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Data Structures &
Problem Solving
Using Java
fourth edition
This page intentionally left blank
Data Structures &
Problem Solving
Using Java
fourth edition
ISBN-13: 9780321541406
ISBN-10: 0321541405
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10⎯CRS⎯12 11 10 09
To David and David.
This page intentionally left blank
preface
preface
T his book is designed for a two-semester sequence in computer science,
beginning with what is typically known as Data Structures and continuing
with advanced data structures and algorithm analysis. It is appropriate for the
courses from both the two-course and three-course sequences in “B.1 Intro-
ductory Tracks,” as outlined in the final report of the Computing Curricula
2001 project (CC2001)—a joint undertaking of the ACM and the IEEE.
The content of the Data Structures course has been evolving for some
time. Although there is some general consensus concerning topic coverage,
considerable disagreement still exists over the details. One uniformly
accepted topic is principles of software development, most notably the con-
cepts of encapsulation and information hiding. Algorithmically, all Data
Structures courses tend to include an introduction to running-time analysis,
recursion, basic sorting algorithms, and elementary data structures. Many uni-
versities offer an advanced course that covers topics in data structures, algo-
rithms, and running-time analysis at a higher level. The material in this text
has been designed for use in both levels of courses, thus eliminating the need
to purchase a second textbook.
Although the most passionate debates in Data Structures revolve around
the choice of a programming language, other fundamental choices need to be
made:
summary of changes
in the fourth edition
1. This edition provides additional discussion on using classes (Chapter 2),
writing classes (Chapter 3), and interfaces (Chapter 4).
2. Chapter 6 contains additional material discussing the running time of
lists, the use of maps, and the use of views in the Java Collections API.
3. The Scanner class is described, and code throughout the text makes use
of the Scanner class.
4. Chapter 9 describes and implements the 48-bit linear congruential gener-
ator that is part of both the Java and many C++ libraries.
5. Chapter 20 has new material on separate chaining hash tables and the
String hashCode method.
6. There are numerous revisions to the text that improve on the prose in the
previous edition.
7. Many new exercises are provided in Parts I, II, and IV.
a unique approach
My basic premise is that software development tools in all languages come with
large libraries, and many data structures are part of these libraries. I envision an
eventual shift in emphasis of data structures courses from implementation to
preface ix
use. In this book I take a unique approach by separating the data structures into
their specification and subsequent implementation and taking advantage of an
already existing data structures library, the Java Collections API.
A subset of the Collections API suitable for most applications is discussed
in a single chapter (Chapter 6) in Part Two. Part Two also covers basic analy-
sis techniques, recursion, and sorting. Part Three contains a host of applica-
tions that use the Collections API’s data structures. Implementation of the
Collections API is not shown until Part Four, once the data structures have
already been used. Because the Collections API is part of Java, students can
design large projects early on, using existing software components.
Despite the central use of the Collections API in this text, it is neither a book
on the Collections API nor a primer on implementing the Collections API spe-
cifically; it remains a book that emphasizes data structures and basic problem-
solving techniques. Of course, the general techniques used in the design of data
structures are applicable to the implementation of the Collections API, so sev-
eral chapters in Part Four include Collections API implementations. However,
instructors can choose the simpler implementations in Part Four that do not dis-
cuss the Collections API protocol. Chapter 6, which presents the Collections
API, is essential to understanding the code in Part Three. I attempted to use only
the basic parts of the Collections API.
Many instructors will prefer a more traditional approach in which each
data structure is defined, implemented, and then used. Because there is no
dependency between material in Parts Three and Four, a traditional course can
easily be taught from this book.
prerequisites
Students using this book should have knowledge of either an object-oriented
or procedural programming language. Knowledge of basic features, including
primitive data types, operators, control structures, functions (methods), and
input and output (but not necessarily arrays and classes) is assumed.
Students who have taken a first course using C++ or Java may find the first
four chapters “light” reading in some places. However, other parts are definitely
“heavy” with Java details that may not have been covered in introductory courses.
Students who have had a first course in another language should begin at
Chapter 1 and proceed slowly. If a student would like to use a Java reference
book as well, some recommendations are given in Chapter 1.
Knowledge of discrete math is helpful but is not an absolute prerequi-
site. Several mathematical proofs are presented, but the more complex
proofs are preceded by a brief math review. Chapters 7 and 19–24 require
x preface
java
This textbook presents material using the Java programming language. Java
is a language that is often examined in comparison with C++. Java offers
many benefits, and programmers often view Java as a safer, more portable,
and easier-to-use language than C++.
The use of Java requires that some decisions be made when writing a text-
book. Some of the decisions made are as follows:
1. The minimum required compiler is Java 5. Please make sure you are
using a compiler that is Java 5-compatible.
2. GUIs are not emphasized. Although GUIs are a nice feature in Java,
they seem to be an implementation detail rather than a core Data
Structures topic. We do not use Swing in the text, but because many
instructors may prefer to do so, a brief introduction to Swing is pro-
vided in Appendix B.
3. Applets are not emphasized. Applets use GUIs. Further, the focus of
the course is on data structures, rather than language features. Instruc-
tors who would like to discuss applets will need to supplement this
text with a Java reference.
4. Inner classes are used. Inner classes are used primarily in the imple-
mentation of the Collections API, and can be avoided by instructors
who prefer to do so.
5. The concept of a pointer is discussed when reference variables are
introduced. Java does not have a pointer type. Instead, it has a refer-
ence type. However, pointers have traditionally been an important
Data Structures topic that needs to be introduced. I illustrate the
concept of pointers in other languages when discussing reference
variables.
6. Threads are not discussed. Some members of the CS community
argue that multithreaded computing should become a core topic in the
introductory programming sequence. Although it is possible that this
will happen in the future, few introductory programming courses dis-
cuss this difficult topic.
preface xi
text organization
In this text I introduce Java and object-oriented programming (particularly
abstraction) in Part One. I discuss primitive types, reference types, and some
of the predefined classes and exceptions before proceeding to the design of
classes and inheritance.
In Part Two, I discuss Big-Oh and algorithmic paradigms, including
recursion and randomization. An entire chapter is devoted to sorting, and a
separate chapter contains a description of basic data structures. I use the Col-
lections API to present the interfaces and running times of the data structures.
At this point in the text, the instructor may take several approaches to present
the remaining material, including the following two.
1. Discuss the corresponding implementations (either the Collections
API versions or the simpler versions) in Part Four as each data struc-
ture is described. The instructor can ask students to extend the classes
in various ways, as suggested in the exercises.
2. Show how each Collections API class is used and cover implementa-
tion at a later point in the course. The case studies in Part Three can
be used to support this approach. As complete implementations are
available on every modern Java compiler, the instructor can use the
Collections API in programming projects. Details on using this
approach are given shortly.
Part Five describes advanced data structures such as splay trees, pairing
heaps, and the disjoint set data structure, which can be covered if time permits
or, more likely, in a follow-up course.
the general concept of a pointer—even though Java does not have pointers—so
that students learn this important Data Structures topic. Several of the basic
reference types (strings, arrays, files, and Scanners) are illustrated, and the use
of exceptions is discussed. Chapter 3 continues this discussion by describing
how a class is implemented. Chapter 4 illustrates the use of inheritance in
designing hierarchies (including exception classes and I/O) and generic com-
ponents. Material on design patterns, including the wrapper, adapter, and dec-
orator patterns can be found in Part One.
Part Two focuses on the basic algorithms and building blocks. In
Chapter 5 a complete discussion of time complexity and Big-Oh notation
is provided. Binary search is also discussed and analyzed. Chapter 6 is
crucial because it covers the Collections API and argues intuitively what
the running time of the supported operations should be for each data struc-
ture. (The implementation of these data structures, in both Collections
API-style and a simplified version, is not provided until Part Four). This
chapter also introduces the iterator pattern as well as nested, local, and
anonymous classes. Inner classes are deferred until Part Four, where they
are discussed as an implementation technique. Chapter 7 describes recur-
sion by first introducing the notion of proof by induction. It also discusses
divide-and-conquer, dynamic programming, and backtracking. A section
describes several recursive numerical algorithms that are used to imple-
ment the RSA cryptosystem. For many students, the material in the second
half of Chapter 7 is more suitable for a follow-up course. Chapter 8
describes, codes, and analyzes several basic sorting algorithms, including
the insertion sort, Shellsort, mergesort, and quicksort, as well as indirect
sorting. It also proves the classic lower bound for sorting and discusses the
related problems of selection. Finally, Chapter 9 is a short chapter that dis-
cusses random numbers, including their generation and use in randomized
algorithms.
Part Three provides several case studies, and each chapter is organized
around a general theme. Chapter 10 illustrates several important techniques
by examining games. Chapter 11 discusses the use of stacks in computer lan-
guages by examining an algorithm to check for balanced symbols and the
classic operator precedence parsing algorithm. Complete implementations
with code are provided for both algorithms. Chapter 12 discusses the basic
utilities of file compression and cross-reference generation, and provides a
complete implementation of both. Chapter 13 broadly examines simulation by
looking at one problem that can be viewed as a simulation and then at the
more classic event-driven simulation. Finally, Chapter 14 illustrates how data
preface xiii
chapter dependencies
Generally speaking, most chapters are independent of each other. However,
the following are some of the notable dependencies.
n Part One (Tour of Java): The first four chapters should be covered in their
entirety in sequence first, prior to continuing on to the rest of the text.
n Chapter 5 (Algorithm Analysis): This chapter should be covered prior
to Chapters 6 and 8. Recursion (Chapter 7) can be covered prior to
this chapter, but the instructor will have to gloss over some details
about avoiding inefficient recursion.
n Chapter 6 (The Collections API): This chapter can be covered prior to
or in conjunction with material in Part Three or Four.
n Chapter 7 (Recursion): The material in Sections 7.1–7.3 should be
covered prior to discussing recursive sorting algorithms, trees, the
Tic-Tac-Toe case study, and shortest-path algorithms. Material such
as the RSA cryptosystem, dynamic programming, and backtracking
(unless Tic-Tac-Toe is discussed) is otherwise optional.
n Chapter 8 (Sorting Algorithms): This chapter should follow Chapters
5 and 7. However, it is possible to cover Shellsort without Chapters 5
and 7. Shellsort is not recursive (hence there is no need for Chapter 7),
and a rigorous analysis of its running time is too complex and is not
covered in the book (hence there is little need for Chapter 5).
n Chapter 15 (Inner Classes and Implementations of ArrayLists):
This material should precede the discussion of the Collections API
implementations.
n Chapters 16 and 17 (Stacks and Queues/Linked Lists): These chapters
may be covered in either order. However, I prefer to cover Chapter 16
first because I believe that it presents a simpler example of linked lists.
n Chapters 18 and 19 (Trees/ Binary Search Trees): These chapters can
be covered in either order or simultaneously.
separate entities
The other chapters have little or no dependencies:
mathematics
I have attempted to provide mathematical rigor for use in Data Structures
courses that emphasize theory and for follow-up courses that require more
analysis. However, this material stands out from the main text in the form of
separate theorems and, in some cases, separate sections or subsections. Thus
it can be skipped by instructors in courses that deemphasize theory.
In all cases, the proof of a theorem is not necessary to the understanding
of the theorem’s meaning. This is another illustration of the separation of an
interface (the theorem statement) from its implementation (the proof). Some
inherently mathematical material, such as Section 7.4 (Numerical Applica-
tions of Recursion), can be skipped without affecting comprehension of the
rest of the chapter.
course organization
A crucial issue in teaching the course is deciding how the materials in Parts
Two–Four are to be used. The material in Part One should be covered in
depth, and the student should write one or two programs that illustrate the
design, implementation, testing of classes and generic classes, and perhaps
object-oriented design, using inheritance. Chapter 5 discusses Big-Oh nota-
tion. An exercise in which the student writes a short program and compares
the running time with an analysis can be given to test comprehension.
In the separation approach, the key concept of Chapter 6 is that different
data structures support different access schemes with different efficiency. Any
case study (except the Tic-Tac-Toe example that uses recursion) can be used
xvi preface
to illustrate the applications of the data structures. In this way, the student can
see the data structure and how it is used but not how it is efficiently imple-
mented. This is truly a separation. Viewing things this way will greatly
enhance the ability of students to think abstractly. Students can also provide
simple implementations of some of the Collections API components (some
suggestions are given in the exercises in Chapter 6) and see the difference
between efficient data structure implementations in the existing Collections
API and inefficient data structure implementations that they will write. Stu-
dents can also be asked to extend the case study, but again, they are not
required to know any of the details of the data structures.
Efficient implementation of the data structures can be discussed after-
ward, and recursion can be introduced whenever the instructor feels it is
appropriate, provided it is prior to binary search trees. The details of sorting
can be discussed at any time after recursion. At this point, the course can con-
tinue by using the same case studies and experimenting with modifications to
the implementations of the data structures. For instance, the student can
experiment with various forms of balanced binary search trees.
Instructors who opt for a more traditional approach can simply discuss a
case study in Part Three after discussing a data structure implementation in
Part Four. Again, the book’s chapters are designed to be as independent of
each other as possible.
exercises
Exercises come in various flavors; I have provided four varieties. The basic In
Short exercise asks a simple question or requires hand-drawn simulations of an
algorithm described in the text. The In Theory section asks questions that either
require mathematical analysis or asks for theoretically interesting solutions to
problems. The In Practice section contains simple programming questions,
including questions about syntax or particularly tricky lines of code. Finally,
the Programming Projects section contains ideas for extended assignments.
pedagogical features
n Margin notes are used to highlight important topics.
n The Key Concepts section lists important terms along with definitions
and page references.
preface xvii
n The Common Errors section at the end of each chapter provides a list
of commonly made errors.
n References for further reading are provided at the end of most chapters.
supplements
A variety of supplemental materials are available for this text. The following
resources are available at http://www.aw.com/cssupport for all readers of this
textbook:
n Source code files from the book. (The On the Internet section at the
end of each chapter lists the filenames for the chapter’s code.)
acknowledgments
Many, many people have helped me in the preparation of this book. Many
have already been acknowledged in the prior edition and the related C++ ver-
sion. Others, too numerous to list, have sent e-mail messages and pointed out
errors or inconsistencies in explanations that I have tried to fix in this edition.
For this edition I would like to thank my editor Michael Hirsch, editorial
assistant Stephanie Sellinger, senior production supervisor Marilyn Lloyd,
and project manager Rebecca Lazure and her team at Laserwords. Thanks
also go to Allison Michael and Erin Davis in marketing and Elena Sidorova
and Suzanne Heiser of Night & Day Design for a terrific cover.
Some of the material in this text is adapted from my textbook Efficient C
Programming: A Practical Approach (Prentice Hall, 1995) and is used with
xviii preface
M. A. W.
Miami, Florida
contents
3.8 packages 90
3.8.1 the import directive 91
3.8.2 the package statement 93
3.8.3 the CLASSPATH environment variable 94
3.8.4 package visibility rules 95
3.9 a design pattern: composite (pair) 95
summary 96
key concepts 97
common errors 100
on the internet 100
exercises 101
references 107
summary 383
key concepts 384
common errors 385
on the internet 385
exercises 385
references 391
exercises 565
references 569
summary 833
key concepts 834
common errors 834
on the internet 835
exercises 835
references 839
index 963
part
one Tour of Java
primitive java
Author: Various
Language: English
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HARPER'S ROUND TABLE, JANUARY
26, 1897 ***
BOYS AT SEA.
OWNEY, THE MAIL-DOG.
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.
THE MIDDLETON BOWL.
A LOYAL TRAITOR.
THE FIGHTING SAVAGE.
BRONISLAU HUBERMANN AND LEONORA JACKSON.
THE "WARSPITE'S" CAPTAIN.
STREET SOUNDS.
THE REMARKABLE ADVENTURES OF SANDBOYS.
INTERSCHOLASTIC SPORT.
QUESTIONS FOR YOUNG MEN.
STAMPS.
THE CAMERA CLUB.
published weekly. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JANUARY 26, 1897. five cents a copy.
vol. xviii.—no. 900. two dollars a year.
BOYS AT SEA.
BY W. CLARK RUSSELL.
Everybody will remember the exciting story of the ship Aberfoyle: how her Captain drank
himself into delirium-tremens and then poisoned himself, how the crew mutinied, how
the mate was washed overboard, and how this ship was eventually safely navigated to
Melbourne by her second officer, who was little more than a boy. But perhaps the most
memorable example of a boy's heroism is that of young Shotten. He was an apprentice
on board a vessel called Trafalgar, which left Batavia fever-stricken, with the result that
the superior officers perished, and young Shotten was left alone with the remains of a
wicked ship's company to navigate the vessel. He carried her to Sydney in safety. His
story is a true romance of the deep. This fine young fellow had not only to fight the
ocean and its tremendous perils, he had also to handle a set of desperate, reckless men
who refused to recognize his authority, and, charged with the dreadful spirit of mutiny
and murder, scarcely suffered the boy commander to save their lives. Stories of this sort
need the pen of a Defoe; they should be submitted to the world by the hand of genius,
that, being in all senses things of beauty, they might be immortal as inspirations in such
hours of conflict as young Shotten passed through. It is to be regretted that writers for
boys do not uniformly invent with some perception of the good taste, sound judgment,
and high aspirations and feelings of the young public they address. The typical boy hero
of the boy's book is, for the most part, impossible; the lad as he reads grows disdainful,
he may even detect blunders in seamanship or in the employment of nautical words, and
his confidence is gravely shaken. No impression is left, no animating and lofty influence
exerted, because the tale is trash; it is not true; the boy knows it never could have been
true. I was once a boy myself, though I find this hard to believe, and I remember that
the sea-stories which influenced me and which did me most good were tales founded on
the facts of the ocean, plain and sincere narratives of the stern realities of the deep, such
as this of Shotten. A young apprentice in Shotten's situation might, after reading his
story, take courage from it, find an example in it, and achieve an end not less heroic than
the model he imitated.
Can it be imagined that any one of M. Jules Verne's boy heroes could animate a lad by
his impossible, albeit ingenious adventures, into the rendering of such splendid services
as the whole English-speaking world was praising in young Shotten in 1895? It is a truth
that boys at sea have done daring and glorious things, and their stories should be told by
able hands for boys to read, because there is no calling that makes, in times of disaster,
such demands upon the stout heart and all that is manly in the human qualities as the
ocean life. One of the pluckiest boys that ever rose to rank in the British royal navy, and
to the achievement of a great reputation for prudence, foresight, and gallantry scarcely
inferior to Nelson's, was Admiral Hopson, who was born in the Isle of Wight, left an
orphan when a child, and apprenticed by the parish to a tailor. The tailor's board,
however, soon grew hateful to the little fellow; he yearned for quite another sort of board
—I mean shipboard. And being one day alone in the shop, looking across the sea, he
spied a squadron of men-of-war floating slowly around Dunnose.
Acting upon the impulse of the instant, he rushed from the shop, sprang into a boat, cast
her painter loose, and contrived, by sculling with all his might, to reach the Admiral's
ship. He was received and entered as a volunteer. Early next morning the British
squadron fell in with a number of Frenchmen, and a hot action began. Little Hopson
obeyed orders with wonderful alacrity and fearlessness; but when the fight had
proceeded for two hours he grew impatient, and, turning to a seaman, asked why the
ships were firing at one another. Jack answered that the action must continue till the
white rag at the enemy's mast-head was struck. The ships were then engaged yard-arm
to yard-arm. The air was thick with smoke of gunpowder. Hopson sprang into the
shrouds, ran out to the main-yard-arm, gained the French Admiral's yard-arm, and
running aloft, cut away the French flag, and brought it safely on board his own ship. The
effect was amazing. The British yelled "Victory!" believing the French had struck; and the
Frenchmen fled below, not doubting, now that their Admiral's flag had disappeared, that
the battle was lost. For this surprising act of heroism young Hopson was promoted to the
quarter-deck.
Every one must regret that more is not known of these gallant worthies of past times.
Why is not the story of their services written for boys? Who amongst living authors who
produce literature for the rising generation could invent a more thrilling, romantic, and
exciting tale than this which I have only glanced at? Here is another example of the
courage of a boy and what the spirit of a lad may achieve in an hour of grievous peril at
sea: A famous frigate, La Tribune, was lost on the Halifax coast one November towards
the close of the last century. Four men escaped in the jolly-boat, eight others clung to the
main and fore tops; the remainder of the large ship's company perished. The inhabitants
approached so close to the wreck as to be able to shout to and hear the shouts of the
poor fellows upon the masts.
One of the first to attempt to succor them was a boy thirteen years old belonging to
Herring Cove; he jumped in a little skiff at about eleven o'clock in the day, and with
extraordinary labor and skill so manœuvred his tiny ark as to back her under the frigate's
foretop, and two of the shipwrecked men dropped into her. The boat was too small to
carry more. The boy conveyed them in safety ashore, and the record of this inimitable
piece of youthful heroism affirms that he "had them instantly conveyed to a comfortable
habitation." The 'longshore men, spiritless and afraid, in spite of this glorious example,
held back, and six men remained to be saved. The undaunted boy at once put off again;
but the sea and the boat combined opposed too heavy a task to his strength exhausted
by his previous labors, and he failed to reach the wreck. But his example was at last an
animation; some boats were launched, and after much trouble and in the face of grave
peril, they brought off in triumph the remaining survivors.
It is a story that should be written in letters of gold. But what will you think of the
enthusiasm of the chroniclers of that lad's deed when I tell you that I am unable to give
his name? I have searched for it—to no purpose. All we know is he was a Boy. But he
was among the very noblest, and with something of emotion after all these long years I
salute the darling little chap's memory.
At the battle of Copenhagen a lad so distinguished himself as to excite the admiration of
the great Nelson. He was a Danish boy, about sixteen years of age, by some called
Welmoes, but others have given him a different name. Be that as it may, this young
fellow was in command of a praam, a sort of raft armed with small cannon and manned
by a company of some twenty-four men. Nelson's flag was flying aboard the Elephant;
the heroic young Dane resolved to attack the famous Admiral, whose name was a terror,
and he forthwith shoved off in his raft from the shore, and gained the stern of the line-of-
battle ship, then thundering in broadsides. The marines of the flag-ship promptly
discharged their muskets at the gallant little band, and the praam was rapidly converted
into a shambles. Twenty fine fellows lay dead and dying, but their boy commander, who
stood up to his waist amongst the bodies, stuck to his post until the truce was
proclaimed. Nelson had observed the splendid behavior of this lad. He held him in
memory, and when he was banqueted at the palace, he begged the Prince to introduce
young Welmoes to him. When the boy was presented, the most famous of all sea
chieftains put his arm round his neck and kissed him, and, addressing the Prince,
exclaimed that the young fellow deserved to be made an Admiral.
"If, my lord," was the answer, "I were to make all my brave officers admirals, I should
have no captains or lieutenants in my service."
Twice were the wonderful battles in which Lord Nelson fought associated with the
heroism of boys. One of the French ships at the battle of the Nile was L'Orient. She took
fire, and hundreds of her people sprang overboard. Amongst those who perished in her
was Commander Casabianca. All will remember Mrs. Hemans's moving verses beginning,
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled.
This boy was the Commodore's son; he was but ten years of age, yet behaved with
amazing intrepidity whilst the battle raged. When the ship took fire his father bade him
remain on deck, and he stuck to his post until the huge ship blew up. Memories of this
sort should stir the blood of the young. They cannot be too often recited. They quicken
the higher impulse, shape fancies into ardent resolution, and all will believe that they
must be infinitely more valuable, even in an educational sense, than narratives of
impossible adventure and of fictitious achievements which cannot serve as
encouragements, because even the smallest boy will perceive that they are impracticable.
I have spoken of Lord Nelson, and of this great sailor many stories of his spirit when a
boy are told. Some of these tales must be viewed with suspicion; one or two, perhaps,
are worth recalling. The lad joined an expedition to the frozen sea under the command of
Captain Phipps, afterwards Lord Musgrave. One night, when it was as bright as daylight,
the ship lying hard and fast amid the ice, young Nelson took his gun and left the ship to
shoot a bear which he had seen a long way off. Something went wrong with the lock of
his musket, whereupon he grasped the weapon by the barrel, and gave chase to the
beast, which went off on a trot. Having killed the bear, the boy returned to his ship, the
Captain of which reprimanded him for going upon the ice without leave, and with a stern
countenance asked what motive could have induced him to attack with a useless gun so
formidable a beast as a polar-bear. The young hero's reply was to the point. "I wished,
sir," he said, "to get the skin for my father."
All boys who are acquainted with the life of Lord Nelson—and every boy, be he American
or English, who speaks the language in which this article is written, ought to read it and
gather the meaning of that wonderful career—must have heard of Captain Trowbridge,
one of the Admiral's favorite officers. He was the son of a baker, and rose by his splendid
gallantry to be an Admiral and a baronet. One story of his fearlessness when a lad recalls
Hopson's feat. He was midshipman aboard the Seahorse when she chased and captured
the French ship Sartine. Much of the glory of that day was owing to young Trowbridge,
who, watching his chance and shouting for followers, boarded the enemy from the
forecastle, and with his own hands hauled down the French colors. Perhaps not every
commander of a victorious ship would have proved so frankly honorable as was Captain
Farmer of the Seahorse, for afterwards, whilst dining with the commander-in-chief, Sir
Edward Hughes, he checked the congratulations he was being overwhelmed with by
saying that the victory was entirely owing to the heroism of a boy, a midshipman named
Trowbridge. Sir Edward was so struck and delighted that he became the boy's fast friend,
and was of signal help to him in the earlier stages of his splendid career. These and the
like are stories which are true, and they should be made known to boys. My instances are
British; but scores of inspiriting examples may be culled from the American records.
OWNEY, THE MAIL-DOG.
Had that extremely humorous cur Crab,
the property of one Launce, in
Shakespeare's Two Gentlemen of Verona,
met with an accident terminating his
career, his master could have found a
successor in Owney, the railway mail-dog,
a product of our own time, who would be
fully qualified to fill the shoes, or rather
the place of the other.
Owney is a terrier, now ten years old, and
weighs about thirty-five pounds. By his
own exertions he has achieved a fame of
which to be proud, and as a traveller a
distinction that few men can boast of.
When a pup he decided upon his
vocation, and in accordance with his
views he entered the basement of the OWNEY.
post-office at Albany and attached himself
to the regular mail service. His devotion
to the self-appointed duty of guarding mail-sacks interested the clerks, and as a reward
he was permitted to accompany them on trips in the mail-cars.
Owney recognized this as an upward step in his career, and permitting his independence
to assert itself, he would disappear for weeks at a time, returning at last to his adopted
home at Albany. The numerous railway tags attached to his collar upon his return showed
that he had been travelling with the mails. The route his dogship selected sometimes
embraced the four extreme points of the United States, and it was, and is, no uncommon
thing to find him wearing such tags as Seattle, Washington, Galveston, Texas, and
Tampa, Florida, after one of these trips.
One day, thinking that some mail-pouches for Washington from Albany might contain
state secrets to be zealously guarded, he assumed the duty, and thus received his
introduction to John Wanamaker, then Postmaster-General. Mr. Wanamaker presented
Owney with an elaborate harness, and, proud of his present, the dog made an extended
tour. The weight of the tags gathered on this trip at last equalled his own, and, unable to
stand the strain, he was compelled to return home and be relieved of his honors.
There are few post-offices and railway lines in the United States and Canada that have
not entertained Owney. His Canadian experience was, however, a lamentable one, as a
railway collision deprived him of an eye and part of one ear. The North German Lloyd
steamers have carried him as passenger a number of times, and the P. and O. steamers
took him to the far East during the Chino-Japanese war. During this trip he inspected the
mail service of India.
Nothing will induce him to ride in any but the mail-cars, where, curled up on the
pouches, he will permit none but the mail-clerks to touch them. These men are very fond
of him, and he never lacks for attention. He treats them all impartially, and comes and
goes as he wills. As another dog knows a bone, so Owney does a mail-sack, and he will
leap aboard the trains with them in the most unexpected places, to be always received
with delight. Duly recorded in the history of the United States Post-office, he has its great
army of employees, from the highest to the lowest, for his firm friends.
THE CHILDREN'S HOUR.
BY EMMA J. GRAY.
"Isn't it blind-man's holiday?" was John's question, as, "betwixt the dark and the
daylight," he put his head in his mother's lap, stretching the rest of his long body
meanwhile on the tiger-skin rug which lay at her feet.
"Yes;" and immediately Mrs. Colfax laid aside her mending-basket, touching the top pair
of socks as she did so, and then followed the words: "I've been busy with those for the
last hour. Do you know you are more destructive on socks than your father and three
brothers put together?"
"Am I, mother?" and the boy took one of her hands between his own, while she at once
ran the fingers of her other hand through his short thick hair, remarking, "that she didn't
know where it got its curly tendency from, as none of her family could lay any claim to
curls, nor the Colfaxes either."
But John had not come to discuss his kinky locks, nor to talk about his school affairs; on
the contrary, he had something peculiarly strange to tell to-night. In fact, nothing less
than that his great chum, Hiram Scott, was to have an "out-and-out boss party to
celebrate his sixteenth birthday."
"That means, my son would like a party on his sixteenth birthday."
"That's about the size of it, mother."
"All right. You may have one."
"Hurrah!" and John sat upright, while he eagerly explained, "But, mother, Hiram's going
to have a regular gilt-edged affair. One of the kind you read about."
"And you wouldn't wish to be outdone by him; is that it?"
"Well—no, I wouldn't."
"Is his birthday before yours?"
"Yes; ten days."
"Has Hiram told you any particular plans about his party?"
"Why, all there are to tell, I suppose. They are to have the biggest orchestra—harp, horn,
and all that sort of thing." Then, shaking his head impressively: "And the supper will cost
one hundred dollars—maybe two hundred. And Hiram is to have a new pair of black silk
socks and patent-leather pumps, and an elegant new dinner jacket, for the occasion; he's
to be brand-new all over, indeed, for, with a real whipper-snapper air, he informed me he
was to have awfully swell black trousers and waistcoat, and a new black satin tie. The
whole thing is to be mighty fine, I can tell you."
"Well, it's quite impossible for you to give as costly a party as Hiram's, for your father is a
poor man in comparison to his, my son."
"I know it," and John once more threw himself forward and laid his head on his mother's
lap.
"So we must think of something fantastic and fanciful," Mrs. Colfax resumed, "and hope
that the unusualness of your party will compensate for the expensive supper and
orchestra of Hiram's."
"What would you give, mother? For you know right off I could never plan a new party
any more than if I was a—"
"A what, my son?"
"A—barber's pole—or a wax figure, or any other know-nothing thing."
"You're interested in Indians, aren't you?"
"Indians!" and jumping to his feet John trod forcibly across the floor, as if he was on his
way to encounter a whole tribe of them. Then he slowly stated: "I should remark that I
am. But what have Indians to do with my party?"
"You'll see," and Mrs. Colfax, leaning back in her chair, inquired: "How would you like to
play that you are Hiawatha just for a night? In fact, the invitations might read:
"Hiawatha
"Requests the pleasure of
"Miss B—— B——'s
"company on Monday evening,
"March nineteenth, at eight o'clock.
"Dancing, Games. Address."
"Oh, go on, mother," were John's impatient words, as Mrs. Colfax
hesitated a second; "I can hardly wait," and giving a low whistle,
he shouted: "Excellent, fine, clever! Hiram is welcome to his new
toggery for aught I care; I'll appear in Indian array—eagle feathers,
bead necklaces, bracelets, moccasins, and all. What a jolly
scheme!" and John stood as erect as though his eagle plumes were
already waving above his head.
"And perhaps, since Hiram is your most intimate friend, he would
take the character of Chibiabos, for
"Very dear to
Hiawatha
Was the gentle
Chibiabos.
"And then another of your friends should be the very strong man
Kwasind, and then, of course, there must be Laughing Water, Minnehaha, and the old
arrow-maker, her father."
"Would it be a Hiawatha party or an Indian party?"
"Neither, John, because all of Longfellow's people should come. The only reason I have
been talking about Hiawatha was because we might as well fix your character at once."
"Oh, that's the how of things. Are you sure there would be enough characters to go
around?"
"Without a doubt, John;" and then, with an affectionate gesture on her big boy, Mrs.
Colfax added, "I guess somebody that I know would better read Longfellow's poems over
again."
"I am sort o' rusty. I suppose, too, that would be the only way to advise a fellow as to his
get-up."
"It would be the best way; for example, in the Tales of the Wayside Inn we read
"But first the Landlord will I trace;
Grave in his aspect and attire;
"and
"A youth was there of quiet ways,
A student of old books and days;
"and a
"Theologian from the school
Of Cambridge on the Charles was there.
"And a Poet, and a Spanish Jew, a young Sicilian, and a Musician, all are minutely
described."
"Will Minnehaha be the only girl, mother?"
"Why, what a nonsensical question! Perhaps somebody would
personate Margaret, the Blind Girl of Castèl-Cuillè, only it would be
pleasanter to personate her before
"The dread disease that
none can stay,
The pestilence that walks
by night,
Took the young bride's sight
away.
"And surely some mischievous girl would delight to make believe she
was
"A woman bent and gray
with years,
"and be the village seer. And I've just had an idea, John, that your father can be the
Master who builds the ship. You remember the way the poem commences,
"Build me straight, O worthy Master.
"And I'll dress like a young girl and be the promised bride
"Standing before
Her father's door."
"Oh, capital! What fun!" and John excitedly once more jumped to his
feet, adding, "What a jolly mother I have!"
"And, of course," Mrs. Colfax continued, "there will be a Priscilla and an
Evangeline. Indeed, you need not trouble about there not being enough
characters to go around."
"Well, granted that they all come, mother, what then?"
"Then we will give a tableau vivant, called The Children's Hour. Our
house is just the place for it."
"In what way? I don't understand."
"The library can be seen from any part of the parlors. And grandpa,
who bears such a close resemblance to Longfellow, can act his
character. The library must be dimly lighted, because
"The night is beginning to
lower,
"and the parlors will have to be almost dark while the tableau is
shown, otherwise we cannot see into the library. There grandpa will
sit in his favorite high chair, in the attitude of listening to the patter
of little feet above him. Some unseen person, perhaps I, will read
the poem which describes the scene, and after a while three young
girls,
"Grave Alice, and laughing Allegra,
And Edith with golden hair,
"will be heard descending our long stairs, and they will make a rush from the stairway
through the hall and climb over the arms and back of his chair. Trust me, John, the
tableau will be very pretty. I know exactly how to arrange it, and if I did not, there is a
fine illustration in the edition that your father gave me last Christmas. Besides, grandpa
will enjoy it so much. Indeed, it was only the other day that he told me that his party
days were over."
"I'm so glad you thought of putting grandpa in, mother. But after the tableau?"
"After the tableau it will be a Children's Hour in very truth—games, songs, dances, and
supper. During the dance immediately preceding the supper, paper hats will be given as
favors, which everybody will don, excepting when, like yourself, their eagle plumes would
interfere. In that case they can suspend them from the arm. The girls will wear broad-
brimmed hats, and the boys, turbans; and the boy must invite the girl who has the same
colored hat as himself to go to supper."
"But where are all these hats to come from? I guess
you're the one that's forgetting that papa isn't rich."
And Mrs. Colfax, throwing back her head, laughed merrily.
When she recovered herself she exclaimed: "Why, John,
I'll make the hats. It will only be a little bit of fun for me,
and all the paper put together wouldn't cost a dollar."
"I know the fellows will just think you're a beaut—y." For
it was very difficult for John not to use slang.
But Mrs. Colfax talked on regardless of her son's
interruptions, and therefore it was that John learned that
both the Longfellow and birthday schemes should unite in
the supper-room.
"For example, The Children's Hour would appear in large
letters over the mantel-piece. The letters could be cut out
of card-board and covered with asparagus, which should
be tacked on with green silk. Then candy could be twisted to represent a coil of rope,
and a candy man to represent the Skipper. Another candy man would be called the
Village Blacksmith, and a chocolate man the Black Knight, and so on. Tiny papers, similar
in size to motto papers, should be glued at one end to these figures, thus introducing
them. The large cakes should be iced around with flowers, for Longfellow wrote,
'Everywhere about us are they glowing,' and the ice-cream models should be as
appropriate as the caterer could arrange. A ship would be a fine example; so would a
bell, the Curfew Bell; an arrow, The Arrow and the Song; and a clock, The Old Clock on
the Stairs.
"And the birthday feature, John, should be indicated by the flower for your month; you
were born in March, therefore your birthday flower is violet. Violet-colored satin ribbon
might be used to decorate the table, and potted palms, etc., could stand in violet crépon
paper pots, but, nevertheless, real violets must show themselves as freely as we can
afford them." And Mrs. Colfax smoothed back the hair from her son's forehead.
"I never knew that before."
"Never knew what?"
"That everybody had a birthday flower. What are the flowers for the other months?"
"April, daisies; May, hawthorn; June, roses; August, poppies; September, convolvulus;
October, hops; November, chrysanthemums; December, holly; January, snow-drops;
February, primroses."
"I like my flower best, don't you."
"Yes, I think I do. But I must talk more about the party. At the supper table each one in
turn must tell his or her character."
"Cannot people guess before?"
"They can guess all they like, John, if they will whisper. Part of the amusement at such a
party is to discover your friends."
"What about games, mother?"
"Try the Cent Hunt. Say that a cent is wrapped in violet tissue-paper, and is within sight.
The discoverer quietly tells you, and if he is correct, present him with a boutonnière of
violets. Afterwards give a cent, pencil, and paper to everybody, and state five minutes are
allowed to write what each side of the cent will tell. This game is called A Penny for your
Thoughts.
"Find on one side: A beverage—T. A messenger—one c(s)ent. A piece of armor—shield. A
symbol of victory—wreath. A weapon—arrow. A mode of punishment—stripes. A gallant—
bow. A sheet of water—C.
"Find on the other side: A portion of a hill—brow. A place of worship—temple. An animal
—hare. Youth and old age—18-96. One way of expressing marriage—U. S. A cultivated
flower—tulip. An emblem of royalty—crown. Fruit—date.
"And afterwards play Stage-Coach, but, John, you know that game."
"Here comes father; shall we tell him?"
"Wait until to-morrow."
THE MIDDLETON BOWL.
BY ELLEN DOUGLAS DELAND.
CHAPTER III.
"What did you tell them anything for? I knew you would. A girl can't keep anything dark."
"I didn't tell. They found it out themselves."
"How could they? They would never have known it was broken if you hadn't told, and
they would never have known about the currant-bushes."
"They found a little bit of the china that I never saw at all, and I had to tell about the
currant-bushes, because Aunt Tom said that I had something under my apron, and saw
us go to the currant-bushes. They asked me, and I had to answer. They think I did it.
They don't believe me when I say I didn't. It isn't a bit nice not to be believed."
"Then you didn't say anything about—about anybody else?"
"Of course not!"
Theodora and Arthur were again in the garden. It was afternoon now of the day upon
which the bowl was broken, and Theodora, after spending several hours in retirement,
had been allowed to come out to get the air.
After their return to the house her aunts had tried in vain to extract something from her
in regard to the accident. "I did not break the bowl," was all that she could be induced to
say. Each aunt tried in turn to vary this reply, but with no success.
Finally, at the end of three-quarters of an hour, Miss Middleton said:
"I think, sisters, that the best plan will be to send Theodora to her own room to think
over the wicked falsehood which I am afraid she is telling. You will remember that when
we were young our parents were of the opinion that solitary confinement was the wisest
mode of punishment."
"They occasionally used a slipper," remarked Miss Joanna.
"But I scarcely like to use a slipper with Theodore's child."
"No! no!" cried Miss Dorcas, Miss Melissa, and Miss Thomasine, with one voice.
"So, Theodora, you may go to your room," continued Miss Middleton. "I hope that when
you come out you will be ready to confess."
Theodora stood for a moment looking from one to the other of the five faces.
"I sha'n't do any such thing," she said. "I can't confess what I didn't do. If my mother
were here she would believe me. If you were to keep me shut up in the room for weeks
and weeks, when I came out I should say the same thing. Please excuse me for being
disrespectful, but I think, except Aunt Tom, you are very disagreeable aunts, especially
Aunt Joanna. I think I would rather live with people that were no relation to me."
So saying, she walked from their presence and went to her own room, and again shut
and bolted the door. At dinner-time a tray containing several slices of dry bread and a
glass of water was placed outside, and Mary Ann's voice told her that her dinner was
waiting. For some time Teddy refused to open, but finally her hunger overcame her pride,
and she took the tray into her room, and just as she finished Miss Thomasine came to
the door and tapped gently.
"Teddy, my dear," she said, in a low voice, at the key-hole, "let me in—your aunt Tom."
And Teddy again opened the door.
"Oh, my dear, how you have been crying!" said gentle little Miss Thomasine. "I am so
grieved about it all. Teddy, if you will only tell us the truth, even now we will forgive you.
Tell me quietly how it happened."
"Aunt Tom, I can't make up a story. I didn't break the bowl. Why don't you believe me?
There are other people in the world besides me! Why don't you think that some one else
did it? Why am I the only person that could have broken it?"
"My dear, you forget that the evidence against you is very strong. When I came down
stairs to go with you to the garden you came out of the parlor with the pieces of china in
your hand, hidden under your apron. Why did you take the trouble to hide them, or to
touch them at all, if you were not the one who broke the bowl?"
Theodora was silent for a few minutes. She stood gazing at her aunt, looking straight
from her fearless brown eyes into Miss Thomasine's gentle blue ones.
"That is true," she said at last. "It does seem queer. But, for all that, I didn't break the
bowl, Aunt Tom."
"Then can you not tell me who did?"
"No, I can't tell you who did," she said. "But do you believe me now, Aunt Tom?"
"Yes, my dear, I do."
And then Theodora burst into tears, and hid her face in her aunt's lap.
"Oh, I am so glad!" she sobbed. "It was so terrible to feel that no one believed me in this
whole house."
After a while Miss Thomasine returned to her sisters, and told them of her change of
opinion. Needless to say no one agreed with her, and it required some determination on
her part to remain firm in her conviction. It was not so easy to believe her niece guiltless
when she was confronted by four somewhat obstinate ladies, as it had been when she
was looking into Theodora's fearlessly truthful eyes.
But Miss Thomasine did not falter, and she finally succeeded in obtaining her sisters'
consent to the proposition that their niece should be released from solitary confinement,
and allowed to go out into the fresh air.
"For she is not accustomed to it, and I am
afraid it will make her ill," urged Miss
Thomasine, "and then what would Theodore
and sister Gertrude say?"
At hearing which the others relented.
Theodora, upon being liberated, went at once
to the garden, and here she found Arthur Hoyt
awaiting her. He was leaning over the wall,
looking sullenly toward Teddy as she
approached.
"I thought you were never coming," he said.
"What made you so long?"
"I've been shut up," returned Teddy. "They
won't believe I didn't do it—except Aunt Tom.
She believes me, but no one else will."
"What did you tell them?"
"That I didn't do it."
"Nothing else?" "IT WAS SO TERRIBLE TO FEEL
THAT NO ONE BELIEVED ME," SHE
"Of course not." SOBBED.
And then ensued the conversation with which
this chapter opens.
Arthur Hoyt was eleven years old. He was the fifth member of this large family, Paul,
Charlie, Clement, and Raymond being older than he. Paul was nearly eighteen, and it had
been an act of great condescension on his part to join in the funeral festivities of the
morning; but, in spite of the fact that he was to enter Harvard this fall, he secretly loved
an old-fashioned romp with his four brethren, though he would not have confessed it for
the world.
The boys were all lions of health and strength, with the exception of Arthur. He had
always been delicate, and in consequence had been greatly indulged by his parents. His
brothers were in the habit of treating him with more consideration than they showed to
one another, looking upon him perhaps as they would have looked upon a sister. When
Teddy came to Alden and they first made her acquaintance, they fancied that "all she
would be good for," as they expressed it, would be to play quiet games with Arthur, but
they soon found out their mistake.
Teddy was as much of a "jolly good fellow" as her name implied. She could run, she
could row, she could play ball with the best of them, and the boys had not recovered
even yet from their astonishment at this state of affairs. The Misses Middletons' niece as
much of a fellow as any of them! And they accordingly received her into their midst on
terms of absolute equality.
"I'm glad you didn't say anything about any one else," said Arthur, when he had heard
Teddy's assurance that she had told nothing. He looked about apprehensively, as if he
feared some one might be hidden in the same currant-bushes which had sheltered the
broken bowl. "I'll do something nice for you, Teddy. Would you like to ride my wheel?"
"Arthur! Do you really mean it?"
"Of course I do," said he, magnanimously. "I've never let you before, because I was
afraid you'd bang it over the first thing and smash it; but I guess you'll be careful."
It was the dearest wish of Theodora's heart to learn to ride. She had intended to ask her
aunts' permission that very day; in fact, she had gone back to the house with Miss
Thomasine for that especial purpose; and then had come the fatal discovery about the
bowl, and everything else had been forgotten.
This was a fine opportunity to try it, for Arthur was not always in such an amiable mood.
Perhaps he never again would offer to lend her his wheel and to teach her. The other
boys owned bicycles, to be sure, but it was always hard to find them at liberty. There was
usually something of importance to be done, and Theodora had noticed that neither of
them seemed anxious to lend his wheel to a beginner. Charlie had offered, though, that
morning, and she had lost the rare chance by going into the house to ask permission.
She concluded not to let another opportunity slip; so, after giving the matter brief
consideration, she joyfully accepted Arthur's overture, with or without her aunts'
approval.
"Come over the wall, then," said he. "The best place for you to learn is on our drive. I'll
try and find one of the other fellows to help teach you; for of course you'll go tumbling all
over everywhere, and we might as well try to save the wheel."
Teddy wondered if no effort was to be made to save her as well as the wheel; but she
said nothing, and quickly climbed the wall.
The Misses Middleton meanwhile were discussing the situation.
"I know the child is speaking the truth," said Miss Thomasine, again and again. "Some
one else is responsible for the accident. Now let us consider who it can have been."
"Not one of the servants, I am sure," said Miss Middleton. "They have lived with us too
long for us not to know that they would confess if they were guilty; and who else has
been in the house to-day?"
Miss Melissa suddenly started forward.
"Sister Adaline, you forget! Some one—there have been others! Do you not remember?"
"Others? What others?"
"Surely you remember!"
"Melissa, do be more explicit, I beg of you!" cried Miss Joanna. "It is so easy to say what
you mean, if you would only try it. Who else has been in the house?"
"Dear Joanna, you are so abrupt! Dorcas, you remember?"
But Miss Dorcas had discovered a mistake in her knitting, and was busy counting.
"Four, five, six, seven," she said aloud, to show them that she could not speak.
"I am astonished that you have the heart to knit, when the Middleton bowl is broken,
Dorcas!" exclaimed Miss Joanna. "Melissa, kindly tell us what you mean."
But her sister's manner was apt to frighten the faltering Melissa, and she was now
looking for her salts.
"I think I know whom Melissa means," said Miss Thomasine, suddenly. "Two or three of
the Hoyt boys accompanied Theodora when she came with the cat."
Miss Melissa nodded. There was not a sound for a moment, the new idea presented by
this recollection was so astounding.
"Do you think—" began Miss Joanna, and then stopped, for once unable to finish her
speech.
"It might be," whispered Miss Middleton.
"It seems really—but then—perhaps—" murmured Miss Melissa.
"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. I should not be surprised," said Miss Dorcas, laying down her
needles at last.
"I am sure that it was not Theodora," repeated Miss Thomasine, more earnestly than
ever.
"There were several boys in the house," continued Miss Joanna, "and I should not be at
all surprised. Adaline, suppose we order the carriage at once and drive to Mrs. Hoyt's.
What do you think of it?"
"Quite right, Joanna. You and I will go, and Thomasine."
And they at once made ready for the call.
Although it was but a short distance to their neighbor's house, it did not occur to the
ladies to walk. They took a certain amount of exercise on their own place every morning
and afternoon, but a call would have been shorn of half of its formality did they not go in
their carriage, and the Misses Middleton were nothing if not formal.
They had left their own domain, and were being driven slowly along the bit of road which
lay between their gates and those of their neighbor, when, with a rapid whiz, a bicycle
flew past them, followed by another and another.
"It is a custom which is very alarming," remarked Miss Middleton.
"There seemed to be a girl on one of them," said Miss Joanna. "So very unladylike!"
Miss Thomasine said nothing, but she leaned out of the carriage and looked after the
rapidly receding figures. She was quite certain that she recognized that short scarlet skirt
and that flying brown hair, but she dared not name her fears.
Presently the carriage drew up at Mrs. Hoyt's front steps. There were no boys to be seen
but Arthur, who disconsolately leaned over the piazza railing. Teddy had ridden away on
his wheel, accompanied by two of his brothers, and there was nothing for him to do but
to await their return. When he saw the approach of the Misses Middleton he turned and
fled.
"I wonder where Theodora is?" remarked Miss Middleton. "I hoped to find her with Arthur
—such a nice, quiet little boy. Where can she be?"
And still Miss Thomasine held her peace.
Mrs. Hoyt was at home, and the ladies were ushered into the parlor.
"Sister, you must be the one to speak," said Miss Joanna to Miss Middleton, "and I will
help you when it is necessary." And neither of her hearers doubted that she would.
It was difficult to open the subject; for Mrs. Hoyt, filled with trepidation at being caught
unawares by her stately neighbors, talked with nervous haste. The parlor was in sad
confusion, having lately been the scene of a bear-fight, carried on by several of her boys.
She herself had not yet dressed for the afternoon, and she was wondering if the Misses
Middleton would discover the fact. Fortunately her gingham gown was well made and
clean; still, it was a gingham, and it was afternoon, and Mrs. Hoyt had lived long enough
in Alden to know Alden ideas.
But the Misses Middleton did not notice. They were trying to find a means of stemming
the tide of Mrs. Hoyt's conversation.
"We have come on a matter of importance," said Miss Middleton at last. "I think, Joanna,
we may call it important?" looking at her sister.
"Very important," said she, with emphasis.
"Very important," echoed Miss Thomasine, more mildly, plucking nervously at the folds of
her camel's-hair shawl.
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Hoyt. "Is there anything I can do for you? You seem troubled about
something. I hope nothing has happened?"
There was a slight noise at the back of the room at this juncture, and Miss Middleton,
who was about to speak, stopped abruptly.
"It is only Arthur, probably," said his mother. "Arthur dear, come speak to the Miss
Middletons."
But no Arthur was forth-coming, so Miss Middleton began again.
"We have met with a great loss. You have heard of—in fact, I know you have seen—the
Middleton bowl."
"I should think so! My dear Miss Middleton, you don't mean to say that anything has
happened to that? Oh, how shocking! Is it broken, or has it been stolen?"
"It is broken. It would almost have been better had it been stolen. Do you not agree with
me, Joanna?"
"I do," said Miss Joanna. Miss Thomasine did not speak.
"For there is a great mystery connected with it," continued the speaker. "We cannot
discover who broke it."
"Could it have been one of the servants?" asked Mrs. Hoyt, eagerly. "Oh, that beautiful
bowl! so valuable! so exquisite! It must have been one of the servants."
"It was not," snapped Miss Joanna. "They have lived with us from fifteen to thirty years,
and they were all in another part of the house when it happened. It was some one else."
"We thought at first that it must have been our niece, Theodora," continued Miss
Middleton. "There were certain circumstances which led us to suspect her very strongly;
but she declares that she did not do it, and our sister Thomasine is inclined to believe
her."
"I am quite sure that Theodora did not break the bowl," said Miss Thomasine, quietly but
firmly.
"Then who could have done it?" asked Mrs. Hoyt.
There was a profound silence in the room, while the three sisters looked at one another.
Twice Miss Middleton essayed to speak, but her voice failed her, and she coughed
instead. Miss Thomasine pulled off her gloves, quite unconscious that she was
committing such a breach of etiquette. Miss Joanna at length recovered her usual
courage.
"We think, Mrs. Hoyt," said she, clearly, and with emphasis, nodding her head in time to
her words, and causing her spectacles to flash ominously—"we think that it may have
been one of your sons."
Mrs. Hoyt was speechless, and she grew very pale.
"What makes you think so?" she asked at length. Even Miss Joanna quailed before the
light that was in her eyes.
"Because," she faltered—"because some of them were in our house this morning."
"Miss Middleton, I think I can safely say that if one of my boys were responsible for such
a misfortune, he would be enough of a gentleman to acknowledge it and to apologize.
However, I will question them in your presence—that is, if they can be found. Ah, there
they come now, up the drive, and Teddy is with them. They have been teaching her to
ride the bicycle."
She left the room as she spoke. The Misses Middleton looked at one another.
"Our niece on a bicycle!" murmured Miss Middleton.
"I believe it was she whom we met," exclaimed Miss Joanna. "I believe also that she, and
she alone, broke the bowl. This only goes to prove it."
"How does it prove it, Joanna?" asked Miss Thomasine; but Miss Joanna merely glared at
her through the gleaming spectacles.
Clement and Raymond came quickly into the house in response to their mother's call,
followed closely by Theodora, who was fully prepared to find her aunts in the parlor, for
she had seen the waiting carriage. The boys took off their caps, and politely shook hands
with each of the ladies. Their manners were good, as even their natural enemies, the
Misses Middleton, had always been forced to admit.
"Which of you were at Miss Middleton's house to-day?" asked Mrs. Hoyt.
"Clem, and I, and Arthur," said Raymond.
"Where is Arthur now?"
"He's round here somewhere. We left him here when we went off with Ted. She was on
his wheel; and, mother, she rides as well as a fellow. She went right straight off
instanter."
The three Misses Middleton groaned audibly, while their niece flushed with pleasure at
this hearty praise. Mrs. Hoyt did not pause, however.
"I am afraid Arthur is hiding somewhere. I am quite sure he is in the room. Please look
for him, as he has not the civility to come when his mother calls him."
Raymond and Clem made a dash for the back of the room, where they at once
discovered the missing Arthur, and dragged him from his retreat. He came forward,
banging his head and looking the picture of misery. His mother glanced at him
reproachfully, upon seeing which Arthur looked more miserable still.
[to be continued.]
A LOYAL TRAITOR.
A STORY OF THE WAR OF 1812 BETWEEN AMERICA AND ENGLAND.
BY JAMES BARNES.
CHAPTER XIV.
A BEGGAR A-HORSEBACK.
I knew, however, that I was in Gloucestershire; and from a sign-post, pointing the way I
came the night gone, I learned that I had passed the towns of Thornbery and Slimbridge.
I was cogitating over how to get a bit to eat when something happened that put even
hunger out of my head—I heard the tooting of a horn! Turning about, I saw the coach
coming up a little hill, swinging along at a good pace, with the leaders in a gallop.
The boldest course was the best, so I leaned against a stone post that had cut in it "Eight
miles to Hardwick," and waited for the mail to come up. The driver, a ruddy-faced
individual in a multitude of cloaks and a wide beaver, caught my intention.
"Are ye off to Gloucester, lad?" he cried, drawing up.
"Ay," I answered. "Hold up there, and I'll take a passage."
There were but three beside the guard on top, and I clambered over the wheel up to the
front seat before the coach had lost its headway. I feared most dreadfully that the driver
would begin to question me at once, but, thank the powers, he did not. Keeping up a
continuous clicking sound against his teeth, and gracefully flourishing the long-lashed
whip, and catching the leaders now and again with the end of it most cleverly, he drove
ahead without speaking.
Now all the time I was wondering how I was going to pay the fare, when the red-faced
man made this matter smooth sailing.
"'E better get off before we get into the town, laad," he said, "then we won't ask noo fare
o' ye."
"Thanks, very much," I said.
"Not a bit, not a bit," he returned. "A soldier on a spree wants all 'e can spend, eh?"
I nodded, and for an hour we drove on in silence. For a long time there had been visible
a great square tower rising above the stretches of vineyards, corn-lands, and gardens.
The country was interspersed with rich pastures in which fat, broad-backed sheep were
grazing. How I drank in all the sights and sounds, craning my neck and straining my eyes
and ears! Beautiful residences of the aristocracy, with wide-spreading parks, were
frequent on each side of the highway, and soon scattered houses overgrowing with vines
proclaimed that we were on the outskirts of the town. That the tower that was in sight
belonged to some great church was very plain, but I feared to ask about it. The driver
pulled up his horses, and understanding him to mean that my ride was over, I descended,
after an expression of my gratitude.
The coach was barely out of sight when I saw ahead of me the swinging sign-board of an
inn. My desire to feed was so strong that I fished out the gold piece from my catch-all,
and determined to purchase a breakfast if it took the last penny.
Walking up to the entrance to the "Moon and Starfish," I went inside the tap-room, and
found that the people of the inn were up and stirring. Calling for the landlord, I seated
myself at a table by the window, and a flood of self-conceit came over me so that I
almost gibbered with delight.
In a few minutes a bowl of coffee was at my elbow, a thick fat chop decked in greens
was putting strength into my blood and spirits as it disappeared, my jaws worked to a
little tune of my own composing, and I cared little for the future—the present was good
and given to enjoy! But soon I was to be on a very different tack, for with a clatter and
clanking I recognized the approach of the people I most dreaded to meet—the men who
fight his Majesty's wars and eat his victuals. Five soldiers entered from outside. They
were petty officers, with stripes on their arms, bright red coats with puffs at their
shoulders, strings of bright buttons, pipe-clayed cross-belts, and black gaiters.
They may have been handsome to look at, but to me they were five living horrors. With a
chill feeling coming over my chest and shoulders, I pretended closer attention to my
meal. I knew they were looking at me, but they entered the next compartment and called
for ale and spirits. When the landlord came I overheard the conversation.
"I don't know who the young man is," said the host of the inn, as if in reply to a
question. "He came off the coach, I take it."
"He's an officer," observed another.
"You're wrong," said a third. "Where are his shoulder-knots?"
"I observed him close," put in the second speaker, "and, ecod! it strikes me he is part
officer and part private. It's the uniform of the Somersetshire Foot-guard. I know it."
I was almost choking in my efforts to bolt a great bit of mutton, but from the tail of my
eye I saw that two heads were thrust about the corner, and they were piping me off. So I
turned my back and looked out of the window. There came a laugh in a minute, and
some whispering in which I caught the words "curling-tongs and the barber," probably in
allusion to my great need of both.
Now I am honestly very sorry that I never paid the landlord for that good meal of his, but
I acted on an impulse that more than like saved me from total discomforture. I was taken
aback fore and aft, completely staggered with the idea that their curiosity would pass
bounds, and they would begin to sift me. The window was wide open, and the sward on
the outside came to within two feet of the sill. Making no noise, I crawled out of it
headforemost, and walking quickly across the court-yard, I dodged behind a row of
stables, and crept along beneath a line of hedge; and this time I did not take the big hat
with me, but left it mounting guard over the remains of my meal.
Now I really should like to have heard what the redcoats said, and I fear that the landlord
could not have been complimentary.
The hedge that I was following ran up to a high wall, on the other side of which was
evidently one of the parks of a nobleman or an aristocrat. By dint of scratching and
hauling and sheer strength, I struggled over the top and came down on a level stretch of
lawn, dotted about with handsome beech-trees, and farther on edged by a noble line of
oaks. No one was in sight, and driven by a nameless dread, I started running. A great
pheasant scurried across my path and tore up into the air with a whir, making me shy to
one side, like a runaway horse. I kept up my speed but a few hundred yards, however,
when the idea came to me that this would never do at all. So I threw myself down at the
foot of a tree and tried to compose my ideas.
Off to the right, beyond a low hedge covered with wall-flowers, was a field of springing
corn (wheat we call it in our country), and lording it over this green domain, with its arms
outstretched, was a ragged scarecrow. I think my next move was something that proves
me far from imbecile. Leaping the hedge, I tore off my bright red coat and white
breeches (the cloak, I had forgotten to say, I had left at the hedge early in the morning),
and then, with mighty little on, I crawled, Indian fashion, towards the silent guardian of
the fields.
Oh, they were very ragged indeed were his majesty's habiliments, but there were enough
of them to cover me, even if I did show bare at the knees and elbows, and hurriedly I
hung them on, and taking the flapping hat from off the straw-stuffed head, I was the
scarecrow come to life! I had hidden the uniform under some handfuls of leaves and
grass; and now to get out of the park and reach the road, where, by my appearance, I
rightfully belonged.
The wall on the inside was so high and so well built that I could not reach the top, but as
I went along I came to a little gate that unlocked by thrusting back a bolt. I opened it,
and found myself in the kitchen-garden of a neat white cottage. Disdaining to make reply
to the hail of a buxom young woman who thrust her head out of the window, and who
inquired my business in a peremptory tone, I hobbled out into the road.
I did not stop at the inn this time, but slid past it on the opposite side, and five minutes'
walk brought me nearer to the heart of the town. Passing a number of people, who gave
me a wide berth, and keeping straight ahead, I came to a square, or better, the meeting-
place of four thoroughfares crossing at right angles.
Not far away rose the great square tower that I had noticed early in the morning. It was
so high and so massive that I walked toward it to obtain a better view, and stopped in
astonishment before one of the greatest cathedrals in England.
There was a service of some kind going on, and the sound of a great organ wafted out
on the air. I stood there listening for some moments, leaning against the iron railing. As
the door was open, I was tempted to go in and pass the gates, but here I halted in fear.
A slight tall man, with his white hair trimmed in a bygone fashion, and a black coat
buttoned up to his white stock, was walking up a side path; he raised his eyes from the
ground, and bending forward, stood there in an expectant attitude looking at me.
Whatever he took me for I do not know.
"Repent, son, and return," he said, in a soothing tone. I had feared that he was going to
upbraid me for my presence, but his next movement deprived me of that idea entirely.
"Here, take this," he said; "and God bless you and direct you."
As he spoke he extended his hand, with a piece of silver in it, toward me. A sense of
pride in that, so far in my life, I had asked alms of no one almost tempted me to refuse
it, but fearing that he might put me to questions, I took it, mumbled some thanks, and
hurried out into the sunshine.
I am sure that if he had been an American I should never have escaped without telling a
story of some sort, but the English are of a less curious temper than we are, and if they
interfere in other people's business on the outside world, they have a talent for minding
their own at home, and to this I testify readily.
My clothes were so disreputable that I determined to spend part of the shilling in
procuring the means of mending them. So I entered a little shop down the street, and
purchased thread and needles. With these in my pocket, I set out immediately looking for
a place to hide whilst at work.
Taking the wide road that led to the north, I followed it, and passing by a common on
which some lads were playing cricket, I came to an inn, much larger than the one I had
stopped at in the morning, surrounded by a court-yard with sheds and stables. A number
of large carts and vans were resting here, and crawling over the tail-board of one that
had a great canvas top, I took off my clothes and began my tailoring.
When it was finished I was in less danger of coming to pieces, and despite what I had
eaten, my stomach told me it was past the midday-meal hour.
Now where I was to go I did not have the least idea, and my heart went down like a
lead.
But, en avant! There was no sense in tarrying. As I went to go out of the court-yard to
take up my aimless walking, a tall chaise in which were two finely dressed gentlemen
drove in at the entrance. I had to jump from under the horse's feet. Some of the inn
servants, who had paid no attention to me, ran out from the stables at the sound of the
wheels, and in the doorway of the house appeared a slender man, with powdered hair,
who greeted the other two with a graceful salutation. There was a trace of courtliness in
it that was handsome, but my heart gave a bound as I turned to watch them curiously.
They were speaking French. Not the French that I had heard lately in the prison, but the
French that my mother had taught me and that my uncle spoke.
"Welcome, Monsieur de Brissac!" exclaimed the tall man in the doorway, "and welcome,
Monsieur le Marquis."
"De Brissac!—Monsieur le Marquis!" How natural this name and the title seemed to me;
and then it all came back—"Gabriel Montclair de Brissac, Marquis de Neuville, friend of
my grandfather, le Marquis de Brienne." I remembered that my uncle had made me learn
this in the long list of stupid names. There were two sons, Georges Lucien and Guy Léon
de Brissac. The latter and his father had both lost their heads on the guillotine on the
same day that my grandfather had lost his. Somehow the idea that there might be some
help come to me from a man who bore the name of de Brissac crossed my brain, and I
turned back into the court-yard.
The servants had led away the horse, and seated at a window were the three fine-
looking gentlemen. I watched them for a few minutes, not knowing what to do. I could
not hear the sound of their voices, although the window was open, so I came nearer. The
shortest of the three, who had been addressed as "Monsieur le Marquis," was talking,
and gesticulating with his jewelled hand.
"Yes, yes. We will see the lilies again, my friends," he said in French. "Give this usurper
time enough and the rope, and he will hang himself—a trite but true saying, my friends."
All at once one of them looked out of the window and saw me standing close to. I felt as
if I had to do something to account for my presence, and an idea suggested to me by my
meeting a singing beggar-woman on the streets in the morning was put into immediate
practice; why, except for the connection of thought, I should have chosen the song I did
I know not, but it was a fortunate circumstance. I struck out into a little chansonnette,
something in the nature of a serenade, that I had heard my uncle trill in his high-pitched
voice—a song that may have been a favorite with the gallants of King Louis's court.
I did not look in at the window as I sang, but cast my eyes upward in apparent oblivion
to my surroundings. As I began the third stanza (something about roses and hearts, I
remember) I was interrupted by approaching foot-steps.
A COMMANDING VOICE EXCLAIMED FROM THE WINDOW,
"BRING THAT LAD IN HERE, SOME ONE."
My singing had attracted the attention of several people in the court-yard, and a hostler
was hurrying up with the evident intention of sending me to the rightabout. But if that
was what he meant to do, he had to give it over, for a commanding voice in English,
without the trace of an accent, exclaimed from the window,
"Bring that lad in here, some one."
Before I knew it, I was following one of the servants through a passageway, and was
ushered into the presence of the three men seated at the table.
"Where could he have learned that song?" one of them was saying. The short man was
humming the air.
"Who are you and what is your name?" questioned the large gentleman with the
powdered hair, who evidently was in authority, speaking in French.
"Jean Amédée de Brienne," I said, taking the name by which I had been known for the
past few months, only giving it, of course, a pronunciation somewhat different.
"De Brienne!" exclaimed the youngest gentleman, starting. "Where do you come from?"
"From America, monsieur; but just now from the prison at Stapleton, whence I have
escaped by a good chance."
I noticed that they were looking at one another in incredulity, so I spoke on, led by I
know not what:
"Have I not the honor of addressing Monsieur George Lucien de Brissac, son of the
Marquis de Neuville?"
"I am the Marquis de Neuville," exclaimed the youngest, starting to his feet. "My father is
dead."
"And my grandfather perished on the scaffold with him and with your brother Guy," I
said, calmly.
The effect of this speech was wonderful. The other two men sprang up, and the taller
shut the window suddenly and drew the curtain.
Monsieur de Brissac was for hurrying toward me with both hands outstretched, when he
was restrained.
"Hold! Hold!" said the eldest. "Let us ask more questions. What was your grandfather's
name, my young friend?"
I gave it, and the whole of my family tree, so far as I could remember it, on my mother's
side. Then in a few words I told of my sailing on a privateer, my capture and
imprisonment. Before I had finished Monsieur de Brissac had come close to me.
"Embrassez-moi!" he said, and despite my rags he threw his arms around my neck.
In turn the other two did likewise, and the elder man kissed me on the forehead, after
the manner of my uncle. Tears were in his eyes, and relieved from the great strain under
which I had been laboring, I broke down altogether, and sinking into a chair, I wept,
rocking myself to and fro. "Oh, God be thanked!" I cried over and over.
As soon as I recovered myself I saw that they had placed before me wine and meat, and
were refraining from asking further questions until I should have refreshed myself. But
the words which were whispered in my ear seemed to shut all fear behind me. "Courage;
you are with friends. We will not desert you," told me to trust.
I looked up from my plate (truly I had been well fed for a vagabond this day), and found
my new friends in consultation. I caught the word "clothes," and looking down at myself,
I reddened. I was mad to tear the horrid rags from me. Monsieur de Brissac, as I shall
call him, as it was he that afterwards became my patron, saw that I had finished the
meal, and giving me a smile and a bow, came nearer. He was a very handsome man, of
about seven-and-thirty, with a fine figure, and a well-turned leg that showed to the best
advantage in his black small-clothes, for he also followed a fashion a little different from
the English of that time. But of this I shall speak at greater length farther on.
"Monsieur de Brienne," he said, "I would like to ask you something of your father."
"He is dead," I answered.
And at this, God forgive me, I saw that I had deceived them all into thinking that I was
my uncle's son, instead of his nephew. Now I reasoned if I should tell them my
remarkable story, and proclaim that I did not know my father's name, and was all in a fog
in regard to that of my mother, even although I knew so much about the past family
history, I would put a sorry climax to a very good beginning. I regretted deeply that I
should have to let them keep on in the error; but I spoke the truth, and I did not know it
at the time.
"Monsieur de Brienne is dead?" repeated Monsieur de Brissac.
I sighed. "Alas!"
"He was a strange man, and they say the best swordsman at court—un vrai galant."
"There could be no better," I answered. "He taught me all I know."
The gentlemen smiled at this, but the next question that was asked me by the Marquis
de Senez caused me to start.
"Your mother was—"
"Named Hurdiss," I put in. "She was very beautiful, but died in America, in the city of
Baltimore, when I was but a child."
"Did your uncle leave no property? They say he took with him to America a large
amount."
"I have this," I replied, producing the last of the buttons that had adorned the homespun
coat that I wore at Marshwood. "All of my property was consumed at a fire—everything,"
I concluded. "I am left without a son, a relative, or a friend."
The gentlemen handed the button around.
"It is true. I remember that crest well," said the tall man. "And I remember well, also,
your grandfather's beautiful daughters—twins, they were, and great favorites, as
children, with the King."
"Yes," put in M. de Brissac; "and they married, after taking refuge here in England, one
the Duke de B—— and the other the Comte de B——."[1]
The short nobleman here spoke, musingly:
"After their husbands' deaths they went to America, to seek their brother, probably, but
they met with sad misfortune. Now I remember hearing something—"
My heart gave a great bound! Was I on the point of finding out my real name, and who I
was by right and law?
"Yes," I said, quickly; "tell me."
"One of them was drowned in a shipwreck," Monsieur le Marquis continued. "Sad, sad,
alas! and the other married some nobody, and went to reside in the wilderness."
I rather resented this, for I yet cherished the memory of him who had carried me on his
shoulder, but I said nothing.
"Hortense and Hélène, those were the names," said the tall man.
"It was la belle Hélène who lost her life by drowning," said Monsieur le Marquis.
"Pardon me," put in Monsieur de Brissac; "it was Hortense, I am quite certain."
Here again arose the uncertainty.
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