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Produced by Annie McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S

YOUNG PEOPLE

AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]

* * * * *

VOL. I. - NO. 49. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, October 5, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

* * * * *




[Illustration: FRED'S PERILOUS ESCAPE. - DRAWN BY C. GRAHAM.]

HANGING BY A THREAD.

A Canadian Story.

BY DAVID KER.


"Well, boys, what do you think of _this_ for a play-ground? Something
like, ain't it?"

And well might Tom Lockyer say so. To be out in the woods on a fine
summer morning, with the whole day clear, is a pleasure which any boy
can appreciate, more especially such an active one as Master Tom; and he
and his two cousins had certainly enjoyed it to the utmost. Ever since
breakfast they had been scampering through the woods like wild-cats,
climbing trees, tearing through briers, scrambling up and down rocks,
chasing each other in and out of the thickets, and making the silent
forest ring with their shouts and laughter.

Tom had good reason to remark, with a broad grin, that nothing was left
undamaged except their lunch bags; for all three were muddy from head to
foot, ragged as scarecrows, and so scratched that their hands and faces
looked just like railway maps done in red ink. But none the less were
they all fully persuaded that they had been enjoying themselves
immensely, and were quite ready to begin again as soon as they could
find breath to do so.

"Here's the place for us to lunch, my boys!" cried Tom, flinging himself
down upon the soft turf that carpeted the summit of the ridge which they
had just climbed. "This is one of our best views, and you can feast your
eyes and teeth together."

It was, indeed, a splendid "look-out place." The opposite face of the
ridge went sheer down to the edge of the river, which, narrowed at this
point to less than half its usual width by the huge black cliffs that
walled it in, went rushing and foaming through a succession of furious
rapids for nearly a quarter of a mile, plunging at length in one great
leap over a precipice of nearly a hundred feet - a perfect Niagara in
miniature.

"I say, Tom, old fellow, didn't you tell us that you went canoeing along
this river every summer? You don't mean to say, surely, that you can
take a canoe over that water-fall?"

"Not _exactly_," laughed Tom; "that _would_ be a little too much of a
good thing. Whenever we come to anything of this sort, we make a
portage, as the French boatmen say - carry our canoes round by land, and
then launch them again below the fall. There's a snug little path just
round the corner, and as soon as we're through with lunch we'll just go
down and look about us."

Tom's "snug little path" proved to be very much like the stair of a
ruined light-house, and would have seemed to most people almost as bad
as going down the precipice itself. But Charlie and Harry Burton, though
new to the rocks of the Severn, had had plenty of climbing elsewhere,
while as for Tom himself, he could have scaled anything from a church
steeple to a telegraph pole.

The view was certainly well worth the trouble. Just at the break of the
fall the stream was divided by a small rocky islet crested with half a
dozen tall pines, the "Goat Island" of this toy Niagara. In the few rays
of sunlight that struggled down into the gloomy gorge the rushing river
with its sheets of glittering foam, and the bright green ferns and
mosses that clung to the dark cliffs around, and the shining arch of the
fall itself, and the rocks starting boldly up in mid-stream, tufted with
clustering leaves, made a splendid picture.

Close to the water's edge ran a kind of terrace, formed by the sliding
down of the softer parts of the cliff; and along this the three walked
till they came right abreast of the fall.

"Hollo!" cried Harry, suddenly, "didn't you say that nobody ever shot
these rapids? Why, there's a fellow trying it now!"

There, sure enough, as he pointed up the stream, appeared a canoe with a
single figure in it, shooting down the river like an arrow, and already
close upon the edge of the rapids.

"Good gracious!" cried Tom, with a look of horror, "it's some fellow
being swept down by the stream! See, he's broken his paddle, and can't
help himself!"

Instinctively all three sprang forward at once, although the doomed
voyager was manifestly beyond the reach of help. But even as they did
so, the crisis came. With one leap the boat was in the midst of the
rapids, banged to and fro like a shuttlecock by the white leaping waves,
amid which it appeared and vanished by turns, till a final plunge sent
it right toward the edge of the fall.

The lookers-on turned away their faces; but all was not over yet. By a
lucky chance the boat's head had been turned straight toward the island,
upon which the current drove it with such force as to dash it in among
the sharp rocks, that pierced its sides and held it firm, while its
occupant was flung forward on his face among the bushes.

"Phew!" said Tom, drawing a long breath, "what a shave! Ugh! wasn't it
horrid, just that last minute? I'm awfully glad he's got off."

"But how's he to get ashore?" asked the practical Charlie. "It seems to
me he's in just as bad a fix as ever."

Meanwhile the unlucky voyager had scrambled to his feet, and was staring
wildly about him.

"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Tom, "if it isn't my old chum Fred Hope!
I'd no idea he was home again."

"I don't think he sees us," said Harry; "let's give him a hail, just to
show him there's help at hand. I've heard my father say that if a
fellow's left long alone in a place like that he'll go crazy with the
fright and the motion of the water."

Tom was not slow to take the hint. He sprang upon the bowlder behind
which they were standing, and, putting both hands to his mouth, shouted,
above the din of the water-fall, "Hollo, Fred, old boy! how goes it?"

"Who-o's that?" answered a faint voice, tremulous with terror.

"Why, don't you remember Tom Lockyer?"

"Oh, Tom, is that you? Get me out of this somehow, if you can."

"Never fear, old chap; we'll have you out in no time," replied Tom,
cheerily.

"But how on earth are you going to do it?" whispered Harry, amazed at
his friend's confident tone.

"Haven't the least idea, so far," answered the philosophic Tom, coolly;
"but it's got to be done _somehow_. If the worst comes to the worst, I
can always run home for help, while you two stay here and keep his
spirits up."

"If we could only get a rope across," suggested Charlie. "He's got one
there, I know, for I saw it tumble out of the boat as she swamped; but
how are we to get at it?"

"_I_ have it!" cried Tom, suddenly. "Fancy my not thinking of this old
sling of mine, when I've been using it all morning! I've read lots of
yarns about fellows sending messages by arrows: let's see if a stone
won't do just as well for once!"

He produced a ball of twine from his pocket as he spoke, and fastened
one end of it firmly around a jagged stone which he had picked up.

"See if you've got some more string, boys," said he; "perhaps this bit
won't be long enough."

The cord was soon lengthened sufficiently, and Tom, bidding his comrades
keep a firm hold of the other end, mounted once more upon the bowlder,
and shouted, "Fred, ahoy!"

"Hollo!" responded the islander, whose nerves were being rapidly
steadied by the prospect of help, and the sound of Tom's cheery voice.

"We're going to chuck you a line: mind and be ready to catch it."

"All right."

The stone whizzed through the air, and splashed into the water on the
other side of the islet, while Fred promptly seized the cord attached to
it.

"So far so good, as the hungry boy said when he got half way through the
pie," remarked Tom. "Now, old fellow, just knot the string to that rope
of yours, and the job's done."

Fred obeyed at once, and the two Burtons hauled in. The rope, once
landed, was quickly made fast to the nearest tree, while Fred secured
_his_ end to one of the pines on the islet. The communication was
complete.

"But what next?" asked Harry. "Do you expect the poor fellow to walk
ashore on that rope, like Blondin?"

"Not quite," said Tom, laughing. "It's a case of Mohammed and the
mountain - if he don't come to me, I must just go to him. Here goes!"

And, our hero, swinging himself up on to the rope, began to slide along
it, hand over hand, in true gymnastic style.

Taut as the line was, it yielded a little with his weight, and he came
perilously near the water midway; but the rope held firm, and in another
moment he was safe upon the islet, shaking hands heartily with the
expectant Fred.

"Mr. Robinson Crusoe, I presume?" said Tom, with a grin. "I'm the Man
Friday, at your service; and a nice little island we've got of it. Now,
old boy, there's your road open, and you've just seen the correct way to
travel it; so off with you, and show us the latest thing in gymnastics."

"What, along _that rope_?" cried Fred, with a shudder which showed that
he had not quite shaken off his panic yet. "Ugh! I couldn't. The bare
sight of the fall below me would turn me sick; it looks just as if it
was watching for me to tumble in!"

"Oh, if it's only the sight of the water that bothers you, _that's_
easily settled," rejoined Tom, struck at that moment with a new and
brilliant idea. "I remember hearing a fellow spin a yarn once about how
he had escaped being ill at sea, by tying a handkerchief over his eyes
so that he couldn't see the jiggle-joggling of the water. If I blindfold
you, do you think you can manage it _then_?"

"Ye-es - I should think I might," replied Fred, somewhat doubtfully.

"Here you are, then," said the ever-ready Tom, producing a tattered red
handkerchief, with which he bandaged his friend's eyes most
scientifically. "Now, old boy, push along - think you're in for an
Athletic Cup, with a lot of ladies looking on!"

The device worked wonders. Relieved from the disturbing sight of the
precipice and the rushing water, and hearing Tom's hearty voice behind
him, cheering him on, Fred went forward manfully; and he was quite
surprised to feel his outstretched wrist suddenly seized in a strong
grasp, and to hear the shouts of the Burtons proclaiming that he had got
safe to land.

"Well done, our side!" shouted Tom, arriving a moment later. "That's
what I call blindman's-buff on a new principle, and no mistake!"




A STEAM-ENGINE OUT OF A TIN CAN.

BY THE PROFESSOR.


Few boys seem to be aware of the entertainment they may obtain with a
soldering iron, a pair of shears, and a file. With them it is easy to
manufacture working models of machinery, and philosophical apparatus
almost without limit. Skill in the use of the iron is readily acquired
with a little practice. The quickest way to learn is to observe for a
few minutes a tinman at his work. A good-natured one, politely
approached, will quickly explain all the mysteries in the process, and
take pleasure in filling the office of teacher. For heating the iron, a
charcoal fire is generally preferred; a gas stove is also good; and even
a common coal fire can be made to answer. The first point is to make a
little of the melted solder stick to the point of the iron. For this
purpose the iron is filed bright about the point, to remove the oxide
and expose the clear metal; then the iron must be quickly applied to the
solder. If the heat is sufficient, the iron will get coated, and be
ready for use. The oxide has to be removed also from the surface of the
material that is to be united; it is the chief obstacle to successful
soldering, as the solder refuses to unite with anything but pure metal.
Sal ammoniac dissolved in water is good to cleanse off the oxide; better
still is muriatic acid, with a little zinc and sal ammoniac added. This
is known as the soldering mixture.

One of the most convenient materials for use is common tin, which can be
obtained almost everywhere. A tin box can be melted apart, and cut into
any desired shape. Pipes to convey liquids, steam, or gas can be made by
cutting strips of the tin, and rolling them upon an iron rod. To make a
pipe, say, a quarter of an inch in diameter, get an iron rod of that
size, cut a strip of the tin about one inch wide, roll it upon the rod,
allowing the edges to lap a little. If the tin be not bright, make it so
by applying sal ammoniac with a small brush along the seam. Put on a
little powdered resin, and then solder neatly by drawing the heated
iron, with the solder clinging to it, over the joint. In this way a pipe
strong and tight is obtained; and such pipes can be joined to one
another indefinitely, in a straight line or at any angle. To unite them
in a straight line, pass the end of one into the end of the other before
soldering, or else wind an additional piece of tin over the two ends. To
make a turn, or elbow, file the ends on a bevel, or slant, bring them
together, and apply considerable solder for strength. If the solder be
rightly put on, it will hold surprisingly.

[Illustration]

A pretty device to illustrate the force of steam is shown in the
accompanying picture. The boiler is a simple tin can, which need not be
more than six inches high and four in diameter. To make the wheel, cut a
circle of tin two inches in diameter, and pieces for the buckets, shaped
as in the diagram. Bend each piece at right angles along the dotted
line, and solder them one after another on the circumference of the
wheel, which will then appear as in the picture. Bore a hole through the
centre, insert a piece of wire for a shaft, and solder it fast at right
angles to the wheel. File shoulders on the ends of the shaft, and mount
it in uprights fastened to the top of the boiler. Make a small opening
through the top of the boiler, and place over it a little spout in such
a position as to send a current of steam directly into the buckets of
the wheel. Make also a larger opening in or near the top of the boiler,
and surround it with a neck to receive a cork. Through this the water is
introduced. For this purpose a small funnel will be found convenient.

When all is complete, the boiler may be filled about half full, and set
on a hot stove. When the water boils, the steam will emerge through the
spout, and propel the wheel. As the steam constantly escapes, no
explosion need be apprehended. To remove all possibility of creating too
much pressure, place the cork in the neck very lightly, so that it will
pop out if more steam is generated than can escape through the spout.
Then the miniature steam-engine and boiler may be regarded as harmless
as a tea-kettle. As the quantity of steam that can be produced is very
limited, care must be taken that there be no leaks, that the mouth of
the spout be quite small, and that the current of steam be discharged
accurately into the buckets. The bearings of the shaft should be oiled,
and everything arranged so that there will be the least possible
friction. Then the wheel may be expected to spin very rapidly.




[Begun in No. 46 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, September 14.]

WHO WAS PAUL GRAYSON?

BY JOHN HABBERTON,

AUTHOR OF "HELEN'S BABIES."


Chapter IV.

WHO WILL TELL?

As Benny Mallow hid himself in a barn in the yard into which he had
jumped, he had only one distinct thought in his mind: he wished that the
Italian had never come to Laketon at all - never come to the United
States, in fact. He wished that the Italians had never heard of such a
place as America: if one of the race had to discover it, he need not
have gone and let his fellow-countrymen know all about it, so that they
should come over with organs and monkeys, and get boys into
trouble - boys that weren't doing a thing to that organ-grinder when he
threw a stick at them. What made the fellow go into the school yard,
anyway? No one asked him to come. Now there would be a fuss made, of
course; and if there was anything that Benny hated more than all other
things, it was a fuss.

But what if the organ-grinder should really prove to be dead? Oh! that
would be too dreadful; all the boys would have to be hanged, to be sure
of punishing the murderer, just as the whole class was sometimes kept in
for an hour because something wrong had been done, and no one would tell
who did it.

Benny could not bear the thought of so dreadful a termination to his
life, for he knew of a great deal worth living for; besides, his mother
would need his help as soon as he grew old enough to earn anything. What
should he do? Wait until dark, and then run away, and tramp off to the
West, where other runaway boys went, or should he make for the
sea-board, and from there to South America, from which country he had
heard that criminals could not be brought back?

[Illustration: BENNY MALLOW IN THE BARN.]

But first he ought to learn whether the man was really dead; it might
not be necessary to run away at all. But how should he find out?
Suddenly he remembered that Mr. Wardwell's barn, in which he was, had a
window opening on the alley; so he crept up into the loft, and spent
several moments in trying to look up the alley without putting his head
out of the window. Finally he partly hid his face by holding a handful
of hay in front of it, and peered out. Between the stalks of hay he was
delighted to see the organ-grinder on his feet, although two men were
helping him. They were not both men, either, Benny saw, after more
careful looking, for one of them was Paul Grayson; but the other - horror
of horrors - was Mr. Stott, a justice of the peace. Benny knew that
Justice Stott had sent many men to jail for fighting, and if Grayson
should tell who took part in the attack, Benny had not the slightest
doubt that half of Mr. Morton's pupils would be sent to jail too.

This seemed more dreadful than the prospect of being hanged had done,
but it could be done more quickly. Benny determined at once that he must
find out the worst, and be ready for it, so he waited until the injured
man and his supporters had turned the corner of a street, and were out
of sight; then he bounded into the alley again, hurried home, seized a
basket that was lying beside the back door, and a moment later was
sauntering along the street, whistling, and moving in a direction that
seemed to be that in which he might manage to meet the three as if by
accident. He did not take much comfort out of his whistling, for in his
heart he felt himself to be the most shameful hypocrite that had existed
since the days of Judas Iscariot, and the recollection of having been
told by his Sunday-school teacher within a week that he was the best boy
in his class seemed to make him feel worse instead of better; and his
mind was not relieved of this unpleasant burden until at a shady corner
he came suddenly upon the organ-grinder and his supporters, when he
instantly exchanged his load for a new one.

"Why, what's the matter, Paul?" asked Benny, with as much surprise in
his tone and manner as he could affect.

Justice Stott had just gone into an adjacent yard for water for the
Italian, when Grayson answered, with a very sober face, "You know as
well as I do, Benny, and I saw the whole crowd."

"I don't!" exclaimed Benny, in all the desperation of cowardice. "I
didn't do or see - "

"Sh - h!" whispered Grayson, "the Justice is coming back."

Benny turned abruptly and started for home. He felt certain that his
face was telling tales, and that Justice Stott would learn the whole
story if he saw him. There was one comfort, though: it was evident that
Grayson did not want the Justice to know that Benny had taken part in
the affair.

There was a great deal of business transacted by the boys of Laketon
that night. How it all was managed no one could have explained, but it
is certain that before bed-time every boy who had taken part in the
assault on the Italian knew that the man was not dead, but had merely
been stunned and cut by a stone; that Paul Grayson knew who were of the
party that chased the man up the alley. Various plans of getting out of
trouble were in turn suggested and abandoned; but several boys for a
long time insisted that the only chance of safety lay in calling Grayson
out of his boarding-house, and threatening him with the worst whipping
that the boys, all working together, could give. Even this idea was
finally abandoned when Will Palmer suggested that as Grayson boarded
with the teacher, and seemed to be in some sort a friend of his, he
probably would already have told all he knew if he was going to tell at
all. Some consolation might have been got out of a report of Benny's
short interview with Grayson, had Benny thought to give it, but he had,
on reaching home, promptly feigned headache, and gone to bed; so such of
the boys as did not determine to play truant, and so postpone the evil
day, thought bitterly of the morrow as they dispersed to their several
homes.

There was not as much playing as usual in the school yard next morning,
and when the class was summoned into school the teacher had no
difficulty in discovering, by the looks of the various boys, who were
innocent and who guilty. Immediately after calling the roll Mr. Morton
stood up, and said:

"Boys, a great many of you know what I am going to talk about. Usually
your deeds done out of school hours are not for me to notice; but the
cowardly, shameful treatment of that organ-grinder began in the school
yard, and before you had gone to your homes, so I think it my duty to
inquire into the matter. Justice Stott thinks so too. When any one has
done a wrong that he can not amend, the only manly course is to confess.
I want those boys who followed the organ-grinder up the alley to stand
up."

No boy arose. Benny Mallow wished that some one would give the bottom of
his seat a hard kick, so that he would have to rise in spite of himself,
but no one kicked.

"Be honest, now," said Mr. Morton. "I have been a boy myself; I have
taken part in just such tricks. I know how bad you feel, and how hard it
is to confess; but I give you my word that you will feel a great deal
better after telling the truth. I will give you one minute more before I
try another plan."

Mr. Morton took out his watch, and looked at it; the boys who had not
been engaged in the mischief looked virtuously around them, and the
guilty boys looked at their desks.

"Now," exclaimed Mr. Morton, replacing his watch in his pocket. "Stand
up like men. Will none of you do it?"

Benny Mallow whispered, "Yes, sir," but the teacher did not hear him;
besides, Benny made no effort to keep his word, so his whispering
amounted to nothing.

"Grayson," said Mr. Morton, "come here."

Bert Sharp, who sat near the front of the room, where the teacher could
watch him, edged to the end of his seat, so as to be ready to jump up
and run away the moment Grayson told - if he dared to tell. Most of the
other boys found their hearts so high in their throats that they could
not swallow them again, as Grayson, looking very white and
uncomfortable, stepped to the front.

"Grayson," said the teacher, "I have known you for many months: have I
ever been unkind to you?"

"No, sir," replied Grayson; then he wiped his eyes; seeing which Bert
Sharp thought he might as well run now as later, for boys who began by
crying always ended by telling.

"You saw the attack made on the Italian; Justice Stott says you admitted
as much to him. Now I want you to tell me who were of the party."

"May I speak first, sir?" asked Grayson.

"Yes," said the teacher.

"Boys," said Grayson, half facing the school, "you all hate a tell-tale,
and so do I. Do you think it the fair thing to hold your tongues and
make a tell-tale of me?"

[Illustration: "MR. MORTON, I WAS THERE."]

Grayson looked at Will Palmer as he spoke, but Will only looked sulky in
return; then Grayson looked at Benny Mallow, and Benny was fast making
up his mind that he would tell rather than have his friend do it, when
up stood Bert Sharp and said,

"Mr. Morton, I was there."

"Bravo, Sharp!" exclaimed the teacher. "Grayson, you may take your
seat. Sharp, step to the front. Now, boys, who is man enough to stand
beside Sharp?"

"I am," piped Benny Mallow, and he almost ran in his eagerness.

"It's no use," whispered Will Palmer to Ned Johnston, and the two boys
went to the front together; then there was a general uprising, and a
scramble to see who should not be last.

"Good!" exclaimed Mr. Morton, looking at the culprits and then about the


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