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Rainbow Valley by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE INGLESIDE CHILDREN CHAPTER III. THE INGLESIDE CHILDREN In daytime the Blythe children liked very well to play in the rich, soft greens and glooms of the big maple grove between Ingleside and the Glen St. Mary pond; but for evening revels there was no place like the little valley behind the maple grove. It was a fairy realm of romance to them. Once, looking from the attic windows of Ingleside, through the mist and aftermath of a summer thunderstorm, they had seen the beloved spot arched by a glorious rainbow, one end of which seemed to dip straight down to where a corner of the pond ran up into the lower end of the valley. “Let us call it Rainbow Valley,” said Walter delightedly, and Rainbow Valley thenceforth it was. Outside of Rainbow Valley the wind might be rollicking and boisterous. Here it always went gently. Little, winding, fairy paths ran here and there over spruce roots cushioned with moss. Wild cherry trees, that in blossom time would be misty white, were scattered all over the valley, mingling with the dark spruces. A little brook with amber waters ran through it from the Glen village. The houses of the village were comfortably far away; only at the upper end of the valley was a little tumble-down, deserted cottage, referred to as “the old Bailey house.” It had not been occupied for many years, but a grass-grown dyke surrounded it and inside was an ancient garden where the Ingleside children could find violets and daisies and June lilies still blooming in season. For the rest, the garden was overgrown with caraway that swayed and foamed in the moonshine of summer eves like seas of silver. To the sought lay the pond and beyond it the ripened distance lost itself in purple woods, save where, on a high hill, a solitary old gray homestead looked down on glen and harbour. There was a certain wild woodsiness and solitude about Rainbow Valley, in spite of its nearness to the village, which endeared it to the children of Ingleside. The valley was full of dear, friendly hollows and the largest of these was their favourite stamping ground. Here they were assembled on this particular evening. There was a grove of young spruces in this hollow, with a tiny, grassy glade in its heart, opening on the bank of the brook. By the brook grew a silver birch-tree, a young, incredibly straight thing which Walter had named the “White Lady.” In this glade, too, were the “Tree Lovers,” as Walter called a spruce and maple which grew so closely together that their boughs were inextricably intertwined. Jem had hung an old string of sleigh-bells, given him by the Glen blacksmith, on the Tree Lovers, and every visitant breeze called out sudden fairy tinkles from it. “How nice it is to be back!” said Nan. “After all, none of the Avonlea places are quite as nice as Rainbow Valley.” But they were very fond of the Avonlea places for all that. A visit to Green Gables was always considered a great treat. Aunt Marilla was very good to them, and so was Mrs. Rachel Lynde, who was spending the leisure of her old age in knitting cotton-warp quilts against the day when Anne’s daughters should need a “setting-out.” There were jolly playmates there, too—“Uncle” Davy’s children and “Aunt” Diana’s children. They knew all the spots their mother had loved so well in her girlhood at old Green Gables—the long Lover’s Lane, that was pink-hedged in wild-rose time, the always neat yard, with its willows and poplars, the Dryad’s Bubble, lucent and lovely as of yore, the Lake of Shining Waters, and Willowmere. The twins had their mother’s old porch-gable room, and Aunt Marilla used to come in at night, when she thought they were asleep, to gloat over them. But they all knew she loved Jem the best. Jem was at present busily occupied in frying a mess of small trout which he had just caught in the pond. His stove consisted of a circle of red stones, with a fire kindled in it, and his culinary utensils were an old tin can, hammered out flat, and a fork with only one tine left. Nevertheless, ripping good meals had before now been thus prepared. Jem was the child of the House of Dreams. All the others had been born at Ingleside. He had curly red hair, like his mother’s, and frank hazel eyes, like his father’s; he had his mother’s fine nose and his father’s steady, humorous mouth. And he was the only one of the family who had ears nice enough to please Susan. But he had a standing feud with Susan because she would not give up calling him Little Jem. It was outrageous, thought thirteen-year-old Jem. Mother had more sense. “I’m not little any more, Mother,” he had cried indignantly, on his eighth birthday. “I’m awful big.” Mother had sighed and laughed and sighed again; and she never called him Little Jem again—in his hearing at least. He was and always had been a sturdy, reliable little chap. He never broke a promise. He was not a great talker. His teachers did not think him brilliant, but he was a good, all-round student. He never took things on faith; he always liked to investigate the truth of a statement for himself. Once Susan had told him that if he touched his tongue to a frosty latch all the skin would tear off it. Jem had promptly done it, “just to see if it was so.” He found it was “so,” at the cost of a very sore tongue for several days. But Jem did not grudge suffering in the interests of science. By constant experiment and observation he learned a great deal and his brothers and sisters thought his extensive knowledge of their little world quite wonderful. Jem always knew where the first and ripest berries grew, where the first pale violets shyly wakened from their winter’s sleep, and how many blue eggs were in a given robin’s nest in the maple grove. He could tell fortunes from daisy petals and suck honey from red clovers, and grub up all sorts of edible roots on the banks of the pond, while Susan went in daily fear that they would all be poisoned. He knew where the finest spruce-gum was to be found, in pale amber knots on the lichened bark, he knew where the nuts grew thickest in the beechwoods around the Harbour Head, and where the best trouting places up the brooks were. He could mimic the call of any wild bird or beast in Four Winds and he knew the haunt of every wild flower from spring to autumn. Walter Blythe was sitting under the White Lady, with a volume of poems lying beside him, but he was not reading. He was gazing now at the emerald-misted willows by the pond, and now at a flock of clouds, like little silver sheep, herded by the wind, that were drifting over Rainbow Valley, with rapture in his wide splendid eyes. Walter’s eyes were very wonderful. All the joy and sorrow and laughter and loyalty and aspiration of many generations lying under the sod looked out of their dark gray depths. Walter was a “hop out of kin,” as far as looks went. He did not resemble any known relative. He was quite the handsomest of the Ingleside children, with straight black hair and finely modelled features. But he had all his mother’s vivid imagination and passionate love of beauty. Frost of winter, invitation of spring, dream of summer and glamour of autumn, all meant much to Walter. In school, where Jem was a chieftain, Walter was not thought highly of. He was supposed to be “girly” and milk-soppish, because he never fought and seldom joined in the school sports, preferring to herd by himself in out of the way corners and read books—especially “po’try books.” Walter loved the poets and pored over their pages from the time he could first read. Their music was woven into his growing soul—the music of the immortals. Walter cherished the ambition to be a poet himself some day. The thing could be done. A certain Uncle Paul—so called out of courtesy—who lived now in that mysterious realm called “the States,” was Walter’s model. Uncle Paul had once been a little school boy in Avonlea and now his poetry was read everywhere. But the Glen schoolboys did not know of Walter’s dreams and would not have been greatly impressed if they had. In spite of his lack of physical prowess, however, he commanded a certain unwilling respect because of his power of “talking book talk.” Nobody in Glen St. Mary school could talk like him. He “sounded like a preacher,” one boy said; and for this reason he was generally left alone and not persecuted, as most boys were who were suspected of disliking or fearing fisticuffs. The ten year old Ingleside twins violated twin tradition by not looking in the least alike. Anne, who was always called Nan, was very pretty, with velvety nut-brown eyes and silky nut-brown hair. She was a very blithe and dainty little maiden—Blythe by name and blithe by nature, one of her teachers had said. Her complexion was quite faultless, much to her mother’s satisfaction. “I’m so glad I have one daughter who can wear pink,” Mrs. Blythe was wont to say jubilantly. Diana Blythe, known as Di, was very like her mother, with gray-green eyes that always shone with a peculiar lustre and brilliancy in the dusk, and red hair. Perhaps this was why she was her father’s favourite. She and Walter were especial chums; Di was the only one to whom he would ever read the verses he wrote himself—the only one who knew that he was secretly hard at work on an epic, strikingly resembling “Marmion” in some things, if not in others. She kept all his secrets, even from Nan, and told him all hers. “Won’t you soon have those fish ready, Jem?” said Nan, sniffing with her dainty nose. “The smell makes me awfully hungry.” “They’re nearly ready,” said Jem, giving one a dexterous turn. “Get out the bread and the plates, girls. Walter, wake up.” “How the air shines to-night,” said Walter dreamily. Not that he despised fried trout either, by any means; but with Walter food for the soul always took first place. “The flower angel has been walking over the world to-day, calling to the flowers. I can see his blue wings on that hill by the woods.” “Any angels’ wings I ever saw were white,” said Nan. “The flower angel’s aren’t. They are a pale misty blue, just like the haze in the valley. Oh, how I wish I could fly. It must be glorious.” “One does fly in dreams sometimes,” said Di. “I never dream that I’m flying exactly,” said Walter. “But I often dream that I just rise up from the ground and float over the fences and the trees. It’s delightful—and I always think, ‘This isn’t a dream like it’s always been before. This is real’—and then I wake up after all, and it’s heart-breaking.” “Hurry up, Nan,” ordered Jem. Nan had produced the banquet-board—a board literally as well as figuratively—from which many a feast, seasoned as no viands were elsewhere, had been eaten in Rainbow Valley. It was converted into a table by propping it on two large, mossy stones. Newspapers served as tablecloth, and broken plates and handleless cups from Susan’s discard furnished the dishes. From a tin box secreted at the root of a spruce tree Nan brought forth bread and salt. The brook gave Adam’s ale of unsurpassed crystal. For the rest, there was a certain sauce, compounded of fresh air and appetite of youth, which gave to everything a divine flavour. To sit in Rainbow Valley, steeped in a twilight half gold, half amethyst, rife with the odours of balsam-fir and woodsy growing things in their springtime prime, with the pale stars of wild strawberry blossoms all around you, and with the sough of the wind and tinkle of bells in the shaking tree tops, and eat fried trout and dry bread, was something which the mighty of earth might have envied them. “Sit in,” invited Nan, as Jem placed his sizzling tin platter of trout on the table. “It’s your turn to say grace, Jem.” “I’ve done my part frying the trout,” protested Jem, who hated saying grace. “Let Walter say it. He likes saying grace. And cut it short, too, Walt. I’m starving.” But Walter said no grace, short or long, just then. An interruption occurred. “Who’s coming down from the manse hill?” said Di. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (2004). Rainbow Valley. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/5343/pg5343-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

THE INGLESIDE CHILDREN

A PARASITE—THE COCOON

Scientific American, Volume XXIV., No. 12, March 18, 1871 by Various, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Test for White Lead. here Test for White Lead. Messrs. Editors:—I have read, with much interest, Dr. Chandler's colorimetric test of the purity of white lead, as published in the Scientific American sometime ago. I enclose another test, which, though not new, is of value to all using white lead on account of its simplicity and effectiveness. It has been in use here for nearly two years, and has been found reliable. Having never seen it in print, I have tried to put it in as simple words as possible. Felix McArdle, Analytical Chemist. St. Louis, Mo. Take a piece of firm, close grained charcoal, and, near one end of it, scoop out a cavity about half an inch in diameter and a quarter of an inch in depth. Place in the cavity a sample, of the lead to be tested, about the size of a small pea, and apply to it continuously the blue or hottest part of the flame of the blow pipe; if the sample be strictly pure, it will in a very short time, say in two minutes, be reduced to metallic lead, leaving no residue; but if it be adulterated to the extent of ten per cent. only, with oxide of zinc, sulphate of baryta, whiting or any other carbonate of lime, (which substances are now the only adulterations used), or if it be composed entirely of these materials, as is sometimes the case with cheap lead, it cannot be reduced, but will remain on the charcoal an infusible mass. Dry white lead, (carbonate of lead) is composed of metallic lead, oxygen and carbonic acid, and, when ground with linseed oil, forms the white lead of commerce. When it is subjected to the above treatment, the oil is first burned off, and then at a certain degree of heat, the oxygen and carbonic acid are set free, leaving only the metallic lead from which it was manufactured. If, however, there be present in the sample any of the above mentioned adulterations, they cannot of course be reduced to metallic lead, and cannot be reduced, by any heat of the blow pipe flame, to their own metallic bases; and being intimately incorporated and ground with the carbonate of lead, they prevent it from being reduced. It is well, after blowing upon the sample, say for half a minute, by which time the oil will be burned off, to loosen the sample from the charcoal, with a knife blade or spatula, in order that the flame may pass under as well as over and against it. With proper care the lead will run into one button, instead of scattering over the charcoal, and this is the reason why the cavity above mentioned is necessary. A common star candle or a lard oil lamp furnishes the best flame for use of the blow pipe; a coal oil lamp should not be used. By the above test, after a little practice, so small an adulteration as one or two per cent. can be detected; it is, however, only a test of the purity or impurity of a lead, and if found adulterated, the degree or percentage of adulteration cannot be well ascertained by it. Jewellers usually have all the necessary apparatus for making the test, and any one of them can readily make it by observing the above directions, and from them can be obtained a blow pipe at small cost. If you have no open package of the lead to be tested, a sample can most easily be obtained by boring into the side or top of a keg with a gimlet, and with it taking out the required quantity; care should be used to free it entirely from the borings or particles of wood, and it should not be larger than the size mentioned; a larger quantity can be reduced, but of course more time will be required, and the experiment cannot be so neatly performed. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Various (2006). Scientific American, Volume XXIV., No. 12, March 18, 1871. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/19180/pg19180-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Test for White Lead

Mr. Cheesacre's Fate

A Treatise on Domestic Economy; For the Use of Young Ladies at Home and at School by Catharine Esther Beecher, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . ON THE CARE OF THE KITCHEN, CELLAR, AND STOREROOM. here CHAPTER XXXII. ON THE CARE OF THE KITCHEN, CELLAR, AND STOREROOM. If parents wish their daughters to grow up with good domestic habits, they should have, as one means of securing this result, a neat and cheerful kitchen. A kitchen should always, if possible, be entirely above ground, and well lighted. It should have a large sink, with a drain running under ground, so that all the premises may be kept sweet and clean. If flowers and shrubs be cultivated, around the doors and windows, and the yard near them be kept well turfed, it will add very much to their agreeable appearance. The walls should often be cleaned and whitewashed, to promote a neat look and pure air. The floor of a kitchen should be painted, or, which is better, covered with an oilcloth. To procure a kitchen oilcloth as cheaply as possible, buy cheap tow cloth, and fit it to the size and shape of the kitchen. Then have it stretched, and nailed to the south side of the barn, and, with a brush, cover it with a coat of thin rye paste. When this is dry, put on a coat of yellow paint, and let it dry for a fortnight. It is safest to first try the paint, and see if it dries well, as some paint never will dry. Then put on a second coat, and at the end of another fortnight, a third coat. Then let it hang two months, and it will last, uninjured, for many years. The longer the paint is left to dry, the better. If varnished, it will last much longer. A sink should be scalded out every day, and occasionally with hot ley. On nails, over the sink, should be hung three good dish-cloths, hemmed, and furnished with loops; one for dishes not greasy, one for greasy dishes, and one for washing pots and kettles. These should be put in the wash every week. The lady who insists upon this, will not be annoyed by having her dishes washed with dark, musty, and greasy, rags, as is too frequently the case. Under the sink should be kept a slop-pail; and, on a shelf by it, a soap-dish and two water-pails. A large boiler, of warm soft water, should always be kept over the fire, well covered, and a hearth-broom and bellows be hung near the fire. A clock is a very important article in the kitchen, in order to secure regularity at meals. On Washing Dishes.
No item of domestic labor is so frequently done in a negligent manner, by domestics, as this. A full supply of conveniences, will do much toward a remedy of this evil. A swab, made of strips of linen, tied to a stick, is useful to wash nice dishes, especially small, deep articles. Two or three towels, and three dish-cloths, should be used. Two large tin tubs, painted on the outside, should be provided; one for washing, and one for rinsing; also, a large old waiter, on which to drain the dishes. A soap-dish, with hard soap, and a fork, with which to use it, a slop-pail, and two pails for water, should also be furnished. Then, if there be danger of neglect, the following rules for washing dishes, legibly written, may be hung up by the sink, and it will aid in promoting the desired care and neatness. Rules for Washing Dishes. Scrape the dishes, putting away any food which may remain on them, and which it may be proper to save for future use. Put grease into the grease-pot, and whatever else may be on the plates, into the slop-pail. Save tea-leaves, for sweeping. Set all the dishes, when scraped, in regular piles; the smallest at the top. Put the nicest articles in the wash-dish, and wash them in hot suds, with the swab or nicest dish-cloth. Wipe all metal articles, as soon as they are washed. Put all the rest into the rinsing-dish, which should be filled with hot water. When they are taken out, lay them to drain on the waiter. Then rinse the dish-cloth, and hang it up, wipe the articles washed, and put them in their places. Pour in more hot water, wash the greasy dishes with the dish-cloth made for them; rinse them, and set them to drain. Wipe them, and set them away. Wash the knives and forks, being careful that the handles are never put in water; wipe them, and then lay them in a knife-dish, to be scoured. Take a fresh supply of clean suds, in which, wash the milk-pans, buckets, and tins. Then rinse and hang up this dish-cloth, and take the other; with which, wash the roaster, gridiron, pots, and kettles. Then wash and rinse the dish-cloth, and hang it up. Empty the slop-bucket and scald it. Dry metal teapots and tins before the fire. Then put the fireplace in order, and sweep and dust the kitchen. Some persons keep a deep and narrow vessel, in which to wash knives with a swab, so that a careless domestic cannot lay them in the water while washing them. This article can be carried into the eating-room, to receive the knives and forks, when they are taken from the table. Kitchen Furniture.
Crockery. Brown earthen pans are said to be best, for milk and for cooking. Tin pans are lighter, and more convenient, but are too cold for many purposes. Tall earthen jars, with covers, are good to hold butter, salt, lard, &c. Acids should never be put into the red earthen ware, as there is a poisonous ingredient in the glazing, which the acid takes off. Stone ware is better, and stronger, and safer, every way, than any other kind. Iron Ware. Many kitchens are very imperfectly supplied with the requisite conveniences for cooking. When a person has sufficient means, the following articles are all desirable. A nest of iron pots, of different sizes, (they should be slowly heated, when new;) a long iron fork, to take out articles from boiling water; an iron hook, with a handle, to lift pots from the crane; a large and small gridiron, with grooved bars, and a trench to catch the grease; a Dutch oven, called, also, a bakepan; two skillets, of different sizes, and a spider, or flat skillet, for frying; a griddle, a waffle-iron, tin and iron bake and bread-pans; two ladles, of different sizes; a skimmer; iron skewers; a toasting-iron; two teakettles, one small and one large one; two brass kettles, of different sizes, for soap-boiling, &c. Iron kettles, lined with porcelain, are better for preserves. The German are the best. Too hot a fire will crack them, but with care in this respect, they will last for many years. Portable furnaces, of iron or clay, are very useful, in Summer, in washing, ironing, and stewing, or making preserves. If used in the house, a strong draught must be made, to prevent the deleterious effects of the charcoal. A box and mill, for spice, pepper, and coffee, are needful to those who use these articles. Strong knives and forks, a sharp carving-knife, an iron cleaver and board, a fine saw, steelyards, chopping-tray and knife, an apple-parer, steel for sharpening knives, sugar-nippers, a dozen iron spoons, also a large iron one with a long handle, six or eight flatirons, one of them very small, two iron-stands, a ruffle-iron, a crimping-iron, are also desirable. Tin Ware. Bread-pans, large and small pattypans, cake-pans, with a centre tube to insure their baking well, pie-dishes, (of block-tin,) a covered butter-kettle, covered kettles to hold berries, two sauce-pans, a large oil-can, (with a cock,) a lamp-filler, a lantern, broad-bottomed candlesticks for the kitchen, a candle-box, a funnel or tunnel, a reflector, for baking warm cakes, an oven or tin-kitchen, an apple-corer, an apple-roaster, an egg-boiler, two sugar-scoops, and flour and meal-scoop, a set of mugs, three dippers, a pint, quart, and gallon measure, a set of scales and weights, three or four pails, painted on the outside, a slop-bucket, with a tight cover, painted on the outside, a milk-strainer, a gravy-strainer, a colander, a dredging-box, a pepper-box, a large and small grater, a box, in which to keep cheese, also a large one for cake, and a still larger one for bread, with tight covers. Bread, cake, and cheese, shut up in this way, will not grow dry as in the open air. Wooden Ware. A nest of tubs, a set of pails and bowls, a large and small sieve, a beetle for mashing potatoes, a spad or stick for stirring butter and sugar, a bread-board, for moulding bread and making pie-crust, a coffee-stick, a clothes-stick, a mush-stick, a meat-beetle to pound tough meat, an egg-beater, a ladle for working butter, a bread-trough, (for a large family,) flour-buckets, with lids to hold sifted flour and Indian meal, salt-boxes, sugar-boxes, starch and indigo-boxes, spice-boxes, a bosom-board, a skirt-board, a large ironing-board, two or three clothes-frames, and six dozen clothes-pins. Basket Ware. Baskets, of all sizes, for eggs, fruit, marketing, clothes, &c.; also chip-baskets. When often used, they should be washed in hot suds. Other Articles. Every kitchen needs a box containing balls of brown thread and twine, a large and small darning needle, rolls of waste-paper and old linen and cotton, and a supply of common holders. There should also be another box, containing a hammer, carpet-tacks, and nails of all sizes, a carpet-claw, screws and a screw-driver, pincers, gimlets of several sizes, a bed-screw, a small saw, two chisels, (one to use for buttonholes in broadcloth,) two awls, and two files. In a drawer, or cupboard, should be placed, cotton table-cloths, for kitchen use, nice crash towels, for tumblers, marked, T T; coarser towels, for dishes, marked, T; six large roller-towels; a dozen hand-towels, marked, H T; and a dozen hemmed dish-cloths, with loops. Also, two thick linen pudding or dumpling-cloths, a gelly-bag, made of white flannel, to strain gelly, a starch-strainer, and a bag for boiling clothes. In a closet, should be kept, arranged in order, the following articles: the dust-pan, dust-brush, and dusting-cloths, old flannel and cotton for scouring and rubbing, sponges for washing windows and looking-glasses, a long brush for cobwebs, and another for washing the outside of windows, whisk-brooms, common brooms, a coat-broom or brush, a whitewash-brush, a stove-brush, shoebrushes and blacking, articles for cleaning tin and silver, leather for cleaning metals, bottles containing stain-mixtures, and other articles used in cleansing. ON THE CARE OF THE CELLAR.
A cellar should often be whitewashed, to keep it sweet. It should have a drain, to keep it perfectly dry, as standing water, in a cellar, is a sure cause of disease in a family. It is very dangerous to leave decayed vegetables in a cellar. Many a fever has been caused, by the poisonous miasm thus generated. The following articles are desirable in a cellar: a safe, or moveable closet, with sides of wire or perforated tin, in which cold meats, cream, and other articles should be kept; (if ants be troublesome, set the legs in tin cups of water;) a refrigerator, or large wooden box, on feet, with a lining of tin or zinc, and a space between the tin and wood filled with powdered charcoal, having at the bottom, a place for ice, a drain to carry off the water, and also moveable shelves and partitions. In this, articles are kept cool. It should be cleaned, once a week. Filtering jars, to purify water, should also be kept in the cellar. Fish and cabbages, in a cellar, are apt to scent a house, and give a bad taste to other articles. STOREROOM.
Every house needs a storeroom, in which to keep tea, coffee, sugar, rice, candles, &c. It should be furnished with jars, having labels, a large spoon, a fork, sugar and flour-scoops, a towel, and a dish-cloth. Modes of destroying Insects and Vermin.
Bed-bugs should be kept away, by filling every chink in the bedstead with putty, and, if it be old, painting it over. Of all the mixtures for killing them, corrosive sublimate and alcohol is the surest. This is a strong poison. Cockroaches may be destroyed, by pouring boiling water into their haunts, or setting a mixture of arsenic, mixed with Indian meal and molasses, where they are found. Chloride of lime and sweetened water will also poison them. Fleas. If a dog be infested with these insects, put him in a tub of warm soapsuds, and they will rise to the surface. Take them off, and burn them. Strong perfumes, about the person, diminish their attacks. When caught between the fingers, plunge them in water, or they will escape. Crickets. Scalding, and sprinkling Scotch snuff about the haunts of these insects, are remedies for the annoyance caused by them. Flies can be killed, in great quantities, by placing about the house vessels, filled with sweetened water and cobalt. Six cents worth of cobalt is enough for a pint of water. It is very poisonous. Musquitoes. Close nets around a bed, are the only sure protection at night, against these insects. Spirit of hartshorn is the best antidote for their bite. Salt and water is good. Red or Black Ants may be driven away, by scalding their haunts, and putting Scotch snuff wherever they go for food. Set the legs of closets and safes in pans of water, and they cannot get at them. Moths. Airing clothes does not destroy moths, but laying them in a hot sun does. If articles be tightly sewed up in linen, and fine tobacco be put about them, it is a sure protection. This should be done in April. Rats and Mice. A good cat is the best remedy for these annoyances. Equal quantities of hemlock, (or cicuta,) and old cheese, will poison them, but this renders the house liable to the inconvenience of a bad smell. This evil, however, may be lessened, by placing a dish, containing oil of vitriol poured on saltpetre, where the smell is most annoying. Chloride of lime and water is also good. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Catharine Esther Beecher (2007). A Treatise on Domestic Economy; For the Use of Young Ladies at Home and at School. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/21829/pg21829-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

ON THE CARE OF THE KITCHEN, CELLAR, AND STOREROOM.

A Treatise on Domestic Economy; For the Use of Young Ladies at Home and at School by Catharine Esther Beecher, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . ON ACCIDENTS AND ANTIDOTES. here CHAPTER XXII. ON ACCIDENTS AND ANTIDOTES. When serious accidents occur, medical aid should be immediately procured. Till that can be done, the following directions may be useful. When a child has any thing in its throat, first try, with the finger, to get the article up. If this cannot be done, push it down into the stomach, with a smooth elastic stick. If the article be a pin, sharp bone, glass, or other cutting substance, give an emetic which will immediately operate. In the case of a common cut, bind the lips of the wound together, with a rag, and put nothing else on. If the cut be large, and so situated that rags will not bind it together, use sticking plaster, cut in strips and laid obliquely across the cut. Sometimes it is needful to take a stitch, with a needle and thread, on each lip of the wound, and draw the two sides together. If an artery be cut, it must be immediately tied up, or the person will bleed to death. The blood from an artery is of a bright red color, and spirts out, in regular jets, at each beat of the heart. Take up the bleeding end of the artery, and hold it, or tie it up, till a surgeon comes. When the artery cannot be found, and in all cases of bad cuts on any of the limbs, apply compression; when it can be done, tie a very tight bandage above the wound, if it be below the heart, and if the wound be above the heart. Put a stick into the band, and twist it as tight as can be borne, till surgical aid be obtained. below Bathe bad bruises in hot water, or hot spirits, or a decoction of bitter herbs. , is the remedy for sprains. Bathing in warm water, or warm whiskey is very useful. A sprained leg should be kept in a horizontal position, on a bed or sofa. Entire rest When a leg is broken, tie it to the other leg, to keep it still; and, if possible, get a surgeon, before the limb swells. Bind a broken arm to a piece of shingle, and keep it still, till it is set. In case of a blow on the head, or a fall, causing insensibility, use a mustard paste on the back of the neck and pit of the stomach, and rub the body with spirits. After the circulation is restored, bleeding is often necessary; but it is very dangerous to attempt it before. In cases of bad burns, where the skin is taken off, the great aim should be, . For this purpose, sprinkle on flour, or apply a liniment, made of linseed oil and lime-water, in equal quantities. Sweet-oil, on cotton, is good, and with laudanum, alleviates pain: but many skins cannot bear the application of raw cotton, which is sometimes very good. When a dressing is put on, do not remove it, as it will be sure to protract the cure, by admitting the air. to keep the injured part from the air In case of drowning, lay the person in a warm bed, or on blankets, on the right side, with the head raised, and a little inclined forward. Clear the mouth with the fingers, and cautiously apply hartshorn to the nose. Raise the heat of the body, by bottles of warm water, applied to the pit of the stomach, armpits, groins, and soles of the feet. Apply friction to the whole body, with warm hands and cloths dipped in warm spirits of camphor. Endeavor to produce the natural action of the lungs, by introducing the nose of a bellows into one nostril and closing the other, at the same time pressing on the throat, to close the gullet. When the lungs are thus inflated, press gently on the breast and belly, and continue the process, for a long time. Cases have been known, where efforts have been protracted eight or ten hours, without effect, and then have proved successful. Rolling the body on a barrel, suspending it by the heels, giving injections of tobacco, and many other practices, which have been common, are highly injurious. After signs of life appear, give small quantities of wine, or spirits and water. In cases of poisoning, from , beat up the whites of twelve eggs, mix them in two quarts of water, and give a tumbler full every three minutes, till vomiting is produced. This is the surest remedy. When this is not at hand, fill the stomach, in like manner, with any mucilaginous substance, such as gum and water, flaxseed, or slippery-elm-bark tea. Flour and water, or sugar and water, in great quantities, are next best; and if none of these be at hand, give copious draughts of water alone. corrosive sublimate In case of poisoning from , , or any such mineral, administer, as soon as possible, large quantities of lime-water and sugared-water, of warm, or even of cold water, or of flaxseed tea, or some other mucilaginous drink, to distend the stomach and produce immediate vomiting, and thereby eject the poison. arsenic cobalt If opium, or any of its preparations, has been taken, in dangerous quantities, induce vomiting, without a moment's unnecessary delay, by giving, immediately, in of water, ten grains of ipecac, and ten grains of sulphate of zinc, (white vitriol, which is the most prompt emetic known,) and repeat the dose every fifteen minutes, till the stomach is entirely emptied. Where white vitriol is not at hand, substitute three or four grains of blue vitriol, (sulphate of copper.) When the stomach is emptied, but not before, give, every ten minutes, alternately, a cup of acid drink, and a cup of very strong coffee, made by pouring a pint of boiling water on a quarter of a pound of ground burnt coffee, and letting it stand ten minutes, and then straining it. Continue these drinks, till the danger is over. Dash cold water on the head, apply friction to the body, and keep the person in constant motion, to prevent sleep. a small quantity If any kind of acid be taken, in poisonous quantities, give strong pearlash-water. If ley, or pearlash, or any alkali be taken, give sweet-oil; or, if this be wanting, lamp-oil; or, if neither be at hand, give vinegar, freely. In case of stupefaction, from the fumes of charcoal, or from entering a well, limekiln, or coal mine, expose the person to cold air, lying on his back, dash cold water on the head and breast, and rub the body with spirits of camphor, vinegar, or Cologne water. Apply mustard paste to the pit of the stomach, and use friction on the hands, feet, and whole length of the back bone. Give some acid drink, and, when the person revives, place him in a warm bed, in fresh air. Be prompt and persevering. In case of bleeding at the lungs, or stomach, or throat, give a teaspoonful of dry salt, and repeat it often. For bleeding at the nose, pour cold water on the back of the neck, keeping the head elevated. If a person be struck with lightning, throw pailfuls of cold water on the head and body, and apply mustard poultices on the stomach, with friction of the whole body, and inflation of the lungs. When no other emetic can be found, pounded mustard seed, taken a teaspoonful at a time, will answer. The ground mustard is not so effectual, but will do. In case of fire, wrap a woollen blanket about you, to protect from the fire. If the staircases are on fire, tie the corners of the sheets together, very firmly, fasten one end to the bedstead, draw it to the window, and let yourself down. Never read in bed, lest you fall asleep, and the bed be set on fire. If your clothes get on fire, never run, but lie down, and roll about till you can reach a bed or carpet to wrap yourself in, and thus put out the fire. Keep young children in woollen dresses, to save them from the risk of fire. In thunderstorms, shut the doors and windows. The safest part of a room, is its centre; and where there is a featherbed in the apartment, that will be found the most secure resting-place. A lightning rod, if it be well pointed, and run deep into the earth, is a certain protection to a circle around it, whose diameter equals the height of the rod above the highest chimney. But it protects than this extent. no further About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Catharine Esther Beecher (2007). A Treatise on Domestic Economy; For the Use of Young Ladies at Home and at School. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/21829/pg21829-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

ON ACCIDENTS AND ANTIDOTES.

ON THE CARE OF HEALTH.

Abandoned by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . CHAPTER II here CHAPTER II First Trial of the Canoe—A Wreck on the Coast—Towing—Flotsam Point—Inventory of the Case: Tools, Weapons, Instruments, Clothes, Books, Utensils—What Pencroft misses—The Gospel—A Verse from the Sacred Book. On the 9th of October the bark canoe was entirely finished. Pencroft had kept his promise, and a light boat, the shell of which was joined together by the flexible twigs of the crejimba, had been constructed in five days. A seat in the stern, a second seat in the middle to preserve the equilibrium, a third seat in the bows, rowlocks for the two oars, a scull to steer with, completed the little craft, which was twelve feet long, and did not weigh more than 200 pounds. The operation of launching it was extremely simple. The canoe was carried to the beach and laid on the sand before Granite House, and the rising tide floated it. Pencroft, who leapt in directly, manœuvred it with the scull and declared it to be just the thing for the purpose to which they wished to put it. "Hurrah!" cried the sailor, who did not disdain to celebrate thus his own triumph. "With this we could go round—" "The world?" asked Gideon Spilett. "No, the island. Some stones for ballast, a mast, and a sail, which the captain will make for us some day, and we shall go splendidly! Well, captain—and you, Mr. Spilett; and you, Herbert; and you, Neb—aren't you coming to try our new vessel? Come along! we must see if it will carry all five of us!" This was certainly a trial which ought to be made. Pencroft soon brought the canoe to the shore by a narrow passage among the rocks, and it was agreed that they should make a trial of the boat that day by following the shore as far as the first point at which the rocks of the south ended. As they embarked, Neb cried,— "But your boat leaks rather, Pencroft." "That's nothing, Neb," replied the sailor; "the wood will get seasoned. In two days there won't be a single leak, and our boat will have no more water in her than there is in the stomach of a drunkard. Jump in!" They were soon all seated, and Pencroft shoved off. The weather was magnificent, the sea as calm as if its waters were contained within the narrow limits of a lake. Thus the boat could proceed with as much security as if it was ascending the tranquil current of the Mercy. Neb took one of the oars, Herbert the other, and Pencroft remained in the stern in order to use the skull. The sailor first crossed the channel, and steered close to the southern point of the islet. A light breeze blew from the south. No roughness was found either in the channel or the green sea. A long swell, which the canoe scarcely felt, as it was heavily laden, rolled regularly over the surface of the water. They pulled out about half a mile distant from the shore, that they might have a good view of Mount Franklin. Pencroft afterwards returned towards the mouth of the river. The boat then skirted the shore, which, extending to the extreme point, hid all Tadorn's Fens. This point, of which the distance was increased by the irregularity of the coast, was nearly three miles from the Mercy. The settlers resolved to go to its extremity, and only go beyond it as much as was necessary to take a rapid survey of the coast as far as Claw Cape. The canoe followed the windings of the shore, avoiding the rocks which fringed it, and which the rising tide began to cover. The cliff gradually sloped away from the mouth of the river to the point. This was formed of granite rocks, capriciously distributed, very different from the cliff at Prospect Heights, and of an extremely wild aspect. It might have been said that an immense cartload of rocks had been emptied out there. There was no vegetation on this sharp promontory, which projected two miles from the forest, and it thus represented a giant's arm stretched out from a leafy sleeve. The canoe, impelled by the two oars, advanced without difficulty. Gideon Spilett, pencil in one hand and note-book in the other, sketched the coast in bold strokes. Neb, Herbert, and Pencroft chatted, whilst examining this part of their domain, which was new to them, and, in proportion as the canoe proceeded towards the south, the two Mandible Capes appeared to move, and surround Union Bay more closely. As to Cyrus Harding, he did not speak; he simply gazed, and by the mistrust which his look expressed, it appeared that he was examining some strange country. In the meanwhile, after a voyage of three quarters of an hour, the canoe reached the extremity of the point, and Pencroft was preparing to return, when Herbert, rising, pointed to a black object, saying,— "What do I see down there on the beach?" All eyes turned towards the point indicated. "Why," said the reporter, "there is something. It looks like part of a wreck half buried in the sand." "Ah!" cried Pencroft, "I see what it is!" "What?" asked Neb. "Barrels, barrels, which perhaps are full," replied the sailor. "Pull to the shore, Pencroft!" said Cyrus. A few strokes of the oar brought the canoe into a little creek, and its passengers leapt on shore. Pencroft was not mistaken. Two barrels were there, half buried in the sand, but still firmly attached to a large chest, which, sustained by them, had floated to the moment when it stranded on the beach. "There has been a wreck, then, in some part of the island," said Herbert. "Evidently," replied Spilett. "But what's in this chest?" cried Pencroft, with very natural impatience. "What's in this chest? It is shut up, and nothing to open it with! Well, perhaps a stone—" And the sailor, raising a heavy block, was about to break in one of the sides of the chest, when the engineer arrested his hand. "Pencroft," said he, "can you restrain your impatience for one hour only?" "But, captain, just think! Perhaps there is everything we want in there!" "We shall find that out, Pencroft," replied the engineer; "but trust to me, and do not break the chest, which may be useful to us. We must convey it to Granite House, where we can open it easily and without breaking it. It is quite prepared for a voyage, and, since it has floated here, it may just as well float to the mouth of the river." "You are right, captain, and I was wrong, as usual," replied the sailor. The engineer's advice was good. In fact, the canoe probably would not have been able to contain the articles possibly enclosed in the chest, which doubtless was heavy, since two empty barrels were required to buoy it up. It was, therefore, much better to tow it to the beach at Granite House. And now, whence had this chest come? That was the important question Cyrus Harding and his companions looked attentively around them, and examined the shore for several hundred steps. No other articles or pieces of wreck could be found. Herbert and Neb climbed a high rock to survey the sea, but there was nothing in sight—neither a dismasted vessel nor a ship under sail. However, there was no doubt that there had been a wreck Perhaps this incident was connected with that of the bullet? Perhaps strangers had landed on another part of the island? Perhaps they were still there? But the thought which came naturally to the settlers was, that these strangers could not be Malay pirates, for the chest was evidently of American or European make. All the party returned to the chest, which was of an unusually large size. It was made of oak wood, very carefully closed and covered with a thick hide, which was secured by copper nails. The two great barrels, hermetically sealed, but which sounded hollow and empty, were fastened to its sides by strong ropes knotted with a skill which Pencroft directly pronounced sailors alone could exhibit. It appeared to be in a perfect state of preservation, which was explained by the fact that it had stranded on a sandy beach, and not among rocks. They had no doubt whatever, on examining it carefully, that it had not been long in the water, and that its arrival on this coast was recent. The water did not appear to have penetrated to the inside, and the articles which it contained were no doubt uninjured. It was evident that this chest had been thrown overboard from some dismasted vessel driven towards the island, and that, in the hope that it would reach the land, where they might afterwards find it, the passengers had taken the precaution to buoy it up by means of this floating apparatus. "We will tow this chest to Granite House," said the engineer, "where we can make an inventory of its contents, then, if we discover any of the survivors from the supposed wreck, we can return it to those to whom it belongs. If we find no one—" "We will keep it for ourselves!" cried Pencroft "But what in the world can there be in it?" The sea was already approaching the chest, and the high tide would evidently float it. One of the ropes which fastened the barrels was partly unlashed and used as a cable to unite the floating apparatus with the canoe. Pencroft and Neb then dug away the sand with their oars, so as to facilitate the moving of the chest, towing which the boat soon began to double the point to which the name of Flotsam Point was given. The chest was heavy, and the barrels were scarcely sufficient to keep it above water. The sailor also feared every instant that it would get loose and sink to the bottom of the sea. But happily his fears were not realised, and an hour and a half after they set out—all that time had been taken up in going a distance of three miles—the boat touched the beach below Granite House. Canoe and chest were then hauled up on the sand, and as the tide was then going out, they were soon left high and dry. Neb, hurrying home, brought back some tools with which to open the chest in such a way that it might be injured as little as possible, and they proceeded to its inventory. Pencroft did not try to hide that he was greatly excited. The sailor began by detaching the two barrels, which, being in good condition, would of course be of use. Then the locks were forced with a cold chisel and hammer, and the lid thrown back. A second casing of zinc lined the interior of the chest, which had been evidently arranged that the articles which it enclosed might under any circumstances be sheltered from damp. "Oh!" cried Neb, "suppose it's jam!". "I hope not," replied the reporter. "If only there was—" said the sailor in a low voice. "What?" asked Neb, who overheard him. "Nothing!" The covering of zinc was torn off and thrown back over the sides of the chest, and by degrees numerous articles of very varied character were produced and strewn about on the sand. At each new object Pencroft uttered fresh hurrahs, Herbert clapped his hands, and Neb danced—like a nigger. There were books which made Herbert wild with joy, and cooking utensils which Neb covered with kisses! In short, the colonists had reason to be extremely satisfied, for this chest contained tools, weapons, instruments, clothes, books; and this is the exact list of them as stated in Gideon Spilett's note-book:— Tools:—3 knives with several blades, 2 woodmen's axes, 2 carpenter's hatchets, 3 planes, 2 adzes, 1 twibil or mattock, 6 chisels, 2 files, 3 hammers, 3 gimlets, 2 augers, 10 bags of nails and screws, 3 saws of different sizes, 2 boxes of needles. Weapons:—2 flint-lock guns, 2 for percussion caps, 2 breech-loader carbines, 5 boarding cutlasses, 4 sabres, 2 barrels of powder, each containing twenty-five pounds; 12 boxes of percussion caps. Instruments:—1 sextant, 1 double opera-glass, 1 telescope, 1 box of mathematical instruments, 1 mariner's compass, 1 Fahrenheit thermometer, 1 aneroid barometer, 1 box containing a photographic apparatus, object-glass, plates, chemicals, etc. Clothes:—2 dozen shirts of a peculiar material resembling wool, but evidently of a vegetable origin; 3 dozen stockings of the same material. Utensils:—1 iron pot, 6 copper saucepans, 3 iron dishes, 10 metal plates, 2 kettles, 1 portable stove, 6 table-knives. Books:—1 Bible, 1 atlas, 1 dictionary of the different Polynesian idioms, 1 dictionary of natural science, in six volumes; 3 reams of white paper, 2 books with blank pages. "It must be allowed," said the reporter, after the inventory had been made, "that the owner of this chest was a practical man! Tools, weapons, instruments, clothes, utensils, books—nothing is wanting! It might really be said that he expected to be wrecked, and had prepared for it beforehand." "Nothing is wanting, indeed," murmured Cyrus Harding thoughtfully. "And for a certainty," added Herbert, "the vessel which carried this chest and its owner was not a Malay pirate!" "Unless," said Pencroft, "the owner had been taken prisoner by pirates—" "That is not admissible," replied the reporter. "It is more probable that an American or European vessel has been driven into this quarter, and that her passengers, wishing to save necessaries at least, prepared this chest and threw it overboard." "Is that your opinion, captain?" asked Herbert. "Yes, my boy," replied the engineer, "that may have been the case. It is possible that at the moment, or in expectation of a wreck, they collected into this chest different articles of the greatest use in hopes of finding it again on the coast—" "Even the photographic box!" exclaimed the sailor incredulously. "As to that apparatus," replied Harding, "I do not quite see the use of it; and a more complete supply of clothes or more abundant ammunition would have been more valuable to us as well as to any other castaways!" "But isn't there any mark or direction on these instruments, tools, or books, which would tell us something about them?" asked Gideon Spilett. That might be ascertained. Each article was carefully examined, especially the books, instruments and weapons. Neither the weapons nor the instruments, contrary to the usual custom, bore the name of the maker; they were, besides, in a perfect state, and did not appear to have been used. The same peculiarity marked the tools and utensils; all were new, which proved that the articles had not been taken by chance and thrown into the chest, but, on the contrary, that the choice of the things had been well considered and arranged with care. This was also indicated by a second case of metal which had preserved them from damp, and which could not have been soldered in a moment of haste. As to the dictionaries of natural science and Polynesian idioms, both were English, but they neither bore the name of the publisher nor the date of publication. The same with the Bible printed in English, in quarto, remarkable in a typographical point of view, and which appeared to have been often used. The atlas was a magnificent work, comprising maps of every country in the world, and several planispheres arranged upon Mercator's projection, aid of which the nomenclature was in French—but which also bore neither date nor name of publisher. There was nothing, therefore, on these different articles by which they could be traced and nothing consequently of a nature to show the nationality of the vessel which must have recently passed these shores. But, wherever the chest might have come from, it was a treasure to the settlers on Lincoln Island. Till then, by making use of the productions of nature, they had created everything for themselves, and, thanks to their intelligence, they had managed without difficulty. But did it not appear as if Providence had wished to reward them by sending them these productions of human industry? Their thanks rose unanimously to Heaven. However, one of them was not quite satisfied: it was Pencroft. It appeared that the chest did not contain some thing which he evidently held in great esteem, for in proportion as they approached the bottom of the box, his hurrahs diminished in heartiness, and, the inventory finished, he was heard to mutter these words— "That's all very fine, but you can see that there is nothing for me in that box!" This led Neb to say,— "Why, friend Pencroft, what more do you expect?" "Half a pound of tobacco," replied Pencroft seriously, "and nothing would have been wanting to complete my happiness." No one could help laughing at this speech of the sailor's. But the result of this discovery of the chest was, that it was more than ever necessary to explore the island thoroughly. It was therefore agreed that the next morning at break of day they should set out, by ascending the Mercy so as to reach the western shore. If any castaways had landed on the coast, it was to be feared they were without resources, and it was therefore the more necessary to carry help to them without delay. During the day the different articles were carried to Granite House, where they were methodically arranged in the great hall. This day—the 29th of October—happened to be a Sunday, and, before going to bed, Herbert asked the engineer if he would not read them something from the Gospel. "Willingly," replied Cyrus Harding. He took the sacred volume, and was about to open it, when Pencroft stopped him, saying,— "Captain, I am superstitious. Open at random and read the first verse which your eye falls upon. We will see if it applies to our situation." Cyrus Harding smiled at the sailor's idea, and, yielding to his wish, he opened exactly at a place where the leaves were separated by a marker. Immediately his eyes were attracted by a cross which, made with a pencil, was placed against the eighth verse of the seventh chapter of the Gospel of St. Matthew. He read the verse, which was this:— "For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth." About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (2010). Abandoned. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/33516/pg33516-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

On the 9th of October the bark canoe was entirely finished

Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . Humpty Dumpty here CHAPTER VI. Humpty Dumpty However, the egg only got larger and larger, and more and more human: when she had come within a few yards of it, she saw that it had eyes and a nose and mouth; and when she had come close to it, she saw clearly that it was HUMPTY DUMPTY himself. “It can’t be anybody else!” she said to herself. “I’m as certain of it, as if his name were written all over his face.” It might have been written a hundred times, easily, on that enormous face. Humpty Dumpty was sitting with his legs crossed, like a Turk, on the top of a high wall—such a narrow one that Alice quite wondered how he could keep his balance—and, as his eyes were steadily fixed in the opposite direction, and he didn’t take the least notice of her, she thought he must be a stuffed figure after all. “And how exactly like an egg he is!” she said aloud, standing with her hands ready to catch him, for she was every moment expecting him to fall. “It’s provoking,” Humpty Dumpty said after a long silence, looking away from Alice as he spoke, “to be called an egg— ” very Very! “I said you like an egg, Sir,” Alice gently explained. “And some eggs are very pretty, you know” she added, hoping to turn her remark into a sort of a compliment. looked “Some people,” said Humpty Dumpty, looking away from her as usual, “have no more sense than a baby!” Alice didn’t know what to say to this: it wasn’t at all like conversation, she thought, as he never said anything to ; in fact, his last remark was evidently addressed to a tree—so she stood and softly repeated to herself:— her “Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall: Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men Couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty in his place again.” “That last line is much too long for the poetry,” she added, almost out loud, forgetting that Humpty Dumpty would hear her. “Don’t stand there chattering to yourself like that,” Humpty Dumpty said, looking at her for the first time, “but tell me your name and your business.” “My is Alice, but—” name “It’s a stupid enough name!” Humpty Dumpty interrupted impatiently. “What does it mean?” “ a name mean something?” Alice asked doubtfully. Must “Of course it must,” Humpty Dumpty said with a short laugh: “ name means the shape I am—and a good handsome shape it is, too. With a name like yours, you might be any shape, almost.” my “Why do you sit out here all alone?” said Alice, not wishing to begin an argument. “Why, because there’s nobody with me!” cried Humpty Dumpty. “Did you think I didn’t know the answer to ? Ask another.” that “Don’t you think you’d be safer down on the ground?” Alice went on, not with any idea of making another riddle, but simply in her good-natured anxiety for the queer creature. “That wall is so narrow!” very “What tremendously easy riddles you ask!” Humpty Dumpty growled out. “Of course I don’t think so! Why, if ever I fall off—which there’s no chance of—but I did—” Here he pursed his lips and looked so solemn and grand that Alice could hardly help laughing. “ I did fall,” he went on, “ —to—to—” did if If The King has promised me—with his very own mouth “To send all his horses and all his men,” Alice interrupted, rather unwisely. “Now I declare that’s too bad!” Humpty Dumpty cried, breaking into a sudden passion. “You’ve been listening at doors—and behind trees—and down chimneys—or you couldn’t have known it!” “I haven’t, indeed!” Alice said very gently. “It’s in a book.” “Ah, well! They may write such things in a ,” Humpty Dumpty said in a calmer tone. “That’s what you call a History of England, that is. Now, take a good look at me! I’m one that has spoken to a King, am: mayhap you’ll never see such another: and to show you I’m not proud, you may shake hands with me!” And he grinned almost from ear to ear, as he leant forwards (and as nearly as possible fell off the wall in doing so) and offered Alice his hand. She watched him a little anxiously as she took it. “If he smiled much more, the ends of his mouth might meet behind,” she thought: “and then I don’t know what would happen to his head! I’m afraid it would come off!” book I “Yes, all his horses and all his men,” Humpty Dumpty went on. “They’d pick me up again in a minute, would! However, this conversation is going on a little too fast: let’s go back to the last remark but one.” they “I’m afraid I can’t quite remember it,” Alice said very politely. “In that case we start fresh,” said Humpty Dumpty, “and it’s my turn to choose a subject—” (“He talks about it just as if it was a game!” thought Alice.) “So here’s a question for you. How old did you say you were?” Alice made a short calculation, and said “Seven years and six months.” “Wrong!” Humpty Dumpty exclaimed triumphantly. “You never said a word like it!” “I though you meant ‘How old you?’” Alice explained. are “If I’d meant that, I’d have said it,” said Humpty Dumpty. Alice didn’t want to begin another argument, so she said nothing. “Seven years and six months!” Humpty Dumpty repeated thoughtfully. “An uncomfortable sort of age. Now if you’d asked advice, I’d have said ‘Leave off at seven’—but it’s too late now.” my “I never ask advice about growing,” Alice said indignantly. “Too proud?” the other inquired. Alice felt even more indignant at this suggestion. “I mean,” she said, “that one can’t help growing older.” “ can’t, perhaps,” said Humpty Dumpty, “but can. With proper assistance, you might have left off at seven.” One two “What a beautiful belt you’ve got on!” Alice suddenly remarked. (They had had quite enough of the subject of age, she thought: and if they really were to take turns in choosing subjects, it was her turn now.) “At least,” she corrected herself on second thoughts, “a beautiful cravat, I should have said—no, a belt, I mean—I beg your pardon!” she added in dismay, for Humpty Dumpty looked thoroughly offended, and she began to wish she hadn’t chosen that subject. “If I only knew,” she thought to herself, “which was neck and which was waist!” Evidently Humpty Dumpty was very angry, though he said nothing for a minute or two. When he speak again, it was in a deep growl. did “It is a— —thing,” he said at last, “when a person doesn’t know a cravat from a belt!” most—provoking “I know it’s very ignorant of me,” Alice said, in so humble a tone that Humpty Dumpty relented. “It’s a cravat, child, and a beautiful one, as you say. It’s a present from the White King and Queen. There now!” “Is it really?” said Alice, quite pleased to find that she chosen a good subject, after all. had “They gave it me,” Humpty Dumpty continued thoughtfully, as he crossed one knee over the other and clasped his hands round it, “they gave it me—for an un-birthday present.” “I beg your pardon?” Alice said with a puzzled air. “I’m not offended,” said Humpty Dumpty. “I mean, what an un-birthday present?” is “A present given when it isn’t your birthday, of course.” Alice considered a little. “I like birthday presents best,” she said at last. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!” cried Humpty Dumpty. “How many days are there in a year?” “Three hundred and sixty-five,” said Alice. “And how many birthdays have you?” “One.” “And if you take one from three hundred and sixty-five, what remains?” “Three hundred and sixty-four, of course.” Humpty Dumpty looked doubtful. “I’d rather see that done on paper,” he said. Alice couldn’t help smiling as she took out her memorandum-book, and worked the sum for him: 365 1 ____ 364 ___ Humpty Dumpty took the book, and looked at it carefully. “That seems to be done right—” he began. “You’re holding it upside down!” Alice interrupted. “To be sure I was!” Humpty Dumpty said gaily, as she turned it round for him. “I thought it looked a little queer. As I was saying, that to be done right—though I haven’t time to look it over thoroughly just now—and that shows that there are three hundred and sixty-four days when you might get un-birthday presents—” seems “Certainly,” said Alice. “And only for birthday presents, you know. There’s glory for you!” one “I don’t know what you mean by ‘glory,’” Alice said. Humpty Dumpty smiled contemptuously. “Of course you don’t—till I tell you. I meant ‘there’s a nice knock-down argument for you!’” “But ‘glory’ doesn’t mean ‘a nice knock-down argument,’” Alice objected. “When use a word,” Humpty Dumpty said in rather a scornful tone, “it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.” I “The question is,” said Alice, “whether you make words mean so many different things.” can “The question is,” said Humpty Dumpty, “which is to be master—that’s all.” Alice was too much puzzled to say anything, so after a minute Humpty Dumpty began again. “They’ve a temper, some of them—particularly verbs, they’re the proudest—adjectives you can do anything with, but not verbs—however, can manage the whole lot of them! Impenetrability! That’s what say!” I I “Would you tell me, please,” said Alice “what that means?” “Now you talk like a reasonable child,” said Humpty Dumpty, looking very much pleased. “I meant by ‘impenetrability’ that we’ve had enough of that subject, and it would be just as well if you’d mention what you mean to do next, as I suppose you don’t mean to stop here all the rest of your life.” “That’s a great deal to make one word mean,” Alice said in a thoughtful tone. “When I make a word do a lot of work like that,” said Humpty Dumpty, “I always pay it extra.” “Oh!” said Alice. She was too much puzzled to make any other remark. “Ah, you should see ’em come round me of a Saturday night,” Humpty Dumpty went on, wagging his head gravely from side to side: “for to get their wages, you know.” (Alice didn’t venture to ask what he paid them with; and so you see I can’t tell .) you “You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir,” said Alice. “Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called ‘Jabberwocky’?” “Let’s hear it,” said Humpty Dumpty. “I can explain all the poems that were ever invented—and a good many that haven’t been invented just yet.” This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first verse: ’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe; All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe. “That’s enough to begin with,” Humpty Dumpty interrupted: “there are plenty of hard words there. ‘ ’ means four o’clock in the afternoon—the time when you begin things for dinner.” Brillig broiling “That’ll do very well,” said Alice: “and ‘ ’?” slithy “Well, ‘ ’ means ‘lithe and slimy.’ ‘Lithe’ is the same as ‘active.’ You see it’s like a portmanteau—there are two meanings packed up into one word.” slithy “I see it now,” Alice remarked thoughtfully: “and what are ‘ ’?” toves “Well, ‘ ’ are something like badgers—they’re something like lizards—and they’re something like corkscrews.” toves “They must be very curious looking creatures.” “They are that,” said Humpty Dumpty: “also they make their nests under sun-dials—also they live on cheese.” “And what’s the ‘ ’ and to ‘ ’?” gyre gimble “To ‘ ’ is to go round and round like a gyroscope. To ‘ ’ is to make holes like a gimlet.” gyre gimble “And ‘ ’ is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?” said Alice, surprised at her own ingenuity. the wabe “Of course it is. It’s called ‘ ,’ you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it—” wabe “And a long way beyond it on each side,” Alice added. “Exactly so. Well, then, ‘ ’ is ‘flimsy and miserable’ (there’s another portmanteau for you). And a ‘ ’ is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round—something like a live mop.” mimsy borogove “And then ‘ ’?” said Alice. “I’m afraid I’m giving you a great deal of trouble.” mome raths “Well, a ‘ ’ is a sort of green pig: but ‘ ’ I’m not certain about. I think it’s short for ‘from home’—meaning that they’d lost their way, you know.” rath mome “And what does ‘ ’ mean?” outgrabe “Well, ‘ ’ is something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle: however, you’ll hear it done, maybe—down in the wood yonder—and when you’ve once heard it you’ll be content. Who’s been repeating all that hard stuff to you?” outgrabing quite “I read it in a book,” said Alice. “But I had some poetry repeated to me, much easier than that, by—Tweedledee, I think it was.” “As to poetry, you know,” said Humpty Dumpty, stretching out one of his great hands, “ can repeat poetry as well as other folk, if it comes to that—” I “Oh, it needn’t come to that!” Alice hastily said, hoping to keep him from beginning. “The piece I’m going to repeat,” he went on without noticing her remark, “was written entirely for your amusement.” Alice felt that in that case she really to listen to it, so she sat down, and said “Thank you” rather sadly. ought “In winter, when the fields are white, I sing this song for your delight— only I don’t sing it,” he added, as an explanation. “I see you don’t,” said Alice. “If you can whether I’m singing or not, you’ve sharper eyes than most.” Humpty Dumpty remarked severely. Alice was silent. see “In spring, when woods are getting green, I’ll try and tell you what I mean.” “Thank you very much,” said Alice. “In summer, when the days are long, Perhaps you’ll understand the song: In autumn, when the leaves are brown, Take pen and ink, and write it down.” “I will, if I can remember it so long,” said Alice. “You needn’t go on making remarks like that,” Humpty Dumpty said: “they’re not sensible, and they put me out.” “I sent a message to the fish: I told them ‘This is what I wish.’ The little fishes of the sea, They sent an answer back to me. The little fishes’ answer was ‘We cannot do it, Sir, because—’” “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” said Alice. “It gets easier further on,” Humpty Dumpty replied. “I sent to them again to say ‘It will be better to obey.’ The fishes answered with a grin, ‘Why, what a temper you are in!’ I told them once, I told them twice: They would not listen to advice. I took a kettle large and new, Fit for the deed I had to do. My heart went hop, my heart went thump; I filled the kettle at the pump. Then some one came to me and said, ‘The little fishes are in bed.’ I said to him, I said it plain, ‘Then you must wake them up again.’ I said it very loud and clear; I went and shouted in his ear.” Humpty Dumpty raised his voice almost to a scream as he repeated this verse, and Alice thought with a shudder, “I wouldn’t have been the messenger for !” anything “But he was very stiff and proud; He said ‘You needn’t shout so loud!’ And he was very proud and stiff; He said ‘I’d go and wake them, if—’ I took a corkscrew from the shelf: I went to wake them up myself. And when I found the door was locked, I pulled and pushed and kicked and knocked. And when I found the door was shut, I tried to turn the handle, but—” There was a long pause. “Is that all?” Alice timidly asked. “That’s all,” said Humpty Dumpty. “Good-bye.” This was rather sudden, Alice thought: but, after such a strong hint that she ought to be going, she felt that it would hardly be civil to stay. So she got up, and held out her hand. “Good-bye, till we meet again!” she said as cheerfully as she could. very “I shouldn’t know you again if we meet,” Humpty Dumpty replied in a discontented tone, giving her one of his fingers to shake; “you’re so exactly like other people.” did “The face is what one goes by, generally,” Alice remarked in a thoughtful tone. “That’s just what I complain of,” said Humpty Dumpty. “Your face is the same as everybody has—the two eyes, so—” (marking their places in the air with this thumb) “nose in the middle, mouth under. It’s always the same. Now if you had the two eyes on the same side of the nose, for instance—or the mouth at the top—that would be help.” some “It wouldn’t look nice,” Alice objected. But Humpty Dumpty only shut his eyes and said “Wait till you’ve tried.” Alice waited a minute to see if he would speak again, but as he never opened his eyes or took any further notice of her, she said “Good-bye!” once more, and, getting no answer to this, she quietly walked away: but she couldn’t help saying to herself as she went, “Of all the unsatisfactory—” (she repeated this aloud, as it was a great comfort to have such a long word to say) “of all the unsatisfactory people I met—” She never finished the sentence, for at this moment a heavy crash shook the forest from end to end. ever About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Lewis Carroll (2008). Through the Looking-Glass. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/18857/18857-h/18857-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

Humpty Dumpty

Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea by Jules Verne, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book . PRO AND CON here CHAPTER II: PRO AND CON At the period when these events took place, I had just returned from a scientific research in the disagreeable territory of Nebraska, in the United States. In virtue of my office as Assistant Professor in the Museum of Natural History in Paris, the French Government had attached me to that expedition. After six months in Nebraska, I arrived in New York towards the end of March, laden with a precious collection. My departure for France was fixed for the first days in May. Meanwhile, I was occupying myself in classifying my mineralogical, botanical, and zoological riches, when the accident happened to the . Scotia I was perfectly up in the subject which was the question of the day. How could I be otherwise? I had read and re-read all the American and European papers without being any nearer a conclusion. This mystery puzzled me. Under the impossibility of forming an opinion, I jumped from one extreme to the other. That there really was something could not be doubted, and the incredulous were invited to put their finger on the wound of the . Scotia On my arrival at New York the question was at its height. The hypothesis of the floating island, and the unapproachable sandbank, supported by minds little competent to form a judgment, was abandoned. And, indeed, unless this shoal had a machine in its stomach, how could it change its position with such astonishing rapidity? From the same cause, the idea of a floating hull of an enormous wreck was given up. There remained then only two possible solutions of the question, which created two distinct parties: on one side, those who were for a monster of colossal strength; on the other, those who were for a submarine vessel of enormous motive power. But this last hypothesis, plausible as it was, could not stand against inquiries made in both worlds. That a private gentleman should have such a machine at his command was not likely. Where, when, and how was it built? and how could its construction have been kept secret? Certainly a Government might possess such a destructive machine. And in these disastrous times, when the ingenuity of man has multiplied the power of weapons of war, it was possible that, without the knowledge of others, a state might try to work such a formidable engine. After the chassepots came the torpedoes, after the torpedoes the submarine rams, then—the reaction. At least, I hope so. But the hypothesis of a war machine fell before the declaration of Governments. As public interest was in question, and transatlantic communications suffered, their veracity could not be doubted. But, how admit that the construction of this submarine boat had escaped the public eye? For a private gentleman to keep the secret under such circumstances would be very difficult, and for a state whose every act is persistently watched by powerful rivals, certainly impossible. After inquiries made in England, France, Russia, Prussia, Spain, Italy, and America, even in Turkey, the hypothesis of a submarine monitor was definitely rejected. Upon my arrival in New York several persons did me the honour of consulting me on the phenomenon in question. I had published in France a work in quarto, in two volumes, entitled “Mysteries of the Great Submarine Grounds.” This book, highly approved of in the learned world, gained for me a special reputation in this rather obscure branch of Natural History. My advice was asked. As long as I could deny the reality of the fact, I confined myself to a decided negative. But soon, finding myself driven into a corner, I was obliged to explain myself categorically. And even “the Honourable Pierre Aronnax, Professor in the Museum of Paris,” was called upon by the to express a definite opinion of some sort. I did something. I spoke, for want of power to hold my tongue. I discussed the question in all its forms, politically and scientifically; and I give here an extract from a carefully-studied article which I published in the number of the 30th of April. It ran as follows:— New York Herald “After examining one by one the different hypotheses, rejecting all other suggestions, it becomes necessary to admit the existence of a marine animal of enormous power. “The great depths of the ocean are entirely unknown to us. Soundings cannot reach them. What passes in those remote depths—what beings live, or can live, twelve or fifteen miles beneath the surface of the waters—what is the organisation of these animals, we can scarcely conjecture. However, the solution of the problem submitted to me may modify the form of the dilemma. Either we do know all the varieties of beings which people our planet, or we do not. If we do know them all—if Nature has still secrets in ichthyology for us, nothing is more conformable to reason than to admit the existence of fishes, or cetaceans of other kinds, or even of new species, of an organisation formed to inhabit the strata inaccessible to soundings, and which an accident of some sort, either fatastical or capricious, has brought at long intervals to the upper level of the ocean. not “If, on the contrary, we know all living kinds, we must necessarily seek for the animal in question amongst those marine beings already classed; and, in that case, I should be disposed to admit the existence of a gigantic narwhal. do “The common narwhal, or unicorn of the sea, often attains a length of sixty feet. Increase its size fivefold or tenfold, give it strength proportionate to its size, lengthen its destructive weapons, and you obtain the animal required. It will have the proportions determined by the officers of the , the instrument required by the perforation of the , and the power necessary to pierce the hull of the steamer. Shannon Scotia “Indeed, the narwhal is armed with a sort of ivory sword, a halberd, according to the expression of certain naturalists. The principal tusk has the hardness of steel. Some of these tusks have been found buried in the bodies of whales, which the unicorn always attacks with success. Others have been drawn out, not without trouble, from the bottoms of ships, which they had pierced through and through, as a gimlet pierces a barrel. The Museum of the Faculty of Medicine of Paris possesses one of these defensive weapons, two yards and a quarter in length, and fifteen inches in diameter at the base. “Very well! suppose this weapon to be six times stronger and the animal ten times more powerful; launch it at the rate of twenty miles an hour, and you obtain a shock capable of producing the catastrophe required. Until further information, therefore, I shall maintain it to be a sea-unicorn of colossal dimensions, armed not with a halberd, but with a real spur, as the armoured frigates, or the ‘rams’ of war, whose massiveness and motive power it would possess at the same time. Thus may this puzzling phenomenon be explained, unless there be something over and above all that one has ever conjectured, seen, perceived, or experienced; which is just within the bounds of possibility.” These last words were cowardly on my part; but, up to a certain point, I wished to shelter my dignity as Professor, and not give too much cause for laughter to the Americans, who laugh well when they do laugh. I reserved for myself a way of escape. In effect, however, I admitted the existence of the “monster.” My article was warmly discussed, which procured it a high reputation. It rallied round it a certain number of partisans. The solution it proposed gave, at least, full liberty to the imagination. The human mind delights in grand conceptions of supernatural beings. And the sea is precisely their best vehicle, the only medium through which these giants (against which terrestrial animals, such as elephants or rhinoceroses, are as nothing) can be produced or developed. The industrial and commercial papers treated the question chiefly from this point of view. The , the , the , and the , all papers devoted to insurance companies which threatened to raise their rates of premium, were unanimous on this point. Public opinion had been pronounced. The United States were the first in the field; and in New York they made preparations for an expedition destined to pursue this narwhal. A frigate of great speed, the , was put in commission as soon as possible. The arsenals were opened to Commander Farragut, who hastened the arming of his frigate; but, as it always happens, the moment it was decided to pursue the monster, the monster did not appear. For two months no one heard it spoken of. No ship met with it. It seemed as if this unicorn knew of the plots weaving around it. It had been so much talked of, even through the Atlantic cable, that jesters pretended that this slender fly had stopped a telegram on its passage and was making the most of it. Shipping and Mercantile Gazette Lloyd’s List Packet-Boat Maritime and Colonial Review Abraham Lincoln So when the frigate had been armed for a long campaign, and provided with formidable fishing apparatus, no one could tell what course to pursue. Impatience grew apace, when, on the 2nd of July, they learned that a steamer of the line of San Francisco, from California to Shanghai, had seen the animal three weeks before in the North Pacific Ocean. The excitement caused by this news was extreme. The ship was revictualled and well stocked with coal. Three hours before the left Brooklyn pier, I received a letter worded as follows:— Abraham Lincoln “To M. ARONNAX, Professor in the Museum of Paris, Fifth Avenue Hotel, New York. “SIR,—If you will consent to join the in this expedition, the Government of the United States will with pleasure see France represented in the enterprise. Commander Farragut has a cabin at your disposal. Abraham Lincoln “Very cordially yours, “J.B. HOBSON, “Secretary of Marine.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jules Verne (1994). Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved October 2022 https://www.gutenberg.org/files/164/164-h/164-h.htm This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at , located at . www.gutenberg.org https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html

PRO AND CON

The Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . TUPPENCE ENTERS DOMESTIC SERVICE CHAPTER IX. TUPPENCE ENTERS DOMESTIC SERVICE When Tommy set forth on the trail of the two men, it took all Tuppence’s self-command to refrain from accompanying him. However, she contained herself as best she might, consoled by the reflection that her reasoning had been justified by events. The two men had undoubtedly come from the second floor flat, and that one slender thread of the name “Rita” had set the Young Adventurers once more upon the track of the abductors of Jane Finn. The question was what to do next? Tuppence hated letting the grass grow under her feet. Tommy was amply employed, and debarred from joining him in the chase, the girl felt at a loose end. She retraced her steps to the entrance hall of the mansions. It was now tenanted by a small lift-boy, who was polishing brass fittings, and whistling the latest air with a good deal of vigour and a reasonable amount of accuracy. He glanced round at Tuppence’s entry. There was a certain amount of the gamin element in the girl, at all events she invariably got on well with small boys. A sympathetic bond seemed instantly to be formed. She reflected that an ally in the enemy’s camp, so to speak, was not to be despised. “Well, William,” she remarked cheerfully, in the best approved hospital-early-morning style, “getting a good shine up?” The boy grinned responsively. “Albert, miss,” he corrected. “Albert be it,” said Tuppence. She glanced mysteriously round the hall. The effect was purposely a broad one in case Albert should miss it. She leaned towards the boy and dropped her voice: “I want a word with you, Albert.” Albert ceased operations on the fittings and opened his mouth slightly. “Look! Do you know what this is?” With a dramatic gesture she flung back the left side of her coat and exposed a small enamelled badge. It was extremely unlikely that Albert would have any knowledge of it—indeed, it would have been fatal for Tuppence’s plans, since the badge in question was the device of a local training corps originated by the archdeacon in the early days of the war. Its presence in Tuppence’s coat was due to the fact that she had used it for pinning in some flowers a day or two before. But Tuppence had sharp eyes, and had noted the corner of a threepenny detective novel protruding from Albert’s pocket, and the immediate enlargement of his eyes told her that her tactics were good, and that the fish would rise to the bait. “American Detective Force!” she hissed. Albert fell for it. “Lord!” he murmured ecstatically. Tuppence nodded at him with the air of one who has established a thorough understanding. “Know who I’m after?” she inquired genially. Albert, still round-eyed, demanded breathlessly: “One of the flats?” Tuppence nodded and jerked a thumb up the stairs. “No. 20. Calls herself Vandemeyer. Vandemeyer! Ha! ha!” Albert’s hand stole to his pocket. “A crook?” he queried eagerly. “A crook? I should say so. Ready Rita they call her in the States.” “Ready Rita,” repeated Albert deliriously. “Oh, ain’t it just like the pictures!” It was. Tuppence was a great frequenter of the cinema. “Annie always said as how she was a bad lot,” continued the boy. “Who’s Annie?” inquired Tuppence idly. “‘Ouse-parlourmaid. She’s leaving to-day. Many’s the time Annie’s said to me: ‘Mark my words, Albert, I wouldn’t wonder if the police was to come after her one of these days.’ Just like that. But she’s a stunner to look at, ain’t she?” “She’s some peach,” allowed Tuppence carelessly. “Finds it useful in her lay-out, you bet. Has she been wearing any of the emeralds, by the way?” “Emeralds? Them’s the green stones, isn’t they?” Tuppence nodded. “That’s what we’re after her for. You know old man Rysdale?” Albert shook his head. “Peter B. Rysdale, the oil king?” “It seems sort of familiar to me.” “The sparklers belonged to him. Finest collection of emeralds in the world. Worth a million dollars!” “Lumme!” came ecstatically from Albert. “It sounds more like the pictures every minute.” Tuppence smiled, gratified at the success of her efforts. “We haven’t exactly proved it yet. But we’re after her. And”—she produced a long-drawn-out wink—“I guess she won’t get away with the goods this time.” Albert uttered another ejaculation indicative of delight. “Mind you, sonny, not a word of this,” said Tuppence suddenly. “I guess I oughtn’t to have put you wise, but in the States we know a real smart lad when we see one.” “I’ll not breathe a word,” protested Albert eagerly. “Ain’t there anything I could do? A bit of shadowing, maybe, or such like?” Tuppence affected to consider, then shook her head. “Not at the moment, but I’ll bear you in mind, son. What’s this about the girl you say is leaving?” “Annie? Regular turn up, they ‘ad. As Annie said, servants is some one nowadays, and to be treated accordingly, and, what with her passing the word round, she won’t find it so easy to get another.” “Won’t she?” said Tuppence thoughtfully. “I wonder——” An idea was dawning in her brain. She thought a minute or two, then tapped Albert on the shoulder. “See here, son, my brain’s got busy. How would it be if you mentioned that you’d got a young cousin, or a friend of yours had, that might suit the place. You get me?” “I’m there,” said Albert instantly. “You leave it to me, miss, and I’ll fix the whole thing up in two ticks.” “Some lad!” commented Tuppence, with a nod of approval. “You might say that the young woman could come in right away. You let me know, and if it’s O.K. I’ll be round to-morrow at eleven o’clock.” “Where am I to let you know to?” “Ritz,” replied Tuppence laconically. “Name of Cowley.” Albert eyed her enviously. “It must be a good job, this tec business.” “It sure is,” drawled Tuppence, “especially when old man Rysdale backs the bill. But don’t fret, son. If this goes well, you shall come in on the ground floor.” With which promise she took leave of her new ally, and walked briskly away from South Audley Mansions, well pleased with her morning’s work. But there was no time to be lost. She went straight back to the Ritz and wrote a few brief words to Mr. Carter. Having dispatched this, and Tommy not having yet returned—which did not surprise her—she started off on a shopping expedition which, with an interval for tea and assorted creamy cakes, occupied her until well after six o’clock, and she returned to the hotel jaded, but satisfied with her purchases. Starting with a cheap clothing store, and passing through one or two second-hand establishments, she had finished the day at a well-known hairdresser’s. Now, in the seclusion of her bedroom, she unwrapped that final purchase. Five minutes later she smiled contentedly at her reflection in the glass. With an actress’s pencil she had slightly altered the line of her eyebrows, and that, taken in conjunction with the new luxuriant growth of fair hair above, so changed her appearance that she felt confident that even if she came face to face with Whittington he would not recognize her. She would wear elevators in her shoes, and the cap and apron would be an even more valuable disguise. From hospital experience she knew only too well that a nurse out of uniform is frequently unrecognized by her patients. “Yes,” said Tuppence aloud, nodding at the pert reflection in the glass, “you’ll do.” She then resumed her normal appearance. Dinner was a solitary meal. Tuppence was rather surprised at Tommy’s non-return. Julius, too, was absent—but that to the girl’s mind was more easily explained. His “hustling” activities were not confined to London, and his abrupt appearances and disappearances were fully accepted by the Young Adventurers as part of the day’s work. It was quite on the cards that Julius P. Hersheimmer had left for Constantinople at a moment’s notice if he fancied that a clue to his cousin’s disappearance was to be found there. The energetic young man had succeeded in making the lives of several Scotland Yard men unbearable to them, and the telephone girls at the Admiralty had learned to know and dread the familiar “Hullo!” He had spent three hours in Paris hustling the Prefecture, and had returned from there imbued with the idea, possibly inspired by a weary French official, that the true clue to the mystery was to be found in Ireland. “I dare say he’s dashed off there now,” thought Tuppence. “All very well, but this is very dull for me! Here I am bursting with news, and absolutely no one to tell it to! Tommy might have wired, or something. I wonder where he is. Anyway, he can’t have ‘lost the trail’ as they say. That reminds me——” And Miss Cowley broke off in her meditations, and summoned a small boy. Ten minutes later the lady was ensconced comfortably on her bed, smoking cigarettes and deep in the perusal of Garnaby Williams, the Boy Detective, which, with other threepenny works of lurid fiction, she had sent out to purchase. She felt, and rightly, that before the strain of attempting further intercourse with Albert, it would be as well to fortify herself with a good supply of local colour. The morning brought a note from Mr. Carter: “DEAR MISS TUPPENCE, “You have made a splendid start, and I congratulate you. I feel, though, that I should like to point out to you once more the risks you are running, especially if you pursue the course you indicate. Those people are absolutely desperate and incapable of either mercy or pity. I feel that you probably underestimate the danger, and therefore warn you again that I can promise you no protection. You have given us valuable information, and if you choose to withdraw now no one could blame you. At any rate, think the matter over well before you decide. “If, in spite of my warnings, you make up your mind to go through with it, you will find everything arranged. You have lived for two years with Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly, and Mrs. Vandemeyer can apply to her for a reference. “May I be permitted a word or two of advice? Stick as near to the truth as possible—it minimizes the danger of ‘slips.’ I suggest that you should represent yourself to be what you are, a former V.A.D., who has chosen domestic service as a profession. There are many such at the present time. That explains away any incongruities of voice or manner which otherwise might awaken suspicion. “Whichever way you decide, good luck to you. “Your sincere friend, “MR. CARTER.” Tuppence’s spirits rose mercurially. Mr. Carter’s warnings passed unheeded. The young lady had far too much confidence in herself to pay any heed to them. With some reluctance she abandoned the interesting part she had sketched out for herself. Although she had no doubts of her own powers to sustain a role indefinitely, she had too much common sense not to recognize the force of Mr. Carter’s arguments. There was still no word or message from Tommy, but the morning post brought a somewhat dirty postcard with the words: “It’s O.K.” scrawled upon it. At ten-thirty Tuppence surveyed with pride a slightly battered tin trunk containing her new possessions. It was artistically corded. It was with a slight blush that she rang the bell and ordered it to be placed in a taxi. She drove to Paddington, and left the box in the cloak room. She then repaired with a handbag to the fastnesses of the ladies’ waiting-room. Ten minutes later a metamorphosed Tuppence walked demurely out of the station and entered a bus. It was a few minutes past eleven when Tuppence again entered the hall of South Audley Mansions. Albert was on the look-out, attending to his duties in a somewhat desultory fashion. He did not immediately recognize Tuppence. When he did, his admiration was unbounded. “Blest if I’d have known you! That rig-out’s top-hole.” “Glad you like it, Albert,” replied Tuppence modestly. “By the way, am I your cousin, or am I not?” “Your voice too,” cried the delighted boy. “It’s as English as anything! No, I said as a friend of mine knew a young gal. Annie wasn’t best pleased. She’s stopped on till to-day—to oblige, she said, but really it’s so as to put you against the place.” “Nice girl,” said Tuppence. Albert suspected no irony. “She’s style about her, and keeps her silver a treat—but, my word, ain’t she got a temper. Are you going up now, miss? Step inside the lift. No. 20 did you say?” And he winked. Tuppence quelled him with a stern glance, and stepped inside. As she rang the bell of No. 20 she was conscious of Albert’s eyes slowly descending beneath the level of the floor. A smart young woman opened the door. “I’ve come about the place,” said Tuppence. “It’s a rotten place,” said the young woman without hesitation. “Regular old cat—always interfering. Accused me of tampering with her letters. Me! The flap was half undone anyway. There’s never anything in the waste-paper basket—she burns everything. She’s a wrong ‘un, that’s what she is. Swell clothes, but no class. Cook knows something about her—but she won’t tell—scared to death of her. And suspicious! She’s on to you in a minute if you as much as speak to a fellow. I can tell you——” But what more Annie could tell, Tuppence was never destined to learn, for at that moment a clear voice with a peculiarly steely ring to it called: “Annie!” The smart young woman jumped as if she had been shot. “Yes, ma’am.” “Who are you talking to?” “It’s a young woman about the situation, ma’am.” “Show her in then. At once.” “Yes, ma’am.” Tuppence was ushered into a room on the right of the long passage. A woman was standing by the fireplace. She was no longer in her first youth, and the beauty she undeniably possessed was hardened and coarsened. In her youth she must have been dazzling. Her pale gold hair, owing a slight assistance to art, was coiled low on her neck, her eyes, of a piercing electric blue, seemed to possess a faculty of boring into the very soul of the person she was looking at. Her exquisite figure was enhanced by a wonderful gown of indigo charmeuse. And yet, despite her swaying grace, and the almost ethereal beauty of her face, you felt instinctively the presence of something hard and menacing, a kind of metallic strength that found expression in the tones of her voice and in that gimlet-like quality of her eyes. For the first time Tuppence felt afraid. She had not feared Whittington, but this woman was different. As if fascinated, she watched the long cruel line of the red curving mouth, and again she felt that sensation of panic pass over her. Her usual self-confidence deserted her. Vaguely she felt that deceiving this woman would be very different to deceiving Whittington. Mr. Carter’s warning recurred to her mind. Here, indeed, she might expect no mercy. Fighting down that instinct of panic which urged her to turn tail and run without further delay, Tuppence returned the lady’s gaze firmly and respectfully. As though that first scrutiny had been satisfactory, Mrs. Vandemeyer motioned to a chair. “You can sit down. How did you hear I wanted a house-parlourmaid?” “Through a friend who knows the lift boy here. He thought the place might suit me.” Again that basilisk glance seemed to pierce her through. “You speak like an educated girl?” Glibly enough, Tuppence ran through her imaginary career on the lines suggested by Mr. Carter. It seemed to her, as she did so, that the tension of Mrs. Vandemeyer’s attitude relaxed. “I see,” she remarked at length. “Is there anyone I can write to for a reference?” “I lived last with a Miss Dufferin, The Parsonage, Llanelly. I was with her two years.” “And then you thought you would get more money by coming to London, I suppose? Well, it doesn’t matter to me. I will give you £50—£60—whatever you want. You can come in at once?” “Yes, ma’am. To-day, if you like. My box is at Paddington.” “Go and fetch it in a taxi, then. It’s an easy place. I am out a good deal. By the way, what’s your name?” “Prudence Cooper, ma’am.” “Very well, Prudence. Go away and fetch your box. I shall be out to lunch. The cook will show you where everything is.” “Thank you, ma’am.” Tuppence withdrew. The smart Annie was not in evidence. In the hall below a magnificent hall porter had relegated Albert to the background. Tuppence did not even glance at him as she passed meekly out. The adventure had begun, but she felt less elated than she had done earlier in the morning. It crossed her mind that if the unknown Jane Finn had fallen into the hands of Mrs. Vandemeyer, it was likely to have gone hard with her. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (1998). The Secret Adversary. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1155/pg1155-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

TUPPENCE ENTERS DOMESTIC SERVICE

The Secret Adversary by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . MR. WHITTINGTON’S OFFER CHAPTER II. MR. WHITTINGTON’S OFFER Tuppence turned sharply, but the words hovering on the tip of her tongue remained unspoken, for the man’s appearance and manner did not bear out her first and most natural assumption. She hesitated. As if he read her thoughts, the man said quickly: “I can assure you I mean no disrespect.” Tuppence believed him. Although she disliked and distrusted him instinctively, she was inclined to acquit him of the particular motive which she had at first attributed to him. She looked him up and down. He was a big man, clean shaven, with a heavy jowl. His eyes were small and cunning, and shifted their glance under her direct gaze. “Well, what is it?” she asked. The man smiled. “I happened to overhear part of your conversation with the young gentleman in Lyons’.” “Well—what of it?” “Nothing—except that I think I may be of some use to you.” Another inference forced itself into Tuppence’s mind: “You followed me here?” “I took that liberty.” “And in what way do you think you could be of use to me?” The man took a card from his pocket and handed it to her with a bow. Tuppence took it and scrutinized it carefully. It bore the inscription, “Mr. Edward Whittington.” Below the name were the words “Esthonia Glassware Co.,” and the address of a city office. Mr. Whittington spoke again: “If you will call upon me to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, I will lay the details of my proposition before you.” “At eleven o’clock?” said Tuppence doubtfully. “At eleven o’clock.” Tuppence made up her mind. “Very well. I’ll be there.” “Thank you. Good evening.” He raised his hat with a flourish, and walked away. Tuppence remained for some minutes gazing after him. Then she gave a curious movement of her shoulders, rather as a terrier shakes himself. “The adventures have begun,” she murmured to herself. “What does he want me to do, I wonder? There’s something about you, Mr. Whittington, that I don’t like at all. But, on the other hand, I’m not the least bit afraid of you. And as I’ve said before, and shall doubtless say again, little Tuppence can look after herself, thank you!” And with a short, sharp nod of her head she walked briskly onward. As a result of further meditations, however, she turned aside from the direct route and entered a post office. There she pondered for some moments, a telegraph form in her hand. The thought of a possible five shillings spent unnecessarily spurred her to action, and she decided to risk the waste of ninepence. Disdaining the spiky pen and thick, black treacle which a beneficent Government had provided, Tuppence drew out Tommy’s pencil which she had retained and wrote rapidly: “Don’t put in advertisement. Will explain to-morrow.” She addressed it to Tommy at his club, from which in one short month he would have to resign, unless a kindly fortune permitted him to renew his subscription. “It may catch him,” she murmured. “Anyway, it’s worth trying.” After handing it over the counter she set out briskly for home, stopping at a baker’s to buy three penny-worth of new buns. Later, in her tiny cubicle at the top of the house she munched buns and reflected on the future. What was the Esthonia Glassware Co., and what earthly need could it have for her services? A pleasurable thrill of excitement made Tuppence tingle. At any rate, the country vicarage had retreated into the background again. The morrow held possibilities. It was a long time before Tuppence went to sleep that night, and, when at length she did, she dreamed that Mr. Whittington had set her to washing up a pile of Esthonia Glassware, which bore an unaccountable resemblance to hospital plates! It wanted some five minutes to eleven when Tuppence reached the block of buildings in which the offices of the Esthonia Glassware Co. were situated. To arrive before the time would look over-eager. So Tuppence decided to walk to the end of the street and back again. She did so. On the stroke of eleven she plunged into the recesses of the building. The Esthonia Glassware Co. was on the top floor. There was a lift, but Tuppence chose to walk up. Slightly out of breath, she came to a halt outside the ground glass door with the legend painted across it “Esthonia Glassware Co.” Tuppence knocked. In response to a voice from within, she turned the handle and walked into a small rather dirty outer office. A middle-aged clerk got down from a high stool at a desk near the window and came towards her inquiringly. “I have an appointment with Mr. Whittington,” said Tuppence. “Will you come this way, please.” He crossed to a partition door with “Private” on it, knocked, then opened the door and stood aside to let her pass in. Mr. Whittington was seated behind a large desk covered with papers. Tuppence felt her previous judgment confirmed. There was something wrong about Mr. Whittington. The combination of his sleek prosperity and his shifty eye was not attractive. He looked up and nodded. “So you’ve turned up all right? That’s good. Sit down, will you?” Tuppence sat down on the chair facing him. She looked particularly small and demure this morning. She sat there meekly with downcast eyes whilst Mr. Whittington sorted and rustled amongst his papers. Finally he pushed them away, and leaned over the desk. “Now, my dear young lady, let us come to business.” His large face broadened into a smile. “You want work? Well, I have work to offer you. What should you say now to £100 down, and all expenses paid?” Mr. Whittington leaned back in his chair, and thrust his thumbs into the arm-holes of his waistcoat. Tuppence eyed him warily. “And the nature of the work?” she demanded. “Nominal—purely nominal. A pleasant trip, that is all.” “Where to?” Mr. Whittington smiled again. “Paris.” “Oh!” said Tuppence thoughtfully. To herself she said: “Of course, if father heard that he would have a fit! But somehow I don’t see Mr. Whittington in the role of the gay deceiver.” “Yes,” continued Whittington. “What could be more delightful? To put the clock back a few years—a very few, I am sure—and re-enter one of those charming pensionnats de jeunes filles with which Paris abounds——” Tuppence interrupted him. “A pensionnat?” “Exactly. Madame Colombier’s in the Avenue de Neuilly.” Tuppence knew the name well. Nothing could have been more select. She had had several American friends there. She was more than ever puzzled. “You want me to go to Madame Colombier’s? For how long?” “That depends. Possibly three months.” “And that is all? There are no other conditions?” “None whatever. You would, of course, go in the character of my ward, and you would hold no communication with your friends. I should have to request absolute secrecy for the time being. By the way, you are English, are you not?” “Yes.” “Yet you speak with a slight American accent?” “My great pal in hospital was a little American girl. I dare say I picked it up from her. I can soon get out of it again.” “On the contrary, it might be simpler for you to pass as an American. Details about your past life in England might be more difficult to sustain. Yes, I think that would be decidedly better. Then——” “One moment, Mr. Whittington! You seem to be taking my consent for granted.” Whittington looked surprised. “Surely you are not thinking of refusing? I can assure you that Madame Colombier’s is a most high-class and orthodox establishment. And the terms are most liberal.” “Exactly,” said Tuppence. “That’s just it. The terms are almost too liberal, Mr. Whittington. I cannot see any way in which I can be worth that amount of money to you.” “No?” said Whittington softly. “Well, I will tell you. I could doubtless obtain some one else for very much less. What I am willing to pay for is a young lady with sufficient intelligence and presence of mind to sustain her part well, and also one who will have sufficient discretion not to ask too many questions.” Tuppence smiled a little. She felt that Whittington had scored. “There’s another thing. So far there has been no mention of Mr. Beresford. Where does he come in?” “Mr. Beresford?” “My partner,” said Tuppence with dignity. “You saw us together yesterday.” “Ah, yes. But I’m afraid we shan’t require his services.” “Then it’s off!” Tuppence rose. “It’s both or neither. Sorry—but that’s how it is. Good morning, Mr. Whittington.” “Wait a minute. Let us see if something can’t be managed. Sit down again, Miss——” He paused interrogatively. Tuppence’s conscience gave her a passing twinge as she remembered the archdeacon. She seized hurriedly on the first name that came into her head. “Jane Finn,” she said hastily; and then paused open-mouthed at the effect of those two simple words. All the geniality had faded out of Whittington’s face. It was purple with rage, and the veins stood out on the forehead. And behind it all there lurked a sort of incredulous dismay. He leaned forward and hissed savagely: “So that’s your little game, is it?” Tuppence, though utterly taken aback, nevertheless kept her head. She had not the faintest comprehension of his meaning, but she was naturally quick-witted, and felt it imperative to “keep her end up” as she phrased it. Whittington went on: “Been playing with me, have you, all the time, like a cat and mouse? Knew all the time what I wanted you for, but kept up the comedy. Is that it, eh?” He was cooling down. The red colour was ebbing out of his face. He eyed her keenly. “Who’s been blabbing? Rita?” Tuppence shook her head. She was doubtful as to how long she could sustain this illusion, but she realized the importance of not dragging an unknown Rita into it. “No,” she replied with perfect truth. “Rita knows nothing about me.” His eyes still bored into her like gimlets. “How much do you know?” he shot out. “Very little indeed,” answered Tuppence, and was pleased to note that Whittington’s uneasiness was augmented instead of allayed. To have boasted that she knew a lot might have raised doubts in his mind. “Anyway,” snarled Whittington, “you knew enough to come in here and plump out that name.” “It might be my own name,” Tuppence pointed out. “It’s likely, isn’t it, then there would be two girls with a name like that?” “Or I might just have hit upon it by chance,” continued Tuppence, intoxicated with the success of truthfulness. Mr. Whittington brought his fist down upon the desk with a bang. “Quit fooling! How much do you know? And how much do you want?” The last five words took Tuppence’s fancy mightily, especially after a meagre breakfast and a supper of buns the night before. Her present part was of the adventuress rather than the adventurous order, but she did not deny its possibilities. She sat up and smiled with the air of one who has the situation thoroughly well in hand. “My dear Mr. Whittington,” she said, “let us by all means lay our cards upon the table. And pray do not be so angry. You heard me say yesterday that I proposed to live by my wits. It seems to me that I have now proved I have some wits to live by! I admit I have knowledge of a certain name, but perhaps my knowledge ends there.” “Yes—and perhaps it doesn’t,” snarled Whittington. “You insist on misjudging me,” said Tuppence, and sighed gently. “As I said once before,” said Whittington angrily, “quit fooling, and come to the point. You can’t play the innocent with me. You know a great deal more than you’re willing to admit.” Tuppence paused a moment to admire her own ingenuity, and then said softly: “I shouldn’t like to contradict you, Mr. Whittington.” “So we come to the usual question—how much?” Tuppence was in a dilemma. So far she had fooled Whittington with complete success, but to mention a palpably impossible sum might awaken his suspicions. An idea flashed across her brain. “Suppose we say a little something down, and a fuller discussion of the matter later?” Whittington gave her an ugly glance. “Blackmail, eh?” Tuppence smiled sweetly. “Oh no! Shall we say payment of services in advance?” Whittington grunted. “You see,” explained Tuppence still sweetly, “I’m so very fond of money!” “You’re about the limit, that’s what you are,” growled Whittington, with a sort of unwilling admiration. “You took me in all right. Thought you were quite a meek little kid with just enough brains for my purpose.” “Life,” moralized Tuppence, “is full of surprises.” “All the same,” continued Whittington, “some one’s been talking. You say it isn’t Rita. Was it——? Oh, come in.” The clerk followed his discreet knock into the room, and laid a paper at his master’s elbow. “Telephone message just come for you, sir.” Whittington snatched it up and read it. A frown gathered on his brow. “That’ll do, Brown. You can go.” The clerk withdrew, closing the door behind him. Whittington turned to Tuppence. “Come to-morrow at the same time. I’m busy now. Here’s fifty to go on with.” He rapidly sorted out some notes, and pushed them across the table to Tuppence, then stood up, obviously impatient for her to go. The girl counted the notes in a businesslike manner, secured them in her handbag, and rose. “Good morning, Mr. Whittington,” she said politely. “At least, au revoir, I should say.” “Exactly. Au revoir!” Whittington looked almost genial again, a reversion that aroused in Tuppence a faint misgiving. “Au revoir, my clever and charming young lady.” Tuppence sped lightly down the stairs. A wild elation possessed her. A neighbouring clock showed the time to be five minutes to twelve. “Let’s give Tommy a surprise!” murmured Tuppence, and hailed a taxi. The cab drew up outside the tube station. Tommy was just within the entrance. His eyes opened to their fullest extent as he hurried forward to assist Tuppence to alight. She smiled at him affectionately, and remarked in a slightly affected voice: “Pay the thing, will you, old bean? I’ve got nothing smaller than a five-pound note!” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (1998). The Secret Adversary. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/1155/pg1155-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

MR. WHITTINGTON’S OFFER

The Murder on the Links by Agatha Christie, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . The Second Body XIV. The Second Body Waiting for no more, I turned and ran up the path to the shed. The two men on guard there stood aside to let me pass and, filled with excitement, I entered. The light was dim, the place was a mere rough wooden erection to keep old pots and tools in. I had entered impetuously, but on the threshold I checked myself, fascinated by the spectacle before me. Giraud was on his hands and knees, a pocket torch in his hand with which he was examining every inch of the ground. He looked up with a frown at my entrance, then his face relaxed a little in a sort of good-humoured contempt. “Ah, c’est l’Anglais! Enter then. Let us see what you can make of this affair.” Rather stung by his tone, I stooped my head, and passed in. “There he is,” said Giraud, flashing his torch to the far corner. I stepped across. The dead man lay straight upon his back. He was of medium height, swarthy of complexion, and possibly about fifty years of age. He was neatly dressed in a dark blue suit, well cut and probably made by an expensive tailor, but not new. His face was terribly convulsed, and on his left side, just over the heart, the hilt of a dagger stood up, black and shining. I recognized it. It was the same dagger I had seen reposing in the glass jar the preceding morning! “I’m expecting the doctor any minute,” explained Giraud. “Although we hardly need him. There’s no doubt what the man died of. He was stabbed to the heart, and death must have been pretty well instantaneous.” “When was it done? Last night?” Giraud shook his head. “Hardly. I don’t lay down the law on medical evidence, but the man’s been dead well over twelve hours. When do you say you last saw that dagger?” “About ten o’clock yesterday morning.” “Then I should be inclined to fix the crime as being done not long after that.” “But people were passing and repassing this shed continually.” Giraud laughed disagreeably. “You progress to a marvel! Who told you he was killed in this shed?” “Well—” I felt flustered. “I—I assumed it.” “Oh, what a fine detective! Look at him, mon petit—does a man stabbed to the heart fall like that—neatly with his feet together, and his arms to his side? No. Again does a man lie down on his back and permit himself to be stabbed without raising a hand to defend himself? It is absurd, is it not? But see here—and here—” He flashed the torch along the ground. I saw curious irregular marks in the soft dirt. “He was dragged here after he was dead. Half dragged, half carried by two people. Their tracks do not show on the hard ground outside, and here they have been careful to obliterate them—but one of the two was a woman, my young friend.” “A woman?” “Yes.” “But if the tracks are obliterated, how do you know?” “Because, blurred as they are, the prints of the woman’s shoe are unmistakable. Also, by this—” And, leaning forward, he drew something from the handle of the dagger and held it up for me to see. It was a woman’s long black hair—similar to the one Poirot had taken from the arm-chair in the library. With a slightly ironic smile he wound it round the dagger again. “We will leave things as they are as much as possible,” he explained. “It pleases the examining magistrate. Eh bien, do you notice anything else?” I was forced to shake my head. “Look at his hands.” I did. The nails were broken and discoloured, and the skin was hard. It hardly enlightened me as much as I should have liked it to have done. I looked up at Giraud. “They are not the hands of a gentleman,” he said, answering my look. “On the contrary his clothes are those of a well-to-do man. That is curious, is it not?” “Very curious,” I agreed. “And none of his clothing is marked. What do we learn from that? This man was trying to pass himself off as other than he was. He was masquerading. Why? Did he fear something? Was he trying to escape by disguising himself? As yet we do not know, but one thing we do know—he was as anxious to conceal his identity as we are to discover it.” He looked down at the body again. “As before there are no finger-prints on the handle of the dagger. The murderer again wore gloves.” “You think, then, that the murderer was the same in both cases?” I asked eagerly. Giraud became inscrutable. “Never mind what I think. We shall see. Marchaud!” The sergent de ville appeared at the doorway. “Monsieur?” “Why is Madame Renauld not here? I sent for her a quarter of an hour ago?” “She is coming up the path now, monsieur, and her son with her.” “Good. I only want one at a time, though.” Marchaud saluted and disappeared again. A moment later he reappeared with Mrs. Renauld. “Here is Madame.” Giraud came forward with a curt bow. “This way, madame.” He led her across, and then, standing suddenly aside. “Here is the man. Do you know him?” And as he spoke, his eyes, gimlet-like, bored into her face, seeking to read her mind, noting every indication of her manner. But Mrs. Renauld remained perfectly calm—too calm, I felt. She looked down at the corpse almost without interest, certainly without any sign of agitation or recognition. “No,” she said. “I have never seen him in my life. He is quite a stranger to me.” “You are sure?” “Quite sure.” “You do not recognize in him one of your assailants, for instance?” “No,” she seemed to hesitate, as though struck by the idea. “No, I do not think so. Of course they wore beards—false ones the examining magistrate thought, but still—no.” Now she seemed to make her mind up definitely. “I am sure neither of the two was this man.” “Very well, madame. That is all, then.” She stepped out with head erect, the sun flashing on the silver threads in her hair. Jack Renauld succeeded her. He, too, failed to identify the man, in a completely natural manner. Giraud merely grunted. Whether he was pleased or chagrined I could not tell. He merely called to Marchaud: “You have got the other there?” “Yes, monsieur.” “Bring her in then.” “The other” was Madame Daubreuil. She came indignantly, protesting with vehemence. “I object, monsieur! This is an outrage! What have I to do with all this?” “Madame,” said Giraud brutally, “I am investigating not one murder, but two murders! For all I know you may have committed them both.” “How dare you?” she cried. “How dare you insult me by such a wild accusation! It is infamous.” “Infamous, is it? What about this?” Stooping, he again detached the hair, and held it up. “Do you see this, madame?” He advanced towards her. “You permit that I see whether it matches?” With a cry she started backwards, white to the lips. “It is false—I swear it. I know nothing of the crime—of either crime. Any one who says I do lies! Ah! mon Dieu, what shall I do?” “Calm yourself, madame,” said Giraud coldly. “No one has accused you as yet. But you will do well to answer my questions without more ado.” “Anything you wish, monsieur.” “Look at the dead man. Have you ever seen him before?” Drawing nearer, a little of the colour creeping back to her face, Madame Daubreuil looked down at the victim with a certain amount of interest and curiosity. Then she shook her head. “I do not know him.” It seemed impossible to doubt her, the words came so naturally. Giraud dismissed her with a nod of the head. “You are letting her go?” I asked in a low voice. “Is that wise? Surely that black hair is from her head.” “I do not need teaching my business,” said Giraud dryly. “She is under surveillance. I have no wish to arrest her as yet.” Then, frowning, he gazed down at the body. “Should you say that was a Spanish type at all?” he asked suddenly. I considered the face carefully. “No,” I said at last. “I should put him down as a Frenchman most decidedly.” Giraud gave a grunt of dissatisfaction. “Same here.” He stood there for a moment, then with an imperative gesture he waved me aside, and once more, on hands and knees, he continued his search of the floor of the shed. He was marvellous. Nothing escaped him. Inch by inch he went over the floor, turning over pots, examining old sacks. He pounced on a bundle by the door, but it proved to be only a ragged coat and trousers, and he flung it down again with a snarl. Two pairs of old gloves interested him, but in the end he shook his head and laid them aside. Then he went back to the pots, methodically turning them over one by one. In the end, he rose to his feet, and shook his head thoughtfully. He seemed baffled and perplexed. I think he had forgotten my presence. But, at that moment, a stir and bustle was heard outside, and our old friend, the examining magistrate, accompanied by his clerk and M. Bex, with the doctor behind him, came bustling in. “But this is extraordinary, Mr. Giraud,” cried M. Hautet. “Another crime! Ah, we have not got to the bottom of this case. There is some deep mystery here. But who is the victim this time?” “That is just what nobody can tell us, M. le juge. He has not been identified.” “Where is the body?” asked the doctor. Giraud moved aside a little. “There in the corner. He has been stabbed to the heart, as you see. And with the dagger that was stolen yesterday morning. I fancy that the murder followed hard upon the theft—but that is for you to say. You can handle the dagger freely—there are no finger-prints on it.” The doctor knelt down by the dead man, and Giraud turned to the examining magistrate. “A pretty little problem, is it not? But I shall solve it.” “And so no one can identify him,” mused the magistrate. “Could it possibly be one of the assassins? They may have fallen out among themselves.” Giraud shook his head. “The man is a Frenchman—I would take my oath of that—” But at that moment they were interrupted by the doctor who was sitting back on his heels with a perplexed expression. “You say he was killed yesterday morning?” “I fix it by the theft of the dagger,” explained Giraud. “He may, of course, have been killed later in the day.” “Later in the day? Fiddlesticks! This man has been dead at least forty-eight hours, and probably longer.” We stared at each other in blank amazement. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Agatha Christie (2019). The Murder on the Links. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/58866/pg58866-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html.

The Second Body

Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . Marilla Makes Up Her Mind CHAPTER VI. Marilla Makes Up Her Mind GET there they did, however, in due season. Mrs. Spencer lived in a big yellow house at White Sands Cove, and she came to the door with surprise and welcome mingled on her benevolent face. “Dear, dear,” she exclaimed, “you’re the last folks I was looking for today, but I’m real glad to see you. You’ll put your horse in? And how are you, Anne?” “I’m as well as can be expected, thank you,” said Anne smilelessly. A blight seemed to have descended on her. “I suppose we’ll stay a little while to rest the mare,” said Marilla, “but I promised Matthew I’d be home early. The fact is, Mrs. Spencer, there’s been a queer mistake somewhere, and I’ve come over to see where it is. We send word, Matthew and I, for you to bring us a boy from the asylum. We told your brother Robert to tell you we wanted a boy ten or eleven years old.” “Marilla Cuthbert, you don’t say so!” said Mrs. Spencer in distress. “Why, Robert sent word down by his daughter Nancy and she said you wanted a girl—didn’t she Flora Jane?” appealing to her daughter who had come out to the steps. “She certainly did, Miss Cuthbert,” corroborated Flora Jane earnestly. “I’m dreadful sorry,” said Mrs. Spencer. “It’s too bad; but it certainly wasn’t my fault, you see, Miss Cuthbert. I did the best I could and I thought I was following your instructions. Nancy is a terrible flighty thing. I’ve often had to scold her well for her heedlessness.” “It was our own fault,” said Marilla resignedly. “We should have come to you ourselves and not left an important message to be passed along by word of mouth in that fashion. Anyhow, the mistake has been made and the only thing to do is to set it right. Can we send the child back to the asylum? I suppose they’ll take her back, won’t they?” “I suppose so,” said Mrs. Spencer thoughtfully, “but I don’t think it will be necessary to send her back. Mrs. Peter Blewett was up here yesterday, and she was saying to me how much she wished she’d sent by me for a little girl to help her. Mrs. Peter has a large family, you know, and she finds it hard to get help. Anne will be the very girl for you. I call it positively providential.” Marilla did not look as if she thought Providence had much to do with the matter. Here was an unexpectedly good chance to get this unwelcome orphan off her hands, and she did not even feel grateful for it. She knew Mrs. Peter Blewett only by sight as a small, shrewish-faced woman without an ounce of superfluous flesh on her bones. But she had heard of her. “A terrible worker and driver,” Mrs. Peter was said to be; and discharged servant girls told fearsome tales of her temper and stinginess, and her family of pert, quarrelsome children. Marilla felt a qualm of conscience at the thought of handing Anne over to her tender mercies. “Well, I’ll go in and we’ll talk the matter over,” she said. “And if there isn’t Mrs. Peter coming up the lane this blessed minute!” exclaimed Mrs. Spencer, bustling her guests through the hall into the parlor, where a deadly chill struck on them as if the air had been strained so long through dark green, closely drawn blinds that it had lost every particle of warmth it had ever possessed. “That is real lucky, for we can settle the matter right away. Take the armchair, Miss Cuthbert. Anne, you sit here on the ottoman and don’t wiggle. Let me take your hats. Flora Jane, go out and put the kettle on. Good afternoon, Mrs. Blewett. We were just saying how fortunate it was you happened along. Let me introduce you two ladies. Mrs. Blewett, Miss Cuthbert. Please excuse me for just a moment. I forgot to tell Flora Jane to take the buns out of the oven.” Mrs. Spencer whisked away, after pulling up the blinds. Anne sitting mutely on the ottoman, with her hands clasped tightly in her lap, stared at Mrs Blewett as one fascinated. Was she to be given into the keeping of this sharp-faced, sharp-eyed woman? She felt a lump coming up in her throat and her eyes smarted painfully. She was beginning to be afraid she couldn’t keep the tears back when Mrs. Spencer returned, flushed and beaming, quite capable of taking any and every difficulty, physical, mental or spiritual, into consideration and settling it out of hand. “It seems there’s been a mistake about this little girl, Mrs. Blewett,” she said. “I was under the impression that Mr. and Miss Cuthbert wanted a little girl to adopt. I was certainly told so. But it seems it was a boy they wanted. So if you’re still of the same mind you were yesterday, I think she’ll be just the thing for you.” Mrs. Blewett darted her eyes over Anne from head to foot. “How old are you and what’s your name?” she demanded. “Anne Shirley,” faltered the shrinking child, not daring to make any stipulations regarding the spelling thereof, “and I’m eleven years old.” “Humph! You don’t look as if there was much to you. But you’re wiry. I don’t know but the wiry ones are the best after all. Well, if I take you you’ll have to be a good girl, you know—good and smart and respectful. I’ll expect you to earn your keep, and no mistake about that. Yes, I suppose I might as well take her off your hands, Miss Cuthbert. The baby’s awful fractious, and I’m clean worn out attending to him. If you like I can take her right home now.” Marilla looked at Anne and softened at sight of the child’s pale face with its look of mute misery—the misery of a helpless little creature who finds itself once more caught in the trap from which it had escaped. Marilla felt an uncomfortable conviction that, if she denied the appeal of that look, it would haunt her to her dying day. More-over, she did not fancy Mrs. Blewett. To hand a sensitive, “highstrung” child over to such a woman! No, she could not take the responsibility of doing that! “Well, I don’t know,” she said slowly. “I didn’t say that Matthew and I had absolutely decided that we wouldn’t keep her. In fact I may say that Matthew is disposed to keep her. I just came over to find out how the mistake had occurred. I think I’d better take her home again and talk it over with Matthew. I feel that I oughtn’t to decide on anything without consulting him. If we make up our mind not to keep her we’ll bring or send her over to you tomorrow night. If we don’t you may know that she is going to stay with us. Will that suit you, Mrs. Blewett?” “I suppose it’ll have to,” said Mrs. Blewett ungraciously. During Marilla’s speech a sunrise had been dawning on Anne’s face. First the look of despair faded out; then came a faint flush of hope; her eyes grew deep and bright as morning stars. The child was quite transfigured; and, a moment later, when Mrs. Spencer and Mrs. Blewett went out in quest of a recipe the latter had come to borrow she sprang up and flew across the room to Marilla. “Oh, Miss Cuthbert, did you really say that perhaps you would let me stay at Green Gables?” she said, in a breathless whisper, as if speaking aloud might shatter the glorious possibility. “Did you really say it? Or did I only imagine that you did?” “I think you’d better learn to control that imagination of yours, Anne, if you can’t distinguish between what is real and what isn’t,” said Marilla crossly. “Yes, you did hear me say just that and no more. It isn’t decided yet and perhaps we will conclude to let Mrs. Blewett take you after all. She certainly needs you much more than I do.” “I’d rather go back to the asylum than go to live with her,” said Anne passionately. “She looks exactly like a—like a gimlet.” Marilla smothered a smile under the conviction that Anne must be reproved for such a speech. “A little girl like you should be ashamed of talking so about a lady and a stranger,” she said severely. “Go back and sit down quietly and hold your tongue and behave as a good girl should.” “I’ll try to do and be anything you want me, if you’ll only keep me,” said Anne, returning meekly to her ottoman. When they arrived back at Green Gables that evening Matthew met them in the lane. Marilla from afar had noted him prowling along it and guessed his motive. She was prepared for the relief she read in his face when he saw that she had at least brought back Anne back with her. But she said nothing, to him, relative to the affair, until they were both out in the yard behind the barn milking the cows. Then she briefly told him Anne’s history and the result of the interview with Mrs. Spencer. “I wouldn’t give a dog I liked to that Blewett woman,” said Matthew with unusual vim. “I don’t fancy her style myself,” admitted Marilla, “but it’s that or keeping her ourselves, Matthew. And since you seem to want her, I suppose I’m willing—or have to be. I’ve been thinking over the idea until I’ve got kind of used to it. It seems a sort of duty. I’ve never brought up a child, especially a girl, and I dare say I’ll make a terrible mess of it. But I’ll do my best. So far as I’m concerned, Matthew, she may stay.” Matthew’s shy face was a glow of delight. “Well now, I reckoned you’d come to see it in that light, Marilla,” he said. “She’s such an interesting little thing.” “It’d be more to the point if you could say she was a useful little thing,” retorted Marilla, “but I’ll make it my business to see she’s trained to be that. And mind, Matthew, you’re not to go interfering with my methods. Perhaps an old maid doesn’t know much about bringing up a child, but I guess she knows more than an old bachelor. So you just leave me to manage her. When I fail it’ll be time enough to put your oar in.” “There, there, Marilla, you can have your own way,” said Matthew reassuringly. “Only be as good and kind to her as you can without spoiling her. I kind of think she’s one of the sort you can do anything with if you only get her to love you.” Marilla sniffed, to express her contempt for Matthew’s opinions concerning anything feminine, and walked off to the dairy with the pails. “I won’t tell her tonight that she can stay,” she reflected, as she strained the milk into the creamers. “She’d be so excited that she wouldn’t sleep a wink. Marilla Cuthbert, you’re fairly in for it. Did you ever suppose you’d see the day when you’d be adopting an orphan girl? It’s surprising enough; but not so surprising as that Matthew should be at the bottom of it, him that always seemed to have such a mortal dread of little girls. Anyhow, we’ve decided on the experiment and goodness only knows what will come of it.” About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. L. M. Montgomery (2008). Anne of Green Gables. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/45/pg45-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html . The lead image was generated using HackerNoon's Stable Disffusion Al Image Generator feature, via the prompt "Anne of Green Fables".

Marilla Makes Up Her Mind

Anatomy, Zoology and Physiology

The study of numismatics

The Life and Love of the Insect by Jean-Henri Fabre, is part of the HackerNoon Books Series. You can jump to any chapter in this book here . THE ONTHOPHAGI CHAPTER VI. THE ONTHOPHAGI After the notabilities of the Dung-beetle tribe, there remain, in the very limited radius of my research, the small fry of the Onthophagi, of whom I could gather a dozen different species around my house. What will these little ones teach us? Even more zealous than their larger comrades, they are the first to hasten to the exploiting of the heap left by the passing mule. They come up in crowds and stay long, working under the spread table that gives them shade and coolness. Turn over the heap with your foot. You will be surprised at the swarming population whose presence no outward sign betrayed. The largest are scarce the size of a pea, but many are much smaller still, are dwarfs, no less busy than the others, no less eager to crumble the filth whose prompt disappearance the public health demands. In works of major interest, there is none like the humble, with their concerted weakness, for realizing immense strength. Swollen by numbers, the next to nothing becomes an enormous total. Hurrying in detachments at the first news of the event, assisted moreover in their wholesome task by their partners, the Aphodians, who are as weak as they, the tiny Onthophagi soon clear the ground of its dirt. Not that [ ]their appetite is equal to the consumption of such plentiful provisions. What food do those pigmies need? An atom. But that atom, selected from among the exudations, must be hunted amid the fragments of the masticated fodder. Hence, an endless division and subdivision of the lump, reducing it to crumbs which the sun sterilizes and the wind dispels. As soon as the work is done—and very well done—the troop of scavengers goes in search of another refuse-yard. Outside the period of intense cold, which puts a stop to all activity, they know no dead season. 80 And do not run away with the idea that this filthy task entails an inelegant shape and a ragged dress. The insect knows none of our squalor. In its world, a navvy dons a sumptuous jerkin; an undertaker decks himself in a triple saffron sash; a wood-cutter works in a velvet coat. In like manner, the Onthophagus has his own luxury. True, the costume is always severe: brown and black are the predominant colours, now dull, now polished as ebony; but, on this background, what details of sober and graceful ornament! The graver’s work completes the beauty of the dress. Tiny chasings in parallel grooves, gnarly beads, dainty rows of knobs, seed-plots of pearly papillæ are distributed in profusion among nearly all of them. Yes, the little Onthophagi, with their stunted bodies and their nimble activity, are really pretty to look at. PLATE V 1.Onthophagus Taurus. 2.Onthophagus Vacca. 3.The Stercoraceous Geotrupe. 4.The Wide-necked Scarab. 5.Cleonus Opthalmicus. 6.Cerceris Tuberculata. 7.Buprestis Ærea. And then how original are their frontal decorations! These peace-lovers delight in the panoply of war, as though they, the inoffensive ones, thirsted for battle. Many of them crown their heads with threatening horns. Let us mention that horned one whose story will occupy us more particularly. I mean Onthophagus [ ]Taurus, clad in raven black. He wears a pair of long horns, gracefully curved and branching to either side. No pedigree bull, in the Swiss meadows, can match them for curve or elegance. 81 The Onthophagus is a very indifferent artist: his nest is a rudimentary piece of work, hardly fit to be acknowledged. I obtain it in profusion from the six species which I have brought up in my jars and flower-pots. Onthophagus Taurus alone provides me with nearly a hundred; and I find no two precisely alike, as pieces should be that come from the same mould and the same laboratory. To this lack of exact similarity, we must add inaccuracy of shape, now more, now less accentuated. It is easy, however, to recognize among the bulk the prototype from which the clumsy nest-builder works. It is a sack shaped like a thimble and standing erect, with the spherical thimble-end at the bottom and the circular opening at the top. Sometimes, the insect establishes itself in the central region of my apparatus, in the heart of the earthy mass; then, the resistance being the same in every direction, the sack-like shape is pretty accurate. But, generally, the Onthophagus prefers a solid basis to a dusty support and builds against the walls of the jar, especially against the bottom wall. When the support is vertical, the sack is a short cylinder divided lengthwise, with a smooth, flat surface against the glass and a rugged convexity every elsewhere. If the support be horizontal, as is most frequently the case, the cabin is a sort of undefined oval pastille, flat at the bottom, bulging and vaulted at the top. To the general inaccuracy of these contorted shapes, ruled by no very definite pattern, we must add the coarseness of the surfaces, all of which, with the [ ]exception of the parts touching the glass, are covered with a crust of sand. 82 The manner of procedure explains this uncouth exterior. As laying-time draws nigh, the Onthophagus bores a cylindrical pit and descends underground to a middling depth. Here, working with the shield, the chine and the fore-legs, which are toothed like a rake, he forces back and heaps around him the materials which he has moved, so as to obtain as best he may a nest of suitable size. The next thing is to cement the crumbling walls of the cavity. The insect climbs back to the surface by way of its pit; it gathers on its threshold an armful of mortar taken from the cake whereunder it has elected to set up house; it goes down again with its burden, which it spreads and presses upon the sandy wall. Thus it produces a concrete casing, the flint of which is supplied by the wall itself and the cement by the produce of the sheep. After a few trips and repeated strokes of the trowel, the pit is plastered on every side; the walls, encrusted with grains of sand, are no longer liable to give way. The cabin is ready: it now wants only a tenant and stores. First, a large free space is contrived at the bottom: the hatching-chamber, on whose inner wall the egg is laid. Next comes the gathering of the provisions intended for the worm, a gathering made with nice precautions. Lately, when building, the insect worked upon the outside of the doughy mass and took no notice of the earthy blemishes. Now, it penetrates to the very centre of the lump, through a gallery that looks as though it were contrived with a punch. When trying a cheese, the buyer employs a hollow cylindrical taster, which he [ ]drives well in and pulls out with a sample taken from the middle of the cheese. The Onthophagus, when collecting for her grub, goes to work as though equipped with one of these tasters. She bores an exactly round hole into the piece which she is exploiting; she goes straight to the middle, where the material, not being exposed to the contact of the air, has kept more savoury and pliable. Here and here alone are gathered the armfuls which, gradually stowed away, kneaded and heaped up to the requisite extent, fill the sack to the top. Finally, a plug of the same mortar, the sides of which are made partly of sand and partly of stercoral cement, roughly closes the cell, in such a way that an outward inspection does not allow one to distinguish front from back. 83 To judge the work and its merit, we must open it. A large empty space, oval in shape, occupies the rear end. This is the birth-chamber, huge in dimensions compared with its content, the egg fixed on the wall, sometimes at the bottom of the cell and sometimes on the side. The egg is a tiny white cylinder, rounded at either end and measuring a millimetre in length immediately after it is laid. With no other support than the spot on which the oviduct has planted it, it stands on its hind-end and projects into space. 1 A more or less enquiring glance is quite surprised to find so small a germ contained in so large a box. What does that tiny egg want with all that space? When carefully examined within, the walls of the chamber prompt another question. They are coated with a fine greenish pap, semi-fluid and shiny, the appearance of which does not agree with the outward or inward aspect of the lump from which the insect has extracted its [ ]materials. A similar lime-wash is observed in the nest which the Sacred Beetle, the Copris, the Sisyphus, the Geotrupe and other makers of stercoraceous preserves contrive in the very heart of the provisions, to receive the egg; but nowhere have I seen it so plentiful, in proportion, as in the hatching-chamber of the Onthophagus. Long puzzled by this brothy wash, of which the Sacred Beetle provided me with the first instance, I began by taking the thing for a layer of moisture oozing from the bulk of the victuals and collecting on the surface of the enclosure without other effort than capillary action. That was the interpretation which I accepted originally. 84 I was wrong. The truth is worthy of attention in a very different way. To-day, better-informed by the Onthophagus, I know that this lime-wash itself, this semi-fluid cream, is the product of maternal foresight. What, then, is this lime-wash found in every cell? The answer is compulsory: it is a produce of the mother, a special gruel, a milk-food elaborated for the benefit of the new-born grub. The young Pigeon puts his beak into that of his parents, who, with convulsive efforts, force down his gullet first a caseous mash secreted in the crop and next a broth of grains softened by being partially digested. He is fed upon disgorged foods, which are helpful to the weaknesses of an inexperienced stomach. The grub of the Onthophagus is brought up in much the same way, at the start. To assist its first attempts at swallowing, the mother prepares for it, in her crop, a light and strengthening cream. To pass the dainty from mouth to mouth is, in her case, impossible: the construction of other cells keeps her busy elsewhere. Moreover—and this is a more serious detail—the laying takes place egg by egg, at very long [ ]intervals, and the hatching is pretty slow: time would fail, had the family to be brought up in the manner of the Pigeons. Another method is perforce needed. The childish pap is disgorged all over the walls of the cabin in such a way that the nursling finds itself surrounded by an abundance of bread-and-jam, in which the bread, the food of the sturdy age, is represented by the uncooked material, as supplied by the sheep, whereas the jam, the mess of the puny age, is represented by the same material daintily prepared beforehand in the mother’s stomach. We shall see the babe presently lick first the jam, all around it, and then stoutly attack the bread. A child among ourselves would behave no otherwise. 85 I should have liked to catch the mother in the act of disgorging and spreading her broth. I was not able to succeed. Things happen in a narrow retreat, which the eye cannot enter when the pastry-cook is busy; and also her fluster at being exhibited in broad daylight at once stops the work. If direct observation be lacking, at least the appearance of the material speaks very clearly and tells us that the Onthophagus, here rivalling the Pigeon, but with a different method, disgorges the first mouthfuls for her sons. And the same may be said of the other Dung-beetles skilled in the art of building a hatching-chamber in the centre of the provisions. No elsewhere, in the insect order, except among the Apidæ, who prepare disgorged food in the shape of honey, is this affection present. The Dung-workers edify us with their morals. Several of them practise association in couples and found a household; several anticipate the suckling, the supreme expression of maternal solicitude, by turning their crop into a nipple. Life has its freaks. [ ]It settles amid ordure the creatures most highly-endowed with family qualities. True, from there it mounts, with a sudden flight, to the sublimities of the bird. 86 The little worm is hatched in about a week: a strange and paradoxical being. On its back, it has an enormous sugar-loaf hump, the weight of which drags it over and capsizes it each time it tries to stand on its legs and walk. At every moment, it staggers and falls under the burden of the hunch. Unable to keep its hump upright, the grub of the Onthophagus lies down on its side and licks the cream of its cell all around it. There is cream everywhere, on the ceiling, on the walls, on the floor. As soon as one spot is thoroughly bared, the consumer moves on a little with the help of its well-shaped legs; it capsizes again and starts licking again. The room is large and plentifully supplied; and the jam-diet lasts some time. The fat babies of the Geotrupe, the Copris and the Sacred Beetle finish at one brief sitting the dainty wherewith their cabined lodge is hung, a dainty scantily served and just sufficient to stimulate the appetite and prepare the stomach for a coarser fare; but the Onthophagus grub, that lean pigmy, has enough to last it for a week and more. The spacious natal chamber, which is out of all proportion with the size of the nursling, has permitted this wastefulness. At last, the real loaf is attacked. In about a month, everything is consumed, except the wall of the sack. And now the splendid part played by the hump stands revealed. Glass tubes, prepared in view of events, allow me to follow the more and more plump and hunch-backed grub at work. I see it withdraw to one end of the cell, which has become a crumbling ruin. Here it builds a [ ]casket in which the transformation will take place. Its materials are the digestive residuum, converted into mortar and heaped up in the hump. The stercoral architect is about to construct a masterpiece of elegance out of its own ordure, held in reserve in that receptacle. 87 I follow its movements under the magnifying-glass. It buckles itself, closes the circuit of the digestive apparatus, brings the two poles into contact and, with the end of its mandibles, seizes a pellet of dung ejaculated at that moment. This pellet, moulded and measured to perfection, is very neatly gathered. A slight bend of the neck sets the rubble-stone in place. Others follow, laid one above the other in minutely regular courses. Giving a tap here and there with its feelers, the grub makes sure of the stability of the parts, their accurate binding, their orderly arrangement. It turns round in the centre of the work as the edifice rises, even as a mason does when building a tower. Sometimes, the laid stone becomes loose, because the cement has given way. The worm takes it up again with its mandibles, but, before replacing it, coats it with an adhesive moisture. It holds it to its anus, whence trickles, on the moment, almost imperceptibly, a gummy consolidating extract. The hump supplies the materials; the intestines give, if necessary, the connecting glue. In this way, a nice house is produced, ovoid in shape, polished as stucco within and adorned on the outside with slightly projecting scales, similar to those on a cedar-cone. Each of these scales is one of the rubble-stones out of the hump. The casket is not large: a cherry-stone would about represent its dimensions; but it is so accurate, so prettily fashioned that it will bear comparison with the finest products of entomological industry. About HackerNoon Book Series: We bring you the most important technical, scientific, and insightful public domain books. This book is part of the public domain. Jean-Henri Fabre (2022). The Life and Love of the Insect. Urbana, Illinois: Project Gutenberg. Retrieved https://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/68974/pg68974-images.html This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org , located at https://www.gutenberg.org/policy/license.html .

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