rats: or, The Boys Who Iought for Washington. : ._ By Gen'l Jas. A. Gordon 518 Nino, the Wonder of the Berton Bertrew. For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address on receipt of price, 5 cents per copy, in money or postage stamps, by FRANK TOUSEY, Publisher, 24 Union Square, New York. IF YOU WANT ANY BACK NUMBERS of our Weeklies and cannot procure them from newsdealers. they can be obtained from this office direct. Cut out and fill in the following Order Blank and send it to us with the price of the weeklies you want and we will send them to you by return mail. POSTAGE STAMPS TAKEN THE SAME AS MONEY. . ao re en ee ee ee | ‘Air. A Story of Cireus Life. By ee eer Ce Drar Srr—Enclosed find...... cents for which please send me: om ....copies of WORK AND WIN. Nos......... Pb b wrerele bal Palace wb geo eunselaun Dpto, Slat Mele ote rece > ala cM OWED E AWAKE WEEKLY. 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