"VEGETABLES?" "WHY, THEY'RE LOBSTERS!"
"Feel it? Not they. You might as well try to hurt a clam with a pin."
"And I hurt your sister's feelings instead of theirs," replied Dab. "Well, I'll never try anything like it again. Anyhow, Joe and Fuz aint comfortable. They ate too many roasted clams and too much lobster."
Ham Morris did not linger long at the dinner-table, and Dab would have given more than ever for the privilege of going with him. Not that he felt so very charitable, but that he did not care to prolong his stay at Mrs. Foster's, whether as "cook" or otherwise. He had not lost his appetite, however, and after he had taken care of that, he slipped away "on an errand for his mother," and hurried toward the village. Nearly everybody he met had some question or other to ask him about the wreck, and it was not to have been expected that Jenny Walters would let her old acquaintance pass her without a word or so.
Dab answered as best he could, considering the disturbed state of his mind, but he wound up with:
"Jenny, I wish you'd come over to our house by and by."
"What for?"
"Oh, I've got something to show you. Something you never saw before."
"Do you mean your new baby,—the one you found on the bar?"
"Yes; but that baby, Jenny!"
"What's wonderful about it?"
"Why, it's only two years old and it can squall in two languages. That's more'n you can do."
"They say your friend, Miss Foster, speaks French," retorted Jenny. "Was she ever shipwrecked?"
"In French? May be so. But not in German."
"Well, Dabney, I don't propose to squall in anything. Are your folks going to burn any more of their barns this year?"
"Not unless Samantha gets married. Jenny, do you know what's the latest fashion in lobsters?"
"Changeable green, I suppose."
"No; I mean after they're boiled. It's to have 'em come on the table in cuffs and collars. Lace around their necks, you know."
"And gloves?"
"No, not any gloves. We had lobsters to-day at Mrs. Foster's, and you ought to have seen 'em."
"Dabney Kinzer, it's time you went to school again."
"I'm going in a few days."
"Going? Do you mean you're going away somewhere?"
"Ever so far. Dick Lee's going with me."
"I heard about him, but I didn't know he meant to take you along. That's very kind of Dick. I s'pose you wont speak to common people when you get back."
"Now, Jenny——"
"Good afternoon, Dabney. Perhaps I'll come over before you go, if it's only to see that shipwrecked baby."
A good many of Mrs. Kinzer's lady friends, young and old, deemed it their duty to come and do that very thing within the next few days. Then the Sewing Circle took the matter up, and both the baby and its mother were provided for as they never had been before. It would have taken more languages than two to have expressed the gratitude of the poor Alsatians. As for the rest of them, out there on the bar, they were speedily taken off and carried "to the city," none of them being much the worse for their sufferings, after all. Ham Morris declared that the family he had brought ashore "came just in time to help him out with his fall work, and he didn't see any charity in it."
Good for Ham! but Dab Kinzer thought otherwise when he saw how tired Miranda's husband was on his late return from his second trip across the bay. Real charity never cares to see itself too clearly. They were pretty tired, both of them; but the "Swallow" was carefully moored in her usual berth before they left her. Even then they had a good load of baskets and things to carry with them.
"Is everything out of the locker, Dab?" asked Ham Morris.
"All but the jug. I say, did you know it was half full? Would it do any hurt to leave it here?"
"The jug? No. Just pour out the rest of the apple-jack, over the side."
"Make the fish drunk."
"Well, it sha'n't bother anybody else if I can help it."
"Then, if it's good for water-soaked people, it wont hurt the fish."
"Empty it, Dab, and come on. The doctor wasn't so far wrong, and I was glad to have it with me; but medicine's medicine, and I only wish people'd remember it."
The condemned liquor was already gurgling from the mouth of the jug into the salt water, and neither fish nor eel came forward to get a share of it. When the cork was replaced, the demijohn was set down again in the "cabin," with no more danger in it for anybody.
Perhaps that was one reason—that and his weariness—why Ham Morris did not take the pains even to lock it up.
Dabney was so tired in mind if not in body, that he postponed until the morrow anything he may have had to say about the tramp. He was not at all sure whether the latter had recognized him, and at all events the matter would have to wait. So it came to pass that all the village and the shore was deserted and silent, an hour or so later, when a stoutly built "cat-boat" with her one sail lowered, was quietly sculled up the inlet. There were two men on board,—a tall one and a short one,—and they ran their boat right alongside the "Swallow," as if that were the very thing they had come to do.
"Burgin," remarked the tall man, "what ef we don't find anything arter all this sailin' and rowin'? Most likely he's kerried it to the house. In course he has."
The keenly watchful eyes of Burgin had followed the fortunes of that apple-jack from first to last. To tell the truth, he had more than half tried to work himself in as one of the "sufferers," but with no manner of success. He had not failed, however, to see the coveted treasure stowed away, at last, under the half-deck of the "Swallow." That had been all the inducement required to get Peter and his boat across the bay, and the old "wrecker" was as anxious about the result as the tramp himself could be. It was hard to say which of them was first on board the "Swallow."
A disappointed and angry pair they were when the empty jug was discovered; but Burgin's indignation was loudest and most abusive. Peter checked him, at last, with:
"Look a yer, my friend, is this 'ere your boat?"
"No, I didn't say it was, did I?"
"Is that there your jug? I don't know 'at I keer to hev one o' my neighbors abused all night jest bekase I've been an' let an entire stranger make a fool of me."
"Do you mean me?"
"Well, ef I didn't I wouldn't say it. Don't git mad, now. Jest let's take a turn 'round the village."
"You go and I'll wait for ye. 'Pears like I don't keer to walk about much."
"Well, then, mind you don't run away with my boat."
"If I want a boat, there's plenty here better'n your'n."
"That's so. I wont be gone a great while."
He was, however, whatever may have been his errand. Old Peter was not the man to be at any loss for one, even at that time of night, and his present business kept him away from the shore a full hour. When at last he returned he found his boat safe enough, and so, apparently were all the others; but he looked around in vain for any signs of his late companion. Not that he spent much time or took any great pains in looking, for he muttered to himself:
"Gone, has he? Well then, a good riddance to bad rubbidge. I aint no angel, but he's a long ways wuss than I am."
Whether or not old Peter was right in his estimate of himself or of Burgin, in a few moments more he was all alone in his cat-boat, and was sculling it rapidly up the crooked inlet.
His search had been indeed a careless one, for he had but glanced over the gunwale of the "Swallow." A second look would have shown him the form of the tramp, half covered by a loose flap of the sail, deeply and heavily sleeping at the bottom of the boat. It was every bit as comfortable a bed as he had been used to, and there he was still lying, long after the sun looked in upon him, next morning.
But other eyes were to look in upon Burgin's face before he awakened from that untimely and imprudent nap.
It was not so very early when Ham Morris and Dabney Kinzer were stirring again; but they had both arisen with a strong desire for a "talk," and Ham made an opportunity for one by saying:
"Come on, Dab; let's go down and have a look at the 'Swallow.'"
Ham had meant to talk about school and kindred matters; but Dabney's first words about the tramp cut off all other subjects.
"You ought to have told me," he said. "I'd have had him tied up in a minute."
Dabney explained as well as he could, but, before he had finished, Ham suddenly exclaimed:
"There's Dick Lee on board the 'Swallow.' What's he there for?"
"Dick!" shouted Dabney.
"Cap'n Dab, did yo' set dis yer boat to trap somebody?"
"No. Why?"
"Well den, you's gone an' cotched um. Jes you come an' see."
The sound of Dick Lee's voice, so near them, reached the dull ears of the slumbering tramp and, as Ham and Dabney sprang into a yawl and pushed alongside the yacht, his unpleasant face was slowly and sleepily lifted above the rail.
"It's the very man!" excitedly shouted Dabney.
"The tramp?"
"Yes, the tramp."
No one would have suspected Ham Morris of so much agility, although his broad and well-knit frame promised abundant strength, but he was on board the "Swallow" like a flash and Burgin was "pinned" by his iron grasp before he could guess what was coming.
It was too late, then, for any such thing as resistance, and he settled at once into a dogged, sullen silence, after the ordinary custom of his kind when they find themselves cornered. It is a species of brute, animal instinct, more than even cunning, seemingly, but not a word did Ham and Dabney obtain from their prisoner until they delivered him to the safe keeping of the village authorities. That done, they went home to breakfast, feeling as if they had made a good morning's work, but wondering what the end of it all would be.
The other boys were very much interested in the story of the tramp, and so was Mr. Foster when he came home, but poor Annie was a good deal more troubled than pleased.
"Oh, mother," she exclaimed, "do you suppose I'll have to appear in court as a witness against him?"
"I hope not, dear. Perhaps your father can manage to prevent it."
It would not have been easy for even so good a lawyer as Mr. Foster, if Burgin himself had not saved them all trouble on that score. Long before the slow processes of country criminal justice could bring him to actual trial, so many misdeeds were brought home to him from here and there, that he gave the matter up and freely related not only the manner of the barn-burning, but his revengeful motive for it. He made his case so very clear that when, in due course of time, he was brought before a judge and jury, there was nothing left for him to do but to plead "guilty."
That was some months later, however, and just at that time the manner of his capture—for the story of the demijohn leaked out first of all—gave the village something new to talk about. It was as good as a temperance lecture in spite of old Jock's argument that:
"You see, boys, good liquor don't do no harm. That was real good apple-jack, an' it jist toled that chap across the bay and captured him without no manner of diffikilty."
There were plenty who could testify to a different kind of "capture."
One effect of the previous day's work, including his adventures as an ornamental cook, was that Dab Kinzer conceived himself bound to be thenceforth especially polite to Joe and Fuz. The remaining days of their visit would have been altogether too few for the various entertainments he laid out for them.
They were to catch all that was to be caught in the bay. They were to ride everywhere and see everything.
"They don't deserve it, Dab," said Ford; "but you're a real good fellow. Mother says so."
"Does she?" and Dab evidently felt a good deal better after that.
Dick Lee, when his friends found time to think of him, had almost disappeared. Some three days afterward, while all the rest were out in the "Jenny," having a good time with their hooks and lines, "Gloriana" made her appearance in Mrs. Kinzer's dining-room with a face that was darker than usual with motherly anxiety.
"Miss Kinzer, has you seed my Dick dis week?"
"No, he hasn't been here at all. Anything the matter with him?"
"Dat's de berry question. I doesn't know wot to make ob 'im."
"Why, is he studying too hard?"
"It aint jist de books. I isn't so much afeard ob dem, but it's all 'long ob dat 'cad'my. I wish you'd jist take a look at 'im, fust chance ye git."
"Does he look bad?"
"No, taint jist altogeder his looks. He's de bes' lookin' boy 'long shoah. But den de way he's goin' on to talk. 'T aint nateral. He use to talk fust rate."
"Can't he talk now?"
"Yes, Miss Kinzer, he kin talk, but den de way he gits out his words. Nebber seen sech a t'ing in all my born days. Takes him eber so long jist to say good-mornin'. An' den he don't say it like he used ter. I wish you'd jist take a good look at 'im."
Mrs. Kinzer promised, and gave her black friend such comfort as she could, but Dick Lee's tongue would never again be the free and easy thing it had been. Even at home and about his commonest "chores," he was all the while struggling with his pronunciation. If he succeeded as well with the rest of his "schooling," it was safe to say that it would not be thrown away upon him.
Gloriana went her way, and the next to intrude upon Mrs. Kinzer's special domain was her son-in-law himself, accompanied by his rosy bride.
"We've got a plan!"
"You? A plan? What about?"
"Dab and his friends."
"A party!" exclaimed Dab, when his mother unfolded Ham's plan to him. "Ham and Miranda give a party for us boys! Well, now, aren't they right down good! But, mother, we'll have to get it up mighty quick."
"I know, but that's easy enough with all the help we'll have. I'll take care of that."
"But, mother, what can we do? There's only a few know how to dance. I don't, for one."
"You must talk that over with Ford. Perhaps Annie and Frank can help you."
Great were the consultations and endless were the plans and propositions, till even Mrs. Kinzer found her temper getting a little worried over them.
"Miranda," she said, on the morning of the day, "all the invitations are sent now, and we must get rid of Dabney and the boys for a few hours."
"Send 'em for some greens to rig the parlor with," suggested Ham. "Let 'em take the ponies."
"Do you think the ponies are safe to drive just now?"
"Oh, Dab can handle 'em. They're a trifle skittish, that's all. They need a little exercise."
So they did, but it was to be doubted if the best way to secure it for them was to send them out in a light, two-seated wagon, with a load of five lively boys.
"Now, don't you let one of the other boys touch the reins," said Mrs. Kinzer.
Dab's promise to that effect was a hard one to keep, for Joe and Fuz almost tried to take the reins away from him before they had driven two miles from the house. He was firm, however, and they managed to reach the strip of woodland, some five miles inland, where they were to gather their load, without any disaster, but it was evident to Dab all the way, that his ponies were in unusually "high" condition. He took them out of the wagon while the rest began to gather their very liberal harvest of evergreens, and did not bring them near it again until all was ready for the start homeward.
"Now, boys," he said, "you get in. Joe and Ford and Fuz on the back seat to hold the greens. Frank, get up there, forward, while I hitch the ponies. These fellows are full of mischief."
Very full, certainly, nor did Dab Kinzer know exactly what the matter was, for a minute or so after he seized the reins and sprang up beside Frank Harley. Then, indeed, as the ponies reared and kicked and plunged, it seemed to him he saw something work out from under their collars and fall to the ground. An acorn-burr is just the thing to worry a restive horse, if put in such a place, but Joe and Fuz had hardly expected their "little joke" would be so very successful as it was.
The ponies were off now.
"Joe," shouted Fuz, "let's jump!"
"Don't let 'em, Ford," exclaimed Dab, giving his whole energies to the horses. "They'll break their necks if they do. Hold 'em in!"
Ford, who was in the middle, promptly seized an arm of each of his panic-stricken cousins, while Frank clambered over the seat to help him. They were all down on the the bottom now, serving as a weight to hold the branches, as the light wagon bounced and rattled along over the smooth, level road.
In vain Dab pulled and pulled at the ponies. Run they did, and all he could do was to keep them fairly in the road.
Bracing strongly back, with the reins wound around his tough hands, and with a look in his face that should have given courage even to the Hart boys, Dab strained at his task as bravely as he had stood at the tiller of the "Swallow" in the storm.
No such thing as stopping them.
And now, as they whirled along, even Dab's face paled a little.
"I must reach the bridge before he does. He's just stupid enough to keep right on."
And it was very stupid indeed for the driver of that one-horse "truck wagon" to try and reach the narrow little unrailed bridge first. It was an old, used-up sort of a bridge, at best.
Dab loosened the reins a little, but could not use his whip.
"Why can't he stop!"
It was a moment of breathless anxiety, but the wagoner kept stolidly on. There would be barely room to pass him on the road itself; none at all on the narrow bridge.
The ponies did it.
They seemed to put on an extra touch of speed, on their own account, just then.
There was a rattle, a faint crash, and then, as the wheels of the two vehicles almost grazed one another in passing, Ford shouted:
"The bridge is down!"
Such a narrow escape!
One of the rotten girders, never half strong enough, had given way under the sudden shock of the hind wheels and that truck wagon would have to find its path across the brook as best it could.
There were more wagons to pass as they plunged forward, and rough places in the road, for Dabney to look out for, but even Joe and Fuz were now getting confidence in their driver. Before long, too, the ponies themselves began to feel that they had had nearly enough of it. Then it was that Dab used his whip again, and the streets of the village were traversed at such a rate as to call for the disapprobation of all sober-minded people.
"Here we are, Ham, greens and all."
"Did they run far?" asked Ham, quietly.
The boys had returned a good deal sooner than had been expected, but they made no more trouble. As Ford Foster remarked, they were all "willing to go slow for a week" after being carried so very fast by Dab Kinzer's ponies.
There was a great deal to be said about the runaway, and Mrs. Foster longed to see Dab and thank him on Ford's account, but he himself had no idea that he had done anything remarkable, and was very busily at work decking Miranda's parlors with the "greens."
A very nice appearance they made, all those woven branches and clustered sprays, when they were in place, and Samantha declared for them that,
"They had kept Dab out of mischief all the afternoon."
At an early hour after supper, the guests began to arrive, for Mrs. Kinzer was a woman of too much sense to have night turned into day when she could prevent it. As the stream of visitors steadily poured in, Dab remarked to Jenny Walters:
"We shall have to enlarge the house after all."
"If it were only a dress, now?"
"What then?"
"Why, you could just let out the tucks. I've had to do that with mine."
"Jenny, shake hands with me."
"What for, Dabney?"
"I'm so glad to meet somebody else that's outgrowing something."
There was a tinge of color rising in Jenny's face, but, before she could say anything, Dab added:
"There! Jenny, there's Mrs. Foster and Annie. Isn't she sweet?"
"One of the nicest old ladies I ever saw——"
"Oh, I didn't mean her mother."
"Never mind. You must introduce me to them."
"So I will. Take my arm."
"MAY I HAVE THE HONOR?"
Jenny Walters had been unusually kindly and gracious in her manner that evening, and her very voice had much less than its accustomed sharpness, but her natural disposition broke out a little some minutes later, while she was talking with Annie. Said she:
"I've wanted so much to get acquainted with you."
"With me?"
"Yes. I've seen you in church, and I've heard you talked about, and I wanted to find out for myself."
"Find out what?" asked Annie a little soberly.
"Why, you see, I don't believe it's possible for any girl to be as sweet as you look. I couldn't, I know. I've been trying these two days, and I'm nearly worn out."
Annie's eyes opened wide with surprise, and she laughed merrily as she answered:
"What can you mean? I'm glad enough if my face doesn't tell tales of me."
"But mine does," said Jenny, "and then I'm so sure to tell all the rest with my tongue. I wish I knew what were your faults."
"My faults? What for?"
"I don't know. Seems to me if I could think of your faults instead of mine, it wouldn't be so hard to look sweet."
Annie saw that there was more earnestness than fun in the queer talk of her new acquaintance. The truth was that Jenny had been having almost as hard a struggle with her tongue as ever poor Dick Lee with his, though not for not the same reason. Before many minutes she had frankly told Annie all about it, and she could never have done that if she had not somehow felt that Annie's "sweetness" was genuine. The two girls were sure friends after that, much to the surprise of Mr. Dabney Kinzer.
He, indeed, had been too much occupied in caring for his guests to pay special attention to one of them. His mother had looked after him again and again with eyes brimful of pride and of commendation of the way he was acquitting himself.
Even Mrs. Foster said to her husband, who had now arrived:
"Do you see that? Who would have expected as much from a raw, green country boy?"
"But, my dear, don't you see? The secret of it is that he's not thinking of himself at all. He's only anxious his friends should have a good time."
"That's it; but then that too is a very rare thing in a boy of his age."
"Dabney!" exclaimed the lawyer in a louder tone of voice.
"Good-evening, Mr. Foster. I'm glad you've found room. The house isn't half large enough."
"I understand your ponies ran away with you to-day?"
"They did come home in a hurry; but nobody was hurt."
"I fear there would have been, but for you. Do you start for Grantley with the other boys to-morrow?"
"Of course. Dick Lee and I need some one to take care of us. We never traveled so far before."
"On land, you mean. Is Dick here to-night?"
"Came and looked in, sir, but got scared by the crowd and went home."
"Poor fellow! Well, we will do all we can for him."
Poor Dick Lee!
And yet, if Mr. Dabney Kinzer had known his whereabouts at that very moment he would half have envied him.
Dick's mother was in the kitchen helping about the supper, but she had not left home until she had compelled Dick to dress himself in his best,—white shirt, red neck-tie, shining shoes and all,—and she had brought him with her almost by force.
"You's good nuff to go to de 'cad'my and leab yer pore mother, an' I reckon you's good nuff for de party."
And Dick had actually ventured in from the kitchen through the dining-room and as far as the door of the back parlor, where few would look.
"PINNED!"
How his heart did beat as he looked on the merry gathering, a large part of whom he had known "all his born days!"
But there was a side door opening from that dining-room on the long piazza which Mrs. Kinzer had added to the old Morris mansion, and Dick's hand was on the knob of that door almost before he knew it.
Then he was out on the road to the landing, and in five minutes more he was vigorously rowing the "Jenny" out through the inlet toward the bay.
His heart was not beating unpleasantly any longer, but as he shot out from the narrow passage through the flags and saw the little waves laughing in the cool, dim starlight, he suddenly stopped rowing, leaned on his oars, gave a sigh of relief, and exclaimed:
"Dar! I's safe now. I aint got to say a word to nobody out yer. Wonder 'f I'll ebber git back from de 'cad'my an' kitch fish in dis yer bay? Sho! Course I will. But goin' away's awful!"
Dab Kinzer thought he had never known Jenny Walters to appear so well as she looked that evening; and he must have been right, for good Mrs. Foster said to Annie:
"What a pleasant, kindly face your new friend has! You must ask her to come and see us. She seems quite a favorite with the Kinzers."
"Have you known Dabney long?" Annie had asked of Jenny a little before that.
"Ever since I was a little bit of a girl, and a big boy seven or eight years old pushed me into the snow."
"Was it Dabney?"
"No, but Dabney was the boy that pushed him in for doing it, and then helped me up. Dab rubbed his face for him with snow till he cried."
"Just like him!" exclaimed Annie with emphasis. "I should think his friends here will miss him."
"Indeed they will," replied Jenny, and then she seemed disposed to be quiet for a while.
The party could not last forever, pleasant as it was, and by the time his duties as "host" were met, Dabney was tired enough to go to bed and sleep soundly. His arms were lame and sore from the strain the ponies had given them, and that may have been the reason why he dreamed half the night that he was driving runaway teams and crashing over rickety old bridges.
But why was it that every one of his dream-wagons, no matter who else was in it, seemed to have Jenny Walters and Annie Foster smiling at him from the back seat?
He rose later than usual next morning, and the house was all in its customary order by the time he got down-stairs.
Breakfast was ready also, and, by the time that was over, Dab's great new trunk was brought down-stairs by a couple of the farm-hands.
"It's an hour yet to train-time," said Ham Morris; "but we might as well get ready. We must be on hand in time."
What a long hour that was, and not even a chance given for Dab to run down and take a good-bye look at the "Swallow!"
His mother and Ham and Miranda and the girls seemed to be all made up of "good-bye" that morning.
"Mother," said Dab.
"What is it, my dear boy?"
"That's it exactly. If you say 'dear boy' again, Ham Morris'll have to carry me to the cars. I'm all kind o' wilted now."
Then they all laughed, and before they got through laughing, they all cried except Ham.
He put his hands in his pockets and drew a long whistle.
The ponies were at the door now. The light wagon had three seats in it, but when Dab's trunk was in, there was only room left for the ladies; Ham and Dab had to walk to the station.
It was a short walk, however, and a silent one, but as they came in sight of the platform, Dab exclaimed:
"There they are, all of them!"
"The whole party?"
"Why, the platform's as crowded as our house was last night."
Mrs. Kinzer and her daughters were already the center of the crowd of young people, and Ford Foster and Frank Harley, with Joe and Fuz Hart were asking what had become of Dab, for the train was in sight.
A moment later, as the puffing locomotive drew up by the water-tank, the conductor stepped out on the platform, exclaiming:
"Look a here, folks. This aint right. If there was going to be a picnic you'd ought to have sent word, and I'd have tacked on an extra car. You'll have to pack in, now, best you can."
He seemed much relieved when he found how small a part of the crowd were to be his passengers.
"Dab," said Ford, "this is your send-off, not ours. You'll have to make a speech."
Dab did want to say something, but he had just kissed his sisters and his mother, and half a dozen of his school-girl friends had followed the example of Jenny Walters, and then Mrs. Foster had kissed him, and Ham Morris had shaken hands with him, and Dab could not have said a loud word to have saved his life.
"Speech!" whispered Ford, mischievously, as Dab stepped upon the platform; but Dick Lee, who had just escaped from the tremendous hug his mother had given him, came to his friend's aid in the nick of time. Dick felt that "he must shout, or he should go off," as he afterward told the boys, and so at the top of his shrill voice he shouted:
"Hurrah for Cap'n Kinzer! Dar aint no better feller lef' along shore!"
And, amid a chorus of cheers and laughter, and a grand waving of white handkerchiefs, the engine gave a deep, hysterical cough, and hurried the train away.
The two homesteads by the Long Island shore were a little lonely for a while, after the departure of all those noisy, merry young fellows. Mr. Foster had enough to do in the city, and Ham Morris had his farm to attend to, besides doing more than a little for Mrs. Kinzer. It was much the better for both estates that he had that notable manager at his elbow. The ladies, however, old and young, had plenty of time to come together and wonder how the boys were getting along, even before the arrival of the first batch of letters.
"They must be happy," remarked kind Mrs. Foster, after the long, boyish epistles had been read, over and over; "and such good letters! Not one word of complaint of anything."
Mrs. Kinzer assented somewhat thoughtfully. Dabney had not complained of anything; but while he had praised the village, the scenery, the academy, the boys, and had covered two full sheets of paper, he had not said a word about the table of his boarding-house.
"He is such a growing boy," she said to herself. "I do hope they will give him enough to eat."
It went on a good deal in that way, however, for weeks, even till the Fosters broke up their summer residence and returned to the city. There were plenty of letters, and all his sisters wondered where Dabney had learned to write so capitally; but Mrs. Kinzer's doubts were by no means removed until Ham Morris showed her a part of a curious epistle Dabney had sent to him in a moment of confidence.
"I tell you what, Ham," he wrote, "mother doesn't know what can be done with corn. Mrs. Myers does. She raised a pile of it last year, and the things she makes with it would drive a cook-book crazy. I've been giving them Latin names, and Frank, he turns them into Hindustanee. It's real fun, but I sha'n't be the boy I was. I'm getting corned. My hair is silkier and my voice is husky. My ears are growing. I'd like some fish and clams for a change. A crab would taste wonderfully good. So would some oysters. They don't have any up here; but we went fishing, last Saturday, and got some perch and cat-fish and sun-fish. They call them pumpkin-seeds up here, and they aint much bigger. Don't tell mother we don't get enough to eat. There's plenty of it, and you ought to see Mrs. Myers smile when she passes the johnny-cake. We are all trying to learn that heavenly smile. Ford does it best. I think Dick Lee is getting a little pale. Perhaps corn doesn't agree with him. He's learning fast, though, and so am I; but we have to work harder than the rest. I guess the Hart boys know more than they did when they came here, and they didn't get it all out of their books, either. We keep up our French and our boxing; but oh, wouldn't I like to go for some blue-fish, just now! Has mother made any mince-pies yet? I've almost forgotten how they taste. I was going by a house here the other day and I smelt some ham, cooking. I was real glad I hadn't forgotten. I knew what it was right away. Don't you be afraid about my studying, for I'm at it all the while, except when we're playing ball or eating corn. They say they have sleighing here earlier than we do, and plenty of skating. Well, now, don't say anything to mother about the corn; but wont I eat when I get home.—Yours all the while. Dabney Kinzer."
"Why, the poor fellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Kinzer, and it was not very many days after that before young Dabney received a couple of boxes by express.
There was a boiled ham in the first one and a great many other things, and Dab called in all the other boys to help him get them out.
"Mince-pies!" shouted Ford Foster. "How'd they ever travel so far?"
"They're not much mashed," said Dabney. "There's enough there to start a small hotel. Now let's open the other."
"Ice. Sawdust. Fish, I declare. Clams. Oysters. Crabs. There's a lobster. Ford, Frank, Dick, do you think we can eat those fellows?"
"After they're cooked," said Ford.
"Well, I s'pose we can; but I feel like shaking hands with 'em, all round. They're old friends and neighbors of mine, you know."
"I guess we'd better eat 'em."
"Cap'n Dab," remarked Dick Lee, "dey jest knocks all de correck pronounciation clean out of me."
Eaten they were, however, and Mrs Myers was glad enough to have her boarders supply such a remarkable "variety" for her table, which, after that "hint," began to improve a little.
And so we leave Dab Kinzer, still, in mind and body, as when first we saw him, a growing boy.
This series of experiments is designed for the use of young people who are interested in the wonders and the beautiful realities of nature, and who delight to observe for themselves how curious are the phenomena revealed by scientific knowledge. Simple instructions are given for the performance of a number of pretty experiments, all of which are perfectly safe, and cost very little money. For "evenings at home," it is hoped that these experiments will be found indefinitely amusing and recreative, at the same time that they will lead the minds of boys and girls to inquiries into the entire fabric of the grand sciences which explains the principles on which they are founded. All the materials spoken of, and all the needful apparatus, which is of the simplest and most inexpensive kind, can be obtained at a good chemist's. It is of the highest importance that all the materials be pure and good.
Obtain a yard of "magnesium tape" or "magnesium wire," sold very cheap by most druggists. Cut a length of six or eight inches; bend one extremity so as to get a good hold of it with a pair of forceps, or even a pair of ordinary scissors, or attach it to the end of a stick or wire. Then hold the piece of magnesium vertically in a strong flame, such as that of a candle, and in a few seconds it will ignite, burning with the splendor of sunshine, and making night seem noonday. As the burning proceeds, a quantity of white powder is formed. This is pure magnesia. While performing this splendid experiment, the room should be darkened.
This is an amusing contrast to the lighting-up by means of magnesium; Again let the room be nearly darkened. Put about a tea-cupful of spirits of wine in a strong common dish or saucer, and place the dish in the middle of the table. Let every one approach to the distance of about a yard. Then ignite the spirit with a match. It will burn with a peculiar yellowish-blue flame, and in the light of this the human countenances, and all objects of similar color, lose their natural tint, and look spectral. The contrast of the wan and ghostly hue with the smiling lips and white teeth of those who look on, is most amusing. The effect of this experiment is heightened by dissolving some common table-salt in the spirit, and still further by putting into it a small quantity of saffron. Let the spirit burn itself away.
THE BREATH OF LIFE.
Procure a tolerably large bell-glass, such as is used for covering clocks and ornaments upon the mantel-piece. It should not be less than eighteen inches high, and eight or nine inches in diameter. Provide also a common dish, sufficiently large to allow the bell-glass to stand well within its raised border. Then procure two little wax candles, three or four inches in length, and stand each in a little bottle or other temporary candlestick. Place them in the center of the dish and light the wicks. Then pour water into the dish to the depth of nearly an inch, and finish by placing the bell over the candles, which of course are then closely shut in. For a few minutes all goes on properly. The flames burn steadily, and seem to laugh at the idea of their being about to die. But, presently, they become faint,—first one, then the other; the luster and the size of the flames diminish rapidly, and then they go out. This is because the burning candles consumed all the oxygen that was contained within the volume of atmosphere that was in the bell, and were unable, on account of the water, to get new supplies from outside. It illustrates, in the most perfect manner, our own need of constant supplies of good fresh air. The experiment may be improved, or at all events varied, by using candles of different lengths.
Obtain a small quantity of roseine,—one of the wonderful products obtained from gas-tar, and employed extensively in producing what are called by manufacturers the "magenta colors." Roseine exists in the shape of minute crystals, resembling those of sugar. They are hard and dry, and of the most brilliant emerald green. Drop five or six of these little crystals into a large glass of limpid water. They will dissolve; but instead of giving a green solution, the product is an exquisite crimson-rose color, the color seeming to trickle from the surface of the water downward. When the solution has proceeded for a short time, stir the water with a glass rod, and the uncolored portion of it will become carmine.
Take a piece of common brown paper, about a foot in length, and half as wide. Hold it before the fire till it becomes quite hot. Then draw it briskly under your left arm several times, so as to rub it on both surfaces against the woolen cloth of your coat. It will now have become so powerfully electrified, that if placed against the papered wall of the parlor, it will hold on for some time, supported, as it were, by nothing.
While the piece of brown paper is thus so strangely clinging to the wall, place a small, light, and fleecy feather against it, and this, in turn, will cling to the paper.
Now, again, make your piece of brown paper hot by the fire, and draw it, as before, several times under the arm. Previously to this, attach a string to one corner, so that it may be held up in the air. Several feathers, of a fleecy kind, may now be placed against each side of the paper, and they will cling to it for several minutes.
Another curious electrical experiment is to take a pane of common glass, make it warm by the fire, then lay it upon two books, allowing only the edges to touch the books, and rub the upper surface with a piece of flannel, or a piece of black silk. Have some bran ready, strew it upon the table under the piece of glass, and the particles will dance.
Wind round it two bands of paper, corresponding in position to the two temperate zones of the earth, leaving a space between, corresponding to the equatorial zone. Secure the two bands of paper with thread or fine twine. Then wind a long piece of string once around the equatorial space. Let an assistant hold one end of the string, and while holding the other end yourself, move the phial rapidly to and fro, so that the string shall work upon the glass between the two pieces of paper. When the glass becomes hot in the equatorial space, pour some cold water upon it, and the glass will break as evenly as if cut with a knife.