Harper's Young People, October 19, 1880 Part 5

[Ill.u.s.tration: CUTTING OFF A QUEUE TO BIND A WOUND.]

"Take your knife and cut off my queue," he says to one of the Rangers, who whips out his hunting-knife, cuts off the queue, and Rogers sticks it into the wound to stop the flowing of the blood.

All through the dreary afternoon the fight goes on. The snow is crimsoned with blood. The killed and mortally wounded lie where they fall. For the Rangers there is no escape; they must conquer or die.

The shades of night steal on; the fire of the French and Indians has been growing less; the war-whoop dies away; the last gun is fired. The enemy, picking up their wounded, retire to Ticonderoga, leaving the Rangers victors. What a dear-bought victory!--one-half of them killed or wounded. Of the enemy one hundred and sixteen have fallen!

The Rangers were only four miles from Ticonderoga, and might expect to be attacked again in the morning. They were forty miles from Fort William Henry. They were weary and worn, but they must move on. They made litters for the wounded, and started, marching all night, but making only a few miles.

The snow had ceased, the air was chill. They must have help. John Stark, leaving them, started for Fort William Henry, reaching it at sunset.

Soldiers with horses and sleds started at once, and John Stark with them, stopping not a moment to rest his weary limbs. At sunrise he was back to the Rangers with the re-enforcements and supplies. The French had not followed them, and they made their way safely back to Fort William Henry, having fought one of the most obstinate, unequal, yet victorious battles recorded in history.

THE ANGEL IN THE LILLY FAMILY.

BY SHERWOOD BONNER.

There was something rather queer about the Lilly family. In the first place there were so many of them--fourteen precious children. This alone is queer, when it is the fashion of the day to have small families, and "well-springs of pleasure" are as scarce as diamonds in any properly regulated household. But Mrs. Lilly's heart was made on the omnibus plan; and there was no miserable little "Complet" ever scrawled over its door.

Then it was queer how they avoided nicknames in the Lilly family. Each child was called by its full name, which sometimes happened to be a pretty long one.

It was through a sad accident that one of the Lilly children turned into a regular little angel.

The day after Christmas Mrs. Lilly's aunt--grandaunt of the children--carelessly allowed poor Katharine Kirk Lilly to fall on a marble floor. A serious injury to her spine was the result.

Dear! dear! how Mrs. Lilly screamed! She threw herself on the bed, and poured forth tears enough to put out a Christmas bonfire. She was not soothed until the doctor came, and after a careful examination--which the sufferer bore without a word or moan--p.r.o.nounced that poor Katharine Kirk would live. But, alas! he added that she must always be an invalid.

And smiling with the patient sweetness that distinguished her, the dear child sank back on the pillows from which she was never to lift her golden head. All the rest of the Lilly children stood round, showing by a sort of paralyzed expression on their faces how deeply they were moved; but none of them cried.

"Perhaps, dears," said the poor little mother, sobbing, "this affliction will be blessed to you."

"It will," cried the penitent great-aunt, clasping Mrs. Lilly in her arms; "it will teach them lessons of patience, of self-denial, of love, that will be as good as--"

"As the Prince's p.r.i.c.king-conscience ring in the family," suggested Mrs.

Lilly's mother, who had a way of turning things into fun, and never gave way to her feelings.

It was surprising what a change from that time dated in the Lilly family. They had been like other children, a little faulty, perhaps, rather apt to stand on their rights--a fierce footing--but merely to look at the darling invalid, her shining hair outspread, her blue eyes ever bright, was to receive a lesson in sweetness and good temper.

Take the case of Phillips Arthur Cliff Lilly. This young gentleman was the youngest of the family, and his mother's favorite. Why, no one knew, except that he was so ugly. He had so many scars on his face, from falls and fights, that somehow he produced the impression of a target. His hair stood out like a halo of straw, and one defiant wisp reared itself above his forehead with the grace of a cat's whisker. Mrs. Lilly could never sleep until he was safe in her arms, and his life knew no cross until after the accident to Katharine Kirk, who became, in her turn, the pivot round which the family revolved. Horrible to relate, his mother one evening, in her hurry to get back to the invalid, forgot her youngest, and left him in the Common. There he lay all night, like a tramp, with the stars twinkling at him, and stray dogs sniffing as they pa.s.sed him by. Yet when he was found he _did not utter one word_. He opened his blue eyes as he was picked up, and only gave a single plaintive cry as he was pressed to his frantic mother's bosom.

Then there was Myra Miles. She was one of the young ladies of the family, and, as might be forgiven in a beauty, a trifle vain. She was to receive calls on New-Year's Day, and had expected to come out in a fine new dress. Pink tarlatan it was to be, trimmed in the French taste with blue, with a train to thrill you to your finger-tips, which seemed to bear the same relation to Myra Miles as the rest of a snake does to its head. Mrs. Lilly's mamma was making it; but her time was suddenly demanded to do something for the invalid, and the dress was thrown aside. The consequence was that poor Myra Miles appeared in the gorgeous pink dress with a black lace scarf instead of the waist. Still, not one word of complaint did she utter, although her sisters Dorothy Dimple and Martha Bonn--the favorites of Mrs. Lilly's aunt--appeared in exquisite raiment of green and blue. There was something very beautiful about her resignation.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

When the lovely Susan Mears Lilly was married, Katharine Kirk was taken in her pretty bed to view the ceremony, and was quite a feature of the occasion. Indeed, she did not begin to look so weak and ill as the bridegroom, who, poor youth, was so tottering that Mrs. Lilly's aunt cruelly suggested that his back should be propped with a hair-pin. You may imagine how the girls laughed at this, especially Teresa Fehmer Lilly, a wicked little bridemaid in red satin.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

And such attentions as the sufferer had from friends of the Lilly family! The beautiful belle Miss Lilian Love spent many hours over a dainty quilt of silk and lace to adorn the sick-bed. A glorious poet sent in a box of agreeable medicine, with a note running like this:

"MY DEAR MRS. LILLY,--I send you a little book for your sick child, and some medicine for her poor broken back. The peculiarity of this medicine is that in order to produce any good effect it must be taken by the nurse. This is rather hard upon the nurse; but if she is a good nurse she will not mind it much."

Jane Jumper was the nurse really; but while the medicine lasted Mrs.

Lilly herself took entire charge, and administered the sweet doses to herself, without one word from Katharine Kirk.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

It may have occurred by this time to some shrewd little reader that under no circ.u.mstance was any member of this household apt to give utterance to silver speech. Shall I confess? Or, my dear children, have you guessed that Katharine Kirk and all the cherished fourteen belonged to the beloved, the beautiful, the _dumb_, family of--Dolls?

[Ill.u.s.tration: OUR POST-OFFICE BOX.]

VIAREGGIO, ITALY.

I am nearly six years old. I would like to have a tea party on my birthday. After my birthday has come I will write again, and tell you all about it.

In Rome I have a big play horse and two kitties. My little cat is gray and white, and is called Bimbo. He walks on his toes, and makes a long face. Papa's cat's name is Cavaliere. He is a big Maltese cat.

In Rome we have a nice house and a nice garden, and in the garden there is a straw hut.

We are finishing the summer at Viareggio, and we have nice sea-baths.

IMOGEN R.

SMITH'S HILL, FEATHER RIVER, CALIFORNIA.

I enjoy the letters in YOUNG PEOPLE, especially those that tell of birds and flowers I have not seen. There are mocking-birds here in summer, and a beautiful bird called goldfinch. There are also robins, bluebirds, and many varieties of sparrows. The bluebirds and robins stay here all winter. It is too bad to take eggs from the birds to give away in exchange. The pitcher-plant grows in a valley not far from here.

My sister Bell went to La.s.sens Peak last week. It is 10,600 feet high. There is no snow on the mountain now except a small patch on top. Hundreds of small b.u.t.terflies were flitting about on the mountain-side and alighting on the rocks. As there is no vegetation, except a few hardy plants scattered among the ledges, I wonder what they find to live on. A lake which could be seen from the top of the peak had the appearance of being frozen. In the valley below there are hot boiling springs.

LOU R. K.

Yes, it is too bad to take so many birds' eggs. But if our correspondents are careful to take only one or two from each nest, and to always leave more than half, as we have already begged them to do, the mother-bird will not suffer. If we could believe for a moment that our little friends would be so cruel as to disturb the brooding mother, and rob her nest of all its eggs, we would never publish another letter requesting an exchange of these pretty natural curiosities. The nesting season is now over in all the Northern States, but when it returns, we trust the young egg collectors will never allow their eagerness to secure the coveted treasure to overcome their sense of honor and their kindness of heart.

CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA.

I am ten years old. I take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and I like it very much. I am always glad when Wednesday comes, for that is the day I get it. I think it is a very nice paper for boys and girls.

I have a pet dog whose name is Lion.