Chatterbox, 1905 Part 130

'So they told me,' said old John. 'But come,' he said, in a different tone, and beginning to row at his utmost speed, 'we must get to the Point before high tide, or there will be no sh.e.l.ls for you to-day.'

The mention of sh.e.l.ls drove away the melancholy thoughts which John's story had occasioned, and the wreck of the _Hope_ was forgotten as the children landed at the Point and began eagerly searching for new specimens.

S. CLARENDON.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'It is a terrible thing, is a wreck on this coast.'"]

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Please do not shoot me!'"]

SPY OR GUIDE?

'I believe this forest goes on to the end of the world!' exclaimed the Colonel of the 18th Hanoverian regiment at the close of an autumn day in the year 1750. 'I was told it was a six hours' journey to Schustadt, but it seems as if we must tramp right across Germany to reach it.'

'I wonder if we have taken a wrong track?' answered the Major, who was riding by his side, whilst behind trudged the men, their white breeches, scarlet coats, and three-cornered hats looking strangely out of place in that dense pine forest.

'We must find out somehow,' said the Colonel, reining up his horse.

'There must be a peasant of some sort in these regions--a wood-cutter or charcoal burner. Call a halt, Wenzler, and let the men scatter in different directions, and tell the first who finds any one capable of acting as guide to bring him straight to me.'

The halt was called, the order given, and the soldiers disappeared amongst the pine trunks, amidst laughter and declarations from each that he would be the first to find a guide. The discovery, however, fell to Schmidt, a young corporal, who had hardly gone a hundred yards into the forest before he came on a lad who was amusing himself by gathering raspberries.

Schmidt was fond of what he called a joke, and laying a rough hand on the lad's shoulder, he said, in a voice purposely very fierce, 'You are my prisoner! I am to bring you to our Colonel, and you will probably be shot as a spy.'

The boy looked up in surprise, and turned pale as he answered: 'I am no spy! I have come out from the town to gather raspberries!'

'I know nothing about raspberries,' answered the man, still enjoying his joke, and taking small heed of the lad's evident terror; 'I must bring you before my Colonel,' and he dragged the terrified boy along the track till he reached the spot where the two officers and some of the soldiers were standing.

'Well, Schmidt; first capture!' said the Colonel, in a pleased tone, for he had not expected him to find any one in so short a time.

'Yes, your honour,' said Schmidt, now releasing the boy, who, placing his hands behind him, now addressed the Colonel in as firm a voice as he could muster.

'Please, Colonel,' he said, 'do not shoot me! I am not a spy--indeed I am not! My name is Fritz Nestor, and I live with my mother in Schustadt.'

The men standing round could not resist smiling at this odd speech, for they knew nothing of Schmidt's 'joke,' and the Colonel, bending down so as to be more of a level with the little fellow, said in a half-puzzled tone:

'You surely cannot think we should shoot you! We are not in an enemy's country, and if we were we do not shoot children. What could have put such a ridiculous idea into your head?'

'He said so,' said the boy, pointing to the corporal, whose very pigtail quivered with fear at being thus brought to his Colonel's notice.

The Colonel straightened himself and looked full at the corporal, who was standing stiffly at his right hand. 'Next time you wish to play a practical joke, corporal,' he said sternly, 'let it be with a man, and not a child! Now, my little fellow,' he said, turning to the boy, 'you may take my word for it that no one will hurt you. Can you show us the right way to Schustadt? I suppose you know it?'

'Oh, yes, sir,' said the boy brightly. 'It is barely a mile away.'

'That is good hearing,' said the Colonel, and the men were quickly recalled, and the march began once more, the boy stepping out bravely in front of the column, much preferring the part of guide to that of a spy.

THE PROMISE OF THE STORM.

I do not mind the hurricane, And biting winter rain; I love to watch them sweep across The woodland and the plain; For as they roar the trees among, I fancy I can hear A whisper like a fairy's song: 'The spring is drawing near.'

I do not mind the gloomy days, When clouds are dark and low, And rough winds from the meadows tear Their tattered sheets of snow; For through those ragged holes I've seen A sight the heart to cheer, The face of some sweet flower that tells, 'The spring is drawing near.'

O children big, and children small, This wisdom bear in mind: Frown not on any rains that fall, Nor grumble at the wind; And when the gloomy winter's day Is far from blithe and warm, Look well, and think, and you will find A promise in the storm.

A DANGEROUS TRAVELLER.

A True Anecdote.

'Cab, Madam?' said a driver; and a lady who wanted a cab got hastily in.

But the driver had not proceeded very far before a loud scream from the lady startled him.

When he had recovered himself he got down, and opened the door of the cab. A strange sight met his eyes: the poor lady was huddled up in one corner, and a large and ugly snake reared its head angrily from the floor of the cab.

The driver helped the lady out, and shut the snake up in the cab, and drove as fast as he could to the police station. He remembered then how the keeper of a menagerie had that morning hired his vehicle. The keeper, while he took his drive, had placed the snake, for safe-keeping, under the seat of the cab, and, getting out at his journey's end, had forgotten the snake!

After some delay, a man was procured who killed the reptile; but it was a long time before the lady cared to enter a cab again without searching to see if there were any other travellers already in it.

PUZZLERS FOR WISE HEADS.

ANSWER TO PUZZLE ON PAGE 371.

16.--1. Alexander the Great.

2. Charlemagne.

3. Queen Elizabeth.

4. Catherine of Russia.

5. Marie Antoinette.

6. Cleopatra.

INDIAN WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY.

Ages before the day when Marconi succeeded in establishing his wireless telegraphy, the Indians of North America carried on a system of signalling by smoke rings and fire arrows.