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turned and saw the peculiar animal, he would in
variably give a frightened yelp, and disappear, and Chester would then throw back his head and laugh, plainly showing his amusement at the dog's fear of him. By the following spring, the badger had grown into a magnificent specimen, and many persons came to Mr. Wallace's farm purposely to see him perform the many cunning tricks which had made him famous. Notwithstanding Harry's resolution to put the atone lining inside the sod wall of his room, the time had passed and the next spring found it ex 1 actly as he had left it when the family came, only the west and part of the south sides finished. A frame dwelling had during that year, been added to the first house built, but still Harry clung to his old sleeping room, which he always felt at lib erty to invite ' some of the neighbors' boys to share with him. The spring that Chester was a year old was unusually wet, one severe storm being followed almost immediately by another heavy downpour of rain. Mrs. Wallace had spoken to Harry several times about sleeping out in his den, as she feared it would become damp, but he always assured her that it wasn't at all damp, and there was no danger whatever, of his taking cold. One night after an unusually hard rain, Harry was slightly aroused from his heavy slumber by the bed clothes moving — but thinking it was Jack or Beauty walking about his room, he paid no at tention, and was fast asleep in an instant. Again he was conscious of a movement as if someone was pulling the clothing from the bed— but it only disturbed him for an instant, then turning over and settling into a more comfortable position, he was fast losing consciousness in the sleep of healthy youth when he was quickly and thorough ly aroused by Chester springing squarely into his face, at the same time uttering a queer little sound, which he always made when greatly ex cited. As he bounded out of bed, Harry heard a pe culiar sound — as if something heavy slipping or sliding along — but before he could reach for a match, he was thrown violently to the floor, his feet being completely covered with the earth, as the entire northwest corner of the wall — both sod and rock, crashed down, crushing the bed com pletely. The boy was trying to extricate his feet and limbs, when his parents, who had been aroused by the sound of the falling walls, rushed into the room. It was but the work of a moment for Mr. Wallace to release his son, as he had, in springing out of bed, fortunately jumped far enough away from the west wall to have none of the rock fall upon him. For some seconds but few words were spoken — the hearts of the parents being filled with grati tude at their son's miraculous escape from death. Suddenly Harry began calling frantically, "Ches ter! Chester' Come Chester!" but no answer came to his call. As soon as he explained that it was the badger that had saved him, and that ho feared he was buried beneath the wall at the head of the bed, they all, even Clara and Bessie, who had by this time joined the rest of the family, began working in desperate haste to rescue their pet. It was a sad family, Mr. Wallace and Harry ad ding their tears to those of Mrs. Wallace and the girls, when the badger was found crushed to death beneath the rocks. Their grief was genuine and lasting, and many months passed before the fam ily became reconciled to their loss, even though in his death he had saved the life of his young master. The Wallace claim has changed hands twice since then, but today it is one of the most beau tiful farms in Oklahoma, and near one corner, there is still to be seen a neat little head stone, upon which appears the inscription: MAGAZINE BECTIOH 1 FROM THE EDITOR'S INK WELL A Word About Nature- Faking. Who are the Nature-Fakers? Where did na ture-taking begin? Where is it to stop? Who's going to stop it? Was not .(Esop the prince of nature-fakers? Must we give him up? Who believes the allegory of "The Lion and the Mouse"? or any of -lEsop's fables that have been read and reread and com mitted to memory by our fathers, and the sages of all nations; that have served as the themes for instructive lessons in all ages, and are enjoyed by our children of today. And Uncle Remus! Must we give up Uncle Remus' stories because as a matter of fact, we know a "Teddy Bear" can't talk; no more can a rabbit, and that all of the wisdom said to emanate from the brain tanks of these creatures, Brer Rab bit, an' Mr. Possum, an' Brer Bear, and Mr. Fox, is the veriest nonsense, because we know they can't talk, so what right have we to think they can reason? Must we give up Poe? He tells just as if it were the gospel truth about the raven perched alongside the bust of Pallas, just above his cham ber door, answering most sensibly every ques tion he asked of it. That can't be so! Must we give Poe the go-by? Must we give up Jack London? Must we give up Dr. Long? Who cares whether the stories are true or not? They teach good lessons and good morals. Who is deceived by them? Not the children! — As for the grown people — This res minds one of a good story told long ago: a really truly true story of a time when ''nature fakers" were not — save such as iEsop and that ilk. But, there were other fakers. Sleight of hand men, who traveled about the country phasing the people with their tricks. One of them penetrated into the interior of one of the middle states, about fifty years ago. He secured the courthouse, which was the only available hall, for a one-night performance. After curfew the roads were lined with country people coming to town to see the tricks of the faker. All of the villagers turned out and filled the best seats. The show opened, and the tricks were played upon a watchful and intent audience. Not a sound distracted meir watchfulness. Finally the end of the program was reached, and everybody sat up determined to catch if possible the chef d'oeuvre billed for the last test of his legerdemain. A small silk shawl of peculiar pattern was cut in halves and passed freely around for everybody to examine and satisfy themselves that it was actually cut in two, that the flowers matched and no trick could be played with it. One half of it was given to two prominent citizens to hold. The other half the juggler wadded up into a ball and prepared to shoot it from a large gun up through the celling into the belfry of the building. Another prominent citizen was appointed to stand on guard at the door leading upstairs, and the moment the gun was fired he was to race to the belfry, and bring back the half of the shawl which he would find there. He was a lawyer of some little reputation, and afterward served as a colonel in the Union forces of the Civil War. The gun was pointed. Every body saw the flash: heard the explosion, watching intently the celling, and the lawyer was off with a crowd following, like a flash. In a few mo ments he returned breathless, and taking the plat form he held out the bit of shawl, the faker hold ing out the other half and fitting it to it. Every one saw that the feat promised had been accom plished, and there was a generous round of ap plause. The young lawyer lifted his hand impressively to silence them and as soon as he could get his breath and the attention of the audience he be gan in excited tones: "My friends! You have been tricked! De ceived! It was a physical impossibility for this silken fabric to have been shot out of a gun without scorching and without a smell of powder about it. I found it in the cupola, as the faker promised, but I found no hole. You see no hole in the ceiling. It was a fake!" For a few seconds there was a dead silence, which soon dissolved in laughter. The magician then gained their attention by a wave of his hand. "My friends, I wish to thank my young friend here for the greatest compliment I have ever yet received in my professional career. It seems that my little trick was so well played as to just fall short of deceiving the elect. I really had not expected to find in so large and cultured an audi ence any one so foolish as to think it required explanation. A trick is a trick; nothing more." Then the laugh was on the young lawyer. The Fatal Flower. "Travelers who visit the falls of Niagara, are directed to a spot on the margin of the precipice, over the boiling current below, where a gay young lady a few years since, lost her life. She was delighted with the wonders of the unrivaled scene, and ambitious to pluck, a flower from a cliff where no human hand had before ventured, as a memorial of the cataract and her own daring, she leaned over the verge, and caught a glimpse of the surging waters far down the battlement of rocks, while fear for a moment darkened her excited mind. But there hung the lovely flower upon which her heart was fixed; and she leaned, in a delirium of intense desire and anticipation, over the brink. Her arm was outstretched to grasp the beautiful object which charmed her fancy; the turf yielded to the pressure of her truant feet, and with a shriek she descended like a falling star, to the rocky shore, and was borne away, gasping In death." Alas, Ambition! We are delighted with the wonders of life, and are ambitious to pluck a flower from the cliff of Renown. We lean over the waters of eternal misery, fear for a moment darkens our excited minds. But there hangs the blossom upon which our hearts are fixed. We lean over the brink — we reach forth our hands to grasp the beautiful object of our ambition; the turf of turbid virtue yields to the pressure of temptation, and with a shriek of anguish and re morse, we descend, like a falling star, to tho rocky shore, and are borne away forever, stran gling in the waters of eternal death.