Young folks paper : v. 23, no. 670 : including Black Arrow

              114
YOTJNO
remove the too visible down from his , It
was not to despoil him the stranger had >. out to
add to the contents of the valisa a parcel iKue up in
brown paper. Then the valise was again locked, the
key restored to the toilet table; and after the keen
eyes had given one swift glance at the unconacious
sleeper, the intruder stepped outside the window,
fastening it with a glittering instrument inserted
between the sashes, and then, like a bird of ill
omen, the figure ascended slowly, the rope itself
followed, and the moonlight streamed in uninterruptedly, while Zedekiah Crawford slept on, all unconscious of the shadow which had crept into hi3
hitherto untroubled life with the entrance of that
shadowy visitor.
CHAPTER V.
VASOO  MAKES  A BOLD  ASSERTION.
Breakfast was over at the vicarage—a homely family
meal, to which even the twins were admitted; for the
vicar and his wife were homely, sensible peop'e, and
had not forgotten the pinching of their early life,
when Mr. Prettyman was only curate to the former
vicar. Mrs. Prettyman herself was the daughter of a
baronet, and yet she made one of the best manager
and best wivea possible to find. She married for love
of the genuine kind, and went in cheerfully for helping her husband instead of encumbering him. Thanks
were returned for the meal; Jessie and Geoffrey
clambered down from their high chairs, and rushed
to "the window to see if the weather permitted of their
usual run in the garden before mamma gave them
lessons. Polly poured warm water in a basin, and
very carefully washed up the silver spoors and butter-
knife before placing them iu the sideboard drawer,
while Mr. and Mrs. Prettyman listened to Dudley
giving an amusing account of the strange boy from
America.
" I wonder how Misa Crawford will put up with
him," said Mra. Prettyman, when he concluded.
" I'm afraid hia stay will be a short one at the Manor
House."
"I am rather disposed to like the boy," remarked
the vicar. "I knew hia father well at college. He
was an honest, gentlemanly fellow—in the true sense
of the word, I mean, Dudley," he said, looking at hia
son. " I hope you will try and be friendly with him.
No wonder he thought little of his reception. I had
no idea Lilian would be so foolish."
"That Hindoo nurse has filled her mind with fooiish
fancies," remarked Mrs. Prettyman.
" Our Polly fancy, too, mamma," said Jesaie,
looking round from the window.
" Polly does," said Geoffrey, nodding sagaciously,
and quite blind to his sister's crimson cheeks and imploring looks, or the grimace made by Arthur.
" How does Polly fancy?" asked Mrs. Prettyman,
smiling and looking at the twins.
The boy hesitated, noting the look on his brother's
face and Polly's-ftaming cheeks; but Jessie, girl like,
went on with tho details.
" Polly eat up a fishy, ebery bit, bones and tail.
We was sleepin' when she corned in."
" Yes, we was sleepin', she thought, but I wakened
up and woke Jessie," chimed In Geoffrey, once the
story was fairly started, eager to put in his word.
" And she never gived mo a bit when I asked
her."
" Not a bit, an' we was hungry," added Geoffrey.
" I really think you must be dreaming, children,"
said Mrs. Prettyman, looking at Polly.
" No, we's not; for Dud came in and shouted out
about that boy he called Zed "	
" 'Kiah, dat's it," put in Jessie. " An' Polly Said
she dreamt about him at mornin', an' wondered if
she'd be him wife."
" And we's had to wait for water to wash in," said
Geoffrey, complainingly, "for Polly drinked all the
jugful up."
" She said the fishy inside was firsty," added Jessie,
laughing.
No one could resist the infection of that laugh—
even the vicar himaelf joinedun; and in the midst of
the fun the door opened, and the housemaid informed
the vicar that old Jemmy Muggeridge wanted to
speak with him.
Mr. Prettyman went out ti> meet the sexton in
the room called his study, while Mrs. Prettyman
questioned Polly.
" I only ate a fish, mamma. Mrs. Macdonald said
if I'd eat one before going to bed I should dream of
my future husband."
Polly blushed painfully as she made this confession,
while Dudley and Arthur went about the room uneasily, hoping she would not betray the secret.
"I sutpose it ia an old Scotch superstition," said
Mrs. Prettyman. "To think of you being so silly
as to eat a whole red herring ! it was enough to kill
you. And, by the way, you had-a dream, too. Let me
near it;" and as she said this the lady smiled.
" I only thought I heard Dudley ahouting in my
ear, ' Get up, Polly; Zedekiah Crawford wants you.'
I suppose it was because he spoke of him to me the
last thing before I slept."
" Of course. Above all things, Polly, avoid super-
stition; it shows an extremely uneducated mind. The
lower the race, the more full of superstition "	
Jessie and Geoffrey here became impatient to get
out, and Mrs. Prettyman opened the French window
and charged them to avoid the damp grass, and run
only on the paths.
Polly gladly made her escape from the room, satisfied that her mother had not asked where she
got the herring, but had taken it for granted that it
came out of their own kitchen.
Dudley and Arthur collected their books, strapped
them together, and aaid good morning to their mother
previous to setting out for Raby Hall—a celebrated
school for young gentlemen, about two miles distant
from the vicarage. They were about to open the hall
door just as Jemmy Muggeridge came from the study,
followed by the vicar.
" It ain't no nonsense, sir. I'll take my oath o' it
on the book."
" It ia remarkable what people can see," said tho
vicar, smiling good-naturedly, " particularly when
they have a bilious attack. You were drinking aome
of that herb beer you brew yourself, I daresay."
" Well, yes, sir, I did hev a swill o' it. But
it's mortial wholesome, sir, an' cleansin' for the
stomach."
" I'll be with you part of the way, boys," said the
vicar to his two sons, who lingered at the door, as
Jemmy assisted him on with hia long overcoat, and
he donned his soft felt hat. "No doubt, if there.
were a pair of ghosts, as you say," he said to Jepimy,
" some one else has seen them.   I'll make inquiries."
" They might an', they mightn't, sir," said Jemmy,
as together they left the hall door.
" I think it was you I saw last night coming out of
sthe Jolly Farmer, Jemmy," said Dudley; " it was
clear moonlight, and you carried a lamp all the
same."
The vicar smiled.
" It was me, Master Dudley ; an' if you mean to
say I was the worse o' drink you've made a mistake,
that's all. It was before that I saw the first o' the
ghosts."
" Why, how many did you see?" asked Arthur.
"First he saw two in his own house," replied the
vicar, still smiling. " Then it seems he couldn't
sleep after leaving the hostelry, so ho and hia two
friends visited the cottage first—when you saw them,
no doubt—and then turned out and walked all the way
to Raby Hall, still keeping the lantern alight to find
more ghosts, if possible; and it seems they met
another one, dresaed in sbme grey garments. It
glided past- them, Jemmy can swear, without ever
touching the gi*ound.    He saya it had no feet."
" No more it had, sir."
The boys were'delighted. This waa the first offspring of their trick, and the credulity of the villagers
promised them no end of amusement.
" I'll drop in and have a talk with you when I come
back, Jemmy," said the vicar, as they passed the old
man's cottage.    " I have a few visits to make."
" Very well, sir. You'll not fin' any trace o' the
ghosts."
"I believe the old fellow has been the worse for
drink, boys," said Mr. Prettyman, as he crossed the
village green with hia sons. " I'm about to call on
the landlord and learn what state Jemmy was in when
he got there. Afterwards, I have little doubt but he
was as nearly drunk as a man can be to keep his feet.
I am very sorry, for I thought he had quite given up
his bad habita."
The vicar turned into the hoatelry, and his sons
hastened on to school.
"I wonder if Zedekiah Crawford will como this
morning?" asked Arty. He was anxious to see the
stranger.
" I don't think it's at all likely," replied Dudley.
" He'll want to have a rest after his journey first.
But wasn't it good—Lily walking all the way, and
hearing no name till she heard his?"
" Yes; and our Polly dreaming about him, too! It's
all nonsense, for he can't marry them both."
" Of course it's nonsense. Girls are always full of
that. He doesn't think much of Lily, anyhow," said
Dudley, meditatively.
" He'll soon grow to like her, then," affirmed Arty,
confidently, " for no one could help it."
The elder brother made no reply to this, but fell
into a train of thought, and only answered Arty's
remarks in monosyllables.
They were passing the private way leading up to
the Manor House, when some one rushing down in
hot haste almost upset Dudley. He came to a sudden
pause.
" I beg your pardon, sir, but we're all in a muddle
at the 'ouse, and I'm a-goin* to fetch your par."
" What'a wrong, Dick?" asked both boys, eagerly.
" Mrs. Macdonald she sent me, an' says she, ' Run
for your life an' fetch the vicar. A robbery's been
done, and the innercent's a-sufferin' for the guilty.' "
"la that all you know about it?" said Dudley.
" Then I advise you to run. You'll be likely to find
the vicar at your father's cottage. He saw ghosts
last night, too.    It has been a curious night."
" That it have, Maister Dudley. An' father saw
ghosts?    Well, I'm Mowed !"
And with these words he set off down the hill
towards the village at a breakneck pace, while the
two boys went very reluctantly to school, for they
were eager to learn what robbery could have taken
place at the Manor House.
. Being day boarders, some hours would elapse before
their curiosity could be gratified. They pleased them-
aelvea, however, by fancying all sorts of improbabilities till they reached school and set to work in
earnest.
It waa rather later than usual when the family met
at the breakfast-table in tho Manor House. Fch
once Misa Crawford waive 1 her punctuality, and sat
talking with Lily and waiting for her nephew. Ho
was no doubt tired after hia journey, and the clang
of the breakfast-bell would be sure to awake him.
She was mistaken, however, for it was a gentle
knock at the door, and the friendly butler's voice,
which first aroused tho weary boy. Then he hurried
with his toilet and presented himself in the breakfast-
room.
"Only fifteen minutes late, after all," said Miss
Crawford, amiably, as she aeated heraelf at table and
Lily rang the bell.    " I hope you slept well."
" I slept better than I have done since I left home,"
said Zedekiah, modestly.
He was looking earnestly at Lily. Somehow, he
thought to himself, she was a very different girl this
morning; certainly not at all rude, but quiet and
ladylike.
" I suppose there is something in this house being
your papa's home," remarked Lily, gravely. " Vasoo
says no one is ever perfectly contented till they reach
their real home—that, is, the home of the greatest man
or woman of their race."
" Vasoo talks -a great lot of dreamy, fanciful
nonsense," said Miss Crawford, as sho poured out
the coffee.
" I guess it would puzzle her to tell which had most
great people among them, my mother's family or my
father's. I suppose whichever aide had the greatest
man or woman among them would be the one I'd feel
moat at home with."
" It wouldn't puzzle Vasoo to tell you or any one.
She would judge by whichever parent you resemble
moat; and aunt says you are like your father, so that
accounts for your feeling at home here."
" There ia something, perhaps, in such feelings we
cannot understand," said practical Miss Crawford,
"and I don't care to fancy."
"I like plain, open sailing, too," said Zedekiah.
"And that yellow woman's an odd fish. I caught
her looking at me as if she could stab me with her
eyes. You remember, when I followed you in from
the verandah, Lily."
Lily started slightly on hearing her American
cousin pronounce her name ; but she replied :
" That is Vasoo's manner with strang'ers. She is
suspicious of every one except those ahe knows well;
but she is good—very good, indeed. I hope you may
come to like her some day as I do."
"I think she is a harmless woman," said Miss
Crawford, "so far as a heathen can be harmless;
but, indeed, I never felt a8 if I cared for her being
under the same roof with me. Lily, however, ia ao
fond of her, and my poor brother made a point that
she should be kept here, so here she is, and is likely
to remain all her days."
" I hope so, auut," said Lily, earnestly.
"By the way, Lily, which family are you most
like?" asked Zedekiah. "Not the Crawi'orJs, I
calculate."
" No, unfortunately, she is not," said Miss Crawford, coldly, for this was a sore point with her. •
Lily's cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled as she
replied, proudly:
" I am like, very like, my mother, Vasoo says ; and
she was a princess—only daughter to a rajah.''
Zedekiah smiled as he replied, carelessly:
"•Better try to be a respectable English girl, and
cut connection with the heathens ; they'ro a bad lot.
Look at the Indian Mutiny, and what thoy did upon
English women and children."
" No doubt; but look what the English did in
India—a country civilized when English people wero
naked savages," said Lilian.
[No. 670.
1
" There, there,',' Sily, say no more. I know you
are only talking for sake of argument."
" I like my aunt and ray English home," said Lily,
sweetly. " for I have never known any other."
" And I hope you won't know another "—and Zedekiah looked at her earnestly—"for this is a home
any one might be happy in."
" I like to hear you say that, Zedekiah," said Miss
Crawford, warmly. " You're like your father, open-
hearted and honest, and so like him in the face. I
can fancy almost that I am young again, and poor
Sam before me aa he used to be."
A pang of something like pain shot through the
girl's heart as her aunt spoke : it was not exactly
jealousy, and yet it closely resembled it; and somehow her thoughts turned to tho Hindoo woman whose
devoted affection was altogether her own, and who
would, she felt certain, lay down her life to save her
from trouble.
"I'm proud to think you can put up with a rough
fellow like me, aunt. If only my cousin could be
frienda with me, I should ba happy aa the day's
long ;" and Zedekiah looked towards Lily.
" Of course she is a friend to her cousin," said
Miss Crawford, looking reprovingly at the girl.
" She's honest, and she knows she ain't over and
above fond of me," he said.
Lily laughed.
" Well, not over and above, I suppose ; but I like
you very well for so far ; in time I may get to like
you better."
There was a knock at tho door, and before Miss
Crawford got out the words, " Come in," Smith, the
butler, came forward, exclaiming :
" Ob, miss, she's mad—mad as a March hare,
runnin' all over the 'ouse, talkin' of 'er gibberish.
She says as we're all a set of robbers an' thieves.
I'm blest but 'ere she is !"
So she was, looking like a mid woman ; her black
hair hanging about her face in wild disorder, and her
scarf folded carelessly about her head. Misa Crawford , in alarm, rose to her feet; Lilian went over to the
excited woman to learn what waa the matter, while
Zedekiah looked at her in a cool fashion, secretly
fancying that either she was making believe or had
really gone mad.
No wonder Miss Crawford and the servants were
alarmed, for in all the years of her residence at the
Manor House, Vasoo had never been known to leave
her own suite of apartments.
" It is gone—gone !—and I guarded it night and
day—night and day!" sho exclaimed, wringing her
hands.
"What is gone? Pray speak plainly," said Miss
Crawford.
" If you can," put in Zedekiah, with a smile.
The woman, in her excitement, darted a vengeful
look at him, as she replied :
" I knew it—I knew evil thread ened our house."
She paused; then, as if gathering courage to make
the announcement, ahe exclaimed, in impressive
tones:
" The golden bangles are stolen !"
There was a dead hush for a moment. Lily recoiled
a step from the woman, and turned pale; Misa Crawford looked troubled, and the butler put on an offended
air.
Zedekiah was the first to break the silence. He
laughed; for as he looked at the woman, he could
not help thinking that she was a good actress, and,
like an inspiration, it occurred to him that she had
made away with the article herself; so he said, still
smiling :
"Don't you think you may have overlooked the
things? I guess you have stowed them away too
well, and can't find them now ; but they'll turn up
in time, I'll be bound."
Vasoo seemed as if she had not heard a word ; but,
turning to Miss Crawford, she said, in a commanding
tone:
" I demand that the house be searched—every servant in it and every one. Her fate depends upon it—
even her life."
She spoke the last words in a low, impressive tone.
" The servants are all honest, I feel certain," said
Miss Crawford.
"That they be, miss. Not one on 'em would meddle
with them 'ere heathenish things, not if they was
worth a hundred poun' !" said Smith, triumphantly.
" I feel every confidence in them," went on Miss
Crawford; "but I am sure not one of them will
object to a complete search, if that will satisfy you."
" That is all I ask, madam," said the woman, in a
strangely quiet tone.
" If the bangles affect my fate, or my life even,"
said Lily, her voice trembling with excitement, " I
would not care to have any search made. I am sure
no soul in this house would be mean enough to steal
them."
" Bravo, Lily! You're a brick !" exclaimed Zedekiah.
"And I am sure some one in this house baa stolen
them," said Vasoo, impressively.
[to be continued.]
[This tale commenced in NTn. (J88.   i?f\ok numbers can nlwaya be
had; post free, three-halfpence each.]
EDUCATING ZUXTJS.
An educator of the children of civilized parents is
anded by their desire to know and by their tendency to
imitate. But an educator of savages receives no such
help from hia pupila. They don't want to know, and
they don't care to imitate the white man's way. The
educator is forced, therefore, to descend to the plane
of their simplest physical wants. The following narrative shows how low the educator descends in order
to lift his savage pupils up :
The Rev. William Mellen, who has spent some
time in Zululand, says that it is very hard to instruct
the Zulus, because they want nothing. " They crawl
into their low huts, lie down on a mat with their feet
to the central fire, and sleep with their heads on
blocks. That is their height of happiness, and their
hearts desire nothing more.
"They at first look upon clothes of all kinds as
impediments, and in square houses with several rooms
feel lost and uneasy. We first teach them the benefits of a hat. They feel the heat of the sun upon
their heads, and hold up their shields for shade. A
hat is to them a shield which fits the head.
" I find that if a man wants ono thing and has it
supplied, he straightway wants two or three things
more. Soon our negro wants boots to protect his
feet from the sharp stones, and the wearing of a shirt
reconciles him to the use of light clothing.
" He may be the bearer of a letter from one missionary to another, and he marvels exceedingly that
the man seems to be talking with the paper while it
talks with him. He then wants to know if the paper
enn talk, and how it can do so is explained to him.
He now feels an intellectual want, and ia taught to
read and write.
" We then talk to him of heaven, and he wishes to
know how he can get there. Ho nevor thought of
such a thing before, but he now feels a spiritual
want, and it is supplied."
TO   A   CANARY.
WHEREFORE, birdie, in thy cage,
Such grim warfare dost thou wage
"With the bars, as though in rage
That thou'rt no lonser free ?
Tiny, flntt'ring, foolish thing,
Art thou yearning to take wing,
In thy native clime to sing,
O'er yon pellucid sea ?
Silly, yellow mite, to chafe I
Dost tbon know not when thou'rt safe ?
Wonldst thou ba a homeless waif—
An aimless wami'rer—tree?
Nay ! nay 1    Better far, I think,
Here to stay, with food and drink,
With thy song to forge a link
Of love, 'twixt thee and me !
Thou art like some changeful mind,
Longing to bo nncoufined ;
But, when free, thou yearnst to find
Some home to shelter thee!
Rest in peace, sweet bird, and sing
Summer, Autumri, Winter, Spring,
Making sorrow grim take wing,
When hov'ring over me !
John P. Hareingtok.
THE BLACK ARROW.
A TALE OF TUNSTALL FOREST.
By   CAPTAIN   GEORGE  NORTH,
Author of " Treasure Island," &o.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE  BATTLE  OF  SHOREBY  (CONCLUDED).
^^vV ICK, once more left to hia own counsels,
began to look about him. The arrow-shot
had somewhat slackened. On all sides
the enemy were falling back; and the
greater part of the market-place was now
left empty, the snow here trampled into orange mud,
there splashed with gore, scattered all over with dead
men and horses, and bristling thick with feathered
arrows.
On hia own side the losa had been cruel. The jaw3
of the little atreet and the ruins of the barricade
were heaped with the dead and dying; and out of
the hundred men with wl.om he had begun the battle,
there were not seventy left who could still stand to
arms.
At the same time, the day waa pasaing. The firat
reinforcements might be looked for to arrive at any
moment; and the Lancastrians, already shaken by
the result of their desperate but unsuccessful on-
alaught, were in an ill temper to support a fresh
invader.
There was a dial in the wall of one of the two
flanking housea ; and this, in the frosty, winter sunshine, indicated ten of the forenoon.
Dick turned to the man who was at his elbow, a
little, insignificant archer, binding a cut in hia arm.
" It was well fought," he said, " and, by my sooth,
they will not charge us twice."
"Sir," said the little archer, "ye have fought
right well for York, and better for yourself. Never
hath man, in so brief space, prevailed so greatly on
tho duke's affections. That he should have entrusted
such a poat to one he knew not ia a marvel or a
miracle. But look to your head, Sir Richard ! If ye be
vanquished—ay, if ye give way one foot's breadth—
axe or cord shall punish it; and if ye do aught doubtful, I will tell you honestly I am set here to stab you
from behind."
Dick looked at the little man in amaze.
"You!" he cried.    " And from behind !"
"It is right so," returned the archer; "and
because I like not the affair, I tell it you. Ye must
make the post good, Sir Richard, at your peril. Oh,
our Crookback is a bold blade and a good warrior ;
but, whether in cold blood or in hot, he will have all
things done exact to his commandment. If any fail
or hinder, they shall die the death."
" Now, by the saints !" cried Richard, " is this so?
And will men follow such a leader ?"
"Nay, they follow him gleefully," replied the
other; "for if he be exact to punish, he is most
open-handed to reward. And if he spare not the
blood and sweat of others, he ia ever liberal of his
own—still in the first front of battle, still the last
to sleep. He will go far, will Crookback Dick o'
Gloucester!"
The young knight, if he had before been brave and
vigilant, was now ali the more inclined to watohful-
neaa and courage. Hia audden favour, he began to
perceive, had brought perila in its train. And he
turned from the archer, and once more scanned
anxiously the market-place.   It lay empty as before.
" I like not this quietude," he said. " Doubtless
they prepare us some surprise."
And, as if in answer to his remark, the archers
began once more to advance against the barricade,
and the arrows to fall thick. But there was something hesitating in the attack. They came not on
roundly, but seemed rather to await a further signal.
Dick looked uneasily about him, spying for a I
danger. And sure enough, about half way up the little
street, a door was suddenly opened from within, and the
house continued, for some seconds, and both by door
and window, to disgorge a torrent of Lancastrian
archers. The: e, as they leaped down, hurriedly stood
to their ranks, bent th tr 1>ows, and proceeded to
pour upon Dick's rear a flight of arrows.
At the same time, the assailants in the marketplace redoubled their shot, and began \o close in
stoutly upon the barricade.
Dick called down his whole command out of the
houses, and, facing them both ways, and encouraging
their valour both by word and gesture, returned as
best he could the double shower of shafts that fell
about his post.
Meanwhile house after house was opened in the
street, and the Lancastrians continued to pour out of
the doors and leap down from the windows, shouting
victory, until the number of enemies upon Dick's
rear was almost equal to the number in his face. It
was plain that he could hold the post no longer ; what
was worse, even if he could have held it, it had now
become useless ; and tho whole Yorkist army lay in n
posture of helplessness upon the brink of a complete
disaater.
The men 1 ehind him formed the vital flaw in the
general defence ; and it was upon these that Dick
turned, charging at the head of his men. So vigorous
was the attack that the Lancastrian archers gave
ground and staggered, and, at laat, breaking their
ranks, began to crowd back into the houaea from
which they had so recently and so vaingloriously
sallied.
Meanwhile the men from the market-place had
swarmed across the undefended barricade, and fell on
hotly upon the other side ; and Dick must once again
face about, and proceed to drive them back. Once
again the spirit of hi* men prevailed ; they cleared the
street in a triumphant style, but even as they did so*
i
-