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chase, and gazed at the dugout, half way self as far as his injured hip would permit. across the river. He looked ugly and defiant, and Plunkett

"That's so. Was any one hit?" added paused. Morgan.

"No; and of all the shots we have fired, we

have brought down but one Indian."

"If we had been as near as you were, Phil, we should have dropped one every time," replied Plunkett. "However, I knocked over that one that fell."

"You did!" I exclaimed.

"Why, yes; didn't you see him fall?"

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

GRANDMA'S WRINKLES.

BY CHEEVA.

"IF I were as old and wrinkled as grandma,

I wouldn't want to live so I wouldn't," and Rorie Gillette looked as dissatisfied as if

"I did; but he fell the instant I fired," I grandma really hadn't any right to live. replied.

"I presume you wouldn't," remarked her

"You are a little fast, Phil. You haven't father, quietly. hit anything to-day,” said Plunkett.

"I hit every time I fired." "You! Nonsense!"

"I fired the first shot after the Indians started to run, and this one dropped before you had fired at all," I persisted, indignant that Plunkett, who had wished to run away in the beginning, should claim to have done all the execution that had been accomplished.

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'Keep cool, Phil," laughed Plunkett. "That redskin dropped when I fired."

"We will settle that matter another time," I answered, leading the way towards the house.

We passed the Indian who had fallen. He was not dead, and I saw Plunkett fixing his bayonet, evidently with the intention of finishing the work I had begun. I protested, and so did Morgan, against his course. The savage reclined on one side, resting upon his elbow. He had torn away his blanket, so that we could see where the ball had struck him in the hip.

"You didn't fire that ball, Plunkett," said Morgan. "You couldn't have hit him there from the place where you fired."

"Especially if you had such a heartless little granddaughter," put in Harl. Harl never seemed to think his father and mother could manage the other children without his help. Rorie's eyes shot dangerous glances.

"I guess," piped up a wee voice from a cricket in the corner, "my gram-ma never had any great deep wrinkle, like Rorie's;" and little Annabel screwed up her baby forehead into a comical pucker.

"Harl told you to say that; you know he did, you little ninny,” stormed Rorie. "Rorie, be quiet!" commanded her father, sternly.

Rorie fidgeted through half a minute.

"Any way, papa," she pouted, "I'm not going to stay more than a day at Apple Hill."

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The room was getting too hot. Rorie con"What's the reason I couldn't?" demanded cluded to adjourn. Harl thought he couldn't the braggart.

"Because the Indian was running ahead of you, and you couldn't have hit him on the side of the hip. Phil was up by the house, and his shot did it. Half his nose is gone, and he has a wound on the back of the head."

"He turned round when I fired; but I will finish him," said Plunkett, approaching the Indian with his bayonet pointed at him.

"No!" I shouted, earnestly. "It is murder."

The Indian, who had watched us with savage dignity, apparently regardless of the pain his three wounds must have given him, suddenly grasped his tomahawk, and raised him

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help saying, loud enough for her to hear before the door closed after her,

"Just think, mother, how much dear, kind grandmother has done for Rorie. Oceans more than for any of the rest of us." "I'm sure!" echoed Annabel.

Just then the door swung to with a bang. People said Rorie had a lovely countenance, a sweet expression. Fortunately no one saw the murderous look cast back at that poor unoffending door for her father and Harl.

She found some consolation before the long mirror in the parlor, and a little more changing her hair into gold in the sunlight streaming through the library bay window. Indeed, so taken up was she with her lovely hair, that

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"I'm not so old as you, Harl, and you know it," retorted Rorie, ready to cry.

"O, you're not!" cried the provoking fellow. "I should take you to be my grandmother; you look old enough, I'm sure."

Rorie sprang up, indignantly, but tripped and fell, and rose up, bewildered, to find her dress dragging after her in a long trail, a cradle full of babies in the corner, and herself and the babies growing old, O, so horribly fast.

Days, years, flew by, swiftly as instants.

The roses faded out of her cheeks. Her hair turned gray. The babies grew up. A cradle of her grandchildren took their places.

It was her own wavy auburn hair, her eyes, only deeper, bluer, softer, her delicate features and pearly complexion. It was the picture of a little girl more beautiful than even Rorie, in her vainest mood, had ever thought On she grew, older and older — trying all herself. the while to stop - on, and on, and on, till "Papa," she exclaimed, in astonishment. there was nothing left of her but a shrivelled"whenever was this taken?" up mummy with a squeaking voice. "Sixty years ago." All her grandchildren shrank away from

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"Why, papa Gillette, that was years and her; and she heard the youngest ones innoyears before I was born!"

cently asking Harl what made "grandma
look so," and if grandma wasn't great-great-
grandma's mother, and why didn't she look
as pretty as great-great-grandma.
And hardest of all to bear there sat
Harl, young as ever, coolly whittling away
on his coffin.

"I know it, Rorie. This is a portrait of your grandmother. All your good looks you have inherited from her. She was far more beautiful than you. The painting has been in your aunt Agnes' possession until lately. Now it has come back to me, and I have decided to give it to you." Rorie sat in silence, her eyes riveted upon fairy little maiden. the childish, life-like figure.

"I think I had rather not take it, papa," she said, at last.

"Very well," he answered; "I thought it belonged to you, rather than to either of the other children, as you are her namesake, and are the only one who resembles her at all in looks. If you live you will be as old as she is, one of these days."

Mr. Gillette turned away, and sat down to his writing-desk.

Rorie stood for a moment, idle and still, at the window, then stole softly from the room and down stairs.

Grandma was in the little back parlor alone, knitting. A single tear trickled slowly down

Suddenly the door flew open. In tripped a

"Uncle Harl, is the coffin most done?" "Just done," answered Harl.

"And who is the coffin for?" ventured Rorie, in her poor, creaking voice.

The little girl laughed mockingly.

"You've got into your dotage, grandma; and you are so disagreeable and fussy, we are going to bury you alive. Come, uncle Harl." Harl approached, dragging the coffin. With wild, frightened screams, Rorie fled

away.

Harl was close upon her. His arms were closing round her, when, "Rorie, Rorie," pleaded a soothing voice, "don't you know your mother?"

The poor child woke to find herself in the

hall, struggling in her mother's clasp, and the rest of the family rushing from all directions to see who was being murdered.

"Certainly nothing but a powerful enemy could have caused such a panic. As I was anxiously waiting for the enemy to appear, I "The first I knew," said trembling and ex- fancied that I heard the sound of a human cited Ernestine, "she woke me up scream- voice, in a short exclamation, from beyond ing; and I tell you, if she didn't jump out of the trees through which the rush of the buffabed and make for the hall! I ran too; for I loes had just passed. It had scarcely caught thought surely something was after us both." my ear, as it was mingled with the furious "I say, Rorie," laughed Harl, next morn-bellowing of a brute. Leaving my momentaing, "couldn't you get up a bigger sensation | ry shelter, I quickly hurried forward, although than that? What were you dreaming about?" | with as much caution as my impatience would Rorie only shook her head. But she and Ernestine both went to Apple Hill, and had a "magnificent time."

I have time only to add, that, though most of grandma Gillette's grandchildren nearly worshipped her, none were more loving than Rorie became.

Grandma is young and beautiful now; for she has gone to live where every one is young and beautiful in heaven.

A WESTERN ADVENTURE.

[SEE FULL-PAGE PICTURE IN NO. 163.]

permit, through the dense grove which obstructed my view. On the other side of it, I beheld a scene which at once explained itself. "Scarcely a hundred feet from me, a large buffalo cow was shielding with her body a young calf, whose feet had been caught by a lasso, and which was now lying upon the ground, completely motionless. After a brief pause, with a savage bellow, as if possessed with a mad fury, she rushed upon an Indian, armed with a lance, who was intent upon his anticipated prey. Otherwise, so acute is the Indian sense of hearing, that I feel convinced he would have heard my approach.

"Unfortunately he made a false step, and,

AMONG the many interesting adventures before he could recover himself, the infuriated

narrated in The Prairie Crusoe, a favorite book with boys, is the following, which will be new to many of our readers; and we give it as illustrating one phase of life on our western frontier. The story, in the writer's own words, is this:"While following the river bank, I heard, some distance before me, in a plain from which I was separated by a thick grove of trees, a frightful noise, which seemed to approach rapidly. The very earth appeared to be tremulous with a violent and precipitate motion.

"I had just time to seek shelter behind a huge bowlder, and examine my weapons, when, bursting and crashing through the bushes and trees, overturning and trampling all that opposed them, came a troop of nearly two hundred buffaloes.

"They passed like a hurricane towards the river, crushing the long grass beneath their rapid course, spurning the stones with their mighty hoofs, and making the most frightful bellowings.

"The whole troop dashed recklessly into the rapid stream, displacing its waters with their impetuous rush, and throwing them violently back upon the bank. They then climbed the opposite bank, and, pursuing their headlong course, were in a short time lost to my sight.

animal was upon him. Raising him upon her horns, as I might have picked up a dead sparrow, she tossed him forward into the air, through which he described an arc of about fifteen or perhaps twenty feet. Then, rushing in her blind rage upon the prostrate foe, her head was again bent to the ground, and, with her threatening horns, she needed scarcely an instant more to accomplish her revenge by trampling him beneath her feet.

"Let me own honestly, that when I first saw him fall, and the buffalo rush upon him, a cruel delight for a moment took possession of me. I had not yet forgotten my race for dear life from the Blackfeet, and this feeling was not altogether unnatural.

"Then, however, I recalled the fact that I really owed my life to the Jaguar; and when I saw him raised like a feather on the horns of the brute, and in a moment after whirling through the air, a more Christian feeling filled my heart. I knew not to what tribe he might belong. He might not be one of the Blackfeet. Nay, if he were he was none the less my brother. Moreover, I had been alone for several days; and, in my state of perfect isolation, I confess I had repeatedly wished again to hear the voice of a fellow-being. Consequently, I rushed as quickly forward as I could, and unsheathed my knife as I did so. "The unfortunate hunter was lying on the

ground, an inert and perhaps lifeless mass at the feet of his formidable and maddened foe.

"Just in time to prevent the second deadly attack, I uttered a loud yell behind the infuriated animal, which caused her to stop for a moment in temporary indecision. Short as was this moment, it was enough to save the Indian. Springing forward, with a sudden and dexterous blow with my knife I succeeded in hamstringing her. The buffalo, bellowing fiercely with pain and anger, reeled and fell over. Then she again tried to rise, tossing her huge head wildly in the furious effort; but she again fell prone upon the earth.

"Profiting by this moment to end her sufferings, as the buffalo lay motionless before me, I dealt her a sharp blow between the base of the skull and its junction with the spine. It was given vigorously and effectively. Making one last effort to rise, she rolled over upon the ground, and, save a quiver or two through her huge form, stirred no more.

"This took less time to accomplish than it now does to relate. Turning at once to the Indian, who seemed to be in a pitiable state, I perceived that he had fainted from loss of blood. A large, but fortunately not a deep wound, which had touched no vital part, as I discovered by examination, was on his right side. It had been given by the horn of the buffalo. As I saw the abundant flow of blood, it became evident to me that it was at once necessary to stop it.

"While with my good Lewis, I had frequently had occasion to see him make use of plants to stop bleeding from light and casual wounds, and had gradually become a tolerably fair adept in the rough surgery of the prairie. I had never, however, attended to so deep a wound as this. Nevertheless, I looked about me, and discovered, after a brief search, a sufficiency of marjoram leaves for my present purpose. Chewing these until they were reduced to a pulpy mass, I converted them into a species of poultice. This I placed upon the wound, and soon had the pleasure of seeing that the flow of blood had gradually ceased. I then hastened to fetch some water from the river, in a little gourd, which I had fashioned from a calabash.

"The fresh water, which I sprinkled freely over his brow and face, revived the wounded Indian. With a faint and almost inarticulate murmur upon his lips, he opened his eyes.

"As soon as he perceived me, his first movement was with his hand, as if searching for his tomahawk for the purpose of defence; but the effort was beyond his strength, and,

as a necessary result of the exertion, he sank back once more perfectly unconscious.

"Thanks to my care and the mercy of Providence, he soon recovered. When he did so, he looked upon me more calmly, and even amiably. I pressed upon his lips the juice of some wild fruit which I had gathered; and, after a brief space of time, a slight tinge of color appeared upon his lips, and he was enabled to sit up, with his back supported against a tree. He would have spoken to me; but I put my finger to my lip, and, with a meaning gesture, signified to him that he must remain silent. His dark eye expressed astonishment; but, recovering the impassibility which distinguishes his race, he closed his eyes, and, overcome by fatigue and loss of blood, sank upon the ground, and slept quietly.

"Taking the opportunity which his slumber gave me, I freed the buffalo calf, whose cries were so pitiable as to be annoying. Entangled in the cords of the lasso, from which it found it impossible to release itself, it would, unless it had been released, have died very speedily of hunger, or have been devoured by the vultures and prairie wolves, of which there is never any scarcity upon these broad plains. Young as it was, it was strong enough, and had sufficient instinct, to regain its troop. In fact, as soon as it was released, I watched it disappear in the direction that the herd to which it belonged had previously taken.

"After having killed several birds, and plucked them, I cut off a slice of meat from the dead buffalo, and, while my new comrade slept, prepared our meal, still watching the fine and noble features of the wounded man attentively.

"At last dinner was ready, and our hunger was too real for us to delay our attention to the meal. He ate and drank in silence, and I remarked that he seemed to have partially recovered his strength; yet he was still unable to stand. His weakness was too great; and it was evident that he would have to remain where he was for some time longer. I told him that I had arrived just in time to save him from being torn to pieces, or trampled to death by the buffalo. He understood me very well, and listened attentively to all that I said. Then he took my right hand in his, and, putting his other palm on my forehead, said these few words:

"It is well. My pale brother is good. He will be my friend.'

"Then, with a gesture full of grace and dignity, he stretched himself upon the ground,

and fell asleep. I quickly imitated him, yielding to sleep without any distrust, by the side

of this savage, whom gratitude had made my FEW,

friend, and who, feeble and unarmed, had trusted so completely in a stranger, whose sentiments of honor, as between man and man, he judged must be similar to those which he himself felt."

THE KITE.

BY MARIAN DOUGLAS.

THE morning sky was brightest blue,

Without a cloud in sight;

The wind came shouting from the west, "Come out, and fly your kite!"

And quick to hear the call, and glad
To answer it, was I;

My heart struck up a dancing tune,
And played it in reply.

Like honey-bees about their queen,
Each eager for the sight,

A LITTLE HEROINE.

EW, if any, of Our Boys and Girls realize the money value of the time they spend in getting their education. A few years ago it was satisfactorily demonstrated to the school committee of Lowell, Mass., by an intelligent agent of one of the corporations, that a boy's time in school is worth one dollar an hour to him, or six dollars a day. Could our children be made to feel that they actually lose three dollars apiece every half day they stay away from school, absences among the pupils would be as rare as they now are among the teachers. The average attendance would leap, as by magic, from eighty-eight to ninety-eight per cent.; and the majority of children would do from sordid motives what the subject of my story did from a much better one.

A little girl, named Elizabeth Hope, entered the Franklin Grammar School in Lowell at the age of nine years, and attended constantly for four years, lacking two months, under the following discouraging cir

Round me the neighbors' children swarmed cumstances. She lived nearly a mile from

'Twas I that owned the kite.

We all went up the village hill,
And, freed upon the breeze,

My kite, a wingless bird, rose high
Above the walnut trees.

Our pleasure knew no bounds; we shrieked
Like swallows with delight;

Our very souls seemed in the air,

And fluttering with delight.

But joy, at best, is wont to be,

Alas! a giddy thing;

My head was turned with happiness,
And I let go the string.

Up! up! my kite yet higher sprung!
Before the wind it flew!
My hold on it was gone
it seemed
Too dreadful to be true!

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school, and the whole distance lay through cross-streets and by-ways, with no sidewalks, and often in winter, with not so much as a path broken through the deep snows. She always went home at noon, and it so happened that for a long time she was the last of over one hundred girls to leave the school

room.

At length she was observed to run on leaving the door; and it was also noticed that her naturally pale face was often glowing with unusual heat on her return in the afternoon. Perspiration stood in large drops upon her forehead, and not unfrequently her blue eyes were moistened with tears as she sank exhausted into her seat, and commenced her allotted task. Upon inquiry, it was ascertained, that during the hour and a half at noon in winter and the two hours in summer, she walked home, carried a dinner to her father, who worked over a mile from home, ate her own, and returned to school. From that time she was allowed to leave the room when the signal for laying aside the books was given, thus giving her five minutes more time in which to perform a journey of three and a half miles, and eat a dinner.

But the half is not yet told. For several weeks during the last term of her constant attendance, she was afflicted with one of the most painful diseases that "flesh is heir to "— a felon on her finger. Day after day she kept up with her class; while that throbbing finger,

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