CHATTERBOX 1906 PRESSWORK potx

CHATTERBOX 1906
PRESSWORK BY
COLONIAL PRESS: C. H. SIMONDS
& CO.
BOSTON, U.S.A.












First Passenger Across the Brooklyn Bridge.
MARVELS OF MAN'S MAKING.
I.—THE BROOKLYN SUSPENSION BRIDGE.
HEN two large cities stand opposite to one another on the banks of a river, it is not
likely they can do very well without a bridge to connect them. Yet the citizens of New
York and Brooklyn were obliged to manage as best they could for a good many years
before they had their bridge. There were many difficulties in the way. For one thing,
the river is very broad; for another, the tall-masted ships ply up and down so
frequently that it would never do to build anything which would obstruct their
passage; and to overcome these difficulties would mean the expenditure of a vast sum
of money. But the folk who earned their daily bread in New York and lived in
Brooklyn grew thoroughly tired of spending chilly hours in foggy weather on the

river-side piers, waiting for the ferry-boat to come and take them across, and at last
they began an agitation which resulted in the Brooklyn Bridge.
The engineer who made the first design was Mr. John A. Raebling; but he did not live
to see it carried into effect; for one summer day in 1869, when selecting the spot at
which the great work should be begun, he met with an accident which caused his
death a few days later. His son, Mr. Washington Raebling, then took the lead. Plans
were carefully drawn and submitted to the Government, who, after much
consideration, ordered that the bridge should be five feet higher and five feet wider.
This apparently slight change added about 172,800l. to the cost of building, for little
changes in big things mean more than big changes in little ones. The original cost was
to be 10,800,000 dollars, or about 2,160,000l.; but in the end it amounted to nearly
3,100,000l.
Before we talk of the trouble and labour, let us look for a moment at the great things
the engineers have accomplished.
The Brooklyn bridge is five thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine feet long and
eighty-five feet wide. The huge cables that support it stretch like the strands of a
monster spider-web from the tops of two towers, each two hundred and seventy-six
feet high and standing one thousand five hundred and ninety-five feet apart. The
above is the length of the central span; the two other spans, from the land to the
towers, are each nine hundred and thirty feet long in addition. The roadway, one
hundred and thirty-five feet above the river, is divided into five parts. The two outside
ones are for vehicles, the middle one for foot passengers, and the remaining two for
cable trams. The footway is eight feet higher than the others, so that an uninterrupted
view is gained from it. The four cables supporting this heavy structure are anchored at
both ends in blocks of masonry weighing sixty thousand tons each; so that there is
little fear of their being dragged from their moorings. The bridge was opened amid a
blaze of fireworks on May 24th, 1883.
On May 7th, 1870, the tower on the riverside at Brooklyn was begun, and completed
just five years later; its companion on the opposite side was a year behind it. The
foundations of these great towers lie in solid rock seventy-eight feet below the high-

tide line on the New York side, and only a little less on the Brooklyn side.
The towers once completed, the task of laying the cables across from summit to
summit engaged the thoughts of the engineers. This was no ordinary case of swinging
a steel rope across a river, for the gigantic size and weight of the cables made it
impossible to use ordinary means. First of all it would be necessary to make a
communication from tower to tower. To accomplish this, one end of a coiled steel
rope was carried to the top of the Brooklyn tower and passed over until it dangled into
the river beneath. Here a steamboat dragged it across the river to the foot of the New
York tower, where it was hauled up, and having been passed over the top, was carried
down to the masonry anchorage already mentioned. Here it was wound round a
revolving drum or pulley, and started back again to Brooklyn in the same manner, thus
forming an endless band along which material could be carried by revolving the
pulley at either end.
Though this rope was three-quarters of an inch in thickness, it was almost invisible to
the people on the river, two hundred and seventy-six feet below. Yet it was the first
'stitch' in the great web, and thousands of eyes were turned towards it on August 25th,
1876, when the very first passenger crossed along it from shore to shore. This
passenger was Mr. Farrington, one of the engineers. He wished to encourage his men
by a good example, for over that terrible gulf it would soon be necessary for many of
them to go. His seat was a small piece of board such as we use for a swing in a
playground, and it was attached to the wire by four short ropes. The perilous journey
took more than twenty minutes, and the people below watched almost breathlessly as
the slender thread swayed up and down with the weight of the traveller. To their eyes
it appeared at times as if he was soaring through the air unsupported, so thin was the
line by which he hung.
And now the weaving of the cables began, and this was perhaps the most remarkable
undertaking in the construction of the great bridge. To the endless band by which Mr.
Farrington had crossed, there was fixed what is called a 'carrier.' This was to grip the
end of the first wire (as the eye of the needle takes the thread); bear it across the river
over the tops of the lofty towers; 'stitch' it to the New York shore (or anchorage) and

bring it back again.
And that is what it did. This new wire (only one-eight of an inch thick—thinner, that
is, than the first wire, on which Mr. Farrington had crossed) was two hundred miles
long, and it had to perform the journey many hundred times before the first 'skein' was
complete. Thus you will see that a single 'skein' stretched from shore to shore,
consisting of nearly three hundred separate threads. These were bound tightly together
at frequent intervals, and when a bunch of nineteen of them had been made, the first
cable was ready for completion. But this was a matter of great difficulty. You will
easily understand that it was necessary for every wire to do its share in bearing the
weight of the bridge. Therefore, they must all be at an equal strain from tower to
tower. Now you know that on a sunny day a bar of steel is longer than it is on a cloudy
day, for the metal expands with heat. Consequently, when the sun came out to see
what they were doing at Brooklyn, the wires upon which it shone became longer than
those in the shadow behind them. Of course, in a short distance this would not be
noticeable, but it made such a difference in the work we are describing, that the
strength of the cable would have been greatly lessened had the strands been bound
together in the sunshine, while some of the wires were slack, and some were tight.
Even the wind interfered sadly; but by choosing dull, still days, when all the wires
were subjected to the same temperature, they were at last successfully bound together.
Notwithstanding the perilous nature of this cable-weaving, it was attended by only one
serious accident, and that was when one of the 'skeins' broke loose from the New York
shore, and, leaping like the lash of a giant whip over the tower top, plunged into the
river below. It narrowly missed the ferry-boats and other craft.
The effect of the temperature on such vast quantities of metal is shown in many ways.
By shortening and lengthening the cables, it heightens and lowers the bridge, which is
consequently slightly higher above the river in winter than it is in summer. At the
tower-tops the cables rest on huge iron saddles, which are placed upon forty steel
rollers, so that the cables may move more freely in expanding and contracting. Again,
the bridge itself is not made in one piece, but is severed half-way across and provided
with a sliding joint, so that all shall act obediently to the dictates of the ever-changing

weather.
Thus you see there is more in building a bridge than appears to those who do not
remember that a knowledge of nature's laws must guide the architect's hand when he
is drawing his plans, and govern the engineer's tools when he is carrying those plans
into effect.
JOHN LEA.

THE LAST TIME.
'You might do it for me, just this once, Barton,' said Lopes in a tone of anxiety not
often heard from a schoolboy. 'Your father is a rich man, and you can always get all
the money you want from him, and if you will only lend me this, I will never borrow
from you again. Do ask for the money at once!'
Barton looked much perplexed at this appeal, but he answered firmly: 'I can't do it, old
fellow! I have given my word to my father never to be mixed[Pg 3] up in any betting
transaction, and I cannot ask him for money to go to a bookmaker.'
'Then I'm ruined!' said Lopes, passionately, 'and much you care, though you and I
have been chums together ever since we first entered the school!' and in his despair he
clenched his fist and seemed almost as if he were going to strike his friend.
Barton put up his arm to shield himself as he said in a low voice, 'Look out, Lopes;
don't shout so! we don't want all the kids to know about this matter;' for just at this
moment a trio of merry lads came round the corner of the Fives Court, whooping and
shouting at the top of their voices. 'Come to the garden; we shall be quiet there, and
can talk over matters, and see what can be done;' and Barton closed the book he had
been studying and led the way to the nut-walk which was sacred to the Sixth Form.
Lopes followed gloomily. 'It's no good talking, if you won't help me,' he said as they
reached the quiet path.
'But I want to help you,' said Barton, 'and I think I see a way out of this scrape.'
'Oh, do you?' said Lopes eagerly. 'If only I could pay off this man and have done with
him, I would never bet again. I see now what a silly fool I have been. Tell me your
plan, Barton.'

'Go and tell Mr. Arundel all about it. I don't believe bookmakers have any right to
tempt boys like us to lay money on horses, and—— '
'Mr. Arundel! one of the masters! He would go and tell the Head straight off, and I
should be expelled,' said Lopes bitterly. 'I thought you had some better plan than that!'
'Mr. Arundel is a gentleman,' said Barton quietly, 'and what you tell him in confidence
will go no further, you may be sure of that; I believe he could help you.'
'I wish I could think so,' sighed Lopes. 'I can think of nothing, and settle to nothing
with this debt on my mind.'
'Go to Mr. Arundel,' urged Barton. 'I know you will not regret it.'
'Well, I will,' at last said Lopes. 'I will go at once before my courage fails me.'
'I will come with you,' said Barton, taking his friend's arm.
'You are a good chap, Barton; you don't desert a fellow when he is down!' said Lopes
gratefully. 'I wish I had taken your advice at first, and thrown the bookmaker's letter
on the fire.'

There is no space here to tell of all Mr. Arundel said and did to help Lopes out of his
ugly betting scrape. Though the master did not fail to show Lopes how wrongly he
had acted, he had a real pity for the boy who had been so tempted by the bookmaker's
letter, and he determined to let that gentleman know what he knew of him.
So a very strong letter was sent off by Mr. Arundel, telling the man that unless he
released the schoolboy from all his so-called debts, he would have him publicly shown
up and prosecuted for dealing with a minor.[Pg 4]
"In
his despair he clenched his fist."
By return of post came the desired release from the bookmaker, and Mr. Arundel
handed it to the boy with a pleasant smile. 'You are free, Lopes; you will hear no more
of this man, I can promise you, and you must promise me never to bet again.'
'I will—I do, sir! and thank you most deeply,' said Lopes earnestly. If this had reached
my[Pg 5] father's ears, it would have broken his heart. Oh, thank you so very much!
You do not know how miserable I have been.'

Lopes kept his word, and that bet was his last one. He had learnt that honesty and
straightforwardness get rid of any difficulties.[Pg 6]

"'Who's that
that dares to serve me so?'"
NO HARM MEANT.

WO puppies with good-natured hearts, but clumsy little toes,
Were feeling rather sleepy, so they settled for a doze;
But underneath the very ledge on which they chanced to be,
A large and stately pussy cat was basking dreamily.
A short half-hour had hardly passed, when one pup made a stir,
And stretching out a lazy paw, just touched the tabby's fur;
'Twas nothing but an accident, yet, oh! the angry wail!
The flashing in the tabby's eye, the lashing of her tail!
'Who's that that dares to serve me so?' she cried with arching back.
'I'll teach you puppies how to make an unprovoked attack!'
One puppy started to his feet with terror in his eyes,
The other said, as soon as pluck had overcome surprise:
'I'm really very sorry, ma'am, but honestly declare
I hadn't any notion that a pussy cat was there.'
But just like those who look for wrong in every one they see,
She left the spot, nor deigned to take the pup's apology.

HOW MANY?
The Spartan King Agis was asked shortly before a battle: 'How many soldiers can you
bring into the field?'
'As many as will suffice to rout the enemy!' was the Spartan's curt reply.

THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.

By MRS. MULLIKEN.
CHAPTER I.
'You don't think they will come to any harm?' said the young governess.
When Miss Leigh spoke in that plaintive tone, Lady Coke knew that she was tired out
with the noise and wilfulness of her young pupils, and that a 'row,' as Alan called it,
was likely to follow.
'No,' said Lady Coke, smiling; 'they are accustomed to the management of the boat,
and Thomas shall go with them. He knows the coast well, and is a first-class boatman.'
Her nephew, Colonel De Bohun, laughed. 'He is A.1. at his oar, but very deficient as a
gardener,' he said. 'Your kindness in keeping him, my dear aunt, is a marvel to us all.'
'His mother is very poor,' returned Lady Coke, with a sigh. 'I wish he were a better son
to her. He is her great trouble, I fear.'
'And yet you are not afraid to trust the children with him,' murmured Miss Leigh, in
surprise.
'He is quite to be trusted on the water!' replied Lady Coke, with some decision.
'Children must have something to do to carry off their extra energy, and—— '
'"A boy is the most difficult to manage of all wild beasts!" So, at all events, an old
writer tells us,' said the Colonel, with a smile. 'I am afraid, Miss Leigh, you find the
girls are not much better. You ought to be glad to get rid of our noisy pack of
youngsters for an hour or two.'
'Oh, if you are not afraid,' began Miss Leigh, in an injured tone.
She considered that her anxiety on behalf of her pupils was not being properly
appreciated, and felt hurt. But further conversation was cut short by the boisterous
rush of four children round the corner of the shubbery.
'Thomas can come!' shouted the eldest boy, who was racing ahead of the noisy party.
'I just managed to catch him as he was sneaking off up the Wilderness.'
'What?' exclaimed the Colonel, surprised.
'Sneaking off!' repeated Lady Coke. 'Alan, what a way of speaking! What do you
mean?'
'He ran away as soon as he saw we wanted him,' said Georgie. 'He tried to hide in the

bushes, and I am sure he did not want us to see him.'
'He was sneaking off. We could all tell that,' added Marjorie, a tall, handsome girl of
thirteen. 'But what does it matter? If he can come with us now, it is no business of
ours what he was doing.'
Meanwhile, Estelle, a small, slender child of eleven, who looked much younger, was
clinging to her great-aunt's hand, and murmuring continually, 'Are we going, Auntie? I
do so want to go on the sea!'
'Here is Thomas,' said Colonel De Bohun, as the young gardener came towards the
group, with a sulky expression on his red face.
'I want you to take the children out in the boat, Thomas,' said Lady Coke. 'I hope you
are not particularly busy this afternoon?'
'I am at your service, my lady,' he replied. 'I will get—— '
'I will help you!' cried Alan, eagerly. 'We will have the boat ready in a jiffy.'
With an awkward touch of his cap, Thomas moved off, his sulky face revealing the
wrath which was surging within. But no one was looking at him, nor was a second
thought given to Alan's laughing assertion that he had been seen 'sneaking off up the
Wilderness.' The wild joy of the children, and the many cautions as to their behaviour
when on the water, which their elders impressed upon them, together with the
preparations for the trip, made them all forget Thomas's queer manner. They were
destined, however, before long, to remember it for many a day.
Colonel De Bohun made Alan fetch some cushions, that the boat might be made more
comfortable for his cousin and his sister, and Lady Coke, drawing Marjorie aside,
begged her to look well after Estelle, who was not so used to boating as she and her
brothers were, and might endanger the safety of the young party by some sudden
movement. Marjorie was to remember how easily a boat was upset.
Estelle had never till now lived near the sea-coast. Her life had been spent in the
Highlands of Scotland, at her father's old castle, Lynwood Keep. Her uncle, Colonel
De Bohun, had often begged the Earl of Lynwood to allow her to spend her holidays
with her cousins, but the Earl could not bear to part with his little girl even for so short
a time. Instead, he gladly welcomed the little cousins to Lynwood Keep, where Estelle

was allowed to do everything she desired for their pleasure and entertainment.
The great sorrow of his life, the loss of his young wife when Estelle was five years
old, had changed him completely. From being a cheerful, open-hearted, open-handed
man, he had become silent and reserved, seldom seeing anybody, and keeping aloof
even from his brother's children when they paid their yearly visit to Estelle, and the
delights of her Highland home.
To only one person did he unbend. Estelle had become all in all to him. He felt he
could not do enough for her. He must be both father and mother to the little
motherless child, and to him she must look for everything. Except when she was at her
lessons, he loved to have her with him, and wherever he went, on visits to his tenants,
or walking over the property, she was always his little shadow, as well known and
beloved as he. In the evenings they would sit together, talking over their uneventful
day, or recalling that memory of wife and mother which was so sacred and so tender
to them both, and which Lord Lynwood desired should never fade from his little girl's
mind.
Such a life was by no means a healthy one for Estelle, as Lord Lynwood's aunt, Lady
Coke, discovered during her visits to Lynwood Keep. She noticed how sensitive and
excitable Estelle was growing. If Lord Lynwood came down in the morning looking
worn and depressed, Estelle would watch him for a few minutes, and unconsciously
put on the same look. Slipping her hand into his, and gazing up into his face with
sympathetic eyes, she only increased his gloom; Lady Coke saw it, and felt sorry for
them both. Any other child would have been spoilt by the indulgence which gratified
every wish, but Estelle's gentleness and her great desire to be to her father all that her
mother had been, prevented her from being either selfish or naughty.
She was not a strong child, and the accounts of her health and spirits which her
governess, Mademoiselle Vadevant, gave Lady Coke, did not satisfy that dear old
lady. She did not like to hear that Estelle was apt to cry on the slightest excuse; that
she had no energy, no appetite; that she was listless in her play, never happy except
when with her father, and soon grew tired with the least exertion. Every breath of
wind appeared to give her a cold, and she slept badly. Lady Coke said little, but she

thought deeply about all she heard and saw.
A few weeks after this visit of Lady Coke's, Lord Lynwood, to his great surprise,
received a letter from a very influential quarter; his past services to the State were
spoken of in the most flattering manner, and he was urged to accept office again. An
appointment to the Court of Austria was offered to him in terms which made
refusal[Pg 7] almost impossible. Lady Coke was delighted when he showed her the
letter, and warmly begged him not to throw away what had been offered to him in
such a kindly spirit. She did not betray her own handiwork in the offer.
'It is the best thing that could have happened!' she exclaimed, smiling and pleased.
'The very best thing for you and Estelle.'
'Best for the child?' he repeated, blankly.
'Yes, even for Estelle,' replied his aunt, with decision. 'She ought to have many things
which you cannot give her, with all your love; her mother would have understood. She
must live in a warmer, sunnier climate. She ought to have the companionship of other
children; some one to play with, and some one to work with as well as play.'
'Ah!' said the Earl, feeling as if a trap had been sprung upon him. 'And where is she to
have all this?'
'Let her live with me,' replied Lady Coke, smiling. 'Her cousins are quite close, and
she will be with them every day. I am sure you will soon see how greatly this plan will
benefit the dear child, and will not grudge what will do her good.'
'I should not mind so much leaving her if she were with you,' admitted the Earl, after a
long pause. 'But are you sure it will not be too much for you, dear aunt, to have so
young a child with you always? Will she not tire you?'
'You little know how young I am still,' she interrupted with a merry laugh. 'I love the
child, and you could not give me greater pleasure than by leaving her with me.'
The more the plan was talked over the more pleasant and possible it became, and
when the Earl saw Estelle's delight on hearing that she was to share in Marjorie's
lessons, and have her cousins to play with every day, he became reconciled to the
parting with his little girl.
But when the day came for saying good-bye he almost repented. Estelle cried and

clung to him till Lady Coke and Mademoiselle had great trouble in getting her away.
They hurried her up to her room, where Mademoiselle gave her brilliant descriptions
of how busy her father was going to be, and how happy she would be in his absence
with her cousins. She would grow up to be a comfort to him, and must do all she
could that he might not be disappointed in her on his return.
Then came the bustle of preparation for her own journey, and the excitement of her
arrival at the Moat House. All three cousins were there to greet her, and she was
welcomed with so many kisses, and such a chorus of delight, that for the moment
everything else was forgotten. Each of the cousins had his or her favourite pet, or
particular spot in the garden to show her, and Estelle felt herself at home at once.
Lady Coke's plan had worked well. The joy of the children, their perfect contentment
when together, and Estelle's improved health and spirits were proof enough. The
gardens of the two houses, which joined, the woods, the rocks, the sea, were more
than enough to keep them all happy and occupied; and to Estelle was added the keen
pleasure of an only child to whom everything was new.
(Continued on page 10.)[Pg 8]
"Thomas moved off."
[Pg 9]

"Marjorie distinctly saw a man's figure."
[Pg 10]
THE GIANT OF THE TREASURE CAVES.
(Continued from page 7.)
An afternoon to be spent in rowing along that grand coast, in scrambling among the
rocks, or visiting the numerous caves, was to Estelle the height of delight. As the boat
pushed off from the sandy beach, and Thomas swung himself into the stern, she gazed
about her in silent but deep enjoyment.
The sea was as smooth as glass. The sun shone clear and hot. The white sails of
distant boats dotted the horizon. Beautiful as was the sea itself, however, her whole
attention was given to the frowning cliffs which towered up in great headlands and

boulders. Hovering about every ledge, or over the surface of the water, were white-
winged gulls, diving or preening their feathers in the warm sunshine. Masses of
jagged rocks stretched far out from land, making a wide sweep necessary in order to
get round the Point. Steering was Marjorie's special duty, and long practice had made
her very skilful in avoiding dangerous spots, and tacking against cross-currents. She it
was, too, who begged Estelle not to jump about in the boat, and so imperil the lives of
the party by her delight in the new world about her.
'Ripping, isn't it?' said Alan, joining in Marjorie's laugh at their little cousin's
restlessness.
'Oh, it's lovely!' cried Estelle, eagerly. 'But, look, Alan! What is that dark patch in the
cliff?'
'Oh, that isn't anything!' he returned. 'You will soon see a far bigger hole in the cliff
than that. There are heaps of caves about here; some quite shallow like that one; others
very deep and high and dark, and some—— '
'Some to which we have never been able to find the way,' interrupted Marjorie, as
Alan hesitated. 'I know there used to be—— '
'Thomas,' said Alan, also interrupting, as he looked over his shoulder at the man
behind him, 'do you know the way from the cliff into the Smuggler's Bay?'
'What makes you think that, sir?' asked the man, sullenly.
'You were a fisherman once, weren't you? At all events you went out with the fishing
fleet as a boy,' said Marjorie, 'and Aunt Betty says you know the coast better than
anybody.'
'And did you smuggle once?' demanded Georgie, looking up from the preparation of a
bent pin for some attempts at fishing.
Thomas gave a hoarse laugh. 'What I know, I know,' he said, mysteriously. 'It isn't fit,
and my lady would not like it, if I was to tell you all I know.'
'That means you know a great deal,' exclaimed Alan, triumphantly. 'Now I am sure of
what I only guessed before. There is a way down, and I will find it out somehow
without you telling me a word.'
Thomas's face reddened with anger at his meaning being caught up so quickly, but

before he could reply Marjorie broke in.
'Tell me when to turn in,' she said, as they left the shelter of the headland, and the cool
briny air fanned their cheeks.
The water was rougher, and the little boat danced upon the swell as they rounded the
outlying rocks. Estelle was on the look-out for dangers, but Marjorie understood her
business too well, and they glided along without even grazing a single jagged point.
The gulls, startled from their perch on the heights by the approach of the boat, rose,
flapping and shrieking. It seemed as if hundreds were circling about the rocks, only to
settle down again as the little skiff drew away from them into the bay.
Estelle's quick eyes saw the great gap in the cliffs as they came nearer to the shore. It
was forty or fifty feet above the beach, and from it a small stream of water flowed in a
thin shower.
'That is the place Alan spoke of,' said Marjorie, as her cousin pointed to it. 'There are
all sorts of stories about it, but I don't believe anybody knows much. Some say there
used to be a passage to it from our old ruined summer-house, and smugglers were
hauled up, and their treasure too, and nobody could find out what became of them.'
'It seems a tremendous height,' said Estelle, in a tone of awe.
'It was only used at high tide,' said Alan. 'There were the caves down below when the
water was out. But here we are,' he added, as Thomas ran the boat up the beach.
'Come along, and I will show you the only cave worth looking at.'
The children were out of the boat in a moment, Georgie alone remaining behind the
others to 'lend a hand,' as he called it, though hindering rather than helping Thomas to
pull the boat out of reach of the tide.
'I can't think, Alan,' said Marjorie, when they had gone some way up the beach, 'how
you could give yourself away to Thomas so.'
'What do you mean?' asked Alan, flushing, and inclined to be angry.
'About the path, of course. If there is one, and if he really believes that you intend to
hunt for it, he is as likely as not to put all the hindrances he can in your way.'
'Why should he?'
'I don't know, but there was something in his face that made me think he had some

secret, and a reason for keeping it. Let us make our own discoveries without—— '
'You will have just about a hour, perhaps a little less, before we must start back again,
Miss,' said the voice of Thomas behind them.
Alan and Marjorie turned quickly. How much had he heard? He had evidently
followed them, and Alan could not believe that it was merely to give a piece of quite
unnecessary information, for they were within calling distance anywhere in that small
bay.
'Are you not going to stay with us all the time?' he exclaimed, in a tone that showed a
little annoyance.
'No, sir,' returned the man, with a wily smile, which somehow increased Alan's anger.
'I thought I would sit inside the cave a bit. It's hot in the sun.'
It sounded reasonable enough, and there was nothing to say against his doing as he
wished, but both the elder children somehow distrusted him.
They were at the entrance of the cave by this time, and their attention was drawn away
from the gardener by Estelle's fear of the gloomy shadows which loomed upon them
as they entered. There was not much to see, and before long they came upon masses of
broken rock and stones, up which Alan insisted on dragging Estelle, while Marjorie
helped Georgie. At the top the cave narrowed into little more than a moderate-sized
passage, but here it was so dark that progress was not easy. Estelle became frightened,
and Georgie begged for a return to daylight. But this did not suit Alan at all.
'Stop a bit,' he said, striking a match. 'You sit here, you two, while Marjorie and I light
up.'
He brought a piece of magnesium wire out of his pocket, and for a few moments the
dazzling flame lighted up the cave till every corner stood out clear. Georgie was
delighted, and Estelle wished it could always remain alight. Marjorie laughed at the
remark, but the laugh died away in her throat the next moment; as the second bit of
wire was flaming she distinctly saw a man's figure disappear behind a rock. A sudden
terror seized upon her, making her feel she could not remain a moment longer in the
cave. She had not seen enough to be certain whether it was Thomas or not, and the
uncertainty startled her.

'We've been here long enough, Alan,' she said, hurriedly.
'Do try and give us some light while I get Georgie down the slope. Can you manage
for yourself, Estelle?'
'What's the matter?' whispered Alan, as they reached the entrance to the cave once
more. 'You know I have been round every bit of those rocks at the end of the cave,' he
went on, after hearing all that Marjorie had to tell him, 'and not an opening did I find. I
am sure Father had every passage closed, and unless Thomas has discovered where
they were, and reopened them, what you saw must have been fancy. What could
Thomas want here? There is no smuggling now.'
Meantime, Estelle and Georgie, glad to get once more into the daylight, were racing
each other over the sands and into the numerous clefts in the cliffs, with shouts of
laughter. Suddenly Estelle stopped, panting.
'It tires me so to run,' she said, with a little laugh of shame at her weakness. 'Shall we
get the spades out of the boat and dig instead?'
Georgie readily agreed, and saying he would fetch them, set off down the slope.
Estelle threw herself down on the soft sand, intending to rest till Georgie returned. All
was very quiet and still in the bay; the gentle lapping of the waves as the tide rose was
the only sound. As she glanced round her at the gulls and then towards the cave,
where Alan and Marjorie still lingered, she became aware that the tide was coming in,
and that Thomas was nowhere visible. She was always timid, and a real terror seized
her now. With a frightened glance to see how near the boat was to the water, she
sprang[Pg 11] up and rushed over to where her cousins were standing.
'Alan! Marjorie!' she cried. 'See how high the sea is getting! Isn't it time to go back?
Where is Thomas?'
In another minute that question was exciting all the children. They called to him, they
searched the caves as well as it was possible for them to do, but Thomas was not to be
found, nor was there any answer to their shouts.
(Continued on page 22.)

A SEASONABLE ANSWER.

A seasonable answer was given by the minister Cyneas to the ambitious Pyrrhus, King
of Epirus, when that great conqueror began to speak of his designs (B.C. 280).
'Well,' said Cyneas, 'when thou has vanquished the Romans, what wilt thou then do?'
'I will then,' said Pyrrhus, 'sail over to Sicily.'
'And what wilt thou do when that is won?'
'Then we will subdue Africa.'
'Well, when that is effected, what wilt thou then do?' asked Cyneas.
'Why, then,' said Pyrrhus, 'we will sit down and spend the rest of our time merrily and
contentedly.'
'And what hinders thee,' said Cyneas, 'that without all this labour and peril thou canst
not now do so beforehand?'

PEEPS INTO NATURE'S NURSERIES.
I.—THE LIFE-HISTORY OF THE COMMON FROG.
How is it that people as a rule have such a dislike for frogs? Many people, even those
who live in the country, credit them with the power of spitting poison, and even those
who do not share this belief, regard them as creatures to be shunned. Perhaps this
short outline of the life-history of these poor creatures, so unjustly 'sent to Coventry,'
may gain for them at least a favourable hearing. Frogs make most charming pets, and I
am never without a few on my study table. From their lives these facts are taken.
Let us begin from the very beginning—the hatching out of the eggs. Frogs' eggs and
birds' eggs are really not so unlike as they seem at first sight, for though the frog's
eggs have no shell, yet, just as in the bird's egg, there are two essential parts to be
distinguished—the formative material out of which the young frog grows and the yolk
on which the growing animal feeds. By the untrained eye nothing more can be seen in
the frog's egg than a small black ball enclosed within a clear jelly-like substance. At
the time the egg is laid this outer jelly is hardly noticeable, but it soon swells up, and
thus forms a soft, elastic covering to the growing frog, effectually protecting it from
injury. This black ball, by the way, answers to the yellow yolk of the hen's egg: it
differs from the yellow yolk in that it is colourless internally, and black externally.

The black outside coat apparently serves to attract the heat of the sun,[Pg 12] and
thereby to bring about the hatching process, which the hen does by the warmth of her
own body.
Fig. 1.—A to G: Stages in the growth of the Tadpole, greatly magnified.
These eggs are furthermore remarkable in that they are laid, not one by one, as a hen
lays, but in thousands, and in water, forming an enormous speckled mass. Take a
portion of such a mass and watch it. Day by day you will see the black spot gradually
assume a distinct shape (fig. 1, A): a little later a head and tail can be made out.
Fig. 2.—Mouth of Tadpole,
greatly magnified.
Fig. 3.—Gill of Tadpole,
greatly magnified.
In a few hours more little black buds grow out on each side of the head, and these
soon become branched. They are the future gills. At this time you will notice slight
movements within this glassy cradle; and soon after this the young frog, or tadpole, as
we must call him now, escapes; that is to say, as soon as he leaves his cradle he
becomes a tadpole. At first he does nothing but hang on to bits of weed, or the broken
remains of the covering of the egg, by a sticky substance formed by a special pair of
suckers placed just behind the mouth, as shown in our illustration (fig. 2).
Soon signs of life become apparent in the shape of a slow curving of the body from
side to side. In a very short time, however, these movements increase so rapidly that
the tail can hardly be seen, and at last, in one of these violent wriggles he finds
himself actually swimming! During all this time he has swallowed no food, but has
lived on the remains of the egg within him; swallowing, indeed, has been out of the
question, for as yet his mouth is sealed! But now, at last, the little jaws are unlocked,
and he begins to eat ravenously, at first delicate green weed, and later, flesh, when it is
to be had. I give my tadpoles small pieces of beef, but in the ditches where they
swarm, animal matter is to be had in plenty as a rule.
The mouth at this time is a very different structure from that which is found in the
adult frog: it is fringed by a pair of broad fleshy lips armed with rows of tiny horny

teeth—a curious place for teeth; the mouth itself is furnished with a pair of teeth—also
horny—resembling the beak of a parrot.