"Yes, and to think of his being in Philadelphia all the time! Well, I must be going, Mrs. Franklin. Edith did look sweet. You dress her so prettily. I always did think those girls needed a mother. Here"s Cynthia."
Walking up across the green from the river came Cynthia, with a paper in her hand which she was reading. At sight of Mrs. Parker and her mother standing at the carriage door, she hastily thrust the paper into her pocket.
Cynthia had been after wild-flowers to plant in the bed she had for them. She was in the woods not far from home when a small and ragged boy approached her.
"Be you Cynthy?" he asked.
She looked up from her digging, startled.
"Yes," she said.
"Then here"s for yer, and yer not to tell n.o.body."
So saying, the messenger disappeared as rapidly and mysteriously as he had come.
Cynthia opened the crushed and dirty paper, and to her astonishment found Neal"s handwriting within.
"Meet me on Brenton Island near the bridge, Tuesday, as early as you can. And don"t tell I am here. Remember, _don"t tell_."
The last words were heavily underlined.
Cynthia"s heart stood still from excitement. Neal so near, and his sister not to know it! But she would prevail upon him to come home. He could not refuse her after all they had been through on his account.
Full of hope, she gathered up her trowel and her basket of plants and ran towards the house. Fortunately that tiresome Mrs. Parker was there, and so her mother would not notice her excitement. For once Cynthia was glad to see the lady. Since her escapade of the year before she had always been somewhat ashamed of meeting her.
An hour or two later a closed carriage came slowly up the avenue. Dennis Morgan was on the box with the coachman. Inside were Gertrude, Dr.
Farley, and Edith, and Edith was unconscious.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
[Ill.u.s.tration: Mr. & Mrs. Tumble-bug.]
BY WILLIAM HAMILTON GIBSON.
Of all the insects which occasionally claim our attention in our country rambles, there is probably no example more ent.i.tled to our distinguished consideration than the plebeian, commonly despised, but admittedly amusing beetle known the country over as the funny "tumble-bug." As we see him now, so he has always been the same in appearance, the same in habits, yet how has he fallen from grace! how humbled in the eyes of man from that original high estate when, in ancient Egypt, he enjoyed the prestige above all insects, where, as the sacred "scarabaeus," he was dignified as the emblem of immortality, and worshipped as a G.o.d! The archaeological history of Egypt is rich in reminders of his former eminence. Not only do we see his familiar shape (as shown in our initial design) everywhere among those ancient hieroglyphs engraved in the rock or pictured on the crumbling papyrus; but it is especially in a.s.sociation with death and the tomb that his important significance is emphasized. The dark mortuary pa.s.sages and chambers hewn in solid rock often hundreds of feet below the surface, where still sleep the mummied remains of an entire ancient people, and which honeycomb the earth beneath the feet of the traveller in certain parts of Egypt, are still eloquent in tribute to the sacred scarab. The lantern of the antiquarian explorer in those dark dungeons of death discloses the suggestive figure of this beetle everywhere engraved in high relief upon the walls, perhaps enlivened with brilliant color still as fresh as when painted three thousand years ago, emblazoned in gold and gorgeous hues upon the sarcophagus and the mummy-case within, and again upon the outer covers of the winding-sheet, finally, in the form of small ornaments the size of nature, beautifully carved on precious stones enclosed within the wrappings of the mummy itself.
What other insect has been thus glorified and immortalized? For the sake of its proud lineage, if nothing else, is not our poor tumble-bug deserving of our more than pa.s.sing attention? An insect which has thus been distinguished by an entire great people of antiquity has some claims on our respect and consideration.
But aside from his historical fame, he will well repay our careful study, and serve to while away a pleasant hour in the observance of his queer habits. He is now no longer the awe-inspiring sacred scarab, but Mr. Tumble-bug, or rather "Mr. and Mrs. Tumble-bug," for a tumble-bug always pictured in the ancient hieroglyph is rarely to be seen in its natural haunts. Mr. and Mrs. Tumble-bug are devoted and inseparable, and as a rule vie with each other in the solicitude for that precious rolling ball with which the insects are always a.s.sociated. From June to autumn we may find our tumble-bugs. There are a number of species included in the group of Scarabaeus to which they belong. Two species are particularly familiar, one of a l.u.s.trous bronzy hue, with a very rounded track, usually found at work on the country highway in the track of the horse, and the other, the true typical tumble-bug, a flat-backed, jet-black l.u.s.trous species which we naturally a.s.sociate with the barn-yard and cow-pasture. The latter may be taken as an ill.u.s.trative example of his cla.s.s, and his ways are identical with that of his ancient sacred congener and present inhabitant of Egypt.
[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. AND MRS. TUMBLE-BUG ROLLING THE BALL.]
When we first see them they are generally manipulating the ball--a small ma.s.s of manure in which an egg has been laid, and which by rolling in the dust has now become round and firmly incrusted and smooth. Let us follow the couple in their apparently aimless though no less expeditious and vehement labors. They have now brought their globular charge through the gra.s.sy stubble, and have reached a clear spot of earth with scattered weeds. Of course we all know from the books that their intention is to find a suitable spot in which to bury this ball, and such being the case, with what astonishing stupidity do they urge on that labor! Here certainly is just the right spot for you, Mrs.
Tumble-bug! Stop rolling and dig! But no, she will not listen to reason.
She mounts the top of the ball, and, creeping far out upon it, pulls it over forward with her back feet, while Mr. Tumble-bug helps her in a most singular fashion. Does he stand up on his hind legs on the opposite side, and push with his powerful front feet? Oh no; he stands on his head, and pushes with his hind legs. As he pushes, and as the ball rolls merrily on, Mrs. Tumble-bug is continually rolled around with it, and must needs climb backwards at a lively rate to keep her place. A foot or two is thus travelled without special incident, when a slight trouble occurs. The ball has struck an obstacle which neither Mrs. Tumble-bug"s pull nor Mr. Tumble-bug"s push can overcome. Then follow an apparent council and interchange of Tumble-bug talk, until at length both put their shovel-shaped heads together beneath the sphere, and over it goes among the weeds. It is soon out again upon the open. Now, Mrs.
Tumble-bug, everything is plain-sailing for you; here is a long down grade over the smooth clean dirt! Why, the ball would roll down itself if you would only let it; but, no, she will _not_ let it. She pauses, and the ball rests, and both beetles now creep about, shovelling up the dirt here and there with their very queer little flat heads. Ah, perhaps they are going to start that _hole_ which all the books tell us about.
But no; the place is evidently not quite satisfactory, both of them seem so to conclude, like two souls with but a single thought. Mrs. T. is up on the bridge in a jiffy, and Mr. T. takes his place at the helm; and now what an easy time they will have of it down this little slope; but, no, again; tumble-bugs don"t seem to care for an easy time. A hundred times on their travels will they pa.s.s the very best possible spot for that burrow, a hundred times will they persist in guiding that little world of theirs over an obstruction, when a clear path lies an inch to the right or left of them. And here, when their labors might be so easily lightened by a downward grade, what do they do? they deliberately turn the ball about and hustle it along _up hill_, and that too over dirt that is not half as promising. Up they go! Mrs. T. now seems to have the best of it, and I sometimes have my suspicions whether she is not playing a prank on that unsuspecting spouse working so hard at her back, for he now has not only the ball, but Mrs. T. as well, to shove along, for the most that she can do is to throw the weight of her body forward, which in a steep up grade amounts to nothing as a help.
But if she is imposing on Mr. T. in thus guiding the ball up hill, she soon gets the Roland for her Oliver. Mr. T. is put to great extra labor by this whimsical decision of hers, and woe to Mrs. T. when that little chance valley or inequality of surface is reached. Even though she can see it coming and holds the wheel, she rarely seems to take advantage of it to save herself or her ship, while Mr. T., going backward in the rear, of course cannot be expected to know what is coming, nor be blamed for the consequences. With kick after kick from his powerful hind feet, united with the push of his mighty pair in front, the ball speeds up the slope. Now for some reason he gives a backward shove of more than usual force when it was least necessary. The ball had chanced upon the crest of a slope, when, kick! over it goes with a pitch and a bound, and Mrs.
T. with it, though this time not on top. Happy is she if the ball simply rolls upon her and pins her down. Such, indeed, is a frequent episode in her experience of keeping the ball arolling, but occasionally the tumble-ball thus started, and out of the control of her spouse at the rear, may roll over and over for a long-distance, but never alone. No amount of demoralization of this sort ever surprises her into losing her grip on her precious globular bundle. When at last it fetches up against a stone or stick, and she a.s.sures herself that she and her charge are safe and sound, no doubt she immediately mounts to its crest to signal the lone Mr. T. afar off, who is quickly back of her again, and both are promptly off on a fresh journey. And so they keep it up, apparently for sport, perhaps for an hour.
At length when they have played long enough--for there is no other reason apparent to _h.o.m.o sapiens_--they decide to plant their big dirty pellet. The place which they have chosen is not half as promising as many they have pa.s.sed, but that doesn"t seem to matter. Mrs. T. has said, "It shall go here," and that ends it.
Then follows the most singular exhibition of excavation and burial. The ball is now resting quietly on the dirt, and the two beetles are apparently rummaging around beneath it, trying the ground with the sharp edge of their shovel-shaped faces. And now, to avoid confusion, we will dismiss Mr. T., and confine our observation strictly to the female, who usually (in my experience) conducts the rest of the work alone.
[Ill.u.s.tration: SINKING THE BALL.]
[Ill.u.s.tration: YOUNG TUMBLE-BUG DIGGING OUT FROM HIS DUNGEON.]
She has evidently found a spot that suits her, and we expect her to fulfil the directions of the books and entomological authorities. She must "dig a deep hole first, and then roll the ball into it, and fill it up again." But we will look in vain for such obedience. Instead of this she persists in ploughing around beneath the ball, which seems at times almost balanced on her back, until all the earth at this point is soft and friable, and she is out of sight under it. Presently she appears again at the surface, and as quickly disappears again, this time going in upside down beneath the ball, which she pulls downward with her pair of middle feet, while at the same time with hind legs and powerful digging front legs she pushes outward and upward the loose earth which she has acc.u.mulated. Visibly the ball sinks into the cavity moment by moment as the earth is lowered for a s.p.a.ce of half an inch in the surrounding soil, and continually forced upward outside of its circ.u.mference. In a few moments the pellet has sunk level with the ground, and in a few moments more the loose earth pushed upward has overtopped it and it is out of sight. Still, for hours this busy excavator continues to dig her hole and pull the ball in after her with shovel head and molelike digging feet, scooping out a circular well much larger than the diameter of the ball, which slowly sinks by its own weight, aided by her occasional downward pull as this same loosened earth is pushed upward above it. The burrow is thus sunk several inches, when the beetle ploughs her way to the surface and is ready for another similar experience.
The remaining history of the ball and its change is soon told. The egg within it soon hatches, the larva finding just a sufficiency of food to carry it to its full growth, when it transforms to a chrysalis, and at length to the tumble-bug like its parent. The formerly loose earth above him is now firmly packed, but he seems to know by instinct why those powerful front feet were given to him, and he is quickly working his way to the surface, and in a day or so is seen in the barn-yard rolling his ball as skilfully as his mother had done before him.
Such is the method always employed by the tumble-bug as I have seen him.
And yet I have read in many natural histories and have heard careful observers claim that the hole is dug first and the ball rolled in.
Perhaps they vary their plan, but I doubt it. Here is a matter for some of our boys and girls to look into.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE CAMERA CLUB.]
This Department is conducted in the interest of Amateur Photographers, and the Editor will be pleased to answer any question on the subject so far as possible. Correspondents should address Editor Camera Club Department.
OUR PRIZE OFFER.
The members of the Camera Club will notice that our compet.i.tion this year is confined to three subjects or cla.s.ses--Marines, Landscapes, and Figure Studies. All the prizes are in money, and there are ten prizes.
The members are not restricted as to the number of prints they may send in, nor are they barred from any cla.s.s. A member may compete in each of the five cla.s.ses, and has ten chances of winning a prize.
We want every Knight and Lady of our Camera Club to compete for these prizes. We also want you to tell your friends about them, and get them to join the Camera Club. A circular which tells all about the Club has just been issued by Harper & Brothers. It tells what the Club is for, gives prospectus for the coming year, gives the formula for plain paper, which so many of you have been writing about, and also gives the prize offers, rules, etc., of the compet.i.tion. Copies of the circular will be sent to any member who applies for them, and we would like each member to help in distributing them.
Last year but few Ladies of the ROUND TABLE sent in pictures for the prize compet.i.tion. This year we want all the Ladies who belong to the Camera Club to send in pictures. One of the Sir Knights who took a prize last year was so encouraged by his success that he has been working steadily all the year, and has made quite a good deal of money. A letter received from him a few weeks ago states that he should never have thought of making money with his camera if he had not won a prize, but the ten-dollar check which he received for his picture suggested to him that if he could take a picture good enough to win a prize he could take good enough pictures to sell. He has made pictures of boats, of children, of pets, of buildings in process of erection--in fact, of anything which came in his way which he could get pay for, and the result is that he has a snug sum in the bank, and looks on his camera as a financial friend.
Working for a prize stimulates one to do his best, and even though one should not be fortunate enough to win a prize the effort to excel will not be lost. It will be a help in more ways than one. This year we hope that at least half of the prizes will be carried off by our Ladies. A camera is specially adapted to be a girl"s companion and source of pleasure. Cameras are now made so very light and compact that they are no burden to carry, and if one uses films they are still lighter. Girls as a rule are more careful workers than boys, and should therefore make the best amateur photographers, for it takes care as well as skill to produce a good picture.
Look over your pictures that you have made this summer, select those which you think are the best, finish them up in a neat and tasteful manner, and send them in before the compet.i.tion closes. If you have none which you think worthy of a prize, set about making some without delay.
If you do not win a prize you will have the benefit of careful criticism, and will stand a better chance of winning another time.
Any questions in regard to the prizes, or about making pictures for the compet.i.tion, will be answered promptly.
SIR KNIGHT ALFRED C. BAKER encloses two very pretty waterscapes, and asks the cause of the black marks near the edge of one of the pictures, and also asks to have the pictures criticised, both from a technical and artistic point. The black spots, as far as can be judged from the finished print, seems to be caused by scratches on the film. If so, the print can be trimmed just enough to cut them off from the picture. The print which is numbered 141 is the better picture. It has more contrast of light and shade, the perspective is better. The old log in the foreground and the stretch of sh.o.r.e give the effect of distances which the other picture lacks. Another thing which makes this picture more attractive than the other is the slight ripple on the water. It has the same effect as do clouds in the sky. If Sir Alfred will study the two prints he will readily see what is meant. No. 140 would be improved if about half an inch of the foreground were trimmed away. No. 141 would make a very nice platinum print or plain-paper print.