Where did you come from, baby, dear?
Out of the everywhere intothe here.
Where did you get those eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.
What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry spikes left in,
Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here,
What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as | went by.
What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
1 saw something better than any one knows.
Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.
Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.
Where did you get those arms and hands:
Love made itself into bonds and bands.
Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as thecherub's wiugs.
How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.
But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here.
~—By George MacDonald.
THE LAW OF THE TRIBE.
[BY REX BEACH.)
HIS is the tale of a Kanaka
whaler, a whisky cask and a
missionary. having to do with
a bloodletting away out on the
edge of things, involving white men's
passions and the smoldering hate of
the Eskimo, as it was told to me by a
revenue man while we were steeped in
laughter, music, clinking glasses and
the muflled clang of Broadway trol
leys.
1 had bemoaned the urbanity of life,
the paucity of the pastoral What
though the duck had been delicious
and the salad perfect! The stale
breath of the city was in my nostrils,
and I railed at its refinement. So, led
by my mood, my friend's discourse
wandered out into the distant reaches
till 1 felt the heave of slanting decks,
smelt the sea spume and heard the
salt air whining through the shrouds.
North and west we cruised through the
smoky seas where the sea parrots
scream, up toward the Diomedes,
where the roar of the bull walrus
drowns the beat of the surf, and there,
out of the tropic blue of his Havana,
he wove this story of the arctics:
At the tip of that point of land
which leans farthest out and whispers
across to the moss garbed hills of
Siberia nestles a native village. Since
the earliest days no whaling ship has
passed it without pause to trade, for it
is the most prosperous of all the towns
from Dutch Harbor to Point Barrow.
The strait teems with walrus, deer
range the ridges behind, salmon choke
the rivulets, and the cry of geese In
the slow summer air is like a noisy
burden.
One June midnight, as the yellow
sun dipped shallowly below the hori- |
1 y
| that he would make the Indians like |
But the other—somehow | koew |
be was due for trouble from the first. |
He was nice enough. only for his airs, |
he brought his young wife with
them aflame with the de-
the heathen. !
ancbored about a mile and «
and
balf from shore, the ‘old mau’
sent for all the villagers. It was the |
only town we had ever stopped at
where they didn’t hurry out of their |
men were slow in thelr greeting. They |
came finally, and a finer lot I never |
saw-big, clean limbed and clothed in
royal furs, but sullen—yes, very sul-
len—and when they saw the two white
among themselves.
“The captain knew their story—he
knew everything that had to do with |
Alaska—and he called them together |
below the bridge. i
* ‘These people have come to live |
with you.’ he aaid. ‘Be good to them.’ |
| “There was considerable talk. Then |
! one spoke up in his native tongue:
| "'We don't want the white men and
their squaw.’
{| “They're good men,’ said Healy.
| “They'll teach you wany things and
cure your children when they're sick.’
*“*‘We don't want the white men,’
said the spokesman again. ‘Take them
i away. If they stay they will be sorry.
. Maybe they will die. Who knows? i
“The ‘old man's’ eyes glowed and
his voice raised a tone as he spoke.
* ‘If anything happens to them I'll
blow up your village. I'l shoot your
| houses to pieces.’
“They had never seen a cannon be-
fore and began to laugh at this.
* No,’ said they: ‘we are not chil-
dren to be frightened with fools’ talk. |
The village Is too far away, and the
ship can't come close to land. No; you
must keep the white folks yourself.’
“At that the captain made them
| climb the rigging, every one of them,
| and had me load the bow gun.
! *“‘'Shoot low, lieutenant, he said.
| So 1 did. The shot struck halfway to
| the shore. A laugh came from aloft. |
|“ ‘What did we say? they gibed. ‘The
big whale gun is no good. You can't |
| scare us; we are men.’
| “‘Load her again,’ said Healy. 1
did, and this time the laughter was
| not so loud, for the ball struck close to
the beach. They were unconvinced,
| however, and jeered us mightily till |
the commander said:
* ‘Lieutenant. that big cache to the |
| east of the village.’
| “-aAye, aye, sir, and 1 sighted.
“They had caught the ‘old man's’
tone this time and ceased to chatter. |
The deck was very still as 1 fired.
“The cache was a rude log shelter, |
perched high on posts and standing
well out from the village. It was a
good shot. The target smashed like
(a clay pigeon. We saw women and
! children scurrying out of the huts back
| toward the hills,
I “The men came down on the deck
| quietly, and they were not laughing
| now, but more sullen faces | never
| saw,
| * ‘Don't shoot again,’ they said. ‘Let
the white men and the squaw come
zon, a Hawallan schooner anchored ,..,re' And that's how we landed
abreast the sand spit and was 800D | our missionaries.”
surrounded by the curious populace. |
They came off in kyaks and big skin |
boats, bearing many things to barter, !
noisy and pleased Ino their childlike |
friendliness. They had not trafficked |
long until the captain ordered up a
cask of whisky aud broached it. So it
was but a short time until the sailors |
nue cutter called at the village fre-
quently, leaving mail, provisions, ete.
and It seemed that the churchmen
were getting along much better than
had been expected. Particularly did
the Ohio boy succeed with them, for
he worked earnestly and treated his
were in possession of the Eskimos’
spoils and they in turn reeled under
the drunken fumes. The schoouner's
master was a haif breed—swart, thick
and domineering. As time drew along
for some reason he grew enraged at a
| charges with a tact and understanding
| of which the other, Mathison, seemed
| totally devoid. However, he was even-
| tually sent down the coast to Port
! Clarence in charge of a government
| reindeer herd. leaving the Kentuckian
native and struck him. That one, lig- |
uor maddened und aroused from his | 20d bis wife at Prince of Wales.
| Now, the spirit of mischief dwells
Sustomary Fond atiie, drew 2 te as stoutly in a native child as in one
white blood would have run had not a | of other blood: but. no matter what
faults are committed, the Indian never
Sailor Sonched 4 Misdgece aud bedien | chastises his offspring. This tender
men drew together threateningly. The
crew, who had likewise become in-
flamed. charged them with every
weapon handy and swept them over-
board. all but a dozen, who fought
back doggedly. These, forced down
the deck inch by inch, sought refuge
beneath the forward deck, where they
crouched, thoroughly terrified.
The sailors, drunk with victory and
the blood lust, seized blubber hooks
and, reaching in, dragged them out
one by one. As each was brought
forth they knocked in his head and
threw him overboard—eleven in all,
Then, glutted with the kill, their decks
awash with blood. they weighed an-
chor and sailed away like pirates of
the Spanish main. In this fashion ha-
tred was sown at Prince of Wales.
On the sand ridge behind the town
they reared eleven great whale ribs in
a row, while the squaws let down their
hair and rocked and wailed, and the
men spoke with stony faces and bit-
ter words.
As the years passed, whenever a
child grew to understanding, his moth-
er taught him the story of the bleach-
ing benes and nursed the hatred in
him as jealously as she did his life.
Withal they were a crafty people and
realized that vengeance must come cau-
tiously. for each year there were more
and more white men in the country,
and back of them was a great power
which they felt. but could not fully
grasp. These newcomers treated them
well, as a rule, and but for the mem-
| spirit of reverence is one of the most
| touching traits of the aborigine, and
| not only does he never lift a hand
against his little ones, but violence
from another is a deadly affront.
The children of this village did not
like Mathison, and he began to feel an
unrest in his school which he could
not fathom. One morning he found a
rude caricature of himself on the
blackboard. It was most disparaging
to his dignity and led to severe lan-
guage. A few nights later some one
threw pebbles at his house door.
Again, the schoolhouse was broken
open and chalk taken out. He spoke
to the scholars of dire punishments,
and still the thing prevailed until he
grew maddened out of all proportion
to the gravity of the offenses.
Had be treated them with a patient
good humor the little ones would have
exhausted their resources of annoy-
ance, but they Irritated bim cumula-
tively till one day In an outburst he
threatened death to any one who ap-
proached his house at night. His resi-
dence sat well up on the mountain
above the village, and for some time
thereafter he slept in peace. But the
liberties with the schoolhouse contin-
ued. and one day. becoming frenzied,
he made public announcement that
should he catch any one forcing it
open he would shoot him.
Some time after three little boys,
wrenched with deviltry, sprang the
ne e— on
“He will kill us,” answered the
third, speaking from: the wisdom of
his thirteen years. “He sald so.”
Whereat the other two went a-tremble
ind a pauic seized them.
“Yes. he will kill us.” they said and
wanted to run home to their mothers,
but were checked Ly the eldest.
Now, it 12a not good to threaten an
Indian with death. Complaint he will
stand, abuse he will suffer and vitu-
peration even, but beware of the
preservation will stir within him, and,
like the wolf, he is quick to snap.
The oldest boy, in whom lay deepest
rooted the story of the eleven whale
ribs, spoke to the other.
men and the woman they murmured | “There is but one thing to do. We !
must kill him first. Come; let us do
it” So they went back to the village.
It was the middle of August, and
the nights were growing dark. Thus
they were unnoticed, particularly as
most of the men were gone hunting.
The leader stole a whale gun from |
his father's cache, a great weapon,
throwing an explosive bomb; the sec- |
ond sneaked from his home an old
musket, relic of Russian days, with a :
ball half the size of his little fist,
while the cripple could find only a
sledgehammer.
Surely there has never been a more
curious spectacle than that of the
three brown children on their mission
of death winding up the hill, hushed
with the tragedy of the soft, sweet
summer night,
aflame with the hatred of the other
race, the grim tale of their slaughtered |
fathers and the fear of the mission-
ary's threat urging them. First crept |
the young leader in the tremendous
dignity of his bravado, the second
barely large enough to lug the long
barreled musketoon, and then the piti-
ful, haiting boy with the withered
thigh clasping the hammer to his ach-
ing chest, its handle leaving a trail in
the dust like the track of an accusing
They loaded thelr weapons, for this
knack they had learned with their
first speech. and. as they were unable
to aim with certainty, they ap-
proached the door and placed the
muzzles on either side of the knob.
Bracing themselves, they cocked their
guns. At a sign the little one raised
the sledge and beat a tattoo. It
awoke the two within, and the man
arose. He spoke:
“Who is there?”
“Now,” whispered the boy with the
| whale gun, and the two reports
| boomed out into the night, rolling
| down to the village, and the recoil
| flung thew into the sand. They arose,
but heard nothing within save the
frightened cries of the woman, and
! then the horror of their deed stole
coldly into their veins, and they went
shaking down the mountain and into
their mothers’ huts.
They awaited the sure alarm, but |
it did not come, for the white woman
huddled fear stricken at the house.
Across the door lay her husband's |
body, shot through and through with
a whale bomb and a Russian slug,
As the settlement stirred in the first
dawn the lame Bby could stand it no
longer and spoke to his mother.
“What a bad dream | had last night, |
During the next few years the reve | TOther:”
She noted shrewdly that he was
frightened and that lines showed
around his tired eyes other than the
marks of pain that a cripple bears.
“What was it, little one?"
“I dreamed that the missionary man
was dead.” He trembled, but she dis-
missed him,
“Chut! What a dream!” and she
went about her labors.
the mind of each
— — |. ——————— - ——
When questioned they dented (her
part stoutly. although the nen saw
signs which caused them to doubt,
“Come with ux to the dead man and
swenr that yon are innocent,” sald
ate. nnd the boys agrecd. They moved
down the beach together, hut the cer
tainty grew in the minds of the men
that these -~hikiren were the ones
The Cuutkoor, or medicine wan, began
to chant and ery out as they went,
working himself into a frenzy He
own accord. but ever since the day of threat, for he Is serious Ip uls mind told rhem that they must come with
the Kanaka schooner Prince of Wales | and has no conception of a bluff. Self | him to the naked body and kneel be
: side it, where they must take off their
| shirts and repeat their oaths with
bands upon the wounds. At this the
- little shavers grew pale, and the small-
er one began to cry,
“Not the shirt”
! “Don’t make us take off our shirts.”
Aud at this the men looked at each
other sadly and fell behind so that the
boys were ahead. They had flinched
, at the ordeal. They could not endure
| that most terrible oath wherein the
patent to these keen men. They spoke
gutturally amoung themselves; then,
without further warning, their rifles
rang, avd the little bodies pitched for-
wurd op the beach.
i Two bunters bore them to the door
{ of Mathison's house, followed by the '
grim braves, and tears raced down
for the children had been blood of
their blood, and he whom they had
avenged had been hated by them all,
but justice of the Spartan type reigns
, among these hardy peopie. Moreover,
in the past years they had grown to
great reals from the bridge of the
white revenue ship and who stood in
their eyes for the grim, unyielding
image of the law and for the vengeance
of the other race
ow’'s door and placed therein the two
bodies; then the chief went in and
spoke to her
“Come forth and look.
' might be avenged.”
| They took her away from the place
and down the coast to Port Clarence
to ber husband's friend, but further |
than that they did nothing save to
lock up the house and leave things as
they were, for they felt that the news
wouid travel by the mystic channels |
of desolate lands and that the revenue |
cutter would glide around the point
and soon they would have to face the
. wrath of the white men and, worse, |
the accusing eyes of the old man
whose voice In anger shook every na-
tive from Akutan upward.
“How we first heard the news I
don’t know." said the lieutenant, “for
we were away up in the Kotzebue
country, and it was vague, but we
steamed south full speed and anchored
abreast of the town less than a week
after the tragedy.
“As on our tirst trip, no canoes put
| off to meet us, and a deadly silence
| was over the place. The gaunt hills
. seemed hushed, and wot a soul showed
{ dll | landed in the gig. It was not
! long till | had the whole story, and
he whimpered.
shirt is removed. and their guilt was |
many a wrinkled visage at the sight,
respect the grizzied man who rules this |
They dug a grave before the wid:
We have
killed our own sons that your blood
leaned forward, listening: the birds |
soots and huug their beads xo that the
Jdght might nor glisten ou their cheeks.
“Squaws crept ap and encircled us, :
mottled reindeer parkas weird
their
and zhostlike m the darkness With
them there was no diguity in stoleism,
and they wept quietly. and ver.
through it all the master was as firm
as a rock. for the dignity of the law
was in his fads
“Al | ask = the other bov," he con-
cluded ‘Bring nim to me, Tor he muse
Answer to the white man
“At this there was a murmur,
* ‘What will you do with him? ques
tioned the chief, and | saw that they
were afraid we would torture him.
When it was explained that he would
be detained perhaps. but one so young
could not merit death under the white
"man’s rule, an old hunter spoke:
“No! That i= not a good law, We
are brothers to the white man, and
the boy must answer to our law. Let
the guilty ones die. Leave this one
to us, and we will pnnish him.
* ‘Remember, he is only a little one,’
said Healy, and now he was pleading
In his turn. ‘Give him to me.’ But
the hunter shook his head doggedly.
and the others murmured “acquies-
rence
* ‘He must die.’ he said and patted
the stock of hix rifle. ‘When you re-
turn next the stain will be gone.’ ”
My friend relit his cigar and, eying
it speculatively, went on In slow
words:
“Sometimes | picture a halting, half
starved Indian lad wandering there all
rlone amoung wossy. barren hills, an
! exile from hs home, an outlaw, hunt-
RY 8 ;
the
SEK
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
i
i
“When you return next the stain will
be gone.”
ed and harried where he should have
| been rocked
Tears of hunger streak his weazened
in his mother's arms.
1 called a meeting of the men, saying | little face, grown pinched and old and
that the captain would be there to | gray. while his hands are bleeding
| told Healy. | of berry juice is on his teeth. He
“It was a strange sight that August shivers weakly as the raw wind
night—the flaring light on the gaunt, | searches through his rags, Each night,
bronzed faces that stared so moodily | creeping to the mountain crest, he lies
at us, the agony of the parents, whose | there on the sharp stones and hears
| thoughts were in the grave on the | the faint sounds of the village, strain-
| mountain side, the overhanging velvet | Ing his tired eyes through the dusk to-
| hills rearing up to the starry sky. | ward the place where be knows his
hear them Then | went back and where he has dug for roots. The stain |
| The dignity and the ceremony of it are
fresh with me yet, for here at last was
the fruit of that forgotten orgy on
| mother sits.
| “But Lord: Think of the gray man
| who took his loaded rifle and went out
Later he spoke again, for the secret | the whaler's deck: here the law of the | into the bleak mists to save the law
grew with its repression till it weigh- |
|
|
They Placed the Muzzles on Either
Side of the Knob,
ed down his soul, and now the old wo-
man, her quick suspicions aroused,
drew from him most of the story, all
but the names of the other boys. This
he refused. saying he did not know—
| man's rule.
“The plaint of a distant squaw float-
strange odors of a wild people and a
Eskimo met the steel of the white Of his fathers and the honor of his |
| house! Think of his returning silently,
!
———————————— — -
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN
DAILY THOUGHT.
Gentleness is far more successful in all its en,
terprise than violence—indeed, violence generally
frustrates its own purpose, while gentleness
scarcely ever fails.—Locke.
Shadow Parties.—Quick and easy to
arrange for evening entertainments and
parties are shadow plays. They require
for their production only a stretched wet
sheet, a lamp with a , Some
paper, thread, the darkness, a little in-
geduity, and a «9
e best ay I know is “The
Ballad of Benjani and Mary Jane” in
an 1877 “St. Nicholas” magazine; but any
narrative poem, or song, or , in
monologue can be used. Some of Lewis
Caroll’'s, Will Irwin's or Gelett Burgess'’s
poems would make admirable shadow
pla Another good plan is to condense
and burlesque some popular new book
that the audience would be familiar with
—or, better still, put it in rhyme, inter-
spersing local hits.
| Weird or beautiful scenic effects can
be made with cut paper pinned to the
sheet, a tree, window, fence, ec. Mar-
guerite's spinning wheel need be only a
cut of newspaper, while birds, flying ma-
chines, the sun, moon, cut out of te-
board, can be worked from the He on
stout linen threads running through
Tings or stout safety pins at the top of
| the sheet; and pasteboard ships, wagons,
and animals fastened to sticks can be
made to come and go, their size decreas-
ing with the distance from the light,
: which is usally place) from six to eight
| feet from the t. The actors should
pose and gesticulate slowly, and the
tableau can be made to glide off the
sheet by moving the lamp to one side.
: Zoe G. WILLIAMS.
i
| Guessing Shadows.—The com was
divided into “sides” to guess pL A pic-
tures. The children of the party were
posed with spectacles and with different
styles of headgear, some of it only folded
newspapers. A tongue thrust out at in-
| tervals or a nose wrinkled, or a yawn,
; added to the fun, and some of the moth-
ge failed to recognize their own chil
, dren.
| Girls wore boys coats and hats, with
1
' hair and bows tucked under, and boys
with girls’ fixi lost their identity en-
tirely. Little Miss Muffit fell off her
tuffet at a paper spider, and a mock fight
was enjoyed in which two boys seemingly
ran each other through with improvised
, rapiers. Everyone had a good time with
i little trouble and expense.
MRs. M. W. SPAULDING.
|
A Rag-Rug Party.—In our town croch-
| eting rag rugs has become such a fad
that one clever woman, alert for new
methods of entertaining, gave her friends
a “Rag-Rug Party.”
Her invitation read as follows:
Will you in good old-fashioned way,
Come Tuesday next to spend the day?
A ball of cotton rags please bring,
Cut from some old, discarded thing.
| A crochet hook and scissors, too,
; You'll need a “Memory Rug” to do,
i Be sure to have an apron big,
And come right early to the “jig.”
Sager Pin anticipation, Sn the ap-
pon e guests arriv prom; »
+ each with “ball” tucked snugly pa
in her workbag.
Upon the floor Wate Scattered for in-
spection many comp rugs, some
made by the hostess, and a number bor-
There was a quaint “pumpkin”
made largely of tan stockings cut Te
rally; the old watermelon rug, with seeds
intact; the “hit or miss” ; rugs rec-
| tangular, round, elliptical, in fact ample
variety from which to model a new rug.
i guest, in turn, crocheted up her
ball—or allotted rows, as the case might
: be—then passed the rug on to the next,
who began where the last one left off.
The enthusiastic workers were inter-
‘rupted in due time for luncheon, which
proved quite as unique as the entertain-
, ment.
Old-fashioned dishes were in evidence
i and the menu was from old-
prepared
| with only the deepened seams of his time recipes. In the center of the table
face hinting of what he'd done!” | was an exquisite miniature rug crochet-
| The gong of the Broadway electric j adfof very narrow strips of delicate shades
wilder land, and then the oldest chief | brought me back out of the north.
arose and spoke.
“This was a solemn time, he said,
and every soul felt that it marked an
epoch in the history of the tribe. They
were cold with sorrow for their chil
dren and sick with dread of what the
future bheld—fearful of the wrath of
, the whites.
| “He went back and told the story of
| the great crime so adroitly that I felt
| the hot, impotent rage of his people in
my veins, felt the hatred flare in me
as it had flared in them when the Ka-
naka sailed reeking away. He pointed
to the ghostly whale ribs, lighted by
the fire, and told how his people had
refused to welcome the missionaries,
but how they had been forced upon
them; how the one grew to be loved
and taught them of the white man's
God and laws and then went away;
how the other had stayed and become
hated; of how be abused their chil
dren and how they said nothing. Then
he described the deed of the three
boys. and the pathos in his deep voice
as he told of the tribe's quick venge
ance caused my throat to ache and the
fire to blur before me. What more did
we want? We had spoiled thelr faith
in their old zcds, we bad murdered
their men, we had forced a creed upon
them whose teachers they did not
want, and yet for the death of one of
these they had wreaked vengeance on
their own offspring. Two they had
killed, and, although the other had es-
caped. they would offer him as a sac-
rifice also Surely that was enough!
“When he had done our ‘old man’
stood up. Ah, there was a man for
you! I'd have broken down or bun-
;
:
:
;
:
i¥E
jis
ifs
hy
Hi
by the sympathy of the w
len renegades, imbittered
of their
“He taiked as a mother does to
thildren till the men shifted thelr
g
1
fa
Eg
within me; the breath of the gheat city
was sweet again in my nostrils.
“I don’t care to think of it.” said I
and shuddered.
“And he was the boy's father.” said
my friend.
| Concord Was Selected After Fifty
Years of Controversy.
The name of Concord, N. H., was
which lasted fifty years. In 1725 the
land now within its bounds was grant
ed to the colonists under the name ot
Peacock by the colony of Massachu-
setts: This claim was disputed by the
colony of New Hampshire, which two
years later granted this same land to
the township of Bow. 1738 Massachu-
setts incorporated Peacock into a
township named Rumford, and for
more than forty years a fierce legal
controversy was carried on. No agree-
ment could be reached, and the mat-
ter was taken to the authorities in
England, but even then there was nce
satisfactory nor permanent settlement.
In the face of an evident leaning
toward the claims of Bow, both in
England and in America, the little
band of colonists in Rumford fought
on valiantly, and in 1765 an act of
incorporation was granted to the in-
habitants of Rumford. This was still
The lust for the elemental was spent
given to the town after a controversy |
‘ parts of rugs) cut from advertisements
in the magazines, and mounted artis-
on pale yellow cardboard. A rub-
ber thimble in a tiny sweet grass basket
was the souvenir at each place. The
' baskets were wrapped about with silk
| rag strips till they simulated balls, so
| that a delightful surprise awaited the
; unwinding of the balls.
{ After |
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SARA B. BILINGS.
A Lemon Social.—The invitations were
cut in the form of lemons from yellow
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