



Produced by Annie R. McGuire








[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]

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VOL. II.--NO. 62. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.

Tuesday, January 4, 1881. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.

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[Illustration: FISHING THROUGH THE ICE.--DRAWN BY W. R. YEAGER, FROM A
SKETCH BY F. H. TAYLOR.]

MR. CHALKER'S RUSE.

BY FRANK H. TAYLOR.


Every country boy in New England knows that the village school-house is
generally located upon the top of the bleakest hill in the neighborhood,
and is the sport of every eddying gust of wind that drives down from the
great pine wilderness of Maine, heaping the great drifts across the road
and about the door for the children to break through, and then shake
themselves free of the clinging snow like so many young Newfoundlands.

And where, by any chance, was there ever a school-house containing a
stove that didn't roast the scholars seated near it, and leave the
others to freeze?

All wide-awake boys who know the pleasures of skating will agree with me
that however cold and stormy it is upon the hill-tops, the mill-pond
(and what does a village amount to without a mill-pond, indeed?) is
always down in the coziest nook between the hills, where the winds can't
come with more force than is needed to blow the falling flakes across
its smooth surface, piling them in great heaps among the bordering
willows, and leaving the ice in tempting order for "shinny."

In fact, upon this the coldest morning of the winter, the school-house
on the hill-top is not to be mentioned or thought of in comparison with
mill-ponds for comfort or attractiveness, and it is hardly surprising
that Mr. Chalker, the school-master, walked to and fro in solitary
state, surveying with vexed air an array of vacant desks.

He was not altogether alone, however, for three boys had fought bravely
through the drifts, and now sat huddled by the red-hot stove, trying
hard to look as though they, at least, didn't think the weather a good
excuse for staying at home to hunt hens' nests in the depths of the
haymow.

Now School-master Chalker was a shrewd observer, and loved a good joke
as well as any one. He had adopted many original plans of instruction.
He could see one end of the mill-pond, half a mile away from his window,
and as he gazed out upon the bleak waste of snow-clad fields he saw a
couple of small black figures gliding over its surface, and a trace of a
smile shone among his wrinkles as an idea seemed to strike him.

Perhaps he had recalled the time, ever so many years ago, when he too
was a lad and the "wildest cub in the town," as his father often
declared. Turning to one of the boys, he said, "Ben, it seems to me that
the pond's a much nicer place for us than the school-house to-day. Let's
go fishing. I can't skate, but perhaps I can show you how we used to
catch pickerel down there fifty years ago."

Ben and his two companions looked at Mr. Chalker with eyes widely
opened, but they soon found that he was in earnest, and they agreed to
the proposition joyfully.

"Now," said Mr. Chalker, "two of you get out the bob-sled, and heap on
plenty of sticks from the wood-pile. Be sure and get some big ones; and
you, Berton, go down to Mr. Sampson, the miller, with this note. He will
let you have some lines, and a few minnows for bait."

When the school-house had been properly locked up, and they had started,
dragging the sled after them, it occurred to Ben to suggest a slide. So
all three got upon the wood, and slid away merrily toward the pond. The
road was steep but straight, though near the bottom there was a sharp
curve, where the wind had blown away the snow, leaving a crust of smooth
ice. Over this they sped at a lively pace, Ben steering. Poor Ben
couldn't turn the corner, and in another second the sled, school-master,
and all plunged into