Chatterbox, 1905.

V >> Various >> Chatterbox, 1905.

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There was an awkward silence. Nellie coloured, and in her nervousness,
down went all her pretty flowers on to the floor. But Jack came to the
rescue, and blurted out the whole story on the spot.

Father turned his head away as Jack explained; indeed, he was much
touched by the children's thoughtfulness; but Uncle Harry patted Nell's
head, and praised her for her pluck. He said that Father ought to be
proud of his four children, and I am sure Father was, though he said
they must never think of going into the streets to sell flowers again.

Of course, the earning an honest penny business came to an end, for
Uncle Harry had come back much better off than when he went out to
Australia, and he gave the children a shilling each to buy Father some
slippers, and something else for themselves besides.

Later on, he and Father became partners in a business of their own, and
Nellie never had to think of selling her flowers again, or Geoffrey of
sweeping a crossing.

J. A. VIVIAN.

[Illustration: "'No, little lass, I do not want any flowers.'"]

[Illustration: "'Look out, Father, they are going to shoot you!'"]

'GINGER FOR PLUCK.'

Thomas M'Calmont had blue eyes, a mop of red hair, a moderate share of
brains, and a most insatiable thirst for adventure. When his
school-fellows made insulting remarks about his red locks, he was wont
to answer, 'Ginger for pluck;' and, indeed, on several occasions, he had
acted up to this saying there and then on the persons of his unfortunate
persecutors.

Tommy was only eleven years old. Mrs. M'Calmont, his mother, regarded
him as the most wonderful boy in the world, and would have utterly
spoilt him, after the fashion of adoring mothers, had it not been that
Mr. M'Calmont, seeing nothing more wonderful in his son than a
red-headed, mischievous boy, set himself most diligently to curb Tom's
youthful energy, and make an honest, sensible fellow of him.

They lived in the country, and Tom had three miles to go to his school.
But Mr. M'Calmont also had business in Barton, so the pair set out
together each morning in a trap drawn by a steady-going horse, who never
shied or ran away, or did anything at all exciting. Tom was set down at
the door of his school at nine o'clock, and called for at half-past four
precisely, just like a grocery parcel. Never a chance for a frolic over
the fields in the clear morning air, never any scrapes to get into! No
gentle dawdles through the lanes after school, with occasional
excursions into hedge or spinny after wild creatures, or the chance of a
nice creepy adventure in the darkness of some winter's evening. The
whole business, Tom thought, was humdrum and commonplace.

But at last, one early springtime, it happened that Mr. M'Calmont had
urgent business at the town of Greenhurst, twenty miles away. It was a
cross-country journey, where railways did not fit, so Mr. M'Calmont
departed in his trap, leaving Tom and his mother in sole possession for
a whole fortnight at Red House. Mrs. M'Calmont was secretly rather glad
to be able to spoil her son as she liked.

Tom made the most of his advantages, and mother and son together
revelled in the glorious sense of doing everything they liked best.
Tom's favourite dishes appeared at every meal, bedtime came a good hour
later than usual, and Tom also managed three clear days'
'old-soldiering' on the strength of a slight cold. But the last morning
of liberty came, and as Tom dressed he carefully turned over in his mind
how he should celebrate it. It was a beautiful morning after a week of
heavy rain, and Tom had no wish for another day of coddling indoors.

Tom's mother packed his lunch-case with many dainties, and kissed him
good-bye. Tom felt rather mean, 'like a wriggle-up worm' as he
afterwards put it, and he half resolved to give up his plan and go
soberly to school, for, to tell the truth, he had already resolved to
play truant. Unhappily, as he turned into the lane from the drive gates,
a rabbit dashed across the road right in front of him, and frisked into
the hedge in a most tantalising manner, as if to show his contempt for
stupid human beings who plod along the beaten track. That killed all
Tom's scruples, and he was soon scurrying through the fields, scrambling
over hedges, leaping ditches, and getting his clothes into as pretty a
pickle as could be desired.

What a splendid day he spent, following no settled route, but wandering
here and there as the impulse of the moment directed, and feeling in all
his boyish frame the gladness of life and of spring! He lunched in a
little wood, with a fallen tree for a throne, and a rippling stream to
play him music while he feasted. Then he sauntered leisurely on in the
afternoon sunlight, many thoughts busy beneath his comical red thatch.
The long hours in the open after his three days indoors made him sleepy
at last, and he was glad to discover behind the temporary abode of a
railway navvy a little rough wood hut, where, with a friendly dog for
company, and some straw for a couch, he was soon fast asleep.

Tom was dreaming. He heard a babel of voices fierce and angry, and was
striving very hard to hear what they were saying; but, though the voices
seemed loud, he could not distinguish one word from another, and in
trying to do so he awoke. The voices continued, but they were not loud
at all, though rough and angry. They came from the navvy shelter, and
Tom could hear plainly every word. He was about to move away when he
heard his father's name mentioned, qualified with expressions of hatred.
Plainly it was right that he should hear what these men had to say about
his father, so Tom crouched nearer the wall of the hut and listened. His
blue eyes grew big and round, and his face filled with horror.

Tom knew that the navvies at work in the district were not regular
workmen, but a very rough set. A gang of them had been almost a terror
to the neighbourhood, and Tom's father had been foremost in bringing the
guilty ones to justice. Three of their friends were in the hut, one with
a revolver. They had learned from a workman that Mr. M'Calmont was to
return from Greenhurst that evening, and they were discussing the spot
where they could best waylay and shoot him. 'We won't kill him, only
damage him a bit,' were the last words Tom heard as he crept from his
hiding-place and made his way quietly into the wood.

Tom's fear began to give way to excitement. He had an adventure at last,
and all to himself. To go home for help would be no use and would only
terrify his mother. The setting sun showed that the evening was
advancing, and his father would soon be coming, so that the only thing
was to go and hide near the spot where the men had planned to wait. This
was where two roads merged into one, at the bottom of a steep hill
overhung with trees. Mr. M'Calmont might come by either of the two
roads--it would depend on whether he wished to go into Barton or not.

Tom made his way to his post as quickly as possible, and found himself a
hiding-place in a hole beneath the hedge, where only a boy could
wriggle, and where he hoped that in the dusk he would be unobserved. His
post was just the point where the road forked; the men had planned to
stand some yards from that point, where it was more shaded by trees, so
Tom hoped that when he heard the trap approaching, and could distinguish
on which road it was, he would have time to run and warn his father, who
would then, he did not doubt, with the aid of his valiant son, be a
match for any three men.

It was rather a lonely watch. Tom was getting hungry again and very
tired and stiff. As the light faded, his excitement faded too, and it
was almost a relief to hear the stealthy arrival of the conspirators.
Then another long wait, until at last he heard the cart-wheels going
over unrolled stones, which told that it was not on the Barton road. Out
of his hiding-place he crept, and darted along the grass at the
road-side. An unlucky stumble over a fallen branch betrayed him, but as
he fell he shouted with all his might, 'Look out, Father, they are going
to shoot you!' Then there was a rush, a crack as something came into
violent contact with his head, the world went round, and then--darkness.

When Tom woke, the morning sun was shining into his own room. His mother
was busy at the window, fixing the curtain to keep the light from his
face, and Tom could see that she was crying. A great fear entered his
mind, and, as his mother turned and looked at him, all he could say was
'Father?'

'Quite safe, my brave laddie, for you frightened the men away. My dear,
brave boy.'

Then joy filled the heart of Thomas M'Calmont, and for once the fault of
playing truant went unpunished.

JESSIE HARVEY.

GROWING UP.

When birthdays come, we always write
Our names upon the nursery door,
And carefully we mark the height,
Each standing shoeless on the floor.

How strange to think birthdays will be
When we shall never add one more
To all those marks which gradually
Are climbing up the nursery door!

SOME WONDERFUL CAVERNS.

IV.--THE GROTTOES OF HAN IN THE ARDENNES.

A narrow opening high on an oak-covered hill; a cluster of women, girls,
and boys, each carrying a slight iron bar connecting two oil lamps; a
crowd of tourists of many nationalities--all waiting to enter the
Grottoes of Han. Presently the guide arrives, and delivers a brief
speech as to the possible consequences should visitors deface or purloin
the treasures of the cave, demanding silence during his explanations,
and declaring that one light-bearer would accompany every four persons.
He ceases, and away we go. Down, down, down, apparently into the very
heart of the earth, through damp and chilly air and profound darkness,
broken only by the glimmer of the friendly lamps. Then we cease
descending, and emerge in a cavern where the lights are flashed upon
thousands of fossilised insects, and on into the 'Hall of the Foxes,'
where countless generations of their species lived, died, and were
buried. After this the great caverns succeed each other rapidly, each
with some special interest of its own, until we find ourselves in the
'Hall of the Trophies,' where electric light is installed to exhibit the
marvels of the roof. A thick fringe of stalactites, many of immense
size, descend to meet the columns of stalagmite ascending from the
floor.

Right through the caverns, a distance of nearly two miles, a rough path
has been made which is fairly dry and clean, but on either side are
rivers and banks of mud, so that it is well to be careful and watch the
way. Once as we went along we heard behind us a splashing thud, and,
turning, beheld a portly Belgian floundering on his back in the mire,
whence he presently emerged, coated with mud, looking rather like a
hippopotamus. No rule of silence could avail to stifle the peals of
laughter that rang through the grotto, and we had the less scruple in
enjoying the fun because any one of us might at any moment have the
happiness of similarly amusing his or her fellow-creatures.

Our merriment ended before the wonders of the 'Hall of Mystery,' where
the electric light travelled round to show 'The Mosque,' standing out in
glittering points of light; 'The Curtain,' a veil of gleaming lacework
in stone; and 'The Alhambra,' furnished royally with every combination
of diamond-like crystals. It would be easy to invent names for most of
the objects, for shrines, pulpits, thrones, and such-like are everywhere
carved, of dazzling whiteness and richness of design.

Next we enter the gloomy magnificence of the 'Hall of the Dome,' where
the roof towers up two hundred feet into the darkness. As we ascend the
steep path we turn and see below the gleam of water. This is the
subterranean river Lesse, the architect of these gloomy grottoes, which
until some forty years ago had heard no voice save that of the water
hammering and chiselling the rocks at its own sweet will. Legend
declares these stately halls to be the palaces of the little Brown
Dwarfs, who, issuing from their homes at night, by counsel and more
practical aid enabled the early builders to produce the wonderful
edifices of Bruges, Ypres, and other Flemish cities.

Still we go on, up and down through grotto after grotto of marvellous
beauty; sometimes along the banks of the shadowy river, reflecting in
its depths the fairylike beauties of roof and wall, then up high, narrow
ridges or down into the depths of inky blackness, until at last we find
ourselves in the 'Hall of Embarkation.' Here a small wooden platform
projects over the river, and near it are a number of large boats capable
of carrying all our party. The boats push off, all lights are
extinguished, and the sensation of total darkness in such conditions is
more weird than pleasant. We are told that the water is of unknown
depth, and it takes some confidence to repress thoughts of collisions
and perils by water of various kinds.

[Illustration: The Grottoes of Han in the Ardennes.]

The boats move on in solemn procession, and soon a tiny speck of light
appears, and grows gradually larger and brighter. By degrees the light
pervades dimly roof, walls, and transparent water, and then, all in a
moment, a flood of glorious sunshine gleams through the lofty portal
which we are approaching. Behind us fringes and bosses of stalactite are
tinged with the warm glow, and stand out in bold relief from the
darkness; before us the banks are green with grassy slopes and waving
trees; below us the river dances along in the sunlight as if full of joy
at escaping from prison, and we too share its happiness as we float back
into our every-day world from the gloomy glories of the Grottoes of Han.

HELENA HEATH.

[Illustration: "Jacintha was off her machine at once."]

THE BOY TRAMP.

(_Continued from page 107._)

For the next hour I felt extremely miserable, but, remembering that I
should, in all probability, see Jacintha to-morrow, I began to wish it
were possible to do something to improve my appearance for the occasion.
For not only were my clothes in a far from satisfactory condition, but
the soles of my boots were full of holes, so that one stocking touched
the ground.

There was nothing to do but wander about and look at the chickens until
I was summoned to supper, which consisted of bread and very strong
cheese.

On being shown to the bedroom, I found that it contained two beds, in
one of which a small boy was already reposing. Although he seemed to
watch me with considerable curiosity, he made no attempt at
conversation; but it was a very noisy house, and I found it impossible
to get to sleep for some time.

When my room-fellow awoke me at about six o'clock the following morning,
the sun was shining brightly into the shabby room, so that this promised
excellently for the day's tramp. I said my prayers, and having washed,
dressed, and partaken of a somewhat scanty breakfast, wondering, as I
ate, what had by this time become of Patch, I set out, at a little after
half-past seven, in the direction of Hazleton.

Presently, passing through a village, which seemed to be on the outskirts
of the town of Hazleton, I bought two penny sausage rolls at a small
baker's shop, and asked for a glass of water. As I walked on, eating the
rolls, it soon became evident that the town was close at hand. At
intervals I passed large houses, standing in their own grounds, and
carefully I read the names on their gate-posts, lest one should be
Colebrook Park. The path, which had been almost indistinguishable from
the roadway, was now asphalted, and I stopped to read a notice board
concerning vagrants, wondering whether I ought to be reckoned under that
denomination. I do not know whether the sun had affected me--for it
shone with brilliant force that morning--or whether I was tired after my
ten miles' walk without much food, but as I drew near to Hazleton, which
I had formerly felt so anxious to reach, my usual spirits seemed to
forsake me, and, if it had not been for the necessity to return the
locket, I think I should have passed on my way without making the least
attempt to see Jacintha again.

I seemed to have lost pride in myself, so that it became difficult to
keep up much hope. Perhaps it might be possible to get the locket safely
into Jacintha's hands without seeing her, especially if there happened
to be a lodge at the entrance to Colebrook Park, when I might leave the
trinket with the lodge-keeper.

With the object of making up my mind, I lay down on the wide border of
grass on one side of the road, thankful for the shelter of the hedge. It
was about half-past twelve, and several carriages passed as I lay there,
as well as a few bicyclists. But now the straight, wide road was clear;
no one was in sight, either to the right or to the left, until, from a
gate a hundred yards away, in the direction of the town, a girl on a
bicycle came forth, and I knew at once that she must be Jacintha.

She wore a wide-brimmed, white straw hat, and a white cotton frock, and
was sitting very upright as she turned and coasted on her free-wheel
machine down the slight hill towards me. For an instant I thought of
turning away my face, so that, even if she remembered it, she should not
recognise me; but she looked so bright and pleasant an object in the
middle of the sunny road that, on the impulse of the moment, I rose to
my feet, crossed the margin of grass, and lifted the cloth cap which had
been given to me before I reached Polehampton.

Jacintha was off her machine at once. 'Why,' she cried, 'you are the boy
who ran away!'

'My name is Everard, you know,' I answered.

'But I thought you said you were going to London?' she suggested.

'So I am.'

'It is not the nearest way from where you were to come through
Hazleton,' said Jacintha.

'You see,' I explained, thrusting my fingers into my waistcoat pocket,
'I came to bring back your locket,' and I held it out towards her in the
palm of my right hand.

'My locket?' she said, gazing at it while she held the handle of her
bicycle.

'Yes,' I answered. 'I found it on the path just by the hedge where you
were standing.'

'But I did not bring a locket with me from London,' she exclaimed, and I
felt immensely disappointed.

'Isn't it really yours, then?' I asked.

'Of course not,' she returned. 'How can it be if I didn't bring one?'
and then she removed one hand from the bicycle, and took the locket from
my palm, which I wished had not been so extremely grimy. 'I think it is
very pretty,' she continued, 'and I believe it is gold.'

'Oh, it is gold right enough!' I said, 'because it has a hall-mark. It
is eighteen carat.'

'Have you come out of your way just because you thought it was mine?'
she asked, giving me back the trinket.

'It was not very far,' I persisted.

'Rather nice of you, though,' said Jacintha.

'If it comes to that,' I answered, 'you were rather nice to me that day.
Some girls would have given me away, and then I should have been back at
Ascot House before now.'

As I was speaking, she took a small gold watch from her pocket.

'I must not be late,' she cried, 'because both Dick and I were late for
breakfast.'

'Who is Dick?' I asked, as she put away her watch.

'Dick is my brother,' Jacintha explained. 'He only came down yesterday.
Dick's a year older than I am. I really ought to go,' she added. 'If my
uncle were to see me talking to you he mightn't like it.'

'I suppose,' I cried a little angrily, 'he would think I was begging?'

'At all events,' said Jacintha, candidly, 'he would be rather surprised,
you know. Because you do look most tremendously dirty--just as if you
were a regular tramp--and yet your face would be all right if it were
only washed and you had your hair properly cut.'

I felt that my cheeks were growing red, and for the moment I was tempted
to make an angry retort, although, remembering what I owed to Jacintha,
I simply held out my hand and muttered 'Good-bye!'

'Oh, you mustn't go on yet,' she exclaimed. 'I want to hear all you've
been doing. I must go in now, but please promise to wait till I come out
again. I won't be long.'

'I am not in a hurry,' I admitted.

'Only don't stay here,' she said. 'Wait till I am out of sight, and then
follow me until you come to our hedge. Right in the corner you will
find a place you can get through, and nobody ever comes to that field.
You get through the hedge and stay till I come back.'

CHAPTER XIV.

I stood in the road while Jacintha mounted her bicycle and rode up the
slight hill to the gate, when she looked back and waved her hand as she
turned into the grounds. Having waited a few minutes, I followed her
directions, found the weak spot in the hedge, scrambled through, and at
once sat down on the grass.

I saw I was in a remote corner of a large field, in which a few Jersey
cows were grazing. But this was not quite an ordinary field, as it
contained a good many foreign trees with iron railings round them. It
was more like a park. In the middle stood a small mound, looking as if
it had been made artificially, with a kind of arbour on the top
overgrown with some sort of creeper and shut in by trees.

The time seemed to pass very slowly, but at last I saw the flash of
Jacintha's white dress in the sunshine as she walked rapidly towards my
corner, the house not being visible from where I sat. To my vexation,
however, she was not alone. A few yards behind came a boy of about my
own age and size, with a straw hat on the back of his head, a
red-and-blue blazer thrown over his white cricket shirt, and his hands
thrust in the pockets of his flannel trousers.

While Jacintha tripped quickly over the grass, her companion, who, no
doubt, was her brother, seemed to follow far less cheerfully. I could
not help thinking there was something unwilling, almost resentful, in
his manner, so that I felt prepared to pay him back in his own coin.
Although I might look as dirty and as much like a tramp as Jacintha had
suggested, I was not going to stand any nonsense.

When they reached the arbour they came to a standstill and seemed to be
holding an argument, until, a few minutes later, Jacintha tossed back
her long hair and set forth at a run in my direction, whereupon I went
to meet her.

'You didn't mind my bringing Dick?' she suggested, looking doubtfully
into my face.

'Have you told him, then?' I asked.

'I told him yesterday,' she said. 'I mean I told him about seeing you in
the wheat-field, and your running away from school, and when I just had
time to whisper that I had met you before lunch, he said I must not
come; but I told him I had promised, and then he said he would come
too.'

By this time we were within a few feet of Dick, who looked all right,
although he seemed to think a great deal of himself. He was fair, like
Jacintha, and he did not take his hands out of his pockets, so I put my
hands into my pockets also, and stared at him as hard as he stared at
me.

'Dick!' cried Jacintha, 'this is Everard.'

'Well, look here,' he answered, 'if you don't want to be collared, you
had better come in, instead of standing out here all day.'

(_Continued on page 125._)

CUBAN LIZARDS.

The Cuban anolis is one of a large family of lizards, all of which are
confined to America and the West Indian islands. This family is nearly
related to that of the iguanas; but whereas some of the iguanas attain a
length of five or six feet, the anolis is always small. It is a
remarkably active little creature, and often singularly beautiful,
offering a striking contrast to the ugly and sluggish horned lizards of
North America and Mexico. It is usually rather more than a foot long,
and its general colour is a beautiful green. It has a white throat, and
a white band passing over each shoulder and for some distance along each
side. The little creature has the power of puffing out its throat, and
distending it till it looks like a ball upon its neck. When it is
irritated, angry, or alarmed, it invariably blows out its throat in this
way, and tries to frighten its enemy by this means. Most of these
lizards have also more or less power of changing their colour, like the
chameleon, and, indeed, a few of them can out-rival the chameleon in
this respect.

A striking peculiarity of this lizard is the structure of its toes. They
are rather long, and furnished with sharp hooked claws, and the last
joint is swollen out into a kind of pad. At first sight we should be
inclined to think that these little swellings near the tips of the toes
would be rather an inconvenience to the anolis, by impeding its
movements. But a closer examination shows that these curious growths
have a use. They act to some extent as suckers, and enable the anolis to
climb the perpendicular faces of rocks, or even to hang from the under
side of a branch.

The males of these little lizards are often very quarrelsome, especially
at certain times of the year, when two of them rarely meet without
having a fight. They fly at each other furiously, rolling over and over,
and biting savagely. These fierce battles generally end in one of the
combatants losing his tail, for in these lizards, as in many others, the
tail is not very strongly attached to the body. The victor sometimes
makes off with the tail of his foe in his mouth, and sometimes he even
devours it. The loss of his tail is a great blow to the vanquished
anolis, for he seems to have a great pride in it. When he is deprived of
it, he accepts defeat at once, and though he recovers from the injury
without much trouble, he is generally but a timid and crest-fallen
creature afterwards. He seems to look upon the loss of his tail as a
disgrace--very much, perhaps, as a regiment of soldiers regards the loss
of its colours.