• UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 00022094350 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA From the Library of GERTRUDE WEIL 1879-1971 /S7> \ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2012 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill http://www.archive.org/details/giovanniotherchiburnett GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER MRS. BURNETT'S FAMOUS JUVENILES. G IOVANNI AND THE OTHER. Children Who Have Made Stories. SQUARE 8vo, $1.50. In this new volume of stories for young readers, by the author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy ," there is a certain unity growing out of the fact that with one or two exceptions the tales are about little people whom Mrs. Burnett has known, an autobiographic interest thereby attaching to these charming portraits of child life. Four of the stories, sad, sweet and touched "with delicate humor, are about little Italian waifs who crept into the author's heart. Two of the stories are of incidents in the lives of Mrs. Burnetfs own boys ; and the others, "while varied in subject , have the same magic charm of disclosing the beauty of child-life with a sympathy and warmth of feeling the secret of which Mrs. Burnett alone seems to possess. Mr. Birch' s illustrations portray the heroes and heroines of Mrs. Burnett's stories with a clear insight into the beauty of character, as well as grace of person, which they typify . L r ITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY. SQUARE 8vo, $2.00. " In ''Little Lord Fauntleroy ' we gain another charming child to add to our gallery of juvenile heroes and heroines ; one who teaches a great lesson "with such truth and sweetness that we part with him with real regret when the episode is over." — Louisa M. Alcott. ARA CREWE. SQUARE 8vo, $1.00. ' ' Everybody "was in love with ' Little Lord Fauntleroy,' and I think all the world and the rest of mankind 'will be in love with ' Sara Crewe. ' The tale is so tender, so wise, so human, that I •wish every girl in America could read it, for I think ez'ery.one -would be made better by it." — Louise Chandler Moulton. Li ITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH, And Other Stories. SQUARE 8vo, $1.50. " The pretty tale has for its heroine a little French girl brought up in an old chateau in Normandy by an aunt who is a recluse and a devote. A child of this type transplanted suddenly to the realistic atmosphere of New York must inez'itably have much to stiff er. The quaint little figure blindly trying to guess the riddle of ditty under these unfamiliar conditions is pathetic, and Mrs. Burnett touches it in with delicate strokes." — Susan Coolidge. Illustrated by REGINALD o £> eye-lashes — even then he could sing. He used to try and make sounds like the birds, and if he heard an air in the street he would try to repeat it, and then clasp his little hands and laugh for pleasure when he had made it right. And I was proud of it, and boasted of him to the neighbors, and made him sine for them. He was like a GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER 4 1 little bird ; he put his head on one side like one when he sat on my knee and sang" looking from under his lashes. They were as long as that," measuring on her finders, "and he had curls like a Gesu Bambino, and soft cheeks and strange eyes which seemed always to be listening for music in the air, such as we could not hear ; And I was proud and let him sing. I ought to have put my hand over his little red mouth and killed it then — then ; that voice of silver and gold that was such a traitor and a false friend." " But you loved it and were happy," said her hearer. " I know ; I have one boy left. He sings." " The saints give to him that it may not end in grief," said Lisa. " We were poor peasants, poor enough, when he was old enough to go into the streets; it was a fine thing for us that he could go and sing. He was so handsome, and his voice was such a wonder that the forestieri liked him. They gave him money and were always praising and petting him. There was no other boy who lived like him. It was almost as if he had been a real Signo- rine, though he lived here in the Citta Vecchia. If he did not sing one day before a hotel or a villa, the next day they would ask why he did not come. If he had been only like other boys and cared for nothing but the praise and the money, it would have been all right. But he was not like that. He had strange feelings about his music, and he was always finding something to read about singing and great singers. I loved him and he loved me, and I listened with all my heart when he talked, but I did not quite understand. He knew I did not, but still he loved me, and always told his thoughts to me. He loved his voice, it was his treasure, and he wanted his life to be all music. He was willing to work all day and all night if he might sing well in the end. And they told him — the forestieri, who knew about voices, and Maestro Mecheri — that he might some day be a great singer — a great one ! " 42 GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER "He might have been," said the listener. "Yes, I know that is true. He might have been and — " She hesitated a moment with parted lips; a strange light of thought seemed to leap into her eyes, and rest there, though she did not finish. "He used to come here and lean against the wall at sunset," said Lisa. " He would look out over the sea to the Madonna della Guardia, and it would seem as if he were in a dream. When he came in to eat it would seem as if he had just wakened with a smile on his lips. It was then that he was seeing his visions of what he would do when he was a young man, and the whole world loved him because his voice was of silver and gold." Her voice fell, and she remained silent a moment, resting her forehead on her hand. Then she began again : "I do not know how it first changed," she said; "Maestro Mecheri thought that he was not really strong, though he looked so, and he caught cold, and sang when he should not. One day he came in to me with a strange look on his face. He told me that he had tried to sing, but he could not. His voice had sounded as if it were the voice of another. He tried to be patient at first. He waited two days, and then went out again. But he could not make the right sounds. It was like that many times — then he tried to rest, and still it seemed to do no good. Maestro Mecheri said he did not wait long enough, and perhaps his voice had already begun to change, or perhaps it was that his malady had even then struck him. One night when I came in I found him sitting alone. His face was white, and his forehead was damp with sweat. He was hoarse when he spoke. He said, ' I cannot sing, I cannot sing; I have lost it.' I tried to console him, but it seemed as if he could not hear what I was saying. He had been to one of the villas where the people had always praised him, and they had not opened the window, or sent him money. And as he had been going away GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER 43 wondering- and heavy-hearted, a servant had seen him, and said, ' Was it you singing ? No one knew it was you. They thought it was a stranger. It did not sound like your voice. What is wronor? ' "After that it seemed as if he grew desperate. In spite of his hoarseness he would try to sing alone. He would shut himself up, and exercise his voice. He said that if he worked steadily it might come back. He began to cough, and became thin, and he could not sleep at night, but he could not give up. "Once, when he was exercising, I heard suddenly that he had stopped, and I went quietly and stole a glance at him through the door. He was lying upon the floor weeping with heavy sobs. I dared not speak to him. He was my son, and he loved me, but there were times when I felt he was far beyond me in some strange way, and I was only a peasant woman. But he loved me, he loved me. My heart was so warm to him, and so faithful. Sc?isi, Signora, I am telling you a long story." "Tell it to me, tell it," said the lady in black ; " it will ease your heart to speak. Sometimes one wishes to be quite silent, one can- not speak at all, but sometimes one must go over it all again, one cannot help it. Tell it all to me." " Yes, it is so," said the peasant woman ; " but there are so few one can speak to." "We have both felt the same suffering," said the lady in black. "To be a mother who loves must be the same always," said Lisa. "I have knelt before the Madonna in the church there, feel- ing that she must understand. She was like us after all. She had held her Son in her arms, and she stood by and saw him die, and could not help him." And she made the sign of the cross. "I used to ask myself if she looked on," she went on — " if she looked down at the Citta Vecchia in those months that came after. 44 GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER Surely the Calvary was not more terrible. They were so long, so long." "And so short," the other mother said, in a voice like aery. And she caught the peasant woman's hand. " I know it all, they were so long, and so short." " Yes. Yes. Did yours die so ? " it \T » " Yes. " Mine wasted and coughed, and his eyes grew large and hollow, and his hair was damp, and he was weaker every day ; but always he would try, with his poor voice, to sing, and always it grew hoarser and feebler, and more cracked — his s^old and silver voice. And when he heard it he would let his damp forehead fall on his hand, and large tears would roll down his cheeks. He ceased early to try and sing before the villas and hotels in the daylight. He used to steal out at night and try in the darkness. He did not wish to be seen ; but no one gave him anything ; they had all forgotten him, and once a concierge came out to tell him he must go away, that he disturbed the guests. In that hotel they had once made him their favorite. It does not take long for the happy rich ones to quite forget. It was terrible to him to find out that he had been so quickly forgotten. That night, after the concierge came out to tell him to go away, he did not sleep at all. His pillow was wet in the morning, and it was not only with the dampness of his hair, but with tears. His eyes had great shadows under them, and he was exhausted. Some nights he used to wander about until it was long past midnight. Those who did not know him said he had got into a bad way, and was a vagabond. But I knew that it was not so. "One nig-ht — it was the last time he tried to sinsf at all — he came in with something in his hand, and sat and stared at it. Mother of God ! he looked like a ghost — a lost spirit — a condemned soul ! GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER 45 " 'There are some people at the Grand Hotel des Anglais,' he said ; ' they are forestieri, two Signore. Once or twice they have thrown out money to me. They are generous. I suppose they are rich. I know why they throw it to me, it is because they pity me — they pity me. They hear how bad it is, how broken and hideous. They know I have lost it, and they are sorry. To-night they threw me this from their balcony.' And he held out his wasted, trembling hand with a piece of silver in it. ' Once they would have given it from pleasure. That is over. It is gone ! I shall never sing again ! ' " He kept the piece of silver, because he said it reminded him of the time when such things fell to him from so many balconies and windows, and this was the last he should ever have." She sobbed a little, and rubbed her eyes with the end of her handkerchief. " After that he only lay in his bed. He coughed and burned with fever, but I would not believe that it was all over. He had been such a beauty, and had sung so well a year before, and he was so young — only a boy — Mother of God ! only fifteen years old ! " One night — it is not a month ago — he slept restlessly and at last he began to sing in a weak, harsh voice, panting and broken ; it was Addio bella Napoli he began, but the strange broken sound wakened him. He started and stared at me as if it were I wmose voice he had heard. "'Who sang?' he whispered; 'who sang?' But a moment later he lifted his head from the pillow a little, as if he were listen- ing. It was very strange ; he was as white as snow, but he faintly smiled. His eyes did not see me, he — he was listening to some- thing I could not hear ! ' " 'Ah ! that is better.' he said softly, and while he seemed to listen a breath of something seemed to pass across his face, and 46 GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER make it quite still, even the smile, and his parted lips and open eyes. " I held my own breath for a second. And then his head sank on the pillow, and his eyes closed." Is there anyone who can say it was a strange thing that the gloved hand and the bare rough one caught and clung to each other, and that two women sobbed as they leaned upon the Citta Vecchia's old gray wall, and felt their hearts beat against its stoniness ! VII. Many things happen during ten years, and yet at the end of them it seems as though somehow after all the time had flown very quickly ! Young things have grown to man- hood, fortunes and reputations have been made, so many structures have been built up stone by stone, or have fallen into dust and been forgotten. People have grown happy or sad, good or bad ; lives have begun, and lives have ended. And yet one says, with sudden wonder, " Can it be ten years since then — really ten years? " During the ten years after the two mothers stood by the wall on the steep of the Citta Vecchia, many things had come to pass in the queer old town which had always seemed to be crumbling. The mother who was one of \\\5 " Did she ever go? " I inquired. "Well, no ! She's small compared with us, you know, but she is bio- compared to fairies, and 1 think she was afraid she might tread on some of them, and that would have spoiled all their party. ' " So it would," I replied. " But it would have been nice if she could have gone and sat down carefully, and just looked on. Then she could have told you about it. Now we have made swings enough ; what could we do next ? " "1 have just thought of something very important," said Birdie. '• There is a full moon to-night, and they are going to have a grand ball in the grove before the house, and I was going to prepare their ball-room under the oak tree that has a hollow in it. They use the hollow for a bed-room to take off their things in, and if any of them bring babies they want very soft moss beds to lay them on." " Do they bring their children sometimes ?" I asked. "They do just now. Roseleaf and Blossom both have babies, and fairy babies are so tiny they daren't leave them alone, because the least breath of wind might blow them away." We left the fairy swings' and went to the oak at once, and began to work in the most earnest manner. First we cleared away all twigs and fallen leaves and bits of pebble from under the tree, and made a charming smooth place to dance on. Then we made a fine moss carpet and bordered it with fresh leaves, and, as a finishing touch, we made moss seats to rest on between the dances. The supper-room required much more work. First we had to find a piece of "diamond stone," as Birdie called it, which was the right shape and size, and white enough and sparkling enough to make a table. She said the sparkles were really diamonds, and the fairies did not like chairs or tables with- out diamonds. The plates and dishes were made ol small curled 156 BIRDIE rose petals, and the cups for the fairy wine (which was dew, Birdie told me) were the cups of the tiniest flowers we could find. It was very pretty when it was all finished, and then we prepared the bed- room in the hollow of the tree. That was carpeted with leaves and had moss beds and pillows for Roseleaf's and Blossom's babies. Indeed, it was all so charming that it made me wish to be a fairy myself — but that was nothing new, because I had always wished I was a fairy. Birdie was quite satisfied when we left the tree, and on our way back to the house we talked in the most animated way of what the fairies would say when they saw our preparations for them, and what they would do, and how much they would like us for being so friendly. It was a charming morning, which I shall never forget. I had many charming mornings with Birdie. Our friendship grew more and more intimate, and at the end of the summer her family left their house in the country and took a house in town, which was just on the opposite side of the street from mine. But before that, I had a delightful visit from Miss Anna. Birdie and I pretended that she was obliged to visit some fashionable mineral springs after her measles. So I carried her to my house in town and kept her there. I think I wrote one or two letters from her to her mother describing her gay life at Montvale or White Sulphur. But the truth was that Miss Anna was really with me, and I was making - her some new things to wear. I remember there were some pocket handkerchiefs among them, and when she went back to Riverside she was newly dressed, and her mother found her looking very well and much improved by the mineral waters. It was after her family had taken possession of the town house that I nearly made a fatal error in speaking of Miss Anna to her mother. BIRDIE I 5 7 Birclie was sitting in a swing in the garden and I was on a low seat near her, and in speaking of Miss Anna's many accomplish- ments, I said, " She is the nicest doll I ever knew." The most startled expression came into her sensitive little face, and she put up her hand as if to stop me. ''Oh, don't, Mrs. Burnett!" she exclaimed. "Oh, please, hush ! Never say she is a doll. I never mention the word before her. It would hurt her feelings so ! " " Would it really ?" I said. " I'm so sorry I said it. She didn't hear it, though. She is in her room asleep." " Miss Anna doesn't know she is a doll," said Birdie. "She never dreams it. She thinks she is just like us, and I could not bear to have her find out that her head is made of china — or that it seems like that to people who don't love her. It isn't china to me — and neither are her arms kid — but then I'm her mother." Never again was I guilty of inferring that Miss Anna was a doll — never so Ion or as I knew her. I should not mention it now only I know she never reads papers, and my dear little Birdie, who must be a grown-up young lady by this time, would under- stand how far I am from meaning any disrespect to her dear old china memory. It interested me very much to read afterwards in one of Miss Phelps's books, of a little girl who expressed exactly Birdie's idea, and I wondered if perhaps Miss Phelps had not heard of it from a real child as I did. It was very absorbing when Boy was introduced to Birdie and Miss Anna and myself. Birdie's experience as a parent was very useful to me in my first venture, and she had a very good opinion of Boy, though I think we were both quite frank in admitting that just at first he was more big than exactly beautiful. I went abroad the next spring, and when I kissed Birdie for the last time I thought 158 BIRDIE we should be intimate friends again in about two years. I wrote a story for her while I was away. She and her brothers and sisters published a little paper in their own house and she asked me to write them something. I sent it to her from London. It was called "Behind the White Brick," and has since been published with other short stories in a book. But since those days chance has placed us almost at different ends of the earth. Birdie must be by now a grown-up young lady. Remembering her delicate spirituelle little face and translucent golden-brown eyes, I feel sure she is fair to look upon ; remembering her pretty innocent fancies and tender beliefs, I am sure she must be lovable and sweet. When I think of her, as I often do, knowing how many fairy things seem to fade away as one grows from a child to a woman, I cannot help saying to myself wistfully," I hope she still believes in the fairies, and I hope — because she is so gentle and tender — she sometimes sees one." THE TINKER'S TOM I saw him only twice and had only short conversations with him, but without intending or knowing- it he crave me ideas of a strange life of which before I knew nothing, and which, never- theless, hundreds — even thousands perhaps — live. There are single individuals who live a life something like it in America, but they are called tramps, and certainly do not seem to be usually people with large families which they carry with them accompanied by pots and kettles and numberless children, which give a curious air of domesticity to their ramblings. But in England they are a distinct class. When you pass on a country road a rickety covered cart, loaded with shabby, dilapi- dated odds and ends, drawn by a small donkey led by a dilapidated man or woman and accompanied by a drove of children, you say at once, "Ah, there are some traveling tinkers ! " And you generally add, "And what a lot of babies." And when you come during your walk through country lanes to a wearily grazing donkey or a very thin, rough horse, hobbled with a piece of rope and cropping the grass by the hedges, then you say, "Some tinkers have stopped near here." And before many minutes you are likely to find a queer encampment, boiling its bat- tered kettle and spreading its poor belongings on the roadside grass quite near you. 160 THE TINKER'S TOM There is generally the cart as a sort of background. It has been emptied and its awning has been taken off to make a sort of arched tent. It never seemed possible to me that there could be room for more of the tinkers than the tinker mother and the young- est tinker baby to sleep under it, but it seemed possible to get so many things into the cart itself when it was loaded, that one could not feel it safe to limit the capacity of the awning. Ragged pieces of bed clothing and tattered bits of garments hang on the bushes of gorse and bramble ; there are battered cooking utensils, and if the Tinker has jobs in hand there is fire and he probably sits hammer- ing by it. The truth is, you know, that there is only one Tinker in the family, and he is the head of it — the owner of the donkey or horse, the cart, the awning, the worn looking woman with the babies, the children of all sizes and ages, the hungry dog, in fact the whole paraphernalia. But still we always spoke of the whole family as "tinkers," and it seemed quite natural to say, " The tinker mother was gathering mushrooms with five of the little tinkers," or " I'm afraid the tinker baby has got the whooping cough," or " Did you notice what a nice face the tinker donkey has ? " Every one who knows England, knows the beautiful country roads and lanes, with the unending hawthorn hedges and the grass- covered banks they grow on, where a footsore traveler can often find such a convenient resting-place. It is under the hedges the little tinkers are born, I think; under the hedges they grow up, under the hedges they dream their childish dreams and think their young thoughts — but somehow I cannot help hoping that it is not under the hedges that many of them die — though after all I could imagine a little tinker falling asleep softly for the last time, if the time were a warm spring morning, and the hawthorn were in THE TINKER'S TOM 161 bloom, and the English sky was blue and dappled with fleecy little white clouds above. It was under the hedges we made the acquaintance of the Tinker's Tom. We mean my dearest friend and I, who during that happy year and the next were always together. We had been in London during the Jubilee season, and at the end of it, as I was not well, my doctor had ordered me away to the Norfolk or Suffolk coast, where it seemed I should find the bracine air I needed. Popular and populous English watering places are not inter- esting or soothing, so after several unsatisfactory pilgrimages we found at last a dear belated little fishino- village in Suffolk, where there was one street of quaint houses, a wonderful little hotel on a cliff, which had been transformed from a gentleman's shootine box into a pretty resting place for summer loiterers, a few small bay- windowed houses with " Apartments to let " in the most promi- nent panes, a few little shops, and a circulating library where one could buy toys and china drinking mugs inscribed in gold letters with " A present from South wold." One could also get from there odd volumes of Mrs. Braddon, and works by the author of "The Heir of Redclyffe," three volumes at a time for a sixpence a week, and the name of the proprietress was, I think, Miss Chicksby. But even Southwold did not seem quite secluded enough for me, so after a week at the wonderful little hotel which seemed so modern and aesthetic in the midst of its quaint surroundings, we found a place even more primitive — an old farm house in a green lane a few miles away — a veritable English farm house with white walls and a red roof, diamond-paned windows, thatched farm build- ings, and rambling farm yards. It would be very easy to write pages about Elm Farm and what we did there, of the delights of the boys who made hay and reaped and 1 62 THE TINKER'S TOM gleaned, who vowed eternal friendship with the cow men and harvest- ers, who spent rapturous hours tending sheep with the little shepherd, while he sang ancient Suffolk ballads about squires who loved milk- maids, and ploughmen who loved ladies; who became gloriously intimate with the small " pig-minder" and his family, who went " rab- biting " with the farmer, and were so blissfully happy that when in the autumn we left Suffolk to go to Italy, they began their journey in silence, leaning back in their corners of the carriage, their arms folded, and tears in their eyes. But this sketch is to be about the little tinker, and the boys did not know him. In a place such as the one I describe, there are only two things one can do when one is not writing- letters or reading the odd volumes from the circulating library. One is to drive, and the other is to walk through the green lanes, over the country roads, and through the tiny villages with their queer irregular streets and quaint cottages in which the small windows are so bright, their bits of white curtain so clean, and the geraniums and fuchsias and lobelias in the pots adorning them, so marvelously flourishing. So we drove and walked a great deal, and though we did not limit ourselves, and rambled over the country generally as mere ex- plorers, we had naturally one or two favorite walks which we took again and again. The one we liked best took us past woods and along a green banked and hedged country road until we reached a branching lane which led us to the thickly grassed top of the line of cliffs by the sea. A resting place seemed to have been prepared there. At the highest point of the cliffs where one could look far down on the prettiest curve of shore, and could see the widest stretch of white sand and sea, and the idlest floating gulls, and boats with white or brown sails, there was a little hollow curve in the grassy earth THE TINKER'S TOM 163 which seemed to fit one's body like a cradle. One could lie idly there and watch the gulls and the sky, and look down over the edge at the scattered flames of scarlet, which were clumps of vaga- bond poppies, that in some spirit of adventure had left their corn- fields and scrambled and clung to the cliffs' side. We were eoing - there one morninof, and were walking along - the country road, when we saw a cavalcade slowly approaching us. It was not an imposing cavalcade, but it interested us. First there was a very small and shaky cart. It was loaded with things to sleep on and wear and cook in, until one wondered how it could possibly be drawn along without falling over to one side or the other. The things seemed principally bundles of rags and shabbi- ness, and the donkey who drew it was very small, and had a patient ragged dilapidated air herself. But she was pulling her burden along unrebelliously, and keeping her eye on the baby donkey which trotted by her side. Ot course we knew she was a tinker's donkey and was pulling a tinker's belongings, as she had probably been pulling them all through the summer through various counties. The tinker himself was strolling by the cart with a short pipe in his mouth, and on the other side was the tinker's wife pushing the remnants of a per- ambulator with two babies in it and several dingy bundles. But the chief feature of the procession was, to my mind, the person who was holding the donkey by a piece of rope, and boldly leading it along by the head. This person might have been four years old, and must have been the third baby of the tinker, and one would have imagined he was young enough to have been in the perambulator if there had been room for him. But he plainly preferred leading the procession and the donkey, and was not a little proud of his position. 1 64 THE TINKERS TOM I wish that I could say he was pretty, but I cannot. He was neither beautiful nor picturesque, but I could see he had a bold and adventurous spirit, and I liked him for it. He had a plain sunburnt little face, and tangled light sunburnt hair which stuck through the rim and crown of the most dilapidated straw hat. He was dressed in a dingy and ragged frock which had evidently descended to him from some of the other little tinkers and which flopped about his legs curiously, but he seemed to be on good terms with the donkey, and the donkey did not seem to feel his guidance detrimental to her dignity. The remainder of the procession consisted of the rest of the little tinkers — an endless number of various ages and sizes it seemed to me ; scattered at irregular distances alono- the road behind the cart, until the last ones seemed, as it were, to melt into the distance. " I wonder where they will stop to-night," I said to my friend; '•' and where they stopped last, and how many of them can get under the awning." The very next day we found out where they stopped. We were going to our cliff again, and as we turned the corner by the coppice into the road we saw a light blue smoke curling up out of a sort of dip or hollow by the roadside. "Oh," we exclaimed, " there are our tinkers!" And there they were. The cart was unloaded and the contents spread over the grass and bushes. And one realized what a wonderful capacity for holding things it must have had. All the hollow was occupied. The awning had been made into the usual tent of refuge, under it the babies were sleeping, their mother was seated on the ground near them putting some stitches into a ragged coat, the tinker's fire was lighted and beside it the Tinker himself was sitting mending some old pot or pan or kettle. Except the babies there were no other little tinkers to be seen. THE TINKERS TOM 16 It was a beautiful morning, and there are probably plenty of amus- ing things for little tinkers to do in fine weather in the country. "Perhaps," my friend and I said to each other as we walked along, "there are times when it is not so unpleasant to be a tinker and have one's household goods drawn all over England bv a donkey, and live under the hedges." We walked on some distance, talking this over and inventing plans by which such a life might be made comfortable as well as interesting, and we were just in the midst of building a tinker's cart with all the conveniences of a Mayfair bedroom when we saw on the roadside grass two donkeys grazing, one lying down, the other standing up, and at a little distance a small boy sitting under the hedge guarding them. "The tinker's donkeys," we said, "and one of the tinker boys." The baby donkey attracted us and we went to talk to it, and found its mother equally interesting notwithstanding her worn gray coat and her shabby ears. We decided that it was her expression we liked and which was her chief charm. She had such a gentle, unworldly face as if even years of pulling the tinker's cart had not made her lose her faithful patience with things. I wondered if she felt at all depressed by the thought that her pretty, fluffy, gray baby might be a tinker's donkey too. We patted and stroked them both, and as we were bending over the mother, who was lying down, the tinker boy called out in a friendly voice, " Get up now, Jinny. Stand on yer feet an' let the ladies see yer." That was enough to begin any country-road acquaintance with, and we at once included the little tinker in our conversation with the donkeys and presently edged over to him. He was a nice little fellow about ten years old and had seem- ingly monopolized the good looks of the family. He had a well- 166 THE TINKERS TOM featured face and light hair that curled a little, and a pair of big, candid, blue eyes — really quite beautiful blue eyes. He was like his donkey in one respect, namely that he had an expression which was attractive. He was sitting on the bank under the hedo-e, and his coarse ragged little shirt was open at the breast, and he plainly had some- thing hidden inside it, for we could see an active wriggling going on. "What have you got there ? " we asked. He laughed and put his hand into his shirt bosom. " Now, Spotty," he said, " come out o' there. What are yer 'idin' fer ? " And he pulled out and exhibited quite proudly a pretty little fox terrier puppy. Both my friend and I are fond of dogs, and of course we began to exclaim and admire, and took the little fellow in our arms, where he wriggled and kissed us in his puppy fashion, using his active red tongue as affectionately as if we had been quite old acquaintances. He was too young a puppy to discriminate. " He's a grood un," said the little tinker. " He's a real gfood un. His mother was one o' Lord Dunham's. One of 'is gamekeepers give 'im me. We stopped on a 'eath near the park an' the game- keeper was a wonderful nice man." ("Wonderful" seemed to be a much used adjective in Suffolk. Our little maid at the farm told us among other things that the rector of the parish was " a won- derful cross gentleman.") " He's very pretty," I said. " I didn't see him yesterday. But I didn't see you either when we passed the cart on the road. It was your cart, wasn't it? I thought I knew the donkeys again." " Yes, my lady," nodding his head towards the part of the road where we had passed the encampment. " We're stoppin' in the dip there." HE PULLED OUT AND EXHIBITED QUITE PROUDLY A PRETTY LITTLE FOX TERRIER PUPPY. THE TINKERS TOM 1 69 " It seems a good place," I said. " It looked quite comfortable when we came by it just now." " It's all right when it's fine," he answered; "but it rained won- derful 'ard last night, an' it swum us all out. It come streamin' down an' floodin' everythin' an' we 'ad all of us to get up." " How many of you are there ?" " 'Leven of us with father an' mother — nine of us children. There's one of the little uns playin' down the road there ; that's Johnny." Under the hedge in the distance we could see a dilapidated hat and flopping frock, which seemed to be finding amusement some- how, and which I recognized at once as being worn by the infant we had met leading the donkey and cart. " Isn't he rather little to be so far off by himself? " I inquired. "Johnny? Oh, no, my lady! Johnny's four years old, an' he knows 'ow to take care of 'isself. He never wants no one to bother 'im. He just comes along by 'isself. He likes the donkeys an' they likes 'im. He brings 'em grass an' thistles an' thing's to eat, an' when he's tired he just drops down by Jinny an' falls asleep ag'inst her." It was exactly what my estimate of Johnny, as he had walked floppingly but sturdily by the donkey the day before, would have led me to suppose, that he "wouldn't want no one to bother 'im." "And you just travel about with the cart all the time," I said, wishing artfully to encourage conversation. "All the summer time," answered the small tinker. "In the winter we goes into the Union." The Union is the poorhouse, but he spoke quite cheerfully and simply, as if this life, which spent its summers by the roadside and its winters in the poorhouse, were the most natural one in the world. IJO THE TINKER'S TOM I felt a delicacy about asking questions, but I wanted to ask so many. I wanted to know how eleven people were distributed in the Union, and if they continued to be tinkers, if donkeys were taken in, and if not, where they were kept, and how Johnny man- aged to amuse himself without them. " What is your name ?" I asked, wishing that this commonplace query might lead to further intimacy, and wondering if it would. "Tom," he answered. And that set me to wondering if tinkers had no surnames. It did not seem to occur to him that " Tom " was not enough for any little tinker. Suddenly he looked up at me with a questioning in his blue eyes. "Would you like this 'ere little dog, my lady?" he asked. " I am afraid I could not take care of him," I replied. " I am going away and shall be traveling about all the time, and he 's very young, you know. Do you want to sell him?" " I'd give 'im away," he said. " He's 'ungry. I can't give 'im enough to eat. He ain't 'ad no breakfast, nor yet no supper." " Poor little door," \ sa id. «« Had he nothing- at all?" " I 'adn't nothin' myself," said the little tinker, quite uncomplain- ingly, almost cheerfully. " We 'adn't neither of us no supper nor no breakfast. If I'd 'ad any I'd a give 'im some. An' 'e's little, you know, my lady; 'e ain't nothin' but a pup, an' he don't under- stand." The inference seemed to be that being a little tinker he did understand himself that it was altogether to be expected that there were numerous occasions when one had to p;o without breakfast and supper, and that regular meals were merely the sumptuous eccentricities of the " gentry." And he was such a nice little tinker, with his good-looking face and his blue eyes ! Being an improvident, indiscriminate sort of person, I am not THE TINKER'S TOM \J\ always allowed to carry my purse when I go out, but this morning I did manage to find half a crown, which I handed over as quickly as possible to the tinker's Tom and the fox-terrier puppy. "That will buy you both some breakfast, won't it ? " I said. " 'Arf a crown !" pulling his forelock delightedly. "Thank ye, my lady. Yes, my lady, it'll keep us quite a good bit, Spotty an' me." Possibly Spotty suspected something friendly and agreeable in the conversation. He wriggled delightedly and rolled over on the grass, wagging his short tail with such an air of affectionate rapture that both my friend and I felt it necessary to kneel down by his side on the turf and pat him and help him to more active rollings. The tinker's Tom looked on with such a brightly beaming face that I could not help feeling that there must be something more for him to do in the world than merely sit under the hedges in the day, be "swum out" at night, and "go into the Union" in the winter. " Do you ever stay anywhere long enough to be able to get any work to do for the farmers?" I asked. "There are two or three boys who do things for our farmer at Reydon, where we are staying." The tinker's Tom looked at me with a smile in his frank blue eyes. I suppose he thought, in an amiable way, that such simpleness was just like "the gentry" who had only roadside acquaintance with tinkers. "They don't want such as us, my lady," he answered. "The farmers don't like the likes of us." He did not say it at all sadly. He was quite cheerful and resigned about it. His blue eyes had no cloud in them. " But why not ?" I asked. " The shepherd boy at Reydon is no bigger than vou." " 'Tain't the bigness, my lady," he said. " I could watch sheep 172 THE TINKER'S TOM well enough. There was a fanner in Devonshire took me in to mind sheep once, but some one made trouble for me, and he believed 'em. They alius believe things about such as us. They said I beat the sheep. What would I want to beat a sheep for ? " with a reasoning air. Really I could not imagine what anyone — even the most fero- cious little tinker — could wish to beat a sheep for. Among my acquaintances at Reydon I numbered a whole flock of sheep with whom. I was on calling terms. I mean, that my friend and I used to call upon them by going to their meadow, and standing outside the barred gate, uttering all sorts of queer little sounds in the hope of hitting upon the one which would attract their attention. We tried all sorts of little noises — such as one calls horses, and dogs, and cows, and chickens, and pigs with, and we used to laugh a great deal at the perfectly apparent ineffectualness of them. But we always managed to attract the sheep's attention and bring them huddling together in a woolly mass round the gate, where they stood and stared at us with their unmeaning, clear, amber eyes, and silly, gentle faces uplifted. We used to wonder if we did not look as silly to them as they did to us, but we both agreed it would be very difficult to decide what a sheep was thinking about, or if it was thinking at all. Remembering that flock of gentle, silly faces, I could not possi- bly answer Tom's query as to why he should wish to beat a sheep. " I am sure you did not beat them," I said. " But all the same I lost my place," he answered. Then he gave me a very friendly look indeed. " Are you coming by 'ere again," he said, " when you come from your walk, my lady ? " "Yes," I answered. "Why?" " Because when I was up the road this mornin', I see a wonder- THE TINKERS TOM 173 ful big- mushroom, an' I could go an' get it, an' 'ave it 'ere for you when you come back." "That would be very kind of you," I said. " But I'll tell you what you shall do at the same time. If you know where there are mushrooms, you shall go and gather me a basket full, and bring them to Elm Farm, and sell them to me. That will be something for you and Spotty." He looked so pleased, and pulled his front lock so enthusiastic- ally, that Spotty rolled on the grass, and wagged his tail in wrig- gling ecstasy. I am sure he understood. We left them talking to each other under the hedge, the two donkeys browsing a few feet away. When we returned they were gone, and when we passed the hollow near the wood the tinker was eating some bread and cheese, and Johnny was examining the mended kettle, probably with a view to a possible entry into the tink- ering profession. The next morning Tom brought the mushrooms. They were very nice, and I paid him well for them. " Would you like some water cresses, my lady ? " he asked. "Yes," I answered. " And as I have not the proper change, you can keep the extra shilling to pay for them." I had a very clever demure little English maid at that time. She was a Londoner, and I always felt she thought me very unso- phisticated in my dealings with what she called the " lower classes." She never expressed this by any disrespectful look, for she was the most well-bred young person. But she had a subdued little smile in her eye sometimes. She had come to the door to take the mush- rooms, and when the tinker's Tom turned away, I saw her look down sedately. "What is it, Millington? " I asked. Her respectful demure little smile deepened. 174 THE TINKER'S TOM " He won't come back, ma'am," she said. " But why not ? " I inquired. If she had not been so very well-bred a young person, I feel sure she would have hich will rank with the best of the author's work ; a tricycle story with a climax both grotesque and disastrous, etc., etc. The illustrations are numerous and cleverly harmonize with the spirit of the stories PERSONALLY CONDUCTED. By Frank R. Stockton. With 46 illustrations by Joseph Pennell, Alfred Parsons and others. One volume, square Svo, $2.00. "In Frank Stockton, the boys and girls have a cicerone skilled in the art of conversation, a traveler con- versant with all the curious and characteristic things of the Old World, and a story teller renowned for the audacity of his stories." — Critic. STOCKTON'S OTHER BOOKS. The Story of Yiteau. With 16 full-page illustrations by R. B. Birch. i2mo, extra cloth, §1.50. " It is as romantic and absorbing as any boy could wish for, full of adventure and daring, and yet told in excellent spirit and with a true literary instinct." — Christian Union. A Jolly Fellowship. With 20 illustrations, nmo, $1.50. " We can think of no book published the present season which will more delight the wide-awake, adventure-loving boy. It is, to borrow the adjective from the title, just ' jolly." " — Boston Transcript. The Floating Prince and other Fairy Tales. With illustrations. Square 8vo, $1.50. "These tales are full of the quaintest conceits and the oddest fancies, and the strange adventures in which the different characters engage are just the kind to excite the intense interest of children." — Philadelphia Bulletin. The Tillg'-A-Linjj Tales. With numerous illustrations, ismo, $1.00. " It would be difficult to find anything more dainty, fanciful and humorous than these tales of magic, faries, dwarfs and giants. There is a vein of satire in them too which adult readers will enjoy." — N. Y. Herald. Roundabout Rambles in Lands of Fact and Fiction. With 200 illustrations. Square Svo, $1.50 Tales Out of School. With nearly 200 illustrations. Square Svo, $1.50. "The volumes are profusely illustrated and contain the most entertaining sketches in Mr. Stockton's most eatenainini' manner."— c7i»-M//a« Union. SCRIBNER'S -BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. NEW BOOKS BY G. A. HENTY. For the Season of 1892-93 Mr. Henty adds to his list of fascinating stories of adven- ture for boys three new books — Beric the Briton : A Story of the Roman Invasion ; In Greek Waters : A Story of the Grecian War of Independence; and, Condemned as a Nihilist : A Story of Escape from Siberia. Mr. Henty's stories are not only thrilling tales of adventure, but are graphic and accurate pictures of the people and the times, and are thus instructive as well as entertaining. " Among writers of stories of adventure he stands in the very first rank." — Academy. " Mr. Henty is one of the best of story tellers for young people." — Spectator. BERIC THE BRITON: A Story of the Roman Invasion. By G. A. Henty. With 12 full-page illustrations by W. Parkinson. Crown 8vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $1.50. This story deals with the invasion of Britain by the Roman legionaries. Beric, who is a boy chief of a British tribe, takes a prominent part in the insurrection under Boadicea ; and after the defeat of that heroic queen (in A. D. 62) he continues the strug- gle in the fen-country. Ultimately after many exciting adventures Beric is defeated and is carried captive to Rome, where he becomes a gladiator. A thrilling chapter is the account of his saving a Christain maid by slaying a lion in the arena, his reward being that he is made the personal protector of the Emperor Nero. Finally he escapes and, returning to Britain, becomes a wise ruler of his own people. IN GREEK WATERS: A Story of the Grecian War of Independence (1821-1827). By G. A. Henty. With 12 full-page illustrations by W. S. Stacey, and a map. Crown 8vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $1.50. A large part of this story deals with the revolt of the Greeks, in 1821, against Turk- ish oppression. Mr. Beveridge and his son Horace, like most Englishmen at that time, are stirred with enthusiasm for the down-trodden nation. So they fit out a privateer, load it with military stores, and set sail for Greece to assist the insurgents. On their arrival, however, they find that the leaders of the insurrection are a cowardly, thieving, blood-thirsty crew. So they resolve to hold aloof from politics, and devote themselves to assisting the victims of war on both sides. The story is full of stirring adventure, and will delight the boy who loves the sea and the hazards of seafaring. CONDEMNED AS A NIHILIST: A Story of Escape from Siberia. By G. A. Henty. With 8 full-page illustrations by Walter Paget. Crown 8vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $1.50. Godfrey Bullen, the hero of this story, an English boy resident in St. Petersburg, becomes involved in a political plot, and is exiled to a convict settlement in Northern Siberia. His first attempt to escape is unsuccessful, and he is put at work in the mines at Kara. He again escapes ; walks 800 miles till he reaches the Angara River ; buys a canoe and sails down the Siberian rivers for a thousand miles ; coasts along the Arctic shores of Russia, and at last after many exciting adventures with bears, wolves, and hostile Samoyedes, he reaches Norway, and thence home after a perilous journey which lasts nearly two years. SCRIBNER'S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. REDSKIN AND COWBOY. A Tale of the Western Plains. By G. A. Henty. With 12 full-page illustrations by Alfred Pearse. Crown 8vo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $r.t;o. "Mr. Henty seems to be the lineal descendant of Mayne Keid in the production of exciting stories of adventure. This book is said to be founded on the experi- ences of a young En- glish friend of the au- thor, and though it is full of hairbreadth es- capes, nune of the inci- dents are improbable. It is needless to say that the English lad's adven- tures are well told." — San Francisco Chronicle The Dash for Khartoum. A Tale of the Nile Ex- pedition. By G. A. Henty. With 10 full- page illustrations by John Schonberg and J. Nash, and 4 Plans. Crown Svo, hand- somely bound, olivine edges, $1.50. " Mr. Henty's story of the Nile expedition and of the attempt to rescue General Gordon, is brought out with much spirit and skill. There were deeds of daring done in that cam- paign as brave as any that throw a lustre on the pages of English histoiy. In freshness of trea'ment and vari- ety of incident the story is fit to rank with any- thing from the pen of Captain Mavne Reid." —Philadelphia Record. REPELLING THE TURKISH BOARDERS. HELD FAST FOR ENGLAND. A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar. By G. A. HENTY. With S full-page illustrations by Gordon Browne. Crown Svo, handsomely bound, olivine edges, $1.50. " It is an historical novel, the siege of Gibraltar by the combined forces of France and Spain, in the latter part of the eighteenth century, being the foundation on which Mr. Henty's clever fiction rests. It is a story of pluck and adventure on sea and land." — Newark Advertiser. " The story, for those who care for battle and adventure by land or sea in the last century, will be found very interesting." — N. V. Commercial Advertiser. SCRIBNER'S "BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. THE THIRSTY SWORD. *A STORY OF THE NORSE INVASION OF SCOTLAND (1262-65). By ROBERT LEIGHTON. With 8 full-page illustrations by Alfred Pearse, and One volume, crown Svo, - - -$1.^0. a map. In this story of The Thirsty Sword and the vengeance which it accom- plishes, there is found much of the simple directness and tragic strength of the old Scan- dinavian Sagas. It is laid in that period of Scottish history which end- ed with the famous battle of Largs ; and it tells how Rcderic MacAlpin, the sea rover, came to the Isle of Bute; how he slew his brother, Earl Hara- ish, in Rothesay Castle ; how Alpin, the earl's eldest son, challenged his uncle to ordeal by battle, and was likewise slain; how young Kenric now became King of Bute, and vowed vengeance against the slayer of his brother and father ; and finally it tells how this vow was kept when Kenric and the murderous sea rover met at midnight on Garroch Head, and ended their feud in one last great fight. THE PILOTS OF POMONA. A Story of the Orkney Islands. By Robert Leighton. With 8 full-page illustra- tions by John Leighton. One volume, crown Svo, $1.50. " It is finely written and full of adventure, and _t he characters stand out clearly upon the canvas upon which they are drawn." — Brooklyn Citizen. AASTA GRIPPED HER SWORD AND LEAPT UPON RODERIC. THREE BOOKS BV HJAL1HAR H. BOYHOOD IN NORWAY. Nine Stories of Deeds of the Sons uf ihe Vikings. With 8 illustrations. i2mo, $1.50 AGAINST HEAVY ODDS. A Tale of Norse Heroism. With 13 full-page illustra- tions by W. L. Taylor. i2mo, $1.00. BOYESEN. THE MODERN VIKINGS. Stories of Life and Sport in the Norseland. With many full-page illustrations. 12- mo. JVew and cheaper edi- tion, $1.50. SCR/BNER'S 'BOOKS FOT{ THE YOUNG. OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND. WRITTEN AND ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD PYLE. "With Twenty-five Full-Page and many otlier Illustrations. One volume, royal 8vo, half leather, $2.00 " The scene of the story is mediaeval Ger- many in the time of feuds and robber barons and romance. The kidnapping of Otto, his adventures among rough soldiers, and his daring rescue, make up a spirited and thrill- ing story. The drawings are in keeping with the text, and in mechanical and artistic quali- ties as well as in literary execution the book must be greeted as one of the very best juven- iles of the year, quite worthy to succeed to the remarkable popularity of Mr. Pyle's 'Robin Hood.'" — Christian Union. "Told with vividness and uncommon spirit." — Troy Press. " Far above the common run of iuvenile tales." —Pittsburg Post. ' Handsome and attractive in everv respect." — New York Herald. " An addition of the highest character to juvenile literature." — Boston Times. "The decorative head and tail pieces, etc., add much to the embellishment and rich holiday appearance of the book." — Portland Argus. " Far above the average quality of stories for the young. Mr. Pyle is seen in his most brilliant light in both the text and illustrations. The volume is a handsome specimen of a holiday book." — Boston Saturday Gazette. THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD OF GREAT RENOWN IN NOTTINGHAMSHIRE. WRITTEN AND ELABORATELY ILLUSTRATED BY HOWARD PYLE. One volume, royal 8vo, - - - - - - - - $3.00 " A superb book." — -Chicago Inter- Ocean. "A very original work." — Boston Post. " A captivating book." — London Daily News. " An excellent piece of literary, artistic and mechanical work." — Louis- ville Commercial. " This superb book is unquestion- ably the most original and elaborate ever produced by any American artist. Mr. Pyle has told, with pencil and pen, the complete and consecutive story of Robin Hood and his merry men in their haunts in Sherwood Forest, gathered from the old ballads and legends. Mr Pyle's admirable illustrations are strewn profusely through the book." — Boston Transcript. SCR/BNER'S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. BRIC-A-BRAC STORIES. MRS. BURTON HARRISON. Witli 24 full-page Illustrations by Walter Crane. One volume, i2mo, new and cheaper edition, $1.50. "When the little boy, for whose benefit the various articles of bric-a-brac in his father's drawing-room relate stories appropriate to their several native countries, exclaims, at the conclusion of one of them: ' I almost think there can't be a better one than that !' the reader, of whatever age, will probably feel inclined to agree with him. Upon the whole, it is to be wished that every boy and girl in America, or anywhere else, might become intimately acquainted with the contents of this book. There is more virtue in one of these stories than in the entire library of modern juvenile literature." — -Julian Hawthorne. Specimen Illustration^ redziced. THE OLD-FASHIONED FAIRY BOOK. BY MRS. BURTON HARRISON. With many Quaint Illustrations by Bliss Rosina Emmet. One volume, square t6mo, - - fi.25. "The little ones, who so willingly go back with us to 'Jack the Giant Killer,' ' Bluebeard,' and the kindred stories of our childhood, will gladly welcome Mrs. Burton Harrison's "Old-Fashioned Fairy Tales,' where the giant, the dwarf, the fairy, the wicked princess, the ogre, the metamorphosed prince, and all the heroes of that line come into play and action. The graceful pencil of Miss Rosina Emmet has given a pictorial interest to the book." — Frank R. Stockton. LITTLE PEOPLE: And Their Homes in Meadows. Woods and Waters. BY STELLA LOUISE HOOK. Beautifully Illustrated by Dan Beard and Harry Beard- One volume, square 8vo, - $1.50. "A beautifully illustrated volume for young people, in which the habits, humors, and eccentricities of insects are delightfully described. The secrets and charms of insect-land are laid open by her vivacious pen, and the astonishing insects are described in a manner that makes them personal acquaintances." — Cambridge Tribune. SCRIBNER'S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. A NEW VOLUM E OF STORIES BY MR. PAGE. AMONG THE CAMPS; OR, YOUNG "PEOPLE'S STORIES OP THE W A% BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. With Eight full-page Illustrations toy W. E. Sheppard and others. One volume, square 8vo, uniform with "Two Little Confederates," $7.50. TITLES. — A Captured Santa Claus. Kittykin, and the Part She Played in the War. Nancy Pansy. Jack and Jake. The popularity of Mr. Page's charming story of the " Two Little Confederates " was and is so great — 12,000 copies of the book having been sold — that a new book by the same author is of unusual interest for young readers. The scenes ■of these fresh stories of the war are laid in Virginia — a field in which Mr. Page is unrivaled — and they are told with all the vivacity, feeling and humor that has made the author's earlier story such delightful reading. They are interesting, not only as stories which will entertain young readers, but as accurate pictures of phases of life in Virginia during the war. Two Little Confederates. BY THOMAS NELSON PAGE. With Eight full-page Illustrations toy E. W. Kemble and A. C. Redwood. One volume, square 8vo, - - - - $1.50. " Most delightful." — New York Times. "There is both humor and pathos in the book, and its literary qualities are as high as any book for young folks printed since 'Little Lord Fauntleroy.' "— Christian Union. " The story is beautifully told, fun and pathos being equally mingled in its ingenious threads. The book is a handsome octavo and is fully illustrated." — Newark Adver- tiser. " It tells the story of two Virginia lads left at home on a plantation while the men went to fight. The youngsters have many adventures, serious and humorous, and get into trouble and out of it again. The story abounds in stirring incidents, and gives a very picturesque view of home life in Virginia during the rebellion. It is an admirable juvenile book, teaching an excellent moral of self-reliance." — The Boston Saturday Gazette. SCRIBNER'S "BOOKS FOT{ THE YOUNG. A NEW SERIES FOR BOYS "Bound in uniform style and sold at $1.25 each. THE BOY SETTLERS. A STORY OF EARLY TIMES IN KANSAS. BY NOAH BROOKS. With Sixteen full-page Illustrations by W. A. Rogers. One volume, 1 2mo, - - $1.25. In " The Boy Settlers " Noah Brooks has written a companion volume to his popular " Boy Emigrants," a new and cheaper edition of which is issued simulta- neously. "The Boy Settlers" is a story cf adventure and incident in Kansas in the exciting days when that State was the battle ground between the border ruffians- and the emigrants from the North over the slavery question. •* "It is full of incident and adventure, in a style well fitted not only to captivate the young, but also to beguile the maturer reader into losirg himself for awhile in the fresh stirring life of a new settlement." — -V. Y. Journal of Commerce. r^iiiiWBrcs^ltll SURE ENOUGH, THERE THEY WERE, T1 FIVE OR THIRTY INDIANS." Reduced from " The Boy Settlers." The Boy Emigrants. BY NOAH BROOKS. With Illustrations by T. IHoran and W. L. Staeppard. 121110, $1.25. " It is one of the best boy's stories we have ever read. There is nothing morbid or unhealthy about it. His heroes are thorough boys, with all the faults of their age." — The Christian at Work. A NEW MEXICO DAVID. *AND OTHER STORIES AND SKETCHES OF THE SOUTHWEST. BY CHARLES F. LUMMIS. With Eight full-page Illustrations. One volume, 121110, $1.25. These eighteen stories and sketches are true pictures of the life of the wonderful and almost unknown Southwest, and are based upon the author's acquaintance with its quaint peoples, its weird customs, and its. dangers, made during a long residence among the Indians and Mexicans. The stories relate to old legends,. and to the Indians, gold hunters and cowboys of the Southwest, and are of absorbing interest. SCRIBNER'S VOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. MARVELS OF ANIMAL LIFE SERIES. By Charles F. Holder. The Set, $5.00. Three volumes, 8vo, each profusely illustrated. Singly, $1.75. THE IVORY KING. A Popular History of the Elephant and its Allies. With Twenty-four full-page Illus- trations, $1.75. " The author also talks in a lively and pleasant way about white elephants, rogue elephants, baby elephants, trick elephants, of the elephant in war, pageantry, sports, and games. A charming accession to books for young people." — The Chicago Interior. MARVELS OF ANIMAL LIFE. With Twenty-four full-page Illustrations, $1.75. "Mr Holder combines his description of these odd crea- tures with stories of his own adventures in pursuit of them in many parts of the world. These are told with much spirit and humor and add greatly to the fascination of the book." — The Worcester Spy, LIVING LIGHTS. A Popular Account of Phosphorescent Animals and Vegetables. With Twenty-seven full- page Illustrations, $1.75. " Nothing could be better adapted to interest young people in natural history." — Philadelphia Record. The Boy's Library of Legend and Chivalry. Edited by Sidney Lanier, and richly illustrated by Fredericks, Bensell, and Kappes. Four volumes, cloth, uniform binding, price per set, $7.00. Sold separately, price per volume, §2.00. Mr. Lanier's books present to boy readers the old English classics of history and legend in an attractive form. While they are stories of action and stirring inci- dent, they teach those lessons which manly, honest boys ought to learn. THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR. THE BOY'S FROISSART. THE BOY'S PERCY. THE KNIGHTLY LEGENDS OF WALES. " Amid all the strange and fanciful scenery of tnese stories, character and ideals of character remain at the simplest and purest. The romantic history transpires in the healthy atmosphere of the open air on the green earth beneath the open sky." — The Independent. SCRIBNER'S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. CHILDREN'S STORIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURE. TALIESIN TO SHAKESPEA%E— SHAKESPEARE TO TENNYSON. BY HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT. Two volumes, 121110, each, - $1.25 The first volume of Miss Wright's " Children's Stories in English Literature " took the young reader down to Shakespeare; the new volume continues the bright and entertaining narrative " From Shakespeare to Tennyson," thus completing a work upon the first part of which the highest praise has been bestowed. " The study of our literature is made fascinating for Miss Wright's readers by the skillful use she makes of the biographical glimpses she gives of each author, and by the excellent pictures she draws of the life of which they were contem- poraries. She is a reliable guide who conveys much charming information." — Cambridge Tribune. " It is indeed a vivid history of the people as well as a story of their litera- ture; and, brief as it is, the author has so deftly seized on all the salient points, that the child who has read this book will be more thoroughly acquainted than many a student of history with the life and thought of the centuries over which the work reaches." — Tlie Evangelist. "BY THE SAME AUTHOR. CHILDREN'S STORIES OF THE GREAT SCIENTISTS. With numerous Portraits. ..... 12mo, $1.26 " The author has succeeded in making her pen pictures of the great scientists as graphic as the excellent portraits that illustrate the work. Around each name she has picturesquely grouped the essential features of scientific achievement." — Brooklyn Times. OF AMERICAN PROGRESS. Illustrated. - - 12mo, $1.25 " Miss Wright is favorably known by her vol- ume of well-told 'Stories in American History,' and her ' Stories of American Progress ' is equally worthy of commendation. Taken together they present a series of pictures of great graphic in- terest. The illustrations are excellent." — The Nation. IN AMERICAN HISTORY. Illustrated. - 12mo. $1.25 "A most delightful and instructive collection of historical events told in a simple and pleasant manner. Almost every occurrence in the gradual development of our country is woven into an at- tractive story for young people." — San Francisco Evening Post. SCR/BNER'S BOOKS FO% THb YOUNG. THE BOY'S LIBRARY OF PLUCK AND ACTION. Four volumes, i»ino, in a box, illustrated, • Sold separately, price per volume, - ♦5.00 1.50 A jolly Fellowship. BY FRANK R. STOCKTON. HANS BRINKER; OR, THE SILVER SKATES. A Story of Life in Holland. BY MRS. MARY MAPES DODGE. THE Boy Emigrants. BY NOAH BROOKS. PHAETON ROGERS. BY ROSSITER JOHNSON. In the ''Boy's Library of Pluck and Action," the design was to bring together the repre sentative and most popular books of four of the best known writers for young people. The volumes are beautifully illustrated and uniformly bound in a most attractive form. ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF TRAVEL BY BAYARD TAYLOR. Per set, six volumes, 121110, $6.00. Each ■with many illustrations. Sold separately, per volume, - - $1.25. JAPAN IN OUR DAY. TRAVELS IN ARABIA. TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. CENTRAL ASIA. THE LAKE REGION OF CENTRAL AFRICA. SLAM, THE LAND OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT. Each volume is complete in itself, and contains, first, a brief preliminary sketch of the country to which it is devoted; next, such an outline of previous explorations as may be necessary to explain what has been achieved by later ones; and finally, a condensati on of one or more of the most Important narratives of recent travel, accompanied with illustrations of the scenery, architecture, and life of the races, drawn only from the most authentic sources. " Authenticated accounts of countries, peoples, modes of living' and being, curiosities in natural history, and personal adventure in travels and explorations, suggest a rich fund of solid instruction combined with de- lightful entertainment. The editorship by one of the most observant and well-travelled men of modern times, at once secures the high character of the ' Library ' in every particular." — The Sunday School Times- SCRIBNER'S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. STORIES FOR BOYS. BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS. With Six full-page Illustrations. One volume, 12*110, - ■ $1.00. CONTENTS.— The Reporter who made himself King. Midsummer Pirates. Richard Carr's Baby : a Football Story. The Great Tri-Club Tennis Tournament. The Jump at Corey's Slip. The Van Bibber Baseball Club. The Story of a Jockey. THE WAVE SWEPT BY HER AND THE DEFEATED CREW SALUTED THE VICTORS WITH CHEERS. In freshness of theme and originality of treatment, these boys' stories are character- istic of the popular author of " Gallegher," who is himself an expert in all manly sports. Mr. Davis puts an immense amount of snap and dash into these exciting stories of the sports that all wide-awake, healthy boys are interested in, with just a touch of pathos here and there to emphasize some manly trait in his young heroes of the field and the- water. Every boy will find them rattling good stories. SCRIBNER'S 'BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG. Stanley's Great African Story for Boys. MY KALULU.