[August, 
340 AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
The Voyage of the “ Waterwitch.” 
BT AGNES CARR. 
One sultry August day, beneath the shade of a grand 
old oak tree, and by the side of a bright, laughing, little 
brook, that murmured a low, sweet song, as it danced 
along oyer the pebbles towards the arms of its mother— 
the river, two happy children were playing merrily 
■on its mossy green bank. 
A bright-eyed girl held tightly clasped in her arms, a 
daintily dressed doll, while her brother, with bare feet, 
JACK IN THE TUB-BOAT WITH TH 
waded in the clear water, floating a miniature yacht, 
with spowy sails, and gay pennant, upon the rippling 
stream. “ See, Effie,” he cried, “ how finely the Water- 
witch cuts the waves ! Uncle John says she is perfect 
in every part; and is’nt she a beauty ? ”—“ Yes, indeed, 
Charlie,” responded his sister with enthusiasm : “and 
Muss Sophy must have a sail ; ” saying which, she ran 
down the bank, and stowed the waxen doll carefully 
away in the boat. 
For a time both were interested in loading the tiny 
craft with a cargo of wild flowers, and sending it on trips 
to the opposite bank, but at length, growing weary of 
this, they tied the string to a bramble-bush, and wan¬ 
dered away in search of other amusement. A bushy- 
tailed squirrel scampering through the wood attracted 
their attention, and off they started in pursuit, leaving 
the Waterwitch to the care of the wind and waves, which 
were softly but steadily tugging at the slender line that 
bound it to the shore, until a sudden gust snapped it 
asunder, and the boat was free. 
The birds in the trees overhead, sang “good bye, good 
bye,” the wee little wavelets lapped her sides, seeming 
to say, “ Come away with us to the beautiful river,” and 
with Miss Sophy as passenger, off she started, past the 
green banks where the children played, past the lily 
pads, where snowy blossoms opened their golden hearts 
to the sun, through whirling eddies, and_ dashing rapids, 
until at length the little bark was fairly launched upon 
the great broad liver. A butterfly rested awhile upon 
her sails, and flapped his gay wings in Miss Sophy’s 
face, people shouted from the shore, and fish came up 
and bumped their noses against her keel. Night closed 
in, and still beneath the twinkling stars, the runaway 
sailed on, with the pretty doll lying on her back, her 
blue eyes staring at the mid-night sky, while far away 
the boyish owner bewailed his loss, and Effie wept be¬ 
cause her lovely Sophy had been carried off by the 
Waterwitch. 
Just where the river empties into the ocean, on a 
lonely point of land, a fisherman had built his cot, and 
here another boy and girl, of about the same age as Char¬ 
lie and Effie, ied a far different life from theirs, for 
never had either owned a plaything not made by them¬ 
selves. Molly was a womanly little creature, and her 
father’s house-keeper, forming dolls for herself of 
sticks or corn-cobs, and prizing as her choicest treasures, 
a few old books left her by her mother, while Jack 
mended nets, and was happy if he could rig up an old 
wash-tub, in which to paddle along the shore, although 
it frequently turned over, and treated him to an unex¬ 
pected ducking in the water. In fact, he was so fond of 
this style of navigation, that a quaint old light-house 
keeper, who dwelt in his tower on a headland near by, 
nick-named him “ Diogenes,” after the philosopher, who 
made his home in a tub. “ Ah 1 if I might but have one 
of those wooden dolls from the town,” Molly would 
sometimes sigh, and then Jack would straighten him¬ 
self, and say, “just wait until I am old enough to goto 
sea with the fishermen, and you shall have a dozen.” 
But immediately Molly would think of an older brother, 
drowned years before, and answer: “I do not like the 
ocean, it is cruel, and treacherous, but I love the river, 
that is sweet and fair, and will some day bring us good 
luck.” 
One summer morning, Jack was up with the dawn to 
dig bait for his father, for he well knew it is the “ early 
bird that catches the worms,” and had his tin can half 
full by the time the sun had slipped off his nightcap, 
and lighted up with his first rays something white, toss¬ 
ing about on the surface of the river. “Can it be a sea¬ 
gull, way in here 1” Jack first thought as he caught 
sight of it, and then as it came nearer, with a suppressed 
shout he hurried down to the shore, launched his clumsy 
tub-boat, and rowed towards the middle of the stream. 
“It really is a baby yacht!” he exclaimed, as the Water¬ 
witch, for she it was, floated by him, and he tried with 
a pole to draw her towards him, as you may see in the 
picture. He made several attempts before succeeding, 
but at last the career of the runaway was stopped, and 
jack gave a shout of triumph as he drew her from the 
water, which changed to one of 
surprise as he discovered the lone 
passenger on board, and lifted 
out Miss Sophy, who, though her 
costume was somewhat dam¬ 
aged by the spray, looked as 
placid and serene as ever. Molly, 
who was busy preparing break¬ 
fast, heard Jack’s cheers, and 
came running from the cottage 
to see what had happened. She 
opened her eyes in amazement at 
the yacht, but when the travel- 
stained young lady was placed 
in her arms, fairly cried and 
laughed for joy. 
“It is a fairy doll,” she said, 
“and the beautiful river has 
brought us luck at last.” And 
she named her new treasure 
Undine, after the water maiden 
in one of her favorite books. 
The Waterwitch, too, had found 
a safe harbor at last, and was a 
source of great wonder and de¬ 
light to all the rough fishermen 
on Lonely Point, while to Jack 
she was a prize indeed. 
It happened that some weeks 
later, Charlie accompanied his 
father on a pleasure excursion 
down the river, when what was 
his amazement to see his long- 
lost yacht dancing along in the 
wake of a funny looking tub, 
from which a white flag was fly¬ 
ing, and in which was seated a 
boy of about his own size. He 
stopped to ask an explanation, 
and so learned of the long voyage 
made by the Waterwitch. “She 
is mine, and no mistake,” he 
said; “hut,” as he caught sight 
of the fisher-lad’s downcast look, 
“never mind, Jack, I will make 
you a present of her, and I am 
sure Effie will be pleased to have 
your sister keep the doll, as 
Uncle John has consoled her 
with a much handsomer one.” 
And so she was, for shortly 
after Molly received a neat little 
trunk, containing all Miss Sophy’s 
numerous dresses, which exactly 
fitted the new Undine, who fre¬ 
quently takes short trips in the 
Waterwitch, but has never at¬ 
tempted another voyage. It is 
truly wonderful how great things have small beginnings, 
and out of seeming trifles and petty mistakes, even, 
events of vast importance frequently grow. 
Boys’ and Girls’ Collections.— We heard a 
person, not long ago, ridiculing a boy for collecting post¬ 
age stamps. If, in collecting stamps, one does it only to 
see how many he can get, very little benefit comes from 
it. If the collecting of stamps of little known countries 
leads to the reading about those places, their forms of 
government, etc., then something useful may come of it. 
But why should boys and girls who live in the country 
collect postage stamps when they can do so much better? 
Let them collect specimens of all the woods that grow 
upon the farm, not only of trees, but of shrubs. How 
many know the acorns of the various oaks, or the nuts 
of the several hickories. One of the most curious col¬ 
lections we ever saw was made by a young girl of all the 
beans she could get. We do not recollect how many 
there were, but the number and variety were astonish¬ 
ing. Such a collection is curious, but it has very little 
use. Much better would it be to make a collection of the 
seeds of all the weeds you can find. If these were put 
in separate packages and properly labelled, they would 
be useful for reference. When a lot of clover seed, or 
other seed is bought, it can be examined for foul seeds, 
and if you have a collection of weed seeds at hand, you 
can ascertain the kind mixed with that to be sown. 
E WATERWITCH. — Drawn and Engraved for the American Agriculturist. 
