until they ran past the town. Then they put about, lifted the center-board, and squared away for a race before the wind. There were a good "SWOOPING ALONG, OVER THE LOW, BROAD BILLOWS." many coasters and small craft going up to New York with all the canvas spread they could carry, but the "Alice" passed them all, swooping along over the low, broad billows like an osprey in its flight. The boys enjoyed this fun heartily, and shouted in high glee whenever they shot ahead of a sloop or schooner on their course. The whole morning was spent in giving chase to one vessel after another, and at noon they found themselves well up toward Romer's Shoals. Then they dropped the jib, slacked the peak, and laid the "Alice" to for dinner. The center-board was laid athwartships for a table, the provisions were unpacked and spread out in tempting array, jack-knives and jaws were plied with industry, and the chickens and crullers disappeared with amazing speed. After dinner, they put off shore about eight miles to the fishing grounds, and tried their luck for codfish. They did not catch anything for a long time, and Remsen got tired of waiting for fish that did Just as they were about to give it up, not come. Smalley got a bite, and, in the course of an hour or so, they caught several fine cod. When Remsen had pulled up his second fish, David decided it was time to start for home. The sun was yet high, and Remsen wanted very much to "catch just one more," so they waited another half-hour and then sail was made again. As they got under way, Smalley discovered a school of porpoises, the first of the season, just off their starboard bow. David started the sheet a little, and the "Alice" glided quietly in among them, without disturbing them in the least. They rolled lazily over in the sea, and grunted and snorted like a drove of pigs, playing around the bows of the boat, so close that the boys could almost reach out and touch them. Even David had never before enjoyed an opportunity to become so intimately acquainted with porpoises, and the boat was allowed to drift along with the school, while the boys leaned over the side and watched the motions of the clumsy creatures with intense interest. Finally, Smalls straightened himself up, and, taking a look about, exclaimed in surprise: "Hi, Marse Dave, if dere aint de big light!" The Dave sprang to his feet and there, sure enough, was the great light-house on Sandy Hook, square on their weather beam. "Alice" " had drifted into the ship-channel, and the wind and tide together had carried her along much more rapidly than her crew realized, busy as they were in studying natural history. "Boom out that jib!" cried Dave, THE PORPOISES PLAYED AROUND THE BOAT. as he jumped aft, cast off the sheet, and put the "Alice" before the wind. "Why, what are you going to do?" asked Rem sen, surprised by the sudden activity of his companions. "Are n't we going home?" "If we dirty-white foam came dancing by, on the surface of the sea. At the same instant, the wind died out can get there!" answered Dave. with a long sigh, and a flat calm fell upon the water. The boat lost way, and her head swung slowly round and pointed toward the open ocean. The tide had turned. "We've missed the inlet, fooling around with those plaguy porpoises; can't make it with wind dead against us, and now we must push for inside the Hook, and then work our way home as best we can." They ran on at a lively gait for a mile or two, but then the wind began to fall as the sun sank behind the Highlands, and an anxious shade came into David's frank face. "Here, Rem," he said, "you take the tiller, while I go forward and look for the black buoy." As he stepped upon the forward locker, he could see the buoy which marks the point of Sandy Hook, about half a mile ahead, and, noting that it stood straight in the water, he knew that the flood was full, and in a few minutes the ebb tide would set in. The boat still rippled along fairly well, but the boom swung ominously to and fro as the wind came in light puffs, each fainter than the last. If the breeze would only hold a few minutes to carry them inside the buoy, they would be all right. It might take them some hours after that to reach home, but they 'd get there safe and sound before midnight. David watched the sail and the buoy with the closest attention. The black cylinder drew near and nearer, and his hopes rose every moment. He was actually counting the rivets on the side of the buoy next the sun, when a long, crooked line of "Out sweeps!" cried David, dropping the jib and letting the mainsail run down at the same time. "Take an oar, Rem. I'll pull against you and Smalley. Give way for your lives, fellows! Bend to it now, smartly!" The boys pulled with a will, and once more the boat began to crawl up toward the black buoy. The tide was beginning to run strong, however, and it required their utmost exertions to force the heavy boat against it. She moved slower and slower as she neared the goal, and David had to urge the others by voice and example at every stroke. Just as he was thinking, "We shall make it, after all," Remsen threw up his oar, exclaiming: "I can't pull this thing; it hurts my hands." David's eighteen-foot sweep gave the boat a sheer, the rushing current caught her under the counter, and in an instant she was whirling out to miles an hour. broke out THE LIGHT-SHIP, OFF SANDY HOOK. in loud reproach and lamentation, but "Marse Dave" had nothing to say. He could not trust himself to speak, and so, wisely, kept silent, vig orously setting about stowing the sails and making and knew not what to do, until, after a while, everything snug aboard. Smalley had a bright idea, as, indeed, he often had. "Dere 's de light-ship off to wind'ard," said that diminutive person; "let's get 'em to take him aboard and put him to bed.” Accordingly, they made sail on the "Alice," trimmed her flat, and ran down to the two great "Come, you 're not going to stay here all night! globes of fire that showed where the beacon-boat Let's be going home." “All night it is! No home for us till to-morrow morning!" When Remsen fairly understood that they must stay out all night on the ocean in an open boat, he was frightened out of his wits. He wanted to get out the sweeps again, and try once more to pass the black buoy, promising to pull twice as hard as before; but David said: "Too late! the tide rips through there now like a mill-race! Twenty men could n't stem it!" As the "Alice" drifted out with the ebb, the twilight deepened into darkness, the land disappeared, the stars shone in the sky wonderfully near and bright, and the awful solemnity of solitude on the sea encompassed the benighted young voyagers. David was very anxious about his mother, and he also had some fears of the storm signs noticed at sunset; but otherwise he and Smalls were comfortable enough, making a hearty supper of sandwiches and crullers, and stowing themselves on the thwarts, afterward, wrapped up for a nap. But Remsen was too miserable to either cat or sleep. He fretted and moaned incessantly,-was so unreasonable, pettish, and absurd that the others lost all patience, and finally paid no more attention to his complaints. During the evening, the wind rose again, and, backing round to the south-east, began to blow quite heavily. This wind against tide made an ugly, chopping sea, which pitched the "Alice" about with a sharp, jerking motion, exceedingly trying to any one unaccustomed to the water. The two 'longshore boys did not mind it, but the city-bred youth was made deathly sick. He had made so much ado before, that no notice was taken of him for a long time, and he lay neglected on the sternsheets, tumbled about from side to side, as the boat tossed and twisted in the sea; sick, bruised, frightened, thinking he surely should die-the most forlorn and wretched object imaginable. After a time, David discovered that the limp heap on the locker, wet, draggled, and half unconscious, was really Rem Wilson in distress, and he accordingly bestirred himself to extend help. But it was very difficult to do anything for the patient. He slid off the locker and rolled around in the bottom of the boat, too dolefully sick to know or to care what was going on about him. David was troubled, lay. "Light-ship, ahoy!" hailed David, as they drew alongside. "Ay, ay!" answered a gruff voice. "If Ned Osborne is there, tell him Dave Throckmorton wants to come on board." Ned Osborne, the light-keeper, answered in person, and, on David's explaining matters, he rigged a whip used for taking in stores, and presently had the sick boy safely slung from the boat to the deck of the ship. Rem was then carried below and put in a berth, where he was taken care of as best he could be under the circumstances. The boat was made fast, and the two other boys were also given berths aboard the ship. Next morning, Dave was astir before daylight, and, finding the invalid unfit to be moved, he decided to put off without him, as the wind was rising and the storm threatened to grow more violent. The cod-fish were brought aboard from the "Alice," a breakfast of fish, potatoes, and hard-tack was shared with the watch on deck, and then the seine-skiff was headed for home, under doublereefed mainsail. The breeze was very stiff, and the boat fairly flew through the water, making the seven miles between the light-ship and Sandy Hook in half an hour. It was still early when the two boys reached the house, and they found that Mrs. Throckmorton had been waiting for them all night, walking the floor most of the time in restless anxiety. "I should n't have felt so bad about it," she said, "but you were hardly out of sight when neighbor Simmons came in with this letter he had brought over from Port Washington the night before. It is from Mr. Wilson, and he very decidedly forbids Remsen's going outside the Hook before settled summer weather. I can't understand why his letter to Remsen and this one to me should be so different." "I can," said Dave; "Rem wrote that postscript himself." "Dear! dear! do you really think so?" "I thought so from the first, and now I feel sure of it." "Well, I look for his father this afternoon or to-morrow, and then we 'll know. I wrote him again by the first mail yesterday." Mr. Wilson arrived toward evening, as expected, and was very much alarmed and distressed to find his boy was off on the light-ship. By that time the storm had set in furiously, and there was nothing to be done but wait for better weather. When asked as to the postscript, he merely shook his head and walked quickly away; so there was very little said about it. A terrific tempest raged on land and sea for three days and nights, flinging many a wreck upon the coast, and causing sad destruction of property on shore, beside. Mr. Wilson chartered a sloop at Port Washington to go off to the light-ship; but it was late on the fourth day before they could venture to go out. Just as they were getting under way, Smalley dis covered a sail coming up the river, which he declared was Ned Osborne's cutter. As the craft drew near, it proved to be Ned Osborne, indeed, bringing the sick boy home. The agonies he suffered on the light-ship, his terrible experience during the storm, and the shame and contrition he felt on coming back, worked a wonderful change in Rem Wilson. He looked like the ghost of his former self as they carried him into the house. "This will be a lesson for him that he 'll never forget," said David. And he never did, being a different and a better boy from that day forth. MILKWEED PLAYTHINGS. BY EMMA M. DAVIS. LMOST ev made the acquaintance of the milkweed, or silkweed, as I have heard it called. as a spider's web, to float them on the wind for erybody, miles away, perhaps. You must have seen them at some many a time. The silk radiates in every direction time or from the central seed, making a gauzy, filmy other, has sphere, with a small, dark center. The seeds cluster about the opening of the pod, until the wind picks them out and carries them abroad, but if you pick some of the pods when green, and put them in a vase where they are not disturbed, the pod will open part way, like an oyster-shell, and the fine silken threads, folded and packed so closely in the center, will fly apart and get out, in some way, so that after a while the pod will be covered with a cloud of white. This is very beautiful, and, if it stands in a corner out of the way of sudden breezes, it will be likely to remain so all winter. You now see why it is called silkweed. A reason for each of these names is very apparent. If you break the stem, a sticky substance like milk runs from it, which will stain your clothes. Why the plant is also called silkweed, I shall explain to you presently. I knew this weed very well in New England when I was a little girl. In July, it hangs out a cluster of small purple bells, and later, after the blossoms have gone, very large seed-pods are formed, which grow to be several inches long, and are pointed at the end opposite the stem. If these pods were left on the plant until the seeds were fully ripened, they would split open themselves, and gradually the seeds would fly out, carrying with them enough of these silken threads, as fine My sister and I yearly collected several of these silkweeds for our play-house by the stone-wall, where we kept our bits of broken china, and transformed the pods into domestic animals. Often, a pod would be well shaped for a chicken, requiring only feathers to be stuck into the pointed tail, and the stem to be broken off short at the other end and sharpened to represent the bill. Two sticks put in served for legs, so that it would rest on these and on the point of the tail. When we played that Thanksgiving Day had come, and wanted chickens for dinner, we had only to pull out the tailfeathers of a pair of "fowls," and, of course, take off their legs; and, when they were ready for the table, instead of carving, we split open the pods, as you do those of the pea or bean, and behold! there was the most tempting-looking "white" and "dark" meat within. The white meat was fibrous, like silk, and lay in the center; over it were flat brown seeds, overlapping one another like the shingles on a house-roof, and making our "dark meat." We not only transformed these pods into poultry, but also into quadrupeds of all sorts. Put in four legs, a pair of horns, and a tail, and you have your cow, and one, too, which really gives milk! Leave off the horns, take a bit of your own hair to use for a tail, and you have a horse. But these are only a few hints, and I will let you experiment for yourself this season, and find out what you can do beyond this, in making animals and other figures. UNDER A FLY-WHEEL. BY HENRY CLEMENS PEARSON. IT was ten o'clock in the morning. Every one in the factory was at work. The clicking and rattling of the lighter machinery, the groaning of heavily laden shafts, the oily thud of hundreds of cogs, mingled in busy din. The huge engine sighed as, with its brawny arm of polished steel, it impelled the main shaft to turn the wheels of the factory. Tom worked by the door, near the engine-room. He could, therefore, easily see the engine and all its surroundings. The interest of its rapid, ceaseless motion partly reconciled him to the fact that, while most boys of thirteen were enjoying full liberty outside, he was shut up within doors. This morning, more than usually, he had been watching the forbidden splendors of the engineroom, for the engineer allowed no one in his sanctum. The great machine fascinated Tom with its easy grace of movement. His eyes dwelt long on the neat finish of the hexagonal bolt-heads that gleamed about the cylinder. He tried to tell, from his position, how full the glass oil-cups were, as they flashed to and fro on the polished arm; and then his eyes rested on the fly-wheel that revolved so gracefully in its narrow prison. Only one-half of the wheel could he see at once, the other half being below the floor, almost filling a narrow, rocklined cavity called the "pit." As Tom watched the whirling spokes, it seemed as if the mass of iron stood still, so swift was its motion. He remembered that once the engineer, seeing his interest in the machinery, had invited him in, and that he had stood leaning over the frail wooden guard, his face so close to the flywheel that the wind from its surface blew back his hair, while he looked down into the pit with wonder and dread. He remembered asking the engineer if he supposed any one could climb down there while the engine was in motion. The answer had Suddenly, glancing down, he saw a little child standing beneath the guard, close to the great flywheel. The engineer was nowhere in sight, and little May was his only child. Tom's heart gave a great leap. In an instant, he had scrambled down from his perch, and was in the engine-room. As he passed the door-way he was just in time to see the child toddle forward and fall into the pit! With an awful shudder, he waited to see the monster wheel spurn the baby-girl from its cruel sides; but no such sight came. He dashed forward and looked into the pit. She sat on the hard, rocky bottom, sobbing softly to herself. The fall had not harmed her, yet she was still in great danger. Any attempt to move from her position would give the relentless wheel another chance. Tom slipped out of his brown "jumper," tore off his light shoes, and stood inside the guard. One eager look in the direction of the iron door through which the engineer would come, and then he began the descent. The great mass of iron whirled dizzily close to his eyes; the inclined plane down which he was slowly sliding was covered deep with dust mingled with oil; the thick, oily, damp air, fanned by the heavy breeze from the wheel, almost took his breath away. Where the curve of the wheel was nearest, it almost brushed his clothes. |