Read Ebook: Harper's Young People February 14 1882 An Illustrated Weekly by Various

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Ebook has 263 lines and 17265 words, and 6 pages

A person whose clothing catches fire should be rolled at once in a rug, or quilt, or large shawl, to stifle the flame. When a fire breaks out anywhere the doors and windows should be shut as quickly as possible, to prevent a draught. But most people rush out-of-doors, screaming, in their terror, and others rush after them, throwing pails of water, or doing anything but the right thing. If a person is wounded or cut, the way to stop the flow of blood is to bandage tightly above the wound, between that and the heart; but instances are not rare where people bleed to death because nobody at hand has enough knowledge or presence of mind to attend to this simple thing at once. Like other desirable qualities, this one can be cultivated, and you may possess it as well as another.

MISS HOLSOVER'S "TREASURE."

A Story of St. Valentine's Day.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.

"Mr. North!--please, Mr. North!"

The voice, a delicate, childish one, seemed to be almost caught up and whirled away in the snow-flakes. The speaker--a little boy of about twelve years, scantily clad, and carrying a heavy basket--was running as well as he could along the dreary country road, while he tried to make himself heard by the invisible occupant of a wagon lumbering ahead of him.

It was a covered wagon, and to the boy's eyes it seemed to be the embodiment of comfort and warmth. He was chilled to the bone, thoroughly tired, and disheartened. What could he do if Mr. North failed to hear him?

But he did not. Suddenly he pulled up his horses, and peered around him in the gloomy twilight.

"Be some one a-calling?" he said, loudly.

"Yes, sir, please." The boy's voice was just audible.

"Why," said Mr. North to himself, "derned if that bean't Miss Holsover's boy!"

"Oh, please, Mr. North," the little fellow said, trying to get his breath, "I'm so tired! and I thought, perhaps, you'd give me a lift."

Jesse was comfortably seated on the straw by this time behind Mr. North's burly figure, and as the wagon jogged on he almost forgot his fright and fatigue.

"I've been in to market with butter and eggs," he said, "and brought back a basketful of things for Aunt Jemima."

"Humph!" Mr. North's exclamation was characteristic as he looked around at the delicate face of the child, which had about it so many tokens of refinement that it was hard to believe he really was the nephew of the coarse, hard-featured woman who lived in grim seclusion at Holsover Farm.

"I say, Jesse," he said, shortly, "how comes it you be a relation o' hern?" He jerked his head toward the cross-roads they were approaching.

"Why, how come you to be up to Miss Holsover's?"

Jesse shook his head. "I don't know," he answered. "I've always been there."

They jogged on a few minutes in silence. Jesse felt the soothing effect of the warmth and stillness, and half dozed. Mr. North turned a compassionate gaze on the sad young face which in sleep showed such worn lines.

"No Holsover blood there!" he muttered.

Mr. North was the only expressman, or carrier, in this very obscure part of the country. Twice a week he came and went, carrying letters and packages, as well as occasionally a traveller, to the different villages of towns about. Once a month he visited Boston. His own house stood on a country road about three miles from Holsover Farm. There he lived almost alone, his widowed mother being too infirm to be considered very much of a companion for a hearty, burly, good-humored man like himself.

The old farm-house in which Miss Holsover lived stood near the cross-roads. It was a long low building with one story and an attic, above which rose the slanting roof. Some old trees grew at one side, but everything about it was dismal and uninviting to visitors. Miss Holsover said she was glad of this. She liked to shut herself away as much as possible from her fellow-creatures.

Not a human being in all the country about ever remembered a sympathetic word or look from her. She was a tall grim woman of sixty, with bushy eyebrows, gray hair, and thin, bluish lips. What comfort she could take in life every one wondered, but it was whispered that she was hoarding money; that if the truth was but known, untold sums lay hidden somewhere in the old house.

The boy had appeared and disappeared so many times in the course of Jesse Grey's remembrance that he had felt as if he might expect him any particularly windy night, or any time when things were going on a little comfortably. For Bill's visits to the farm were his seasons of terror. Bill was a coarse, violent-tempered lad, who delighted in terrifying him in every way possible, who forced his so-called aunt into new cruelties to the helpless child, and who seemed only to know that he could suffer.

"Mr. North, can you tell me what a valentine is like?"

It was a long speech, and Mr. North delivered it with some difficulty, flecking his horses with his whip now and then, and apparently taking a great interest in the weather.

"Wa'al," said Mr. North, "ter-morrow's the day."

But the boy only laughed sadly.

The dark road suddenly seemed to come to an end. Jesse jumped up and looked out. There across the fields lay the gloomy brown farm-house. He felt his heart sink within him as he thanked Mr. North, got down from the wagon, and taking the basket turned in at the gate.

The door was opened with a click, and Miss Holsover stood there holding a candle-light above her head.

"'Sthat you?" she said, in a shrill voice.

"Yes," answered Jesse. His entrance into the house was helped by Miss Holsover giving him a decided push by the shoulders.

Jesse put the basket down, and began at once taking off his coat. In spite of his rest and little sleep, he was shivering with cold and fatigue.

"What's the matter?" said Miss Holsover, giving him another shake by the shoulder.

"I'm wet and tired," said Jesse, timidly.

"Wet and fiddlesticks!" retorted the old lady. "None of that nonsense! You've plenty to do to-night, let me tell you. I'm goin' across fields."

"Don't stand gapin' like that," exclaimed Miss Holsover. "Sit down and eat your tea, and then go out and do your chores."

Jesse obeyed. The supper--some weak milk and stale bread--was soon eaten, and then he followed Miss Holsover, who laid his work out, and gave him his instructions for the night. He was to perform the tasks she had set him, and not think of going to bed until she returned.

Jesse was too well accustomed to the hardships of his life to rebel against anything. He stood still, listening quietly, and even helped the old lady to go away in comfort.

Instead of going at once to work, he knelt down a moment before the fire, thinking about the questions Mr. North had asked him.

His plan, childish as it was, developed very quickly. Jesse had an idea that he could walk very far before morning, and that he might meet Mr. North somewhere on the way. He knew there was no time to lose, and so, running up to his little attic room, he began hastily putting together such things as seemed necessary for his long journey. The book with his aunt's name was carefully tied up in the bundle. Jesse thought that the name written there might perhaps help him in some way.

He had only a small bit of candle, and it so happened that this went out before he had quite finished his preparations. He was standing by the little dormer window, and almost at once he felt rather than saw the gleam of a lantern. It was moving, and seemed to come from the barn loft. In a moment there was a second flash, and this time it illumined a man's figure.

Jesse shrank back in fear and trembling. Who could it be? But though afraid of the lonely house, it frightened him still more to think of not finding out who was in the barn. He hesitated but a moment, and then sped down stairs, and creeping across the space between the house and barn, slowly unlatched the door. He was scarcely inside the barn before he caught the sound of voices. Two men were speaking, and Jesse's heart sank within him as he recognized one voice as that of Bill Holsover.

The boy's feet seemed rooted to the spot. He was standing just by the ladder leading to the loft, and in the absolute stillness and darkness it was easy to hear what the men were saying. The first sentences were of no importance, but suddenly the strange voice said,

"Do you know where she keeps it?"

Then came Bill's answer: "I'm most sure it's in the cupboard to the right of the fire-place, under the floor."

"Will there be trouble getting it?"

"Not if we make sure she's in bed. There's that little young 'un around; but we won't have any trouble keepin' him quiet."

BRAN'S CONSCIENCE.

There is not the slightest doubt that Bran had a conscience. No dog who was not fully aware that he had misbehaved himself, and deeply penitent on account of it, could have shown so much sorrow and contrition.

At night, just before the house was shut up, he made his appearance, very tired and travel-stained. Being met at the hall door, he was rebuked, and his offered paw not taken, in token that he was in disgrace.

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