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Produced by Annie R. McGuire


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Tuesday, September 6, 1881. Copyright, 1881, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

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[Begun in No. 92 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, August 2]






When Tim left old Mose's kitchen it was nearly time for the steamer to
start on her regular trip, and the passengers were coming on board
quite fast. The bustle and excitement which always attend the sailing of
steamers, even though the trip be a short one, were all so new and
strange to Tim that he forgot his own troubles in watching the scene
around him. He saw Mr. Rankin near the kitchen, and was told by him that
he could remain on deck until the Captain should ring his bell, when he
would let him know of it.

Therefore Tim had an opportunity to take in all the details of the
interesting scene. The deck hands were scurrying to and fro, wheeling in
freight or baggage on funny little trucks with very small wheels and
very long handles; passengers were running around excitedly, as if they
thought they ought to attend to matters which did not concern them;
newsboys were crying the latest editions of the papers; old women were
trying to sell fruit that did not look very fresh, and everything
appeared to be in the greatest confusion.

While Tim was leaning on the after-rail of the main-deck, his attention
was attracted by a very small boy, who was trying to get himself and a
large valise on board at the same time. The valise was several sizes too
large for the boy, and some one of the four corners would persist in
hitting against his legs each time he stepped, and then, swinging
around, would almost throw him off his feet.

Twice the boy started to go on board, and each time the valise grew
unruly, frightening him from continuing the attempt lest he should be
thrown into the water. Then he stood still and gazed longingly at the
plank upon which he did not dare to venture.

It was a comical sight, and Tim laughed at it until he saw the boy was
really in distress, when he started to aid him.

"Let me help you carry your valise," he said to the small passenger, as
he darted across the narrow plank, and took hold of one side of the
offending baggage. "Two can lug it better'n one."

The boy looked up as if surprised that a stranger should offer to help
him, and then gave up one-half the burden to this welcome aid. This time
the journey was made successfully; and as the valise was deposited on
the steamer's deck, the little passenger gave a deep sigh of relief.

"So much done!" he said, in a satisfied way, as he took off his hat and
wiped his forehead with a handkerchief that did not look much larger
than a postage stamp. "Where are you goin'?" he then asked, turning to

"Why, I ain't goin' anywhere," replied the Captain's boy, not fully
understanding the other's question.

"Oh!" - and the boy's face grew troubled - "I thought maybe you was goin'
in the boat."

"So I am," answered Tim, now understanding the question. "I work here."

"Now that's nice;" and the little fellow sat down on his valise

"You may think so; but if you knew Captain Pratt, you'd talk different."


"Perhaps you'll find out if you come on this boat much; but I guess I'd
better not tell you."

The boy was silent for a moment, as if he was trying to understand what
Tim meant, and then he said, abruptly: "Look here, I live down on
Minchen's Island, an' I come up here to see my aunt. I'm goin' home on
this boat, an' I want you to show me where I can get a ticket. If you
will, I'll show you lots of things I've got in this valise."

"I don't know where it is myself, 'cause I ain't been on the boat only
two days; but if you'll wait here, I'll go an' ask the cook."

The boy nodded his head as if to say that he would wait any reasonable
length of time, and Tim started off to gain the desired information of
old Mose.

In a few moments he returned, and taking his new acquaintance by the
hand, would have led him to the clerk's office at once, had not the
small boy pulled back in evident alarm.

"We've got to take the valise with us, 'cause somebody might steal it,
an' there's two bundles of torpedoes, a whole bunch of fire-crackers,
an' a heap of little sky-rockets in it."

Tim understood at once, and with a serious look on his face, as he
thought of the great risk he came near running, took hold of one of the
handles of the valise, the boy grasped the other, and the two marched up
to the clerk's office. There, after some little discussion, the ticket
was purchased, and the two retired to a more secluded spot for

"What's your name?" the boy asked of Tim. "Mine's Bobby Tucker."

Tim gave the desired information, and then asked in turn, "How long have
you been up here?"

"'Most a whole week, an' I've had lots of fun. I had five dollars an'
twenty cents that I earned all myself, an' I've got 'most half a dollar
left. Let's go out on the wharf an' buy something."

There was no chance that Tim would object to any such brilliant idea,
and the valise was left with old Mose for safe-keeping. Once on the
wharf, both they and the apple women were very busy for five minutes,
during which time they - or rather Bobby - bought fruit and candies enough
to make both of them as contented as a boy could hope to be.

Luckily for Tim he got on the steamer again just as one of the waiters
came to tell him that the Captain had rung for him, and he lost no time
in making his way to the wheel-house. He had the good fortune to get
there as quickly as Captain Pratt thought he ought to have done, and
then got his employer's coat from his state-room as he was ordered.

After that he went back to his newly made friend, who was awaiting his
return with considerable impatience, for he did not feel exactly certain
that his valise with its precious contents was perfectly safe.

Tim took him to the cook-room, and while there showed him "one of the
finest dogs in the country," which he led back to his old quarters, so
that he would be out of the way at dinner-time.

At first Bobby was not inclined to look upon Tip either as a beautiful
or a valuable animal; but Tim sounded his pet's praises so loudly that
Bobby could hardly prevent himself from being convinced, even though the
appearances were so decidedly against his companion's words.

Among other stories which Tim related as showing that Tip was one of the
most intelligent of his species was the incident of his finding the cow
so suddenly for Sam Simpson, which pleased Bobby greatly, and he said,
in a wise tone both of praise and blame,

"He looks like a good dog, an' he acts like a good dog, but 'pears to me
his legs is kinder short if you wanted to make him run after a bear."

"I never tried to make him do that, 'cause we don't have bears up where
I come from. Are there any where you live?"

"Well, I never saw any, an' father says there ain't any; but I've heard
'em in the woods, an' I know they was bears 'cause they made such an
awful noise. You come down to the island and see me, an' bring the dog
with you, an' we'll kill some."

Tim was perfectly sure that Tip was able to kill any number of bears,
and he told his companion so, adding that he hardly thought he could get
away from the steamer long enough to make any kind of a visit; but Bobby
felt sure it could be arranged somehow.

While they had been talking about Tip, the boat had started, but, among
the freight as they were, they did not know it until the pitching of
the steamer as she left the harbor told that some change had been and
was being made in their position.

Running hastily out to the rail, where they expected to see the wharf
with its bustling crowd of hucksters and passengers, they saw to their
astonishment the green rolling billows of the ocean. To Bobby, who lived
on an island, the sea was no new sight, and his astonishment was only
occasioned by the fact that the steamer had left the dock; but to Tim,
who had never seen a body of water larger than the river in Selman, the
scene was one that filled him with the greatest wonder.

He remained by the rail, only able to look over the top of it by
standing on his toes, gazing on the sea, until Bobby asked, impatiently,
"What's the matter? ain't sick, are yer?"

Until that question was asked, Tim had not thought of such a thing as
being seasick; but the moment Bobby spoke, it seemed as if the entire
appearance of the water changed. Instead of looking grand and beautiful,
it began to have a sidelong motion, and to rise up and down in an
uncomfortable way.

"No, I ain't sick," he said to Bobby, "but I feel kinder queer."

"That's it! that's it!" cried Bobby, eagerly; "that's the way folks
begin when they're goin' to be awful sick."

Tim looked up in despair. Each succeeding motion of the boat made him
feel worse, and that was speedily giving place to a very uncomfortable
sensation in the region of his stomach.

"What shall I do?" he asked, in a piteous whisper.

"Go to bed, an' you'll be all right in the mornin'. Where's your berth?"

Tim made a motion toward the forecastle, but did not trust himself to
speak. His stomach was already in too queer a condition to permit of

"I'll go down with you, an' see that you're all right," said Bobby,
sagely. "I'm used to goin' fishin' with father, and I won't be sick."

Tim was about to follow his friend's suggestion, when the horrible
thought occurred to him of what the result might be in case Captain
Pratt knew of his being in bed in the daytime, and he went to ask advice
of old Mose.

The old cook's advice was the same as that given by Bobby, and was
followed at once, because it came from a semi-official source, and in a
few moments afterward Tim was groaning in his berth, while Bobby sat by
his side, and tried to persuade him to partake of some of the candy he
had bought just before leaving port.

Tim refused the offering, and for the first time in his life looked upon
candy as the stickiest kind of a fraud. He felt as though the kindest
thing any one could do would be to throw him overboard in the midst of
that treacherous sea which was causing him so much internal commotion.

He had been in his berth about an hour, although it seemed to him fully
a week, when Mr. Rankin came into the forecastle, and told him that
Captain Pratt had given positive and angrily issued orders that he be
brought on deck.

A moment before, Tim would have thought it impossible for him to move,
and felt that he would not be frightened by a dozen Captain Pratts; but
the instant Mr. Rankin spoke, the thoughts of that whipping, the smart
of which could still be felt, was sufficient to give him strength to
make the attempt.

Staggering to his feet, encouraged by the kind-hearted steward, who
pitied him sincerely, he crawled up the narrow companionway, shuddering
as he went, and catching his breath in sickness and fear at each lurch
of the steamer.

Bobby, who was awed into silence by the fear of the Captain which he saw
plainly written on the faces of Mr. Rankin and Tim, would have gone with
his friend at least a portion of the way if Tim had not motioned him
back. If he was to be whipped for being sick, he very much preferred
that his new friend should not witness the punishment. It was with the
greatest difficulty he managed to keep on his feet as he staggered along
the deck to the wheel-house, and just as he reached there, and had
opened the door, a sudden lurch of the steamer sent him spinning into
the room headlong.

It was unfortunate that Captain Pratt was sitting directly opposite the
door, smoking, for he was directly in the way of Tim when the steamer
shot him into the wheel-house like a stone from a sling, and the boy's
head struck with no gentle force full on the chest of his irritable

The mildest-mannered man would have been provoked if a boy even no
larger than Tim had been thrown at him in this way, and Captain Pratt,
always ill-tempered, had all his ire aroused by the blow that very
nearly took away his breath.

As soon as he recovered from the effects of the blow, he seized Tim, who
had continued on his flight until he landed, a forlorn little specimen,
in one corner of the room, and shook him as a cat shakes a mouse after
she has had a long chase to catch him.

"Is this the way you try to get even with me?" cried the angry man,
slapping Tim first on one side of the head and then on the other with a
force that made his teeth chatter. "What do you mean by such actions?
Answer me - what do you mean?"

"I don't mean anything," said the boy, piteously. "I was comin' in all
right, when the boat tipped up, an' I slid right along. I was seasick,
an' I couldn't help it."

"Then I'll help it for you," roared the Captain, and he flogged Tim
until he thought he had been punished enough to cure him.

It seemed to Tim as if either the flogging or the sickness would have
been sufficient alone, but to have both filled his heart with all the
sadness and grief it could well contain.




"Clark," said Jim Ridgeway, "it's no use. We sha'n't board the _Rip Van
Winkle_ this morning."

"Why not?" exclaimed Barbie Kyle; but little Ben was reaching over too
far after a stick in the water, and before she could pull him back a
shrill, cracked voice came down from the bank above the beach:

"Look a-heah, you chil'en! wot you doin' wid my boat?"

"We're going to board the _Rip Van Winkle_," shouted Clark Ridgeway, and
Willy Kyle added:

"Yes, Kisedek, and if we hadn't kept your boat off shore, she'd have
been high and dry by this time."

"Dat's so. De tide's out, but it's a-comin' in agin. Jes' you fotch de
boat right in."

"Are you going a-fishing?" asked little Ben Kyle.

"I's gwine foh some flounders 'way 'cross de bay. Jes' you chil'en let
de _Wip Van Rinkle_ alone. She ain't no wreck ob yourn."

"Now, Kisedek Pound," said Barbie Kyle, "she's right there, and she's
been there ever so long."

"Dat's so. Dah she is. But she's gwine away, chil'en."

"Going away!" said Jim Ridgeway. "I'd like to see her do it. She's half
full of water, and stuck in the mud."

"Dat's so, but den it ain't jes' so. Dar's been men a-nailin' up de
holes in her so she'd float. Dey jes' druv away all de black-fish. De
fish won't come no moah, now dey can't git inside."

"We want to board her anyhow," began Jim Ridgeway; but Willy Kyle
interrupted him:

"Do you know what they're going to do with her when she's mended?"

"Wot'll dey do wid her? Wid dat ar ole wreck? Dat's de berry queshion
yer fader said to yer uncle de Kernel yes'erday. An' de Kernel he said
back to him dat she was mos' used up 'nuff to be builded over new foh to
be a man-ob-wah."

"Did father say so too?"

"Wot did he say? No, sah; he tole de Kernel back not to 'buse a pore ole
wreck dat away. She was good for sumfin yit. Come, chil'en, git outen de

Kisedek Pound's deeply wrinkled and very black face, with its wide
fringe of white whiskers, had been all one friendly grin as he came down
to the water's edge. He had even grumbled to himself: "I'd take de hull
lot ob 'em wid me ef dey wasn't done gone shuah to skeer de fish."

Now, however, all five of them began to beg, and they were too many for
old Kisedek Pound. It was but a few minutes before he was pulling his
boat, with the children in it, out toward the bar on which the _Rip Van
Winkle_ had been run ashore, nearly a year ago, with two large holes in
her side, made there by the clumsy head of a raft of logs. There she had
lain ever since, almost high and dry at low tides, but not one of the
children had thought of boarding her until that morning.

"Put me up first," shouted Clark Ridgeway, as the boat's nose struck the
wreck. "Now, Barbie, give me your hand. Boost her, Willy."

Jim Ridgeway came near getting a ducking, clambering up without any
help, and little Ben Kyle, just as Kisedek Pound hoisted him within
Clark Ridgeway's reach, gave a great squall.

"She's all alone! I'm afraid! Nobody's in her!"

"Ob course dah isn't," said Kisedek. "Not eben de black-fish. Dey was
pumpin' ob her all day yes'erday."

Ben's fright was over in an instant, for the older children were already
taking possession of the wreck, and were exploring it in all directions.

It was great fun, only there was very little to be discovered by the

"She isn't so bad a wreck," said Jim Ridgeway. "Look at her masts."

Barbie Kyle was looking down the hatchway, and she almost shuddered as
she exclaimed,

"Jim, would you dare to go down stairs, and see what's in the cellar?"

"Cellar! Why, Barbie, that's the hold. Maybe there is something down
there somewhere."

"Away down there? Do you s'pose the folks ever lived there and kept

"Of course they did. They cooked, and they had beds there. That's where
the cargo was, till she got wrecked, and they ran her on the bar. Then
it was full of water."

"There's water there now."

"Not much. Didn't you hear old Kisedek? He used to come and catch
fish - "

"Come on, boys," shouted Clark Ridgeway, just then; "we can make this
thing go round."

"That's the capstan," said his brother. "It lifted the anchor."

"Guess I know that. Only there isn't any anchor to lift."

[Illustration: "WIND HER UP! WIND HER UP!"]

Barbie Kyle herself seized one of the capstan bars, while little Ben
tugged away at the capstan itself, shouting, merrily,

"Wind her up! wind her up!"

Old Kisedek Pound had rowed away as soon as he delivered his passengers,
and he had gone nearly half a mile before he suddenly poised his oars,
and exclaimed, very dubiously:

"Dat's so. Dat's de one ting I nebber t'ought ob. How de nashin'll dem
chil'en git ashoah time foh dinnah? I jes' don't want to see Missis Kyle
'bout dis time. Noh Missis Ridgeway. De chil'en's safe 'nuff. De ole
_Wip Van Rinkle_ won't sink wid 'em no deeper. I tell ye wot, ole man,
ef you knows wot's good foh yourself you jes' go an' ketch youah
flounders, an' den you go an' fotch dem chil'en ashoah. It's jes' like
me. Dat's wot Missis Kyle'll say. An' Missis Ridgeway. I guess I jes'
won't go home by de way ob her house."

He anchored his boat on his chosen fishing ground, and the flounders bit
well, and all the while he was pulling them in the fun went forward
merrily on board the _Rip Van Winkle_.

The tide had turned before the "little boarders" took possession of
their prize, and now it was rippling strongly around her stern. The
water on the bar was fast growing deeper, but none of it poured into the
wreck, as it would have done before the holes in her side were mended.

"Hurrah!" shouted Clark Ridgeway. "Her stern's lifting up, and her
deck's almost level."

So it was, and it made a better place to play on, but there had been yet
another change in the situation. With the rising tide a breeze had
risen, and with the breeze a thick white fog had drifted up the bay
from the sea. Still, all the children knew something about tides and
breezes and fogs, and they were not a bit scared when they found they
could not see the shore.

"Barbie," said little Ben, at last, "I want to go home."

"Kisedek's coming."

"I want him to come now."

"Don't be afraid. He'll come. - Oh, boys, the wreck's moving!"

They all held their breath for a moment, and looked at each other, but
Willy Kyle shouted, "Hurrah! We're afloat! We've got a ship of our own!
Let's play sailor."

It was about the only thing they could do, and it helped them keep up
their spirits, but there was no mistaking the fact that they were
"afloat." That high tide had easily lifted the _Rip Van Winkle_'s nose
out of the mud, and it was now steadily bearing her along, up the bay.
The fog was too thick to guess in what direction they were going, and
the old schooner swung around a good deal, but the water was pretty
smooth, for the breeze was a light one, and they could not see any

"Barbie," whimpered Ben, "if we hadn't wound her up, she wouldn't have
gone. Do you s'pose she'd stop if we unwound her?"

"Don't be afraid, Ben. Old Kisedek'll come for us."

He was coming at that very moment, only he had not the slightest idea
where to go, and he was the most puzzled old black man within a hundred
miles of that bay. He had caught his flounders with uncommonly good
success, and then he had pulled back across the fog-covered water, to
the spot where he expected to find his young passengers.

"Right about yeah. It's de berry spot. Yes, dah's de float wot I tied to
when I ketched dem big black-fish. But whar's de _Wip Van Rinkle_?"

It was an awful question for Kisedek Pound, and the perspiration came
out upon his black face in great beads.

"No, sah. I jes' don't want to hab no conversation 'bout it wid Missis
Kyle. Wot she'll say I doesn't keer to know."

He pulled around and over the vacant piece of water where the vanished
wreck had been, and then a sudden thought struck him.

"Dem chil'en dey jes' couldn't hab took her off agin de tide. I'll find

He took to his oars desperately, and the tide helped him. At that rate
he could have soon explored the whole bay.

"Oh, de fog!" he gasped, as he paused for breath. "Hi! dat's more'n
fog." He drew in a long, full measure of the damp air, and then he
shouted to something big and black about ten feet from him: "Ship
aho-o-oy! Mars' Wot's-yer-name, hab you' seen anyt'ing ob a lot ob
chil'en wid an ole wreck?"

"Hurrah, Barbie! there comes Kisedek Pound. We're all right."

"Chil'en," said Kisedek, solemnly, as he came along-side, "doesn't you
know it's stealin' to run away wid anoder man's ship wot's had all de
holes in her patched up? I's gwine to tell yer moders soon's ebber I git
ye all ashoah."

There was great excitement for a few minutes on board the _Rip Van
Winkle_, and then she was left, without crew or passengers, to be swept
on by the tide, until she again ran aground on a muddy flat further up
the bay.

Long before that occurred, however, old Kisedek Pound had explained to
"Missis" Kyle and "Missis" Ridgeway why their children were not home to




Little Master Saturday, who is devoted to holidays, and perfectly revels
in all sorts of jollifications - although, poor boy, being a "Saturday's
child," he has to "work hard for his living" - made up his frivolous
little mind this summer to give a picnic, and invite all his cousins
the Days to spend the livelong day with him in the "merry green wood."

It was easy to obtain leave of absence from his master, Mr. Workaday, on
condition that he performed certain tasks before he went; so the
earliest bird had not yet started out on his worm-hunt the next morning
when Saturday popped briskly out of bed, and was so spry that all his
"chores" about the house and barn were finished up long before
breakfast, which so pleased Mrs. Workaday that she gave him a fine large
frosted cake for his lunch.

"And a jolly good plummy one it is," remarked Saturday, with
satisfaction, as he carefully packed it, surrounded by pickles, in a
large basket, and set off for Monday's house, where he found the little
girl, with her sleeves rolled up, merrily working away at the wash-tub.

"Dear Monday," he said, "will you not come to my picnic?"

"How can I," said Monday, "when I have all these clothes to wash and
hang on the line."

"Oh, I will help you," said Saturday; and pulling off his coat, he set
to work with so much vigor that in half an hour all the handkerchiefs
and aprons were flapping gayly in the breeze, and the tiny queen of the
soap-suds, hastily cutting a generous supply of sandwiches - for the
Mondays always have a plentiful stock of cold meat in the house - they
started off together to invite their cousin Tuesday, the little girl's
pretty face peeping shyly out from beneath a picturesque gypsy hat, for
every one knows that "Monday's child is fair of face," and all these
little people were named for the day on which they were born.

Tuesday lived in a cozy, vine-covered cottage, and she opened the door

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