The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 7, 1896, Page 29

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, JUNE 7, 1896. / 3 4“#//; S| S ; i | | The lucky stone for June is agate. This stone is a quartz formation and may be easily cut or sawed. l It is-used handles for k for ves, g cups, rings, seals, | word hilts and & great | ery beautiful and seem to | contain petrifactions of real vegetable form Excy. | Flower for June.—Wild rose; its senti- | ment, Simplicity. Some writers state that the name June was given to this month in honor of the goddess Juno. Others that it wasderived from the name Junius or Junius Brutus. It originaily denoted the month in which crops grew to | ripeness. | We know what it means to us, don’t we? Ab,yes! 1t means the happy month in | which comes the glad day when our books | are laid aside, and we hie away to moun- | tain or sea shore “to just have a jolly time.” There, I've been wondering why so very | few answers to last Sunday’s questions have been sent in! Of course, it's because | you're havin g your examinations and are | too tired out to try to solve puzzles. Sol { shan’t give you very hard ones to-day and shall expect a great many of you to suc- ceed 1n solving them. )n Jone. Roses by the garden wall, Poppies red and lilies tall, Bobolinks and robins—all Tell that June is here, Morniugs fragrant, clear and cool, Dragon-fiies by wayside pool, Chiriren to death” of school— Tell that June is here. ExMA C. Down. ))L Which (‘)1afi-? You must either serve or govern, Maust be slave or must be sovereign, Must, in fine, be block or wedge, Must be anvil or be sledge. | GOETHE. RICAS ROGUE. [Continued from last Sunday.] And strangely enough it was the thought of the money which caused her to feela sharp pang of compunction, Was it quite fair to take advantage of this poor man’s helpless condition to hand him over to the jaw and a long confinement, perhaps for life? Rita's tender young heart ached at the thought; perhaps if his surroundings had been different this man might have been a respectable member of society instead of one of its outcasts, and as Rita returned to her household tasks she thought of him only as an unfortunate fellow-being, whose sufferings she could relieve. By the time her guest awoke she d determined to say nothing to Ben just then of the convict's identity. Later in the afternoon the man became very feverish and restless, complaining of agreat pain in his wounded knee and also in his head, and Rita did what she could to relieve him, but she was glad when about 9 o’clock he fell into a troubled sleep | and a few moments later she heard the | clatter of Ben's horse’s feet. Sheran to meet him and told him hurriedly of the events of the day, wondering whether Ben had seen the notice in the postoffice. For her brother grew very pale while she was speaking and his voice trembled as he | neld her in his arms and called her abraye | little woman. He shuddered as he thought of her peril. “And do you mean to say,” he ex- claimed, *‘that the scoundrel is actually asleep in my bed, and that you have been | here alone with him all day ?” | “Hush, deaf!” said Rita, softly, as she | led him into the house; ‘‘you must re- member he is a poor, wretched, suffering | she whispered, burying her face in his | | and you know I cannot do that.” | raised no further objections, only mutter- {ing, “If you say so, I suppose it's all | been an angel to me, and I believe you're man, and that it was I who wounded him. | Under the circumstances I could do no | less than I have done, and, although the | poor fellow says little, I believe him to be sincerely grateful. Just think, Ben, dear,” | shoulder, **how terrible it wouid have been if I had killed instead of only wounding him. Ishould never have forgiven my- | self, even though it was in self-defense. | But,” she suddenly interrupted herself, “you have not told me about your inter- | view with Jenkins.” and then he whispered so low that Rita had to put her ear quiteclose to his mouth to catch his words: : “There's a reward out for me and my chum, and you can claim it for handing us over, don’t you see?”’ Never!” exclaimed Rita, emphatically, “Never!" But the sick man interrupted her eagerly. “What’s the difference?” he said. ‘“‘As soon as the doctor comes I mean to hand myself over, anyway, and you might as well do it as me and get the. reward. You see, this last tramp across the prairie has knocked all the spirit out of me, and my chum, too, and we made up our minds while we were hiding there in the grass yesterday and waiting for your brother to clear out, that if we didn’t get what we wanted here we would go on to the nearest town and give ourselves up, and we agreed if one was caught the other one would go along too. I have only to whistle and he'll come fast enough, for he’s almost dead from walking and starving.’’ Just then there was the sound of horses’ feet. “There comes Ben with the doctor,” said Rita. ‘‘But before they come I want to tell you something. I knew who you were before you told me. I saw your picture yesterday in the postoffice. She had not time to observe the effect of her announcement on the convict, for Ben and the doctor were entering the room, and for several hours Rita could think of Ben shook his head lugubriously. “There is very little to tell,”” he said, | sighing. *Jenkins has seen some land | farther north which he likes better than mine, and he only stopped off here totell | me so. So, I fear, little woman, that we shall have to give up the idea of your | going to Paris, for the present at least, or | until I can raise $1000 in some way.” | Of course Rita told him she was not yery | much disappointed, although her voice | trembled a little. And then she softly | stole into the chamber of the sick man, | and, as he was apparently sleeping, she | made Ben go to bed as quietly as possible, promising to take some rest herself. But | all through the long night of wakefuiness | and pain the wounded man was conscious | of a gentle presence ministering to his wauts with tender solicitude. Early next morning, when Ben went in to see his strange guest, he saw atonce he was very ill. “Rita,” he said, *‘I must go at once for & doctor. That bullet must be taken out.” Bat the sick man raised himself on his elbow, in apparent alarm. “No, you don’t,” he said. *I don’t want no doctor foolin’ around here.” “But,”’ said Rita, who thought she un- derstood his alarm, *‘it is absolutely neces- sary that the bullet should be removed, And-he right.” E1mmeui\3tely after his breakfast Ben started in search of the nearest physician, a busy man and hard to find in that coan- try of magnificent distances, so that it was late in the afternoon before the two men arrived. Throughout the long day Rita kept her faithful watch beside the couch of the wounded man, grieved at the sight of suf- fering which she was so powerless to relieve and filled with contrition at the thought that she had herself caused it. Once she was constrained to cry, “Oh, I am #o sorry! Indeed Idid not mean to hurt you, but you should not have threat- ened me as you did.”’ The sick man ceased groaning and looked up at her as she stood beside him, her face quivering with pity for his suf- fering. ““Now look a-here, little one,” he said, sp never say another word about that. You've the first person that hasn’t treated me like a dog since I ecan remember anything. And I ain’t a-going to forget your kind- ness to me, you can bet yer life on that.” He closed his eyes for a few moments, and Rita thought he had fallen asleep and was moving away when he called her. *‘Look a-here,” he said, taking hold of her dress, “I've got something I want to tell you, and 1aebbe it may belp you some. Last night I heard you and your brother talking, and as far as I could make out you want some money for something,” He paused a moment and asked Rita for some water. Then he went on speaking, this time in a hoarse whisper. “See here,” he said, “I know where you can get a thousand dollars,”’ and as Rita instinctiv drew back he added quickly, *‘Ohb, it’s all square and honest enough. You needn’t be afraid of that.” He paused and drank some more water, - “Rita was erying softly and the kind old doctor laid his hand on her bowed shoulder.” VR e ing with scme difficulty, “don’t you | nothing but the pressing needs of each moment as she assisted the physician in the tedious and painful operation of prob- ing the wound. When this was accom- plishea and the bullet had been success- | fully removed the patient was so restless and feverish that Rita again took her place by the bedside, in spite of the doc- tor’s assurance that she needed rest. She only said: *“I shot him, and I shall tuke care of him while he is here.” For days the sick man was too ill to be removed without endangering his life, and whither could they send him? Rita puz- zled on this a good deal, and she had also on her conscience the other convict whom she knew to be hiding somewhere in the neighborhood. But atlast her patient set- | tled the matter in his own way. One morning the good old doctor came | out of the sickroom looking very grave. | | He found Rita alone. | I think,” he said, “that our patient | could be removed withina day ortwo with- | out risk, and I have been asking where he wishes to be sent.” He paused a moment | and then continued, looking keenly at Rita, who had aropped her eyes, ‘‘His an- swer was a strange one, Miss Rita. He | said, ‘Ask Miss Allison, she knows who I | am and where I ought to go.” " There was a painful silence which Rita | but somehow the words seemed to choke | her. | *I understand your silence,” said the | pbysiciaa at last, “‘and I believe that I re- | spect ana like you the better forit. You need not speak, for T suspected from the | very first the identily of your guest, so yousee you are not betrayving the poor *‘he is anxious to return to jail.”” Rita was crying softly and the kind old doctor laid his hand on her bowed head. “‘I was a stranger and ye took me in, naked and ye clothed me, sick and in emnly. “ ‘Truly, I say unto you, inas- much as ye have done it unto one of the it unto me.’ ” Months later, when Rita Allison was painting pictures, in Paris, there would sometimes steal across her canvas another picture, duller in tone than the one upon which she was at work—a picture of a | gray-haired man in a prison uniform, who limped as he walked, breaking stone in a gray quarry under a leaden sky. | | | | Donald’s mamma was lying on the lounge. Donald was beside her and I was at his feet just about to take my noonday nap. Donald’s mamma had promised to read to my littie master. I was glad, because I knew the music of her voice would lull me to sleep very soon,so [ settled my tiny black nose down between my paws very comfortably and was just about to enter slumberiand when I caught the name of “Rags.” I started, closed my eyes and was once more almost asleep when I heard it again; then again. Of course Donald's mamma must be talking to me, I thought. 8o I sat up straight and said, *‘Bow, bow- wow.” My goodness! how I felt! Neither Donald nor his mamma paid the least bit of attention to me. Ob; no; the reading continued just the same. ' After 1 had recovered from the effects of being thus snubbed, and as I was by this time very wide awake, I thought I'd listen to the story. I soon learned that the name “Rags” which I had heard belonged o some other dog, and that Donald’s mamma was reading a storv about him. Ob, it | knew that she must ‘be the first to break, | fellow. And besides,” he added pityingly, | prison and ye visited me,’”” he said, sol- | least of these my brethren, ye hgve done | MWWW was such a sad story that it made Donald | creep down close beside his mamma and nestle his head against her loving heart, while the hot tears of sympathy ran down his dear little cheeks, and ber voice was so choky-up that she could scarcely finish the story. Why, would you believe that it even made me cry? Tt was about a poor dog named “Rags,” whose master had died, leaving bim a “Nobody’s Dog.”’ But of courseyou all read it, or had it read to you, for it waspublished in *“‘Child- hood’s Realm” of THE SUNDAY CALL, s0 I need not repeat it here. Do you know I have been a ‘‘Nobody’s dog" for 'most two weeks? Would you like to know way? ‘Well, the very next day after Donald’s mamma had read that story Donald came outin the yard and said to me: ‘‘Dear doggle, I'm going away for one week. Please be good, and do not run out on the street if the butcher’s boy leaves the gate open. Doggie dear, don’t you know I love ou, and 'twould break my heart if any- thing should happen to you while I'm away? Dear, funny, ugly little Rags, please, please be good, and stay at home'" I licked his face and wagged my tail, then—he had gone! Oh, dear, how long the time has seemed ! No one to frolic with—no one to take me for a walk or run! Just stayin this old back yard from morning till night! Of course I've had lots to eat and drink, and Donald’s mamma, many times a day, says “Poor Rags’’; but what good does that do? How 1 wish he'd come back! Why, don’t you know I howl and roar and scratch at the door, but do not receive the least attention. I just have to hang my tail between my legs and sneak off to my bed like a really truly ““nobody’s dog.” Listen! What's that I hear? Donald’s mamma saying, “I've a letter from my boy, my sunshine, my joy!” (That's true; he is the sunshine of this house. Even the bird has not sung a note since he’s been away.) ‘‘He writes: “Dear Mamma—I don't want to come home Saturday. I'm sorry to miss saying good-by to my Sunday-school teacher. I hope she’ll bave a fine time in the East. Pm bavin’ lots of jolly fun. Please let me stay 'nother week at grandma’s. Your loving kid, Doxarp.” Did you ever? Stay away from me an- other week! While here Iam at home, a mere shadow of my former self. This set- | tres 1t. 1 am, without doubt, “*Rags,’” an- | other “nobody’s dog.” M. W.R. | Please draw a picture of Donald bidding | his dog good-by. Please draw Donald’s face true to life. *“Rags” is a small dog; a mixture of sky-terrier, black and tan and rat-terrier. : | A Spring Opening d an Consequent Drop in Furd | B otodiografhy of aCat. P Alice Claire McDermott. As you have never seen nor heard about us 1 will “break the ice” by telling where we live and all about ourselves. | We were born in a box, on a shed, in the rear of a larg¢ nouse. Our motheris a i large black and white cat. I have one | brother Tom and sister Eva and my name is Genevieve. One Saturday morning two little girls, who live in the house, came over and found ug, and they now claim to be our mistresses, which, I suppose, they are. They found one of my brothers dead and they buried nim. 3 ‘Well, now, I suppose vou would like to hear of my brother’s mishap. These little girls took Tom and Eva and Ioutin the sun. Mr. Tom and I were very curious, and we walked to the edge of the shed and peeked down, but Miss Alice caught me, and as she went to catch Tom he fell over. My sisier Eva was with Miss Genevieve, but Alice put Eva and [ right to bed and they went looking for Brother Tom, but returned without him. Poor Eva and I felt very lonesome without him. The next day Miss Genevieve found Tem and he was not injured in the least, with the exception that one of his eyes was sore. Tom and I are living there yer, but Eva was given toone of the neighbors. All a Matter of Taste. A certain African King who came to this country was one day, soon after his arrival, invited to 8 garden party. His host thought that he would give him something to eat unlike anything which he had ever tasted before, so he bought bim a strawberry ice. “Isn’t that good?” he asked the black man. “Yes, 1t am berry nice,” was the reply, “but did white man ever eat ants?" The favorite food in his country con- sisted of white ants pounded up into a jelly and baked, and the strawberry ice was so very good that it reminded him of this delicacy.-—-Chatter Box. Gotr THE COIN FIRsT. Tramp—Remember, boss, 1 was once just like you. ' Algy (giving him a dollar)—How did you get Little Gl Pessley T DYEM\;. Listen, children, and I will tell Of the little old 'man who has dreams to sell. This tittle old peddler is bent and brown: His chin turns up and his nose turns down; You would think him first cousin to Sanca Claus 11 ever yon looked in his face, becanse He has the very same twinkling eye, But never a child of all that buy. His dreams has seen bim, for when he knocks, Ng matter what the time by the clocks, The lids of the children’s eyes shut down, And shut they must stay till he's out of town. He comes when the stars begin t6 shine, Calling out! *'I have dreams in this pack of mine. Here’s a dream of sugar plums—{sn't it sweet? And caramels, fit for the king to eat! Here's one of a dolly that laughs and cries, And a puppy that barks ana ro'ls its eyes, Here's a drewm of & drum and one of & tree That bears apples and raisins and nuts! And see— Tlere's one that you'll like, of dear little Bo-Peep, And the boy in the haystack fast asleep!” Listen my dearies! I think I hear His step on the threshold. Isn’t it queer That grown-up people can see right well This Iittle old peddier with dreams to sell, While the children cannot. Your eyelids fall— I hear his step coming down the hall! And opens his pack in the drowsy gloom. Your eyes shut fast—and he’s here in the room, Choose your dreams, my dearles, and give to me, For each dream that’s chosen, & kiss as fee, And I'll pay, 1n a way that suits him well. Thislitcle old man who hes dreams to sell. EBEN E. REXFORD. SEBASTOPOL, Cal., May 31, 1896. Dear Editor Call: AsI have never seen any letters from cebastopol and I have never writ- ten any I thought I would write toyou. My Aunt Eliza has been taking THE CALL ever since she has lived here. 1 enjoy reading the “Child’s Realm” very much, aud I think it is very good of you to print it. Before I lived here I lived in Eureka, Humboldt County. My mother bas a millinery-store here. We have been having very hotdays here which will make the cherries sweet. There is a beautiful grove close to Sebastopol where we have picnics. It is the Morris Grove, | and whoever don’t go there misses lots of beauty. There aresomany pretty trees around Sebastopol. My Aunt Eliza hasa very nice flower and vegetable garden and I have one of my own. Please excuse mistakes. Well, I will close. Your new friend, ARA BRUEGGE, age 11. SAN FRANCISCO. Dear Editor; 1 like the children’s page very much. I enjoy reading the stories, puzzles and letters. Ithink they are all very nice. I don’t like this weather at all. This vacation, if nothing happens, we are going to Napa. We are going to stay on a fruit farm. I hope you will go to the country too, and have & nice time. Iam9 yearsold, andI am in the first line gn the roll of honor, in the third grade. I attend the Golden Gate School, and my teacher's name is Miss Provost. This is my | first letter, so I hope it will be published in THE CALL next Sunday. Good-by. Yourlittle friend, INEz EDITH UNDERWOOD. ALTAVILLE, May 27, 1896. Dear Editor of the Call: I will write toyou again. Our school is out. We had a picnic. We had & good time. In the evening we nad adance. Wehad a good time dancing. At 11 o’clock one of our mother’s houses burned down. All of the men and women were frightened, and I was frightened. My sister | went to the mountains with a lady friend of ours, and I am lonely. One of my listle school- mates is going to write to you. 2 Mrs. Editor, my kittens have got so they play. I have lots of fun with them. I letthem out on the porch. I can think of no more, so I shall close my letter now, hoping to see it in THE SUNDAY CALL. From your friend, LorTIE CONDO. WARM SPRINGS, May 27, 1896. Dear Editor: We take THE CALL. My sister reads me the children’s page every Sunday, and we think it is fine. Iam a little boy 9 yearsold. I have three pigeons, one rabbit, one sheep and a dog. Hisnameis Snip. Ilive in Warm Springs, near Milpitas. I saw & steam carriage go by our ranch. Good-by FRANK DUNN VALPEY. SIMMLEE, May 23, 1896, Dear Editor: I am a little boy 8 years old. My papa takes THE CALL. Ilive on the Ca- rissa Plains, San Luis Obispo County. It is very pretty here in the spring with all the wild flowers, for there are so many different kinds. There aré lots of cattle on the plains and not many houses. I have two sisters. Ethel is 6 years old and Adadie is 3. As tnis is my first letter I should like to see it printed. GEORGE MATHEW. HAYWARDS, Cali, May 28, 1896. Dear Editor; We take THE CaLL. I like to read the children’s letters, and thought I'd write you one. 1L am 8 years old. I go to school and am in the second grade. I have to walk one mile, and found it pretty hot this week. We find ripe blackberries on our way home. If you print this I'll write more next time. RUEL KANSEN. - SouTH SAN FRANCISCO, May 24, 1896. Dear Editor: 1.am a little girl 11 years old. My papa.takes THE CALL every Sunday morn- ing, and I am very glad that he takes it, be- cause I enjoy reading the ‘‘Childhood’s Realm.” I go to the South San Francisco school. I am in the fourth grade, and my teacher’sname is Miss Morrison. This is my first letter to THE CALL. I have never tried any of the puzzles before, but I think I shall try them soon. JostE DESMOND. SEATTLE, Wash,, May 28, 1896. Dear Editor: My papa takes THE CALL. We like it very much, We get it every day. I have been reading the letters of the other chil- dren. I thought I would write too. I am going to school. Iam in the third grade; I ex- pect to be promoted to the fourth grade. Our school will close in about & week. I have one kitten; I call it Nelhe. My mamma has seven- teen canary birds and one parrot. We havea little dog, too; we call him Cricket because he is so small. I read the story in THE CALL about the boy taking his hoe and pail to dig clams and then sat on his pail and couldn’t findit. I think that was a very good story, only I think he better not sit on his pail next time. Ihope you will find room on the page for my letter this week. I shall look for it every day. Your little friend. EARL STAMBAUGH, age 8 years. SEBASTOPOL, May J31. so different ? Tramp—Oh, I was too proud to live on my father,—Truth. Dear Editor: 1 have been thinking for some time that I would like to be one of your little letter-writers, I am 9 years old. I go to \‘// i 7 l,’z';. i jf-" IV Z/ Al I ! y o it THE YOUNG THIEF, school every day and like my teacher very much. Sometimes I think I'd rather stay at home and play with my dollies and other toys. I have two doggies to play with. One I hitch to my liftle wagon for a horse and the other rides on the seat with me. The dogs’ names are Jack and Tit. Last night our old cat caught four of my pigeons, so I want my pepa to set a trap for her to-night, but he says we would then have four dead pigeons and one dead cat. But I don’t care. A cat that will catch pigeons de- | serves to be caught too. Our fruit is beginning to get ripe. I am so glad, for I have been longing for some nice ripe fruit. Now, please, dear Editor, do not throw my letter into the waste basket. I do wish so much to have it printed, and next time I'll try to do better. Good-by. From VoLA MORAN. Nicasio, May 21, 1896. Dear Editor: As I was fortunate enough to have my first letter to THE CALL printed I thought I would write again and tell of some of our pets. We have three colts named Janet, Gertie and Charlie, & pet deer called Veva, two kittens and a shepherd dog named Topsy. The colts will eat bread and apples out of my hand and foillow me all over the yard The deer we keep tied, as we have not had it very loag. very playful. I think 1 like Topsy the best. She will drive home the cows, speak when we tell her and she calls me every morning so I won’t be late for school. I go to the Nicasio School. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Jacobs, and all the | children like her very much. I am in the fourth grade, and expect to be promoted in July. I'do enjoy reading Childhood’s Realm. I wish it came every day, as I find it hard to wait for Sunday. Your little friend, CHARLIE R. MCNEILL, 9 years old. LULLABY SONG. Bylow, bylow, my pretty wand'rer, Tired and sleepy, with eyes drooping low, Comes from the fields strewn with daisies and clover, Off into dreamland, go, oh, go. Hushaby, lullaby, with small hands folded, Gently she murmurs her evening song— Lo! She has covered her starry blue peepers, Oft into dreamland, gone, oh, gone. Bylow, bylow, hovering o’er her, Beautiful angels their loving wateh keep, Spreading sround her the garments of puril And in far dreamland, sleep, ob, sleep. BEFRAIN. Ob, slecp, sleep, Sleep, sleep, Sleep, steep, My baby, sleep. MAE FRANK KUFF. You BEr, Cal., May 24, 1896. Dear Editor: This is my first letter to THE CALL. My father takes THE CALL and I read the “Childhocd’s Realm” every week. I am 12 yearsof age. I goto school here, and my tedcher's name is Mr. J. T. Hennessy. 1 have two sisters and two brothers. My cousin also lives here; she has been here three years. Our school closes on the 29th of this month. Well, I shail close hoping this will be pub- lished in next Sunday’s CALL. Yours truly, DORA GOODING. Not the True Gold. Teacher—Have you learned the Golden Rule, Tommy? Tommy—Yes'm. Itistodo to other people like they would do you. ITs HARD WORK. “Louise, where does the intellectual exercise come in playing whist?” “Oh, in getting other people to pay attention to the game.”—Chicago Record. The kittens are like all others, | 2 B BE A Captive Mocking-Bird. There comes from Louisiana this pa- thetic story of a captive mocking-bird. It had been taken from a tree when a nest- ling and kept caged all winter. Oneday early in spriug the bird’s cage was put out on the porch, and pretty soon ‘wo full- grown mocking-birds came chirping and chattering, evidently holding conversa- tion of an exciting kind. For two days this was repeated, and on the third the | voung bird was found dead in the cagc. | On the floor were some Foisonoug_berries, | evidently brought by the old birds, and | the supposition is that they poisoned the guptive because they could not make him | free. PUZZLES . Cologne. . In their legs. North. V. (a.) Ear. (b)_ Nest. Earnest. VI A friend in need i8 a friend indeed. | poIL “Because his tale (tafl) comes out of his ead. Corrected answers to all or a majority of puzzles for Mayv 24, received from Her- man Borchers, Lucy Moeller and Gussie Wheeler. HFi)lr May 31, from John Morrison and Zae all. Questions and Puzzles for June 7. I When was the American flag adopted? What important svent took place on June 15, 15, in England. III. When did- the Battle of Bunker Hill oceur ? IV. When was the ‘“gift of corn” made? V. Tam always seen in April. Change my first two Jetters and I am April's giit to May. Changé n%nln my first two letters to one letter, and I am found among the leaves of June? [Selectedd VI 1 pull your carriage everywhere, The stars and stripes I proudly bear. | Due north am 1, and yet I dwell b In one of Europe's lands as well? [Selectea.] VIL Take an sdjective of three letters mean- ing “‘a”; prefix a letter and have a ‘‘sound” ; prefix another letter and have a “hard mass” ; prefix & word meaning happy, and have the name of an English statesman. . by Lucy MOELLER. VIII. Why is death like a titcan tied to a dog’s tail? Con. by ZAE HaLL, L) ‘What Family Group Is This? Can My Young Readers Tell?