PART II.

If you simply desire to get a picture from your negative in the easiest

and quickest way, without going through the necessary processes which

are involved in toning, you can use cyanotype paper, which requires but

one process for the completion of the picture and that process simply a

bath in clean water.

Prints made upon this cyanotype paper have a beautiful blue tone, and

are so simple and easily made that they are very popular. This cyanotype

paper is sold in any desired quantity and size, and it is never worth

while for the amateur to prepare his own paper, as it is a tedious and

uncertain process.

When you are sure the negative is thoroughly dry, place it in the

printing frame with the film side uppermost, and upon it lay a sheet of

the cyanotype paper cut the right size, with the prepared side next to

the film of the negative.

The frame should then be put where the sun's rays will fall upon the

glass, and allowed to remain there till the cyanotype paper has turned

to a dull bronze in the shadows.

It will be necessary to look at the print from time to time to see when

this point is reached. If the paper is not allowed to print long enough,

the result will be that the picture will wash off the paper when it is

put in water.

When you think it is done, place it in running water, or in several

changes of water, and wash it thoroughly. It should be washed till the

water that drips from it is no longer discolored, but is perfectly

clear. The picture then should stand out in blue tones on a clear white

ground.

If you prefer to use the ready sensitized paper, there is a preliminary

process through which the paper must pass before you print it. This

process is called "fuming," and consists in exposing the paper to the

fumes of ammonia for a short time.

A fuming-box is needful, but one can easily be constructed, without the

expense of purchasing this convenience. Take a wooden box about two feet

cube, and, with hinges, make a door of the cover. Close all the cracks

with strips of cloth so that the box will be both light and air tight,

and fasten corresponding strips around the edges of the door so that no

light will make its way in there.

Stretch two or three strings across the box near the top, on which to

hang the paper that is to be fumed, and put a small flat dish in the

bottom of the box.

When you are ready to fume your paper, pin two sheets together, back to

back, and hang them on one of the strings. Several sheets can be fumed

at once in this manner. Fill the dish with ammonia, and closing the door

tightly, let the paper absorb the fumes for fifteen or twenty minutes.

After fuming, the paper should be given a short time to dry before it is

used for printing. It should then be put in the printing frame in the

same way as the cyanotype paper and exposed to the sun.

If your negative is a thin one, a diffused light is better for printing

than the direct rays of the sun. Diffused light is a strong light that

is not sunlight.

If the negative is exceedingly thin, the light indoors, away from the

window, will be sufficient. Satisfactory results cannot of course be

achieved with too thin a negative, but this diffused light will give the

best print that you can obtain.

In examining the print from time to time be sure that you do not open

both sides of the printing frame at once, for if you should do this, you

will find it impossible to replace the print in exactly the same

position, and so it will be spoiled by being printed with double lines.

No exact rule can be given for the length of time which should be

allowed for the printing of a negative. It should, however, be allowed

to become twice as dark as it ought to be after the picture is toned and

mounted. The after processes of toning bleach the print very much, as

the amateur will discover for himself.

If a negative is very dense or thick, as over-development will sometimes

cause it to become, the time for printing will be considerably extended.

While in a good light, with a negative of the right density, five

minutes or less is sufficient to print a negative, three or four hours

will sometimes be required.

When the print has become dark enough, it should be removed from the

printing frame and put at once in a dark place where the light cannot

reach it. It is what is known as a proof at this stage, and the light

will turn it black.

About twenty prints can be toned at once, and, as it is a long process,

it is better to wait until several have accumulated than to go through

the various operations with only one or two prints.

They should first be trimmed to the required size. Some amateurs leave

the trimming until after they have finished the toning process, but this

is not advisable for several reasons. In the first place, it is easier

to trim them beforehand, because they lie flat and are not curled up, as

they generally are after toning. None of the toning solution is wasted

in toning the parts that are of no use, and if the accumulated clippings

are saved, they are of some value on account of the silver in them.

The trimming cannot be satisfactorily done with a pair of scissors,

as it is impossible to cut perfectly straight. A thick piece of glass

called a cutting mould is used, and a convenient little instrument

called Robinson's trimmer. If you do not wish to go to the expense of

these articles, however, you can manage very well by using a sharp

pen-knife to cut with and any piece of glass with straight edges to

trim by.

You should have a firm, hard substance to cut on (glass is preferable),

and on this should be put a piece of paper. Upon this paper the print

should be laid face downward, and after you have decided how much of it

you are going to cut away, draw your knife firmly along by the edge of

the glass, pressing down well, and the strips will be cut off leaving a

smooth, straight edge.

After the prints have been trimmed, they should be soaked in water for

fifteen minutes. If you have not running water in which to place them,

the water should be changed several times. This preliminary washing must

be very thorough, or the toning will not be satisfactory.

To prepare your toning bath, make up first a stock solution of fifteen

ounces of water and fifteen grains of chloride of gold and sodium. The

chloride of gold and sodium can be obtained in small bottles which come

for the convenience of the amateur prepared in just the desired

quantity.

For a toning bath for twenty prints, take ten ounces of water, three

grains of sodic bicarbonate, six grains of sodic chloride (common salt),

and three ounces of your stock solution of gold. Add to this bath three

ounces of the stock solution of gold that has had three drops of

saturated solution of bicarbonate of soda added to it. This bath should

be alkaline, and you can test it with red litmus paper. If it turns the

paper slightly blue, it is ready for use. Put this bath in a flat tray

(porcelain preferably), and then lay the prints in it face down. Move

them all the time, to insure evenness of tone and to prevent spots. It

is a good plan to keep drawing out the undermost one, and putting it on

the top.

The prints are of a reddish-brown color when they are put into the

toning bath, and in about fifteen or twenty minutes they begin to turn

to a rich purplish black. Experience will teach the amateur at what

point the prints should be removed from this bath. They should lie long

enough to have every tinge of red entirely removed, and yet not long

enough to turn the prints to a dull gray.

When the prints have been sufficiently toned, they should be thoroughly

washed and then put into the fixing bath. This bath is made of one

gallon of water, one pound of sodic hyposulphite, one tablespoonful

sodic bicarbonate, and one tablespoonful common salt.

These ingredients should be thoroughly dissolved, and then a portion put

in a tray. This tray must be kept for the fixing bath and not be used

for any other purpose. The prints are put in the tray in the same manner

as in the toning bath, and moved continually until they are fixed.

This process should take fifteen minutes, or, if the bath is rather

cool, the time may be extended to twenty minutes.

After the prints have been removed from the fixing bath they are put in

a strong solution of salt and water, to prevent their blistering. After

they have been in this solution for about five minutes they are then

ready for their final washing. The prints should be left in running

water for some hours, and there is very little danger of washing them

too long or too thoroughly.

After every trace of the fixing bath has been removed, the prints may be

taken from the water and dried between sheets of chemically-pure

blotting paper. They will not curl up when dried in this way, as they do

when simply exposed to the air.

The prints are now ready to mount. This is by no means the least

difficult nor the least important of the many processes necessary to

secure a successful picture. Even if care has been exercised in all the

other processes, yet if the prints are carelessly mounted they will not

look well.

The prints should be wet in clean water and laid in a pile upon each

other, with their faces down. It is necessary to have a very adhesive

paste to make the prints stick well to the mounts. There are some pastes

that are manufactured for this purpose, but it is very easy to make one

which will work equally well.

Boiled laundry starch, with the addition of a little white glue, is

perhaps the best; it can be easily made, and with the addition of a few

drops of carbolic acid will keep well. It is made in the proportion of

one and three-quarter ounces of starch, mixed with one ounce of water,

till it is a smooth paste, as thin as cream, and eighty grains of glue

added with fourteen ounces of water. The whole should be well boiled and

six drops of carbolic acid added. This can be put in a bottle and will

keep a long time.

After the water is pressed from the wet prints a bristle brush is dipped

in the paste and drawn back and forth over the print, till it is

thoroughly covered.

The position on the mount should have been previously marked with a

pencil or with pin-pricks, and when the print is well covered with paste

it should be carefully lifted and put in place. With a piece of paper

laid over it and a flat paper-cutter, all the unnecessary paste and any

bubbles of air may be pressed out from between the print and the mount.

With a soft cloth wipe away the paste that is pressed out around the

edges of the print and then put it under a weight to dry.

If it is desired to mount prints in an album, a piece of cardboard, an

eighth of an inch smaller than the print, should be placed upon the back

of the print and the exposed edge covered with paste. Put on just as

little as possible and lift it in place at once, before the paste has

time to dry. Pass a soft cloth over it to press it into place and then

close the album. In less than an hour it will be dry, and if properly

mounted will be firmly adhering to the page.

The one important factor for success in photography is care. Without it,

you can accomplish nothing, no matter how complete and costly your

outfit may be. With care and patience you may achieve results that will

be a pleasure to your friends as well as yourself, and will give

permanent existence to pleasant scenes and occasions that otherwise must

be only memory pictures.

[THE END.]

FEATHER BOOKS.

Elizabeth Brightwen describes, in "Nature Notes," her method of

collecting birds' feathers, by grouping them artistically in the page of

a large album.

"The book," she says, "should be a blank album of about fifty pages,

eleven inches wide by sixteen, so as to make an upright page, which will

take in long tail feathers. Cartridge paper of various pale tints is

best, as one can choose the ground that will best set off the colors of

the feathers. Every other page may be white, and about three black

sheets will be useful for swan, albatross and other white-plumaged

birds.

"The only working tools required are sharp scissors and a razor, some

very thick, strong gum arabic, a little water and a duster, in case of

fingers becoming sticky.

"Each page is to receive the feathers of only one bird; then they are

sure to harmonize, however you may combine them.

"A common wood-pigeon is an easy bird to begin with, and readily

obtained at any poulterer's. Draw out the tail feathers and place them

quite flat in some paper till required. Do the same with the right wing

and the left, keeping each separate and putting a mark on the papers

that you may know which each contains.

"The back, the breast, the fluffy feathers beneath, all should be neatly

folded in paper and marked; and this can be done in the evening or at

odd times, but placing the feathers on the pages ought to be daylight

work, that the colors may be studied. Now open the tail-feather packet,

and with the razor carefully pare away the quill at the back of each

feather.

"This requires much practice, but at last it is quickly done, and only

the soft web is left, which will be perfectly flat when gummed upon the

page. When all the packets are thus prepared (it is only the quill

feathers that require the razor) then we may begin.

"I will describe a specimen page, but the arrangement can be varied

endlessly, and therein lies one of the charms of the work. One never

does two pages alike--there is such scope for taste and ingenuity--and

it becomes at last a most fascinating occupation.

"Toward the top of the page, place a thin streak of gum, lay upon it a

tail feather (the quill end downward), and put one on either side. The

best feathers of one wing may be put down, one after the other, till one

has sufficiently covered the page; then the other wing feathers may be

placed down the other side; the centre may be filled in with the fluffy

feathers, and the bottom can be finished off with some breast feathers

neatly placed so as to cover all quill ends.

"When one works with small plumage, a wreath looks very pretty, or a

curved spray beginning at the top with the very smallest feathers and

gradually increasing in size to the bottom of the page.

"Butterflies or moths made of tiny feathers add much to the effect, and

they are made thus. It is best, I find, to fill a wide-mouthed bottle

with dry gum, and just cover the gum with the water, allow it to melt,

keep stirring and adding a few drops of water till just right--no bought

liquid gum equals one's own preparation.

"To make the book complete, there should be a careful water-color study

of the bird on the opposite page, its Latin and English name, and a

drawing of the egg. It may interest some to know how I obtained the

ninety-one birds which fill my books. Some were the dried skins of

foreign birds, either given me by kind friends or purchased at

bird-stuffers'. The woodpecker and nut-hatch were picked up dead in the

garden. The dove and budgerigars were moulted feathers saved up until

there were sufficient to make a page.

"Years after the death of our favorite parrot, I found that his wings

had been preserved; so they appear as a memento of an old friend who

lived as a cheery presence in my childhood's home for thirty years. It

is a pleasure to me to be able to say no bird was ever killed to enrich

my books."

LILIAN'S NEW YEAR'S CALLS.

by Mrs. CLARA DOTY BATES.

"Oh, what a lonesome day it will be!" sighed Lilian, looking wistfully

out across the snow-bright prairie.

"Not unless you make it so," responded her mother, cheerily.

"Make it so!" rejoined Lilian. "How can I make it anything else? It is

always lonesome here, and to-day will be the worst of all. Only think of

the fun the girls will be having in dear old Deerfield, while I am off

out here in this--"

She stopped short, fearing she might say too much. What she had been

about to say was "this horrid, desolate Kansas ranch."

"Perhaps the boys can take you for a drive, dear; and you know we're

invited to Uncle Abner's for the evening."

"A drive!" replied Lilian, scornfully. "I hate driving, all alone, along

these endless roads. Nothing but snow, snow, until I am nearly blind."

"You have your books, Lilian; and your father likes perfect lessons."

"Yes, I can have books any day. But think of the girls at home--what

they are having. They are getting their tables ready, this very minute.

They will darken the parlors and have gas-light, and pretty dresses and

lots of callers."

Here Lilian broke down and sobbed. Her mother came to her side and

stroked her hair.

"Be brave, daughter," she whispered. "I know it is a great change. But I

have often told you we must bear in mind why we left the East, and why

we are here. Father would not have been alive but for this change of

climate and open-air life. You know he is getting well, and is so happy

in that. We ought not to mind anything if he can be well again."

Lilian felt ashamed, and tried to dry her tears. Yet she was unwilling

to quite give up her discontent.

"If only something would happen!" she said. Then, desperately, "I wish

there would be a cyclone or a blizzard, or a prairie fire! I wish the

Indians would make a raid!"

"We don't have cyclones and prairie fires in winter," her mother said,

calmly.

Just then Lilian heard a great stamping of feet and gay voices outside

on the kitchen threshold.

Her four brothers were coming in from doing their morning chores. As

they entered they let in a great rush of cold air. Jack spied Lilian

through the half-open sitting room door.

"Hello, Lil!" he called.

She did not answer.

"Lil in the dumps again?" he asked his mother.

"She is a little homesick this morning."

"Why doesn't she get out, as we do, and stir up her spirits?" said

Harry. "It's nothing but moping makes her homesick."

"This is a thousand times better than poky old Deerfield," asserted Ben.

"There was nothing to do there but slide down hill on a hand-sled, and

here we have the ponies, and the cattle, and--"

"But you are a boy, Ben," interposed Mrs. Wyman, "and can do a great

variety of things. Lilian isn't strong enough for hard riding, and,

besides, she misses her friends."

"Let her make new ones," piped up Jamie. "There's lots of nice people

all over these prairies."

"She will find them in time," said Mrs. Wyman. "But you must cheer her

all you can meanwhile."

Lilian overheard herself discussed, and began to sob afresh.

Jack went into the sitting-room and playfully pulled her ears, and tried

to laugh her out of her gloom.

"Come now, Lil. What is it you want--a gallop, a sleigh-ride?"

Lilian could confess anything to Jack.

She told him all that had been in her thoughts--how the Deerfield girls

were getting ready for callers, what pretty dresses they would have, and

what gay, good times.

"Do you want callers? Is that what you want, Lilian?"

"Oh, you stupid fellow! I want anything except this awful experience. I

told mother I even wished the Indians would drop down on us."

"Why, Lilian, if you saw even one Indian coming down the road, you'd run

and hide under the bed."

"No, indeed I wouldn't. I'd make my very best courtesy and wish him a

Happy New Year. I would spread the table with the rose-bud china, make

coffee for him, and--"

"Y-e-s--but before you'd half done, he would whip out his tomahawk,

grasp you by the hair--this way--and, w-h-o-o-p! off would come your

scalp. Then he'd tuck your braids into his belt, and away he'd go to the

reservation to hang them up on the ridge-pole of his wigwam!"

"All the same, I wish he'd come."

Jack laughed.

"Say, Ben," he called, "Sis wants visitors so badly, she even wishes a

Comanche would call."

"I do," persisted Lilian. "I wish a whole tribe would come!"

Harry stormed into the sitting-room, in search of his heavy leather

gloves.

"Where are you going, Harry?" asked Lilian, eagerly.

"Out on business," he answered. "Are you ready, Jack?"

"Are you all going off?" cried Lilian, in alarm, lest she should lose

even the doubtful pleasure of her brothers' company.

"We're going on the ponies, to look up some stray cattle for Uncle

Abner."

"But mamma said you would take me for a drive?"

"Can't this morning--too busy!"

"We're all to go this evening, you know," comforted Jamie.

"This evening! What am I to do alone all day?"

A flood of tears again threatened.

"Oh, entertain your callers!" said Harry, with scant sympathy.

Lilian watched the four boys on their ponies go down the poplar-lined

lane to the highway, and then, too desperate for reading or study, or

even helping her mother, she flung herself on a sofa and hid her face.

The day was a dazzling one. The rolling prairie on every side looked

like a white ocean, with great, sweeping billows of snow as far as eye

could see.

The widely separated farm-houses, with their wind-breaks of Lombardy

poplars and interspersing clusters of evergreens, looked like ships on

this endless, shining, cold sea.

One needed a happy heart and busy hands not to be affected by the

vastness and isolation.

Neither of these did Lilian have, and it took her nearly the entire

forenoon to get through her bitter struggle with self.

When she finally roused herself she found her mother had put the rooms

to rights, and besides her own work, had done all the little tasks

Lilian had been used to assume.

This made her remorseful. She got her books and began to study. But

somehow the brilliant sunshine kept drawing her to the window to look

out.

The sky was of an intense blue that was almost purple. The blue-jays

were flitting and calling. A few stray crows hovered over a distant

corn-stubble--these were all the signs of life she saw.

She stood tapping a tune on the window panes. Presently she noticed, on

the far crest of one of the snow billows, some moving black figures.

They were mere specks against the intense blue beyond, but they fixed

her attention. Almost as soon as she saw them, however, they disappeared

in an intervening valley.

"That is on the Hardin road," she said, trying to fix the direction. "It

can't be the boys, for Uncle Abner's road is to the south."

[Illustration:

THE CHIEF GAVE A WHOOP OF DELIGHT AT SIGHT OF THEM.

HE SPRANG TO HER SIDE AND OPENLY BEGAN PUTTING THEM IN HIS POCKET.]

Almost immediately her curiosity was stimulated again by the

re-appearance of the figures on the next rise. She could not distinguish

numbers, but she felt certain it was horsemen.

Again they vanished from the crest into the lower-lying space between

the land-billows. And so she watched them until they were near enough

for her to see it was indeed horsemen.

"Mother," she called, "come here! There's somebody coming along the

Hardin road."

Her mother came.

"Who can it be?"

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven," counted Lilian. "There are

seven of them! Perhaps they will turn at the Climbing Hill Corners. They

can't be coming here."

"Get the glass," said Mrs. Wyman. "See if we can make them out before

they strike the valley."

Lilian ran after the glass. She adjusted it and raised it to her eyes.

She had only one glimpse, however, before the descending riders were

again hidden by an intervening ridge.

"They ride so wildly, mother!" she said, in a kind of breathless wonder.

"They must be skirting that hill along the creek," said Mrs. Wyman.

"We'll see in a minute if they come up from the Corners."

It seemed a long time before they came again in sight. Lilian had just

said, "They've turned on the Climbing Hill road," when they burst into

full view on a not-distant summit and halted.

Lilian could distinctly see them pointing, as if discussing the way to

take. Then, of one accord, they put spurs to their ponies and came

wildly dashing down the slope.

Lilian turned deadly pale.

"Mother," she gasped, "they are Indians!"

Mrs. Wyman grew pale also. During her short life in the West she had

seen only one or two isolated Indians, and those always at railway

stations--dull, commonplace creatures enough, and with nothing

suggestive of the warrior about them.

"Where is your father?" she asked, with something of a tremor in her

voice.

"Probably over at the sheep-sheds," faltered Lilian. "He's always there

near noon. I wish--I wish the boys were here."

"They'll be coming directly. Look again now, Lilian. They are

approaching very fast."

Indeed the Indians were coming on fast. They were now in plain sight on

the long incline and were riding at a full gallop, gesticulating and

pressing forward with what looked to Lilian like savage fierceness.

"They will go by no doubt," said Mrs. Wyman, her native courage

reasserting itself. "They are probably out in search of lost ponies

or--"

"Look, mother! See! They are not going by. They have halted, and are

pointing to the house. See! They are turning in at the lane. Oh,

mother!"

"Never mind, dear. They want to inquire, perhaps--"

But while she was speaking, the Indians had wheeled into the gateway and

swept up with a headlong pace to the very door.

They swung themselves from their saddles, tethered their ponies to the

hitching rails and came quickly up on the porch.

Mrs. Wyman had thrown off her momentary fear. She stepped to the door

and opened it. Lilian trembled in every muscle. The leader of the party

was a huge fellow, much taller than his followers. He was more fantastic

in his dress, too, and had streaks of paint on his cheeks. The rest had

turkey feathers stuck into the bands of their slouch hats, and all had

blankets over their shoulders.

The chief uttered a surly "How!" and made a motion of his hand to his

mouth that he would like something to eat.

Mrs. Wyman smiled cordially, and said, "Come in."

He obeyed directly, the rest stalking after him in perfect silence. They

went at once through the sitting-room to the kitchen stove and held out

their hands to warm.

This done, they squatted on the floor, with various low guttural sounds

to each other, as if exchanging views. They apparently approved of the

comfort, for a stolid silence ensued.

Lilian was absolutely spellbound with terror and could not move. Mrs.

Wyman went to the pantry to prepare them food.

The chief was restless. He kept his eyes roving over everything. Finally

he began to move about.

He went into the sitting-room. He spied the china closet door and

opened it.

"Ugh!" he said, as if in delight at the pretty dishes. He waved his

hand at Lilian and pointed to the rosebud china, making an imperative

gesture, as if to say, "We want to eat off those."

Lilian, anxious to seem to want to please these terrible visitors,

nodded and smiled a ghastly smile. The very fact that she must do

something seemed to relieve the spell of cold horror that had settled

on her.

She took a fresh cloth from a drawer, and spread it deftly on the table.

As she straightened the corners daintily, to see if they were quite

even, the Indian grumbled his approval.

She took out the dishes and set seven places. She recalled, with a great

thump of her heart, what Jack had said about scalping, but as yet there

had been no warlike demonstrations.

She began to be more at ease. But what was that uneasy chief doing? He

was prying into everything. Lilian distinctly saw him put her scissors

into his pocket. But she dared not protest.

While thus distracted, she heard her mother in the kitchen burst into a

merry laugh. She ran hastily out to see what had come over her.

Mrs. Wyman was in the pantry, holding a corner of her apron over her

mouth, as if to smother her amusement.

There sat the six Indians on the floor, with hats drawn down surlily

over their faces, and with blankets shrugged about their shoulders.

"Mother, what is it?" was Lilian's whispered inquiry.

Mrs. Wyman pointed silently at the ludicrous row of savages, and covered

her lips again with her apron.

Lilian could not help laughing, too.

"New Year's callers, after all," she said, to herself.

Mrs. Wyman had made the circle of waiting braves move somewhat away from

the stove, so that she could cook ham and warm potatoes. Lilian returned

to her table-setting. She placed a spoon-holder on the cloth, full of

bright tea-spoons.

The inquisitive chief gave a genuine whoop of delight at sight of them.

He sprang to her side and openly began putting them in his pocket.

This was too much. Lilian flew at him and tried to snatch them away from

him. He scowled fiercely, and jabbered at her in excited gutturals.

At once she heard a great scuffling of feet in the kitchen. The other

Indians, attracted by the sound, were coming to his rescue.

In they filed in formidable line.

"He shan't have them!" cried Lilian, struggling to prevent the last

instalment going into his pocket. "He has my thimble and scissors

already. Here," to the others, "your chief is stealing. But he can't

have my spoons. You--" catching hold of the nearest one-- "Jack! Ben!

Harry!" (for as soon as she got one good look at the faces of her

callers she knew them), "Jack--Ben--Harry! hold him! He's just a common

thief!"

A roar of laughter followed.

"Good for you, Lilian!" cried Jack, flinging off his hat and blanket,

and leaping on the offender's shoulders to pinion his arms. "He shan't

have your spoons, Lilian. But allow me to present to you our cousin,

Harold Wyman, just arrived from Wyoming. We found him at Uncle Abner's,

come to spend New Year's with us."

Lilian, who had captured part of the spoons, blushed and dropped them on

the floor.

"It's real mean of you to scare me so," she stammered. "Mother, did you

know it was the boys?"

"Not until Jamie winked at me from the floor, and then it was all so

ridiculously clear I could not help laughing aloud. I saw you were well

over your first fright, so I thought I'd let the boys carry out their

fun."

"My, but I'm hot!" ejaculated Ben. "Sis has good grit, hasn't she

Harold?"

"Yes," cried Jack, "and she kept her promise about the rosebud china.

Let's have dinner. All we lack now is the coffee, Lilian."

When the new cousin, and Uncle Abner's boys and the four teasing

brothers were seated about the table, Lilian asked:

"Where did you get your toggery, Jack?"

"Oh, Uncle Abner's garret is full of all sorts of Indian traps. This

morning when you were crying for callers--especially Indians--the

thought struck us it would be lots of fun to give you your wish. We

found Cousin Harold at Uncle Abner's, and he helped us out. He's been on

a ranch for years. We knew you wouldn't recognize him. The rest of us

kept in the background."

"If you hadn't been so scared, Lilian, you'd have known the ponies,"

said Jamie.

When they had nearly finished dinner, Lilian said:

"I'll write it all to the Deerfield girls. I don't believe they've had

half as jolly a time as we have. Their calls will be just the poky,

polite ones. But mine are genuine wild West."

[_This Story began in No. 52._]

TRUDY AND KIT;

or,

What a Summer Brought Forth.

by EMMA A. OPPER,

Author of "Susanne," "Barbara and Dill,"

etc., etc., etc.