Harper's Young People, February 17, 1880 Part 5

"But, Captain Dan, there are lots of people who surely can't look at this thing as you do, and as we do too, now that you've shown us,"

remarked d.i.c.k, thoughtfully, "for I've seen men, and women too, pick up little things to taste in the stores, and never seem to think of paying for them."

The old man sighed wearily. "I know it, lad," he answered; "and I can tell you more than that. For I've heard of some cases--I hope and trust they're rare ones, though--where boarding-house keepers in large cities, who were poorly off, would go from one store to another, and from stand to stand in the markets, pricing and buying in a small way, while all the time they would be picking up a nut or so here, an apple or orange there, or a few raisins over yonder, and in this manner get enough for a dessert, till their tricks came to be well known, and they were watched carefully."

"How dreadful!" cried the boys.

"And perhaps," added Theodore, "they began as we did, without thinking anything about it, and I'm ever so much obliged to you, Captain Dan, for telling us."

"Yes, indeed!" struck in d.i.c.k, earnestly, giving himself a shake; "I see it exactly now; and I don't mind telling mamma about it half so much as I do thinking to myself that I ever did such a mean thing, don't you see."

"Yes," responded his friend, as he looked up into the pure manly face, feeling that so long as the fact of losing his own self-respect was so much worse than to lose that of others, he would always have a safeguard--"yes, I understand. But isn't that the _Firefly_ off yonder?"

The boys ran down to the water's edge, followed at a slower pace by the captain.

"Dear me! why don't Ethel take the oars and show him how to row?" burst forth d.i.c.k, impatiently, as they watched the tiny craft moving irregularly toward them.

"Gently, laddie," said the captain; "remember we must all have a learning; and no doubt you did as badly as that when you began, even though you're such a crack sailor now; and you know Miss Ethel mightn't like to give a lesson unless she was asked to do so."

The little boat gradually neared them, though in a very jerky fashion, showing how unskilled the rower was, till, unhappily, glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of the group awaiting them, and raised his oars by way of salute. But, in lowering them, one fell from his hand, tired with the unusual exertion; he leaned over too far to reach it, and the next moment they were all struggling in the water.

In an instant the boys' coats were off, and they dashed in to the rescue; nor was Captain Dan much behind them, while it was truly wonderful to see how agile he was, when swimming, for after his slow steps on land, the water appeared like his native element. Fortunately the boat was not far from the sh.o.r.e when the accident happened, and the captain's powerful strokes soon put him ahead of his younger companions.

He reached the spot just in time to catch May--his "baby," as he always called the five-year-old prattler--as she was sinking for the last time, in spite of the frantic efforts made by Maurice, who, though no swimmer, had retained his presence of mind, and had caught the edge of the overturned boat, which he was trying to float toward Ethel, while holding May tightly with the other arm. But the child had struck her head against the oar as she fell, and was stunned so as to be quite insensible.

"Keep your hold of the boat," called the captain; "I've got the baby all safe, and the boys have reached Miss Ethel. Hullo, d.i.c.k!" he shouted, suddenly; "let Theo help your sister, and bear a hand here, will you?"

For he saw that Maurice was fast giving out, though the gallant old man was supporting him with one hand, while holding the child firmly with the other; and enc.u.mbered in this way, swimming was slow work.

"Here we are!" sang out d.i.c.k, who soon reached them; and remembering "Nan the Newsboy's" directions, with the captain's aid managed to turn Maurice upon his back, for by this time he had quite lost consciousness, and then struck out steadily for the land. In the course of a few more moments the little party were anxiously gathered around Maurice and May, who were still insensible. Theo had started off for help, which soon came, and they were carried to the nearest house, where Maurice after a time revived. But poor little May remained so long unconscious that they had almost given up hope, when d.i.c.k, who had been helping to rub her, and would give up his post to no one, exclaimed he was sure he felt her heart beating, which, to his great delight, proved to be the case, and a while afterward she opened her eyes, and looked around vacantly.

But the blow on her head had been a very severe one; the shock to the little frame was so great that it was followed by a serious illness; and though she recovered after weeks of suffering, and was her own bright self again, yet the boys agreed that Captain Dan's kindly sermon had been followed by enough to make that day one of the most eventful in their lives, and never to be forgotten.

And though they could not go to the store that night, yet they went early the next morning, told the whole story, and were most kindly received by Mr. Baker, with whom Captain Dan had had a private conference just before their arrival, so that he was fully prepared for them.

In spite of their urging, he would not take their money, though he thanked them "for coming in such a manly way to confess their fault,"

adding, as he shook hands with them, that while they had only done what was right, yet he wished men as well as boys would have the moral courage to confess when they had done wrong, for so often these little beginnings of evil lead the way to greater sins.

THE FIRST VALENTINE.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"Ah, Jamie, don't you understand The little heart that's in my hand?

The plain white heart with rosy band; Can you not read the simple sign?

It is your first sweet Valentine.

"Come here and take it from me, dear; It will not hurt, you need not fear; You'll see, if you will come more near, It only bears one little line, 'To Jamie! My first Valentine!'"

Then Cupid, laughing, said, "Ah me!

How calm this baby beau can be!

But wait awhile, and we shall see What toys, with gold and jewels fine, He'll send to some sweet Valentine.

"Just leave your heart, Miss Leonore, He'll take it soon, and long for more: The little lad is only four.

Some day, a hero bold and fine, He'll send full many a Valentine."

THE KING'S BABY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "THE CATSKILL FAIRIES."

The baby was put to bed as usual, in his wooden cradle, and his mother had rocked him to sleep, singing some national cradle song, like the mothers of all lands. He was a stout little fellow of five months old, with dimples in his brown cheeks, curly dark hair as soft as silk, and great black eyes, such as the children of Spain and Italy alone possess.

When the baby was asleep, his parents busied themselves with their duties of the evening, and at an early hour also went to bed.

Their home was located in the province of Murcia, in Spain. The house was built of stone, half in ruins, and was surrounded by a poor little farm. Before going to bed the father had looked out of the door to see that all was safe for the night. Spain is a country where little rain falls, because armies long ago destroyed the forests covering mountain slopes, in time of war. Now the traveller sees these hills as bare rocks, with deserted towns on their sides, and the beds of rivers become heaps of dry stones for the majority of the year, parched with summer drought. In the city of Alicante two years sometimes pa.s.s without a drop of rain falling. The season of the year (1879) was very different. In the late summer and autumn fearful storms of thunder and lightning burst over several provinces usually so dusty and arid; persistent rains followed, until the channels of the rivers became filled with rushing torrents from the heights where springs have their source. The waters of the Guadalquivir rose five meters in a few days.

The baby's father looked out of the door on a valley flooded by one of these swollen rivers which had overflowed its banks, and felt safe, as his home was perched on a slope, and the village, with its church, convent, and steep streets of old houses, was between the farm and the stream. Then he had gone to rest, and sleep soon settled on the household. The night was dark, and no sound was to be heard except the drip of the rain or the rustling murmur of the distant river.

At two o'clock in the morning the church bell pealed wildly. "Quick!

Danger is at hand, good people; save yourselves!" the bell seemed to say, and its vibrating note rang out on the awful darkness, chilling all hearts with sudden fear.

Stupid with sleep, the baby's father rose. Water was trickling along the floor of the chamber; outside was a deep sound of roaring waves, the crashing of trees, and the fall of buildings, mingled with the clang of the bell and the cries of human beings. Nothing could be more terrible.

An embankment had given way, and the river, which already had spread over the lowlands, now deluged the village, sweeping away many houses, and surrounding the poor little farm, where the baby slumbered peacefully in his cradle. Already the cottage swayed and shook on its foundations. The mother awoke, and wept. She had no time to s.n.a.t.c.h the baby in her arms, for the father opened the door, and lifted the cradle near it. He returned for his wife; and just then a wave entered the door, and washed away the baby. It was not a moment too soon. There was a snapping, grinding sound, and the house fell apart and slid into the dark waters as if it had been a house of cards. The whole country was like a sea, and the church bell no longer rang, because the bell-ringer strove to save himself from being drowned.

The little waif, cast to the mercy of the wind and the flood, did not sink. G.o.d watched over it. The wooden cradle became a tiny boat; the baby waked up, stretched out his little hands, and cried; then, in the midst of frightful peril, fell asleep again, rocked by the motion of the stream.

At length the day broke, a cold gray mist seeming to blot out everything except the sheet of water, which was of a muddy and yellow color, and rolled along with giddy swiftness, gathering everything in its course.

In some places the trees had their roots under water, and their branches, still dry, gave shelter to whole families. These cried out:

"Oh, look at the little baby! Who will save it?"

But the cradle sailed on, while the trees often bent beneath the wave.

The boiling eddies of the current swallowed many objects, and caught the cradle, and spun it about in circles as if it had been a walnut sh.e.l.l, until the baby cried with fear; but then a friendly wave was sure to rescue it, and once more bear it onward.

Ah, at last! The poor baby must be drowned. A great tree had fallen into the river, with all its tangled roots high in the air, and the stream snapped off the smaller twigs and branches as it moved along. Every moment it struck some floating object with its gnarled roots and forest of branches; occasionally the shock was so great that the trunk rolled from side to side; but the object always sank, whether broken boat or dead animal; while the tree floated on. The baby's cradle was alone on the waste of waters; the tree approached slowly and surely. The cradle tossed up and down, and then--the forked branches caught and held it firmly just above the water-line. The tree became a raft.

The young King Alfonso of Spain stood on the sh.o.r.e, near a town, surrounded by officers in brilliant uniforms. Large boats full of his guards had ventured out from sh.o.r.e to try to save objects swept down from the country. They saw a tree with a cradle caught in the branches.

Was the cradle empty? No, a little black head could be distinguished inside. Bravely the boat approached; the tree swerved about, and struck it so rudely that it nearly upset; but at that moment the soldier in the bow leaned over, and caught the baby by his little gown. Away whirled the tree on the swift tide, and the cradle, detached by the shock, drifted apart, overturned.

How the people ran about and talked! How the women cried, and caressed the little stranger thus safely brought to sh.o.r.e! The King saw it all, and approached.

"He shall be my child, and I will adopt him," he said.

"May he grow up to serve you, sire!" said one of the councillors, who wore a glittering star on his breast.