"He's funny, is n't he." "Come down to the gate, Roxy. I want to see Hawknose John." Kyle Wilbur got there about as soon as they did, and the Woodchuck came along in the middle of the road, singing a queer chant, or song, full of rough, harsh-sounding words. "That's real old Onondaga, Roxy," said Piney. "It's Indian. His mouth must be made different from yours or mine." "John," said Piney, "what made you knock him down? He does n't belong to you." Hawk "Woodchuck big fool. Drink whisky. nose John good friend. Knock him down and send him home. Go home sober now. Not waste any more money for squaw. He sell berries for squaw. Promise not drink. Go wicked just a little. Knock him down, so he stop right there. White man not know enough to do that." "Yes," said Piney, "but what if he 'd been a "And his ears, too," said Roxy, "or he could n't big Indian and you a little one?" know what he 's singing." The Woodchuck was a short, broad man, remarkably dirty and ragged. His face was dark and ugly, and his long, coarse black hair came down on his shoulders from under all that was left of what must once have been a white man's high black hat. He had put a red ribbon around it, and stuck a feather in the ribbon on one side, and a strip of shining tin on the other, so that he certainly was a very gay and funny-looking old Indian that day. The man who was now coming close up to him was a very different sort of person. He was as dark and Indian-looking as the Woodchuck, but he was very tall and thin, with a high, hooked nose, that gave his face almost a fierce expression. In fact, if Hawknose John had lived in the old times, when his tribe was a great nation, it is very likely he would have been a warrior, for he looked like one as it was, he was so stern and stood so straight. He spoke a word or two to the Woodchuck, in harsh, guttural tones, and that Indian at once stopped singing and stood still. John was evidently very angry, but it could not have been about the feather or the piece of tin, for he, too, had a wide red ribbon around the straw hat he was wearing, and he had on an old blue swallow-tail coat, with gilt buttons. "Is he swearing?" asked Roxy. 66 "No," said Kyle Wilbur, "Hawknose John would n't swear. He's as good as a deacon, but anybody can see he 's mad. The Woodchuck 's always getting into some sort of scrape." He was in one now, beyond a doubt, for the tall Onondaga raised his long right arm, when he ended his rough scolding, and struck him hard on the forehead with his clenched fist. It made a sharp, cracking sound, as the blow fell, and over went the Woodchuck in the dust, as if he had been an Indian nine-pin. He was not much hurt, however, for he at once picked himself up, rubbing his forehead, and marched off along the north road without saying a word. Hawknose John said nothing, either, but pointed threateningly in the direction of the Indian Reservation. 66 'Boy ask too many question," said the tall Onondaga, with dignity. "Got any potatoes?" he asked, presently. "Plenty of 'em," said Piney. "Is that bow for sale?" Piney had been watching, from the first, an unusually long and handsome-looking bow which John carried in his left hand. It was beautifully polished, but was likely to require a strong arm to bend and use it. John now lifted it at arm's length, and held it up for the boys to admire, but slowly remarked: "No No sell him. away." Hawknose John give him "Whom will you give it to?" asked Kyle Wilbur. "Give it to Aunt Keziah. So she give John some potatoes. No sell bow." "O, that 's it," said Piney. "Let me show it to her, John. It's just the kind of bow she wants." Kyle and Roxy laughed while Piney seized the bow and hurried back into the house. "Aunt Keziah," he shouted, see what a splendid present Hawknose John has brought you. Just what you were wishing for." 66 "Me, Piney? A present to me? hickory bow. What a pretty one. want of a bow?" Why, it's a But what do I "O, you can lend it to me. I'll take care of it for you. Besides, Hawknose John wants you to make him a present of some potatoes.” "He's always wanting something. They 're a lazy, shiftless, good-for-nothing set." "O, Aunty, you ought to have seen him knock down the Woodchuck and send him home, just because he 'd taken one drink of whisky!" "Did he? I always said there was something good about John. How many potatoes does he want?" "He did n't say. It's a splendid bow." "Well, tell him he may have as many as he can carry in a sack. New potatoes can't be had yet, and good old ones, like ours, are high and scarce." He can't carry a great many. Very likely Hawknose John knew all that, for Aunt Keziah's skill at making potatoes "keep over" was as well known as some of her other wis When the bargain was completed with Hawknose John, however, that tall, thin person pulled from under his blue coat a very stout-looking sack, and silently followed Piney to the barn. Have what can carry?" he remarked, as he leaned over the side of the potato-bin, and began to pick out the best ones and drop them into his bag. Yes, John, you 're only to have as many as you can carry." "Good. John like that. You like potatoes?" "O, yes, I eat them." "Well, I declare! Why, that Indian rascal has taken a good two bushels and more. It 'll kill him if he tries to carry it. And all that for a bit of hickory wood." Hawknose John did not seem to notice anybody, however, until he had marched out of the front gate and along the road for several rods. He then carefully slipped the bag of potatoes down on the grass and took a seat beside it. Piney and Kyle and Roxy had followed him, wondering what he meant to do, and the former asked: "John, how 'll you ever carry that bag to the Reservation?" 66 Boy ask too many question. My potatoes now. Aunt Keziah give big bag full. Wagon come along, by and by. Put 'em in and take 'em home to squaw." There was a look of something very much like "Good for boy. Eat a heap. John got boy at fun on his dark face as he said this, and Kyle Wilhome. Eat all day." Piney began to think there must have been a famine at the Reservation, as John worked away at his bag. He never ceased putting in more and more, until it was so full that he could hardly tie the mouth of it. "You can't carry that," said Piney. bur said to Piney : "He's got a big price for his bow, anyhow. Your Aunt Keziah is n't sharp enough to make trades with Indians." "She is with white men, then. I never saw her beaten so badly before. Anyhow, his little Indians must have something to eat, and the bow 's a "You see. Hawknose John big Indian. Put splendid one." him right on shoulder." And so he did, and walked out of the barn with it, although it made him stagger and waver in his walk. And Aunt Keziah, happening to look out of the kitchen window just then, had to exclaim: "Will you teach me to shoot?" asked Roxy. "Certainly," answered Piney, absently, but in high good humor. Already he was planning a splendid frolic. The bow and arrow would be just the thing! (To be continued.) THE LAST DAUPHIN.* BY ALICE D. WILDE. ONCE upon a time, many, many years ago, there lived, in a palace in France, a poor little boy. You will wonder, if he were a poor little boy, why he should have lived in a palace; but he was not poor in that sense. He had no lack of food and clothes; cold and hunger were unknown to him. On the contrary, no little child was ever more tenderly cared for than he. His home was in a superb palace, richly furnished and adorned with rare pictures and fine statuary. His play-ground was a beautiful garden, with winding walks and green alleys leading to summer-houses and pavilions, and where fountains, gushing forth in the midst of beds of lovely flowers, cooled the air with their spray. Besides all this, he had a little plot of ground of his own, which you may be sure he cared for far more than he did for all the stateliness and variety of his father's garden. He worked in it quite diligently, and great was his pride and delight when at length he could carry a bouquet of his own raising to his beautiful young mother. In winter, or when the weather was too stormy to play out-of-doors, he had numberless bright and costly toys, and his sister-who was older than himself, and who was very sweet and gentle-would play with and amuse him for hours. But with all these lovely things about them continually, they *See Frontispiece. were not allowed to think only of themselves; for their mother taught them to care for the poor and helpless, and to be ready always to give up their own pleasure for the comfort and happiness of those about them. One New Year's Day,-which in France is the great day for making presents, as Christmas is with us,—she caused a number of splendid toys to be brought to the palace, and spreading them out on a table before her, she called her children, and bade them look at these fine playthings, which she had intended to give to them as New Year's gifts; but, owing to the severity of the winter and the consequent suffering among the poor, she should instead, if they were willing, buy clothing and food for those who needed both so sadly. The children gave up their toys very sweetly and cheerfully, and their mother had the pretty things taken away, paying the man for his trouble in bringing them. But you must not imagine that this little boy's whole time was taken up with play. No, indeed; he had a very kind and wise governess, who taught him a great many useful things, and a tutor who gave him instruction in all the manly studies, arts and exercises of those times. He was very diligent in his studies, and made wonderful progress. His memory was very good, and he could recite long poems with great correctness and taste. It was very necessary that he should be thoroughly well educated; for, child as he was, he was a very important personage in France, second only to his own father, and it was hoped that one day he would hold the highest position in the kingdom -that of its sovereign. Surrounded as he was by all this wealth and luxury, tenderly beloved by his sweet sister, the pet and darling of his kind father and lovely young mother, the pride and hope of a great nation, you are no doubt wondering why I should call him a poor little boy. There is a certain Greek proverb which says, “Call no man happy till his death, " and it applies perfectly to this young prince. His name, which you have not yet heard, was Louis. Louis Capet, I suppose, was his full name; but, as he was the son of Louis XVI., king of France, he never was called by his last name. Kings and princes always sign their first name only. He was not even called Prince Louis, as he would have been if he had been an English prince; but was called the Dauphin, a title always bestowed on the eldest son of the king of France. His sister, although she was only a little girl and a princess, was called simply Madame. But in spite of his youth and the love and tenderness that would have shielded him from all harm, clouds began to overshadow the sunny brightness of his life. When he drove out through the streets of beautiful Paris with his father and mother, instead of the shouts of joy, the cheers and demonstrations of affection, with which their presence had always been greeted by the people, there began to be, first, silence, broken by a few faint cheers; then low mutterings of anger, which after a time developed into loud and insulting remarks. Fierce and scowling faces peered into the carriage, and the shrill voices of coarse women were heard in horrid yells and mocking laughter. Louis was no longer glad to accompany his father and mother in their drives. He would have preferred the quiet and peacefulness of his own garden. He used to ponder over these things, and wonder what could be the meaning of so great a change. His usually bright face looked serious and perplexed. His father asked him one day why he looked so sober. Little Louis said, "Papa, why are the people, who used to love you so much, so angry with you now? What have you done to them? The king took his son on his knees, and replied: "My child, I wished to make my people happy. I asked for money to pay the expenses of the wars, as all my ancestors have done; the parliament opposed me, and said that the people alone had the right to grant it. I therefore called together the principal inhabitants of every town, at Versailles. This assembly is called the States General. When they were assembled, they required of me concessions which I could not make, either with due respect for myself, or with justice to you, who will be king after me. Wicked men have made the people angry, and this has caused the crowds and trouble of the last few days; the people themselves must not be blamed for them." But little Louis, although he accepted his father's explanation and asked no more questions, yet was not satisfied. He could not understand why the people should be so angry at being asked for money. Carefully shielded as he had been from every rough wind, he could not realize that there were thousands of little children in the same city with himself, who, in all their lives, had never known what it was to have enough to eat; who, pinched with cold and hunger, every night lay down' on the bare stone floor, huddling together, and drawing their wretched rags over their wasted limbs, to try if by any means they might keep off the bitter cold. But the fathers and mothers, who loved their children as well as the Queen of France loved her little ones, knew it was so; and, in their fierce struggle for the barest necessaries of life, they grew hard and bitter, and ready to curse the rich lords and masters who, as they considered, had ground them down and trampled them under foot. cent suffered, as well as the guilty. Louis XVI. certainly was a better man than the kings before Now, in this case, as it often happens, the inno- him had been, and much more careful than they not to waste the public money by spending it royal family. extravagantly on his own pleasures. But he was too tender-hearted to rule with a strong hand, and too weak in judgment to govern wisely; so the wind which his fathers had sown became the whirlwind for his reaping. The long course of oppression under which the people had suffered had made them hard and cruel, and when the strong hand which had kept them down was exchanged for a weak one, the fierce passions of hatred and revenge, which had been slumbering in their breasts, were ready to burst forth at a word into crimes of such ferocity that the world stood aghast. At length, one July day, the word was given, and a mob of twelve thousand people attacked the Bastille, and set free the prisoners who had been shut up in it. After that, matters grew worse every day. Jeering and mockery were familiar sounds whenever the royal family drove out, and soon the mob shouted their brutal insults under the very windows of the palace. One night at Versailles, after a day of unusual tumult, when the rioters had forced themselves into the palace itself, Louis lay in his little bed, shaking and sobbing with terror. He could not get over the shock of seeing his mother insulted,his sweet, beautiful mother,—and his piteous sobs continued till the queen came to bid him good-night. She soothed him with tender words and comforting assurances, until at length he fell asleep. He was awakened, about four o'clock the next morning, by shrieks and cries and sounds of firearms; and, before he had time to do more than wonder, his governess came in and hurried him off to his father's apartments, where he found his sister and the queen, who had barely escaped with her life. That same day they were forced to go to Paris, whither the fierce mob accompanied them. They surrounded the carriage, pressed upon it, and peered into it, scanning with cruel eyes the unhappy occupants, and with rude, mocking laughter, making their coarse comments. A band of fish-women-large, broad-shouldered, brawny-armed, and fierce, even more vile, degraded and brutal than the men, if that were possible— stalked on before, their wooden shoes clattering on the pavements; and they cried with hideous yells: 'We shall no longer want bread, for we have the baker, the baker's wife, and the baker's little boy with us!" 66 The poor little dauphin arrived at Paris half dead with terror; so much so that the next day, hearing some noise in the court-yard of the palace, he threw himself into his mother's arms, crying, “Oh, mamma, is to-day yesterday again?" From that time there was little peace for the They were captives in their own house, surrounded by guards day and night. Once they made an attempt to escape, but were discovered and brought back. And after this, escape was impossible for them. They were closely guarded, and daily and nightly these scenes of horror and of blood were renewed in the great city around them, till at length it was almost a relief to them when the walls of a prison shut from their sight that maddened, yelling mob thirsting for their blood. This was the Prison du Temple, and here little Louis sometimes walked on the roof with an older companion, and threw a few crumbs to the little birds, whose freedom the young prince envied. For, although he still had good food and a clean dwelling, which he shared with his father, mother and sister, he was in prison, and could no longer enjoy freely the fresh air and warm sunshine. At last, the summons came for the king to appear before the tribunal to answer for the crime of being of royal blood. He bade his family a last farewell, embraced them tenderly, gave his blessing to his children, and bade them trust in God for their deliverance. More happy than his wretched wife, in being spared the sight of his beloved ones' sufferings, the king, forgiving his enemies, calmly yielded up his life on the scaffold. The One night, shortly after the king's execution, the guards came to the queen's cell, and roughly told her that they must take away the dauphin. unhappy mother, in the extremity of her anguish, threw herself before her son, and for a long time kept off the guards. But, at length, utterly exhausted, she fell fainting at their feet, and the young prince was then removed. The little boy, who had been so carefully nurtured, so tenderly cherished all his life, was roughly thrust into a cold, damp cell, and, with a rude push and an oath, was left by the guards to sob and cry through the long night for the mother who would never come to him again. So cruelly was he treated that, in a few months, no one would have been able to recognize the bright, beautiful young prince in the dirty, squalid, neglected little being who inhabited a cell in the Prison du Temple. Scantily covered with a few filthy rags, his body wasted to a mere skeleton, he sat, for the most part. on a wretched heap of straw, which served him for bed by night and seat by day. His food was thrown to him twice a day, and he scarcely ever saw a human being save his brutal jailer, Simon, who could hardly be considered human. He was not only neglected and starved, he was also cruelly beaten and roughly knocked about. The hardened wretch, Simon, taught him vile and |