The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 7, 1898, Page 31

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, AUGUST, 7, 1898. EDITER BY DIAVID . WALIER.4 /2. &l il BINNIE AND NED IN CUBA. z and his band s way witk ta Julia. ace they can b m- The bushed! vord, but h captain nodded and = of his men, s i upon Senorita drew f red handkerchief, and, dress a small g WE fit de ‘munk-a-munk, but wow | See how yure unkle’s klose fit now ! ‘with trembling hands, tore fro 2 “fragment which she fs l.t"mfé by thorri. This was the ot warnine of‘danger that she knew the Amarioany .would understand, if it caught thms -glance. The Spanish captain ang hI; :men were too interested in the scheme Mow unfolded to ambush and sghoot down the Cuban mountaineers, to a ratch her closely. The plan was to pitch day camp at the further end of the bridge, in full sight of the road. “‘Seeing us there the rebels will has- ten over the bridge, and then"— “And then, my ptain, they will fall ng t in the bed anyon .nd we \ surely pick f with our rifles from above.” the you Americans are Ram the ally captain, mention not her name ‘twas I who caused you to My letter to t you here and Julia in a position can never help the Cubans will confess or die in ad, norita Julla may s of th plot dawn- . h: gaily s like flint. 3ut now for- moved on to the nd soon had a g by the road break- rds beneath the - supports of the wfulne n thought, own weight. ns and their eW nearer. (To be Contir ) THE CHERRY BIRD. BY MARY GEORGE, LOS GATOS. > girl o four f summer e open door; = at like mine. and head. little one ast our hid in the- tree rd, his mate, nug little nest, doing her be: heart to ¢ n none is bugs and berries, 1 cherries; them ev'ry day until vbirds have thelr fill. cherries re when there is none looks, but can’t find one. tumble out of the home, u and berries alane. v that fall out of bed, ve caps arlet red to match; se are the boys and sing to make a nolse. For little girls that sit in the door, T ar their songs of jov outpour. summer vine, rom a throat like mine. THE BOY'S DREAM. BY GEORGE BARRETT, Monterey T was a cold evening in July and I ate a lot of meat for supper, not thinking of having bad dreams. I was in bed before the 9 o'clock “hoodoo” bell, or curfew, rang, and I went to sleep then came my long in the vbird sings f amed that there was an old and his wife, who stole little 1d girls and took them to their nd kept them; and I was sent i the place and bring back € I found a path that led = woods, which I was sure was 1t one, for I found tennis balls had taken from me piled up on s of the path. These I put in ket After I had walked all ame to the place where they There 1 found a large lake, out fifty children were play- I'M de landlady from de west, But hospitals will here pay best ! ing on the beach. I found a boy there dressed in a ri 2 suit, whip and all. I said to him: 0 You remember your father and mother?” M,,];‘t’o‘," he said; “but they live In Del Before night we had 2 that they should rnuul\-“m:“rfi:r?nse“ going to take them home. f(ul as lh:S all collected together we decided {hay the boy in the riding suit and I would go alone. I told ther that we would paste up notices so they could follow us. I sent the boy up “to the house after a pencil. I found at the begin- ning of the path a tablet which T picked rp to use for the notices. Just at the beginning of the path there was a short cave and just as we got half way through the cave we came to a large pile of dishes, reaching dcross the cave and nearly to the top. We turned around and went out, when I - % Whe woke up. NETTIE AND THE PEAS, Little five-year-old Nettle, who had been brought up in the city, was spend- ing a few days in the country. “Grandma, what are those funny Jit- tle green thing: she asked, as they :;-ere passing through the garden one ay. “Why, those are peas,” was the reply, “Peas!” exclaimed ~Nettie; ‘“peas come in tin cans,” THE TRAMP’S MAGIC KNIFE. BY LAWRENCE .C. BEMENDERFER, Angels Camp- OM ATKINS was the most dissat- isfied boy in the Sacramento Val- ley. He had become interested in reading the mining news in the dally papers and considered him- self too .good for his work, and believed his only chance of making a fortune lay in going to a lively mining camp at once. Even his father and mother no- ticed the absent-minded way in which he attended to his duties, and the tired man grumbled at finding the tools ttered around, and also the shiftless h Tom did his work. About this time, in July, while sit- ting on the well porch under the trees, during the heat of the day, Tom saw a ragged tramp coming along the dusty road leading to the well. Hello!” remarked the man as he came up, and sitting down, helped him- self to a cup of water. “Well, this is the place I've struck since I left camp up in the foothills.” “What, are you from a mining town?” asked Tom quickly. I have always wanted to meet a person from one. am thinking of going to one myself.” “You?" laughed the man. Why, 1 would have expected more ambitious plans. A mining town is a rough place even for 4 man. Look at me. Do I look as if I ever saw much money? Do I now?” Tom looked at the tramp -with his patched, ragged clothes, a limp ban- danna handkerchief tied loosely about his neck, and his old straw hat with Could “you don’t. ) do?” said the man, with “But all that was of- I am a trav- not you get work “Why, certainl a short laugh. fered me was too hard. cian, but of late met with poor success. I lost a charm some weeks ago of great value.” “That was too bad,” said Tom, so- NVhat was it?"” “Luck,” remarked the tramp. “It is one of the greatest charms of life, of more note than money.. But I have something left” (carelessly putting his hand into his trousers’ pocket he drew out a jackknife). “When I was in In- dia I met Aladdin. Heard of him, gonny? The fellow who owned that lamp. He presented this to me as a parting gift. It is charmed. “I didn't suppose Kknives were in- vented those day “No, but of his descendants had one, so it is all the same. Anyhow, I can do wonderful things with it; go anywhere, see anything, and by chance have been thrown inte strange places.” “Can you uld you do anything,” gaid Tom slo¥ 3 “Yes; first tell me something you want done. Where do you wish you were now, this minute?” “In the richest mining camp in Cali- fornia. Iam young, strong and willing, and would not refuse work because it was hard, as you did. I am sure I can all T want is a chance.” get along. “You shall have it,” exclaimed the man. There was a large stiff mat near them. “Step on that.” Tom obeyed and the man stepped on the other end, opened the knife and at once the mat rose upward and, floating above the , stopped midair. Jow,” he remarked shrewdly, ‘“here chance. Take it if you will, but in . you are disappointed do not blame me, for I am only a plaln magi- cian. If you wish I will descend. If you go I promise to land you here be- low safe and sound five days hence.” “Yes, I will g0,” said Tom impulsive- ly, and immediately they began to float over the valley and then over the low rolling hills east toward the mountains. Landing near a town they walked up & long dusty road. The first faint sound of the mills sent a thrill of delightful expectancy through Tom. The bulky stages, as they rolled by in a cloud of dust, and the heavy freight teams, all made him think only of the novelty. s they continued on toward the mines and mills the tramp explained that he intended to give Tom a chance at hard work; two chances, one to get gold, the other to keep it, “‘and In case you fail at the latter you can return home at once, for it will show you are utterly unfitted to battle with fate.” At length, coming to a large shaft, the tramp opened the jackknife and at once a parachute appeared. They be- gan to descend to the bottom of the shaft, on reaching which Tom, by the aid of the electric lights, followed the tramp, who at last stopped: at a drift, and, handing him a pick and shovel, told him to commence work, at the same time opening the knife. Tom be- gan to dig. The place was very rich. Gold, gold, in every place. He filled his pockets and loaded himself with it. As he worked the gold dust settled on him. It encrusted his pick and shovel, face and hands, and stuck there like glue. But its weight at last began to teil. He struggled on to procure more, never stopping till he could work no longer. “Take me out of this place,” he cried at last, “I have enough.” The tramp appeared. ‘“You have not yet proved your worth; there is an- other test to be made, follow me.” They soon came to another drift, like the first, only there was no gold in sight; only bare, hard rock. "All ‘the gold obtained at the price of hard work began to loosen and fly to the walls of rock as if magnetized. Tom endeavored frantically to keep fit. He tried to pry it off the rocks and often succeeded, but it flew back, and even when he put it in his pockets it broke through and made holes in them. At last he fell down on the rough floor, exhausted, and called for the tramp, who came at once. “So after all your toll you are as poor as when you begun. Would you like to see what you look like now? “Yes, bring me a glass,” said Tom, Opening the knife at once one side of the drift became transparent, and look- ing, Tom beheld himself, old, gray .and bent. “Are you ready to return home, now that you have lost all? Are you?” “Yes,"” groaned Tom. “Let us leave at once.” The tramp once more produced the’ parachute, and clinglng to it they sailed out of the shaft away over the hills toward the valley. Just then Tom became aware of some one shaking him roughly, and heard his mother saying: ‘“Why, Tom, how sound you sleep. It is time to milk the cows.” And that was Tom’'s first and last trip to a mining town. THE LITTLE ARMCHAIR. BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER. Nobody sits In the little armchair, It stands in a_corner dim; But a white-haired mother, gazing there, And yearningly thinking of him, Sees through the dusk of long ago The bloom of her boy's sweet face, As he rocks so merrily to and fro, With a laugh that cheers the Dlace. Sometimes he holds a book in his hand, Bometimes a pencil and slate; And the lesson is_hard to understand, And the figures hard to mate; But she sees the nod of the father’s head, So proud of his little son, And she hears the word so often said, “No fear for our little one.” They sweet days, When a child with sunny hair Was hers to scold, to kiss and to pralse, At her knee in the little chalr. She lost him back in her busy 3 A When the great world caught the man, And he strode away past hopes and fears To his place in the battle’s van. But now and then is a wistful dream, Iike a picture out of date She sees a head with a golden gleam Bent over a pencil and slate. And she lives again the hafp; day, The day of her young life's spring, When the small armchair stood just in the wav, The center of everything. - “Johnnie,” said the teacher to one of the juvenile class, “in your composition on George Washington you say he cut down a cherry tree with a saw. on't you know he chopped it down with a hatchet?” “Yes'm,” replied Johnnie, “but I couldn’t spell hatchet.” were wanderful days, the dear, Professor—So, then, by the term rep- tile we mean a creature which does not stand on feet, but moves by crawling on the ground. Will one of you name for me such a reptile? Freddy—Baby brother.—Judy. THE FOUNT OF THE DEW. HE Fountain of the Dew in that beautiful land of the fairies, be- neath Tamalpais Mountain, is the source of tue sweet odors of all the flowers that grow in Cali- fornia. The Fountain springs from a basin, curiously fashioned by fairy fingers, fror the shell in which, once in one thousand years, Nitoka, an Indian maiden who lived long, long ago In the land now called California, sails upon the Moon Lake. Of this wonderful Moon Lake I must tell you at another time. Once in one thousand years it becomes a mirror-——yes, more than that—an enchanted sea upon which, led by Nitok ., the fairies take boats for the moon, sailing easily from its face to the slanting Magic Rays, upon which fairy boats may glide to the Moon’s silver face safely and gen- tly. Now there was a drought in Califor- nia, and the wild flowers died very early in the summer. No lenger the rivers ni tured the pretty Loral faces in their tranquil waters. The bees and 'l,he birds la—ented them—dead untime- . “Nay,” sald the solemn old Pine Tree, ‘‘we shall see them no more. The earth is like flint, so hard has it become; and they are prisoners in its iron cells. No more will they perfume the gentle gale. No more will they embroider the earth’s robe of green in the spring time. They are dead!” The birds heaped upon the mounds where the flowers were buried the sweetest smelling twigs of pine that they could find and sang the sweetest songs. The bees brought there the choicest honey from their store houses in the tree hollows, to sweeten the ground. The trees leaned over and cast the soft but brave shadows of their protecting arms there. Only the sunbeams were not sad. They darted in and out, twinkling gayly through the foilage of the forest, like the sudden glowing .of Fairyland lamps and lan- terns; danced daily above the silvery gravel in the bed of the brooks shal- lows; warmed the birds and bees and forests into temporary gladness des- pite their losses. Just so angels come to_the bereaved. Before the early Frost had folded its winding sheet of silver, in the full of the Moon, about the meadows’ and mountains’ floral darlings. Hope whis- pered once more, Perhaps the flowers would live again. Not transplanted, like the lost darlings of many house- holds, to the far meadows that are wa- tered by the River of Life. Only sleep- ing beneath the earthly sod—awaiting the calling of the myriad rain drops to annually reawaken them. Who should learn the truth about the flowers but Goldilocks? The Elves in the forests, who speak the same language as the dwellers in Fairyland, told all about Goldilocks. More than that they bade Goldilocks ta visit Fairyland. The forests held up their branches to shade her; the west wind blew softly to fan her cheeks and refresh her; the birds sang godspeed to her as she and I passed through the carved ivory gate of Fairylani and en- tered into the heart of Tamalpais Mountain, hand in hand. From the scented throat of every Trumpet Flower in Fairyland came the greeting to Goldilocks—Halil!—in delightful music. For, be ft known, the flowers of Earth and the flowers of Fairvland are of kin; and all the trees and grasses and plants are Kkin wherever they grow. So the flowers of Fairyland were pleased at the coming of Goldilccks, for they knew no secret of Fairyland would be kept {rom her. By magic we were both placad beside the Fountain of the Dew and there we waited. We waited only an instant for—be- hold: Hand in hand, dancing almost like fairies, trooping’ arounl us from sweet 381 many unseen nooks, eicircling the Fountain of the Dew, came all tbe flowers of the Spring—not dead—fully alive, millions and millions, full of sun- shine, graceful, dainty, fragrant as ever upon earth. There were the golden popples, the velvet robed wild pansies, the beautiful grass flowers, the bravely fringed blue chicory—all the sweet sis- teghoiod of the fields. miling at the wonderment of little Goldilocks, they crowded closer to the fountain and caught the sparkling drops as they fell. Every drop had its own separate perfume No flowercaught other than its own proper odor. But the flowers had to dodge so to effect this that the scene was as if some play- ful breeze had suddenly started all the flowering meadows of the univers: to curtseying and bowing at once. Banks upon banks of flowers; each diffusing rare odor; in the center the sparkling and ever murmuring, plashing -and flashing Fountain of the Dew. The Fairy of the Fountain came to view from I know not where. Perhaps she was in the fountain. Her marvei- ous robe, of some rare material, spark- led with diamonds of dew and took on the colors of all the flowers that ever have lived. She was very small, not more than a foot high. * “Welcome,” sald all the flowers in unison. “Thank you,” said the Fairy, “this is the day when you all will receive your odors and colors for another year and you are freely welcome to this priceless gift, for which you will be prized. But, Goldllocks, what called you here? ‘Welcome, little friend!” ‘When Goldilocks told how the trees and the birds and the bees and the flelds and the mountains were lonely and sad, the flowers all were sorry and began to murmur aloud. “What?” asked the Falry gayly, “sad Kime ToU- 00~ QUM umpyre is de boss of awl; None answers when | say “play bawl.” DE upon the Day of Color and Perfume? Be so no more. Behold, here is Goldi- locks, who comes from the Elves. She shall be the Messenger of the Flowers.” All the flowers clapped their hands. Goldilocks would not stay, but has- tened forth from Fairyland that the glad news that all the flowers were alive and would return to the moun- tains, valleys, meadows and forests in due time might be known as soon as possible. “They are not dead. taking a vacation.” This was what Goldilocks whispered to a butterfly messenger just outside the ivory gate. Zig-zag, this way and that, the butterfly flew and at every queer corner turned by him he found another butterfly, bee or bird to tell the news and so the tidings were spread and with the news also sped abroad the fame of Goldilocks as the Messenger of the Flowers. They are just /4 THE. BABY Pretty little fellow! And a sash of yellow Hear the Bumble Bee Noisy httle rover! All the day he’s been at play Baby!' ‘Goodmght! Don't light on Baby's You've had more sweet than vou could Go buzz yourself to bed' ) NE o'slpc!i? Two o’clock? This little tiower Maiks the hour When 1t flies / Two.o'clock? Three o'¢lock? ‘our- o’clock? Fourzo'clock— Vest/ D . THEXBEE ABY!" See the Bumble Bee Tn Ins gown of velvet ‘brown Down among the clov You httle Bumble Bee. GwooDMORRwa Wit come and*playe wghvus?” “I‘m-busye. Deares!” FOUR O'CLOCKS| — e What'’s the ume o "day.” |. . . Stills itswpetals»stay!” That's;the time.o'~day: , er head! W ‘Quoth Ye-Butterthes;§ Goodmorrow!” ‘QouthYe ‘Bee;. Sayd: They away: —————— IV.E me a bt of .grass Q L As-you pass! N 2 OME Daisy tiowers abloom Now the tiles of China blue The little growing flowers. And ‘T'am waiting here Baby dear! [You ., go down-tlis-way Every day! ~1 have learned-to™- wait By the gate! THE VAIN DAISIES. —_— s —— On a sheli—by the chimney place Had daisies on them, too— One on each hittle face Saw the little painted-flowers | | Down there, Lelow the mantel shelf; And they nodded rathersvainly, And they. spoke oul-vcrxp]ainh.ghy THEYMAN"1N\THELMOON —-_—-W\ V:HE:little Moon-mad, As.everahe-can’ . With«sHa® Hab KBH( what he is laughing at THE GREEDY OLD GRAY RAT. " BY CORA MELBOURNE. H, dear; T am so tired of this hor- rid lesson, sighed Meta, her six- year-old golden head nodding sleepily over the spelling. It was her bedtime, but mam- ma said she inust finish her lesson. Meta only had one more word to learn—mouse—and had been spelling it over and over again for the last five minutes. But, imagine her astonishment, when, 7R l AM a munk of soaring mind— De sorest munk dat yew kan find. looking up, she found a real, live mouse, dressed in red and gold, stand- ing before her. “Good evening, Miss Meta,” he said, bowing. “I heard you spelling my name.” Meta was so surprised at hearing a mouse talk that she could not say a word. “But I must say good-by now. I am going to a party, and don’t want to be late.” “Oh, do let me go with you,” pleaded Meta, not the least afraid. “You may go if you promise to keep very quiet.” “Oh, I will be so quiet no one will know I am there,” cried Meta. “Then follow me,” replied Mr. Mouse, leading the way through a mouse hole (through which Meta passed with ease) along a passage, and into a large hall. Here, around a white spread ta- ble sat twenty or more mice, all dressed in red and gold. In the center of the table stood the very meat pie Meta had seen the cook make that morning to poison rats. She was just about to tell them the pie was poisoned, when there was a loud noise outside, causing them all to s from their seats; then a large rat, h a large sword, strutted in. “I heard that you mice had a meat pie,” he began In a loud, harsh voice; “put as I am fond of that dish myself I have comie to eat it,” And he swung his sword around fiercely. “You can have it in welcome,” cried the trembling little mice in a chorus, scared half to death. Then Mr. Rat seated himself in the middle of the table, with the pie on his lap, and began to seat. When be had it nearly all eaten a hungry look- ing little mouse asked timidly: “Please, Mr. Rat, can’t we have just a little taste?” Mr. Rat was about to snap out a re- fusal, when he was seized with terrible pains, and, falling on his face, gave three kicks and died. So ended the.selfish rat. “!?’f'«!a'.l?;'fiifxz as:hardy 3 Hat a ‘Ho! Ho! Ho! I don't tknow!