Chatterbox, 1905.

V >> Various >> Chatterbox, 1905.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50 | 51 | 52 | 53 | 54

(_Continued on page 82._)

[Illustration: "'I will take care of Boh.'"]

[Illustration: "'Boh! Boh!' the clear voice shouted."]

McLEOD OF CLERE.

(_Continued from page 79._)

'Hullo, new kid, what's your name?'

'Paul Fife,' said the newcomer, who had just been left by Dr. Rayne in
the school playground, where boys of all sorts and sizes, from ten to
fourteen, were congregated, newly arrived from home and holidays, and
while they waited for the tea-bell, were inspecting the 'new boys.'

'Oh, "Paul," what a jolly name. "Paul Pry," "Poll parrot," "Polly put
the kettle on." Well, Polly, and where do you come from?'

'Let him alone, Briggs,' said the school captain (a pleasant-faced, tall
boy). 'Dr. Rayne asked me to look after him a bit. I say, though, young
'un, call yourself "Fife," that's quite enough; we don't have Christian
names here, you know.'

'Well, Christy, you needn't punch my head, I don't want to harm the
infant,' cried Briggs. 'He can tell me where he comes from,
anyhow--can't you, new kid?'

'I lived at Fort Caidman, in the Shan States--Burmah, you know.'

'And what can you do, play football and cricket?'

'No, I have not really played them, but I want to. There were no white
boys besides me, but I can shoot, and ride, and row, and fence, and
throw darts.'

A group of boys had gathered round--little Paul tried not to feel shy.

'Where did you row?' asked one; 'was there a river?'

'Not near, but there was a big lake like a sea--the Inthas live there.
They are called lake-dwellers, and their huts stand on the top of the
water--Uncle Ferrers took me to their huts sometimes. The Inthas row so
funnily, partly with their legs. They can row, oh, so fast, and fish,
and hold an umbrella, all at the same time!'

'Oh, I say, that must be a cram, anyhow. Tell the infant he must not
tell lies, Christy.'

'I don't, and I won't tell you things if you say that,' and the child
drew himself up haughtily and turned away, clenching his small brown
fists.

'It is a shame, you chaps,' said Christy. 'I know he has come from some
queer place in Burmah.'

'Did you see his hair?' said Fane. 'It's as black as a coal, and just in
one place is a white streak--he is a regular magpie. Hurrah! there's the
tea-bell.'

'Oh, I have heard my mother say some one she knew had a lock of white
hair--it looks rather jolly,' rejoined Christy. 'I say, little piebald,
don't mind our ragging. I'm awfully hungry, and I dare say you are.
There is cold beef always for tea first night of term--worth having, I
can tell you. Come along with me, and I will show you where to sit.'

* * * * *

Paul soon began to feel more at home as a small unit in the hundred boys
at Oakwood.

'Wonderful at mathematics and no idea of classics' (was the verdict of
the masters), 'but can talk Gramouki and Pushtan dialects like a
native.'

'No good at football and cricket, but promises well,' said the boys,
'and can climb and jump anything, and use his fists, too.'

Ten days had passed, and Dr. Rayne, at work in his library, was
disturbed by a knock, and the matron entered.

'I am sorry to interrupt you, sir, but it is about that new little boy,
Paul Fife. I cannot get him to eat his dinner properly; he seems hungry
at first, and then leaves off--later, I look at his plate and it is
cleared. I find from some of the boys that he puts the greater part of
the meat in his pocket, and, I suppose, throws it away. I thought I had
better come to you.'

'Certainly; send Fife to me.'

A timid step, and the small boy came shyly in.

'Come here, little man,' the Doctor called, pleasantly. 'I want to talk
to you. You are not too big to get on my knee. No, I thought not. You
see, you are one of my little boys now, and we all want to be as happy
as possible. You are very thin; do they give you enough to eat?'

'Oh, yes, sir,' the child pressed his hands nervously together.

'And you like what you get, I hope. We have not Burmese and Indian
cooks, you know.'

'Yes, I like it all, thank you.'

'And yet Miss Owen tells me you do not eat your dinner, but pocket it--I
hope you don't waste and throw away good food, Paul.'

'No, sir--indeed, no,' the boy looked up earnestly.

'Then see that it doesn't happen again, for I don't want to punish you.'

'Oh, what shall I do--what shall I do?' and to the astonishment of the
doctor, the child covered his face, and his whole body shook with sobs.

'Control yourself, dear boy. No, I cannot allow such crying, you will
make yourself ill. That is better. Now tell me anything in confidence,
and I will see what can be done.'

With an effort Paul gradually quieted, and then said: 'Yes, I will tell
you; please--please, I didn't mean to be naughty, but I do love Boh so
much. It is my dog; you saw him, and Uncle Ferrers took him away. I
don't know how he got loose, but several days ago he came running up to
me in the cricket field--he was so thin, and his ear was torn--I was
eating my lunch bun, and I gave him all I had left. He just gobbled it.
When some of the fellows came up, I sent Boh off, and he ran into the
wood, but each day I whistle, when I can get by myself, and he comes; he
is thinner than ever, so now I eat only part of my dinner even if I am
hungry, but I save nearly all the meat for Boh. He is the oldest friend
I have, for Uncle Ferrers says he came with me. He looks often as though
he could speak and tell me whose little boy I used to be. Please, sir, I
can do quite well with half a dinner, if he may have the other.'

Dr. Rayne stroked the smooth, dark head, deeply touched by the boy's
story. 'There,' he said, 'come with me, and let us see about this dog.'

So hand in hand child and master passed through the big school
buildings, and out towards the breeze-swept cricket ground.

'It is a curious name for your dog,' said the Doctor; 'how do you spell
it, B-e-a-u?'

'Oh, no, sir, B-o-h--it is Burmese. It means "head warrior" or chief
fighting-man. Uncle Ferrers' Sikhs and Pathan soldiers called him that,
because whenever he fought with the pye-dogs or other dogs, Boh always
won. May I call Boh now?' (for they had reached the high ridge near the
wood).

'Yes; I only hope he is still there.'

'Boh! Boh!' the clear voice shouted, and then followed endearing words
of Eastern dialect. A few seconds, and a joyful bark announced the
delighted animal, who leapt up rapturously, his paws on the shoulders of
his little master. The boy's eyes shone as he raised them to Dr. Rayne,
fearlessly, but the voice trembled as he urged: 'If I might just see him
now and then, we should neither of us mind so much.'

'You shall, I will see to it. Now, bring Boh round to the stables, and
John shall find him a kennel and a good dinner. There, there, I didn't
want so many thanks, dear boy; I wish I had thought of it before. Now,
off to your form master, and I shall expect no more complaints from Miss
Owen.'

So Boh also became a member of Oakwood, and a letter was dispatched at
once to Captain Ferrers relieving his mind as to the missing dog, who
had found his way through so many miles of unknown country safe to his
happy owner.

(_Concluded on page 90._)

WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

III.--THE MAMMOTH CAVE.

In the State of Kentucky, in the United States, not far from Louisville,
is a table-land formed of limestone, perforated with holes like a
sponge, down which rain rushes with great force. Far below run rivers,
and there are also still, deep lakes partially fed by the water from
above; and, as might have been expected, here also are the most
wonderful caverns in the world. It is said that to explore all the halls
and galleries communicating with each other, and connected with the
Mammoth Cave alone, it would be necessary to walk or climb one hundred
and fifty miles. This may well be believed when we hear that the cave
contains fifty-seven domes, eleven lakes, seven rivers, eight cataracts,
and two hundred and fifty-six avenues, besides thirty-two pits or
abysses, and a Gothic church.

The great Mammoth Dome is over four hundred feet high, and light comes
in from above through holes which, at such a height, look like stars
shining in a dark sky. One of the chief lakes is called the Dead Sea,
from its stillness and gloom, and when light is flashed over it from
above it is wonderfully impressive, with its surrounding fringe of
gleaming stalactites.

A terrible abyss is known as the Bottomless Pit, the depths of which
have never been sounded. On one of its sides rises a huge
crystallisation in the form of a spinning chair, which gleams out from
the surrounding blackness, and is called the Devil's Chair. This
appalling chasm is credited with various terrible tales. One is of two
young lovers who hid in the Mammoth Cave, but finding themselves
pursued, tied themselves together with the girl's girdle, and jumped
into the abyss. However misguided and foolish we may think these young
folk, we can have nothing but pity for two runaway slaves from Alabama,
who, after horrible sufferings and privations in the swamps and forests,
hoped to have found a resting-place in the great cavern. Alas for their
hopes! before long they heard the voices of their pursuers, the cracking
of their heavy whips, the baying of the bloodhounds which had tracked
them to their refuge. Further and further they retreated in the
darkness, only to hear the dreadful sounds draw nearer and nearer, until
they found that they could go no further, as they had arrived at a small
rocky platform overhanging the Bottomless Pit. Before was certain death,
though it was hidden in the horrors of mystery and darkness; behind were
the terrors of a death of protracted agony, as a warning to other
fugitive slaves! One second's hesitation, and then, as their captors
reached out to seize their prey, the despairing men leapt from the rock
into the awful pit.

One very singular cave is known as the Church, and is curiously like the
crypt of an English Cathedral, such as Gloucester or Canterbury. It is
very nearly the same size as the latter. Here stalactites and
stalagmites of colossal size have joined to form pillars, united by
Norman arches, with wonderful effect. Religious services have often been
held in this veritable 'temple not made with hands.'

Indian mummies have been met with in parts of the cavern, proving that
it was known to native tribes in past ages. The skeleton of a mastodon,
an extinct form of elephant, stands in one of the great halls, and a few
live creatures still inhabit the gloomy depths. A cave-rat as large as a
rabbit was caught, which, although it had very bright eyes, was quite
blind when taken from the cave; but after a month's experience of
daylight it gradually began to make use of its eyes. Various kinds of
eyeless fish and crabs live in the dark waters, and a live frog was seen
wearing an unhappy expression of countenance.

The slow rate at which stalagmites grow has been tested in this cavern
by a lantern which was dropped in 1812 and found cemented to the floor
in 1843, since which its upward progress has been carefully watched. The
Mammoth Cave contains immense quantities of nitre. During the great
American Civil War, most of that used was found here, and as gunpowder
contains two-thirds of nitre to all its other ingredients, these caverns
were of great value to the nation. The Mammoth Cave is now private
property, belonging to Dr. John Crogan, who gave ten thousand dollars
for it.

HELENA HEATH.

[Illustration: The Mammoth Cave Kentucky]

[Illustration: "'I don't remember seeing a boy.'"]

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 76._)

CHAPTER X.

Beyond the meadow lay a field of wheat, tall and yellow, although not
yet quite ripe for the sickle. Stooping until my hands almost touched
the ground, I ran as fast as possible under the shelter of the friendly
hedge, until, reaching the cornfield, I scrambled through another hedge,
and lay down on my face amidst the wheat.

But still it was impossible to feel in the slightest degree safe, the
road being only a few yards distant, while I distinctly heard the sound
of approaching wheels. If it had not been for the bend in the lane, I
should scarcely have been able to delay capture many minutes, and even
as it was, I lay quaking while I wondered whether Mr. Turton would be
able to see me from the road.

The cab passed my hiding-place, however, so that I began to hope it
might not be going to stop, until on the point of rising, I heard the
horse pulled up, heard the door opened, and recognised Mr. Turton's
voice as he told Augustus to alight.

'The boy must be hiding somewhere hereabouts,' he exclaimed.

'He might easily have got into that wood,' said Augustus, and I
regretted that in my haste I had not taken to the wood on the other side
of the road.

While Augustus and his father must have gone to inspect the woods, I
heard the sound of an approaching motor-car, and guessed that it had
stopped close to the cab on the other side of the hedge.

I lay on my face with the thick wheat growing high all around, my eyes
raised to the hedge, above which I could see the top of a man's straw
hat. I supposed that his motor-car had broken down, but at any rate, his
companion alighted and came on to the raised path, so that I could see
her hat and face.

She looked about my own age, although she must have been unusually tall.
Young as she was, she wore a thick veil, which she had turned back under
the brim of her white hat. A quantity of fair hair hung loose, and she
had dark, rather mischievous, but friendly-looking eyes.

The next moment I heard Mr. Turton and Augustus returning from the wood,
to inquire whether the driver of the motor-car had seen any one
answering to my description. For the car had been coming to meet the
cab, as if the driver were making for Polehampton.

'A boy of about fifteen,' said Mr. Turton, as they all drew nearer to
the hedge. 'I saw him--I am almost certain it was he--about this spot.
Then I lost him in the bend of the lane, and I thought it was possible
that you might have seen him running to meet you.'

'I don't remember seeing a boy,' was the answer; 'but then, this
wretched car is enough to occupy all my attention. Did you see a boy,
Jacintha?' he added.

'No, Uncle,' she answered, and I thought what a strange name it was--one
which I certainly had not heard before. 'Has he run away from school?'
she asked, with obvious interest, the next moment.

'Yes,' said Mr. Turton, while I could imagine Augustus's snigger; 'he
has caused me an immense deal of trouble, and I am extremely anxious to
take him back with me--extremely anxious.'

While I lay in the wheat, able to see the tops of their heads as they
moved closer to the hedge, it did not seem altogether improbable that
Mr. Turton would gain his wish; and while he was still discussing me
with the driver of the motor-car, whom 'Jacintha' had addressed as
'Uncle,' the girl came quite close to the hedge, turning to look at the
ripening corn. As my eyes were upraised, they looked straight into
hers, which seemed to hold them as if I were fascinated.

Now, I thought, everything is over with me! I had not realised that I
could be so easily seen by any one looking down into the field from the
higher path. Jacintha was evidently startled; she stepped abruptly
backwards, as I supposed, to tell Mr. Turton that she had found the
object of his search. I was already making up my mind how to act. Mr.
Turton was unlikely to be a very swift runner, while I knew that I could
give Augustus a pretty good start. The moment Jacintha came back to the
hedge to point out my hiding-place I determined to rise from the ground,
dart towards the adjoining field where the sheep were pastured, and
taking a line across country, at the worst I would lead them all a good
chase before I gave in.

A second later, though it seemed a long second in my suspense, Jacintha
returned to the hedge and again looked down into my upturned face.
Gradually her lips parted in a smile, and then my heart began to thump
against my ribs, for I knew that she was not going to betray me. As I
smiled back in my relief, she nodded her head ever so slightly, and
turning, walked away from the hedge.

'Why don't you drive on to Barton?' she cried, raising her voice, I
supposed, for my especial benefit.

'Barton? How far is that?' asked Mr. Turton.

'Five miles, isn't it, Uncle?' she answered.

'Five and a half,' he said. 'You keep bearing to your right.'

'But,' suggested Augustus, 'I feel certain Everard disappeared about
here.'

'Is that his name?' asked Jacintha.

'Yes, Jack Everard.'

'Perhaps he has gone down through a trap-door,' said Jacintha with a
laugh, and Augustus sniggered in return. How I wished there had only
been Augustus to deal with, with perhaps Jacintha to look on during the
process. But it would not have been his boots that I should have
blacked!

'Uncle!' cried Jacintha, 'do you remember the steep lane we passed on
our left?--that would be on your right,' she added, evidently turning to
Mr. Turton.

'What about it?' he asked.

'There was a finger-post which said "Pathway to Barton." If they were to
take that path don't you think they would get to Barton more quickly?'

'Why, yes, of course,' was the answer.

'Then,' said Mr. Turton, 'if we follow the road, we might be able to
intercept the boy. I am very much obliged to this young lady. But in
case you should see him after all,' he continued, 'allow me to give you
this card. If you could manage to detain him while you communicate with
me at Castlemore you would confer the greatest favour.'

I could not catch the answer, but a few minutes later, I heard the
cab-door shut and knew that Mr. Turton and Augustus, thanks to Jacintha,
had been driven off in the direction of Barton, five and a half miles
distant. So that they would have eleven miles to drive before they
returned to this spot, leaving me at least two hours (reckoning for the
search at Barton and so forth) to make good my escape.

In the meantime the motor-car still continued to make strange noises,
and every now and then its owner gave vent to curious exclamations.

'Don't you think,' suggested Jacintha, 'it would be best to try to get
as far as the farrier's we passed opposite the footpath to Barton?'

'Upon my word, I almost think it would!' was the answer. 'Come, suppose
you take your seat.'

'Oh!' cried Jacintha, 'but if you don't mind I think I would sooner
walk--it is not far, you know.'

So a few moments later the motor-car made stranger noises than ever and
moved away, evidently with difficulty, and when it had gone a little
distance Jacintha came to the hedge again.

'It's all right now,' she cried, and rising I came to the edge of the
field.

'I am most awfully obliged to you,' I said.

'What made you run away?' she asked eagerly.

'I was not going to stand all that,' I answered.

'All what?' she asked.

'I don't think I had better stay,' I said. 'Because they might change
their minds and come back.'

But Jacintha shook her head.

'I don't think they will,' she answered. 'Because I heard him tell the
driver to go to Barton. What shall you do?' she asked.

'I shall go to the left as they have gone to the right.'

'I wish we could give you a lift,' she cried.

'Where are you going?' I inquired.

'You see,' she explained, 'I really live in London, only I am staying
now with my uncle and aunt--I always come to stay with them in the
summer.'

'Do you live near here?'

'Why,' she returned, 'we have come miles and miles this morning. My
uncle has just bought a motor-car--a beauty. We started quite
early--soon after seven, and it began to rain just before, so my aunt
wouldn't come. We were going to Polehampton, and we have broken down
lots of times, though we get along splendidly in between.'

'I slept at Polehampton last night,' I said.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'To London.'

'Why didn't you take the train?' inquired Jacintha.

'You see I had no money,' I explained. 'I sold my watch and chain, but a
tramp robbed me.'

'Where do your people live in London?' she asked.

'I have no people.'

'Oh, I am sorry!' she exclaimed. 'What are you going to do?'

'Well,' I said, 'I don't quite know till I get there.'

Jacintha's face grew very solemn.

'I wish I could tell Uncle,' she said. 'You know he is most awfully
nice, only I am afraid he might put you in the motor-car and drive after
the cab--we could catch it easily if we tried.'

'Yes, of course,' I answered.

'Uncle will be wondering why I am so long,' she continued. 'I expect we
shall go straight back now the motor-car has gone wrong.'

'Where to?' I inquired, from sheer curiosity to learn as much about her
as possible.

'Uncle lives at Colebrook Park,' she answered.

'Where is that?'

'About a mile this side of Hazleton,' she said, on the point of going
away. 'I do hope those people won't catch you,' she continued, 'and that
you will reach London all right, though it doesn't seem much use if you
haven't got any people. I never knew any one who had run away before,'
she added, regarding me with evident interest, and with that to my great
regret Jacintha walked away.

'Thank you ever so much,' I cried, and then in order to see the last of
her, I came round into the road, standing on the path watching until a
bend took her out of sight. Even then I did not at once set out on my
journey, but, having taken the precaution to bring some bread and cheese
in my pocket, I sat down to eat it, near the spot where Jacintha had
recently stood, when I saw something shining on the path.

Taking it in my hand, I found that it was a heart-shaped locket, which
doubtless belonged to Jacintha. I imagined that she had worn it
suspended from a chain round her neck, that it had caught in one of the
twigs of the hedge and been broken off when she started back in
astonishment on first seeing me lying amidst the corn.

Ignoring any possible risk from her uncle, I now thought only of
returning the locket, and accordingly set forth at a run, nor stopped
until I reached the farrier's shop, opposite the footpath to Barton.
Then I saw, to my extreme disappointment, no sign of a motor-car before
the door.

(_Continued on page 94._)

A STORY OF STANLEY.

Sir H. M. Stanley, the famous African explorer, once had a strange and
unpleasant experience, from which he was saved by his presence of mind
and readiness of resource. He was travelling in Africa, and had to stay
some time at a village. The people here were extremely ignorant and
superstitious and quite unused to the ways of white men. After a time
some of them noticed him making entries in his note book--for this was
new country to him, and it was important that he should remember what he
saw--and not understanding what he was doing they jumped to the
conclusion that he was bewitching them in some mysterious way. This
report spread all over the village, and a crowd of about five hundred
savages collected, and threatened to kill the explorer at once unless he
destroyed the book. Stanley was, naturally, very unwilling to give up
all the notes which had cost him so much trouble and danger to collect,
but on the other hand it would be very much worse to lose his life.
Suddenly he had a bright idea. He happened to have with him a volume of
Shakespeare's plays: he thought that in all probability the savages
would not know one book from another, so he offered it to them instead
of his note-book. The natives were quite taken in. They accepted the
Shakespeare, and, amid much rejoicing, burnt it to ashes, thus breaking,
as they thought, the spell that Stanley had cast upon them.

[Illustration: "They burnt the Shakespeare, breaking the spell."]

[Illustration: "He deliberately lighted a cigar with a scrap of the
burning rope."]

THE CAPTAIN'S CIGAR.

The ship was on fire! The boats were lowered, and were quickly filled by
the terrified passengers and crew. Amid the general excitement, the
captain alone remained cool and collected, and when the time came for
him to follow the others, he did a very curious thing. Before descending
the ladder into the boat, he shouted to his sailors, 'Hold on for a
minute!' Then he drew a cigar from his pocket, and deliberately lighted
it with a scrap of the burning rope which lay close by. This done, he
went down steadily and slowly, and ordered his men to push off.

One of the passengers asked him afterwards, 'How could you stop at such
a moment to light a cigar?'

'Because,' replied the captain, 'it seemed to me that unless I did
something to divert the minds of the people in the boat, there would
probably be a panic. Then the boat would have been upset, for, as you
know, it was over-crowded. My seemingly strange act attracted your
attention. Watching me, you forgot your fright and your own danger for
the moment, and so we got off in safety.'

Apparent folly is sometimes wisdom in disguise.

E. D.

THE PUFF-ADDER.

The Puff-adder is the most common, as well as the most deadly, of
African snakes. It is generally about four feet long; the evil-looking
head is broad and flat, while the body, which is as thick as a man's
arm, tapers very suddenly towards the tail. The puff-adder is of a
uniform brown colour, checked with bars of darker brown and white. It is
slow and torpid in all its movements, and is peculiarly dangerous from
its habit of lying half buried in the sandy track, not caring to move
out of the way of passers-by, as other snakes generally do; still, if
not molested or trodden upon, it does not attack man. If any unfortunate
creature, however, should be bitten by this reptile, death occurs in a
few hours. When irritated or alarmed, this snake has the power of
swelling out the whole body, from which fact it derives its popular
name.