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3-0 J 



• t ^>^ BOYS AND c;iRl.S , . /^/o 

■'f^tNs BOOK \\i:fk • N()\:io-H 


"Y^OU will be delighted with the 
-^ wonderful effect of Goblin 
Soap on the little grimy, play- 
stained hands. The dirt is dis- 
solved in creamy lather and the 
skin is left in a beautifully healthy 
condition. Fine for office, home or 
shop, toilet or bath, a good all 
around soap. 

■nil amd w wOl ih Ihm yat aim prmtfify x^iplUd. 

CUDAHY, HI West Monroe fitreet. Chica^ 


Frontlsptece: "Jo«t behind him come, pad. pad, pad, fiwat, 
bfxiwn beaat." Drawn by Charlei livlngston Bull 


Illustrated by Chalk* Uvingwon bull and Frank T.nuty Johuon 

. . .1* 
... 11 

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... 19 

... .26 

"When Hia Majesty Fllea-or Takes Coror." Stetch . . . 

lllustralion, Irom photoBraphs. 

. . Henry WoodhouH . ■ . 

llluslratedbyCM. Kdyea 
The Adventure of the Water Knight. (The Wondering Boy Series) 

For Boys Who Do Things: Packing Box Village 

A. RuHdl Bond . . . ■ 

The Queen's Messenger. Story.. 

lUuBtnLed by Marion T. Ju.iice. 

Children's Book Week. 

. . .44 
. . .46 

. . .48 

Illustrated by N. U Umbslactti-r. 

Illurtratid by Alfred Paiwns. Reginald bird., xid with Portrail. 

Indoor Football that Every Boy Can Play. With Diagram . 

The Amethyst Set. Story 

llluitrated by W. V. CharabeM. 

Dynamite and a Ftash of Lightning. Story 

IlluiCrated by Kdwio H, bayba. 

. . CMrae Merrick MuUett 

. ..60 

llluairatioM itom photograph.- 

llluitrationifrom photogiapbs. 

. . .74 
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... .84 

Nature and Science for Young Folk. Illuitrated 

The Most Powerful Engine in the World 

Winum H. EaMon 

St. Nicholas League. With Awards of Prizes for Storie*, Poem 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page. Conducted by Samuel R. Simmons . . . Advertising Page 46 

1^* .«., .*./! «> *. ..„.m.'M. Jir h.. ,r (./.., .k.r.« „l..h 1. .»« >H.».I.. ^ 1. .r..,„. C,„.. ^ ».ucr,M .».J/ 1. 

,»r 25ceii(»a«lBi0.c«py 

THE CENTURY CO. SM Fourth A»... ■( Mth St., N«* York. N. Y. 

VOL, XLVIl. OeORQE B. BAZEN, Cbalrmaii No. 1 

To CXir Readers*. 

As a result of the conflict ex- 
isting in the ranks of the labor or- 
ganizations of the Printing industry of 
New York City The Century Magazine 
for November has been tied up on the 
press. Arrangements have been made, 
however for the printing of The Century 
for December and St. Nicholas for Nov- 
ember and December in Cincinnati, Ohio. 

There will be some delay in your 
receipt of these magazines, but they will 
be delivered to you exactly as they 
were originally planned. We beg 

your indulgence for the delay which has 

No issue of either magazine will 
be ommitted. The Century for Novem- 
ber will be completed and mailed at the 
earliest possible moment. 

The Century Cxd. 


Vol. XLVIl 


Copyright, 1919, by The Century Co. All rights reserved 

No. 1 



Author of "Boy Scouts in the Wilderness 




"Fifty thousand dollars I" said big Jim Don- 

"Not for one pearl !" exclaimed Will Bright. 

"For a blue pearl," corrected the lumber- 
king. "Bring me one as big as the pink pearl 
you found last summer, and I '11 pay that for it 
cash down. But what *s the use of talkin'," 
he went on morosely ; "there ain't such a thing. 
Nobody ever saw a big blue pearl." 

"I have," quietly asserted a slim, swarthy 
boy who during the whole evening had never 
been more than a foot away from Will. 

Big Jim opened his mouth to roar as he 
usually did whenever any one differed with 
him, and then shut it again. He had found 
that it did not pay to contradict Joe Couteau, 
that boy with the blood of a long line of sure, 
silent Indian chiefs in his veins. 

It was some two years after Will and Joe 
had come back from their great adventure al- 
ready chronicled in "Boy Scouts in the 
Wilderness." Without food, fire, or clothing 
they had spent thirty days in the forest ; fought 
for their lives with savage beasts and still 
more savage men; found a great pink pearl; 
broken up a band of moonshiners ; and last and 
best of all had won for their Boy Scout troop 
a cabin and ten acres of timber-land from Mr. 
Donegan. Since that time old Jim Donegan, 
the lumber-king of America, had become a 

firm friend of the Boy Scouts of Cornwall. 
Especially did he admire Will and Joe, who 
had proved to him that he was wrong in his 
estimate of the Boy Scouts, and from whom he 
had bought the pink pearl — at a price. To- 
night the whole troop was being entertained 
on his estate, and the old man had offered to 
show the boys his collection of precious stones, 
which, except for making money early and 
often, was his only hobby. 

After dinner he had taken them into the 
library. There, upon touching a spring in the 
wall, a large bookcase filled with books swung 
forward, showing the side of a' great vault of 
chrome-steel. Unlocking a whole nest of com- 
bination-locks one after another, an enormous 
door opened silently, and the troop entered a 
solid steel room. The long cabinet of satin- 
wood drawers lined with black velvet held the 
famous collection of the lumber-king. For an 
hour or more he showed the delighted boys 
his treasures. As drawer after drawer was 
opened, the little room seemed filled with the 
shimmer and sheen of a perfect rainbow of 
colors. There were the red blink and flare of 
rubies, with their sullen depths of blood and 
fire, from Brazil and India and the far-away 
Caucasus, which^ carat for carat, out-priced 
the best diamonds of Kimberley. Some of 
them were large enough to have names and 
stories. Three of them had been part of the 
loot of pirate ships, and they gleamed venge- 
ful ly from the black velvet, as if all the blood 




md pain and sin of those cruel crews had been 
rrystallized in their blood-red depths. Another 
irawer was full of the cool, deep, unfathom- 
ible green of emeralds, with a flash in their 
iepths such as one sees in a great wave as it 
)reaks in the sun. Some had been dug by 
;hort-lived serfs in the Ural Mountains cen- 
uries ago. Others had been part of the treas- 
ire which Cortez and Pizarro brought back 
Tom the hoards of Montezuma and the Incas. 
rhen there was the cold star-shine of great 
liamonds, water-white, like fire and ice, while 
)ne yellow diamond shone like golden Jupiter 
n a midnight sky. Rarest of them all was 
'Hellheart," smoky black, with a red heart of 
lame. The tradition was that it had belonged to 
Blackbeard, the pirate. It was cut in the shape 
)f a great heart by some unknown lapidary. 
Vlr. Donegan told the boys that no diamond- 
:uter of to-day could cut the wonderful- 
'aceted heart which smoldered before them, 
rhere were ice-blue sapphires; opals, a tor- 
ured blaze of prismatic colors and delicate 
ranslunary tints; apple-green jade; turquoises 
ike robins' eggs; soft, lustrous moonstones, 
rhrysoprase, jacinths, sea-blue aquamarines; 
nasses of lapislazuli and malachite; strange, 
;hifting catVeyes; pale yellow topazes; white 
lapphires, which glowed instead of glittering; 
iery, scarlet carbuncles; cymophane, with its 
vi re-like line of silver — few of the kings of 
larth had a collection- which could equal the 
)ne belonging to Jim Donegan, who had begun 
ife as a lumber-jack. 

At last the old man drew out one drawer 
arger than all the others, filled with a shim- 
nering, multicolored mass of pearls, his 
avorite stone. They glowed as if holding 
ome hidden, soft light within, and were graded 
md shaded with all the art that the trained 
.'ye and skill of the old collector could com- 
nand. Not one of them there but was worth 
I small fortune. Some of them were round* 
gleaming pearls from far-away shark-haunted 
;eas. Others were the larger, irregular treas- 
ires torn from the four-hundred-odd kinds 6f 
resh-water mussels that are found in all of 
)ur rivers, brooks, and lakes. The colors were 
is different as the shapes. White, black, 
)rown, amber, yellow, and green were all there. 
3y itself glowed the lustrous pink pearl that 
^Vill had found, that Scar Dawson had stolen, 
md that Joe had rescued. Yet among all that 
ainbow, there was no shade of blue. 

"You fellows stay a bit," Mr. Donegan said 
rruffly to Will and Joe. "I *11 send you home 
later on.'* When the last guest was 


tviTf nr\r 

gone, Jim turned to the Indian boy. "Tell me 
all about that blue pearl," he demanded. 

Joe looked at him silently for a moment. 

"Once when I very little," he said at last, 
the halting, clipped English which no amouni 
of schooling ever changed, "I went with my 
uncle to Goreloi. That mean Island of the 
Bear," he explained. "He was big medicine- 
man and he want to be bigger, so he go to jjet 
blue pearl. That very good medicine," die 
boy explained. 

"You bet it 's good medicine," muttered the 
old collector. "But what did he want to take 
a kid like you along for, anyway?" 

"Because," answered Joe, "he afraid to trust 
any man with secret. Man might kill him 
when he asleep and take pearl," he went on 
simply. "He take me because I young and his 
own blood and he need some one to watch 
while he hunted." 

"Watch for what?" interrupted Mr. Don- 
egan again. 

Joe paused moment 

"That place not have its name for nothing," 
he at last responded. "It guarded." 

"If it were any one else," broke in Will. 
"I''d think this was all a fairy-story." 
'I myself see," returned Joe, gravely. 
'Go on, go on," urged the lumber-king. 

Joe thought for a moment. 

"We come to little blue river,'* he continued 
at last. "It run out of great dark cave in 
mountain. I sit in canoe with paddle ready to 
push off, while chief hunt, hunt, hunt for pearl. 
At night we camp in little cave and roll big 
stone in front of entrance. One day, two day, 
three day he hunt. Then on last day he open 
big mussel and pull out blue, shiny stone ann 
call very loud. I call, too, very loud, 'causi. 
just behind him come, pad, pad, pad, grea 
brown beast. It look like bear, tut bigger, 
fiercer than any bear any one ever saw excet^ 
in a bad dream. Chief reach canoe just ii 
time. I push off, and we hardly get away. 
Then chief show me pearl. It was bright blue 
and big as pigeon-egg. Then we paddle a day 
and a night and get back to tribe." 

Old Jim Donegan had leaned forward so as 
not to miss a syllable of the boy's story. When 
Joe had finished, the old man looked at him 
for a long time without speaking. 

"I have n't wife nor chick nor child," h« 
said at last, slowly. "My collection takes the 
place of them all. No collection on earth has 
a pearl like the one you saw. I 've got to have 
one from that same river of yours — somehow.'* 

Toe shook his head. 





"No one knows the way to Goreloi," he said, 
"except great chief. He may be dead. When 
I left tribe, he had gone away on far journey 
south. Maybe he never come back." 

The old man paced up and down the room 
and made Joe describe the pearl over and 
over again. 

"Boys," he said at last, "I want you fellows 
to go to Goreloi, wherever it is, and bring me , 
back a blue pearl. I 'II finance the trip and 

face dangers and overcome difficulties — that 's 
the kind of a boy who amounts to something 
when he gets to be a man. .It 's the strenuous 
life that counts. We were n't put into this 
world to play safe, but to seek and fight and 
find and wander, and to never, never quit !" 

The old lumber-king stopped and looked at 
them sadly. 

"If I were ten years younger, or if I could 
only depend on my legs, I 'd go with you my- 

buy any pearl you find. If you have any luck, 
you 'II have more money in three months than 
most men get in ten years. School stops next 
week. You might just as well make money 
this vacation instead of spending it." 

The boys looked at each other. 

'I 'II bet," went on the old man, "that you 
fellows find vacations here kind o' dull after 
killing bears and carcajous and rattlesnakes 
and hunting pearls and fighting moonshiners 
two years ago. Here 's a chance to travel and 
have adventures ! Why, boys," he went on 
earnestly, "when you get as old as I am, you '11 
know that the adventurous life is the best life. 
The boy who is always looking for adventures, 
who is always ready for quests, who learns to 

self," he said at last, "and we 'd have a great 
old time together, too! Nowadays, though, my 
adventuring has to be done for me, and I 'm 
appointing yon fellows ray proxies. Pick out 
two more chaps to go with you that you can 
depend on. Four is the right number for a 
hard trip. ■ I '11 grub-stake you, and if there is 
such a thing as a big. blue pearl, you fellows 
will find it. What do you say?" 

Will looked at Joe. 

"Listens kind o' good to me. old scout!" he 

Joe shook his head, doubtfully. 

"Long, hard trip," he said briefly. "Mv 
uncle say danger, sorrow, death alway.s price 
of blue pearl." 


The lumber-king look disgusted. 

"You 'd better get Joe some nice thick wool 
socks," he remarked to Will, sarcastically; "his 
feet ain't any too warm !" 

"You 've got another guess coming," re- 
turned Will, indignantly. "Joe always talks 
safe and acts dangerous. If you had been 
with him in the tight places where I have, you 
would n't speak that way." 

"There! there!" soothed the lumber-king, 
"I take it all back. Any kid that helped break 
up Scar Dawson's gang and went through 
what he did with you certainly has n't got any- 
thing the matter with his circulation," and he 
patted Joe's unresponsive back apologetically. 
"You boys think it over, and come to-morrow 
night and let me know what you decide." 

All the way home the boys discussed it — 
at least, Will talked and Joe grunted. They 
separated without coming to any decision. 
The next day at school they thought far more 
of blue pearls and bears and Indians than they 
did of algebra and history and English. Just 
before the day's session was over, Mr. San- 
ford, the young principal, read to their class a 
translation from the Greek of the story of the 
Golden Fleece. One paragraph especially 
fascinated Will and Joe : 

"And they rowed over the wine-dark sea, heroes 
all, beyond the sunset, where were gold and pearls 
and mysterious enchanted islands and strange peo- 
ples. For some, death awaited, for others, riches, 
for all, a fame which still rings across the vanished 

As he finished, Will turned to find Joe 
watching him closely. Will raised his eye- 
brows questioningly. Joe gave a little nod. 
The Quest of the Blue Pearl had begun. 

That night a strange thing happened. They 
had gone to Mr. Donegan's house to tell him 
of their decision. The lumber-king was de^ 
lighted, and just as he was promising that he 
would persuade Will's parents to let him go, 
his English butler came to him, much dis- 

"There 's a hindividual at the door who 
hinsists upon seeing you, sir," he announced. 

"Did n't you tell him I was busy, James?" 
snapped the old man, irritably. 

"Hindeed T did, sir," returned the perturbed 
James. "Hall he said was that he was going 
to get busy *imself." 

"He did, ch !" exclaimed Mr. Donegan. 
''Well, you show him in, and I '11 attend to his 
business mighty quick." 

A moment later the door opened, and in 
slipped a little, wiry, gray-bearded man whose 

sharp, black, unflinching eyes glanced about. 

"Hello, Jim I" he said. "Howdy, Will," he 
went on, turning to the boys. 

"Well, if it ain't old Jud Adams!" shouted 
the lumber-king, seizing one of his hands while 
Will grabbed the other. "Why did n't you 
send your name in," went on Mr. Donegan, 
shaking the old man affectionately. 

"I did," said Jud, rescuing himself with 
some difficulty from the over-enthusiastic 
greetings of his friends. "I told that chap 
with a shiny shirt on that I was Jud Adams. 
He kept a-sayin*, 'You ain't no judge; come 
some other time.' But I said to him, 'Now is 
the time.' " 

Old Jud had spent the best part of his life 
in the open. It was he who had given Will 
his first lessons in woodcraft. He had pros- 
pected and trapped and hunted all over the 
North American continent In his youth he 
had spent a year with the Eskimos. Later he 
had been in the Klondike rush, and was one 
of the first to go over fatal "Dead Horse 
Pass"; and he had dug for gold from the 
Mexican border up to beyond Circle City. 

"Jim," said Jud, finally, "I hear that you 're 
going to grub-stake a party to do some pros- 
pectin' up north." 

"How did you hear that?" said Big Jim, in 

"Never mind," said Jud; "nobody can't do 
any treasure-huntin' in this village without me 
hearin' about it., If there 's any prospectin' 
party goin' out from Cornv/all, I 'm goin' to be 
in it. I 've been all over the Northwest from 
the Aleutian Islands clear up above tl)e arctic 
circle. I know the people, white, red, and 
yellow. I *ve trapped and hunted and dug for 
gold and starved and fought and tramped over 
that whole blame country. There ain't much 
out there that flies or creeps or runs or swims 
that I have n't seen. One of these kids I taught 
all he knows, which ain't much,** went on Jud, 
without giving Mr. Donegan a chance to speak. 
"Here T am right in the prime o' life, pinin' 
away for somethin' to do, and I tell you, Jim 
Donegan, you '11 make a bad mistake if you 
send out any party that does n't have me 

"Prime o' life!" scofTed Big Jim. "Why, 
Jud, you 're sixty-five if you 're a day!" 

"I ain't ! I ain't !" shrieked the other. "But 
what if I be? It ain't a man's years that 
count. It 's what he can do. Tlfere ain't any- 
thing that these kids can do that I can't do 
better. Onlv last vear I killed an old Silver- 
Top just before he killed me." 




"Well," said the lumber-king at last, "it 's up 
to these boys. If they want you, / sure do." 

"You bet we want you, Jud," said Will, 
while Joe nodded approvingly, and Jud be- 
came thereupon a partner in the venture. 

A long discussion of ways and means fol- 
lowed, in which Jud's experience was a great 
help. As for guns, the boys decided to take the 
new light, high-powered American army rifles 
which, using soft-nosed bullets, would stop 
any living thing. For himself, Jud still clung 
to an old Sharpe 44 rifle that, with certain 
modern improvements, he had used for over 
forty years. 

So far as Joe could indicate on the map, the 
island where his tribe lived, as well as that 
mysterious "Island of the Bear," were both 
parts of that fringe of islands which guard 
the shores of upper Alaska. 

The expedition once decided upon. Mr. 
Donegan organized the details with the de- 
cision and despatch which had made him a 
multi-millionaire. First he obtained the con- 
sent of Mr. and Mrs. Bright that Will mi^t 
go — no small undertaking. 

"If he- succeeds, I '11 back him for the rest 
of my life — and afterwards," he assured them. 

"That 's a good deal for Big Jim Donegan 
to say," Mr. Bright remarked privately to his 
wife. "I guess, Mother, we '11 have to let the 
boy go. Life is just one chance after another, 
anyway. He *s as liable to die plowin' as 
pearlinV went on Mr. Bright, who was some- 
thing of a philosopher. 

No such formality was necessary with old 
Hen Couteau, the charcoal-burner, Joe's uncle. 

"I go back to see my people," Joe announced. 

"Yes?" said the old man. "Well go ahead. 
You ain't no use in the charcoal business, 
but I '11 be glad to see you back again." 

The same night that he secured the consent 
of the Brights, Mr. Donegan wired to Port 
Townsend, on Puget Sound, which was the 
headquarters for a fleet of steamers that he 
owned on the Pacific. He arranged to have 
the boys met there by The Bear, a swift, sea- 
worthy little steamer whose captain.had cruised 
often through the Northern waters and who, 
if anybody, would be likely to know his way 
to Akotan, the island where Joe's tribe lived. 

Remained only the choice of the last mem- 
ber of the party. Both Will and Joe were 
agreed that he must be a member of the Corn- 
wall Troop. It was hard to choose. "Buck" 
Whittlesey and Billy Oarby were leader* of 
the Owl and Wolf patrols, to which Will and 
Joe belonged respectively. "Boots" Lockwood 

and Freddie Perkins were enthusiastic woods- 
men and devoted friends of both the boys ; 
and then there was Jack Dorsey, the best shot 
in the town, and Bob Coulston, an Eagle Scout. 
At last Will had a bright idea. 

"Next week," he said, "comes the Inter- 
scholastic Games. Every fellow whom we 
have thought of taking is on the team of the 
Cornwall High. Let *s wait until after the 
games and pick out the one there who shows 
the most sand and sense." 

Joe and Jud agreed. 

"Better pick out a good runner," said the 
old trapper. "If Joe 's tellin' the truth about 
that treasure island of his, we *11 all need to be 
pretty lively on our legs to get back alive." 

For years the Cornwall High School had 
entered teams in the great Interscholastic 
Games where twenty schools competed for the 
championship of the East. So far she had 
never scored a point. Cornwall was a small 
town, and although her boys were a strong 
and sturdy lot, they had no track and only the 
crudest kind of training. Then came Mr. San- 
ford, the new principal. He solved the most 
complicated problems in algebra and geometry 
with dazzhng ease. It was rumored that at 
college he used to read Greek aloud for the 
pleasure of it and translate the morning news- 
papers into Latin. Probably that was an ex- 
aggeration. At any rate he never showed any 
such alarming symptoms of learning at Corn- 
wall. It was he, however, who had organized 
and become the scout-master of the Cornwall 
Boy Scouts. Under him. Will and Joe had 
won the cabin for the troop two years before, 
and it was Mr. Sanford who had helped rescue 
them from the burning cabin in that last never- 
to-be-forgotten fight with the moonshiners. It 
was not until school opened again that year, 
however, that the boys suspected that he knew 
anything about athletics. One afternoon when 
school was over, he had strolled down to the 
cow-pasture which the boys used for an ath- 
letic-field, and watched them training for the 
fall games. He seemed to be more amused 
than impressed by their efforts. First he 
watched the sprinters, of which Boots Lock- 
wood was the particular star. Some of them 
started standing up, others crouched like kan- 
garoos, but one and all hung on their marks 
when the last signal was given. 

"If you '11 spring from both feet, you '11 find 
that yoir get away faster," he suggested to the 
line of alleged sprinters. The boys smiled at 
one another, and went on with their own 



system. Mr. Sanford's face flushed a little. 

"I '11 come back in a little while," he said 
finally, "and show you that { know what I 'm 
talking about" 

His suggestions to the broad- jumpers on 
how to strike the take-off and his advice to 
the quarter-milers about their first hundred 
were met with the same indifference. Where- 
upon the principal left the field. Fifteen 
minutes later he was back again, carrying a 
traveling-bag. With this he retired to the 
dressing-house, which had once been a cow- 
shed. Presently there emerged from this ex- 
cow-shed a figure in which the boys could 
scarcely recognize their learned principal. He 
wore a sleeveless jersey and a pair of running- 
trunks. On his feet were the first pair of 
spiked running-shoes that had ever appeared 
at Cornwall, while in his hands he carried a 
pair of battered, nicked, and grooved running- 
corks. The whole team gathered around him 
as he went toward the straight-away stretch 
of green turf where the sprinters practised. 

"Now," he said decisively, "pick out your 
three best men and start us off for the full 

Boots and two other sprinters lined up be- 
side him, while one of the other boys proceeded 
to start them. Mr. Sanford crouched down 
with the others, but as the starter said, "Get 
set !" his lithe body slowly rose, and at the 
very first breath of the final "Go!" he leaped 
into his stride and was off a full yard ahead 
of the rest. Run as they would, not one of 
the three best sprinters of the Cornwall High 
School was able to draw up level with him 
again. Then he went down to the broad-jump 
pit and with his first jump covered twenty 
feet, which was six inches farther than any- 
body else could negotiate. When he finished, 
he was surrounded by an admiring group. 

"You fellows want to remember," he said, 
puffing a little, "that even tottering old chaps 
like me may know something about athletics. 
If I am still here next year," he went on as 
he started back to the dressing-house, "I 'm 
going to put the Cornwall High School ath- 
letic team on the map." 

Thereafter he called upon Big Jim Donegan. 
The old man came in puffing and rumbling and 
gambling as usual. 

"Well, Mr. Schoolmaster," he began, "what 
can I do for you? You 've taken a cabin and 
ten good acres of timber-land away from me 
for your troop and made me pay those two 
kids of yours a frightful price for their pink 

pearl. Now what is it? Another hold-up, I 

"You have the idea," said the principal, 
who had become a fast friend of the old man. 
*I want you to help me turn out a winning 
athletic team for the Cornwall High School." 

The old man was all interest at once. He 
had been born in Cornwall. 

"I 'm afraid you can't do it, Mr. School- 
master," he said sympathetically. "You know 
a lot about book-learnin', but I guess you never 
had time to learn much about runnin' and 
jumpin' and so on." 

"Oh, I don't know," returned the other. "I 
used to know something about them, and per- 
haps I have n't forgotten it all yet. Anyhow, 
if you will help, we can get a winning team." 

"What do you want me to do ?" returned old 
Jim. "I have n't time to go out and run on 
the team myself." 

"Well, I '11 tell you, Mr. Donegan," said the 
principal. "I want you first to build the best 
quarter-mile cinder path that money can buy 
on that old cow-pasture that you let us use, 
and a little training-house with some shower- 
baths in place of the old cow-stable. Then 
I 've just heard that old Mike Murphy, the 
best trainer in the world, wants to come up 
from Philadelphia and settle in a Northern 
climate for his health. He trained the Yale 
team which won the Intercollegiate years ago, 
and the Olympic team that won the champion- 
ship of the world, and I can get him up here ifi 
you '11 foot the bill. Then I want you—" 

"Whoa! whoa!" yelled the old man. "I 
smoke, you know, and I 'd like you to leave me 
enough to buy a little tobacco now and then !" 

"Well," returned Mr. Sandford, "I '11 let you 
off from anything more except running-suits 
and spiked shoes." 

Old Jim thought for a moment. 

"You 're on," he said finally. "Go as far as 
you like; only— I expect a team that '11 win." 

Great doings followed for the Cornwall 
High School. A thin-faced man with reddish 
hair, cold, blue eyes, and a gray mustache 
came to town. He had been seen to slap the 
dignified principal of the high-school violently 
on the back and call him "Dannie." An army 
of workmen changed the cow-pasture into a 
well-appointed athletic-field. Then one after- 
noon, after school, the boys were gathered to- 
gether, and Mike, as everybody called him, 
gave them a little talk. He had the rare gift of 
arousing his audience. He told the boys what 
athletics had done for America and how it 



helped men and boys to keep themselves 
straight and clean and strong. Then he went 
on to tell the boys stories of great athletes 
whom he had known and trained. He tokl 
of Owen, the first man who ever went under 
ten seconds for the hundred-yard dash in that 
great race when Jewett, Owen, Westing, and 
Gary all started in the finals, each with a 
different start. He told them of old Deer- 
foot, the Indian, who, running in his moc- 
casins, set a world record of eleven miles and 
nine hundred and seventy yards for the hour, 
and of the great professional race of W. G. 
George and Bill Lang when the mile record 
went down to 4.12^. 

"But the best race I ever saw, lads," he 
finally ended, "was the day when Yale won 
the Intercollegiate Cup for keeps after a dozen 
colleges had been tryin' for ten years. The 
half-mile race was the last event. Fifty men 
started. When they turned into the home- 
stretch, at the last lap, there were three men 
left, and you could have covered them all with 
a blanket. Neck and neck and neck they came 
down, staggerin' and weavin' around, all gone, 
and just before they got to the tape there was 
one slim little chap, a '^uarter-mile runner, 
who had won the quarter only an hour before 
and had no business to be runnin' in the half. 
He threw his head back, and the foam lay on 
his lips, and he clenched his corks and he came 

{To he 

in, and drew away from the bunch, runnin' on 
nothin' at all but the nerve and courage of 
him I And he broke the tape a foot ahead of 
the two best half-milers in tiie world. And he 
broke the intercollegiate record, and won the 
cup, an' he *s right here before you, and his 
name 's Dannie SanfordI" 

There was a sudden silence as the boys 
looked at Mr. Sanford, who blushed, and tried 
to stop Mike. Then there was a storm of 
cheers, after which the trainer went on : . 

"He sent for me, boys. He says you 've 
been the Jaughin'-stock of the whole school 
league, but if you fellows will come out and 
do what I tell you next spring, you '11 be doin' 
the laughin'." 

That was the beginning of it. There were 
seventy-six boys in the schooL Seventy-five 
of them signed up that afternoon to try for 
the athletic team. The only reason the seventy- 
sixth did n't was because he had only one leg. 
All that winter the boys ran cross-country, 
rain, shine, snow, or cold. Day after day 
Mike trained and trained and trained them, 
indoors and out. The over-confident he held 
back. The timid he spurred on with stories 
of what could be done even by weaklings, if 
only they would dare. The lazy, the dis- 
obedient, the lax who would not or could not 
train, he weeded out; and a few days before 
the games he told Mr. Sanford that he had a 
team of boys fit to run for their lives. 




Raggedy crow with your raggedy wing. 

Flapping across the sky, 
When the winter twilights nip and sting. 
And never a song-bird's left to sing 

Of the summer days gone by, 
Then, raggedy crow, you wing your flight 
In the pale, cold, yellow sunset light, 
And a thousand others leap in sight 

And follow, follow, follow. 
And far across the fading sky 
Your raggedy, coal-black fellows fly, 
All in the same direction still. 
Over the apple-orchard hill 

To the cedar-wooded hollow. 

I wonder, wonder, raggedy crow, 

With your hoarse, discordant cry. 
What do you do in the woods below. 
Where the red, sweet-smelling cedars grow 

And the snows untrampled lie. 
It must be a meeting, strange and long, 
Of a secret club where you all belong, 
For out of the west, a thousand strong. 

You follow, follow, follow. 
Every day when the sun goes down 
I watch you flapping over town ; 
Some day / *ll follow you, too, and see 
What wonderful secrets yours can be 

In the cedar-wooded hollow ! 





Vuthor of "Reeulatioiis for Aerial Navigation," tiic fint "At 
'Tntbook of Miliurr Aeronaulici." Vice- Preii dent A 

The following is taken from the log-book 
of the aeroplane of His Majesty, King Albert 
of Belgium: 

After s conference with the Belgian Parliament. 
His Majesty flew to England. He arrived at Hawk- 
ing aerodrome, near Folkestone, at 4 p. m.. and took 
tea at the oRkers' mess. 

His Majesty left Folkestone for DBrtmouth, 
Devonshire, to visit his son at the Boyal Naval 
College. His 'plane was piloted by Colonel Biga- 
wortb, and was escorted by a plane piloted by 
Captain O'Brien, carrying Lieutenant Woolley and 
His Majesty's aide-de-camp. His Majesty was 
received by his son and Lieutenant Hamilton, who 
were waiting in the Naval College's launch and who 
escorted him to the college, where he was welcomed 
by Captain Leatham. 

Owing to engine trouble, His Majesty had to 
land six miles from Dartmouth. H. M. S. Sturgeon 
and an escorting seaplane went to the place where 
His Majesty had landed and he was transferred to 
the escorting fiying-boat and continued his trip. 

His Majesty flew from Brussels to Paris. 

King Albert's aeroplane log-book is fiUe<l 
with such items. Some of them tell of thrill- 
ing flights dialing the war, when King Albert 
visited the headquarters of the Belgian Army; 
and he flew over his army at the front. 

On March 27, 1917, King Albert went up 
with Captain Jacquet, a famous Belgian avia- 
tor, and made a long flight under fire from 
enemy anti-aircraft guns. The king's ma- 
chine was preceded by a squadron of iighting 
aeroplanes, and the trip took in the entire Yser 
front of the Belgian lines. Flying at heights 
ranging from 3000 to 6000 feet, the king 

personally made observations and took phoio- 
graphs of enough importance for him to dis- 
cuss them afterward with the General Staff 
of the Belgian Army. Fortunately, he was 
not attacked by German machines. 

His Majesty used the aeroplane almost ex- 
clusively for going about during the war. The 
queen made many aeroplane trips with hitn, 
and they found that traveling by aeroplane | 
was at least as safe as by steam or motor, 
when it is considered that the use of roads in- 
volved the risk from shells, the use of boats 
involved the danger from the U-boats, and 1 
flying involved merely the risk of being at- | 
tacked by enemy planes. 

Another royal aviator is the Prince of I 
Wales, who flies his own aeroplane, and loves | 
flying. The log-book of his aeroplane reads 
exactly like the log-book of a busy aviator. 
The heir-apparent has taken a number of 
risky flights. One escapade was "stunting" 
with Colonel W, G. Barker, who is known as 
"the prince of stunters" and has sixty-eight 
enemy planes to his credit. Needless to add. 
Colonel Barker showed Prince Albert almost 
everything then known in the aeronautic 

As long ago as 1909, Edward VII, King of 
England, was interested in aeronautics; ao'l 
when Wilbur Wright was abroad with his 
machine he received a visit from the British 
monarch, to whom the famous American 
pioneer explained the mechanism of his aero- 


inc. During the same year, while at Pau, 
t. Wright received a visit from King Alfon- 

ot Spain, to whom he also explained the 
likings of his "bird" ; and the Spanish 
inarch sat in the machine and posed for a 

Wliile on a visit to France in 1912. King 
fonso gave much of 
s time to aeronautics, 
id one of the very 
!i things he did he- 
re leaving for Spain 
IS 10 attend a review 
Id in his honor at the 
rodrome of Buc. near 
UK. in which ninety 
Toplanes — seventy- 
re military, fifteen 
i-il— and two military 
rigibles were in- 

Two years before, 
tie Prince of Monaco 
-ad made a trip in a 
(jurice Farman hy- 
Irn-acroplane oVcr the CtaBnntrnwcrvaMio. 


In the latter part of 1915. the Spanish King 
began to take a course in aeronautics under 
the instruction of an American aviator, A. 
J. Engel; and on returning to New York in 
December of that year, Mr. Engel said that 
King Alfonso already knew all the theory of 
flying, but that his people had refused to per- 

.1 Monaco. 




mit His Majesty to make aerial flights. 

Other members of the Spanish royal family 
have been considerably interested in aeronau- 
tics, and in 1917, Infante Don Alonzo, the 
king's cousin, flew from Madrid to Cartha- 
gena in three hours and twenty-one minutes, 
beating all the Spanish distance records up to 
that time. 

But, perhaps, of those who hold the des- 
tinies of nations in their palms, Premier 
Clemenceau is the real pioneer in flying, for 
he really made his aerial debut in 1870, when 
he was mayor of Monmartre. He made 
several ascensions in Nadar and Durand's bal- 
loon, "Neptune." This balloon, "Lc Neptune," 
as the French called it, was later on, in Sep- 
tember, 1870, the first of sixty-six balloons to 
leave the besieged city of Paris with mail 
for the outside world. 


and weapons. They were as isolated and in- 
vulnerable as the United States or England 
were supposed to be. But air-craft changed 
this, just as they changed every other condi- 
tion of warfare. 

Early in the war Germany began air- 
attemps upon the lives of the Allied rulers, 
and the German airmen seemed to delight in 
attacking the popular king and queen of the 
Belgians. While the first attempt did not 
jeopardize King Albert and his consort to any 
considerable degree, the second, in March. 
1915, narrowly missed both king and queen. 

The Germans, informed by spies of the 
presence of the Belgian rulers at La Panne. 
sent six aeroplanes laden with incendiary and 
explosive bombs over the place while the 
royalties were there. The king and queen 
were coming out of church with the rest of 

Before 1914, the dangers of war seldom 
reached rulers. They could stay away a few 
hundred mile's from the fighting fronts, and 
were in no danger whatever from enemy fire 

the congregation when the German aero- 
planes were sighted, flying low. 

The king at once told the people to scalier 
and lake shelter, but (he aeroplanes ap- 


proached so rapidly that few had time to 
comply with his instructions before the 
machines were over the village. Two bombs 
fell a few yards from the king and queen, but 

to the royal villa. One bomb carried away 

the cornice of a villa and killed a nurse and a 

little bby whom she was carrying in her arms. 

While the presence of the aeroplanes, which 

^ynoATIAoiiMl Berrlo. 


they were not hit by the flying fragments. 
What made this raid worse was that the raid- 
ers came from Ihe section of the German front 
commanded by the Prince of Wurtemberg. 
who was a first cousin of the Belgian King. 

On another occasion, a few days later, 
Queen Elizabeth was reviewing two Belgian 
regiments, the Tenth Infantry and a grenadier 
regiment. Five German aeroplanes appeared 
over La Panne this time. As soon as they 
were over the city they began to drop their 
bombs, apparently aiming at the parade- 
grounds. Some of the bombs fell near the 
Red Cross hospital, while others dropped close 

were so high as to be almost invisibile, created 
excitement, they were not allowed to inter- 
fere with the review. Unmindful of the fact 
that the proceedings were punctuated occa- 
sionally by the explosion of a bomb, the baud 
struck up a lively march, and the seventy-two 
companies in the regiments marched past be- 
tween the queen and the sea. The queen, un- 
concerned about the danger, sat her horse like 
a veteran. Her attitude strengthened the nerve 
of the people massed on the dunes. 

Shortly after German aviators began carry- 
ing the war "home" to the Allied royalties, and 
after attempts had been made by the Huns to 



bomb the rulers of several of the Allied na- 
tions, attempts to bomb the kaiser or some 
of his sons began. 

That the German Emperor has had many 
narrow escapes has been attested by news- 
paper despatches that passed the censorship; 
and doubtless there have been others that were 
not disclosed for military reasons. 

In April. 1915, Captain dc Beauchamp, a 
noted French airman, who bombed Essen and 
Munich, made a raid on the kaiser's head- 
quarters at Mezi^res-Charleville when the 
German ruler was stationed , there; and, ac- 
cording to a Paris newspaper, bombs fell upon 
the house occupied by Wilhelm and used also 
as headquarters. As a result of this, the em- 
peror moved six miles from the city. Captain 
de Beauchamp was killed in December of the 
same year in an air-fight near Douaumont, his 
machine falling within the French lines. In 


his flight to Munich, Captain de Beauchamp 
crossed the Alps and covered a distance of 
437 miles. 

A German ofiicial communique of Septem- 
ber 22, 1915, gives an account of an attempt 
of the Allied aviators to bomb German royalty, 
and a French communique issued the same 
day also told of this attack : 

In reUliation for the bombardments by the Ger- 
mans of open towns and civilian populations of 
France and England [said the note] a group of 
aeroplanes set out this mominB to bombard Stutt- 
gart, the capital of the kingdom of Wurteroberg. 
About a hundred shells were dropped near the royal 
palace and the railroad stations. Our aeroplanes, 
which were cannonaded at different points along the 
line, returned in safety to their base. 
The German communication stated: 
Enemy airmen appeared at 8:1; o'clock this 

morning over Stuttgart, dropping bombs on tbe 
towD, killing four persona and wounding a number 
of soldiers and civilians. Tbe material damage was 
quite unimportant. Tbe airmen were fired at by 
our anti-aircraft troops and disappeared in a south- 
ern direction at 8 :30 o'clock. Owing to tbe fact 
that soon after 7 :45 o'clock the military authori- 
ties were informed of their approach, the population 
wu warned late. A German airman arrived Over 
Stuttgart at g :3o o'clock. He was fired on from 
below for a short time, until he was with certainty 
recognized ai a German airman. He landed unhurt. 

The next attempt to drop a "message" to 
the kaiser was probably on October 2, 1915. 
iipon Wilhelm's return from the Russian 
front It was announced at that time that the 
German emperor would establish his head- 
quarters in the city of Luxemburg, which the 
Germans called a neutral one, although it was 
always utilized by them for military purposes. 
Twenty-four hours later, on October 3. the 
French War Office 
made the following' la- 
conic statement: 

A group of aeroplanes 
this morning bombarded 
the station, the railroad 
bridge, and the military 
buildings at Luxemburg. 

Just twenty-five days 
later a despatch from 
Paris announced that 
the kaiser had narrow- 
ly escaped death that 
day when an aviator of 
the Allies dropped a 
bomb upon Ihe train in 
1 Fi,y which the German em- 
" peror was riding. The 

engineer was killed. 
While the Christmas holidays of 1915 were 
still being celebrated at the German great 
headquarters, British aeroplanes scouts suc- 
ceeded in locating the place where the General 
Staff was housed and dropped several bombs 
in the neighborhood. One of the ttombs, it is 
said, exploded only two hundred yards from 
the room where the emperor was dining. 

The aviators were compelled to retire un- 
der a strong shell-fire from the anti-aircraft 
guns posted near by. All of the British ma- 
chines returned safely. 

In the early part of 1916 the French made 
an air-raid on Karlsruhe. This occurred at 
3:10 in the afternoon. The Queen of Sweden, 
the daughter of the Grand Duke of Baden, as 
well as the Grand Duke, the Grand Duchess 



I^ouise, and the Etowager Grand Duchess of 
Hesse were in Karlsruhe during the attack. 
The Queen of Sweden was in the castle, but 
the other royal personages were at church. 

Every time the kaiser visited the battle* 
front during the latter part of 1916 and early 
part of 1917, he was in danger of losing his 
life; for it was reported in a message from 
Bern, in February, 1917, that, besides his 
narrow escape on the train, a house in which 
the German ruler slept during a visit to the 
western front a short time previously was 
hit by a bomb from a French aeroplane a few 
minutes after the kaiser, the crown prince, 
and their staffs had left. As it was, the uni- 
forms and other personal effects of the kaiser 
were destroyed, togefiier with a number of im- 
portant documents. 

Allied air-raiders, in an attack on the St. 
Peter's station, in Ghent, Belgium, on June 8, 
1917, just missed the German Kaiser, his sec- 
ond son, Prince Eitel Friedrich, Field-Mar- 
shal von Hindenburg, and a numerous staff, 
declared a London despatch of that date. All 
these personages were at the station when the 
attack came, said an "Exchange-Telegraph" 
correspondent on the Dutch frontier. Just 
how narrowly the kaiser escaped death is evi- 
dent from the statement that three army offi- 
cers not far from the imperial party were 

During the summer of 1917, Allied aviators 
dropped bombs on Homburg while the German 
emperor was stayinRf there, according to a 
traveler who arrived in Copenhagen on August 
17 from Germany. This traveler, who was at 
''ran kfort-on-the- Main when it was attacked 
by French aviators in the early part of Aug- 
ust, said that it was reported there that the 
same aviators had dropped bombs on Hom- 
burg. It was said at that time that one of the 
emperor's two headquarters was in Homburg. 
Returning with his staff from the Verdun 
front, the kaiser had a narrow escape during 
a reprisal raid of a British air-squadron on 
Mannheim in December, 1917, according to a 
despatch from Basle at that time. Only about 
an hour earlier, the emporor's special train 
left the station, which was partly destroyed 
by several bombs. A section of the tracks was 
torn up, cutting communication to the north. 
In fact, the emperor's train was the last to 
leave Mannheim, and no trains arrived at 
Basle the following day from that city. Two 
bombs fell on the palace and one on the sus- 
pensign-brid^ across (he Neckar River, both 

structures being badly damaged. An ammuni- 
tion factory in a northern suburb was blown 
up. Few persons were killed, however, as the 
employees were having a holiday. A consider- 
able number of persons were killed or injured 
within the town and several were blown into 
the Rhine. 

Prince Eitel Friedrich also came in for at- 
tention from Allied aviators, particularly 

when he was in command of the Second Divi- 
sion of the Prussian Guard in the Department 
of the Oise, in the latter days of October, 
1915. For a time he occupied the chateau of 
Avricourt, belonging to Count Balny. French 
aviators bombed his headquarters there, and 
he left hurriedly in 1916 for Fretoy-le- 
Chateau, where he occupied the property of 
M. Dubois. He took with him all the furni- 
ture, dishes, and plates of Count Balny. 

Russian prisoners of war were brought 
there to dig a deep underground shelter from 
aeroplane bombs for the prince, 



Prince Eitel was seen every morning during 
his sojourn at Kretoy spading in the garden 
of the chateau. Frendi aviators surprised 
him at the exercise one morning in July, 1916. 
Their bombs demolished the headquarters of 
the army telephone service and did other 
damage, whereupon the prince and his staff 
moved away. 

Two German airmen made a daring attempt 
on the life of the Czar of Russia. On the 
morning of tht twelfth of April, 1916, the Ger- 
mans learned in some way that the czar was to 
hold a military review at Shvanets, and two 
machines immediately took to the air with' a 
supply of bombs. 

One of the enemy machines was attacked 
near Chotin, as it came from the direction of 
Boyan, and the Russian aviators compelled 
the German sky-fighter to retreat. Mean- 
while another German machine succeeded in 
reaching Shvanets, which is on the River 
Dneister, opposite Chotin, and threw down 
bombs, the explosion of which it was stated 
at the time, wounded only a sentinel. Later 
reports, however, declared that the czar had 
been wounded, narrowly escaping death, and 
that generals Busiloc and Ivanoe, who were 
in charge of operations at the time of the. 
czar's visit, were bitterly reproached. 

An attempt was made on the Rumanian 
royal family, November 15, 1915, when hostile 
aviators dropped bombs over the royal palace 
at Bukharest. The queen and the princess, 
however, were not in the building at the time. 
A great number of bombs wen dropped over 
the palace. 

The royal family of Monten(|»ro also were 
in danger from Teutonic aviators early in the 
War, and several attacks were raade on places 
where they were believed to be <luring the first 
few months of 191 5. Perhaps the most dan- 
gerous attack for the members of the royal 
family occured on April i of that year, when 
an Austrian aviator flew above the royal pal- 
ace and dropped seven bombs. None of the 
royal family was hurt, but one of the bombs, 
falling in the palace courtyard, wounded four 
civilians and caused heavy damage. 

When members of the royal family of Mon- 
tenegro left the country to seek safety in 
France, the ship on which Queen Milena, 
Princess Xenie and Vera, and the Montene- 
grin officials took passage in the night for Brin- 
disi, was pursued all the way across the 
Adriatic by submarines and sea-plane3f 

In August of 19 1 6, while King Nicholas of 
Montenegro was paying a visit to the French 
front to bestow the Montenegrin military 
medal on General Gouraud, former com- 
mander of the French Expeditionary Force at 
the Dardanelles, a number of German aero- 
planes flew over the headquarters of a colonel 
of the French Army, where the king ivas 
stopping. The hostile macfemes dropped 
bombs, and, in return, drew a hot fire from 
the French artillery. The kini?, with glasses, 
followed the evolutions of the war planes, 
noting the shots that put them to flight 

lEmperor Charles of Austria-Hungary nar- 
rowly escaped death from bombs of Italian 
aviators in the latter part of February, 19 17. 
The emperor was in Pola attending the funer- 
al of a former commander of the Austrian 
Navy. Archduke Frederick and other digni- 
taries were also present, and the kaiser had 
planned to attend, but was delayed at Vienna 
and could not reach Pola in time. As the 
funeral cortege passed through the streets 
the Italian aeroplanes appeared, the aviators 
dropping explosives and incendiary bombs. 
The emperor was not injured. 

By September, 1916, the Allied aviators had 
so frightened King Ferdinand of Bulgaria that 
he was reported to be spending his nights in 
sleeping in a cellar. Aviators were in the 
habit of bombing Sofia, flying from Salonica, 
and the king promptly took to the cellar, which 
he had strengthened with steel plates. It was 
said to be luxuriously furnished. 

When Secretary Baker went to France in 
the early part of 1918, aerial warfare was just 
becoming a dangerous factor. The Germans 
were bombing Paris and London at every 
opportunity, and Allied aviators were bombing 
German headquarters, hoping to strike the 
place where the kaiser was hiding. 

On the day that Secretary Baker was in 
Paris for a conference with General Tasker 
H. Bliss, the American Chief of Staff, and 
Major-General William M. Black, the air- 
alarm was sounded. The firemen's sirens and 
the barrage of anti-aircraft guns soon filled 
the air, and the policemen went about the city 
shouting, "Take cover!" 

The records show that on that particular 
day the kaiser, who was at his palace at Spa, 
had a similar experience and, also being a 
prudent man, he also "took cover." The kaiser 
had a special cellar at Spa which w^s abso- 
lutely bomb-proof, 



Author of "The Boarded-Up House," "The Slipper-Point Mystery," etc. 



So this was to be her home — and for three 
long months! Patricia Meade dropped her 
suitcase on a convenient chair and gazed 
curiously about her. A hotel bedroom, with 
stiff-looking twin brass beds, two willow rock- 
ers, one straight chair, an imposing mahogany 
bureau, and one small table — absolutely all the 
furniture, if one excepted the stiff draperies 
at the windows and one or two not particularly 
artistic pastel pictures adorning the wall. 
Through a door and across the intervening 
sitting-room she could see another bedroom 
similarly equipped. 

In the sitting-room her father, Captain 
Afeade, was tipping the grinning bell-boy who 
had brought up their luggage — a snub-nosed, 
blue-eyed, curly-haired young chap whose gaze 
was riveted adoringly on the captain's khaki 
uniform. When the boy was gone, the cap- 
tain turned to the door of Patricia's bedroom. 

"Well, honey ! Not much like home, eh ? 
Do you think you can stand it for three 
months? Jove! if she has n't got her suit- 
case and is unpacking already!" 

Patricia was indeed frantically flinging her 
belongings about. 

"Oh, it *s jolly !" she replied, over her shoul- 
der. "But you 're right about it 's not being 
much like home. I felt as if I *d just expire 
if I could n't see a few things strewn around 
in a sort of careless and cozy way, as if people 
really lived here !" She rose suddenly from 
her kneeling posture before the suitcase, ran 
across the room, and thumped both stiff pillows 
on the beds, knocking them a trifle awry. 
"There! Now they look more like real beds 
that you sleep in and less like advertisements 
in the back of a magazine !" She laughed. 
"The sitting-room 's a little better, with that 
big table and the pretty reading-lamp and the 
comfortable chairs. But do let 's get a lot of 
papers and magazines and books at once, and 
have them lying all around as we do at home. 
Mother would be scandalized — she 's always 
picking them up after us," she went rattling 
on, and then stopped abruptly, lips quivering, 
eyes bright with sudden tears. 

"If mother could only be with us!" she 

"Now, honey, don't — " the captain soothed 
her, laying his arm lovingly around her shoul- 
der. "Remember you 're a soldier's daughter; 
and — well, brace up ! Mother 's going to be 
beautifully taken care of in that sanatorium, 
and Aunt Harriet is with her, to keep her com- 
pany and incidentally to indulge in some little 
pet cures of her own, on the side." 

"But why, oh ! why did it have to nappen 
just nowT" wailed Patricia, refusing to be 

"Is it any wonder that sne broke down com- 
pletely and had a bad case of nervous protra- 
tion after waiting over a year for me to come 
back from France? And feeling sure, too, for 
the last six months that she 'd never see me 
alive again after she heard I *d been taken a 
prisoner to Germany? It 's enough to have 
broken down the nerve of a cave-woman. And 
your mother was always delicate." 

"Oh, Daddy ! it was like getting you back 
from the dead," sighed Patricia, hiding her 
head on his shoulder and shuddering at the 
jnemory. "And in three months you 're going 
back again !" 

"But not to the dangers and horrors this 
time," he reminded her, and, "worse luck !" he 
added half under his breath. "Fortunately or 
unfortunately, my constitution will never stand 
the strain of trench life again, after a few 
months of German prison diet, etc. But I 'm 
only too thankful that the Government has 
found use for me in some other capacity." 

Patricia, who had been perched on his knee, 
snuggling her head in his coat-collar, suddenly 
sat up straight and looked him in the eyes. 

"Daddy, can't you tell me what it is you 're 
doing?" she begged. "I don't ask just from 
idle curiosity. I want to understand. I want 
to help you if I can. I love America, and I am 
a soldier's daughter, and I want to act intelli- 
gently about things and be of some use. That *s 
one reason I 'm so glad you *ve allowed me to 
be with you in this strange, big city and in this 
great hotel for three months — besides the joy 
of not being separated from you before you 
go back to Europe again for goodness knows 
how long! / want to do something for my 
country, too !" 

The captain stroked his short mustache for 
several silent moments before answering. 

"I quite understand how you feel/' he said 




at length. "And I appreciate it. You 're seven- 
teen, Patricia — almost a woman grown. I 
know I could trust you utterly with the whole 
thing, but it is n*t wise — in fact, it is n't even 
allowable. A government secret is a govern- 
ment secret, and cannot be revealed even to 
one's nearest and dearest. This much only I 
can tell you. While I was a prisoner I stum- 
bled upon a very valuable secret, something 
new possessed by the enemy, which, however, 
they have not had the gumption to make use 
of properly. But I saw that it could be vastly 
improved upon and made a hundred times more 
effective. The Government has charged me 
with this task, and I 'm to take it back with me 
when I go. It 's a very vital and important 
thing, Patricia, and may turn the tide for us. 
More I cannot tell you. It would not be wise 
or even safe for you to know. And you can 
help me most by appearing to know nothing 
whatever about my affairs. Remember that — 
to know nothing, zvhatever happens." He 
was interrupted by a loud knocking at the door 
and went to open it. 

"Telegram for you, sir," g^-inned the bell- 
boy of the snub nose and twinkling eyes. Cap- 
tain Meade tore it open hastily. 

"Here 's a pretty pickle !" he exclaimed, 
handing the yellow slip to Patricia. "Your 
Aunt Evelyn fell yesterday, just before she 
was to take the train from Chicago to meet us 
here, and will be laid up for the next six or 
eight weeks with a broken leg. Just like 
Evelyn!" he added impatiently. "She was 
always the worst youngster for falling down 
and getting damaged at critical moments. And 
she 's kept it up consistently all the rest of her 
life. I *m sorry for her, of course, but what 
on earth are we to do?" 

They stared blankly at each other. 

"Poor Aunt Evelyn !" sighed Patricia, sym- 
pathetically. "She was looking forward so to 
this three months* holiday ! She wrote that she 
had n't been away from home even a week 
for the last ten years, and was going to enjoy 
the rest so much. I 'm awfully sorry for her. 
She '11 be so disappointed." 

"Yes, but that docs n't solve the problem of 
what wc 're going to do," argued the captain. 
"She was to be your companion here. I can't 
be around all the time. I may even have to 
be away several days at a stretch. A young 
girl like you can't stay alone in a big hotel. 
What in Sancho are we going to do?" He ran 
his hands through his hair despairingly. "It 
\vr^s only on the basis of her being able to join 

us that your mother and I consented to this 
arrangement at all. I guess now you '11 have 
to go out to Chicago and stay with her, after 
all. There 's nowhere else for you to go." 

"Oh, Daddy, Daddy, don't!" implored Pa- 
tricia, hurling herself at him in a panic. "I 
could n't, I simply could n't, stand being parted 
from you now. Aunt Evelyn would be in bed 
and a trained nurse puttering around her all 
the time — there 'd be nothing for me to do. I 'd 
be simply wretched. We can have such a cozy 
time here, we two, and I '11 promise to be 
very good and quiet and read a lot, and stay 
here in our own suite all by myself when you 
are away. I 've brought a lot of fancy-'work, 
too, and I 'm going to do Red Cross knitting 
and make all my Christmas presents during 
these three summer months. So I '11 be very, 
very busy. Do say yes, Daddy!" 

Captain Meade looked only half convinced. 

"I don't like it at all, Patricia. It will not 
only be lonely for you; it may possibly even 
be dangerous. There are spies about us all 
the time. If they should happen to nose out 
my mission, they *d no doubt try to make it 
hot for me — and for you, too. Your Aunt Eve- 
lyn was to be your safeguard. But now — " 

Patricia suddenly interrupted him. 

"Do you have to go away for any length of 
time very soon? I mean, to go for several 
days ?" 

"Well, no," he admitted. "I 'm supposed to 
be giving lectures at the churches and Y. M. 
C. A.'s of this city and hereabout on my ex- 
periences as a prisoner. That, however, is 
hardly more than a *blind' to cover my real 
work. It will take me away some afternoons 
and evenings, but I shall not stay away over- 
night for a few weeks yet, in all likelihood." 

"Then, Daddy," urged the wily Patricia, 
grasping eagerly at this straw, "until you find 
you have really to be absent for any length of 
time, let me stay with you. If later on you 
should find you must go, then we can see what 
to do. Meantime let 's be happy together for 
a while and see what 's going to turn up. 
I '11 even go to Chicago dien, if you insist." 

And then Captain Meade relinquished the 
argument, glad to settle the vexed question, 
at least temporarily. "Very well," he said a 
trifle relunctantly ; "stay you shall, since you 
wish it so, at least for a while. But, Patricia, 
attend to what I am going to say, and never 
forget it under any circumstances. It 's an 
old saying that 'walls have ears,' but it was 
never tru^r than it i§ in these days and in a 




big hotel. Trust no one. Hear everything, 
see everything — and say nothing. My very 
life, and even yours too, may depend upon 
your obeying me in this implicitly." 

Patricia nodded gravely. "I understand. 
Father," was all she replied. But her brain 
was a-whirl with feverish, delicious excite- 
ment. "Spies," "danger," "secret mission" — 
the magic words gave her an indescribable 
thrill. And yet, with it all, she realized, too. 
the gravity of the affair; and the realization 
served to give her a mental balance beyond * 
her years. 

"But now let 's go down to dinner," cried 
the captain, gaily, glad to change to a subject 
less tense. "I Ve an appetite worthy of an 
ex-prisoner in a German camp I" 

As they passed out into the corridor, Patricia 
glanced up at the number over their door. 
"Suite 403 !" she said, squeezing her father's 
arm. "Now I wonder just what *s going to 
happen to us while this is our home number?" 



They made their way through the long cor- 
ridors, down the elevator, past the cozy sun- 
parlors, and into the imposing dining-room. 
To Patricia it was all a splendid adventure, 
even without the strange, new element so re- 
cently hinted at by her father. 

"Daddy," she began, when they were settled 
at a comfortable table for two in a remote 
corner, "I wonder if you realize how simply 
heavenly it is for me to sit down to a meal 
like this (not to speak of all the meals to 
come) and pick out just the things I want 
to eat, without having cooked or helped to 
cook them all beforehand, and knowing I won't 
have to wash the dishes .afterward !" She 
picked up the menu and scanned it luxuriously. 
"Now I think some cream-of-asparagus soup 
and a tenderloin steak and some nice French- 
fried potatoes would just suit me to-night." 

There was no response to her remark, and 
glancing up curiously, she found her father's 
gaze riveted on the waiter who had just ar- 
rived to take their order. Patricia, too, turned 
her attention to the man, and found him a 
singularly unprepossessing person. He was 
of medium height, with a swarthy skin, and 
black hair plastered closely down the sides of 
his head. His eyebrows were extremely black 
and bushy, and one eyelid drooped conspicu- 
ously. Several of his prominent front teeth 
were of gold, and gleamed in a sinister man- 

ner when he spoke. His voice was thick and 
husky and had a foreign accent. 

"Are you to be the regular man for this 
table?" questioned the captain. The man 
merely nodded in sullen affirmation. 

"I want to know your name," pursued Cap- 
tain Meade. "I expect to be here some time 
and may keep this table. And if I *m going 
to have any one about me regularly, I prefer 
to call him by the name that belongs to him. 
What 's yours?" 

"Peter Stoger," still sullenly. 

"What nationality?" 


"Very well, Peter. You may take our 
order." And without further remark the cap- 
tain dismissed him. 

"Daddy, I don't like that man," whispered 
Patricia when he was gone. "He looks like 
an alien enemy. I don't believe he 's Swiss 
at all. Can't we have another? I know he 's 
going to make me uncomfortable and worry 



"Oh, he 's all right," replied the captain, 
easily. "You must learn not to mind ^n unpre- 
possessing outer appearance. If he makes a 
good waiter, nothing else about him will mat- 
ter much to us. Don't get 'spies' on the brain." 

Patricia subsided, unconvinced, and they 
both gazed quietly about them for the few 
moments while they were waiting to be served. 

"Oh. Daddy," whispered Patricia, "don't 
look for a minute or two, but is n't that a 
lovely woman at the table diagonally at our 
right, just a little behind you? She reminds 
me somehow of Aunt Evelyn. And there 's 
a pretty girl with her, just about my age, I 
should think; but I wonder what makes her 
look so queer and cross and — and sullen." 

After a proper interval. Captain Meade 
glanced in the direction indicated. The 
woman's appearance was certainly striking 
enough to attract attention in any assembly. 
Her wavy gray hair was elaborately dressed, 
she had large, liquid brown eyes, she was 
beautifully, if quietly, gowned, and was of im- 
posing height and build. 

"She does look a little like your Aunt 
Evelyn," he agreed, "only much handsomer 
and more imposing; and the young person with 
her docs n't seem to be enjoying life." 

The girl in question did indeed appear very 
unhappy. She was fifteen or sixteen years 
old, but of a slight, fragile build that made her 
seem younger. Her hair, a mass of dark curls, 
was tied back simply at the nape of her neck. 




But her lovely face was marred by a pouting, 
sullen mouth, and her big dark eyes gazed 
about her with an expression that struck 
Patricia as one half frightened, half rebellious. 
She did not often look about her, however, 
but kept her gaze in the main riveted on her 
plate. Her companion chatted with her almost 
continuously, but she answered only in mono- 
syllables or not at aH. 

They were a strange pair. Patricia could 
not understand them at all, nor could she, for 
the remainder, of the meal, keep her eyes long 
from turning toward their table. The older 
woman fascinated her not only by her hand- 
some appearance and vague resemblance to 
her aunt, but also because of some subtle at- 
traction in her vivacious manner. Once she 
looked up suddenly, caught Patricia's gaze 
fixed on her, and smiled in so winning a man- 
ner that Patricia was impelled to smile back 
in response. The girl puzzled her by her 
strange, inexplicable conduct toward one who 
was so evidently interested and absorbed in 
her. Patricia found herself wondering more 
and more what could be the relationship be- 
tween the two. 

But their own meal now delightfully fin- 
ished with French ice-cream and tiny cups of 
black coffee, Patricia and her father rose to 
leave the dining-room. Their way led directly 
past the table that had so deeply interested 
Patricia. As she approached it, she noticed 
that a dainty handkerchief belonging to the 
older woman had fallen unheeded to the floor 
at her side. Stooping to pick it up, Patricia 
restored it, and was rewarded by another 
charming smile and a "Thank you, dear !" But 
in the same instant her eye caught that of 
the young girl, and was held by it for a long, 
tense moment. Patricia was no practised 
reader of expression, but it seemed to her that 
in this moment, fear, hope, dread, and longing 
were all mirrored successively in the beautiful 
dark eyes raised to her face. Then the lids 
were dropped, and the girl went on eating in 
apparent unconcern. 

Patricia and her father passed on. They 
had almost reached the door of the big dining- 
room when Captain Meade stopped suddenly 
to grasp the hand of an elderly lady seated 
at a table near the door. 

"Mrs. Quale! by all things unexpected! 
How do you happen to be here? Let me 
present my daughter Patricia." Patricia made 
her best curtesy to one of the quaintest little 
elderly ladies she thought she had ever seen. 

"Delighted to know Patricia,** began Mrs. 
Quale. "I 'm here by virtue of having my 
house burn down, not exactly over my head, 
but while I was away in New Haven. Care- 
lessness of old Juno,, my colored cook. She 
would keep too hot a range fire and overheated 
the chimney. At any rate, here I am till the 
thing is rebuilt, and a precious long job they 
are making of it, with all these war-time re- 
strictions. So this is Patricia! I saw her 
once before, when she was a tiny baby. Are 
you staying here. Captain Meade?" 

The captain sketched briefly for her the 
reason of their presence in the big hotel — 
his wife's breakdown and departure to a sana- 
torium; the closing-up of their home and his 
coming to the city with Patricia for a combi- 
nation holiday for her and lecture-program 
for him; of their disappointment about Aunt 
Evelyn, and their consequent predicament. 

"Well, don't you worry your head another 
moment about Patricia," laughed Mrs. Quale. 
"Fate seems to have arranged things very 
nicely so that I should be here to act as her 
chaperon whenever necessary, and general 
adviser at all times. My suite is 720, ninth 
floor. Be sure you call on me soon, Patricia, 
and we '11 get really acquainted in short order. 
Your father played in my back yard as a 
child (his house was right next door to ours), 
so I feel quite like a grandmother to you." 

"I like Mrs. Quale, Daddy," Patricia con- 
fided to her father as they were ascending in 
the elevator to their rooms. "I like the wav 
her hair is fixed in those queer, old-fashioned 
scallops, and her dear, round, soft face, and 
her jolly manner. But how is it I 've never 
heard you speak of her before?" 

"She is an old friend of my boyhood days," 
replied her father, "and, as she said, we used 
to live next door to her. I don't know why 
I did n't think of her right away when your 
aunt's telegram came. I should n't have hesi- 
tated to take you straight to her and put you 
in her care. However, if her house is out of 
commission and she 's staying here, it answers 
the purpose even better. You must be sure 
to call on her in her rooms to-morrow. Now 
I 'm afraid you 're in for a lonely evening, 
Patricia, for I have an important business mat- 
ter to attend to, and may be detained rather 
late. Telephone down to the office for any- 
thing you need or any attention you want, but 
don't leave these rooms on any consideration 
— short of a fire. To-morrow we '11 do the 
town and go out somewhere in the evening, 



[Kov . 

so I hope you won*t be lonely to-night — eh, 
honey ?" 

"Indeed I won't be lonely. Don't you worry 
about me a minute !" agreed Patricia. " I 've 
heaps of things to do." . 

When Captain Meade had gone, Patricia 
flew about, busily occupying herself with un- 
packing her trunk and making her bedroom 
a little more homelike with a few of her own 
personal knicknacks and belongings. When 
this occupation could be prolonged no further, 
she sank down in a cozy chair by the table in 
the living-room, intending to read a magazine, 
but in reality to dream delightfully over the 
events of the day and her father's strange, 
half-exhilarating, half-terrifying hints. 

A great hotel full of people, — literally hun- 
dreds of them, coming and going continually, 
some of them friends, some of them enemies, 
perhaps,' and she, Patricia Meade, in the cen- 
ter of it;-— she and her father the very center 
of a whirlpool of plots and danger, perhaps! 
Then more sober thought reminded her that 
there was, in all probability, no likelihood of 
anything particularly thrilling happening ex- 
cept in her own imagination, and she laughed 
at herself for romancing. They would have 
a very delightful holiday, she and her father. 
He would accomplish safely and without dif- 
ficulty the mission that occupied him, they 
would return home to a reunited household at 
the end of the summer, and then he would go 
away "over there" again. 

At this point in her reverie she suddenly 
dropped into an unpleasant depression and de- 
cided to send for a sandwich and a glass of 
milk, write a tiny note to her mother, and go 
to bed. All at once she realized how very 
tired she was and how the excitement and 
exhilaration had all evaporated, leaving only 
weariness in their place. Rather timidly she 
telephoned her order to the office and sat down 
again to await its arrival. 

Five minutes later she answered a knock at 
the door, to find the grinning, imp-like bell-boy 
of their first encounter standing there with a 

"Did n't have no chicken left, ma'am, so I 
got you tongue. Best I could do," he vouch- 

"Oh, thanks! That will do just as well," 
she replied; then something impelled her to 
inquire, "Do you always answer the calls in 
this corrdior?" 

"Yep — at least I try to work it tnat way. 
I got a reason !" he ended darkly. 

"A reason? What is it?" she asked idly. 

"Not allowed to tell. State secret. Gov- 
ernor forbids it." He grinned; and Patricia 
found herself laughing as much at his serio- 
comic expression as at his very apparent non- 
sense. "Anything else wanted?" he ended. 

"Nothing but your name," she replied, fol- 
lowing her father's tactics. "If you 're going 
to be around here regularly, my father would 
like to know it." 

"Oh, it 's Chester, just Chester Jackson; 
but mostly I 'm called Chet," he said, apparent- 
ly a trifle dumfounded to think that any one 
should care for the information. To the hotel 
at large he was only "Number 27." 

"Well, good-night. That will be all, I 
think." And Patricia turned back into the 
room to lay the tray on the table. But as she 
retraced her steps to close the door, she sud- 
denly remembered that she had meant to order 
ice- water for the night also, and walked out 
into the corridor to see if Chet was still in 
sight. He was not, however, and slio turned 
back toward her own door, murmuring, "Oh, 
well, it does n't really matter. I don't want to 
bother 'phoning down again. Daddy can send 
for it when he comes in." 

What impelled her just at that instant to 
turn her head and glance over her shoulder 
she never quite knew. Perhaps if she had not, 
if she had gone quietly in and closed her door, 
all future events might have been diflFerent. 
At any rate, turn her head she did, drawn 
by some mysterious power, and beheld a curi- 
ous sight. 

A door diagonally opposite her own, across 
the corridor, was standing a trifle ajar. It 
had not been so while she was talking to the 
bell-boy, of that she was positive, nor had she 
heard the faintest sound of its being opened. 
And in the opening was framed a face, gazing 
at her absorbedly, intently. Patricia's heart 
gave a sudden leap. It was the face of the 
young girl she had noticed in the dining-room. 

So unexpected to both was this encounter 
of eyes that for a long instant neither could 
remove her gaze. Patricia was first to recover 
her poise ; moreover, truth to tell, she was even 
a trifle pleased at this opportunity to break 
the growing monotony of the evening. She 
smiled her friendliest smile at the face across 
the corridor, and with its resultant effect on 
the girl in the opposite doorway she was not 
a little astonished. The expression in the big 
black eyes changed suddenly from watchful- 
ness to wonder, and a slow, reluctant answer- 




ing smile curved the sullen mouth. The effect 
was like a shaft of sunli^t breaking through 
a black cloud. 

"I was looking for our bell-boy," Patricia 
;alled across laughingly and informally. "He 
escaped before I could ask tor ice-water." 

"Oh, thanks! Since you are so very—" 
At this moment the door of the room ad- 
joining hers opened, and a waiter came out, 
bearing in his hands a tray of used dishes, 
and passed directly between them, along the 
corridor. He-glanced neither to the right nor 

The girl in the opposite doorway suddenly 
realized that her presence too, might call for 
some explanation. 

"I was looking for my — ah — for Madame 
VanderpocI," she hesitated. 'She has gone out. 
I am a little lonely — and was watching for 
her — to return." She spoke with a noticeably 
foreign accent, and her manner was reticent 
and confused. But Patricia, for some inex- 
plicable reason, felt immediately drawn to her. 
The girl was lonely. So was she. What pos- 
sible objection could there be to spending a 
while in each others' company? 

"Why, I 'm lonely, too," she vouchsafed. 
"My father was to be away for all the evening. 
Won't you come in and sit with me awhile? 
1 've a couple of sandwiches that we can divide, 
or I can send for more. Do come!" 

For a moment it seemed as if the girl was 
about to consent. A surprised, dimpling smile 
lit her face for a instant, and she repUed; 

{To bt c 

left, and disappeared in a moment down the 
turning at the end of the hail Patricia 
realized with a tiny qualm of dislike that it 
was the waiter of her own table. But his 
passing had broken the spell of the new 

"I thank you — ^but — this evening I must 
stay in the room," the girl resumed, inex- 
plicably contradicting what she had plainly in- 
tended to say at first. The bright smile wa's 
gone. Her face had again a'ssumed the 
clouded, sullen expression. Patricia was 
thoroughly puzzled. 

"Well, that 's too bad!'' was all she could 
find to reply. "Same here, or perhaps I could 
run over to you. Arc you staying here long?" 

"I think so. I am not sure how long." 

"Oh. well, then we '11 have plenty of time to 
get acquainted. Good night" Patricia ended 
pleasantly, as she closed her door. 


Kay had this pecularity, that hit breath lasted nine days and nirn: 
nights under water, and he could eritt nine days and nine nights with- 
out sleep. . . , And he had another peculiarity — so great vias the heat 
of his nature that when it rained hardest, whatever he carried remained 
dry for a hand-brealh above and a hand-breath below his hand; and 
when his companions were coldest, it was to them at fuel with which to 
light their Rre. 

From the Tale of Kilhwch and Olwen. 

Down, down, where the light is green and blue, deep down in the under-sea ; 

Through tangled forests where no birds sing, but fish swim silently; 
Past coral casiles that arch and spire, where the blue-haired sea-folk dwell: 
Past old sea-gardens, dim as a dream, o'ergrown with weed and shell; 

Down. down, to the wide wet pasture- lands, where the mild sea-cows graze 
(Faintly their bells ring t'p through the sea, as they wander the sandy ways) ; 
And on to the lonesome, weedy wastes that border the deeps unknown. 
Where, silent and stow and ceaselessly, the (ides march up and down. 

Through that unknown world, 'ncath the blue sea-roof, swam the Wondering Roy 

and Kay. 
Kay the Knight, who for nine full suns in the watery world could stay; 
And whatever he carried for light or warmth or food in his charmed hand, 
For a hand-breadth over and underneath was as dry as if borne on land. 

Armored from head to foot was Kay, like a great fish silver-scaled. 
On many a quest had he set forth, and never a quest had failed. 
Bui never a quest like this before! The earth was filled with despair. 
For the old sea-dragon, so long asleep, had sprung from his secret lair. 

From the gem-lit caverns the sea-folk loved, he forced them all to flee. 
And strewn in glittering, wave-swept heaps lay the cities of the sea. 
From coast to coast had the dragon raged, still proof against mortal might; 
Till quick to the cry of the Wondering Boy came the valiant Water-Knight. 



Now a sea-horse passed them, wild with fear, his white raane streaming back; 
And now a bevy of little fish, with their eyes agog, in his track: 
Then a murmurous music drifted by, like the song of a shore-boimd shell, 
And a group of little sea-maids fled past, waving a white farewell. 

On the verge of the lower seas they stood ; and before they plunged below, 

Kay kindled the silver lamp he bore, which burned with a steady glow. 

Far up through the watery dark they gaied, then dived through the deep once mor 

Till they came to a long gray shape of dread that lay on the ocean floor. 

"Now challenge him fair!" cried the Water-Knight, "as an Englishman must do. 
No knight may creep on his foe by stealth who would keep his honor true." 
"Come out I" cried the Boy. "We are Englishmen!" They stooti as a shining m 
The answer came with a hissing sound — a bolt, shot out of the dark. 

"My fay I" cried the Knight, in sudden wrath. "Now hold up the lantern high. 
Since this is the only tongue he speaks, we will make him a like reply." 
Swiftly he hurled his faery lance, and leaped to the monster's side; 
While the Boy held the silver lantern high, and the light spread fair and wide. 

The bolts shot out, and the bright steel flashed, and ever its aim was true : 
But harmless it glanced from the dragon's side, ere back to the Knight It flew. 
"Is he proof against faery steel?" asked Kay, as his strength was overborne. 
The faery lamp gave a sudden Hare and flashed on the dragon's horn — 

The single, towering magical horn that grew on the monster's brow. 

Straight to that mark the lance went true, ahd the dr^on was vanquished now : 

A dumb and sightless and coward thing, he rolled on the ocean bed, 

While swift through the seas, from rock to cave, the wonderful tidings spread. 

The sea-folk builded their walls again to the music of singing strings ; 
While, thronging along the ocean paths, danced jubilant, finny things. 
The mer-children played by the dragon's side, and wove him a seaweed crown. 
As he lay, a helpless and harmless thing, where the tides march up and down. 




Author of "On the Battlcfront of Engineering," "Inventions of the Great War," etc. 

In the last issue of St. Nicholas we outlined 
a plan for an entire village of small houses — 
not doll-houses, but buildings made of large 
packing-boxes, large enough for the builders 
and citizens of Packing-box Village. The first 
work, after laying out the village, was to build 
a barn, which could be used as a general con- 
struction headquarters and storehouse for tools 
and materials. Although not a very interest- 
ing building, the barn was a good piece of 
work to begin with, because it did not have to 
be as neatly finished as a cottage, and mistakes 
made in constructing it did not matter much, 
while the experience afforded in erecting it 
will help us in constructing the rest of the 
buildings. Now we are going to build one of 
the cottages, and we shall have to be very care- 
ful to make a neat job of it. 


Before we go any farther we should equip 
ourselves with a couple of devices which are 
indispensable to carpenters, namely, a level 
and a miter-box, and of the two we ought to 
make the miter-box first, because we shall need 
it in makir.T^ the level. The construction of 
the. miter-box is shown very clearly in Figs. 
I and 2. It consists of an open trough i8" 
long, made of i" stuff. The bottom board 
should be 8" wide and the side boards 6" 
high. After the trough has been made we 
must lay out two diagonal lines at an angle of 
45°, as well as one line at the center of the box 
at right angles to its length. To do this we 
must first draw a line across the top of the box 
at the center, as indicated at A-A, Fig. 2, and 
this should be extended down the side boards, 
both inside and out. It would be best to bor- 
row a carpenter's square in order to be sure to 
get these lines at right angles to the box Then, 
very carefully, we must saw down through the 
sides of the box along these lines to the bot- 
tQTP board of the miter-box. This done, lines 

should be drawn on the outside of each side 
board 5" from this center cut, and diagonal 
lines should be drawn across the upper edges 
of the side boards connecting these lines, as 
shown at B-B and C-C. These lines will be 
inclined at an angle of exactly 45* if our 
measurements have been correct. After hav- 
ing drawn pur lines, we may proceed to make 
the two diagonal cuts with the saw. It will 
help us to keep our saw at the proper angle 
if we tack guide-strips to the box, as shown 
in Fig. 3. Of course, these strips are to be 
removed after the cuts have been made. 


An ordinary spirit-level may be picked up for 
a few cents in a hardware store, but boys who 
like to do things will prefer making their own 
level. As a spirit-level is not very readily 
made, we had better resort to the old-fashioned 
carpenter's level, shown in Fig. 4. First we 
must find a straight piece of wood about 2^^" 
wide and 24" long; this may be of K" stuff, 
or even narrower. One face of this stick, 
which is to form the bottom of the level, should 
be planed perfectly true. Next we shall re- 
quire two strips 12" long and iVz" wide, which 
must have their ends cut at an angle of 45** in 
our miter-box. In order to have both sticks 
of exactly the same length, they should both 
be placed in the miter-box, one on top of the 
other, and the saw cut made through the two 
together. Assemble the pieces as shown in 
the drawing. The strips should be glued to- 
gether, and to the bottom piece, and also 
nailed fast with long brads. A double-point 
carpet-tack should be driven into the two 
sticks at the top of the level, and to this a 
cord should be tied, with a weight at the 
lower end. For the weight, or plumb-bob, 
we may use a sinker, or, if that is not to 
be had, a stone will do. Next we must 
make a mark on the bottom 5tick which 




will register with the plumb-line when this 
stick is in level position. To find the right 
place for this mark, we may set the level on a 
couple of blocks, as shown in the drawing, 
and mark lightly the position of the plumb- 
line. Then the level may be turned around 
and the position of the plumb-line noted again. 
If the two blocks are not on absolutely the 
same level, we shall 
have two lines marked 
on the bottom stick, 
and the true level line 
will then be just half- 
way between the two 
lines. This should be 
scored with a knife, so 
that tt may not easily 
be obliterated. 


Now we are ready for 
work on the cottage. 
We shall suppose that 
we have obtained two 
boxes of the same size, 
and that these boxes 
measure ^-6" in height 
and width and 3'-6" in 
depth. Boxes arc usu- 
ally made with a 
framed end, to which 
the side boards are 
nailed- It will be an 
advantage to have the 
walls of our house 
built with vertical 
boards, and so we had 
better set the boxes on 
end. The upper framed 
ends should be Mken 
out, leaving the boxes 
open to the roof, so as 
to furnish more head 


To avoid damp floors, 

it will be well to raise 

the boxes off the 

ground. If we can fina eight stout boxes, 

measuring about a foot each way, they will 

make excellent foundation posts. Pig. 5 

shows 3 plan view of owr cottage. It will 

be noted that we are going to have a front 
porch 3'-6* wide, and the foundation posts arc 
shown by dotted lines at the corners of the 
porch and of each box. After the house has 
been completed, the space between the boxes 
can be filled in with rough stone walls, made 
by wedging in stones without any mortar to 
hold them in place. This is what is known as 



■'dry masonry." If boxes are not to be had, 
maybe we can find three sticks of wood mea- 
suring a" by 4" in section and io*-6" long. 
These can be laid on edge the full length of 




the foundation, one at each side of the house 
and one in the center, and they should be care- 
fully wedged in with the stones so that they 
will have an even bearing throughout. If 
2x4 timbers cannot be obtained, maybe we 
can get hold of a few bricks to raise the house 
off the ground. At any rate, something should 
be done to provide an air space under the 
floors. Care must be taken to have the founda- 
tions level. Here is where the carpenter's level 
will have to be used. If boxes or bricks are 
used as foundation posts, set a board on edge 
on the posts and use the level on the edge of 
the board to see whether the boxes are level. 


After the foundations have been prepared, and 
before placing the two boxes on them, we must 
cut the two doorways in the forward box, as 
shown in the plan view, and we must also re- 
move one of the 4'-6'' sides of the second box, 
because it will not be necessary to have a 
double wall between the two rooms. The door- 
ways of the house should be at least 20" wide, 
and, if the boxes are large enough, it would be 
well to make the front door 24" wide. After 
the upper end-pieces have been removed from 
the boxes, the boards of the side walls will be 
left without support at their upper ends, and 
it will be well to nail them to frame strips two 
or three inches wide, as indicated in Fig. 6. 
These will also serve as the lintels where they 
cross the door openings, and, as the doors will 
open inward, the frame-piece at the front of 
the house should be nailed to the outside of the 
box, while the rest are nailed to the inside of 
the two boxes. 

We are now ready to place the two boxes 
on their fpundations, and the joint between 
them should be closed with a cover-strip about 
3" wide. Before working on the roof of the 
cottage we may as well make our doors and 
windows. The doors may be made out of the 
boards removed from the doorways. The 
boards are held together by a couple of bat- 
tens, in the same way that the bam door was 
made. For the jamb we should use a 2'* strip 
lapping over the doorway about 54" for the 
door to close against. At the front door we 
shall need a similar strip (A, Fig. 6) on the 
other side to complete the doorway. There 
should also be a sill at the bottom of the door- 
way, which, however, should not be placed 
until the porch floor has been laid. A couple 
of cheap hinges may be used to hang each 

door, but do not hang the front door until the 
sill is in place. 

For our windows we shall find it most con- 
venient to use sliding sashes that move side- 
wise instead of up and down. The six win- 
dow openings may be made as were those of 
the bam. They should be 16" wide and 20" 
high. Before the openings are cut out, frame- 
pieces 2" wide are nailed across the top and 
bottom, extending two inches beyond the line 
of the window opening at each side. After the 
opening has been sawed out, a sill 2^" wide is 
nailed on, and the window-frame is completed 
by adding two side-pieces, Fig. 7. The sill is 
notched as shown in Fig. 8 to fit into the 
window opening. 

The form of the window-sash will depend 
upon the material we have to glaze our win- 
dows. It may be of glass, celluloid, cloth, or 
oiled paper. In any case, we must first make 
a frame of H" stuff, i54" wide. The sash 
should measure i8"x22'' outside. It should 
be mitered at the corners, as shown in Fig. 9. 
and the pieces should be fastened together with 
glue and nails. If we are to have a glass win- 
dow, we shall have to nail i" strips around the 
four sides of the sash, leaving a frame for the 
glass to rest in. The glass is temporarily 
held in place by brads, or by triangular little 
snips of tin which may be obtained from any 
glazier, and then it is firmly secured by 
means of putty. A sectional view of the win- 
dow-sash is shown in Fig. 10. As a sheet of 
glass 16" X 20" is not readily to be found, and 
costs something to buv, we may find it advis- 
able to divide our sash in two by means of a 
crosspiece at the center, as shown. If we use 
any material other than glass for our windows, 
it may be held down by nailing the i" strips 
over it. Guides for the sash to slide in may 
be made of a couple of rails, A, A, Fig. 7, and 
a couple of overlapping strips, Bfi, 


The roof of the cottage may be made exactly 
as was the roof of the barn. We shall need 
three gables, one at each end and one in the 
middle. For the middle one we had better 
use a double set of rafters, so as to provide 
a broad surface for joining the roof boards 
if they are not long enough to extend the full 
length of the roof. Now that we have a miter- 
box, we can cut the rafters at the top so that 
they will fit accurately, provided the roof has 
a slant of 45". The rafters should be about f 





wide, which means that they should have a 
length of 4'-6", so as to provide an overhang of 
a foot at the eaves. Our barn-roof was made 
without any very careful attention to water 
tightness. This will not do for the cottages. 
The roof boards may be lapped, as shown in 
Fig. [I, or we may leave them flat, as in the 
barn roof, and cover them with tar-paper. An- 
nther alternative is to shingle the roof. Maybe 
we can pick up a lot of old shingles from some 
house which is having its roof renovated; or if 
we have a large number 
of peach -baskets, we 
can use the thin slabs 
in the baskets for 
shingles. Fig. !2 shows 
how they should be 
laid, each course break- 
ing joints with the 
course of shingles it 

For the chimney of 
the house we may use 
a small box with two 
broad notches cut in it. 
as shown in Fig. 13, so 
ihat it will fit over the 
neak of the roof. If 
the roof is shingled, 
the chimney should be 
nailed fast to the roof 
before the shingles are 

Before placing the 
roof on the two boxes 
we should cut a win- 
dow in the front gable, 
and it produces a bet- 
ifr effect if we shingle 
the gable. It will add 
still further to the ap- 
pearance of the house 
if the comers of these 
shingles are cut as in- 
dicated in Fig. 14. 

of our porch. We shall need three posts or col- 
umns to carry the porch roof. These should be 
at least 2" square and preferably larger. If 
we have no wood of this size, we can build 
up each post out of a couple of i" strips 
nailed together. These posts wit! have to 
be toe-nailed to the floor of the porch ; that 
is, they must be fastened by means of nails 
driven in at an angle through the sides of the 
posts and into the floor. At the top they are 
fastened to a frame, as indicated in Fig. 15, 



Amoi the roof has 
Itwn placed on the 
bouse we may proceed 
*ith the construction 
of the porch. One of 
*« box ends may be 
"Kd to fonn the floor 




which consists of a ^ strip in front and two 
side pieces that taper from a width of 5" at 
the face of the house to 2" at the front of the 
porch. On this frame are nailed the roof 
boards of the porch. These ought to have an 
overhang of three or four inches all around, 
and they will have to be cut away near the 
house to clear the eaves of the main roof. 


The construction of the balustrade around the 
porch is shown in Figs. 16 and 17. The dis- 
tance between posts should be just two feet. 
For the balusters we shall need a lot of i" 
pieces of wood A. They should be 24" long. 

(Jo he 

At the top and bottom they are fitted between 
strips B, B, and C, C, to which they are nailed 
fast. Space the balusters evenly, and the best 
way of doing this is to fit a measuring-block 
between each pair before nailing the baluster 
in place. A fancier balustrade may be made by 
alternating the pieces A with boards D, D, 
about 3" wide, as shown in Fig. 17. The top 
and bottom strips, B, B, C, C, must be two 
feet long to fit between the posts. The balus- 
trade is fastened to the posts by first nailing 
blocks £, E, to the posts and then nailing the 
strips B and C to these blocks. A rail, F, is 
then nailed on. Nail down a piece of wood 
about 2>^" wide for the sill of the door. The 
door is then hung on its hinges. 





It seems a long time ago now, but once upon 
a rather exciting time and at a very important 
point, — right in front of the Hindenburg Line, 
— Lieutenant Sterns, of the I02d Engineers, 
ordered a bowstring span made. So an engi- 
ner sergeant took a squad or two and built 
one. He told me about it. 

Usually, when our boys had to build things 
in a hurry at the front, they did n*t have nice- 
ly cut and planed timber waiting for them. 
They had to take anything they could get, 
from telegraph poles to remains of sheds, and 
out of this make whatever was required of 
them. And they did it! 

But this engineer sergeant was lucky. He 
found a lot of cut lumber, — ^just the stuff for 
this kind of span, — and in a short time he and 
his men had it put together and thrown across 
the canal. It was a thirty-foot span. And for 
the "bowstrings" he used stuff something like 
our 2-by-4 lumber, only this was mere like 2-by- 
6. It was a very good bridge and very strong, 
as spans of this kind are when well made. 

The sergeant showed me the sketches he 
prepared for it. In fact, he gave them to me, 
and I showed them to some young men like 
yourself — fellows averaging about fifteen or 
sixteen years old. And so they thought they 
would try their hands at it. They got hold of 
some 2-by-4 stuff. This, as you doubtless 
know, is lumber 4 inches wid«, z inQh^S thick. 

and coming in pieces from 12 to 24 feet in 
length. The boys found some about 18 feet 
long, and so decided on a 16- foot span. 

Now you will see in the photographs that 
there are two curves in a bowstring span, an 
upper and a lower one. They are both the 
same size. If you are to have a 16- foot span, 
then, to find the curve, you will need a cord 
twice that length, or 32 feet. In other words, 
for a bowstring span, to find the proper curve 
of the main timbers, you will need to make on 
the ground a circle whose radius is twice the 
span. So if you have a 10- foot span, there 
must be 20 feet from the center of the circle 
to its circumference. If this sounds like too 
much mathematics, ask your brothers or sis- 
ters who are studying geometry to explain. 


All right. For a 16-foot span, our boys took 
a 32-foot cord. One end they tied to a stake 
in the ground, and with the other end, holding 
the cord tight, they made a circle, driving in 
p stronjr stake every couple of feet 

■ 1919.J 



When they had gone about eighteen feet 
this way, they took a cord i6 feet long, — the 
length of their span, you know, — and with this 
cut off a part of the circle they had been mak- 

they would f«11ow the lines of the curves and 
meet at both ends. So the boys pushed with al) 
their might upon two- timbers of proper length, 
and bent them ri^t along the lines of the tw« 

iiig, holding this cord straiglit. (Fig. i gives 
the idea.) Then they moved the stake that 
had been used as the center of the first circle, 
and drove it into the ground at a new place 
on a straight line with its former position, the 
line passing through the center of the i6-foot 

FAN (16 FOOT) courixrt 

curves. Then, when the ends were brought 
together, a piece of board was nailed to them 
to hold them in position. This was done at 
both ends. These two timbers now presented 
the upper and lower curve of one side of a 
bowstring span. Then, to hold ihem in posi- 
tion, they nailed between the two curved tim- 
bers uprights made of boards about 6 inches 
wide and an inch thick. There were three of 
these uprights, one in the middle, and one 
each side of the middle, about half-way be- 
tween that and the end. To these uprights 

cord and the new place as far from this center 
as the former place was. From this new place 
another curve was drawn, connected with the 
first curve at both ends, and along this curve 
stakes were likewise driven as before. This 
gives us now two curves marked out by stakes, 
and meeting each other at each end of a 16- 
foot line. 

Now for the fun. The problem was to bend 
the 3-by-4 timbers around those stakes so that 

they then nailed another 6-inch-wide board, 
running from one end of the construction to 



the other, thus occupying the middle of what 
would be one side of the bridge. Upon this 
piece the floor supports were to be nailed. 

ter idea of how it looked than I possibly could 

And, by the way, I should have told you that 
before they began this job, they made — or 
rather one young expert did — a Uttle model, 
three feet long, of the bridge they expected 
to construct. And this is wise, for it enables 
one to see the principle of the thing before it 
is attempted. 

Well, this bridge they made from that little 
model was so strong and presentable that our 
fifteen-sixtecn-year group decided to make one 
equal in size to that big Hindenburg-Iineonc, 
and even "to go that one a little better" by 
making it of iintrimmed stuff, cut in the woods. 

Finally, ihcy nailed on two diagonals, as 
shown in the photograph; and lifted that side 
up from the stakes and put it aside for a little 
while. Then they constructed a second side 
in the same way. Standing this one up on its 
side, they brought the one previously com- 
pleted and stood it parallel lo the second one, 
four feet from it and so turned that the two 
floor-support boards were en the inside. 

Now they nailed pieces across from the top 
of one floor support to the other and about a 
foot apart. This done, they had a scries of ■ 
boards reaching from one s!de to tlic other, 
all on the same level, and on these they 
nailed two 12-inch-wide boards side by side 
for the foot-path. 

AnJ tliat virtually completed the 16-foot 
'jridgc. Its young builders picked it up bodily, 
getting a lot of otbcr boys to help, and put it 
in position. The photograph of it gives a bet- 

instead of standard limbers all cut and planed ! 
So they made a 30-foot span and used rough 
timber for all but the floor-boards. The curved 
sides were made of red maple, and I assure 
you it took quite a crowd of fellows and the 


help of a rope slung around the ends to get made, the two were connected with rough tim- 
these great timbers to bend and come to- bers running across from the middle of the 
gether. But they managed it. And when the uprights on one side to the middle of the cor- 

ends were somehow forced to meet, they were responding ones on the other side. There were 

instantly fastened by means of wire binding, no ftoor-support boards. In this case, to which 

The uprights were made of arbor-vitas and to nail them. The photographs show these 

also of red maple, only, with this long span, cross-pieces clearly, and on these the floor was 

instead of having three uprights, there were laid. Besides these cross-pieces upon which 

nine, with proper diagonals between them, the floor was to rest, they made some diagonal 

When the first side was completed and stood bracing between the two sides and below the 
up, the boys felt proud of themselves. It was floor supports to keep the heavy sides from 
"tonif job," as they declared. The second side bending inward or outward. These can be 


seen clearly in the photograph of the finished 
bridge. All this being done, they called all 
their friends and by main strength carried this 
three-ton bridge down to the water's-edge. 

Now this was to be the end span of a diving 
pier, the depth of water being about eight 
feet. It was to rest upon two piers, each made 
with tour corner legs, slanting in, and strongly 
braced with boards nailed "crisscross." On 
the tops of the posts, from one to another, 
were pieces of 2-by-4 stuff for the bridge to 
rest on. It was quite a task to place these 
heavy supports in the water, in the proper 
place, because, when it cameto placing the one 
farthest out, the water was well over the heads 
of the boys. This was accomplished handily, 
however, and rocks were piled on top to keep 
them down until the weight of the span would 
come into play. Then the crowd, in swim- 
ming-tights, lifted the span into the water, 
where the far end floated, though the shore 
end reached the bottom. Now to get it on top 
of the outer support. For this a kind of hoist- 
ing apparatus called "sheers" was made. Two 
long and strong poles were procured, and their 
tops wired together. To these were fastened 
a strong chain and also a long, strong wire. 
These poles were stood up in the water, strad- 

ports. All being ready, the twenty lads gave 
one strong puH, and up came the far end of 
tha span. When it was high enough, it took 
only a strong shove in the rear to push it up 
on the outward support. This being done, 
the impromptu derrick was removed, and the 
boys — all of them — standing in the water, 
lifted the shore end of their span on to ttie 
shoreward support. 

This done, they put down a floor. First 2- 
hy-4 timbers were stretched along the floor 
supports of the span, about zVi feet apart. 
Short boards were nailed across from one 
2-by-4 to the other, and on these was laid the 
footway — pairs of 12-ineh boards placed side 
by side. And when it was done, — -a very beau- 
tiful span indeed, and remarkably strong, — the 
juvenile builders thought they had "gone the 
Hindenburg Line one better," as they put it, 
only there were no whiz-bangs or machine- 
gtms to make it almost too exciting. 

Here 's the important point for you. The 
bowstring span is a very beautiful one; it is 
also very strong and is considered hard to 
make: but our fifteen- and sixteen-year lads- 
all six of them — showed what boys of that age 
can do. Perhaps you might like to take a hand 
at it yourself- 

dling the span and leaning outward toward 
the deep end. The long wire, passed over a 
crotch of a handy tree, was fastened to a rope, 
and twenty fellows grabbed that rope. The 
poles were now let slowly down till they leaned 
low over the far end of the span, and then the 
chain was made fast to some of the floor sup- 


This is an easy kind of foot-bridge to make, 
and very strong, too — much stronger than you 
would think it to be when you see it. Why, I 
knew some youngsters who built a few spans 
of this kind of bridge in model size — oh, 


quite small — just to get the "hangf' of it. And 
even these little models were so strong that 
"quite big fellows" could stand on them. 

It is usually a good plan to build a small 
model, first, of anything you want to make. 
It gives you the structural idea so well, 

I saw some long and fairly high "X" bridges 
"over there," and there was not one that could 
not have been built 1^ fellows of your age. 

Here 's the way to make one. 

First of all, study the place that your bridge 
is going to span. The supports will be about 
six feet apart, and you must know just how 
high each will have to be from the bottom to 
the bridge floor. 

Each support of this bridge looks like a let- 
ler X. Only when you 
have the two poles for 
your X and have them 
bound tightly together 
in the middle by wire 
or rope, or have them 
securely bolted or 
spiked, then you bind 
or spike a cross-piece 

of the X at the distance 
from the bottom of it 
ihat the floor of your 
bridge is to be above 
the bottom of the 
stream. You can usu- 
ally guess how long 
the two poles must be 
so that, when they are 
crossed and stood up. 
the cross-bar fastened 
to the upper arms will 
be at the right height. 

Each support then will look like a letter X, 
with a bar across the top. Also, you should 
have a vertical bar, fastened to the upper and 
'ower arms of one side, at their ends, and 
standing three feet higher than the X, so that. 
when the X is stood upright, this vertical 
Diece will come about three feet above the 
floor and at one side of it; then, by placing 
ropes from the vertical pole of one X to the 
next, you get a kind of hand-rail that will add 
to the security of those who may use the 

So, finally, each support is an X, with a bar 
across the top. and a vertical pole fastened at 
ihe side — and always on the same side. 

When you have your supports all made, 
place die first one six feet from the bank, and 

run boards or some other kind of footway from 
the shore out to the cross-bar and nail them 
to the bar, making the floor of your bridge. 
The other end of this floor is fastened to 
stakes driven deep into the ground. If the 
bridge is to be a short one, these shore anchors 
will keep the bridge from slipping forward or 
backward. If it is a long bridge, — say of 25 
feet or more, — then you will need special 
cross-braces to prevent such a slipping. These 
you will obtain by fastening poles from the 
bottom of one X to the floor support of the 
next, and continuing this right across. 

Your floors can be made of simple boards 
nailed to the cross-bars. But a better floor is 
made with "duck-hoards." We have already 

described a duck-board, though not by name. 
You make these by placing two 2-by-4 pieces 
parallel to each other, and, say, 28 inches 
apart. Nail strips of wood from one to the 
other — 4- or 6-inch stuff — and on these latter 
you nail your two parallel floor-boards, turn- 
ing the whole duck-board over when finished, 
and "clenching" the nails underneath. 

Perhaps sometime I can tell you the story 
of a bridge made with two duck-boards and 
one support in the middle of the stream, all 
put together while a German machine-gun 
"pul-pui-puUcd" with all its might, and a big. 
dignified British tank waddled up and sat 
down, a little way up-stream, and, while pre- 
paring to get across itself, cheered on the 
"Yanks" and their duck-board contraption. 



Wki.i., tliis kind of foot-bridge has a imiuUcr ol 
supports, the number depending on the dis- 
tance the bridge has to cover, the supports be- 
ing, on an average, about six feet apart. And 
each support is a "tripod." . Only two of its 
legs are on the ground, however, for the third 
one slants back and joins the support immedi- 
ately back of it at the height of the bridge 
floor. Here 's the way to build one of the 

Find, or estimate, how deep the water is 
where the bridge is to stand, allow for the 
floor to be at least a foot or two higher than 
the water, add about nine feet to that, and 
you get the length of the two poles that stand 
on the bottom. The pole that slants back to 
the next support does not have to be of any 
special length, provided only that it is long 
enough to reach the next tripod on a level 
with the bridge floor. 

When you have your three poles, fasten the 
small ends of them together. This can be 
done with wire or with strong rope. The boys 
I mentioned did it with wire an eighth of an 
inch thick. I know one group that used wire 
a quarter of an inch thick, though it takes a 
lot of strength and skill to bend this tightly. 

Fasten these ends together strongly and so 
that the wire will not slip. 

Let us suppose, now. that you are beginning 
such a bridge, and that you have made the 
first tripod, which is to stand, say, six feet out 

from the shore. Push the two long legs of the 
tripod out from the shore and along the bot- 
tom until they are the proper distance out ; 
then, by pushing on the remaining pole, stand 
the tripod upright. (That is, the two long 
poles must be upright. The third pole will 
then rest on the bank. At that spot drive in a 
strong stake, and bind the slanting pole to it.) 
Upon what are you going to rest the floor? 
Well, remember that your floor is supposed to 
be at least a foot higher than the water. Of 
course, if you are starting from a high bank, 
you will need your floor that much higher. 
Well, before placing your tripod, you should 
have bound or nailed to the two upright legs 
a cross-beam of some strong, rough stufT at 
just the height from the lower ends of the two 
long legs that you will want the floor to be. 
Your first tripod in place, on a level with 
the bank is this cross-bar. So you stretch a 
strong board or two from the shore to that 
bar and bind or nail the boards to the bar. A 
stronger platform can be made by placing two 
2-by-4 pieces from shore to cross-bar, then, 
after nailing cross-pieces from one of the 
lengths to the other at frequent interval.^, 
finally nail your boards to these cross-pieces. 
However you do it, when you first tripod 
is standing and has a platform connecting it 
with the shore, you place your second tri- 
pod by pushing its 
longest legs out ahea<l 
until they rest on the 
bottom the proper dis- 
tance out, and then you 
stand this one up 
straight, as you did the 
previous one, by push- 
ing on the third and 
shorter pole. You see. 
this pole must be bound 
to the other two strong- 
ly, and yet sufficiently 
loose to permit being 
slanted backward. The 
second tripod standing 
straight, the short pole 
is then fastened to an 
end of the cross-bar 
of the first tripod. Then 
ucK-noABO FLooK (the second tripod hav- 

ing its cross-bar al- 
ready nailed or bound on at the proper height 
above the water) you can continue your plat- 
form out lo it. By adding tripod after tripod, 
you can cross a wide or rapid stream, and you 
will have a very strong bridge. 



Fairy Rose-leaf was tired out — so tired that 
she had to drink two buttercups full of clear, 
pure dew before she had strength enough to 
decide what would be the best way to help lit- 
tle Jane. 

"I love Janey," said Fairy Rose-leaf. "She 
is so pretty and she really has a good heart; 
but she is very careless. Every time that she 
takes a walk into the woods, she thoughtlessly 
hurts some of my dearest friends. I think that 
a visit to the Queen of the Fairies to-night 
would be the best thing in the world for her." 

A great, shiny, golden ball came out of the 
sea as Fairy Rose-leaf jumped from the toad- 
stool where she had been sitting and flew away 
to Janey's home. 

Everybody in the house was in bed asleep, 
and the door of Janey's room was closed. But 
Fairy Rose-le4-' made herself very thin, and 
crept through the keyhole. 

Janey was sleeping soundly, and, oh, how 
Hear and lovable she looked in her little night- 
dress ! One small hand lay outside on the 
counterpane, and Fairy Rose-leaf kissed it 
betore she took hold of it. 

"Come, Janey," she said, "the moonbeams 
are waiting to carry us to the Queen of the 
Fairies, who is holding court to-night just for 

"Oh, goody! goody!" cried little Jane as 
Jie slipped her fingers into Fairy Rose-leaf's 
hand; and away they went to the forest. 

When the Queen of the Fairies saw the 
shiny path of the moonbeams draw near, she 
arose, and stepped from her pearly throne. 

Smiling, she said in a soft, sweet voice: 

"Janey dear, I am so glad to know you ! It 
was good of Fairy Rose-leaf to bring you to 
see me. Come, sit beside me on the throne : 
for I want to tell you some of the things I 
see as I fly about my great green forest. And. 
Janey dear, if you will tell your playmates 
about these things, I will make you my official 
messenger to the real children." 

"Oh. I shall be glad to tell them. Your Maj- 
esty !" replied Janey, very much delighted. 

"That is kind of you," answered the tjueen. 
"Now 1 shall tell you about to-day. 

"As I was passing by a wild-blackberry bush 
this morning, I saw a gorgeous orange-and- 
brown butterfly fluttering helplessly on the 
ground. It was so pretty; but, Janey dear, the 
poor creature had a sad, lonely look in its eyes. 

" 'What is the matter, butterfly?' I asked. 

" 'Oh,' said the butterfly, in a trembling 
voice, 'I was visiting a wild rose, a httle while 
ago, when a real child came from behind and 
roughly seized me with its hand. I tried hard 
to get free, and at last succeeded; but in 
doing 90 I broke one of my wings. Never 
again shall 1 fly from pretty flower to pretty 
flower, gathering honey ! Now I must be a 
cripple for the rest of my life.' 

"I had gone only a little farther when I met 


some flaming-red wood-lilies and some beau- 
tiful Black-eyed Susans. They were wilting 
and dying in the hot sun. The poor flowers, 
Jancy dear, had been thoughtlessly torn up by 
their very roots, and then thrown aside. Now 
they would never be able to grow again ! 

"Still farther along I met a bird whose back 
was as blue as the sky and whose breast was 
as brown as the earth. He was not singing 
merrily, as he should have been. 

" 'What is the trouble, bluebird ?' I asked. 

"'Oh,' said the bluebird, 'it is the real chil- 
dren again ! I was singing a song to the ferns 
and mosses a few minutes ago, when I heard a 
real child say: 'There 's a lovely bluebird! Let 
us catch him for Mother !' 

"'I spread my wings just in time and flew 
to the highest branch of the willow-tree, where 

I was safe. But I 'm still all of a tremble. 
Dear Queen, why is it that real children 
want to catch everything with their hands? 
Don't they know that beautiful pictures of 
bees, butterflies, and flowers can be caught with 
their bright eyes; that wonderful songs and 
sounds of birds and insects can be caught with 
their listening cars; and that the feeling that 
it is good to be alive and moving can be 
caught with their happy hearts" " 

Just then the faint tin- 
kle of fairy blue-bells 
sounded. "I can tell you 
no mpre to-night. Janey 
dear," said the queen, "for 
it is time for the dance. 
Come, you shall be our 
guest of honor !" 

In less than a second, 
hundreds of fairies, with 
long golden hair and 
beautiful dresses of rain- 
bow colors, came flitting 
and tripping from every: 
where. They ran among 
the blades of grass and 
skipped from one flower 
to the other until their 
beloved queen came forth, 
leading little Jane by the 

Then all was still. 
"Beloved fairies," said 
the queen, sweetly, "1 have 
lold dear Janey how she 
can bring happiness to our 
friends and^to us, and she 
is going to tell her play- 
mates: so let us make her 
our ofRcial messenger to 
the real children." 

"Lovely ! lovely t" cried 
the fairies as they bowed 
to Janey and clapped their 
fairy hands together. 

Fairy Rose-leaf," con- 
tinued the queen, "be- 
cause you have brought 
Janey dear to us. I will ask you to present her 
with the messenger's crown of honor." 

Fairy Rose-leaf came forward. Gently she 
placed a crewn of sweet-smelling honeysuckle, 
wet with sparkling dew, on Jane's curly head, 
and immediately the fairy orchestra began to 
play, and joining hands, the fairies formed a 
ring about her. Tripping lightly on the tips 


of their tiny toes, they danced around and 
around, faster and faster and faster over the 
soft green grass. 

Sudderily a slender streak appeared in the 
east! The fairy ring broke: and little Jane 
fell down on a four-leaf clover! 

"Ha-ha-ha-ha!" laiighed she. 

And there she was in her own little bed at 
home, while just outside of the window, in the 
warm sunshine, a merry lilile bird was singing 
her a glad good-morning song! 

Janey caught the delightful song with her 

listening ears, but had no desire whatever to 
catch the light-hearted songster with her 
hands. As her mother came into the room 
to waken her, she cried out excitedly : 

"Mother, I have just come back from visit- 
ing the fairies, and they have made me their 
'ficial messenger to the real children!" 

Her mother smiled and looked somewhat 
doubtful; but after breakfast, when she heard 
Jauey telling her playmates how they could 
make the dear fairies and the fairies' friends 
happy, she knew that it was so. 


St. Nicholas boys and girls will have an opportunity this month to do a great public service. 
At the American Booksellers' Convention in Boston last May, it was resolved that a week 
should be set aside in the autumn and devoted to the display of children's books, with the slo- 
gan, "More books in the home !" And at the American Library Association's Convention at As- 
bury Park in June, the children's section passed a resolution heartily supporting this movement. 

The time selected for this noteworthy enterprise was the week beginning Monday, Novem- 
ber 10, and ending with Saturday, November 15. The campaign has been so thoroughly 
planned and organized that the earnest workers for "more books in the home" may expect 
to receive during these six days the utmost assistance and cooperation from their local news- 
papers, clergymen, and Boy Scout leaders. Indeed, it is hoped that all the public-spirited 
men, women, and young folk in every community will then concentrate their time and atten- 
tion upon the one object of bringing children's books, and the subject of good reading, to the 
attention of boys and girls and their parents. To this end, morever, the book-stores of the 
country will be given over during the week to exhibitions of children's books and talks by 
friends of the cause; while librarians will enlist all in assuring every child a library card. 

Meanwhile, St. Nicholas, like other monthly magazines, gladly does its part by calling 
the attention of its readers in advance to this great project, and urging them, one and all. 
to do their utmost in aid of the Children's Book-Week. The magazine also requested Miss 
Annie Carrol Moore to contribute an article upon the subject, which we heartily commend to 
old and young. The whole household is deeply interested in this movement, for "more books 
in the home" means not only entertainment for the passing hour, but a great impetus toward 
establishing the life-long happiness of a love of books and the habit of reading. This is a not- 
able and a national campaign, and we appeal to St. Nicholas boys and girls to visit the book- 
stores with their parents and friends during Children's Book-Week, as suggested by our cover- 
design this month, and to strive to swell the success of the great, concerted drive for "More 
books in the home." — Editor. 



Supervisor of Work with Children, New York Public Library. 

In the Children's Room of the great library 
which stands at the corner of Fifth Avenue 
and Forty-second Street in New York City, 
you will find a fat little volume bound in faded 
red and gold, bearing on the fly-leaf this in- 
inscription : 

The book is accounted one of the chief treas- 
ures of this children's library, not because of 
the authorship, although the writer, Samuel G. 
Goodrich, was well known in his day for his 

tales from history and travel; nor yet for its 
contents, "Peter Parley's Tales about Europe, 
Asia, Africa, and America," which may 
amuse, but have long ceased to charm or in- 
form the boy and girl readers: the Httle book 
is valued because it held a place in a library 
made long ago in Scotland by the boy who was 
to write "Treasure Island," "Kidnapped," and 
"The Child's Garden of Verses." 

With some books there remain associations 
of time and place and of other books, as well 
as of the personalities of their readers; the 
Stevenson "Peter Parley" is such a book. It 
belonged to Robert Louis Stevenson from his 
sixth birthday, and many of its illustrations 
are crudely colored bv his childish hand. It 
stood on the same shelf with his copy of "Rob- 
inson Crusoe," and we know it was one of the 




books he carried to the South Sea Islands, for 
on the end-paper is pasted this label- 

From the Library of Robert Louis Stevenson 

At Vailima. 

When the Stevenson library of books and 
manuscripts was sold, his copy of "Peter Par- 
ley's Tales" passed into the library of the chil- 
dren of New York. It seems to us, especially 
on his birthday, as if he might have placed it 
there himself as a perpetual reminder that 
books loved in childhood should go with us in 
our pilgrimage through the world. 

How often these books, or stories out of 
them, are carried only in half-memories. 
"Have you ever come upon a story called 
'William, the Woodcutter'?" asked a British 
naval commander visiting our children's li- 
brary just after the signing of the Armistice. 
"It is a story of wolves that I remember read- 
ing with great delight when a lad, but I 've 
never been able to find it since I grew up. I 
would give anything to read it now." Rarely 
do we meet the man or woman who has kept 
intact the books of childhood and youth and 
given them their place in a library of mature 
years. If we hold it true that "authors are to 
their readers little new worlds to be explored," 
how interesting it becomes to look back over 
the books we read and re-read and associate 
with our earliest birthday and Christmas recol- 
lections I 

"The Christmas Tree," of Dickens, David 
CopperHeld "reading for dear life," Jo March 
crying over the "Heir of Redclyffe" in a Con- 
cord garret, bring back memories of books to 
all of us. But what of the books themselves — 
those books which delighted us from the time 
we discovered that pictures could tell stories? 
Where are they and what were they? 

At a primitive mountain inn far up in the 
land of the Frost Giants we found, in the 
summer of 1912, a copy of "Little Lord Faunt- 
leroy" in the Norwegian language. On the fly- 
leaf was the name of the proprietor, the only 
^glish-speaking person in the place. His boy- 
hood had been spent in Minnesota, and he had 
read the story there in English. Coming in one 
day from a long tramp over the snow-fields, 
we picked up the book, and, as we began to 
read, sitting in the glow of that glorious sun- 
shine, we seemed to be holding a much larger 
and a very friendly and' familiar book, bound 
in red and black and gold, volume thirteen of 
St. Nicholas, in which we first read the story. 

St. Nicholas might well be called the fore- 
runner of children's libraries, since so many of 
the favorite books of boys and girls first ap- 
peared within its hospitable covers. In the 
children's room of the public library in Chris- 
tiana we had already seen not only "Little 
Lord Fauntleroy,'* but "Little Women," "Re- 
becca of Sunnybrook Farm," "Hans Brinker," 
"Tom Sawyer," and many another familiar 
title translated into the Norwegian language. 

This idea of special rooms for children in 
the free libraries of cities and towns origin- 
ated, you know, in America, about twenty-five 
years ago, and has since been adopted to some 
extent in European countries. 

Of course no community library ever can 
or will take the place of a personal library 
formed by the boy or girl who has money to 
spend for books. And every boy and girl, by 
gift or by their earnings, should have money 
with which to buy books of their own and suit- 
able book-shelves on which to keep them. The 
training in judgment, discrimination, and sense 
of values acquired in making a thoughtful se- 
lection is of lasting benefit, and the habits of 
careful handling and good arrangement of 
books can be formed in no other way. 

We would by no means advocate that boys 
and girls should have no books given to them. 
That would mean cruelty to parents, to devoted 
uncles, aunts, and friends. Rather, we are in- 
clined to urge the thoughtful giving of books 
the year round, instead of heaping them too 
high at Christmas and on birthdays. In our 
own experience, the unexpected gift of a well- 
timed book on Thanksgiving Day, St. Nicho- 
las Eve (December fifth), St. Valentine's Day, 
May Day, or Hallowe'en has proved a great 
delight. Biographies of Lincoln, Washington, 
Grant, and Roosevelt may well be associated 
with the birthdays of these great men; his- 
tories of America and of European countries 
would often be more acceptable if they were 
associated with the myths, legends, and folk- 
tales of the Northern, Southern or Oriental 

Books dealing with the sciences, inventions, 
handicraft, games, sports, and out-of-door life 
usually make a very definite and insistent 
appeal, and should be given when they are 
wanted rather than before or afterward. In 
determining the psychological moment at 
which to give one book or another, the chil- 
dren's room of the public library so constantly 
acts as a clearing-house not only for the boys 
and girls, their parents, teachers, and friends, 



but for the authors, artists, publishers, and 
booksellers, that we venture to suggest som€ 
general principles of book selection and pur- 
chase for the making of a library. 

I — Buy only those books of which you 
have first-hand knowledge and which are 
going to mean something to you at the 
time they are bought. Books should sat- 
isfy desires or supply needs. 

II — Considerations in the selection of 
books : 

Author. Has he or she the ability to 
write interestingly? 

Subject. What is the book about? Is 
it well written? If a book of information, 
is it accurate? If a story, is it original? 
Is this the best book on the subject for 
your library at this time? 

Artist or illustrator. Do the pictures 
add to the interest of the book ? Has the 
artist interpreted the text? 

Typography. Is the book printed in 
type that is easy to read? 

Paper. The quality of paper used has 
very much to do with the legibility of the 
text, with the effect of the illustrations, 
and the general appearance of the book. 

Binding. Is the book well put together ? 
If bound in more than one color, choose 
the color you like best. 
In the first volume of St. Nicholas (1873) 
there is an illustrated story called "Making a 
Library" that we have remembered from 
childhood. Little Charlotte, on a visit to her 
uncle, discovers that the books on the upper 
shelves of his library are not real ones. "They 
were nothing but pasteboard boxes made like 
books and with the names printed in gold let- 
ters ©n the backs." Charlotte's uncle," we are 
told, "was an uneducated man who had sud- 
denly become rich. He wanted his house to 

have a fine library in it, but as he did not care 
for reading or for spending much money on 
books that would be of no use to him, he had 
these mock books made, and they looked just 
as well on the upper shelves as real ones." One 
day when Charlotte was playing house she de- 
termined to make a library of her own of these 
big books, which she could throw down so 
easily as she climbed from shelf to shelf. In 
passing the cradle where the baby was sleep- 
ing, Charlotte let several books slip from the 
great pile she was carrying. If they had been 
real books the baby would have been killed, the 
story runs, but they were all so light that the 
baby was unharmed. The baby did wake up, 
however, and cried his loudest, to the undoing 
of Charlotte's uncle. "It now became known 
just what sort of a library Uncle Harry had." 

The artist who illustrated the story added to 
the dramatic force of the situation. He drew 
a little girl who might be the great-aunt of 
Peter Newell's child who feared "the Flowers 
— they are wild" carrying a pile of books ex- 
tending high above her head, from which sev- 
eral are falling about the cradle. 

We were old enough when we read the story 
to make immediate application of it, and we 
never failed to assure ourselves that the books 
were real in the libraries we visited. But there 
came a day when we learned that some books 
may be as great a sham as the pasteboard 
boxes of Charlotte's uncle. 

Children's Book Week, which we celebrate 
November 10-15, is, we trust, the sign and 
promise of a new day in which more thought 
will be given to the selection and purchase of 
books for boys and girls and a more under- 
standing cooperation of parents, teachers, li- 
brarians, publishers, aiid booksellers will be 



I ALWAYS think the cover of 

A book is like a door, 
Which opens into some one's house 

Where I 've not been before. 

A pirate or a fairy queen 

May lift the latch for me; 
I always wonder, when I knock, 
What welcome there will be. 

And when I find a house that *s dull, 

I do not often stay. 
But when I find one full of friends, 

I 'm apt to spend the day. 

I never know what sort of folcs 

Will be within, you see; 
And that 's why reading always is 

So interesting to me. 



Author o£ "More Thmn Conqueron" 

No fruili, no tlovert, no leaves, no bitdi, 
November ! 

On the twenty-second of this dull month, ex- 
actly one hundred years ago, little Mary Ann 
Evans was born. It was n't a beautiful name 
to give a baby, — Mary Ann, — and no one 
blames the child, grown older, for deciding to 
be called Marian. But if names speak, plain 
Mary Ann suited her better, for the home 
where she lived and the people whom she knew 
were all of a very plain sort, without much 
shade or shine or many butterflies or bees in 
their drudging days. 

Mary Ann's father, Mr. Robert Evans, was 
a carpenter and builder by trade, who later be- 
came a prosperous land agent. He was notably 
strong in muscles and honest in business. 
"Love of good work seems to have been his 
religion," and physical strength his reliance. 

Once when two laborers were standing idle 
wailing for a third to help them carry a heavy 
ladder, he picked it up and carried it off alone, 
the other two men looking on. agape and sheep- 
ish enough. In her great novel "Adam Bede" 
George Elioi gave her hero the strength and 
integrity of her beloved father. When the book 
was read aloud to one of Robert Evans's 
old friends, he exclaimed again and again, 
"That 's Robert— that 's Robert to the Ufe!" 

Like j4dam Bede, Mr. EvanJ could judge al- 
most the exact timber value of a rooted chest- 
nut-tree as it shone in living green. Manual 
laborer though he was, he was no ordinary 
man; the child Mary Ann felt it a distinction 
to be his "little lass"; the famous George Eliot 
was proud of what her father had "achieved 
in hfe." Like Adam Bedr, he had the blood 
of the peasant in his veins, but, like Adam, he 
was a man of trust, doing things on time and 
as well as they could be done, and he "left the 
world a bit better than he found it." "if it 's 
only laying a floor down," Adam would say, 
"somebody 's the better for it being done well 
besides the man as does it." And so. by every 
true blow of his'hammer and very nicely fitted 
board, Robert Evans gloried the common- 
place. When such square- dealing men die, 
"the master who employed them says, 'Where 
shall I find their like?" 

If Adam Bede was like Geoi^e Eliot's father, 
Maggie Tulliver was like herself, and "The 
Mill on the Floss" is more of an autobiography 
than any of her other novels. True, Maggie, 
with her marvelous, deep eyes and other marks 
cM great beauty, was not physically like George 
Eliot; but in her devoted love of books and in 
her passionate affections she was her author's 
little self. Mary Ann, like Maggie, was her 
father's pet. We can imagine Mr. Evans driv- 


ing about the country with his "little un" scarlet coachman, its load of fur-wrapped pas- 
standing between his knees, while he told her sengers, and its swinging baskets of ducks, 
stories of all the farmer folk, and needing her This excitement, and even smaller ones, 

adoring companionship as much as she needed were dear to Mary Ann. What if in her rather 
his. It was Mr. TulUver's "little wench," ordinary midland England, Warwick^ire, she 
knew neither lofty mountains nor dashing sea? 

Maggie, that he sent for when he was ill; it Mary Ann's understanding heart to which, 
i I 1846, the failing Robert Evans turned. 

The bare facts of her childhood are not par- 
ticularly interesting or at all exciting. In that 
far-off time, before the railroads disturbed the 
country's peace, one great daily event was the 
rumbling by of ihe jolly stage-coach, with itx 


of evening she found "the long purple isles of 
that wondrous land which reveals itself to us 
when the sun goes down — the land that the 
evening star watches over." Griff House, "the 
warm little nest where his children's affections 
were fledged," was an ivy-wrapped, red-brick 
house on the Arbury estate, where Mr. 
Kvans was employed. Hollyhocks and other 

prom drab to gold 


old-fashioned flowers bloomed in the garden, 
and "generations of milky mothers had stood 
p^ttiently tn the long cow-shed." During the 
''rst twenty years of lllary Ann's hfe, Griff 
//as the one home rooted in her affections. 

With supreme tenderness George Eliot 
touches all her early memories: "We could 
never have loved the earth so well if we had 
had no childhood in it — if it were not the earth 
where the same flowers came up every spring 
that we used to gather with our tiny fingers as 
we sat lisping to ourselves in the grass — the 

of an age" ; she and Isaac were. It was i\ot 
enough to see him in vacations. Puppy-like, 
she had followed the older brother, copying 
him in every way she could, hanging on his 
every word, and living on his affection. In 
that intensely personal poem, "Brother and 
Sister," she gives glimpses into her worshiping 

I held bim wise; and when be talked to me 

Of snakei and birds, and wbicb God loved the iKit, 

I thought his knowledge marked tbe boundary 
Wbere man grew blind, tbougb angels knew the 

"CilOKGl iliot" 

same hips and haws on the autumn hedge- 
rows — the same redbreasts that we used to call 
'God's birds,' because they did no harm to the 
precious crops. What novelty is worth the 
sweet monotony where every thing is known 
and loved because it is known I" 

We can well imagine that Mary Ann loved 
to watch her mother make butter and cheese. 
But when the child was only five, she had to be 
sent to boarding-school with her older sister, 
Chrissy, on account of her mother's illness. 
Here, as school baby, the little thing was much 
netted, and later praised for her music and 
English compositions. But s^e was often lone- 
ly, especially at night, and in winter, pushed 
away from the fire by the larger girls, she was 
often very cold. More than this, school tore 
the passionately affectionate child from the 
two people sli-.- most adored, her father and 
her brotlici She and Chrissy were not "near 

And so George Eliot carries ns back into 
those young mornings when brother and sis- 
ter wandered toward the far-ofi stream with 
rod and line. Every thing in their basket had 
been baked just for them. As they set out. 
their mother stroked down Mary Ann's tippet 
and smoothed out Isaac's frill. Under the 
shade of the tall old trees, over the brook "deep 
hid by tangled blue forget-me-nots," on to the 
brown canal they trudged, "where a sleep- 
ily gliding boat was the newest locomotive 

One day my brother left me in high charge. 
To mind the rod, while he went Mcbing bait. 

And bade me, when I saw a nearing barge, 

Snatch out the line, lest he should came too late. 

Proud of the task, I watched with all my might 

For one whole minute, till my eyes grew wide, 
Till sky and earth took on a. strange new light, 

And seemed a dream-world floating on some tide- 
But sudden came tbe barge's pitch-black prow ; 

Nearer and angrier came my brother's cry. 
And all my soul was quivering fear, when lol 

Upon the imperiled lin<^ suspended high. 
A silver percn I" 

Maggie TuUiver, dreamily fishing, had tlie 
same kind of triumphant surprise. 

Any little sister who has played with older 
brothers and tried — and longed, too — to be a 
boy, can add to the story from her own mem- 
ories; tiptoaing through moist grass to a for- 
bidden river, or crunching throu^ snow to a 
pond of thin ice, trying to keep the brother's 
longer stride or match his powers with oars 
or skates: 

His sorrow was my sorrow, and his joy 

Sent little leaps and laughs through all my frame; 

My doll seemed lifeless, and no girlish toy 
Had any reason when, my brother come, 

I knelt with him at marbles. 

So she goes on engraving her would-be boy- 
ishness on our memories. 




Her first rival in Isaac's affections was the 
pony which some one gave him when she was 
seven and he, ten. No wonder the shaggy new 
play-fellow, with the shining brown eyes and 
,'clvct nose, absorbed the young master's af- 
fections. Isaac did not need Mary Ann as 

needed a home-maker. Chrissy had married, 
and so the younger daughter, with all her 
genius craving an outlet, turned drab to gold 
by making her father's home a "temple of 
cleanliness" during her thirteen years as house- 
keeper and by amusing him when for three 
years he was too ill to 
amuse himself. With- 
out waiting for him to 
ask, she searched his 
eyes to see when he 
longed for her to read 
aloud, and in the eve- 
nings she rested him 
with her beautiful mu- 
sic It was not always 
easy to keep patient 
and steady. Much pre- 
cious time leaked away 
while she did the com- 
monest tasks, "keeping 
sentinel over damson 
cheese and a warm 
Stove," or "growing 
tremulous from the 
boiling of currant 

All the time she had 
to fight a cmitinual bat- 
tle with, her own "de- 
spair at ever achiev- 
ing- anything." In the 
intense suffering of 
stifled ambftion, did 
she think, like Philip 
Wakem, "I flutter all 
ways, and fly in none"? 
Well, if she did, she 
triumphed over the de- 
pression, declaring that 

much as he had, and the little 
be needed. Then : 

School parted ui ; we never found 
That cbitdiih world where our tw< 

But w 

VrTien hearts are made for loving, it is a 
terrible thing to feel the fibers that have fast- 
ened love stretching- and slipping away. But 
there was her father. He needed her, and, 
especially after her mother's death, when Mary 
Ann was only sixteen, the fireside o£ Griff 

1 life V 

pale lead-color, to be 
an active help in a 
sick-room, with its twi- 
light and tiptoe stillness," was satisfying 
to the heart. In addition to keeping house, she 
organized clothing clubs, visited her poorer 
neighbors, and took a sympathetic interest 
in all the plain lives around her, in the un- 
employed weavers and round-backed miners. 
Meantime, her mind had some outlet in let- 
ters to her friends and in the translation of a 
long German book into English, "soul-stupefy- 
ing labor" thouj^ it was. 

Her genius, as the world saw it, developed 
slowly, however. She was thirty-eight before 

she was first known as a n»3v?|ist by "Scenes 


of Clerical Life." But her power had been 
growing silently and unseen through years of 
home -making, as acorns shoot out long roots 
before they sprout above the earth. 

"Scenes of Clerical Life" was published 
through a friend under the assumed name 
of George Eliot, so that not even the publish- 
ers knew the author. Charles Dickens, who 
praised the stories highly both for their humor 
and their pathos, was among the first to sus- 
pect that their author was a woman. The real 
excitement, however, came not so much to the 
Uterary world as to the simply inhabitants of 
Nuneaton, a village Mary Ann Evans had 
known as a girl. Immediately the villagers 
recognized "Milby" of the stories as their 
own Nuneaton and the characters as them- 


selves I Some of them identified as many as 
fifty persons; and to-day worn copies of 
"Scenes of Clerical Life" arc still displayed 
by old Nuneaton families, with lists supplying 
book characters with real names. 

Who was the author? That was the ques- 
tion of gossip. Finally, as no one claimed the 
laurel wreath, the villagers hit on a man named 
Liggins, who had been "known to write po- 
ftry." Since np pn? PSIPf fprw^rij tg deny 

him the authorship, Liggins, finding his life, 
no doubt, a bit too drab, coolly accepted the 
role of George Eliot as he would a nugget of 
gold. How he expected to carry through the 
deception no one can imagine, for it was more 
than likely that the real author was still alive, 
and consequently was likely at any time to lay 
claim to "his" ovrn work. 

The fact that the "Scenes of Clerical Life'* 
were almost photographic must not be taken as 
proof that George Eliot's later work was 
drawn entirely from life. That impulsive lit- 
tle Maggie was like her author in her savage 
affections is no proof that little Mary Ann 
Evans hammered nails, like Maggie, into her 
doll's head, or ran away to the Gipsies, or cut 
off her rebellious hair, to her brother's scared 
delight And it would be unfair to George 
Eliot's genius to think that the flashing wit of 
Mrs. Poyser and of Darilc Massy was simply 
"copy" accumulated from other people's 
mouths. The brilliant repartee in "Adam 
Bede" was George Eliot's own, just as Dinah 
Morris's beautiful prayer was no quoted thing, 
but the outpouring of the author's own heart 
while the hot tears burned her cheeks. 

However critics may disagree as to which is 
George Eliot's greatest novel, all find it among 
her earlier works, when she drew her char- 
acters from a world of plain people "with 
homely joys and destinies obscure," a world 
Hke Goldsmith's, Burns's, Gray's, and Words- 
worth's. Lincoln said, "God must have loved 
the common people or he would never have 
made so many of them." And George Eliot 
said, "You would gain unspeakably if you 
would learn with me to see some of the poetry 
and the pathos, the tragedy and comedy, lying 
hi the experience of a human soul that looks 
out through dull gray eyes and speaks in a 
voice of quite ordinary tones." Mary Ann 
Evans discovered the gold of fun and kindness 
in weather-stained huts. Every trampled path- 
way, every worn door-step led to a subject 
brimming with quaint personality. 

When you are older, read "Adam Bede" 
aloud with the right person. It will change 
from a book to a near-by group of living 
people. To be sure, as a household companion, 
Mrs. Poyser is not altogether desirable : a 
woman "made of needles" is likely to prick 
any one. But when her sharpness is pointed 
toward others, we can afford to laugh. "You 
're mighty fond o' Craig," she says to Mr. Poy- 
ser, "but for my part, I think he 's welly like a 
cock 35 thinks the sun 's rose o' purpose to 

1919.] . 


hear him crow." Her pictures are drawn from 
such common sources as the kitchen and dairy. 
"There 's folks 'ud hold a sieve under the pump 
and expect to carry away the water"; and, 
"They 'U set the empty kettle o' the fire, and 

As Vixen's patter on the gravel dies out, and 
the sound of Massy's stick and lame walk, we 
think how necessary the animals are in all 

then come an hour after to see if tlie water 

After all, Mrs. Foyser is only one of a rustic 
world that thinks mainly of crops of onions, 
herds of sheep, gray geese, ants, and cater- 
pillars. Yet that world is worth our notice. 
Feyther Taft in his brown worsted nightcap; 
Cranage, the blacksmith, scratching his head; 
the landlord of the Royal Oak, with his blood- 
shot eyes ; Adam Bede, with his broken finger- 
nails — they are all human souls struggling 
after life and happiness. Their sorrow is our 
sorrow. As the tears roll down Martin Poy- 
ser's round cheeks, we are shaken by a real 
grief. George Eliot's sympathy gleams on 
common people, but people with an uncommon 
sense of honor, and proves that the luster of 
fine feehng often shines from dingiest corners. 

There is that spirit of loyal devotion, Bartle 
Massy. He closes his little night-school, and 
all his patient work with Bill and Brimstone, 
those husky strugglers with the alphabet, and 
he goes to be a silent companion to Adam — 
Bartle, and, of course, his dog, for, "good-for- 

George Eliot's homes. "Animals are such 
agreeable friends; they ask no questions, they 
pass no criticisms." What is home without 
a dog? we ask again and again, while Donni- 
Ihomc's tiny spaniel Trot is comfortably 
curled up on Meg's back; the bulldog keeps 
watch at the Poyser farm ; Yap dances and 
barks around Maggie TuUiver; and that "gray, 
tailless shepherd -dog" Gyp pokes his muzzle 
jealously up between Lisbeth and Adam, or 
follows close at Adam's heels. "Hev a dog. 
Miss!" urges that charming peddler, Bob 
Jakin'; "they 're better friends nor any Chris- 
tian. I 'n got no secrets but what Mumps 
knows 'em." The huge brindled bull-terrier, 
"swaying from side to side," seems surly 
enough to Maggie, but Bob says : "Lors, it 's 
a fine thing to hev a dumb brute fond on you ; 
it 'II stick to you an' make no jaw." 

And if the grown folks and dogs had failed 
George Eiiot, there were always the children. 

There was Totty, for one. that animated 
butter-ball, born within sound of the dairy's 
chum. Was there ever greater force com- 



pacted into smaller space? Mrs. Poyser rules 
the farm without a rival except for Totty, 
who rules Mrs. Poyser, 

"Munny, my iron 's twite told; p'ease set 
it down to warm," chirrups a round mite from 
a high chair at the ironing- table, while she 
clutches "a miniature iron in her tiny fat fist" 
and irons rags with such energy that her sunny 
hair bobs with every siroke and her "little red 
tongue is put out as far as anatomy allows." 

"Munny, I tould 'ike to do into de barn to 
Tommy — I tould 'ike a bit o' pum-take," follow 
in her list of wants, while she seizes a few un- 
watched moments to stain her pinafore widi 
gooseberry jam, upset a bowl of starch, or 
rub a "stray bluing-bag against her nose/' 
Tatty's whole world yields before her. Captain 
Donnithome slips sixpences into her tiny pink 
pocket at her gentle hint, "It dot not'in 'in 
it'.' ; and Grandfather, opening the gate as she 
trots off to church, produces a round white 
something at her alluring: "Dood-by, Dan-dad. 
Me dot my netlace on. Dive me a pepper- 
mint" Tatty's kingdom is an absolute mon- 
archy, and she is its ruler. 

How wonderfully George Eliot shows us 
that there is as much difference in the char^ 
acters of two children as in the characters of 
two grown-ups ! Tom is bragging and over- 
bearing; Maggie, generous, impulsive, and 
jealous of Tom's love; Totty is like Totty and 
no one else; Jacob Cohen is like Jacob Cohen. 

Of all George Eliot's children, perhaps Eppie 
is the nearest to our hearts, for it is her un- 
conscious power that redeems the twice-shat- 
tered old weaver. In Lantern Yard Silas had 
lost his friends, his sweetheart, his reputation, 
and his faith in God; in Raveloe solitude he 
had built up a love of gold to take the place 
of all those broken-down strongholds. And 
then one night the gold, too, vanished I 

The simple story of Silas Marner can be 
beautifully dramatized. And could there be a 
lovelier celebration for the George Eliot Cen- 
tenary the twenty-second of this November? 
It is an easy play to give; may be worked up 
in a fittle over two weeks. 

Only one part is hard, Silas Marner^s. You 
do not even need to have a gold-haired child, 
as a wig supplies that need. Almost any child, 
in a bedraggled shawl, can toddle past Silas 
and lie down by the dim hearth till he turns to 
find "Gold — ^his own gold — brought back to 
him as mysteriously as it had been taken 
away !" The story offers many stage "tricks" ; 
New Year's bells rung behind the scene when 
Silas listens for his good luck; Schumann's 

lullaby, twice played (very softly) as a kind 
of Eppie motif — first, when she enters as a 

i inifii^iffPuii 


baby; second, near the end, when she chooses 
SUas for her father instead of Godfrey. 

In the background a stage fire furnishes a 
patch of pretty color for scenes when Sil^is is 
on the stage alone and when wordless acting, 
always interesting if good, is done in the half- 
light : Silas weaving, with his back to the stage, 
then shufHing about, taking out his pot of gold, 
counting and recounting, batiiing his hands in 
die coins, then hanging up his meat and going 
out, to be followed by the creeping entrance 
of Dunston, and the robbery. Two scenes in 
the play are particularly good for girls: the 
prinking scene at the Red House before the 
dance, and the minuet ; two, for boys : the quar- 
rel between Godfrey and Dunstan (with a live 
dog on the stage, by all means), and the de- 
lightfully humorous scene in "'The Rainbow** 
(with a chance for grotesque singing). Apple- 
cheeked little Aaron sings his Christmas carol 
in one of the early scenes, grabbing cookies 
as another bit of variety, and grown-up Aaron 
supplies the love-making in the garden scene, 
made outdoorish by a wheelbarrow, watering- 
pot, and real or artificial flowers. 

Best of all, the beautiful meaning of SiUu 
Marner makes the play worth while. At the 
very last, SUas and little Eppie, bedraggled as 
she came, may stand as a tableau before the 
audience, the Schumann-Eppie motif may be 
played for the third and last time, and some one 
behind the curtain may read the key-note of 
the story, telling how a child may flood with 
light an old man's darkened hopes. 

"In old days there were angels who came 
and took men by the hand and led them away 
from the city of destniction. We see no white- 
winged angels now. But yet men are led away 
from threatening destruction: a hand is put 
into theirs, which leads them forth gently to- 
ward a calm and bright land, so that they look 
no more backward; and the hand may be a 
little child's." 



Axe you ready, Captain Jones?" 

"Ready!" you reply, with the tingling of 
nerves that always comes as you wait for the 
whistle which will set in motion your tigerish 
band of football warriors. 

"Ready, Captain Smith?" 

"Sure!" grates your chum, Bobby, for the 
time being leader of the hated foe. 

The whistle shrills. Instantly the dice-box 
in your hand rattles, and, as Bobby leans over 
excitedly, you roll upon the gridiron a throw 
of 9. 

"Forty-five yards for HolcombI" you shout 

"Cochran gets the ball !" cries Bobby. "Now 
watch him make forty yards through that old 
line of yours." 

And the great football-championship game 
is on! 

Sounds peculiar, does it? You never heard 
of football like that? Why, bless you, many 
a hard-fought contest has been waged indoors 
in our locality in past years just like that; and 
many a nerve-th rilling game has sped on, mo- 
ment by moment, on the relentless watch of 
the time-keeper, without a score, till suddenly 
— the team springs into action. A long run; 
a thrilling plunge through the line; a heroic 
stand in the shadow of the goal-post; and 
then — "Yeow — a touch-dow»I" 

Remembrance of it all has made me anxious 
to pass on the game of indoor football to 
the hundreds of boys in the great St. Nicho- 
las family. I want them to know the excite- 
ment of the triumphant sweep of their eleven 
through a season of hard-fought victories; the 
pride of the championship team; in short, the 
sport that is theirs for the long evenings when 
lime hangs heavy for a live, active boy and 
almost anything is welcome to relieve the 

So let 's start at the beginning and see how 
we organize the team, how my game of indoor 
football is played, and all the other interesting 

First, we must secure our players. That 's 
an easy matter. As autumn draws near and the 

real football season opens, the newspapers and 
magazines will be full of pictures of football 
players. We cut them out, paste them on card- 
board (this is highly important, for they are in 
for some rough usage), and color them accord- 
ing to die school %T college they are to rep* 
resent. No special poses are needed; we can 
use any kind of figures, erect, crouching, run- 
ing, etc. The ones in action, of course, are 
preferable, but not so easy to get. 

One thing, however: let us be consistent, 
and have our players follow some regular 
scale of size. Nothing would take the interest 
away from our game so much as to have a 
team of giants and midgets. In our g^ames we 
counted ^ of an inch as a foot. Thus a six- 
foot player would measure six times }i of an 
inch, or 4^ inches in height. So players over 
6}^ feet or 4^ inches high would be barred. 

If you care to, and I believe you will, you 
can figure the weight of each player by count- 
ing each square inch as twenty-three pounds. 
How do we figure that? We measure the 
width of the player at the widest point, usually 
the shoulders, multiply it by the height, and 
multiply the result by twenty-three. Thus eur 
star player. Browning of Yale (readers of 
Frank Merriwell will recognize him) was six 
feet tall by ij4 feet wide. Multiplying his 
nine square feet by twenty-three, we counted 
him as weighing 207 pounds. As he played 
guard, we felt he was quite an acceptable ad- 
dition to his eleven. 

On the back of each player we mark his 
name, weight, and height, for quick identifi- 

Our playing-field is the living-room table. 
No special marking are needed to represent 
the g^idiom, as the progress of the game is 
noted on two diagrams, one for each half, pre- 
pared before each game by ruling a repre- 
sentation of the gridiron on sheets of paper. 
We rule only the cross-lines, ten yards apart, 
not the lines running the length of the field. 
We usually used a paper nine by twelve inches, 
and spaced the ten-yard cross lines about half 
an inch apart. 


CnpvHflrht. 101Q. by Ralph W. Kinsey. All rights reserred. 




Have you ever seen in the newspapers after 
a big football game the diagram of all the 
plays? Well, that is the way we mark the 
progress of the game in our case. 
This is the way the game is played: 
The two teams of eleven cut-out players each 
are lined up on the table as in regular foot- 
ball. We simply lay them in position, not stand 
them up^ for to do so would make it impos- 
sible to play the game, as you will see. We 

the ball would land. In this case, — forty yards, 
— we might say the end. Either right or left 
side may be designated by the side kicking. 

The rest of the players on the side receiving 
the ball are immediately piled in front of. or 
on top of, the player who has the ball, as 
"interference." Now, to see if the man with 
the ball is able to run it back for a gain or 
will be thrown for a loss! His side throws its 
dice. The opposing side throws theirs. If 


15 ao 25 


ao 35 AO A5 50 ^ *0 35 30 25 ao 13 



toss for the captains, to see who has the kick- 
off and who is to receive the ball, just as in 
the real game. 

On the diagram we place an x at the center 
line and, beside it, the letter of the team kick- 
ing oflF. The team kicking oflF then throws its 
dice (each team has two) to see the distance 
the ball is supposed to be kicked. Each point 
thrown counts five yards, so if we throw a total 
of eight with the two dice, that means a k«ck 
of forty yards. 

The ball — a piece of cardboard cut in the 
shape of a football and of a size in proportion 
to the size of the players — is placed on top of 
♦^""e player who, in the line-up, is nearest where 

the first throw is the greater, he gains. Each 
point over counts, as in all runs, ten yards. 
Thus, if he throws ten and the opponents eight, 
he gains two times ten yards, or twenty yards. 
If, however, the second throw is more than 
the first one, the runner is thrown for a loss. 
In that case each point less counts as one 
yard. So if the runner throws six and the 
opponent ten, he loses four points, or four 
yards. Thus, we would picture the kicking 
side as getting down under the ball in time to 
nail the runner in his tracks and throw him 
for a loss of four yards. 

But he might fumble the ball. To see if he 
does, before the throw is made, each player 




(the real live ones, I mean) takes his bunched- 
up cardboard players and shoves them into 
the opposing team. If, when the pile is un- 
tangled, the ball is on top of any player of the 
side receiving the ball, the ball has not been 
fumbled, and the loss or gain is then thrown 
for with the dice. If, however, the ball is on 
top of a player of the side kicking the ball, it 
has been fumbled, and that player has recov- 
ered it In that case, we must see if the man 
nabbing the ball is able to advance it or is 
thrown for a loss. The dice are again thrown, 
and either the loss or pain is noted. Always, in 
throwing, the side with the ball throws first, 
and to advance the ball their throw must be 
more than their opponents' throw. 

If, when the pile is untancfled, the ball is at 
the bottom, so that it can't be on top of any 
player, then the man on top of the ball, instead 
of under it, is the one who is holding it If 
the ball should bounce away from the pile of 
players altogether, the pile, without being un- 
tangled, }S picked up from the table and thrown 
upon the ball, just as a bunch of piayers would 
scramble after a free fumble. Now do you 
sec why it is necessary to paste our players on 
good, heavy cardboard? It is a rough game. 
And now the game is on. The players are 
quickly separated, after the fate of the open- 
ing kick is decided and marked on the diagram, 
and lined up. It would take too long to ar- 
range them nicely and evenly, for we are play- 
ing against time, as in the real game, and every 
second counts. So we call it "lining up" if 
we btmch them roughly. After you have 
played several games you will have favorite 
formations, just as do the real coaches. Some 
of our men played six men on one pile, as if on 
the line, with five in a second pile. Others 
separated them into three piles, and so •n. 

The side with the ball now announces what 
their play will be. The ball is laid on top of 
the man who is suppossed to be carrying it ; the 
players of his side are piled about him as inter- 
ference, the dice are again thrown by both 
sides to see if he gains or loses, and the two 
teams are banged into each other. If there is 
no fumble, the play proceeds in the same way. 
We have already seen how runs are figured 
as ten yards to every point gained. We have 
also seen that kicks are figured five yards to 
each point A forward pass is figured by the 
same method* a? a run. A line plunge, which is 
naturally retarded by more opposition, counts 
five yards to each point gained. That seems 
small, you say. Yet we have players who have 
gone through on a tackle through tackle for 

':fty yards gain ! Losses of any kind, on any 
kind of play, figure a yard to each point lost. 

There is no restriction as to the kind of plays 
that may be run off in the center of the field 
between the two twenty-five-yard lines. End 
run after end run, forward pass after forward 
pass, may be ventured. Perhaps you '11 be glad 
to try a line plunge when you notice, as we 
often did, that your line-plungers seem to gain 
consistently while your end-runners seem to 
have the ill luck of being thrown for a loss 
mostly. The only restriction is such as comes 
with the regular football rules, which are in 
force in our game as well as in the real one. 

Each side may kick when it pleases. In that 
case, we have to see if tlie ball is blocked. If 
the opposing side throws a number within one 
point of the number thrown for a kick, it is 
considered blocked. Thus if six is thrown for 
a kick, five, six, or seven would block it. If 
blocked, the ball is laid on the table and treated 
as a free fumble. That is, the two teams are 
rammed together, then picked off the table and 
thrown on the ball. The player who gets the 
ball is considered as having blocked the kick 
and grabbed the ball. His side then has the 
right to throw to see if he is able to advance 
it If the kick is not blocked, the ball goes for 
the full distance thrown. No points are de- 
ducted from it, as in the case of a run or line 
plunge. Of course, on the kick-off or try at 
goal from the field, there is no blocking to be 

To make a goal from the field or a goal from 
a touch-down, the throw must come within ten 
yards too small or five yards too much. That 
is, if the distance is thirty yards, the goal 
would be considered kicked if we threw fou«*, 
or twenty yards ; five, or twenty-five yards ; six, 
or thirty yards; or seven, or thirty-five yards. 

Naturally, forward passes are an important 
part of the game, but difficult to achieve suc- 
cessfully, as in the real sport To make one. 
the passer throws to show the number of yards 
the ball is hurled. If the opposing side throws 
a number within three points of this number, 
the pass is blocked. Thus, if eight is thrown, 
six, seven, eight, nine, or ten would block it. 
If it is blocked, the same scheme is followed 
as in the case of the free fumble or blocked 
kick. The only difference is that, if the side 
throwing the ball recovers it, we consider the 
throw blocked without any chance of running 
it on. If, however, an opponent lands on it, 
we consider it blocked by that player grabbing 
it out of the air before it touches the ground, 
and he is then given a try at advancing it 




If the pass is unblocked, the ball is placed 
on top of a player. The distance thrown is 
counted as a gain, and the player is given an 
additional throw to see if he is able to advance 
it or is thrown after he haa caught the ball. 

A bit before this I spoke of the fact that 
between the twenty-five-yard lines there is no 
restriction as to the kind of plays. Inside the 
twenty-five-yard line, however, once in every 
four plays a line plunge must be tried unless 
it is fourth down and the distance still un- 
made. Then a kick or fake kick may be tried. 

So there you have the game. Each play is 
marked on the diagram as it occurs, and while 
the players remain at the same spot on the: 
table, the diagram shows where the ball is sup- 
posed to be located, and you can easily imagine 
the teams are moving up or down the field. 
No special marks are needed in the diagram 
except a line like this ^^^^^'^'^^for a kick; a 
straight line for a run, plunge, or loss ; a dotted 
line for a forward, pass. I have given you a 
diagram of the first half of a game we played, 
which will illustrate just how the game is 
scored and show how easy it is to follow it. 

Time is kept strictly, and "time" out is 
called whenever there is unnecessary delay or 
either side wishes to ask for it. Wc usually 
play fifteen-minute quarters, but, unlike the 
real game, do not change goals at the quarters, 
but at the halves. 

Naturally, as men are injured (have their 
heads torn off or arms or legs forcibly re- 
moved from their body) they are considered 
hurt and replaced by other players. In like 
manner, we do not hesitate to replace a player 
who seems to have no luck in making gains. 
And it is one of the interesting features of 
this game to see how certain of the players 
seem to possess a power over the dice, time 
after time reeling off long gains, just as in real 
life the star is called upon time after time and 
responds with a sucessful try. 

And, fellows, figure for yourself the possi- 
bilities of this indoor sport ! Before long we 
had increased our teams from two to twenty ! 
Moreover, we worked out the following sched- 
ule as representing our season : 

Oct. 7 — Yale vs. Syracuse; Harvard vs. 
Gettysburg; Penn vs. Swarthmore; Princeton 
7>s. Williams; Cornell vs. State; Columbia vs. 
Brown; Lehigh vs. Haverford; Lafayette vs. 
Bucknell ; Army vs. Dickinson ; Navy vs. Dart- 

Oct. 14 — Yale vs. State; Harvard vs. In- 
dians; Penn vs. Lehigh; Princeton 7's. George- 
town; Cornell vs. Syracuse; Columbia vs. 

Swarthmore; Lafayette vs. Gettysburg; Army 
vs. Bucknell; Navy vs. Brown. 

Oct. 21 — Yale vs. Brown; Harvard vs. Wil- 
liams; Penn vs. Columbia; Princeton vs. Cor- 
nell; Lehigh vs. Swarthmore; Lafayette vs. 
Dickinson; Army vs. Gettysburg; Navy vs. 
Georgetown; Syracuse vs. Indians. 

Oct 28 — Yale vs. Army; Harvard vs. 
Georgetown; Penn vs. Dickinson; Princeton 
vs. Lehigh; Cornell vs. Williams; Columbia 
vs. Dartmouth; Lafayette vs. Swarthmore; 
Navy vs. State. 

iJov. 4 — Yale vs. Columbia; Harvard vs. 
Army; Penn vs. Haverford; Princeton vs. 
Swarthmore; Cornell vs. Dartmouth; Lehigh 
vs. Dickinson; Lafayette vs. Brown; Navy vs. 

Nov. II — Yale vs. Bucknell; Harvard vs. 
Penn; Princeton vs. Lafayette; Columbia vs. 
Williams; Cornell vs. Lehigh; Army vs, In- 
dians; Navy vs. Swarthmore. 

Nov. 18— Yale vs. Princeton; Harvard vs. 
Dartmouth; Penn t/Jr. Indians; Cornell vs. 
Georgetown; Columbia vs. Bucknell; Lehigh 
vs. Syracuse; Lafayette vs. State; Army vs. 
Haverford; Navy vs. Gettysburg. 

Nov. 25 — Yale vs. Harvard; Lehigh vs. La- 
fayette; State vs. Dickinson; Williams vs. 
Georgetown; Swarthmore vs. Haverford; 
Brown vs. Dartmouth. 

Nov. 30 — Penn vs. Cornell. 

Dec. 2 — Army vs. Navy. 

And how we did revel in the records as the 
season progressed ! Old rivals met on our 
gridiron and fought it out fiercely. Minor 
teams produced the usual surprises. As teams 
met late in our season, what a comparison of 
records there was as to scores they had made 
against similar teams, and how we tried to 
figure out which team stood the best chance of 
winning! The surprising part of it all was 
the way some of the elevens ran true to form 
and triumphed repeatedly. 

Not only did we keep the scores of the teams, 
but each man's individual record was jotted 
down — oh, most "scientifically" ! We recorded 
how many halves he had played, his touch- 
downs, goals, gains in advancing the ball, and 
in blocking the enemy's advance. We credited 
him with a point for each point he made in 
advancing the ball and another point for each 
time he threw the opposing player back. The 
way we decided who tackled' the runner was 
this: when the pile was untangled, the player 
of the opposing side nearest the man with the 
ball was the one supposed to have done the 
tackling. For getting a fumble or forward 




pass, a player received two points' credit. 
These points were marked at once by the score- 
keeper, who also acted as time-keeper. 

When the season had ended, we had a com- 
plete record of each player. As an illustration, 
here is the way our Yale team stood when the 
season was over: 





Halves Points age 

downs Goals 


R.E. • 








































Leavenworth L.T. 















4 4 




























I 13 

Average weight — 198. 

At the end of the season, too, we had that 
supreme delight of all football "experts" — 
picking the All-American team. We selected 
the first, second, and third elevens, and did it 
by selecting the men with the best scores. It 
might interest you to know our eleven for one 
season was: Bachman (Lehigh), right end; 
Winslow (Navy), right tackle; Olds (Navy), 
ri^ht guard; Pierce (Lehigh), center; Waters 
(Lehigh), left guard; Gaston (Penn), left 
tackle; Shevlin (Yale), left end; Weekes 
(Army), quarter-back; Metzinthin (Colum- 
bia), right half; Thompson (Cornell), left 
half; Ritter (Navy), full back. 

In this same season, the leading five elevens 
were: Yale, Lehigh, Columbia, Penn, and 
Harvard. Sounds rather odd, when we re- 
member how the real elevens usually stood! 

I remember this season we had the All- 
American team play the second team, and, sad 
to say, they were soundly beaten by the score 
of 15 — 6. This was followed by a game be- 
tween the All-American and All-Canadian 
elevens, and this time the Stars and Stripes 
won, 23—6. 

Then came the awarding of the college let- 
ters to all men who had played eight halves or 
more. These we marked in ink on the back of 
our players. 

Xew captains were then elected for the fol- 
lowing season. There was no favoritism about 
the election, either. We threw dice for all the 
"letter" men, and the high man won. 

As you can see, there was no limit to what 

we could try. Better yet, as you may have 
noticed from the Yale line-up I just gave you. 
there was no limit to men who played on our 
teams. As long as we could get a picture of a 
player within the proper size, we could enroll 
him on one of our teams. Just imagine that — 
an eleven corr.posed of the giants of all sea- 
sons ! What bliss for the football coach ! 

And think, too, of the fun and importance 
of managing and directing not one team, but 
as many as ten ! Talk about Glen Warner and 
the cares of coaching the Indians ! We multi- 
plied his, troubles by ten, and thought it great 
sport! How seriously we tested this player 
or that in a weak position until we found his 
proper place most unexpectedly! Thus Chad- 
wick, the Yale captain, proved a farce at half, 
but when tried at end made good at once. In 
the same way Tad Jones, the famous Yale 
quarterback of a few years ago, made good 
at guard on our team. Imagine that I 

And as season was added to season, what 
sport it was to compare each season's records, 
to watch how this eleven and then that 
fought its way to a championship; to see how 
the star of one season either continued his 
good work or fell by the wayside as a new one 
appeared to take his place ! 

It was n't long, either, before we had our own 
"rules committee," and began to improve the 
rules and regulations ! Many a serious argu- 
ment did we have as to this point or that about 
the game. I remember well the effort made to 
admit players seven feet tall and the hot de- 
bates we had before we defeated it. In fact, 
most of us became regular orators in the 
course of our meetings and our debates. 

But try it yourself, fellows. Manage all the 
elevens yourself and play all the games with 
yourself. There is nothing to hinder this in- 
teresting "solitaire" so long as you have a 
hand to use as motive power to shove the two 
elevens together. Or get your chum to man- 
age half the elevens and you take the other 
half; or get "Da" or big brother or the rest 
of your chnms who enjoy football, and let each 
fellow manage and play one team ! There is no 
restriction as to what you can do with the 
game. Change it to suit new conditions or 
yourself when your own "rules-committee" 
meets. No doubt you, too, will have some 
good ideas with which you can add interest 
to the game. 

Start recruiting your players now, and start 
your season any time. I Ml guarantee you '11 
be insuring yourself and your chums many a 
happy evening for many months to come. 



Sylvia slammed her book together with a 
long-drawn sigh of relief and put it on top of 
a staggering pile of text-books beside her. 

'Thank goodness! the last subject is fin- 
ished, for my head is positively woozy! Tell 
me about when you were rich, Munny, and let 
me forget my troubles." 

Mrs. Allison laughed and looked ruefully at 
the hole she was trying to patch in the side 
of Ted's trousers. "If there is anything in get- 
ting into the spirit, I am afraid nty present 
environment will make it more or less difficult 
to impart the proper atmosphere to a 'rich' 
story. I don't see how Ted manages it! I 
never see him off his feet except at table and 
when he is asleep, but one would imagine that 
he devoted his entire time and strength, sleep- 
ing as well as waking, to sliding over rough 

'"Oh, well, pretend that you are mending a 
weeny rent in your real lace party-dress be- 
cause your mother wishes to teach you to be 
careful of your clothes even though you have 
scads and scads of them." 

"Help !" pleaded her mother ; "why, my dear, 
if I had such a powerful imagination as that, 
I should be able to make 'scads and scads' of 
money writing for publication — maybe even 
enough to keep Ted in unpatched trousers. 
But the party-dress does start a train of 

"All aboard!" called Sylvia, with a mis- 
chievous sparkle in her gray eyes as she rum- 
maged in the darning-basket and pulled out 
a pair of sieve-like stockings belonging to the 
same young destroyer of the trousers. "I will 
mend these in order to get in the proper 
state of mind to appreciate your rich narrative. 
I am sewing on a trifle of chiffon and artificial 
fiowers to bind upon my dusky tresses." 

"This story," began Mrs. Allison, "is to be 
about the time just after I returned from 
boarding-school. Such a wonderful time ! First 
there was the joy of being home again ; then, 
just beyond, Romance beckoned with the 
promise of all sorts of new delights. Our 
big, comfortable house became the center of 
gaieties in our set, for Mother loved young 
people and did everything in her power to 
make them happy. Father was rich for that 
part of the country and that time, though, of 
course, he would not be accounted so by 
present-day standards." 

"But you could go away to school, and had 
parties and servants and horses. Sounds ter- 
ribly rich to me. Please start the train again, 
precious !" 

"Mother not only loved to see us enjoy 
ourselves, but she was always on the alert to 
discern the needs of others and to try in some 
suitable way to supply them. To some it 
meant food and clothes; to others, work; and 
to still others, simply love and encouragement." 

"You could tell that to look at her eyes/' 
said Sylvia. 

"Yes, you always loved them. I shall never 
forget the time she left us for a visit; you 
cried yourself to sleep wailing dismally, 'Oh. 
if I could only look in my grandmother's eyes 
and know they were my grandmother's eyes !' 
They were as wonderful for reading, as for 
winning, hearts and she very quickly saw into 
the heart of one of my schoolmates. I suppose 
the Carews thought they were doing quite 
enough for an orphaned niece by supporting 
her and sending her to the same finishing- 
school as their own daughter, though really 
their ample means easily permitted this. But 
when Marion Carew and her cousin Carol 
More came to visit me, it did not take Mother 
long to discern things that had not occurred 
to any one else — or, at least, had not given 
them any concern. She realized that a young 
girl may get tired of endlessly wearing an- 
other's clothes, even though they were in the 
be6t condition. Then, too, Marion's clothes 
were carefully designed to suit her petite style 
and blond loveliness, so it was not strange that 
they were very often not becoming to a tall, 
slender brunette like Carol. Mother knew 
intuitively that a good deal of Carol's shy- 
ness and reserve came from this very thing, 
and that a girl might not be able to have that 
delightful 'party-fied' feeling in an unbecoming 
frock that was likely to be recognized as a 
*hand-me-down.' " 

"It would make you feel that way," said 
Sylvia, musingly. 

"We planned their visit so that they would 
be with us for the big Easter assembly, which 
was the social event of the season then, as now, 
and Marion's brother, with some of his col- 
lege friends, was to come down for what 
would now be called a week-end house party 
and the dance. Of course we were in the usual 
feminine flutter about frills and furbelows, 




and it was this that gave Mother the chance 
to work out her plan. She announced that 
she was going to give each of us an Easter 
present. Mine was to be a new dance frock 
with all the accessories, — Miss Katy was in the 
house working on it, — but the other two gifts 
were to be a surprise. And each was a sur- 
prise. Marion was delighted with a cameo 
brooch that she had admired; but I shall never 
forget Carol's face when she saw hers. It 
was the daintiest, frilliest, new party dress, a 
dream in lavender tulle, with slippers and 
stockings to match. To make it quite com- 
plete, there was also an amethyst set of 
mother's girlhood, consisting of a ring, set 
with a big amethyst that had a tiny pearl 
flower inlaid on the top, and a quaint neck- 
lace, with pendant amethyst hearts." 

"Oh, Munny, imagine scattering jewels 
around in that reckless fashion and then say- 
ing it would not be rich now I" 

"I don't imagine the dress cost a great deal, 
as it was quite simple; its value lay in that it 
was new and lovingly planned to suit Carol. 
.\nd Mother made it almost seem that she was 
g:iving herself a treat by saying she had so 
wanted to see Carol in lavender." 

"Oh dear !" sighed Sylvia ; "think of a mem- 
ber of our family ever having been able to do 
things like that, and here am I in my senior 
year at high, with all sorts of class parties 
on the way and no money for those very 
things. If Grandmother had n't given away 
quite so much — why, I know girls who have 
had lovely clothes made from things fished out 
of old trunks." 

"Why, Sylvia, I am surprised ! If you had 
seen the happiness that g^ft brought, you 
would n't begrudge it for an instant. Carol 
blossomed out like a beautiful flower; it was 
a revelation." 

"I know, Munny, and I am really glad she 
had the good time, and I don't mind the dress ; 
but I do rather wish Gran had saved the 
amethysts. I never have had even a ring, 
and everybody is crazy about old-fashioned 

"I loiow you are n't stopping to think what 
you are saying, Sylvia. Don't ever allow 
yourself to feel even a shadow of regret for 
a lovely, unselfish thing done either by an- 
other or yourself. And as a matter of fact, 
that set might have gone with the rest when 
father's fortune was swept away." 

"I was n't really regretting, I guess, but I 
do love pretty things, and right now, when 
the class is go'ng to have all sorts of doings — " 

"I know you want them and, more than you, 
I want them for you," sighed her mother; 
"but not at the expense of our having failed 
to do our little to assist a starving Europe." 

"Of course, you blessed !" said Sylvia, giv- 
ing her a kiss of penitence. "I know how 
hard it is for you to manage on Dad's income, 
with everything gone up so, and I would n't 
have wanted you to give a penny less for war 
relief, even if it did cut out all the extras; 
but" — she gave a laughing pout — "I wish we 
could have done both. And I could n't help 
thinking that I would n't be absolutely hideous 
in a new lavender tulle, or that, at least, the 
amethyst set would give a little tone to my 
white lawn." 

"You would be lovely in it, dear," said her 
mother, smoothing the soft, dark hair ten- 
derly; "but you are so full of joy and sparkle 
that you don't need it as Carol did. She was 
so shy, and you — " 

"No one could accuse Silly of being shy," 
declared Ted as he turned a cart-wheel 
through the door and came right side up in 
position to kiss his mother. 

"It does n't run in the family," returned 
his sister, pointedly. 

"No, I 'm gradually overcoming mine, but 
I '11 tell you it has been a struggle." A broad 
grin almost engulfed his impertinent face. 
"What 's all this *pale lavender' talk about?" 

"Just a long-ago dress Sylvia was longing 

"Longing for a dress I" declared Ted, scorn- 
fully. "Silly, my dear, you were rightly named I 
Imagine longing for clothes, unless there 's 
such a thing as iron-clad trousers. Now, if it 
was 'eats,' I would work up some enthusiasm 
my own li'l' self. Say, how many hours is it 
until lunch-time? My tummy feels like an 
uninhabited shell-hole." 

Try as she would, Sylvia could not help 
thinking a bit wistfully of the lavender "fix- 
ings," though she did take a family pride in 
giving her chum Bernice a thrilling account 
of Grandmother Edwards in the role of Fairy 
Godmother. And so it seemed to be a sort 
of "thought-transference affair" when, from 
out the silence of years, there should come 
word from the "identical Carol More," who 
now had Thayer added to her name. Carol 
had come across the quaint amethyst set with 
which "dear Mother Edwards" had made her 
so blissfully happy, and she had been seized 
with such a desire to see her old friend Phoebe 
again that she wished to arrange a motor trip 
so that she might stop over with her husband 




for a wee visit, if it would be convenient. 

After the first joy in hearing again from 
her old-time friend, Sylvia saw that her mother 
took on a look of wistful gravity and pre- 
occupation, and it was not hard for her to 
guess its cause. That day she had returned 
from school a-sparkle with joy because Bobby 
Clifton, the bright particular masculine star 
of the class of '19, had already asked her to 
be his partner for the June "Prom," and Mrs. 
Allison had been trying to evolve means for a 
simple party frock for the occasion. 

"But with even common gingham at forty 
cents a yard, I hardly know what we can find 
that will be suitable," sighed Munny. 

"Don't you worry, you lovey; I can wear 
my lawn. We can still afford soap and 
starch," said Sylvia, bravely. 

"Oh, but you only will graduate once, and 
I should like you to go suitably dressed to 
these little school festivities. You can't al- 
ways wear the white lawn, and yet Father 
is already making every sacrifice in order to 
be prepared for the next bond issue." 

"Yes, and we all want him to be ready, 
too, don't we? I 'd rather have a new bond 
pin on his coat than have the duckiest sort of 
a party dress, if there had to be a choice — 
and there does," only a shade regretfully. 

"It is the extravagantly high cost not of 
living, but of mere existing, that makes it so 
difficult to find any new place in which to 
make a cut. I feel that we are already down 
to the barest necessities of the cheapest whole- 
some food and the cheapest durable clothes. 
However, I 'm sure that it will be managed 
some way, if it is right that you should have 
this pleasure. You Ve certainly deserved it." 

That night Sylvia took her books to her 
room to study, for she knew that there was 
a battle to be fought with the problem that 
persisted in obtruding itself between her and 
the lessons on which she tried so hard to con- 
centrate. Again and again she pushed it 
aside determinedly and thrust her head be- 
tween her hands V) gaze fixedly at the printed 
pages. But at last she closed the book with 
a snap and resolutely faced the difficulty. On 
one hand were the delights of the school 
parties, and of one of them in particular, in 
which, more or less "easy to look at," owing 
to a dainty new frock, she floated about with 
an admiring Bobby at the "Prom." Opposing 
this was the thought of her mother writing 
to her girlhood friend that it would not be 
convenient to entertain her. The struggle was 
fone the less severe because it was over so 

small a matter as a cheap little dress, nor yet 
because Sylvia from the first knew how it 
would end, and the big "little sacrifice" was 
made right gallantly. 

In the morning she would brook no denial 
as she lovingly folded her mother in her arms 
and insisted that the Thayers must be made 
welcome, adroity basing her arguments on 
the plea that it would humiliate Dad to 
acknowledge such a state in his affairs. 

Her mother won over, Sylvia was in a whirl 
of excitement, and insisted that the family 
put its best foot foremost, while she strenu- 
ously brushed, mended, and polished it for 
company. There was no vestige of reluctance 
in giving up the few free moments not pre- 
empted by her studies to fix up the guest- 
room so that its fresh daintiness quite obscured 
its plain simplicity. There was no regretful 
thought that even a short entertainment of 
guests would mean additional "goings with- 
out" in their closely pared scheme of living, 
only delight that dear, self-sacrificing Munny 
was going to have the pleasure of meeting 
again her girlhood's friend. 

But so firmly was Carol More entrenched 
in Sylvia's mind in the role of Cinderella that 
her surprise amounted to stupefaction when 
Mrs. Thayer arrived in a big, luxurious tour- 
ing-car that Ted said, "listened like a million 
dollars." And he added the further observa- 
tion that "poor Silly's mind, not being capable 
of grasping anything beyond a flivver, almost 
gave way under the strain." 

But the unexpected magnificence in no wise 
marred the enjoyment of the two perfect days 
the Thayers spent with them. It seemd to 
Sylvia an act of poetic justice that Cinderella 
Carol should have married the Prince; and 
if there ever had been a trace of envy of her, 
it completely evaporated in listening to the 
two friends revive a magical past and in hear- 
ing a second chapter of "The Amethyst Set." 

"So it really was that lovely lavender frock 
that made Lawrence fall in love with me," 
Mrs. Thayer said, her eyes dancing. 

"I don't fail to appreciate that gift, Carol," 
Mr. Thayer interposed, "but I repudiate the 
suggestion that I could have been influenced 
by feminine fripperies, however attractive. 
What got me was that so lovely an apparition 
should have condescended to notice a shy aoid 
undoubtedly awkward young man." 

"You were n't ; you were just nice and dig- 
nified. We all thought he was a woman-hater. 
But it was the dress, any way, for it gave me 
the confidence and the desire to do whatever 




I did. Men have no idea of the difference 
proper clothes make in a woman's poise." She 
laughed, and a quick glance o£ understanding 
flashed to her from under Sylvia's black 

Even Ted was captured by the simple and 
unaffected charm of 
iheir wonderful guest, 
but it was Sylvia who 
seemed to find first 
place in her affections. 
She seemed as eager 
3S Munny to hear all 
about Sylvia's simple 
schooMife, her studies, 
her friends, hopes, and 
ambitions. And it made 
a real gap in the family 
life when the big car 
purred away with their 

"Oh dear I" sighed 
Sylvia the next morn- 
ing, "it "s exactly like 
coming out into the 
drizzle after the dazzle 
of the movies !" 

" 'Cold gray dawn of 
the morning after,' 
Dad 's always singing 
about," teased Ted. 
"Cheer up, raise your 
bumbershoot, and be- 
gin saving your pen- 
nies for some more 
movies. But no joke, 
it must be great to be 
ai rich as Dad says 
they are. If I had that 
much, though,! 'd im- 
prove that car." 

"Oh, yes, I know I 
You 'd have one of 
those movable kitchens, 
such as they have in the 
army, fixed up as a 
bake-shop and hitched 
OD behind," suggested 
Sylvia, sarcastically. "'who could eves bklibi 

"Hurray for Silly ! If 
yon keep on having ideas like that, we 'II have 
10 change your name. As a reward for your 
say-gas-ity, I 'tl hoy a flivver to carry your 
books to school for you." 

"I need one," laughed Sylvia; "but I 've 
made up my mind that 1 'II get 'highest dis- 
tinction' on ray report, anyway." 

Mrs, Allison knew that the "anyway" might 
lie translated to mean, "even if I can't have it 
at the class parties." And so the next week 
when Carol's bread-and-butter letter came, 
along with a box from a fashionable New York 
outfitter's addressed to Sylvia, she could 


hardly wait for the girl's return from school. 
On the walk home the gray eyes were a 
shade grave from the contemplation of the 
social gaieties upon which the class had al- 
ready launched and which had been the chief 
topic of conversation among her particular 
friends- For Sylvia had definitely made up 



her mind to forego these delights rather than 
have Munny worry because she could not have 
the simple finery of the other girls, knowing 
that it would be an even greater problem since 
the entertainment of their recent visitors. But 
one is seventeen only once, and the sacrifice 
was not absolutely painless, even though she 
stoutly assured herself that she would "a thou- 
sand times rather have had dear Mrs. Thayer 
with us." There was, however, not the faint- 
est trace of the struggle in her eyes when she 
kissed her mother and smiled back at her hap- 
pily. She even made her great announcement 
quite nonchalantly: 

"Everybody has talked about the Baccalau- 
reate banquet, the Trom/ and all the other 
parties until I 'm sure the real things will be 
just a little disappointing. I think I *11 keep 
my illusions and stay away from most of them. 
I 've made up my mind to stand at the top in 
my studies, and you know," very glibly, "you 
can't serve two masters." 

Mrs. Allison squeezed the girl to her closely. 

"Thinks it can fool its aged mother when the 
said parent has just finished excavating her 
own prehistoric girlhood ! I happen to know 
that your standing is quite assured, and so 
maybe you may be induced to change your 
mind when I show you a certain letter for my- 
self and a certain parcel for yourself." 

"Munny I" the girl's eyes went big with joy- 
ous question. 

"The letter first? It 's from Carol." 

"Oh, yes; I Ve been looking for it every 

Mrs. Allison drew Sylvia into the big chair 
beside her and read: 

Dearest Phoebe: 

The visit with you and the dear family was 
almost as wonderful as that one in the Eastert'de of 
long ago — what a pleasure it was to bring those days 
back into now ! I wonder if, in memory of them, 
you will give me the privilege of doing something 
that will make me very happy — say as happy as your 
mother was on that never-to-be-forgotten Easter. 
I am so sure of your answer that I have not waited 
for it. 

You have two blessings that have been denied 
me and for which I would gladly exchange almost 
all of mine — not Lawrence, though. Sylvia, in par- 
ticular, stormed my heart; she is so exactly what I 
wanted my daughter to be. She is at the age to 
which I look forward most eagerly with dream- 
daughter — that age of frocks and frills and innocent 
frivolity that is a sort of reaction from school life. 
You can't imagine how I looked forward to the time 
when I should be able to give her the loving under- 
standing and the simple joys that I had longed for. 
She never became anythint? more real than a dream- 
♦'aughter until T met Sylvia, whom I know you will 

share with me to the extent of letting me have the 
joy of giving her some of the little things I was 
never able to give that other. 

I send love and many thanks for the contribu- 
tion, individual and collective, that each one of you 
made to my happiness during our delightful sojourn 
with you. 

Lovingly, CAROL. 

P. S. — Tell Ted that a baseball suit with trousers 
especiallv built for base-sliding will follow as soon 
as Mr. Thayer can find one that will measure up to 
his exacting requirements. 

"Munny! pinch me, put ice on my head, or 
do something heroic !" cried Sylvia as the box 
was opened , and the tissue-paper wrappings 
parted "to the tune of smell-good-ums," as 
Ted declared, bursting into the party with his 
nose sniffing like a bunny's. 

"Who could ever believe it — who could!" 
gasped Sylvia as her mother lifted out the 
dainty lavender dance-frock, a beautiful twi- 
light cloud, revealing beneath it slippers and 
shimmering silk stockings to match. 

"Stop goozeling," demanded Ted, with no 
small show of excitement; "it looks as if there 
was a second reel." 

And so there was — in fact, two; for under- 
neath was a fluffy white net, with the very 
touches of blue that would turn Sylvia's eyes 
to violets; and below that, a soft, gray cape, 
under which the party finery was to be 
shrouded from the public gaze. 

"Think of having three new things all at 
once, and none of them 'necessaries !' " Sylvia 
was so overcome by her riches that she looked 
about her, a flushed picture of dazed happiness^ 

"I hate to say it, Silly, but you look every 
inch of your name !" grinned Ted, stooping to 
fish among the crumpled papers in the bottom 
of the big box and coming up with an old- 
fashioned leather case. 

"Open it," said Sylvia, weakly; "but break 
it to me gently !" 

A paper fluttered to the floor as Ted snappcvl 
open the lid: 

"Sylvia dear, there is no one else to whom I would 
surrender dear Mother Edwards's much-loved gift. 
Maybe some day you will pass on its magic to some 
other young girl." 

Sylvia, in a snow-drift of tissue-paper, lifted 
up eager hands for the case diat Ted had 
kept high above her head. There, on the yel- 
lowed velvet, lay a ring set with a big amethyst 
that had a little pearl flower inlaid on the top, 
and, beside it, a quaint necklace with pendant 
amethvst hearts! 

w e sceppea 

into the 

hoist-bucket at the mouth of the shaft. The 

enginMr moved a lever, and the drum around 

which the cable was wound began to turn. 

Down we went from the fresh moun- 
tain air and warm sunlight into the shivery 
darkness of an apparently bottomless pit, — into 
all manners of smells of earth and dampness 
and powder.— down, down, till the sky seemed 
tQ lower to the mouth of the shaft, now a tittle 
square of light far overhead. 

The mining course of the state university 
requires a certain amount of practical work to 
be done by every student in addition to the 
theoretical instruction received; so I was be- 
l^nning a summer's work at the Silver Cloud 
Mine, in a mining region in the high Sierras. 

It was a novel experience to plunge into the 
(wirk and life of the mines after being all my 
life accustomed to the far different life of a 
city boy. 

Besides the strange scenes and customs of 

worKing on a narrow 
shelf with a hundred feet of black, empty space 
beneath my feet. It was with a strange feel- 
ing that I first stepped into the steel bucket, 
and was lowered to the bottom of the hundred- 
and-fifty-foot ^aft. I hoped that the cable 
was strong enough. 

The Silver Cloud was a new mine. In fact, 
we were not far beyond the "prospect" stage, 
for an ore ledge had been struck only a short 
time before I arrived. Just now we were 
spending most of the time deepening the main 
shaft. It was thought that when we reached 
the two-hundred- foot level we should strike 
the big vein which near-by mines had found 
rich in the precious metals. 

So far, for the most part, we had been work- 
ing with picks and shovels, digging out dirt 
and loose rock. But for the last two or three • 
days we had been drilling holes in solid rock 
which obstructed our way. 

As we started down this morning. Mack said 
to me : "We 'H finish puncturing the old boy 





this morning. Then we '11 fill him full of fire- 
works and blow him to smithereens." 

I must have looked a bit startled at this an- 
nouncement of my impending experience with 
dynamite, for the engineer had laughed and 
said : "Look out ! Don't get blown out of the 

I had to stand much joshing from those 

? hardened veterans of the mines, to whom I was 

still a greenhorn. But Mack, with whom I 

worked most of the time, was very considerate, 

and frequently gave me a lift with my work. 

The shaft down which we are going was 
walled with heavy, well-braced timbers. We 
kept the wall built down to within a few feet 
of the bottom so as to be safe from cave-ins. 
Down one wall ran electric-light wires and two 
air-pipes, one for compressed air for the drillj 
the other to keep us supplied with fresh air 
while we worked. Down the opposite wall ran 
.a ladder. It was made of pipe and chain, so 
as not to be broken or carried away by the 
heavy blasting, and was for use only in case 
the hoist should get out of order. 

I certainly hoped that it would work all right 
while I was at the bottom. I shivered at the 
thought of having to climb up a perpendicular 
ladder of that material, with a hundred and 
fifty feet of space underneath. ' 

As soon as the bucket .touched the bottom of 
the shaft we stepped out and got ready to finish 
the drilling. The steel drill was driven by 
compressed air from the compressor engine in 
the building near the mouth of the shaft. A 
cylinder attached to the back end of the drill 
contained a hammer. This was so operated 
with valves that the compressed air, entering 
at the other end of the cylinder by a hose, 
drove it against the drill with a hundred-pound 
force ten or fifteen times a second. 

Such a drill bored rapidly, but it made a 
terrific racket in the narrow shaft. It was 
rather strenuous work to operate it, because of 
the heavy kick. So Mack and I took turns 
running it for short periods, while the other 
kept the hole wet and cleaned out the moist 
paste of ground rock which kept forming. 

Early in the afternoon we had all the holes 
drilled. At our signal the bucket was hoisted, 
and soon came down again with a hundred 
pounds or so of dynamite. 

"Hope you boys brought your umberrelies,'' 
shouted Bob, down the shaft. "If you did n't, 
you '11 get a wettin'." 

Then we looked up and noticed that the 
patch of light above had grown dim. The 
blue of the sky had turned to a heavy gray. 

Almost immediately we heard the distant rum- 
ble of thunder and could even see the faint re- 
flections of lightning. 

While Mack carefully sifted the brown pow- 
der into each hole and tamped it down solid, I 
measured off the lengths of fuses. I cut them 
different lengths, so that the charges would go 
off in the right order and each blast open the 
way for the next. This made them more effec- 
tive than if we had set them off together, and 
also enabled us to count them and be sure when 
all ten had gone off. 

Soon we had the fuses attached to the per- 
cussion-caps, which were necessary to ex- 
plode the dynamite. After caps and fuses were 
in place, we piled loose rocks over the holes to 
drive the force of the explosions in more effec- 
tively. Then we gave Bob the blasting-signal. 
In answer to it he hoisted the bucket to the top 
and lowered it again to show that the hoist 
was in running order. We lighted all the fuses 
quickly, took the electric bulbs from their 
sockets, gathered together our tools, and 
stepped into the bucket. 

By this time the thunder-storm was raging 
furiously overhead. " The thunder^ echoing and 
reechoing in the hollow shaft, was almost 
deafening. As the cable tightened, after our 
signal to the engineer, a brilliant flash of light- 
ning lit up the whole shaft for an instant. The 
clap of thunder followed it so closely that we 
knew the lightning must have struck not far 
from the mine's mouth. 

At the same second the bucket stopped, al- 
most before it had swung clear of the ground. 
Before we had time to wonder why, Bob's 
head appeared at the top, and he cried: 

"Climb for your lives !" The power 's off !" 

Then we knew what had occurred. The 
lightning must have short-circuited the electric 
wires or burned out the motor. 

Well, we tumbled out of that bucket about as 
fast as hands and feet could take us. We 
jumped over to the ladder side of the shaft and 
groped for the pipes and chains. But in the 
darkness we did not immediately lay our hands 
on them, so Mack pulled out his pocket-lamp 
and flashed it upon the side of the shaft. 
Imagine our consternation when we saw that 
the bottom of the ladder was entirely out of 
reach ! The timber was built down to within 
three or four feet of the bottom, but through 
some oversight the ladder had not been ex- 
tended ! 

There we were, fifteen feet from the bottom 
of the ladder, with ten fuses quickly burning 
their way to a hundred pounds of dynamite 


tucked into the rock I In a very short time the goin^ to do anything to save ourselves, w 
whole bottom of the shaft would be blown up. must do it in a tremendous hurry. 
The shortest fuse was about three minutes The first thing that entered my head was t 

'tntn BKAH A cuHB pos USB, amd with what a handicap I" (SEE NSXT face) 

•wg. and many precious seconds had been put out those sputtering fuses. I jumped to the 

*»«e(l while wc were getting ready to ascend, heap of rocks we had piled over the holes and 

*™"in the thought that the hoist would lift started madly to" throw the stones off so as to 

"' m in a fflw moments. Now, if we were get at the fuses. 



But instantly Mack caught me by the shoul- 
der and perked me back. 

"Cut that out, boy I" he roared. "We could 
n't get half of *em out before the others would 
go off. And besides, they 've inost likely 
burned into the holes by now. 

"Here, quick! Up on my shoulder, then 
jump for the ladder. It 's the only chance to 
get out, unless we want to get blown out." 

I started to follow his command, but then I 
thought of him. 

"But that leaves you down here," I objected, 
"for I can't pull you up when I do reach it" 

"It 'd better be you to get out than me," 
Mack urged. "Hurry, or we '11 both get 

Still I hesitated, and he was starting to 
swing me up himself when a thought came 
to him. 

He acted on it instantly. 

"Hold yourself up strong," he shouted, "and 
l)oost me with all your might if you want to 
get out of here alive !" 

With a spring he was on my shoulder, 
steadied himself for an instant against the wall 
of rock, then stretched up to his full height, 
his arms reaching for the bottom of the ladder. 
He uttered an exclamation of disappointment 

"I can't make it this way," he groaned. "I 
*ve got to jump for it Look out now, when I 
try it, if I fall !" 

I felt his heavy weight quiver for an instant 
as his muscles tensed for the spring. With a 
dig of his feet into my shoulders, his weight 
left me, and I fell flat from the push he gave. 

I leaped up, to see his huge frame hanging 
above me, his hands gripping the last rung of 
the ladder. 

"Now for it !" he bellowed. "Grab my feet 
and hang on for your hfe." 

Then I saw his scheme. I threw myself 
upward, and grasped one of his thick ankles 
with all my might "All right I" I gasped. 

Then began a climb for life, and with what 
a handicap ! To chin one's self with one hand 
is a hard enough feat for the ordinary heavy 
man, but Mack must do it with my hundred 
and sixty pounds hanging like an anchor to 
his feet 

I could feel his muscles tighten with the tre- 
mendous effort I felt myself rise slowly — 
terribly slowly it seemed to me, with the smoke 
of the fuses in my nostrils, expecting at every 
moment to hear the crash of rock bursting with 
the deadly explosive. 

I could hear the big man gasp for breath as 
he struggled to lift two of us hand over 

hand to a position where we could both climb 
for ourselves. I felt sure he could never ac- 
complish so gigantic a feat It seemed as 
though we were slipping back. I thought he 
had given it up, and that we should both drop 
down, to be hurled up with the force of the 
impending explosion. 

But even as my grasp on his ankles loosened, 
I glanced up and saw the ladder hardly above 
Mack's knee. With a last terrific strain, he 
pulled us up to where he could put his feet on 
the rung. I could then have shifted my hands 
to the ladder; but he would not trust to my 
strength till he tould get me up far enough for 
me also to obtain a footing. He called: 

"Hold on with both hands to my left leg!" 

As I obeyed, he quickly drew his free leg up 
and used its strong muscles step by step to 
raise me. Three steps, and I drew myself up 
so that my feet were on the ladder. 

As he felt my weight withdrawn from his 
leg he cried: 

"All right, son; no time to lose!" 

You can readily believe that we began to 
clamber out of that hole like the most agile of 
monkeys. I did n't dare to think of falling 
back ; we must n't even slip one step ! 

It seemed impossible that we could get out 
of reach of the deadly rocks that would come 
flying up, hurled by the immense power let 
loose by the dynamite. Every moment I 
imagined that I could hear the roar, that I 
could feel the upward rush of air, driven by 
the might of expanding gases. 

Mack kept glancing down to be certain that 
I was coming safely, and muttered a word of 
encouragement if he thought I faltered. But 
the strength of desperation kept me close at 
his heels. Already the mouth of the shaft was 
close overhead. I could see Bob's strained, 
anxious face bending over the opening. 

At last Mack's hands reached the bar at the 
top of the ladder; Bob clutched his arm; and 
with a heave. Mack was out Then strong 
arms yanked me up so quickly that I was left 
gasping for breath. 

"Well," said Bob, "I guess you got out about 
the right—" 

As he spoke, there came a mighty blast of 
wind, the ground trembled, and a muffled roar 
burst from the depths below. We looked at 
each other silently. It was a rather sickly 
smile that came to our lips. 

"Well," said Mack, finally, "maybe we 11 do 
some more blasting down there sometime. But 
if we do, I reckon we '11 see to it that our 
ladder 's built down to the last inch !" 


struck it lucky when the doctor sent me out 
to California, and I wish every old day that 
you were here ; we could have some swell timet ! 
Uncle Dick is assistant 
director in the movies, 
and he has sure shown 
me some fun. I 've 
been havin' the most 
fun, tho, with three 
kids, mostly one of 
them, cause he 's just 
my age — ^but cracky ! I 
wish you was him, I 
mean he was you — you 
linow what I mean — 
wmree I like him tho— 
Well, you see this 
kid lives bout a block 

from nje, and every day 

we play in his yard 

with a swell coaster we 

■nadc out of boxes and 

skates. Brian— that 's 

his name — Brian 

Moore. When he told 

rae what it was I said 

Oh gee, I know ! for the 

m that 's senator or 

wmething, but he said, gee no I my name is 

Irish, and h« told me how to spell it So now 

you are learning some of a new language. And 
if he tells me any more, I will tell you. 

Brian has two little brothers-rthe cutest lit- 
tle kids. One has such long curly hair I 
thought he was a girl — he 's Micky — and the 
other is Pat — and here is the joke on me — but 
I bet you would a been fooled, too, 'cause — 
well, what do you think ? We played every 
day in their yard, most, an' I kept studying 
about that little Pat — And one day I said, "Say, 
kid, did n't you never hve in St Louis? cause 
I bet I saw you there." And Brian's mother 
heard me and she laughed and said, "Shure. 
Pat was born in London, and you probably saw 
him in pictures!" And whatda you think! 
He 's that little kid we saw in "the Squaw 
Man." He 's only four and a half years old, 
and is a Star in the movies I His mother told 
me she 'd give me some pictures of him and 
Micky for you. Micky is 3. All of them are in 
pictures — and she 's awful nice — gives us jam 
and bread just as Mother does, big slices — gee 1 
and guess wkatT Pat gets moren 150 dol- 
lars a week, an Micky moren a hundred! 
How 's that for kids 4 an 3 years old. Cracky I 

Uncle Dick works at a studio in Hollywood, 
where Pat does. Pat leU me ride his pony 



when I go out there. When you see the pic- 
ture of him with shops on you will know htm 
akight. You 'd never guess he is a Star to 
see us playing hke any old kids. All the cow- 
boys wave to hijn when tliey go by his house. 

I promised Mother not to say gee so much, 
but gee I keep forgetting! 

Whatda you think happened? / been on a 

batlleship. The Pacific Fleet came to Los 
Aiigelca, you know. Yes, and she carried a 
airship. The aviator named Charles Ward- 
iveJl has fought with the Italian, tlie French 
.ind the British fliers, and was with our N'avy 
— gee ! and guess what — when he came back 
r.nd got with the Texas (that 's the ship) 
he got his old plane back, and I saw a place 
where it was shot in the war! Gee, if we 
had ,ibout 50 ships like the Texas we 'd 

lick the world — Uncle Dick says we would not 

have to lick them, for they 'd be afraid of us. 

But say, the best thing on that ship was the 

mascot — a cracky fine English bulldog — 

smart ! ! you ought to see the tricks the men 

have taught him ! He can do every old thing — 

his name is Jim, and down in the wardroom 

that 's the living room on a ship— and what do 

you think, they call 

the kitchen the galUy — 

and it 's right on the 

deck, aft Yes, and 

they doo't say the fore 

and aft flagpole, but 

Flagstaff for the one 

aft, where the U. S. 

flag flies, and Jackstaff 

for the one at the 

front, where the Jack 

flies — So remember 

now. and don't be n 

greenhorn like me, and 

call the Jackstaff n 

flagstaff. Gee,. I wisli 

St. Louis was on t])c 

Ocean ! 

Just a few days ago 
the Tcxas_ had a big 
Xaval Ceremony, cause 
the Texas won a prize 
for selling the most 
Victory bonds,and Sec- 
cretary Daniels and 
Admiral Rodman and 
about a dozen more big 
officials helped Mary 
Pickford raise a flag at 
the ilagslaff, cause 
Mary helped the men 
win the prize. And the 
prize was the flag that 
flew on the ship Presi- 
dent Wilson went t j 

called the George 
Washington pennant 
yes — 1 started to tell you there is a big 
picture of Jim in the wardroom, and it was 
painted by a English lady, and says Jim was 
the "gift of Admiral Sir Da^-id Beatty to the 
U.S.S. Texas." He is a crackin fine dog. 

Goodby. I don't know whether we 'd better 
be aviators or sailors. I sure liked that Texas 
— Just as shiny clean as a new knife. Well, 
goodby. Take good care of my pigeons. 

So long. Lewis. 



It all began three years ago, when a new 
teacher of public speaking came to our high 
school. For Miss Thomas was different, and 
^e made her class different, so that we all 
liked it. We had the same work that other 
(cachers gave us, but she found time for new 
things that made it twice as interesting. 

We acted out pantomimes. Could the class 
fet the story that we were trying to tell by 
gestures? One day she asked who had been 
10 a moving-picture that week, and then differ- 
ent boys and girls acted movie parts, while the 
rest of us guessed what characters Ihey were. 

Then she started a Hew class for plays, 
and it soon had a waiting-list, so many elected 
iL Just reading plays aloud, each of us doing 
a part, made them twice as real. We even 
tried to act out a little one-act play in our 
crowded school-room, but the desks gave us 
no space, and when we went up-stairs to the 
big auditorium, that failed. It is such a big 
room, seating sixteen hundred, that our voices 
and gestures were lost. What we wanted was 
plays, and a little place to work in, a sort of 
laboratory for our new class. 

When the school began again in September, 

Miss Thomas told us about the work she 'd 
been doing in the summer, and the plays she 'd 
seen, and especially about the Portmanteau 
Theater, giving its first performance in a 
settlement house down on the East Side in 
New York. And she said just what we 'd all 
been thinking; "If we could only have a little 
theater !" And then she went on. "I 'vc been 
wondering, if the Portmanteau could give their 
beautiful plays in that dingy gymnasium, why 
could n't we do something in the music- 
practice room down-stairs." 

At once boys and girls took up the sug- 
gestion. Indeed, while wc were eagerly dis- 
cussing it. James slipped out of the room. 
hunted up the principal, and asked breath- 
lessly, could our class have that room? 

"I don't see any reason why not," was the 

And back came James with the permission, 
and we went right to work. "We" means not 
only our class, but nearly every girl and boy 
of all the eleven hundred in our school. The 
manual-training class built out the narrow 
platform to fourteen and a half feet, and in 
front of this, a step lower, they built a fore- 




stage, eight feet wide; so our whole stage is 
twenty-two by tw.enty-four feet, a very good 
size. We are very proud of our fore-stage, 
as it is the first one in the Middle West. The 
English literature class had learned about it, 
because Beaumont and Fletcher used one; 
but we really borrowed it from the Portman- 
teau Theater, to bring the players closer to 
the audience. The theater now seats a hundred 
and sixty-six, and that makes a fair audience. 
The proscenium-arch, which separates the 
stage from the guests, is the work of the 
manual-training class, too. It is just a par- 
tition made of compo-board. The piers at 
the side are hollow, with the switches for 
the lights, and the pulleys and ropes for the 
curtain inside. When George showed Miss 
Thomas his diagram for the curtain machin- 
ery, it proved too complicated for her to 
understand, but it has never failed to work. 

And our stage has one real innovation: 
back of the brown curtain, reaching from 
floor to ceiling, are glass doors. They have 
a framework of wood, which we enameled gray. 
Through these glass doors the audience gets 
a first hint of the setting for a play; then 
the pages open the doors, which fold back 
out of sight, and the whole scene is disclosed. 
The girls in the sewing class made curtains 
of ^cru scrim, to take away the bare look of 

the win- 
dows. The 
art class 
worked on 
a sign for 
the the- 
ater's en- 
trance, and 
the boys in 
lettered it Outside the building Mr. Park's 
boys put up a quaint sign announcing "Our 
Little Theater." It has a swinging bulletin- 
board, and two lanterns light it at night. The 
printing class did the programs and tickets. 
You see, everybody helped, and the first 
week in December we opened our theater 
with a real play. One page lay down on the 
couch and went to sleep; the other nodded 
on a stool. This was to show, you. under- 
stand, that acted drama was asleep in the 
high school. A trumpet sounded. The page 
on the stool started, rose, shook his friend, 
looked at the clock, and called out: 

"Wake up! Wake up. Jack I Eight-fifteen, 
and time for the play to begin I" 

Good for Any Phy Perfenntooe 






Jack yawned, glanced at the clock, and got 
up. They held back the curtain, and out 
stepped the reader of the prologue, who told 
in rhyme, written by the English class, 
how this playhouse was built. At the line, 
"But hark! I hear the bells chiming!" a 
gong struck, behind the scene. "Pages, draw 
back the curtains, and let us enjoy our first 

The drawn curtains revealed the sculptor's 
studio; a slave was putting things to rights. 
The pages watched him through the glass 
doors, then motioned to each other to open 
the doors, too, so that the audience could see 
the play. And during the performance of 
"Pygmalion and Galatea" they sat on their 
gay cushions on the fore-stage. 

The pages are always busy people. Appjir- 
ently they manage everything— open and close 
the curtains and doors, carry in properties, 
and introduce the boys and girls who perform 
on the fore-stage; for during intermissions 
we have people sing or play or dance — trouba- 
dours, or the ukulele quartet, or Greek dancers, 
or a violinist. 

The pages are the g#-betweens between the 
play and the audience. Sometimes our audi- 
ence is more amused with the pages than with 
the play, puzzling out what the idea really is. 

"What play did you say this is?" asks Fred. 

Harry, looking at his program : " *A Pot of 
Broth,' by Yeats, and J. W. plays the beggar- 
man," . 

Fred : "Oh, hurry ! Let 's draw the curtains 
and sec Jonathan." (As the beggar enters) 
"Oh, look at him ! Is n't he strange ?" 

Harry, as they close the curtain after the 
play: "What a funny old Irish duffer Will 
makes! He looks just like an old man who 
lives down* our way." 

Fred: "The next is an Irish reel. Hurry, 
I hear the music I' (They enjoy the dance 
on the fore-stage.) , "Did you see Walter's 
green tie'" 

Harry: "Yes, and he nearly forgot which 
girl was his partner." (They both laugh.) 

Fred: "The next play is called *The Lost 
Silk Hat' — 'supposed to be a streeet scene.'" 

Harry : "Well, this fore-stage does n't look 
much like a street to me." (As if he had 
an idea) "Let 's make it look like one." 
(Each page brings in a pillar, boxes, and 
stools.) "Now this can be the front of the 
house. There, set your box straight; this is 
an awful' particular play, you know. Looks 
better, does n't it ?" 

Fred: "Yes, but it 's so dark here. We 



can't have a street without any light I 've 
got an idea — the lamp-lighter. Hey, there, 
Lamp-lighter I Come and give us some light." 

Lwnp-lighter : "All right. I 'U be there in 
3 minute." ( He goes up the aisle, steps on 
to the fore-stage, and lights two old-fashioned 
street-lamps, which we had rescued from the 
back alleys of a town near by.) 

Fred: "Thank you. Lamp-lighter. Won't you 
stay and see the play?" 

Lamp-lighter: "Oh, I can't; have n't time." 

Both pages, urging him: "Oh, yes, you 
have! Do sit down." (So he blows out his lan- 
tern and sits down in the front 
row, and the play begins.) 

The whole expense for our 
theater was only a hundred and 
sixty-five dollars the first year. 
This bought the lumber, the cur- 
tain material, the paint, and the 
lighting fixtures. By June we 
had paid back every cent to the 
board of education, and we 
charge only twenty-five cents 
in the evenings, and five cents 
in the afternoons. Often boys 
and girls save a nickel out of 
their lunch money, and our 
mating are always crowded. 

The costumes are never ex- 
pensive; our sewing-teacher is a 
genius, and the girls do all the 
work. For our first play eleven 
dollars provided nine Greek 
costumes — six-cent linings, used f" 

dull side out, ten-cent silkolines, 
twenty-five-cent sateen ; slipper soles from the 
ten-cent store made into sandals. The robes 
bad border designs put on with crayolas or 

Of course in any theater the lighting is the 
most difficult thing. We spent some of our 
money this year for an indirect lighting aya- 
tem. The boys in the physics class did most of 
the work. We have no footlights at all, so 
there is no need for much make-up. There are 
overhead lights, hidden by the proscenitun- 
irch,'and lights on each side, with reflectors. 

For the performances on the fore-staue we 
wanted a moonlight effect, hut the side-lights, 
covered with colored silk, did not succeed. 
Some one sugirested the head-lights of an auto- 
mobile, and Ellis offered to drive their car 
near the window and turn the lights on to the 
lore-sUge. An hour later he reported to Miss 
Thomas, "Come, please, and see the moon we 
ha« made you I" A western mcxm at eight 

o'clock seemed impossible, but there it was, 
shining steadily and happily, as if it said, "This 
is my contribution to Our Little Theater." 

For the convenience of the audience there 
are side-lights of gas that bum throughout our 
performances. The fixtures we made from 
peroxide bottles, after the bottoms and necks 
were ground off; the forge class set them into 
iron frames, with lids of sheet-iron fitting over 
the tops, and in the lids they made a crescent- 
moon design. They give an amber glow to 
the theater ; streaks of dark and light, like the 
aurora borealis, radiate from the bottle; and 

there is the moon's shadow on the ceiling. 
With the glass doors and the curtained win- 
dows, they give our room real atmosphere, 
"like an old monastery," as one visitor was . 
heard to say. 

In this year and a half Our Little Theater 
has given over twenty plays, often several one- 
act plays in an evening. And we not only do 
plays, but we arc learning about producing 
them. We make designs for the settings. And 
we have great fun trying out things — thunder 
and lightning, a snow-storm, and a fire. 

But all this is regular school-work. No mat- 
ter what your part may be, usher, manager of 
stage or lights, actor, page, advertising man, 
you are marked at each performance and at 
each class appointment We have written les- 
sons and special topics and examinations. But 
none of the other classes is half so interesting, 
for this is ours, our work and our play to- 
gether. It it well named "Our Uttle Theater." 


A DANGEROUS subject! It is difficult to dis- 
cuss America's part in the Treaty and the 
League without being accused of party pre- 
judice. That is not a very serious accusa- 
tion, because whenever any great question of 
policy is before the country, the country di- 
vides on one side or the other pretty much as 
the two great parties Uke their sides. How- 
ever, The Watch Tower tries to he, first, 
American, and, second, "independent" in its 
report and comment. 

The League debate grew warm in Septem- 
ber. President Wilson made his tour of the 
country, speaking in the large cities. He 
spoke in generahties, his opponents said; gen- 
eralities that did not seem to them even to 
glitter. They answered his speeches in 
speeches of their own. The people, presum- 
ably, listened to the speeches on both sides, 
nr read reports of them in the newspapers, 
:i[id made up their own minds. Really, it 
seemed as though in the main the people were 
not greatly moved one way or the other, and 
only wished that the President and the Sen- 
ate would decide on a course of action and 
settle the thing. But it seemed that the na- 
tion must be grasping more clearly the fac- 
tors involved, and fixing values upon the argu- 
ments pro and con, with regard to the supreme 
consideration of true Americanism, our ovm 
rights in the world, and our duties to the rest 
of the world, and more specialized matters, 
hke Shan-tung, Persia, the number of votes 
controlled by the British Empire, and so on. 
,What can safely be said here is this; that 
in this great debate we have had an oppor- 
tunity to see our system of government at 


work. We have seen the question take form 
and go through the most searching study. \V<! 
have seen what the President on the one side 
and the Congress on the other can and can- 
not do. 

By the time this article is read the nation's 
policy will in all probability have been defi- 
nitely fixed, and we shall stand upon the firm 
rock of decision instead of the shifting sand-- 
of discussion. 


Aboi't the time a good many of the preseiii 
readers of St. Nicholas were born, some- 
where along the latter part of the first dec- 
ade of this century, there was a terrific 
Htorm that came tearing in from the Gulf of 
Mexico, and left a trail of ruin in Texas. The 
liurriQane and the tidal wave almost completely 
wrecked the city of Galveston. 

The city was reconstructed, and a great 
sea-wall was built to protect it against wind 
and wave. The courage and determination 
shown by the afflicted people at that time won 
the admiration of the whole nation, as their 
suffering had commanded its instant sympathy. 

On September ii of this year the Weather 
Bureau at Washington sent out storm warn- 
ings for the Texas coast. For two or three 
days the storm was reported as "centered in 
the Gulf." Then suddenly the bulletins an- 
nounced that the whole Gulf coast was in the 
tempest's line of march. And so it was! "Area 
disturbance greatest in history of Weather 
Bureau," was the warning. 

Corpus Christi and other Texas towns were 
wrecked. On September 20 it was reported 
that ,j86 persons were known to have tost 



their lives, and it was certain that the casu- 
alty list was still far from complete.. The 
traosportation, light, and power services had 
been put out of commission. Houses and 
stores had been blown down or washed away, 
and the gale had left a trail of destruction 
and devastation that would have made a 
German army proud of itself. 

Help was given with all the speed and ef- 
fectiveness that American wits and kind 
hearts command in such emergencies. Is it 
silly or sloppy to rejoice over the courage of 
the Texans and the kindness of the rest of 
us Americans and to see in them proofs of 
the continued existence of that good old 
American spirit of which wc are proud? 


Me came to America with a n'essage of grati- 
tude and friendship from the Belgian people. 
The boys and giris. as well as the men and 
women, of America were glad to greet him. 
They had taken no small part in American 
projects for relief for his stricken peciple. 
They had admired the courage and endurance 
of the Belgians, and they had many a time 
applauded his own brave words and act.s. 
Thev had read how he, clergyman and 

scholar, had in behalf of his oppressed people 
fearlessly faced, outspokenly denounced, xni 
stoutly resisted the monsters of Prussian mili- 
tarism. They knew that his scholarship had 
the pulse of humanity, that his reli^on was 
broader than any creed, and that he feared n* 
man becaute he did fear God. 

And as they joined ih America's greeting 
to him, so did they join also in America's de- 
termination to hold fast forever the love of 
liberty, the readiness to die rather tkan sub- 
mit to invasion of the freeman's rights, whid) 
both Belgium and the United States carried 
into, through, and out from the war. 


Regardless of the smaller matters of inter- 
national pohtics, which occasionally color our 
ideas, when you think what are the actual 
good and bad influences in the life of man- 
kind you are pretty sure to come to the con- 
clusion that Great Britian and the United 
States, standing together, represent the 
mightiest force in the world on the side of fair 
dealing among 
the nations. 
That does n't 
mean that we 
think every- 
thing England 
does is the 
best that can 
be done, any 
more than we 
think every- 
thing Ameri- 
can is ideally 
perfect. It 
does mean that 
England and 
America are 
and ought al- 


. be 


partners o 
side of justice. 

So everything that increases the friendship be- 
tween the great English-speaking peoples, 
everything that helps them to understand each 
other better, is a good thing for the peace and 
prosperity of the world. 

Such a fliing is the presence in this oountry, 
as Great Britian's Ambassador, of Viscount 
Grey. For years before the war he. as Foreign 
Minister in the Government of the British 
Empire, labored constantly for peace among 
the nations. When the war began it was 




who expressed England's decision to fight for 
her honor. Germany gave him her best com- 
pliment by hating him most of all Englishmen. 
England could not possibly be better repre- 
sented in America than it will be by Lord 


LiTBRALLY not much more than a stone's-throw 
from the spot where the Boston Massacre oc- 
curred, Massachusetts guardsmen stood one 
day in September of this very year of grace 
(or disgrace) with bayoneted guns leveled at 
a crowd of rioters. The scene, disgraceful in 
any American city, seemed superlatively so in 
old Boston. But the Boston of to-day is quite 
a different town from the Boston of old liter- 
ary tradition. 

The disorders were a sequel of the Police 
Strike. Some of the Boston police, in the face 
of warnings from the commissioner, insisted 
on their right to form a union and strike for 
higher pay. Citizens volunteered for police 
duty and undertook the protection of life and 
property. The lawless element seized its op- 
portunity, looted stores, and openly indulged 
in various forms of violence and disorder. 
Finally, the militia was called in, and the 
governor of the State even asked the Federal 
Government if it would send military forces 
if the state guard should prove unable to 
handle the situation. 

The governor showed sense and courage. 
The people stood stoutly by him. It was made 
clear that men employed in the service of the 
Government were not to be permitted to hold it 
up. They were regarded as mutinous soldiers. 
i The governor said, "To place the mainten- 
' ance of the public security in the hands of a 
body of men who have attempted to destroy it 
would be to flout the sovereignty of the laws 
the people have made." 

Good for you, Governor Coolidge! 


Militarism is bad. Unfitness for the work of 
the Soldier is bad. We must be a nation phy- 
sically fit and with healthy nerves. If wo 
were that and no more, we should have only 
the material of defense. 

Some folks thought we could raise, equip, 
and train an army overnight. We did put a 
large and efficient fighting force into the field 
in an amazingly short time; but there was 
waste of all kinds — ^waste that would have been 

avoided if we had only been better prepared. 

So long as a treaty can be regarded as a 
"scrap of paper" and canceled by one of its 
parties, the nation needs to be ready to up- 
hold *its honor by force of arms. Therefore 
it seems highly advisable to require every 
American boy to devote some time to training 
for the work that would be his if we had to 
go to war. 

The Senate Committee on Military Affairs 
has had a number of plans submitted to it, 
covering a wide range of possibilities. If it 
were put to a vote by the boys, it would soon 
be settled! 


How many Woolworth Towers, placed one 
upon another in a vertical column, would it 
take to reach a point 35,000 feet above the 
surface of the earth? If they could be piled 
up that way, the tip of the obelisk would be 
just a few stories farther up than Roland 
Rohlfs got in his plane on September 18. The 
bold flier established a new altitude record: 
34,610 feet 

At such heights the air is almost too thin 
for people to breathe or for an airplane to 
float in. And yet 35,000 feet is only a little 
more than six miles, and that is n't much of a 
start toward any of our neighbor planets. 

Suppose a man could be supplied with air, 
or a substitute for it, enough to keep him alive 
long after passing beyond the earth's atmos- 
pheric envelop. Then suppose a machine 
could be made light enough and strong 
enough to move vast distances through the 
sea of ether beyond our atmospher. Then 
suppose the machine and the man to be started 
aloft at the speed of a rifle-bullet, and aimed 
straight out into space. 

That seems to give our ambitious aviator 
just about all he could wish for. And then 
what? Astronomers tell us how many years 
it takes a ray of light to travel to us from 
the sun. Mr. Airman would spend a long time 
on the way. Even a voyage to Mars or the 
moon would be a tiresome trip. 

And at the end of it— what? Perhaps the 
air-cushion, if there is one, about the other 
planet would ease the jolt of landings. Per- 
haps Mars or Luna would be hospitable to 
the explorer. Who can say postively that 
they would not? Then would come the trip 
home, and such "tales of a traveler" as never 
have been told. Presumably, they never 1X0 
be told ; and yet — 


New things are being doDe all the time. 
VVhcn the north pole becomes a fashionable 
summer resort, some restless adventurer may 
find a way into the heart of earth, and^ dis- 
cover new wonders of nature, new sources of 
heat and power. When wireless telegraphy is 
old-fa^ioned, and people pity the clumsy ex- 
perimenter of 1919, there may be communica- 
tion with our stars, and perhaps transporta- 
tion over an interplanetary system. Nothing 
seems quite impossible. 

Perhaps Mr. Rohlfs's achievement will ap- 
pear later to have in it more of usefulness 



than we can see in it now. Certainly this nervy 
and successful flier wins admiration for his 
courage and sporting spirit. It must be 
mighty still and lonely 'way up there ! 


Safk this for Sunday; it 's really a sermon. 
It '» labeled, 90 that you don't have to read 
it if you don't want to. 

Some people are shaking their heads, pulling 
loop faces, and saying the world is in a bad 
*»y, that things will never get straightened 
out, and there 's no use trying — except just to 

take care of yourself. Others are in doubt 
whether this is the end, or a period of dark- 
ness to be followed by the dawning of a new 
day. Here and there is a cheerful prophet. 
one who sees the sunrise, who declares these 
are good times because they are making us 
better acquainted with ourselves, and who 
looks to the future with confidence that it will 
be good and also with, what is even more 
valuable, determination to help make it so. 

When a ship is in trouble, some fellows 
want to sit down and just wait for the end, 
or for some one else to rescue them. Some 
want to take to the life-boats right away, 
save themselves, and leave the old hulk to take 
her chances. And some jump for the pump- 

There are five senses, and the greatest of 
these is the sixth, the sense of values. (It in- 
cludes the sense of humor.) It 's vaiuabU, if 
you have to go down, to go down fighting. 
As every sermon has to have a story in it. 
here 's one that shows the difference between 
the fighter and the quitter. 

Somewhere in South Africa were two pros- 
pectors who were "all in, down and out" 
Their food was gone, their burros lay dead 
somewhere back in tlie desert. The men were 
hungry and weak. If they had discovered a 
million dollars worth of gold right then and 
there, they could n't have bought a ham sand- 
wich with it 

One man quit He shot himself. The 
other man staggered on. Suddenly, he saw a 
column of smoke. Smoke I Men I 

With his last bit of strength he tottered into 
a camp, where he was cared for and fed. 

Years afterward, he came upon a skeleton 
in the desert Beside it lay a revolver. He 
kicked the revolver asid:. A golden fleck 
showed in the sand. Gold I The gun and the 
bones were those of the man's former partner. 

Whether the story is true or not, it easily 
might be; and it will mean something to any 
young American who has any thought of 

Pshaw I we 've gone and spoiled our little 
amateur sermon. There is n't any young 
American like that. 


Oh a day late in September eleven large 
steamers sailed out of New York harbor car- 
rying passengers for European and South 
American ports. Not since the summer of 
1 9 14 had so many passenger-ships steamed 


The watch tower 

down the bay and out to sea. More than 
45OP passengers were aboard. It was just 
one. of the straws in the wind, helping to show 
that things are beginning to get normal again. 

An important national enterprise, carried on 
almost entirely by Americans not yet old 
enough to vote, has been resumed, and is en- 
joying "a period of unprecedented prosperity," 
as the newspapers say about other forms- of 
business. Yes — football ! It is part of Amer- 
ican education, preparation for life. Properly 
played, it makes stronger bodies, keener, 
quicker minds, and stouter spirits. 

In New York State a committee with State 
Senator Lusk at its head has been investi- 
gating individuals, organizations, and publica- 
tions suspected of disloyalty. In September 
it was reported that the committee had caused 
ten newspapers or magazines to suspend pub- 
lication. These papers had names like "The 
Revolutionary Age." "The Rebel Worker"; 

and several of theiM were printed iti foreign 
languages. Every loyal American must re- 
gard as welcome news every report of success- 
ful efforts to reslrain those who would upset 
the form of government by which the liberties 
of our people have been protected. 

When the departments of the Government at 
Washington want money, they have to ask 
Congress for it. In September they asked for 
$47,000,000. They got a little more than 
fourteen millions. Economy at Washington 
would help to put the giant Cost-o '-living out 
of business. The best thing about this appro- 
priation bill was that both political parties 
favored the reduction of the estimates. 

Well, General Pershing and his boys got 
back, and how good those First Division fel- 
lows did look as they marched in New York 
and Washington! No picture seems more 
fitting for this department's use than the one 
we have selected. 

OI>rt<nutlim(l Film, . 




Naturally, therefore, more power is needed 
for transportation every year. Engine after 
engine has been installed in the power-houses 
of the street railways; but hardly has a new 
one been put into operation, before another 
has become necessary. 

Not long ago it was decided to make a de- 
cided addition to the subway system, and then 
the railway engineers made up their tninds to 
put in an engine that would suffice for a few 
years at least. "Let us get a big engine," they 
said, "not only the largest ever built, but the 
largest any one can build." 
It was an ambitious plan, but they carried it 


The engineers of the great system of subways, 
elevated railways, and trolley-cars of New 
York City have many difficult problems to 
Siolve, and one of them is to provide sufScient 
power to transport the city's constantly in- 
creasing population. For New York is grow- 
ing- very rapidly. Every day it receives enough 
new citizens to supply a good- si zed town, while 
its yearly increase is greater than the total 
number of inhabitants of many of our States. 

Book Rights Reserved* 

r BSvDHD IS tat 1 00,000 


out; and so tonlay the New York street rail- 
ways are being suppHed with electricity by an 
engine that ii so powerful that every other 
one now in operation seems insignificant be- 
side it. 

To say that this huge machine can develop 
one hundred thousand horse-power is, how- 
ever, to give a very vague idea of its real 
capacity. Let us rather consider some of the 
things it can do. 

It can supply enough power to drive fifty 
limited express-trains at the rate of sixty miles 
an hour. 

It could lift every man, woman, and child 
in New York City at the rate of 400 feet a 
minute, which is the speed of the ordinary 

It can generate enough electricity to light 

modest and unassuming in appearance. It u. 
in fact, not an engine of the ordinary kind at 
all, but a "turbine," which means that it 
consists simply of a number of large cylinders, 
without the moving wheels and rods that make 
the older type of engine so impressive. 

We can get a good view of this new form 01 
engine in our illustration. Fig. i. In the fore- 
ground is a smaller "duplex" turbine of some 
40,000 horse-power, and just beyond it is our 
big giant, which, as can 
readily be seen, is triplex, or made up of thret 
main parts. Behind it tower several engines 
of the older type. 

Fig. 2 shows the contrast between the old 
and the new. At the left is just a small part 
of the old engine, with its slowly revolving 
wheel, while beyond it can be seen one of the 

a line of electric lamps spaced fifty feet apart cylinders of the big turbine. The old engine is 

and encirclii^ the world at the equator. several times as large as the new, but it can 

But in spite of its immense power, this develop only about otu Sfunlh a* much 

steam-and-electric Hercuir* it reallv very power \ 



What is the difference between the two? 
The old engine consists, like the familiar loco- 
motive, essentially of a cylinder in which a 
piston is pushed back and forward by the 
iiteam. The operation of the turbine is quite 
different, and, to understand it, let us look at 
Fig. 3, which shows the interior of one of the 
cylinders. Here we see a great wheel, or rath- 
er a spindle, being; lowered into the bottom 
part of the cylinder. When it is in place, the 
lop of the cylinder will be put on and bolted 
down. If y«u look closely, you will see that 
ihe spindle is covered with hundreds of smalt 
blad^ or vsnes. The steam, entering the cyl- 
inder, blows a^nst these vanes, much as you 
blow against the vanes of a paper pin-wheel, 
and the spindle revolves just as the pin-wheel 

For many reasons, which would take a long 
time to explain, it is possible to get a great 
deal more power out of a small turbine than 
out of a mtich larger engine of the old kind. 
The turbine is also simpler and requires less 
care and attention. These are very important 
advantages, and as a result, the turbine has 
virtually supplanted the old engine in all 
modem power-houses, and is also now being 
oud for operating steamships >b well. 

IBS BorroK rA»T or tub CYLINDEI 

It is hard to guess just why he was named 
Friday, but it may have been the day on which 
he arrived. It took some time for him to get 
over an abused feeling at being carried miles 
and miles into a strange town and among 
strange beings. But hunger grows more in- 
tense, and it pays to make friends when each 
of twenty boys comes with offerings of let- 
tuce, nuts, or grain. Probably by now Friday 
feeis sorry for his bourgeois friends, left be- 
hind in Prairie-dog Town. There you have 
it — ^a prairie-dog 1 One look from those 
shining dark eyes, and you 're his champion; 
one touch of diose silky brown paws, so like 
hands, and you 're his abject slave. When 
he sits up nice and straight, with that stub of a 
tail, ending in its splash of black, sticking out 
like a prop, you can never resist his plea for 
something nice to eat. When he thrusts his 
nose into the palm of your hand and hangs on 
to a finger with both little paws, there is noth- 
ing for it but he has to be petted until he 
tumbles over asleep. But let 's begin at the 

Friday was only three months old when a 
boy carried him away from Prairie-dog Town 
and deposited him. eventually, in the yard of a 



big fraternity house, where a bunch of lively 
boys were always chasing around It was a 
glorious yard in which to dig roots if other 
things were not forthcoming, for Friday rapid- 
ly developed a remarkable taste for sweets. 
Then this new, really pleasant state of ailairs 
all went to pieces. The frat boys put on the 
khaki and marched away to war. The house 
was filled with other beings, feminine this 
time, with less of a hking for small furry 
animals. One of the frat boys who was too 
young to march away took the Httle fellow 
to his own home. So ended the first adven- 

Friday was now quite spoiled, and he soon 
felt at home in the new place. He tagged the 
housewife from room to room, until weari- 
ness overcame his desires and he had to go 
off for a snooze. The Boy-Who-Was-Left- 
Behind noticed that at such times Friday 
usually disappeared under a certain thick- 
cushioned chair. This old chair stood far back 
in a corner against an old-fashioned secre- 
tary. Sweeping day discovered a great hole 


in the stuffing of the chair between the springs 
and the webbing, and tiiere they found Friday 
fast asleep. The housewife said it would 
never do; Friday was banished to the. cellar 
and the old chair patched with wire. ■ 

But Friday did n't love that horrid old dark 
cellar. It was too lonesome. No one came to 
pet him or scratch his chin or laugh at his 
antics. One night he found a crack in one 
comer of a drain-tile big enough to let him 
■^ter. In he went He crawled on and on 

until he was most decidedly lost. Then he 
barked so excitedly that he roused the house- 
wife and the boy out of their beds. The boy 
had to break a piece of tiling in order to 
rescue poor httle scared Friday. The house- 
wife began to wish that Friday lived some- 
where else, and was greatly relieved to learn 
that the frat boys would soon he back and 
would then have a home for Friday. So 
ended the second adventure of Friday. 

Soon after Friday came to town I visited 
him, and by the liberal use of peanuts made 
him a steadfast friend. He also posed for 
me with becoming grace and lack of self- 
consciousness, as you can sec. I said to him 
at various times that any day he desired to 
change his street number he was welcorr.e to 
adopt ours. Friday's manners grew worse 
and worse, and he did things with those sharp 
teeth and nails until the frat boys said they 
no longer loved him. When he took advan- 
tage of their absence one afternoon to chew 
the bottoms off all the new lace curtains, the 
boys vowed vengeance. Sad indeed would 
have been his fate, had not 
two tender-hearted boys res- 
cued him. For safety's sake 
he rode in a big military coat 
pocket until a new home 
could be found for him. And 
that is how a little prairie- 
dog is running around the 
waxed floors of a university 
laboratory. This marks the 
end of Friday's third adven- 

And as in all lives there is 

woven a thread of tragedy, 

so it came to Friday. One 

sad day, when no one knew 

the door was open, he 

plunged down the elevator 

shaft, two stories deep, to the 

cement floor below. Whert 

iiuDE we picked him up, we thought 

he would never scold us 

again; but after he had lain very limp for 

several minutes, he drew a deep breath and 

gave us a couple of very shDrt, very quavery 

little barks. We wiped the blood from his 

mouth, where a sharp tooth had gashed the 

cheeek, and looked him over for broken bones. 

Two teeth were loosened, and one front leg 

was badly bruised. Friday spent several days 

sleeping without interruption. When these 

had passed, he spent two days working with 

the loosened teeth, presciog- them back and 




fortb with his little paws, until they fell out. 
Now it happens that kind Mother Nature has 
provided very nicely tor all the little rodents, 
of which Friday is one. When a tooth is 
broken off or falls out, a new one immediately 
begins to form, provided the soft pulp at the 
base of the tooth is uninjured. Friday now 
has two little white tips showing through, and 
it won't be long before he will be fully 
equipped for eating roots and nuts again. And 
with his recovery from his eventful fall, we 
will call this the end of Friday's fourth ad- 

Friday goes into his bed of straw about five 
o'clock every afternoon. He sleeps straight 
through until noon the next day, when a great 
scratching and 
clawing evi- 
dences his de- 
sire to be help- 
ed out of his 
tall box. Then 
comes a couple 
of hours of 
here and there, 
boxes, baskets, 
and corners. 
He has a funny 
little "Come- 
on, here - we - 
go" lope thai 
is delightfully 
A TVPiCAi, PBAisiK-Doc F03R happy In its 

abandon. A tap 
on the floor is a signal for him to hurry along 
toward the tapper; something worth while may 
be in store. 

He is especially found of cornmeal mush, 
picking up a pawful and carefully licking it 
off, especially between the fingers. He is also 
very fond of creamed peas after they have 
been mashed and the skins taken out In goes 
his mouth, like a little pig, and the pea soup 
gets up over his nose and down his chin; but 

he never stops till the dish is empty. He 
drinks mtik, eats canned com, loves piecrust, 
boiled rice, cooked raisins, and, in fact, nearly 
everything, with the exception of cabbage and 
potatoes. On the last two items he kicks and 
kicks hard; for when he does n't like a thing, 
he does just what the naughty little boy or 
girl does at table — throws it as far as he pos- 
sibly can. He likes his food warm, and when 
he finds it cold, he takes both little paws and 
spills whatever is in the dish right out on 
the floor. 

Being a prairie-dog, one would expect Fri- 
day to like warmth, and he certainly does 
enjoy it, the hotter the better. He crawls 
under the radiators, where he flattens himself 
out like a little 
rug, with feet 
sticking out as 
far as it is 
possible, and 
there he sleeps 
for an hour or 
more. He took 
a great liking 
to an army hat 
worn by one 
of the stu- 
dents, so an 
old one was 
given by one 
of the boys, 



sHovviNO ins I'HKv-tY PAWS slecplng-bag 
every day, for 
it sits close to the radiator and is such a cozy 

Friday is seven months old now and nearly 
full grown. If he should return to Prairie- 
dc^ "Town, what tales of the wide world he 
could tell them ! Perhaps they would scoff at 
him as a romancer, so I think it just as well 
that he stay where everybody wonders what 
will be the next adventure of Fridav. 

Marjorie Sh.^nafelt. 


A* we bave often explained, it ii a constantly i 

curring joy to note hovr a certain battalion of our with 

ardent young army forges to the front one month. list, 

and another leads the van the next. In one issue, Much remains to be said in praise of this Noveni' 

perhaps, the camera-lovers bead the line, and in the ber exhibit as a whole and in particular. But in 

following number the young folk who draw with pen lieu of saying it, we are aelfiah enough to give place 

or pencil take precedence. Last month our trouba- to a young writer who has made St. Nichoi^b very 

dours fairly excelled themselves with an array of happy. We are deeply indebted this month to one 

little poems remarkable for poetic thought and • of our Honor Members, who, under cover of the 

line. sense of melody. This month the prose-writers prose subject, has seized the opportunity to offer a 

came forward with a rush that would not be denied graceful tribute, very tenderly and beautifully writ- 

and almost overwhelmed ua with the number and ten. It would be unfair to let it crowd any young 

variety of their offerings. In sheer desperation we competitor from the body of the LUCUK p»st*, bttt 

were forced to let the department overrun its usual we gratefully print it here in the Introduction so 

limits by two pages, and even this increaae falls far that all htMHiK members may share in the pride «nd 

short of doing justice to all the young contestants, pleasure it has brought to us. 


(In making awards, contributors' ages are considered.) 

PROSE. Gold Badges, Francis Stewart (age 14), Tennessee; Ruth Thorp (age II,) Ohio; Con- 
■Unce Marie O'Hara (age 14), Pennsylvania. Silver Badges, Josephine P. Wells (age 14), 
Massachusetts; Lois M. Allen (age 13), Uaisachusetts; Phyllis A, Whitney (age IS), California; 
Dorothy Jeanne Miller (age 14), Pennsylvania; Rosamond Tucker (age 12), Massachusetts; 
Jeanne Hugo (age 15), Minnesota; Margery Saunders (age 12), New Hampshire; Meyer 
banoff (age 15), New York; Ruth E, Calvert (age 17), Pennsylvania; Elisabeth Fowler (age 
12), New York; Bliiabeth Cleaveland (age 13). Minnesota; Margaret Rawyler (age 16), New 
York; Esther Strass (age 16), New York; Sidon Harris, Jr. (age 10), Texas. 
VERSE. Gold Badge, Hary Harriett White (age 13), Pennsylvania. Silver Badges, M. My- 
famwy (age 16), Virginia; Donald Pay Robinson (age 14), Massachusetts. 
DRAWINGS. Gold Badge, Bliiabeth Judd (age 15), Connecticut. Silver Badges, Sarah A. 
Zimmerman (age 14), Ohio; Marjorie Henderson (age 14), Pennsylvania; Lloyd Berrall (age 
15), District Columbia; Anne Lloyd Basinger (age 11), Connecticut. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Gold Badge, Catherine Briggs (age 16), California. Silver Badges, Thank- 
ful Cornwall (age 10), New Jersey; Gertrude Wadsworth (age 16), North Carolina; John Fer- 
enbach (age 13), Pennsylvania; Barbara Traub (age It). Michigan; David Qnilbert (age 16). 
Washington; Joseph Stirling Graham (age 13), Maryland; Virginia Plynn (age 13), California; 
Mollie Ross (age 13), New York; Esther Howland (age 13), New York; Emily B. Newman 
(age 17), New York. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Silver Badges, Ardra Drina Hodgins (age 15), Maine; Susie Cobbs (age 
13), Alabama; Cornelia B. Husaey (age 13), New Jersey. 




(Honor Uttnber) 
PoK more than three yeari 1 have been Kble to mark 
a red circle around one day in eacU month. It does 
not alvayB htyipca to be the same day, but it is 
alwaya the aame event (the visit of a friend) that 
make* that circle possible. Ob, what a dear friend 
he is ! How entertaining, companionable, and 
thoroughly enjoyable I FiriC, he tella me stories. 
No one else can tell them us he does. I am no 
longer sitting at home, but am perhaps a princess, 
or maybe an aviator in France. Next he tells me 
of great men and women. Then, too, he shows mc 
pictures and gives me puiiles to work out. But he 
does n't do quite everything ; I have my choice of 
writiDK themes or poems, or of taking pbotographs 
or drawing. These things, ordinarily a task, are a 
pleasure when I do them for him. 

He has never yet given me a chance to thank blm 
for the lovely red-letter days he gives me each 
month. So right here I want to thank him ever so 
moch. And now can't you guess who he is? He 
is you jmnnelf, dear St. Nicholas MacaxinsI 



(Honor Mtmbgr) 
TBOU, whoM hooghs have tossed 'mid storm and 

Or heav'nward itretefaed themselves, serene ami 

Or shown in outline black against the sky — 
In thee the birds, Gad's gentle creatures, lind 
A refuge safe, to build their neats behind, 

"T it there the small, weak, baby bird ling 9 try 

Their wings, when first they dare creep out to fly, 
And leave the neat, to soft and feathcT'lined. 

Beneath thj branchet Age may git and drowse. 

And there may Toil and Weariness find rest ; 
And L«ve may meet his heart's own mistress there 
In spring, when birds are caroling in air; 
And of my life the sweetest hours and best 
Were iptat. In spring, beneath thy spreading boughs. 



(Sibigr Badgt) 
A caiAT man stands before a multitude of people 
— his people. He speaks. To their strong Ameri- 
can sense of humor it is ludicrous that the thin, 
high-pitched nice should come from so large a man. 
A bushed, bat unmistakable, titter runs through the 
cigvd. Then silence of but a second, and the Presi- 
dent continues, "Conceived in liberty and dedicated 
to the proposition that all men are created equal." 

As he goes on, his voice strengthens, until its 
lone is deep and powerful. 

He draws toward the close : "that this ' nation, 
under God, shall have a new birth of freedom ; and 
lliat government of the people, by the people, and 
for the people shall not perish from the earth." 

It is over. 

After a long look at the throng assembled there, 
thetpeaker turns to his seaL Still the deep silence, 
irineh has been kept during the speech, i* oninter- 
i^ted. Not a hand is lifted in spplause. "It was 

the most perfect tribute that has ever been paid by 
any people to any orator." . 

Surely, the day of the Gettysburg Addresa was a 
red-letter one for the whole nation. 

sr 1,01s u. ALUEN (ACS 13) 

{Silver Badge) 
On April as, "9>9. I witnessed one of the most 
thrilling sights of this war, the welcome- home 
parade of the i6tb (Yankee) Division. The elabo 
rate decorations, the throngs of eager spectators, the 
banners, the cheers, and laughter not unmixed with 

: have 

I the ' 


better than words that America was unspeakably 
proud of them, and unspeakable glad to have them 
aafe home again. They are safe home, and many 
of their comrades are "safe home" in a deeper and 
truer sense of the word— they who have "Gone 
West" — and the cheers and tears were for both, the 
valiant living and the heroic dead. 

How nobly their commander led them, and how 
proudly be reined in his handsome sorrel, for who 
would not be proud to lead such soldiers? And the 
wounded — could any wound in this world keep them 
from grinning delightedly at this demonstration of 
appreciation by the folks at home? And the men, 
the men who- had seen Chemin-des- Dames and St. 
Mihiel, who bad been the pivot of the greatest ad- 
vance in history, were marching before me, march- 
ing sixteen abreast, mile upon mile of them, khaki- 
clad, straight as arrows, strong as young lions, 
genuine Americans in spirit, exploits, and their love 
of liberty. As far as eye could reach there stretched 
a sea of steel helmets and shining bayonets, rising 
and falling with an even, steady regularity. Some- 
thing rose in your throat as'you watched them, and 

ar. Ml 17. (aoBoi u 


torn eth ins swelled in your heart, while your eyes 
were dim with tears. ' It seemed as thaugh man had 
been brought nearer perfection by these ladi who 
had beeu through the hell of war, and came out with 
souls bright and shining. God keep them so for- 
ever end ever, and Kf^n^ (''b' '"^ '"^V "keep true 
faith" as nobly as they 1 



(^Silver Badge) 
DoKoTHY Mabtih had never bad a real birthday 
party in all her life, for the Martin family bad 
lived on a ranch ever since Dorothy was born. 
There had been no friends to ask to a party, and 
therefore no party. Now they were in the city, 
and to-day was the little girl's twelfth birthday. 
Twelve trienda were coming to the party. Mother 
bad said that it was going to be a red-letter day in 
more ways than one, and Dorothy was anxiously 
waiting for the forbidden doors going into the parlor 

At last the moment came, and she and her friends 
trooped in. Dorothy itarcd in surprise at the scene 
before her. Of course, she had always known that 
a red-letter day meant a happy day, but here was a 
really, truly red-letter day. On the wall at one end 
of the room hung a string of red letters spelling 
her name. On other walls were fastened ted letters 
spelling different happy wishes. Then, most won- 
derful of all, in the middle of the Uble there 
twinkled twelve red candles on a white frosted cake. 

After it was all over and Dorothy was sitting still, 
thinking of tbe happy time she had had. the door 
suddenly opened, and before her stood her sister in 
full Red Cross uniform. The sister had just arrive.! 
from France, where she had been doing hospitn! 

surprise was over. 


(^ Trut Slory) 


(Silver Badge) 

N'evER had I been so lonely ae 1 that rainy. coIJ 

November morning, "li only it would stop raininij 

— if only I could find something to do — if only — " 

well — there were a hundred more such thoughts. 

At last, after an almost endless morning, after- 
noon came. Roping to find some amusement, I wctit 
into tbe library ; but even there 1 co:ild lind nothin 

: I 1 

ally . 

joyed, such as the works of Edgar Allan *Poe. Mark 
Twain, and even Sbakspere, I had already read — 
in fact, there were stories by authors like Louisa 
Alcott, and Frances Burnett, which 1 had reail 
many times, I had learned long ago that the lower 
shelves with their large books, most of them too 
heavy to handle, offered no thrilling tales. 

Sitting on the floor, I glanced along the rows of 
encyclopedias, French and Latin lexicons, and — 
words cannot express my surprise at seeing them — - 
twenty '.■oliimci of St. Nicitoi-iS, all well bound. 
.\t once I began looking through them, and fouml 
that each one contained six numliers. They be- 
longed to father when he was a boy. and extende>l 
from the year 18S5 to iSgs- Little had I ever 
thought that those black covers concc.iled such benii- 
tiful stories as 'Little Lord Fauntlcroy." "Juan an. I 
Juanila," and "Lady Jane." 

It was a day never to be forgotten by me. In- 
deed, who could find one hundred and twenty num- 
bers of Sr. Nicnoc.AB at one time and entirely nev. 
to you — (hen forget that memorable day? 


(Silver Badge) 
ItEHEATii the spreading boughs I lay and dreamed : 

The summer wind danced softly to and fro; 
My eager fancies widened till it seemed 

The summer world broke into song. and. lo I 
I slept serenely on. lulled by the breeie. 

The murmur of the river re.iclied my ear : 
The grass-blades rippled 'neath a swaying bou^^li . 

The sleepy drone of insects, too, I hear. 
The tinkling bell of many a straying cow 

That wanders slowly, resting it her ease. 


weet sumi 



vhcn ( 

me cai 

1 live 0. 

Who do. 

Dt lo 


hese radi 




To the I 



and 11 



nd paints 

: in 


as spl 




St I 

A CBEurui. icijEcr." 



(Gold Badge. SihCT Badge aon Augusl, 1919I 
TiiANKsctviNc was originated by the Pilgrims i.i 
t6zi. The Pilgrims had been through a terrib c 
winter. Food bad beien very scarce, and there bad 
been much sickness among them; many had died. 
Their lint harvest was successful, lo Governor 
Bradford set aside a da; for public thanksgiving. 
Afterward, there was a great feast, and they made 
merry for three days. They were now on friendly 
terms with the Indian*, and Masaaaoit and his 


•r nouRci I. nituv, agi i 

ninety men were there to join them in their tbanks- 
i^iving and feasting. 

We have kept ut 
Thursday in every 1 
ID God for the bIcssinKs of the past year. 

That the war is now over ami our boys are coming 
home victorious, and for the League of Nations, we 
are very thankful. 

I think that Thanksgiving Day is more of a "red- 
;"ier day" to us now than ever before. 



■ Cold Badge. Silver Badge uion January, 1919) 
.\h. Senors, you ask me to tell you of a red- 
lelter day. I. fresh from Manila, know naught of 
your American festivals. I tell you of ours. The 
V"fM nnr *e havp..l,y_ lh- aamla. linw w» do 

carousel — is the day on which your much-honored 
Admiral Dewey — may the saints rest his soul ! — de- 
feated the Spanish forces. 

What is that? You ask if I am not a Spaniard? 
Si. Senois. but my heart is for the Philippines and 
n'.ir ruling America, I have made my home in 
Manila all but the first ten years of my life. I do 
not remember much of Spain, nor do I much care. 
for all my life I have been trained to hate the Span- 
ish rule. My father was an exile, my mother a 
slave. I have been brought up on tales of Spanish 
cruelly. Senors. it was unbelievable. 

But to continue. You Senors. as Americans, know 
the delaila of the great fight I will not dwell upon 
these. No, I will tell you of what you know noth- 
ing, of the great emotions of the people of Manila. 
And who better fitted for this than I— I, Felipe de 
Lesian, who felt it all. whose heart throbbed in re- 
Bpon«e to every cannon-shot? I am an old man 
now. Senora, «r.d il was twenty-odd yenri. ago ; b>it 


all is clear to m« aj thpush it had happened but 

We of Manila thronied the outikirt* of the city, 
watching the battle with wide eyes and dilated nos- 
Irili, tense in every nerve ; men ahouting, children 
wbimpering, women ■creaming ai the crash of war 
rent the air. Ah, Senors. I find no words to tell of 
that great red-letter day Uiat meant lo much to us — 
the Battle of Manila Bay. 

day. marked'on her calendar with brisht red — the 
wonderful day his ship would reach port on its 

And hers was not the only one marked so ; for 
across the water her boy had a red-letter day, too — 
the day be would land in America. As he sat at a 
table in the barracks, he thought of home and 
mother. He pictured ber seated Ijefore a glowing 
hearth, the flames lighting up her face ; and he was 
beside her, telling how he won the CroLf de Guerre. 
Then hii mother would— 

"Lights out I" called the corporal, and his reverie 
was rudely interrupted by the bustle and confusion 
which followed. 

As the dawn of n new day was announced by streaks 
of crimson in the sky, a mother and a boy stood 
watching it ; the mother in a garden, ^ay with 
flowers, the boy on a ship nearing port. 

Just as the sun slipped up from behind the hills, 
and smiled brightly down on all the world, a motlier 
pressed her boy to her heart, crying, "My boy 1 oh 1 

And a soldier, kissing her tenderly on her rosy 
lips, replied. "Mother I my own dear mother t" 
It was their red-letter day. 

'Neath spreading: bougs in old Broceliande. 

A wood-nymph sat beside a fountain clear ; 
And with a garland in her slender hand 

Waved welcome to a gay knight, drawing near. 

Enchanted by her loveliness, he came 
And bent his knee the mossy bank beside. 

Pleading that she should trust his tender aim 
And leave ber leafy woods to be his bride. 

Laughing, she answered. "Sir. these eager vows 
Are needed not, for I have' long been thine; 

And thou hast dwelt with me 'nealh spreaditig 
Par from the fret of court and toumey-line." 

"Tell me the name, fair nymph," the knight replied, 
"For what these wild words mean I cannot guess." 

She smiled again her slow, sweet smile, and cried, 
"Oh, favored knight, my name is Happiness I" 



iSUver Bads') 
It was early evening, the glowing colors of a radi- 
ant sunset having not yet faded. The last long, 
slanting rays shone into a cozy room, and lighted up 
a mother's tired face — a mother, thinking of her boy 
in France, who, just yesterday, it seemed, had 
climbed on her knee and begged for "just one more 
story." She thotight of the hardships he would un- 
dergo, and the dangers, and then of the glorious 
cause for which be fought — liberty, humanity, and 
ctvlliiation. Pride glowed in her breast, for her boy 
had won the Croix d* Guerre; but, oh I how her 
tnother-heart longed and hoped and' prayed for ■ 


> (AM 

(Silvtr Badge) 
Th( world looked exceedingly black to eight-year- 
old George as he sat on the front porch and brooded 
over his troubles. Nature had given him a great 
affliction in the farm of beautiful golden curls, 
which his mother had cruelly refused to cut. Worst 
of all, his school males called htm "dear darling 
Dorothy," "Mama's pet," "sweet little Claribel," and 

Just as he had decided he would n't stand it an- 
other day he heard his mother's voice. "Georgie 
dear, come and have your hair washed." He crawled 
tip to the scene of torture, but his mother was n't 
there. He gazed disconsolately at the wash-bowl 
for a while : then a great idea seemed to itrike him. 
Lying close beside the cake of green soap was a 
small box of dye, marked "green." He hurriedly 
opened the box, and, to his delight, the soap and 
cake of dye were exactly the same color. He quickly 
transferred the two, and soon afterward his mother 
came up. Poor woman, she had plentifully soused 
and soaped his cutly pate before she discovered the 
dreadful fact. As she gave a shriek of dismay, 
ominous sounds of sizzling and boiling-over came 
from the kitchen below. "OhI my strawberry jami 
George, wash that itufi oS immediately." She 



:H»e«FUi. suBjicr." 

(siLvu unci.) 


There voa no hope for it — the lovely curls had to 
be literally chaved oH. It was certainly a red- 
letter day for Ccarge when the sea-green tresses 
were laid ulde; only red was not the influencing 
color in hU letter day, but grren. 

wards me. I drew back and saw ex- President 
Roosevelt smiling at me. He aaid, '■Good morning," 
and abook hands with me, making some remark that 
I do not remember. He was on our train all day 
long, and I saw him several limes. The next morn- 
ing I heard that he had left the train during Ihc 
night and gone actosg country to the Gulf Coast. 



{Gold Badge. Silver Bade* vxm May. 1919) 
When America called her sons 

To fight and free their land, 
They gathered 'neath an e!m-trec, 

A small, but loyal, band. 

Many the hardship* they suffered. 
But bravely they fought and died. 

And the old elm-tree at Cambridge 
To-day is America's pride. 

That tree saw the birth of s nation, 
Ajid as long as it lives it will tell 

Of the men who fought for their country, 
And of those who for liberty fell. 


(A True Slory) 


Oh Friday morning, March twenty-third, 1917, we 
left home for Patm Beach, Florida. We reached 
New York in time to do some ihopping before go- 
ing to the Pennsylvania Station. While we were in 
the station we saw ex-President Roosevelt. That 
evening we were in the dining-car when he came 
in and sat at the table across the aisle from us. 
That was the first we knew of his being on the 

The next morning I was first a* we went through 
the cars on our way to breakfast. I opened the 
door and stepped into the dining-car. A tudden 
lurch threw me against a man who was coming to- 



(Silver Dadgt:) 

Mv mother had gone down-itairs to prepare break- 

fast, leaving my brother and me up-stairs to finish 

dressing. When We had completed our toilet and 



arrived down-ttairs, mother guggesled tbat we go to 
the cellar and watch my uncle (who had just ar- 
rived the night before) and my father make the fur- 
nace fire. To this auggestion we readily assented. 

Instead of making the fire, we found father 
squatting on the floor, while my uncle was standing 
l)chind bim. Underneath father's coat something 
was wriggling. My brother said first, "A bird." then, 

Soon a little black nose projected from its former 
hiding-place. Nex-t came a little fuiiy brown (ace, 
dark brown eyes. Last, but not least, were two 
dear little soft downy ears. In unison my brother 
and I cried, "A dog!" 

So it was— an Irish terrier puppy, of course the 
cunningest ever bom. But best of all, it was my 

very . 




{Silvlr Badge} 
Thi day was at last over, as all good things are in 
time. The college clock had just struck the hour 
of ten, but "Plug" Hardy could not sleep. As 
clearly- defined as if he were living through them 
once more, came back the events of the day. 

Again he saw himself sitting on the side-lines, as 
he had done for almost four long years, waiting 
tor the chance that never came. Harvard was in 
the throes of its greatest football battle of the year, 
when suddenly there came a lull in the strife, and a 
figure was seen lying motionless on the tield. Har<ly 
groaned as he realized that Bryant, the great half- 
back, was out of the game; but suddenly he was 
galvanized into action as he heard the captain's 
sharp voice calling him into the fray. His chance 
had come 1 

The nent few moments were history. Plug saw u 
slip, a fumble, and the next moment he was away, 
away, the ball under his arm, running like a meteor, 
until he placed the pigskin between the goalposts, 
Redoutable old Yale was beaten, and .by a substi- 
tute at thatl 

A thunderous cheer filled the heavens as twenty 
thousand mad Harvard "rooters" poured forth their 
yell of acclaim. And Plug? Covered with blood and 
dirt, but supremely happy, he was borne away on the 
shoulders of bis comrades in the supreme moment 
of his life," 

"They call me 'Plug'." Hardy soliloquized. "The 
coach said I was too light, had no chance : but I 
siuelt, and he did n't have (lie heart to fire me." 

"Yesterday I was unknown," he mused ; "to-mor- 

niy name uill l>c in all the papers. 
:ainly been my red-letter day — in nior( 
," he Hddeil. as he thought of the 
.ithlrlic insignia, his final reward. 

This ha^ 
ig red H. 



[Silver Badge) 
'T IS midnight, and the fairy folk 

In troops arrive upon the scene: 
"Neath spreading lioiighs of elm and < 

They .lance .imid the mosses green. 


; dowi 

They dance the secret of the bee, 
And things no mortal eye has seen; 

The foaming waves of blue and green, 

T is cockcrow, and the fairy folk 
In troops depart to spend the day 

'Neath spreading boughs of dm and oak. 
Hid from the summer sun away. 


{Silver Badge) 
WttAt day is more of a red-letter day in the heart 
of every true American, as well as every one of the 
Allies, than the eleventh of November, 1918. the day 
of the signing of the Armistice ! On the eleventh 
hour of this day the (ighling, which had been waged 
(or over four long years, ceased. 

What joy the news to cease firing brought to our 
boys, but still more joy to the soldiers of our Allies 
who were sorely wearied by four years of ceaseless 
fighting ! Such rejoicing that look place among 
them, the peasants joining in ! .At last the cloud 
was lifted. Air-raids and long-distance guna were 
to be feared no more. In London and Paris, typical 
of all other Allied cities, mirth and joy tan 
riotously. The end had come of four long years of 
hardships that seemed unending, in most cases each 
(araily giving at least one lite to the cause. 



Orer here the streets of our cities and towns 
filled M aooo as the whistles blew annmuiciiiE the 
nadefful news while it was stil! daik. Ever? one 
wbo could find something with which to make a 
noise, did bo. Lous rolls of rainbow-colored con- 
fetti fluttered from the highest buildings, horns and 
whistles blew, bells rang, fiaBs waved, everybody 
cheered, wild with joy. Those who had some loved 
one overseas were especially happy, knowing that 
their boys -were now safe. Ttere were some, though, 
vho would not have a soldier boy to return, b-t 
were happy in the thought that, in making the 
luprcme sacrifice, their boys had helped to bring 
ilx>ut this joyous day. 

Ever will this day remain in our hearts, above all 
others, as the day when democracy won the fight 
for civilization against autocracy, and "right con- 



SuuLV there will never be such a day as the day 
vhcn Daddy (the best daddy in the world) came 
borne after four years' fighting in France. 

He had joined the British Army as soon as the 
WIT broke out, had been wounded twice, and deco- 
rated with the Distinguished Service Order. 

U was Christmas Eve. and although the Armistice 
had been signed, Daddy had not yet been discharged. 

We were decorating the Christmas-tree, and hang- 
ing holly and mistletoe around the room. Every- 
thing looked very gay. and we only ncciled one 
ihing more, and that was Daddy. 

"Don't you wtsb be would get home for Chnst- 

"Oh, don't I, though!" I answered. I!ut I had no 
»oaer spoken when there was a sound of footsteps 
on the path, and then the door opcncJ, and in 
•latked Daddy ! 

Oh, what a time we had I We were so happy 
Daddy hi;;pcd 


n<l tl 

kit be would r 

n told u 
tell u 

s just like Daddy I 

> he V 

f his advcnti 
'on the D, S 


(Silver Bods') 
I akaUneh bright and early that morning, di 
nuaed to do anything to make the time fly until 
ilteraoon, for then I was to see my uncle, of w 

1 had heard so much. I told mother I was going to 
work all the morning, so that the time would go 
faster, but being only half-past five, going on six. 
I did n't succeed very welt, and spent most of the 
forenoon in the sand-pile. 

After lunch, I was taken to a hotel, where we met 
jolly, as unclei shou 

be. 1 

id also 

e the 

e of a lar 

: deli- 

>us-looking box of candy. Then it was that I 
learned that we were going to the circus ! This was 
to be my iirst circus, and the Chicago Coliseum 
seemed like endless space to me. Everything, bow- 
ever, was quite marvelous — the horse which stooi 
among the flames high in the air. the statues, the 
trapeze performers, and all went well until the c'.owns 
came upon the scene with their terrible slap-sticks ; 
but the climax was reached when one clown, imi- 
tating a farmer, appeared, and, looking straight at 
me, yelled, or. as it seemed, roared, "Maggiet Mag- 
GlEI" each time ending in. a terriHc shriek. This 

howl ; so I had to he led across the straw-covered 
ring, out of that huge building. However, my woes 
were soon drowned in "cracker] ack," and, as I re- 
considered, a quite delightful time had been had by 
me, if not by others, for, strange to say. the others 
were n't afraid a( clowns and wanted to stay I So 
passed my red-letter day. 


It n-YHH, Mt 13. (SttVEl lADGt.) 

Said Silas Smith, farmer: 

"1 alters liked those spreadin' boughs. 

'Cause, when I wuz a l>oy. 
The city called to foolish mc ; 

I thought it wui all joy. 
I laid beneath those spreadin' boughs 

An' planned to riin away : 
I 'd pack up alt my things, I thought. 

An' slip off the next day. 
But those boughs whispered tow to me, 

"Wait; they need yon here,' 
An' then the city seemed 'way off, 

An" home folks awful' dear. 
So then I went back to the plow, 

An' here I am to-day ; 
But, lawsy 1 ain't I glad those boughs 

Stopped me? Well, I should say!" 





{Silver Badge) 

As I was wxltfins through the village of C , I 

noticed consternation among the inhabitants. 

Juat then the fire-engine dashed by, and I under- 
stood, and, falling in line with the hurrying pedes- 
trian!, soon came upon the scene of distress. 

Ficemen were pouring floods of water on a burn- 
ing bungalow at the end of the town. 

Suddenly, a maid came from the rear of the house 
where the Hames had not yet reached, and shrieked, 
"Miss Mary 's asleep in her room I" 

There was a cry from the villagers, for little 

to war! Now tliey were inarching back, "Victory" 
written on every face. There were some we knew. 

)='rcckled John Jones, the worst boy in the neigh- 
borhood, juat passed by; his coat was laden with 
medals that told of heroic deeds done. Then a 
cofEn, draped with a flag of gold stars, passed by ; 
instantly every head wais bowed. The people, clad 
in black, wearing a twinkling golden star, lifted 
their heads proudly : their faces wore a noble look 
of resignation : tears welled in some eyes, beyond 
human endeavor to control. At times, above the 
martial music of the bands, a voice high and clear 
would call, laden with the purest love, •■There 'a 
my boy I" 

Our boyi were home at last Surely it was ." 
red-letter day to PennsylvanJans. 


aeveo-year-old Mary, Judge Brentine's only daughter, 
was a great favorite. 

Suddenly, Mary's beautiful St. Bernard, Prince, 
dashed into the building, past the firemen, up the 
stairs, and into Mary'i burning bedroom. 

But Mary was not there. 

Prince rushed through alt the up-stairs rooms, and 
suddenly stumbled over a little prostrate form at 
the end of the hall, where poor Mary bad crept and 
then dropped, exhausted. 

Prince fastened his line, strong teeth in Mary's 
clothing and half dragged, hiilf carried her down 
the almost falling itiirs to the open. 

A shout of relief came from the spectators, but 
the brave dog rushed away from caressing hands 
and into the cottage again. 

The air became tense with silence once more, for 
who could be left behind in Judge Brentine's bunga- 
low? Judge Brentine and his wife were bending 
over Mary's reviving figure. 

After what seemed hours to the waiting crowd. 
Prince came limping out of the house. His hair 
was singed in many places, but there was a proud 
look in bis eyes, and he held his head up. Right 
to Mary's side be dashed and dropped in one little 
hand — Marjr'j dotl! It certainly was a red-letter day 
for Prince as well as lor Mary. 

VERSE Dwlky Toombt Btiiabfth C. Smilh 

NotI Haluy Cira M. Clar, 

Marian W. Smilh KathtrUit L Nta Grace Helcemb 

Aanis if. Duf Junta ffriohl Jiitit AiUni 

Mnritl Slagord Sarah B. Ftrauion JamtJ CriSthj 

Calhlrint Jean V. IiIcCIvt, Marcia 

Pamienter Carc-yii Dorman Van itr Vttr 

Margaret C. Thaw KalherineP. IVirifred 
Jack Siriis Hick, UatlheKt 

Birtbtri IVilion Lydia C. Baker Ktilh Hepburn 

Laii D. Halmei Maud M. Matnn Edaord B. Mwrhy 

Kalriva E. Hi„ck, Irene Dodd, Ptagj Wkitehead 

ifaraaret Charlei E. Smilh Darelhy M. Pally 

A(^rt/>ra»B Iiabelle r. Elli4 Elitabelh H. Eddy 

Ruth a. Tarrant Helen B. Hayei Mary La Vancka 

LeniiaBuller MeryK. Slate Ruiirll 

Juana Albravm Blleabelk L. 


PROSS Catherine W. 

Carson A. M. Miller, Jr. 

Bilker Siratt Bleatiore M. EliMabelk 
Elua A. PetertoK Chamberlain Kirkwood 

Mary G. Clifford J. O. Lindiay 

De la Hunt Bentlei, Jr. Clarkion 

Sidan Harrii. Jr. Bilty O'Reilly Hichalat P. Palmr- 

DnrBIhyHeynalds Madeline Naalt Durclky Applegate 

Alice C. Parian Martha E. Uchti Sarah K. miltrd 

MaryL.Tarbox Pauline Guye Virginia B. Scully 

Margaret Garrison Renie Moen tf illiam Talk 

Maroaret B. Walton Mary J. Foliom Helen Milter 

Eriily Caire Ethel Skinner Prances Lowell 

Helen E. Waile Htnriella H. Edith Shower, 

Mary Zachariai Brannen Kinaiton S. 

Helen G. Dane Xalalie C. Hall Seibert 

Dorothy D. De Lan Elisabdh Foiler Mary Halden 

Haigkt MaryE.Raub Juliet T. Offuli 


* (ACi 


{Cold Badge. Silver Badge vKiit Jvne, 1919) 
Pchnsvlvakia's own, the heroic Twenty-eighth. 
marched up' Broad Street, Philadelphia, to the tune 
of the cheers of thousands. It seemed such a little 
n>hile ago that those khaki-clad lad^ marched off 

argaret Rawyler Car«i 

alkerine Me 
argaret Dw 

Smilk Betty Nicl.^... 
Aiaaeietnr Jirran John IV. Criraold 
Rebekah Carolyn Stan 

_...., ._ iJ.Siile, 

jranBer,, n.. Evelyn L. Bveritl EIreeda C'lididier 

Finnemore Helen Cotlfried Bli,e H. Harrison 

Olwen Leack Anna Mortland Margaret W. 

Mildred Auguitine Kaihenne Sfyler Dodiwortk 

Calker,ni S. UnUe Seaman Kenneth Rot, 

Tnrney £l,a Adolpkien Ella N. O'eall 

Marian from Myra D. Nsibel Carol Finley 

Alice Weaver ' Eunice C. Campbell 

Marion IVadmorlh DRAWINGS Margaret Ramiburg 

Helen L. Duncan Martha Richordim 

Leonore adding IVortken Bradley Mary E. Stockton 
Anne IValdron Kather-ne C. Swan G. Sletiart Brovn 

Marjorie Featini Janet Blottom M. Iiabella Watt 


VERSE FanlU Laurie Usrion BUtchforcl 

Katharine Futmui Ruth O'MiIIft 

Eliubeth Dow Helen F. White Jessica L. MefS' 

Brenda H. Green Willie F. Lion Eleanor 
Eliiabeth R. Archibald Chamberlain 

Beach Rutledge. Jr. Di>rothy Hetiel 


AUh Roberti 
tiU7 Parke 
Eloi« P. Bun 

Dnrolhv ^ Ducu 
Alicr M. 

Ifarr TroMfUle 

nilr W. B 
inbdh t 

lA. SnTder C 

ci.u«Ih Morion 
HDllie B. Cl/dc E 

"^oIiMldMn. Jr. K 
Piula Mcuiunn B 
HaiT H. Sloddird 

ean L«ber.lrin 
. Norm. Nearini 


Anne I. Faolkocr 
DoTothj Gliddcn 

Catharine E. 

Uura A. Smitb 
Harr U. Kern 
DoTotbT Heinlie 
Kathnmc A. 

Srivw M. Kurwr 
QlcD Hallowdl 

Southard, Jr. 
Eleanor D. 

Mark Fowler 

L^oraJ. "Saaoa 
Mmrr Welbam 
Harr F. Spaoldins 
■ Katharine Dnkttte 
Helm H. Dan 
Harriet Knapp 
Girrrui 11. DreBa- 
Olr*e K< * 

il^rr MrGacfau 
Jotnfaine H- 

Marian Parr 
Olive Z.Mulford 
Katharine S, 

Mary N- Greer 

Alice A. Waller 
Dorothr Van A. 

Rath Van Wigner 
France* M. Froal 


CoDitance T. 

Fraocea Forbe* 


I Martha C, Dukea 

Barbara 5. Tbarer 
Ruth Hungcrford 
lant A- Carllon 
Jean Guntber 
Emelrn W,« 
Cecile M. 

Helen M. Hagei 
lone Finch 
Vincent P. Jenfcin. 


Mona Mornn 

Kboda Hellman 
Jean Oflner 
Harriott S, Collier 
Hilda J. Miller 

Eliubelh Adan 
lean Crawford 
Helen E. Mosb 


itaell Mar; F. Bond 



n organ iiation of 

Ths St. Nicholas League 
the readers of the St. N 

Thk St. Nicholas Lr_\r.ui;. orRa.iized 
vember, 1899, became immediately popul 
earnest and enlightened young iolks. and is now 
believed to be one of the greatest artistic educa- 
tional factors in the world. 

The St. Nicholas League awards gold and 
silver badges each month for the best origiital 
poems, stories, drawings, photographs, puzzles, 
and puzzle answers. 

Owing to the delay in publication. Competi- 
tion No. 241 will close December 5. Alt con- 
tributions intended for it must be mailed on 
or before that date. Prize announcements 
will be made and the selected contributions 
published in St. Nicholas for March. Badges 
sent one month later. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty- 
four lines. Subject, "The Call of the Wild." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than 
three hundred words. Subject, "The Story of 

I%otosraph. Any size, mounted or unmount- 
ed; no blue prints or negatives. Young pho- 
tographers need not print and develop their 
S'clures themselves. Subject. "Taken at 

Drawing. India ink. very black writing-ink, 
or wash. Subject, "Something Round," or "A 
Heading for March." 

Puzzle. Must be accompanied by answer in 

Piizcle Angwen. Best, neatest, and most 
complete set of answers to puzzles in this is- 
sue of St. Nicholas. Must be addressed to The 
Riddle Box. 

No unused contribution can be returned itnless 
it is accompanied by a self -addressed and stamped 
envelop of proper sisc to hold the manuscript or 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscrib- 
er or not, Is entitled to League membership, and 
upon application a League badge and leaflet will 
be sent free. No League member who has 
reached the age of eighteen years may compete. 
Every contribution, of whatever kind, 
must bear the name, age, and address of 
the sender and be indorsed as "original" 
by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must 
be convinced beyond doubt — and must 
state in writing — that the contribution ia 
not copied, but wholly the work and idea 
of the sender. 
If prose, the number of words should also be 
added. These notes must not be on a separate 
sheet, but on the contribution itself — if manu- 
script, on the upper margin; if a picture, on the 
margin or back. Write or draw on one side of 
the paper only. A contributor may send but one 
contribution a month — not one of each kind, but 
one only ; this, however, does not include "com- 
petitions" in the advertising pages or "Answers 
to Puzzles." 

Address: The St. Nicholas League, 
353 Fourth Avenue, New York. 




If, as seems inevitable at this writing, the present 
number of St. Nicholas, due November i, should 
not reach subscribers and the news-stands until 
after the expiration of the "Children's Book- Week," 
November 10-15, o^"" readers will hardly need to be 
told that the delay has been due to the lamentable 
strike in the printing houses of New York, which 
has caused so many periodicals to suspend or post- 
pone publication. 

And knowing that this fact would be understood 
at a glance, we preferred not to make any change in 
our cover-design or substitute another contribution 

for the article on the Children's Book-Week, even 
though they may appear "after the event" For 
there is nothing that St. Nichojuis has more at 
heart than good reading for young folk. To pro- 
vide it is, indeed, the chief aim and purpose of the 
magazine. And the campaign in aid of it will not 
cease, of course, with the end of the six days set 
apart by publishers and booksellers for special ob- 
servance of Children's Book-Week. Instead, let us 
hope th^t the stimulas and encouragement given to 
the movement by this project will focus the atten- 
tion of young readers and their parents upon the 
need and the supply of good books for boys and 
girls, with lasting benefit to all concerned. 


St. Nicholas for once has to "own up" to a mis- 
take — and in a baseball story, too. Several corre- 
spondents have called attention to the oversight, 
which is well described in the following letter: 

D^AR St. Nicholas : "The Grove Jokes," in your 
September number, is a good story, but it is bad 
baseball. Every school-boy knows that, with a man 
on third, his run does not count anyhow if the bats- 
man is thrown out at first for the third out of the 
inning. Is n't that so? 

Yours sincerely. 

RuFUS S. Woodward, 
Ex-player and coach. 

"Yes, it is so, and thank you!" must be the reply 
from St. Nicholas. The author, Mr. Arthur Wallace 
Peach, admits his mistake in the following response : 

After ten years of writing athletic stories for 
lioys, I am sorry indeed to have to confess that your 
correspondents are right in regard to "The Grove 
Jokes." The story was written twice in pencil and 
then copied on the type-writer. In the first and 
second drafts, which I have before me, Ben tried 
the hit-and-run play as the second man up, after the 
first batter was out and he knew the crisis was at 
hand. How under the canopy my absurd mistake 
slipped in is beyond me! The blame is entirely 
mine : and though the story was type-written by an 
assistant, that does not excuse me. I thought I 
had read the text carefully both in manuscript and 

My regret for this crass blunder is the keener 
because I have always taken great pride in the ac- 
curacy of the technical side of my stories. I have 
played baseball, football, and basket-ball in "prep" 
school and college. I have coached and assisted in 
coaching several teams, one of which won a state 
champiionship. I am in constant touch with ath- 
letics and do not write as an onlooker merely. 
Years ago I took great pride in spotting errors in ath- 
letic stories. Now I know how the other fellow felt. 

To which need be added only the statement that 
an almost unaccountable oversight will happen now 

and then in even the "best-regulated" magazine, 
as everywhere else. But St. Nicholas is fortunate 
in the fact that such an "error" as the one here 
mentioned never fails to be "spotted" by the watch- 
ful eyes and keen wits of its young readers, and 
therefore is corrected as promptly as possible. 

Ths St. Nicholas Lbagub, even with extra pages, 
is crowded to overflowing this month, but the, 
following delightful little tribute by an eleven- 
year-old poet must not be lost to the Lbagus's other 
members nor to all our readers : 



'Neath spreading boughs 

There is a swing. 
And, oh, it is 

A lovely thing I 

You just sit in. 

And swing your feet 
Back and forth 

With steady beat. 

Then, all at once. 

You begin to go. 
Slow at first — 

Yes, very slow. 

Then faster, faster 

You do go. 
And never more 

Do you go slow. 

Until it seems 

As if you 'd fly; 
And then you let 

The old cat die. 



Jane, Kulh, Mar. 

bedeck. 3. D-(«t, dc[«t. 

6. Crow-k. erofluet. 7. V 
9. Katfx. cmItx. 10. C(»: 

esteem. 2. B-dcek, 
Sn. S. I-deal, ideal, 
*. 8. Calf-B, eafe. 

A Wm Ackostic. Chateau Tbieirr. 1. Cannon. 2. 
Helmet. 3. Anchor. 4. Tanet S. £n^ne. 6. Aimory. 
7, Ul«er. 8. Trench. 9, HefOM. 10. Iodine. 11. En- 
■ign. 13. Riflei. 11. Rocket 14. Yankee. 

NnvEL ActosTtc Initial*. Dardinelleai ilith row, Aus- 

Baker. 6. Helve. 

To Ova PuzlLns: 

. __ _. _ J*. Dardanellea; alith TOw, jiua- 

Cbdss-woids: 1. Diiplaj. 2. Arduoua. 3. Re- 

~' le. 5. AniUrt. 6. NoKgay. 7. Ennoble. 

LiteriL 10. Evident. II. Sbyneu. 

ADiNCg iHD Dou»LE Cti*T*ii.iNag. Clemen- 

«au. 1. Execul-ed. Z. Mi>-lca-di. 3. Cil-end-ar. 4. 
Commen-ce. !. ilod-en-te. 6. Pre-nol-ed. 7. Pro-cut- 
e<L 8. Lib.eia.le. 9. Dep«ft-ed. 10. Db-uni-le. 

It' acknowledged In the mssaiinc, mun be received not titer than the 241b (lot 
lorein memoera ana tnoK uving in tbe far Western Stain, the 29tb) of eacb month, and ahould be addreued to 
St. l^CBous Siddlebox, care of The Cehtuiv Co., 353 Fourih Avenue, New York aty, N. Y. 

SoLTEiu wiitiinE to compete for priiTg muit bite aniwera in full, following tbe ^n ,ot thoae printed above. 

Ahiwkbs to Puiilc* in ths Auousi NuiiBM were duly rcceLved from "Two M'a," S^EIiiabtth Faddia. 9 — 
Florence S, Carter, 9— P. HaUted Sillick. Jr., 9—liiTj and Ruth, 9— Mary Catherine Hamilton. 9— Helen H. 
UcIvH, S— Margaret Noyei. S— John F. Davii. »^Gwen(tead E. Allen, fi— Mary Rachel Aahley, g— France* S. 
Sboreland. 8— Harriet L. RoKnwaler, 8— Mildred F. Gardiner, 8— Catherine O'Gari, 7— Grace R. Lewia. 7— Helen 
A. Moulton, 7— Miriam I. Stewart, 7— Dorothy J, M.ller. 7— Winifred C Shaw, 7— Margaret Traiilwrin, 7— 
Helen Larawar, 7— Ruth Labenberg, 7— Marie L. Everhardy, 7— Natalie Moulton, ?— V. Ball, 6— Ruth and Clady., 
t— «. B. Ut. 4— Damon and Pythiai, 4— D. Dowd, 4— S. Hyde, 4— W. Pratt; 4— E. Hayter, J— A. L. Atkina, 
3— J. Phelps, 3— B. Corfield, 3— M. Fairhaim. 3— Elisabeth Hughes. 2— F, de Maurice. 2— C H. Rusaell, 2— 
L Camp, 2— F. DuBany, 2— M. I. Fry, 2— M. E. White, 2— C B. Kussey, 2. One answer. Barbara Wendell— 
K. UeE.— B. C. D.— H. F, H.— W. I.— A. R. H.— R. C— F. C. C— G. G.— E. S.— E. B.— G. C.—H. E.— 
E. Y.~M. B.— E. C. M.— L, H.— D. M.— O. A.— C. D.— L. K.— D. M. C— M. F. B— C. E- K.— E R.— M. S. 
. B.— A. O.— M. C. C— C F. N,— D. H.— D. S.— Twio»-L. T.— H. L. B.- 

. F. B.—M. G. P.- 


Look up and not down for my Srst; 

And down and tiot up for my lecond 

Mjr whole 'a not a cousin or aunt. 

And yet a connectioti is reckoned. 

— B. T.— M. B. 

circulating in the veins of tbe gods. lo. Rank. ii. 
To eat away, la. An evil apirit. 13. A vegetable. 
14. Assault. 15. Air. t6. A disease of rye and 
other cereala in wbich the grains become black. 17. 
A quadruped. 18. Wandered from the 

5 Ut 



All of tbe words described contain the same Hum* 
ber of letters. When rightly guessed and written 
one below another, the diagonal, from the upper, 
left-hand letter to the lower, rigbt-hand letter, will 
spell the Christian name of a prominent roan, 

CrO SS- WORDS ; I. One of the United States, z. A 
country of Europe. 3. A city in the State of Wash- 
ington. 4. A southern county of Vermont. S, A 
vast Asiatic region. '6. The capital city of one of 
the United Stalea. 7. A city of Scotland, 
c E[.*ANOB UACLSAN (age 17), Lias»e Member, 

t. A bird. a. A bird. 3. To turn away. 4. Cour- 
age, j. To go in. 

EVtLVM HRVUAHN (age 13), htaguf Member. 
(Silver Badge, Si. Nicholas Lkacue Competition) 
To aolve this puzzle, take the last two letters of 
the Srat word described to make tbe first two letters 
of the second word, and so on. The last two letters 
of the eighteenth word will be the first two letters 
of the first word. 

1. A masculine name. a. A place of public con- 
test 3, Pertaining to the nose. 4. Permit. S- 
Possessed. 6. To draw out. 7- The Italian word 
(or hundred. 8. A subject. 9. The etheral fluid 

another, and 

Triply behead and triply curtail ma- 
lise people or things from one floor to 
leave a large vessel. Ahswek : Ele- 

I. Triply behead and triply curtail one who en- 
gages in combat, and leave a club used in baseball. 

s. Triply behead and triply curtail, eating away 
gradually, and leave a measure of length. 

3. Triply behead and triply curtail disinheriting. 
and leave to possess. 

4. Triply behead and triply curtail a follower of 
Darwin, and leave to gain. 

5. Triply behead and triply curtail carried away 
by force, and leave a short sleep. 

6. Triply behead and triply curtail an ofhcer of the 
law, and leave a cooling substance. 

7. Triply behead and triply curtail below the 
standard, and leave a negative connective. 

8. Triply behead and triply curtail visionary, and 
leave a machine for separating the seeds from 

When these words have been rightly guessed, be- 
headed, and curtailed, the initials of the eight three- 
letter words will spell the surname of a famous man. 
JR. (age 14). League Member. 


cisbt words of two syBUbles each. Tbc 

objects numbered I and a form one word; 3 and 
4 form anotber word, and so on. The eight words 
answer tbe following definitioiis : i. A game. >. 
A stroke. 3. Sometimes used by an author. 4. Often 
eaten. 5. A stream. 6. To harass. 7. A bird. 8. 
Useful in a new country. 


The problem is to change one given word to an- 
other by altering one letter at a time, each alteration 
malntig a new word, the number of tetters being 
always the same and the letters always in the same 
order. Example : Change wood to coal in three 
moves. Answer : wood, wool, cool, coal. 

I. Change fast to stota in six moves. 

». Change lulk to jing in three moves. 

3. Change takr to givr in five moves. 

4. Change come to gont in three moves. 

5. Change walk to ride in six moves. 

6. Change ffv* to nin* in three moves. 

7. Change hand to fool in six moves. 

8. Change And to loit in five moves. 
g. Change hock to cart 'in five moves. 

10. Change lake to ponj in six moves. 

nuTll JAHESOH (age 15), League Member. 


(.Silver Badge. St. Nicholas LiACtiB CoHPeTtTton) 
Au. the words described contain tbe same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and written one 
below another, the initial letters, reading down- 
ward, will spell the name of a President of tbe 
United States, and another row of letters will apetl 
the name of another of our Presidents. 

Cioss-woaos: i. A frame used in counting. 3. 
Lower. 3. To loathe. 4. Motive, s. One who pre- 
pares matter for publication. £. To breathe with a 
whistling sound, 7. A scoffer. 8. Chronicles. 9. 
A French wine. I. An old name for an outer Ekirt. 
II. Girdles. 13. Hidden from the understanding. 
13. Bigoted. . ausiB coebs (age 13). 


(Silver Badge, ST. Nicholas Lkacuk Coupeti' 
My firsts are in Cbickamauga. but not in 


My seconds, in Champion's Hill, but not in Shiloh ; 
My thirds are in Stone River, but not in Vicks- 

My fourth* are in Chancellortville, but not in 
Kemstown ; 


My fifths are in Fort Donelson, bat not in Cold 

My sixths are in Gettysburg, but not in Cedar 

My sevenths are In Appomattox, but not in Fred- 
ericksburg ; 

My eighths are in Fort Sumter, but not in Perry- 
My whole name two battles of the Civil War. 

[UBSY (age i3>: 


In solving this puule, follow the above diagram, 
though each diamond hat aeven words, instead of the 
five shown. 

I. I. In singly. 3. Everything. 3, To mix, as 
metals. 4. Plays upon by artifice. 5. Veina of 
metal. 6. An affirmative. 7. In lingly. 

II, I. In singly, a. The beard of barley. 3. 
Regions. 4. Amiably. 5. Spruce. 6. Crafty. 7. 

HI. I, In singly. », The human race. 3. "The root 
of all evil." 4. Often encountered in France. 5. Re- 
quires. 6. An affirmative. 7. In singly. 

IV. t. In singly. 3. An exclamation. 3. Speed- 
ily. 4. Trembling, s. Sour substances. S. Entity^ 
7. In singly. 

V. 1. In singly, a. A common article. 3. A 
vagrant 4- Well-informed. $. Corundum, in graias 
for polishing. 6. To go back and forth. 7. tn 

VI. 1. In singly, a. To observe. 3. An ointment. 
4. Becomes yellow. 5. To call forth. 6. A sheep. 
7. In singly. 

VII. I. In singly, a. To fold. 3 A city of 
northern France. 4. Making aalt. j. Worked dil- 
igently. 6. Termination. 7. In singly. 

VIII. I. In singly. 3. To deface. 3. Less. 4. 
A passage leading to a ship. 5, A European tree. 
6. Fled. 7. In singly. 

PRANCIS M. SBCNKR (age ifi), Honor Member. 



Make. Baby Coo and Crow 

et of health in infancy is keeping the stomach functioning 
ind bowels open by using the safe, guaranteed preparation 



The Infanta' and Children's Regulator 

I published formula appears on every bottle, 

—a prompt, efficiein vege- Sodium Citrate — an effective reg- 

ie cathartic. ulatoT of the bowels — used 

frequently with other ingred' ' 
rb — areiuvenatoT of digest' iems by learned doctors in 

action. treating colic and diarrhoea, 

1 treating 

Sodium Bicarbonate— hi^Xy valuable 

severe gastric indige>[ion in children. 

lise, Fennel, Caraway, Coriander, Glycerine, Sugar Syrup; all 
Ip to make this the very best preparation that medical skill can 
lickly and safely relieve constipation, flatulency, wind colic, 
id other disorders. Yet it costs no more than ordinary 
res. Give it to baby and watch the smiles that follow. 

At all druggists 

— ^ 215-217 Fulton St., Naw York 

^- General StlllngAtcnl, 

Naw Yoifc Toronto, Can. 


" Just like Dad's Union Suit ! " 

BOYS who wear Hanes winter weight Union Suits knonr nrhat it means to be 
cheerily warm and comfortable. And, boys like Hanes best because they 
arc just the same as Daddy's Unions, only fleecier I Hanes elastic knit sup- 
plies lots of " give " for hard play and work ; and Hanes guajity stands the 
severest test I These Union Suits cannot be equaled for wear at any price I 

Hanes snugs up mighty cozy to your neck and wrists and ankles. Their 
Secciness will delight you. The closed crotch ataya closed — that's sure I 
Faultless woikmanship, flat unbreakable seams; lap-seam shoulders; rein- 
forced, non-stretching buttonholes ; reinforcements at every strain point ; pearl 
buttons sewed on to mtajf ! Made in sizes covering ages from <! to 16 years. 
Two- to four-year-old sizes have the drop seat. 

Hnn^ift frti* ftA^n '^ ^^ standard winter underwear value. It is 
lUUlCS h\H lTAc;tI unbeatable at popular prices. Union Suits and 
Shirts and Drawers. You cannot excel Hanes for warmth, comfort and long 
service. If your dealer does not have Hanes, write us at once. 
P. a HANES KNITTINC CO.. Wloston-Silem.N.C "^S^^^^^i^t^'i/^'iS^'Jil 

N*w York Offic*. 3M Broxlwir unf>« ,( iHuri thm Htnat Itb^l. 


Oa bended knees 
the black slaves served 


In thiw tiMMMllng faahion, coA«« irau uervad 
ia lint ooart of Louia XIV: — 

"la gorgeous eoahiBioa, on knaa; 
black alarom pramaated eofftea in Hnycupa of 
egg-mhall porvalaia, with aaacera of gold and 
ailvar and ambroidarad ailk aapkiaa, to tha 
grand damaa of tha paHod". 

Coffea is not now In any antaa a laxurj. It 
Is Uw DKWt dainocratlc of drinks. It la found 
cvaiywhare, anJOTad by e-rarjhoAj, — rich and 
poor. Coffaa coata laaa than a panny a ctip> 

The ehann of coflaa,^-«ho will dany Ita xaat, 
(ta aavor, ita gnatai Coflaa haa anbjugatad 
naaily avery natlon,^-adg«l ita way around 
tha baUtable glaba. Simply bacaaaa it tnoat 
fully aatiaJloa tha complaz craving' for food 
and drink. 

In Amailca, coffH a* a b«vai«g«, ia aafely 
and firmly Mtabliabad in pablic bvor. It b 
itow niad mora exlanaively herr than In any 
coDntry of tha world. Tbe annua] consump- 
tion ia mora than one biOfon pounda I Itiaon 
the menn of tha millions. Coflea Is patt of out 
nationBl liffl — aa atapla ea braad and buttar— 
tba " Unlvaraal Bevaraga," 

CoRea has aamed this Important placa by 
tbe sheer mlEht of merit, — by tBaeon of an 
amailnfly pleating appeal to tba taala, — by 
the force of its genuine wholeeoroe goodnesa. 
It tanat good. It smells good. And by tha 
verdict of tha masaea expressed In daily Ufr^ 
It la good. 

Coffee Is cheering, soothing, comforting, an^ 
taining ■nc/iiea'lA/'ut Aslc the soldier in tha 
trench. Ask the sailor at aea. Ask the laborer 
In hla cottage, Aak tha mlllloaaire in Us mao- 

Coffee Ia "m«n*a drink," A etnrdy, hearty, 
flavory, uvory drink. A real chummy, ciabby 
drink. It greets the bney man at braak^t. It 
meets him at the conference luncheon. It 
regales him at dinner. And again at hla dab 

Where prohibition prevella, — coflea hi co rn ea 
•van more popu/ar. We seethe revival of tba 
good old-fashioned coflee honee, where men 
may meet, and mingle in honest, manly, friendly 
apirit, — where they may toast each other In ■ 
"bumper" of tbeit favorite brai>d of coflea. 

Coffee— the Uniyersal diink. 

The Right Dentifrice 
Won't Cause Sore Throat 

TJOYS and girls often have sore throat from 
■'-' using a dentifrice with drugs in it. And, 
besides, the drugs are apt to effect the nose 
and stomach. 

Your doctor will tell you that it is foolish to 
run these risks. And you can easily avoid 
them by using Dr. Lyon's, which contains no 
drugs and, therefore, never starts up irrita- 
tions, or leaves an unpleasant after-taste. 

Dr. Lyon's thorouEhly cleans the teeth, and its clean- 
ing and polishing serve to preserve them and keep them 
white. Cleaninit is as far as it is laft for a dentifrice to 
eo — or you to (to. 

Dr. Lyon's gives complete dental safely to he whole 
family, and more and more families are appreciating the 
fa'.S every day. 


^oi^den Qream 


The perm enemiei of the leeth are moil »«ive 
al ni^hi because ihe mouth is at rest and they 
can work undisturbed between the teeih where 
panicles o( food may remain. 
Cleanliness is the only solution — (he simple, 
safe, and common -sense cleanliness given by 
Colpato'i Ribbon Dental Crenm. Every mouth 
needs that — and a dentist's advice twice a 

valuable in the case o( children 

to the "dru(!]gy" or "burning" 

■tron^ly medicated dentifrices. 

Mother Goose Booklets — each with 8 pages of 

the dear old rhymes — in a beautiful cover 

printed in full color. A set of 12 booklets {all 

different) will be sent on receipt of itc. in 


Depl. t» I** Pulton Stnct, New York Cltr 

xflfl^ for any outiiuE. 

^'S^r The Flavor Lasts 

A charnting ttory of Kentucky and the Slage 



Miss Daviess lells all her stories with hearty 
good humor, with exhilarating zest, and with 
that swiftness of movement and that snappy 
dialogue which especially appeal to American 

"Blue Grass and Broadway," her latest novel, concerns itself with the 
love story of Patricia Adair, a small town Kentucky girl who comes to New 
York and is plunged into the midst of that world which is at once the gayest 
and most tragic, the most brilliant and the most dangerous — the theatrical 
world. Her happiness and that of others is at stake; in setting forth the ad- 
ventures of Patricia and the people, both good and bad, who circle about her. 
Miss Daviess has used her most charming story-telling gifts. And she knows 
the world of Broadway, where her plays arc produced, as well as the Blue i 
Grass region, where on a (arm she spends at least half her time. "Blue Grass 1 
and Broadway" is one of the gayest stories of the season. | 


Illustrated. Price $1.50 
President Wilson reads mystery stories for diversion 

The Mystery of the 13th Floor 


"An excellent Glory, with an intricate plot ingenloualy worked out to a cat 
ending, and a myiicry ihii will lai, if not wholly baffle, the powers of the most «s 
resourceful reader to solve in advance. . . , RunninK like ■ golden thread thro 
intricacies of (he plot is the Glory of the love of a girl of sterling worth for ihe s 
nephew." — Bailan Tranicripl. 

Frontispiece. Price $1.50 


Conspicuous nose pores 

Tiow h reduce .ihent 


COMPLEXIONS otherwise flawless 
are often ruined by conapicuous 
nose pores to reduce these enlar;^ 
pores: Wring a clolh from very hot wa- 
ter, lather it with Wcxidbury'a Facial 
Soap, then hold it to yourface. When 
the heat has expanded the pores, rub 
in v/rjF y»nr/)r a f resh lather o( Wood- 
bury's. Repeat this hot water and 
lather application several times, iltp- 
ping at tact if fSHr ngit fttli ttmitivt. 
Then finish by rubbing the nose (or 
thirty seconds with a /um/ afire. 

Do not expect to change in a week a 
condition resulting from years of ne- 

flecl. Uxethis treatment ptriiittnltj. 
twill gradually reduce the enlarged 
pores until they are inconspicuous. 

For a month or six weeks of this 
Woodbury treatment and for general 
use, a 25c cake will be sufficient. Get 
a cake today. 

'~ ' I drug stores and toilet 

rs throughout the United 
States and Canada 



'oodbury'M F; _ 
enough far a mk of any Woodbury 
iinnmrn.ioB«rin with (he booklet. "ASkln 
You Love to Toodi." For 15c «rapl» of 
Woodbury-! Facial Soap, Fadnl Powder, Faidal 
Cmm and Cold Cream. Addma The Andm 
JerRntCo.. 2012 SpHns Cn>v. Ave, Ondn- 
nalT. Ohio. 


Playing Railroading with 


Ask Your Father 

j if some of his happiest 

; memories do not center 

I around boyhood days spent 

i with his ritle in field and 

! forest. 

He doesn't want you to 
grow up without such 
golden days. 

Some day he is going to 
bring home a rifle, and is 
going to train you fully in 
its use and care. 

He is not going to let anyone 
else do this — he wants the fun 
of it himself — it is part of 
your education he need not 

Your future will be safe- 
guarded by such know- 
ledge, and you witi ha' 
merry times together. 

rate Savage Ji 
Rifle will pl< 
you both. J; 

write (or a 

Datistt, Mich. 

Boys Use 


because it gives prompt relief from 
aches and pains, is safe and pleasant 
to use and is positively harmless. 

Girls Like 


because it keeps little cuts and bruises 
from being infected, contains no acids 
or minerals and best of all because 
"a Hale goes a loug way." 

Parents Keep 


constantly in the medicine chest at 
home, factory or office because it may 
be used with" full assurance that it will 

cleanse, heal and halt infection. 


sed by athleCea everywhere, for 
lelps limber up heavy tennis 
, takes the stiffntss out of golf 
kilders, and is just the thing 
tired, sore aching feet. Then, 
too, every one knovii that 
Absorbine, Jr., will not 
stroy tissue — it is positively 
harmless. It is composed of 
vegetable extracts and essen 
! tial oils — contains no acids o 

Afaaorbhia, Jr. 91-25 > 

bottl* at tlmffuU or 


A Ubn-al Trial BotU* will 
ient to your address on 
receipt of 10c in stamps. 

W. F. YOUNG, Inc. 

360 Templa St. 
Springfiald, MaM. 

Mad« tor Man, Women, ChUdrmn 

jSilT for 1V™k I<Ja^U 

When Your Children 
are Grown up 

WHEN thry are no longer children, but 
men and women, will they have feet 
thai are bent and twislrd — with comi, biin- 
ioDi, ingrown nails, callouKB, fallen archesf 
Not if you will put the little (cet into 
Educalors— the shoes that let the feet grow 
Bl they should! 

Always look for Educator on the sole. . 
TTiere can be no protection stronger than 
(hit trademark. It means that behind 
every Jiart of the shoe stands ■ rtiptntibU 

"Bent Bones Make Frantic Feet" Con- 
tains surprising foot facts. Free. Scndtoday. 

17 High Street Boston, Mau. 



— - — want lo — suddenly, lotii- 
pletely. but without jolt or jar— when 
your bicycle is equipped with the 

Corbin Duplex 
Coaster Brake 

Grcalnl reliahilily, tut. camfirrt. laftly. cbk- 

■ unred of by the Corbin Duplex. The guar- 
iniee of a J 1 0.000,000 corpofition ilandi 
■quareir back ol Fverr one of rhrm. 

Knd all afeimt ^1 in Ikt Corbin DhUijc 
CaUlog. Glad lo md ohi on rinuril. 

Corbin Screw Corporation 


Works Like Magic 

WheD chair, table, piano or buffet, ^P 
show smut, smoke stains, finger marks ■ 
or grime — get busy with 3-in-One! \ 
You'll \k amazed at the thorough and I 
quick way in which 3 -in -One brings back the 
new ioolc lo time-worn, furniture. Here's the 
way to do: Wring out a cloth in cold water; 
'add a few drops of 


A Child's Strength 

Growing children more 
often than not need ad- 
ditional noariakment to 

help sustain growth and 
keep vigorous^ well. 

Scott's Emulsion 

of purest Norwegian cod-liver 
oil is that additional nourish- 
ment to many thousands of 
delicate children. Scott'a 
does its work of sustaining 
growth and building up 
^Jk strength, pleasantly and 
jM% efficiently. Be sure that 
YiYY y**" give your child 
. Scott's Emulsii 


▼ASupport/6' I^nts «™a Hose 

Agts 4 to 18 

CM Brwdwir. ■■ Kh Sc.. Naw York 
EiwH t C& Ltd. T.r«M. Cauda 

FamOy Toy Talk H 

Prom the time a child is born, he enten ■ pericxl 
of mental development. This lut> ai long ai hia miod 
19 able to graip new thoughts. 

First, children are taught at home hy the parent* 
or nurse. Then comes the going-to.(chool tiire, and 
here the teacher further aiiU the childi mental train- 
ing. So on and on we humans develope our minda 

During the earlier period of the childs life, one 
important aid to education i> sometime* overlooked 
by parents. TTiey fail to realize that toys are not 
necessarily limply playthings. 

Parents should choose toys for thur children, 
with the idea in mind that they can be made lo lup- 
plement what the children are being taught. Toy* 
may play a decided part in instruction. 

Let parents icalixe that the childi appreciation 
of quality and worth are being cultivated as the]'' 

K' ly. Cheap toys do not create * Sense of value. 
, from the very beginning buy good things, wherebf 
the children really learn to etcereise care in keeping 

In America, toy manufacturers are endeavoring 
to put the idea of vocational training in their to^*. 
Children do not aenae small reproductions of essential 
product* as imitations, nor are they that. 

Better than through books, does the grownig 
child learn the all-important lessons of precaution 
and necessity of care, from his so called "playthings". 

This movement toward early vocational training 
even in toys is psycholoirically sound and it add* 
rather than detracts pleasure from the child* leisure 

There must be both mental and physical training. 
It must be realized that it is possible by a wise selec- 
tion of loj-a to establish early ihe foundation cS fu- 

From the puzzle or ^ame, which develope quick 
and logical thinking to the practical construction toys, 
all serve an end. As the mind is developed, so there 
must be exercise and fresh air for the growing body. 

No country in the world has brought the educa- 
tional, instructive, mental and physical developing 
toys to such a high point of perfection as has America. 

American Toys are real equality. When you think 
of good toys, you need thmk of no others than 
those made right here in the United Slate*. 

Family Toy Talk No. Ill will appear 
in December 

Chdstmas Joy for Girl and Boy 

Make tc a Flexible Flyer Chnstmas! The cleanest, liveliest, most 

heathful sport of the season — sledding with the ^mous FLEXIBLE 

FLYER. Its patented, non-skid runners which grip ice or snow 

asy and coasting safe, comfortable 

new steel &ont takes up shock, 

^ and prevents splitting of seat and 

Saves shoes and prevents wet feeL 

en sizes — 38 to 63 inches long. Look 

for the mane and flying eagle trade mark 

m. scaL None genuine without it. 

^ ITDIhI? CanSxwrd roocU tbowi how the 
riU^C HeiiblefVtMMn. Write for it. 

3. L. AUen & Co. JsJi^l 

Flexible Flyer 

— the hanaat steering aled with non-skid ^^ruimers 


.■ Samuel R. Sin 


R this general heading is included a 

I issued during: the period of the Armis- 
tice. All of them have an interest apart from their 
appearance, from tbeir design, from (heir wokman- 
ship. Many of them indeed are very crude from an 
artistic standpoint. Most of them are from coun- 

newly created from the ruins of Russia, or the re- 
adjustments of Austrian, and Balkan ter- 
ritory. Indeed, the boys and girls are Roing to lind 
geography a much more ditlicult study than did 
their fathers and mothers. 

One of the most interestind of these new coun- 
tries which h.ns issued stamps is Mesopotamia, thi; 
land of itagdad and the Arabian Nights, a country 
around which much youthful imagination always 
centered : so much so, that the country has seemed 
like a fairy-tale rather than a real place. One is 
s turned real and has issued 


; yet only ; 

t of 

rent stamps of Turkey. The 
surcli^irgo reads as lollows: At the top of the 
sinmp is tlie word, -IR.tQ." (N'ow our readers 
must n't ask us what that means, foe at present we 
do not know : but if any one of Ihem can tell us, we 
shouM lie glad to hear from them.) At the left are 
the words (reading up) "In British," and at the right 
(reading down) "Otcupation." At the bottom is the 
new value in annas and rupees, instead of paras and 
piasters. For instance, the i anna is upon the 20 
paras, the z'/^ annas, upon the 1 piaster; the i rupee, 
upon the 10 piasters. The surcharges make a strik- 
ing contrast to the color of the stamp, and the set 
eally very beautiful. 



stamps from Fi 



I. fro 

I 60 c. 

of the countries which has coroe 
among stamp-collectors on account 
issue of stamps. For many years 
rather enjoyed this country, be- 
ing issued only one stamp (and that, by 

in the album assigned to it. B 

[laking up for lose time. A numb 

of stamp issues h.ive alrea' 

~he first Poll- 

These stamps were 
illy spoken of as the 
Local Post." The il- 
lustration gives an idea of 
the stamps. The second 
Polish picture is of another issue. 
This issue is divided into parts, or 
sections. The tirst has the valuer 
in pfennings and tnarks, and is for 
use in what might be called the 
Warsaw- Genu an section of this 
new nation. The second has the 
same design, but is for use in 
Galicia and has the value in heller 
and krona. Both sets come per- 
ferated and imperforate. The next 

; illustrated two 
me. over which city there is ao 
at present. These stamps, perhaps, 
"national." They belong rather to 
'" group of the Armistice. We il- 
: of them this month. "' 

higher values — marks and 
kronas in bolh sets. The 
sijilh Polish stamp is a later 
issue, showing the Polish 


The second illustration is called "View of the 
Port." But really the whole interest centers in the 
right foreground, where is shown a citizen of Fiume 
nailing Co the mast of a ship the flag of Italy. This 
is intended to indicate the absolute determination of 
the inhabitants to unite themselves with the Govern- 
ment at Rome. This design appears on the higher 

(Conlinued o 

the most 

The others are less orna- 
mental and more crudely 

Here is a new country en- 
tirely. What shall its name 
be? On the stamp it ap- 
pears as Latviga. Others 
call it Leltland, some Lctt- 
onia. It is a part of old Rus- 
sia, and we understand the 
capital is at Libau. There 
are three distinct issues of 
this country, all of the same 

page 48) 


IT is so Mun«d b«caiiM her* mwwry Si. Niehotaa raader can find ths names nnd addrssaes off toadtny stem 
dsalsrs. Selected stamps for younc folks are their spodalty. Mention St» Nichoiam In writinc them and 
"• sure always to five your name and complete address, as well as that of parent, teacher or employer as 
reference. Be sure to f et permission f&rst. We are careful to accept the advertisements of only the most 
reliable stamp dealers, and if you hoTO any unfair business dealinff s with St. Nichotam advertisers advise us 
promptly. We are always fflad to help solve your stamp problems. Write us when you want Information. 

8tsaiit— 158 OenuiDB indudlnc Mnloo Wsr. Salva- 
dor. China. Guatemala, etc Only lOo— 1000 very 
fine mUed foreign 28(v-100 all dlffennt 15e, ISO 
do 25c. 200 diff. 50o. 500 dlff. $2.00—1000 diff. |4.25. 
.Ul nnel 25 dlflT. Frencb col. (pictures) 20c. 60 diff. 
do 50c. 100 do $1.50. 30 dlff. 8. A Ceo. Amer. 20o— 
3 .Auyssinis 15c. 3 Czeclio SlOTalda 20c, 3 Jugo Slavia Oc. 8 
LatTiJa 25c, 2 Poland Bed Cross 20c 4 Roumaiiia 1014-pietuies 
20c. 3 ditto-^Charity 18c. 5 Serbia Death Mask 35c. 3 large 
Swiss 1919— 15c. etc. Larpe lists of Bargains Free! Large 
sti>ok War Stamps, etc. Sheets en Apprwal-^SO'/o to 60V* 
Agents Wanted. We buy stamps— all kinds, for Cash! Also 
Stamp Collections, etc. Established 25 years! The C. B. 
Husaman Stamp Co.. 2600a Olive St.. St. Louis. Ma 

Packet No. 8* 
Contains 1000 Different Stamps 

of Exceptional Grade 
Price $S.OO Post Free 

Indodes ancient and modem Issues seldom seen at any- 
where near this price. A bargain. Ask for our 06-page 
Illustrated price-list, which ia free on request. 

83 West 44th Street New Yofil City 

Why my approrals are the beat: (1) No trash. (2) Lowest 
prtee: 50 c with extra dUeaimu for quick returns. (3) Attract- 
ive Sheets arranged by countries. (4) Aguinaldo Philippine 
stamp cat. 50c. prunlum u> customers who expect to buy. 
(5) H. H. 10. stamps for small boys if desired. Hundreds of 
St. NlObolaa boys have tried them. Why not YOU. 

D. M. Wabd. 608 Buchanan fit.. Gary. Ind. 

Q M A P Q ISO different foreign, 15c. 60 different U. S. in- 
iJ l^ r%K^ hJ eluding f 1 and $2 if venues, for lie. With each 
ordsr wa give free our pamphlet which tells "How to Make a 
ColleeUon Pioperly." QUBEN CITY STAMP A COIN CO.. 
Room 32, 60* Kace St., Cincinnati. O. 

Stamps M aU dlff., Transvaal. BrasU. Peru, 
Cuba. Mezloo. Ceylon, Java, etc and Album. Itc. 
1000 Finely Mixed, 4tc. 60 diff. U. S.. 25c. 1000 
hinges, 10c. Agts. wtd. 5056. List Free. I buy stamps. 
Categman, 5940 Cote Brllllante Ave..St.Louls.Mo. 


K»iagvvsia«i^*i^ 8 Luxembourg: 8 Finland: 20 Sweden: 
8 Honduras: 8 Costa Rica: 10 Porto Rico: 8 Dutch Indies: 
Hajrtl. Lists of 7000 low-priced stamps free. 


100 dJierent U. S. 28 cents 150 diflcrirnt U. U. 70 cents. You 
wri b^ pleased with our new premium plan to those using our 
app-oval books. May we send you a selection? 

H. S. WATf^ON CO. Inc., East Dodham. Mass. 

for our approval sheets at 60% discount. Postage 2 cents 
Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Tolbdo.Oboio 


-1000 for 16 cents. Packet. 100 dlff - 
'stamps, 15 cents. Heavy cover album. 75c* 
C. F. RICBABD0. Box 77. Grand Central P. O. New York. 


6 unused French Ccrtonles to Approval Applicants! 
ROESSLER'S Stamp NEWS. 6 mos. 15c. 
Edwin h B\il»t, Box 25 Farmlngdaie. N. Y. 

1.00 U. 8. Parcel Poet Stamps to Applicants for 
Approvals. Qlve Reference. 

J. R. NICHOLS. 2322 Lorlng Place, N. Y. aty 

-|?'R1?1?'Blockof 4; 8 Line Surchaige. 2 Color, Mint, Im- 
*^ -■^*^"2' perforate. Send reference for Approvals. 

G. PERBJN8, 704 Dollar Bank, Youngstown, Ohio. 

All diflerent 100 - 10c 22d - 25c. 600 - 81. UO. louO - ^.^.80. 
J. L. ONKEN, 630 79th Pt.. BROOKLY.Nf. N. Y. 

5t>f AW^ONDLAND FREE With trial Approvals. 1000 Peel- 
ab*c Hinges, 8c. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N. Y. 

P*D C p S Mg unused French Colonies lo approval appll- 
r EKM^M^ canis. Geo. D. Linv Company, Columbus. Ohio. 

H pb PoaTAQE Stamp Co , 3-13 Waahlugton Street, Boston. Mass. 

:» I AMPS lOo Ch)na.eic..sramp tiictlonary.llsl 3000 hargaiDS. 
2c 'Mbnm (fiOO pictures). 3c. Bpllahd a Co.. Sta.A. Bopton 

Stamps at one cent each. Send for trial r Section 


on approval and receive a Watermark Detector 
Ftee. BURT McCANN, 321 No. Newton, Minneapolis, Minn 

Ra«*a ^fsfevvvviA F«*AA ^^ All dlff spent Canadian and 10 
JVare OCaiXipS r rCO i^din wlthCatalogue Free. Post- 

nge 2 cents. When possible send names and addresses of two 
■tamp coUectors. Large wholesale list for Dealers free. 
We offer these sets, great bargains, cheapest ever offered, no 
two stamps alike In any set, all different, fine condition. Postage 
2c. extra. 50 Spain, lie: 40 Japan, 5o.; 100 V. a, 20c.: 7 Slam, 
15c.: 60 Asia. 17c.; 20 Chile, 10c.: 4 Malta, 6e.: 30 HoUand.Oc: 10 
Jamaica, lOc: 10 Straits, 7c.: 10 Egjrpt. 7e.: 7 Persia, 4o.: 10 Cey- 
lon, 15c.: 8 Hawaii. 20e.: 20 Denmark. 7c.: 80 Sweden. lOr.: 50 
Brt.Col'a.6c.; 8 Peru.4e.: 25 Persia. 25c.: 10 Brasn.Se.; SOAfrlcs, 
24c.: FIJU 15c : 25 Italy. 5c.: 7 Iceland, 20c.: 4 Sudan. 8c.: 10 
China. lOe.; 17 ^fexlco, 10c.: 10 Uruguay. 7c.: Reunion. 5c.: 5 
Panama, 13c.:20NewZealand,15o. Remltin stampsor Money 
Order. Fine approval sheets 50^ discount. 50 Page List Free. 
We buy Stamps. Marks Stamp Co.. Dept.N .Tobgnto.Cawada. 


61 different stamps, packet 5 unused, China ship set, 2 scarce 
animal stamps, large $1.00 U. S. revenue, perforation gauge, 
millimetre scale, ruler and price lists. ALL FOR 9c t Finest 
approvals: British C(4onies, etc., large discounts. 


QITXQ Japan 1013, 13 varieties 27c.; 1914; 11 varieUcs 12c.; 
•JM^liJ 1015. 4 varieties 17c.: 1910, 2 varieties 8c.; French 
Cnlnnles, 32 varieties 20c.: Austria mllitarv. 5 varieties 20c. 
R'ls^ia 1 rbl. impf. 10c. ; postage extra. Approvals. "Stamp 
Pp tlals" sent on request, 
I T{ WKLIN ("OOPKR. 108 Clarcmont Ave.. Jo^^oy City. N. J. 


_ 50(1 rr. Belgium (large bi-co!or) China, Jamaica, Portugal 
Venezu'^ia. etc., 10c: 100 all diff. only 20c; 1,000 we!l mixed 
40c; 10 J var. U S. 50c; 1.000 hinges. 10c; Agts. wtd. 50'"^ 
List free I BUY STAMPS L. B. DOVER. Orcrland. Mo. 

for our fine app. sheets. Lar^e discounts. Sendref. We 
Buy Stamps. Service. Satisfaction. 

B. H. Fehlio Co.. 3021 R. 11th Ave.. Denver. Colo. 

"The Beautiful Canada Jubil^o Set one half cent to 60c. 
unused. 83.00. Other B. N. A. used and unused on 


A. C. nouoi^.A'^. Routhampton, Ont." 

lUfOOM I-atest NEW EUROPE ijwues at Net prices. 
tv^^-'Vyiv Standard varlctif^s at Ilboial Discounts. 


GEO. F. MOON. Jr., 9 Fulton Market N. Y 

IF you win buy SI. 00 or more at a time from our better 
selecilnn.4. you can make yom collection a gilt-edse invest- 
ment. Write Hess Bros Co.. Box 52. Clea.'-neid. Pa- 

_ _ . . . • 


For the names of two collectors and 3c postage. 10 coins, 25c; 
20 coins. 35e. Toledo St\mp Co. Toledo O.. U.S.A. 

All For — 20 different stamps from 20 different countries. 

6rnn*e ^^ fl'ffcrent Sr.uth American. 2 different Malay 
V/CniS (Tigers) FOYE STAMP CO.. Detroit, Mich. 

DANDY I*AtJKET STAMPS free for name, wldress 3 

* * rollectors. 2c. pontage, with 60% apprs. 125 dif. 

U. S. Inc. high values, 50c. U. T. K. Stamp Co., Utica, N. Y, 

Send for selection of my WORLD WIDE APPROVALS and 

gei beautiful U R. SI S'amp absolutely FREE. 

G £. B ALTZLE Y, 533 GommonwealCh Bldg., Denver, Gofo 


10 DltTerent Anlmul ^lamps 8c. 2J JJlfferent 20c. 
30 DlTerentSSc. And don't forget COMETS! 
The ZENITH Stamp Co., Dept. B. Box 383, New Britain. Ct 

Ay STAMPS, Wide World Variety, no ttash. catalog 
■» i value 97c. for 6j., wl t h universal appr*- vals. 

C. N. WlNEOAR. West Fort Ann, N. Y. 

5 Different Rhodesia, and big bargain lists, only e^ 
JOHN M. LONG. 67 Public Square, Watertown N.Y. OC- 

Get your stamps with premiums from the 

RICHARDS STAMP CO. Dept. A. East Cranio N. V. 

Fine premiums f) appH-^ants for Buckeye approvals 

IlUvJKE^E STAMP CO. Springneld, Ohio 

GET MY 12c. COLLECTION of tw^ntyrare stamps. App-ovai 
sheets on request. H. H. Hlggins 1 W. 69th St., New "' 



PLAYMATES/o'^Boys and Girls I 


TJIKINQ or resting — the 
wind tb rough the woods 
and the draft throagh the 
room may tnean the Mme 
kind of ■ eoogb. Stave It 
off with Deaa^ Mentholated 
Cough Drapa, Get them 

Dean MedldiM ConpaB^ 




wire fencr^ 

lUuat^ated Boolu DtHcrlbing' Uaea. FREE 

Awriran Sled & Wire Co. '- ■■«*J'H,'EiA!do* '^ ' 

ai.f*,ln OlfeMafUKfh 


I BRdMaSps-kwoMOlirFunaul Punmio Chtlnm*A 
£■]«. 8(41 [dTlOo k pukice, WIicBUUI lend ulSl.MKnd 




76c :: L''^c': 7Sc 

iwooD AMD riira nowcncntnuTiM 

Odb WeeUf Leiier Tor One 


This is the sea 

EVER feel that itchi 
a gun in your hand 
a break for the, open 
what we mean by "gur 
You're not the only 
feels it ; keen Ameri 
everywhere feel it, too 

Until you are old ei 
a "grown-up" hunting 
best gun you can g( 
Daisy Air Rifle. 

With the Daisy, you 
to shoot straighter, t 
the other boys ; you ca 
thrill of the hunter, ev 
your "game" is only a 
target, ami your "pt 
only harmless couipres 

On rainy days, ther 
range you can rig up i 




A Worth While 

Christmas Gift- 

ItBringHappineufor aUfetimc 

rhere is no gift that will give more 
happiness than a 

'lodson Bird House 

Order Now 5^S!.''_^mw S'TS^'S' 





Relieves Promptly and Safely 

All Druggists, or E. FOUGERA 4 CO.. Inc. 

The A.B.C. Adjustable Car 




Preventing the development of bowed legs and 
round shoulders caused by riding a car that is 
too small. 

Ask your dealer to show you an A.B.C. Car. 

McLaren & company 



Patented Ijuly 2. 1918 


Building Blocks 

I Are A New Building Toy 

Boys and girls can make with 
I their own hands bird-houses, 
I doll-houses, garages, wind mills 
I and many other models. 

Something amusing, 

interesting and 


Just the thing to ask mother or § 
father to give you for a wonder- | 
ful Christmas present. i 

Great fun at all times I 


For sale at any department or i 
I Toy Store in all large cities. | 
I If your dealer does not carry I 

KonstructOj write to us. I 

I Konstructo Company j 

I ManufactBrad in OtGem and SaleiToom: I 

PORTLAND, 103 W. I4th St., i 


"Toyt That Ar^/GenuiHe" 

Ail Gilbert Toys are toys that you can have 
great fun with. Boya can give real magic 
entertaiments with Gilbert Mystic Magi 
fiU — which contain ump of the bnt cricka ofl 
muBician^ WiUl Gilbert puxale wta van can irl- 
puzileparlln. Girlinill liV 

loy building conIe?i , free to I 

and a hundred oihsr fine prizes. Write today for 
the facta, free cap)' of my boys' magaiine and compl 
Gilbert toy cataloi. 

A. C GILBERT, Prttidanl 


130 BlitcU«r:AT«., NEW HAVEN, CONN. 



1 the fine Gilbert Nuri 
IJhave jusl started a 1 

GiunT PDau rums 

JjailiethiMlorlitile lola. Price 
H-HtoUHM. (In Canada H.H 

ta enable boya to give rca 

^ous tricks and' fine Manu 


Prim tl-ES <o t^t.M. 
(In Canada, i3.U to SII.J 


A deiightfully dainty 
(In Canada U.TE.> 







S,nW n 










With its October number, Si. Nicholas passes another milestone 
ia its triumphant progress toward the half-century mark, now almost 
in sigbt. The November issue begins the foity-seventh volume of 
this incomparable magazine for young folk, known the world over 
and universally beloved, wherever the English language is read or 
spoken, as the special friend and comrade, chum and crony, of boys 
and girla — in short, their "own particular, pet. pippin of a magazine," 
39 one ardent boy-admirer puts it. 

A bit more seriously, perhaps, than is its custom, but just as 
cheerfully as ever, St. Nicholas completes another year of its hap- 
py and useful existence, and begins with another, the forty-seventh. 

How thick is a bound volume of the boys' and girls' magazine? 
Call it three inches. It is really more, but call it that We shan't 
stop to measure, though the red-and-gold beauties are close at hand: 

year; forty-six years I is one hundred and thirty-eight inches of 
bound volumes of St. Nicholas I A file half again as high as that 
extraordinarily tall man from Texas, whose pictures were printed in 
the newspapers not long ago ; or more than twice the height of a 
good-sized, growing youngster, When he reaches five feet, and feels, 
and is, "almost a man." It is a whole library in itself. 

But all this is merely a measure of quantity. What really counts 

is quality. You know what St. Nicholas is now. Your big brother 

the same a few years ago; and your father and mother, uncles and 

e when lliey were boys and girls. Don't you, often and often, catch 

. reading yout copy — and forgetting dull grown-up things, like business and household cares, while 

they renew their childhood with a dip into the Saint's unfailing Fountain of Youth I Of course you do! 

That we would say to boys and girls and their parents, is the test of quality, the measure of merit. For 

forty-six years Si. Nicholas has met the requirements of young readers; the hardest requirements there 

are — as well as the best worth trying to meet. One Sr. Nicholas writer remarked, right here in the pub- 

licaiion-office: "I 've written hundreds of articles for the grown-ups. and it never bothered me a bit You 

f^iii fool most of them most of the time. But it frightens me to write for St. Nicholas — because you 

■.'t fool the youngsters — not cver\" 

cars make the Saint older in wisdom, but they cannot smother his jovial smile in wrinkles. We iiri^ 

'US, because these are serious times. We are cheerful, because there are all our St. Nicholas boys 

girls growing up with the wit and the wisdom, the facts and the fun of this magazine stored away 

Lioir minds and their hearts to make them better, stronger, wiser American citizens) Before long the 

:olk must lu 

rn the world- over to younger 

and hands; : 

it will be time to take a fresh 

And that is 

1 where, that is exactly where 

. Nicholas 

influence comes into play. As 

friend said o 

to exercise s 

a far-reaching an influence upon 

minds, and 

thus upon the future of the 

■ magazine is a school without a schedule ; it 

(inly the hours you wunl to give it. It is a 

without discipline, for a youngster with 

iL.\s needs no sharp eye to watch him. It 

11 without hammering home a moral. Ii 

■ :i without trying to look more learned 

t is always doing something for you. 
. It do for you in 1920? Many fine and 

(for the list is far too long to give 


Bcgiaolng with the October issue, ST. Nicholas is going 
!:i publish a Department for those boys who are not contenl 
to sit by and watch others do things but want to have a 
ringer in the pic themselves. The "Do Things Editor" has 
a lot of brand new how-to-make ideas on hand that he is 
R"ing to put into that department, but be is not going to fill 
it all by himself. Useful devices that can be rigged up out 
of odds and ends, home-made apparatus, shop kinks — Ihese 
are what the Editor wants. Boys who have made anything bi 

themselves arc invited to write to the Editor about it. They 
will be asked — not for ideas that they have seen aomewherc 

else, but for plans that they have worked out themselves — with complete instructions and sketches that 
have dimensions on them, so that others can follow out the plans. The Editor will pay for all the 
material be uses. 

The department starts ofE this month witfa a most interesting "how-to-make" serial, by A. Russell Bond. 
called "Packing-house Village." It will tell just how to build bouses out of big packing-boxes. They will not 
be toy houses nor doll houses, but real honest-to-goodness dwellings, big enough for boys to get inside of 
and live in. Being made of packing-boxes they will cost little, and yet they won't look like boxes when 
they are finished. They will have gable roofs, chimneys and verandas, and they will be Atted with furni- 
ture made from smaller boxes. The plan is to have a lot of boys club together and build a whole village, 
with cottages and barns and windmills, with stores, post office, fire-engine house, town hall, etc. Streets 
can be laid out, with mail-boxes and fire-alarm boxes on the corners, and there can be a park with a sura- 
ner house and a bandstand in it. How to contruct all these buildings and the furniture and fittings will 
'le told in detail so that any boy who knows how to handle a hammer and a saw can make them. Added 
:o the pleasure of building the village there will be the joy of organizing a town government, with mayor 
and common council, police and fire department. 

Be sure to keep your copies of St. Nicholas because if you don't start building a Packing-box Village 
right away, you will surely want to do so before the series is ended. 


.^nother joyous and important influence of the magazine is that of awakening in its young readers the 
5tnse of the meaning of beauty of life, in its finer possibilities, of arousing high ideals by acquainting them 
■ iih the men and women of noblest character and achievement. Inspiring biographical sketches have al- 
ways been a prominent feature of St. Nicholas, as instanced by the fine series "More than Conquerors" 
lij- .Ariadne Gilbert, and a similar double set of articles, "Heroes of To-day" and "Heroines of Service." by 
Mary R. Parkman. Both these gifted and experienced teachers 
will contribute biographical papers to the new volume, and thus 
provide an invaluable stimulus to the minds and thoughts of the 
young folk from month to month. And as a companion series 
there will be interesting articles about some of the great artists 
of the world, such as a sketch of "Velasquez," the famous Spanish 
painter, and a charming account of "Two Florentine Friends" ; a 
line tribute to Sir Ed\.in Abbey, "a painter of quaint romance"; 
while the pages of the various issues will be constantly enriched. 
as usual, by reproductions of great pictures by the leading artists 
of to-day. St. NiCHOt.AS boys and girls invariably become lovers 
of the best in art and literature. In proof of the art-quality of 
the magazine, this spontaneous endorsement is weM worth re- 


ST. NliltOLA 


Dear Sir: 

On behalf 

of the Manufacturers' Aircraft Association I w 

to congratul 

le Si. Nicholas. The cover design on the J 

issue is by fa 

r the best crampte of popular aeronautical visual 

tion that I h 

ve ever come across. I chanced to see the orig 

at Brentano' 

and was impelled to write to you. 

Yours very truly, Luthbk K. Bell. 

(Information Department. 

i am a leathtr. I wiik >'oii ionld stt tki imfrovtiKnt in rtadiag, iolk erai and tUtnl, il 
■H of St. NlCHOLU iiMfnd ef Iht ordtncry ickoat riadtrl 


Author of "Bo)- Scontj in the Wilderncu" 

o'/onVot the^huKC brown *bMr.° Ih* JthMM cVnivgrouj m"maf 5not"n. ,' 
A lumber king agrees to finaace Ihe trip, and Old Jud Adanu, afamoui ^ 

ief found In a 


, afamoui 
lolher, and 

"Argonauts," as they call tbcro^flves; and how thcr cioii the con 
tincDt and find no one can go to the Island of the Bear except tl>o;-< 
Kho have "qualiilrd" to the Indiana' satiaCaction br some unuiual act 
of bravi^r;; bow Will. Jud, Fred, and Joe, each and all a I last achieve 

■tart 10 finish, 'but no wild melodrama. It ii baaed on the facts of ei- 

'"M™'lamoel°Sc"o"me,''j?., '•*P''''^^»'pl^» bwy™ ^^ K\?rd time in i 

1 and 

remarkably vi 


report of » 

hat goes on 




..V hM print* 

;d 1 

everal of Mi 

:. S«oville-a 



d calU him 

-the be«t of 


[| nosth" 



.£ T.'\i 


ral-hislorj pap 

by Mr. ^c™ 

ie Be 


t'l of"! 

Ihe Wilderai 

Slorjr that wi 

ill hold an* 




w lerial, and St. Nicnou 

«.d • 



ithful courage ind grit in 


DT Seouu in 

the North." 


No writer of today knowa boys and boy-nalure better than Mr. Barbour or can portray them in Lvelter alyle. Hit 
bor-Ulk is "the real thing" and his piqiure* of boja at school, in sport, in danger or play, afloat or ashore, are re- 
markabl;r true to life. He ii at home with Ihelr very thoughts; and in Mr. Holt he bat found ■ sVilled and en- 

tributes much to the ' building up of a great narrative of adventure and a thrilling climsi. 

The new aerial is the best of the slonea which these two gifted authors have written; and a novel sort of mystery. 


factorily at the close beneath the spell of the author's magic. And in 

"The Crimson Patch" will be found fully equal to The Boardeduf 
House, The Sapphire Signet, Three Sides of Paradise Green and Th< 
Slipper Point Mystery. Indeed it is quite likely to be voted the bes 



and for everyone who enjoy, a beaulituUy-t. 

ald-slory. The Kcne t 


In the California of a century ago when Ihe 

Spanish dons and gra 

were in possession and lived in almost regj 


ground lurked "handido." (handils) who hi 

Bd the 'polished manni 

oallanls and would suddenly appear on a fei 
Go.n ladies whose jewel, they were all (he 

le day and dance with 


time sicrelely planni 

ng to 

In tliii genuine little masterpiece a new 
tascinatinn vision of a romaoii.- er. ni^u. n. 

author has conjured 


color and tragedy, comedy and charm. In si 
I the page, of the St. Nicboui Luqub. 


As for the short stories, poems and ballads, 
tales of adventure, of imagination, of "human 
feeling and devotion," and rhymes and pictures 
of fun and frolic, their name is legion and they 
have come to he recognized, and looked forward 
to, as simply a part of St. Nicholas itself, — en- 
tertaining, amusing, enthralling or uplifting, as 
the case may be. A war-worker in France, who 
has recently returned, writes spontaneously: 
"When I was 
in Europe, the 
stories that 
came back most vividly were the ores that I read in 
St. Nicholas when I was growing up. I have always 
been thankful that I was 'raised' on St. Nicholas 
stories and pictures." And a recent letter from far-off 
Korea says: "Even her^ we cannot do without your 
magazine, as we wish our children to grow up under its 
influence. It must follow us through the years." 

In the two departments, "The Watch Tower" and 
"Nature and Science" — each of which is regarded as an 
invaluable aid by teachers and parents — the boys and 
girls are kept abreast of the progress of historic events 
and national endeavor, and of the latest discoveries in 
science and the nature-world, from month to month. 
And to every issue of the now famous "St. Nicholas 
League" — "their own department" — the ambitious "sahsi'ibd." 
young readers of the magazine contribute stories, poems, *<is '4- (cold badhs,) 

drawings, and. photography of amazing merit and clever- 
ness. There is no more potent influence in the 
development of character and achievement 
among American young folk than this beloved 

St. Nicholas, 353 Fourth Avenue, New York Cily. 
Enclosed please find ^c'S^ for which please Bend 
me St. Nicholas for (^J years beginning with (he 


A World-ChrlatnUM-Trae. Ver*e (back of (roDtispiece) Sophh E. Radford - ■ - . 

lIlDWnilsd by G«ar|e Virun. 

Froatlspiece:"The door swunft back, and a Knight stood therau" 

Fna the Dnirliig by Mnuricc L. Bowa. 

Am«fica. Verse. Illuitrated by George Variin 

The Tr«aaure-Cheat of th« MedranoA. Serial Stor^ . 

IlluitrmiBl br W. M. Barer. 
TheRtsal St. Nick. Verie. Illustrated by C Qyde Squii 
The Adventure of the HUb Kinft (The Wondering Bc^ Seriet) Verse, dan Putt HMdowcroft ■ 

lUuiITHtcd br MauriccL. Bomr. 
"One Minute Longer." Story. Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha. . . Albert Parwa Tcrhnn* ■ 
A TboughtlMS Billy-Goat. Verse. IIIu«trated by Reginald Birch . Mra, John T. Van Saot ■ 
The Scamper ChUdren. Verse. Illuitrated by Harriet O'Brien. . . s^monrBuiuid ' ■ ■ • 
The Ice-Cream Soda Spirit. Story. Illustrated bjr Charles M. Rdyea.FannrKUbounM . ■ ■ 

A CbrlBtmas Error. Verae. Edwin L. SaMn 

B<V Scouts of tho North. Serial Story. lllBitrated by George Avison. .Samoal ScorOle, Jr. ■ • 
The Challenge. Verse. Arthur WaUaca PbA - ■ 

"Meny Chrtatmaa, MIm Blakelyl" Stoiy. Linda snmu Almond 

llluilratxl br Ralph P. Cofeiua 

The CrlmMn Patch. Serial Story Auauata HuMI Smowd - 

lliuurilHl br C M. Kalre*. 

The DlaconteotedUttle Prince. VetM. lUuiCrated by Reginald Birch. Bii« Miulr 

For Boye who do things: Packing Box Village. 

A See-Saw Merry- Go-Round. A. Ru*hU Bood .... 

lUultritcd from Kignim isd PhDlc«nphi. 

. The Watch Tower. Illustrations from Photographs Idwaid N TmU .... 

Nature and Science for Young Folks: Ulustratioos from Pbotographt. 174 

■nmb«»-WolveeInNewYork(W.J. Per^)— Foreetalllng 

the firing (S. Leonard Bastin)— What the Great War Did 
for Platinum and Silver (James Anderson) — A Queer 
Bonfire (Waller K. Putney) — A Rope Mattress — Frost 
Music (S. Leonard Baitin)— Mow's Weather for PlylagT 
For Very Little Folks: 

Letters. Vcne. Illustrated by Edna A. Cooke Hilda W. Smith ■ ' 

Brother Elk and the Bunny Family Celebrate Christmaa 

Drtwin; hy L. J. firidgmiiD. 
t. Nicholas League. With Awards of Priieafor Storiea, Poems, Drawings, 

Photographs, and Pu^ea. Illustrated. . .... ,, . . - 

The Letter-Boi 

The Riddle-Bos . . . '. 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page. Conducted by Samud R. Sninuws . . . Advertisiiig Page . 

THE CENTURY CO. 3U Foor^ An., at Mth St.. Naw Vork, N. V. 

(CopyTlaht.lS19,bjTbaCi<tituryCa.l (TItIn Raalatwwl U. 8. Pat OH.) 

I Second Qua MaU Matter. June l4. 1ST4, at the Poet Offlcaat New York, OBdar the Actof Much 
3. IS74. and at the Poet Office D*|wnmenl, Ottawa, C^d.) 

Could wa bat lia*« * Chrutmas-trae 

For all the world, oli, what would bo 

The gifts upon iti branchai hunc 

To be diitribuled BmonK 

The ecgar peopln itanding by? 

What would 70U BiTe, and what would 1 

Would lilka or fun or rarest laca 

Or gold or diamondi hare place 

Upon the branchsi of a traa 



CopTrisht, 1919, br Thb Cikiuiv Co. All r[ghti r««r*ed 


A CARRIAGE, the first ever seen in Alta, Cali- 
fornia, — upholstered in shiny black leather and 
drawn by two black ponies, quite as glossy, 
driven by a stalwart young Indian. — had drawn 
up before the hacienda at the Rancho del 

It was a day in early summer, about a cen- 
tury ago. But how little the beauty of a day 
changes from century to century ! Customs 
change, and manners, and the very face of 
the old world alters, but a June day is never 
old-fashioned. There was a little breeze stir- 
ring the green leaves of the grape-vine, the 
sun shone warmly, and beyong the long adobe 
ranch -house the mountains swam in blue mist. 

It might have been a June day in the Cali- 
fornia we know, yet who are these people des- 
cending from that imposing equipage? They 
are not of our time, ceruinly. They are 
strange, picturesquely dressed in bright colors, 
.'•id agreeably romantic looking, 

Don Fernando Medrano leaned a little stiff- 
ly on his manzanita walking-stick. He was 
tall, with immense dignity. He paused, as he 
stepped from the carriage, and removing his 
sombrero, which was ornamented elegantly 
with gilt braid, he endeavored to brush the 
dust:fitim it with his sleeve. His hair shone 

like silver in the almost tropical sunshine. 

"Ah, you are afraid of what Josefa will 
say!" exclaimed the lady who followed him, in 
a teasing voice. 

It was his sister Dona Serafina Valencia. 
She was quite old and remarkably withered. 
yet she sprang lightly from the carriage with- 
out assistance, adjusted her bonnet, and looked 
about her with keen, sparkling glances. She 
reminded one of a little bird, she was so 
quick, her eyes were so round and bright. 

Lastly, a tall, graceful girl alighted from the 
carriage. A typical Spanish beauty was Doiia 
YsabcUa Medrano, with a patrician nose, a. 
skin of creamy whiteness, like the petals of the 
magnolia. Her eyes, dreamy and dark, were 
shadowed by long lashes, and her black hair, 
demurely parted and looped over her ears, gave 
her face a quaint dignity. She was Don Fer- 
nando's eldest daughter and resembled him. 
For Don Fernando, too, had that splendid 
nose. And so had his sister Dofia Serafina. 
In Don Femando's face, which had grown 
thin and narrow with the passing years, it 
rather resembled the prow of a ship; in Aunt 
Serafina's, it was like a dainty beak and only 
added to the birdlike impression. 

Doiia Ysabella had hardly stepped from the 
carriage before she was violently clasped in 
the arms of— was tt a woodland fairy, a Cas- 
tilian dryad, perhaps, who had appeared sud- 



denly in the doorway, under the little guardian 
Madonna — a woodland fairy in a green dress? 
No, it was merely Felisa Medrano, but we will 
take a good look at her immediately, or as 

f- soon as we have seen who is just behind her, 
almost filling the doorway with her large bulk. 
It is old Josef a, the family nurse (and ty- 
rant), who lifts her plump hands in astonish- 
ment and reproof. Who, her expression plain- 
ly says, would have ventured to travel through 
the lonely mountain pass between Santa Bar- 
bara and the rancho, with only a single Indian 
as body-guard, but Dofta Serafina and her 
brother Don Fernando? A pair of children, 
certainly! As if traveling back and forth on 
the stage, under suitable protection, were not 
bad enough ! Would Don. Fernando — see the 
dust on his hat — never forget that he was no 
longer a young and adventurous caballerol 
The mountains were infested with bandidos. 
What would Aunt Serafina do in the presence 
of a desperado armed to the teeth — the re- 
doubtable El Seiior Carlos, for instance? 
thought Josefa, grimly. 

And while she is thinking all this, ^e are 
looking at little Felisa Medrano. One can 
see that the two girls, Felisa and the fair 
Ysabella, are sisters. But where is the nose? 
It has missed Felisa entirely; for that, at 

^ times, is the whim of family noses, however 
famous. Felisa herself had often wondered 
at the omission, as she regarded those an- 
cient portraits, brought from Spain, of stiff 
ancestresses in still stifTer garments, upon the 
walls of her father's house. Every face had 
its version of the nose. It was positively 

"No, Felisa tnia, you will never be a beau- 
ty," Josefa, the old nurse (who was the only 
mother Felisa ever remembered) was fond of 

And Felisa would feel her small nose, and 
admit that it was hopeless. 

For the famous nose was an inheritance as 
real — in a family which prided itself upon a 
worthy and admirable past — as some others 
of which we are to hear in this story. Yet 
Felisa, you would agree with me, had man- 
aged to be pretty without it. She would 
never be a beauty, that is true (Josefa was 
right). But her warm, almost golden, color- 
ing reminded one agreeably of a Gold of 
Ophir rose. And she had a smile that was 
all her own, which dimpled her mouth de- 
liciously at the corners, which lit her dark 
eyes with little sparkling gleams like stars, 
which eveu (rave thnt most plebeian nose a 

whimsical, inquiring tilt and tempted many 
people to kiss her immediately. 

"Ysabella m%a»r she cried, embracing her 
sister fervently. 

Then she flung herself into the arms of the 
little old lady, exclaiming, "Thou hast been 
gone such a long time. Aunt Serafina!" 

Dofia Valencia pretended that she must 
stand on tiptoe to embrace her youngest 
niece, who had grown so tall during her ab- 
sence. She herself was very small. She had 
tiny hands and feet, and was so slender that 
a puff of wind might blow her away. 

And at once the little girl thought of what 
Josefa had so often said, in a tone of solemn 
warning to her nurslings, Ysabella and Fe- 
lisa, "Thy Aunt Serafina is too fond of chillies 
ever to have grown up properly." 

Dofia Serafina Valencia kissed Felisa' in 
dainty little pecks, first her cheeks, then her 

"Is there not a kiss for me also?" inquired 
Don Fernando, looking down the Medrano 
nose anxiously. "I, too, have been gone a 
long time." 

"But not far away to the City of Mexico, 
like Aunt Serafina!" protested Felisa. 

She put her arms about her father's neck, 
pressing her face against his cheek. Then, 
looking at him intently, she exiaimed, "But, 
papA mia, thou dost look weary!" (A senti- 
ment which Josefa promptly echoed, with 
prodigious sniffs.) 

Don Fernando settled with a sigh in his 
familiar worn chair in the patio, removed his 
hat, and mopped his moist brow with a red 
silk handkerchief. He had been wonderfully 
jolted upon that three-hour drive from Santa 
Barbara in the new carriage, which had no 
springs. But he was not one to complain; 
he merely smiled and went on mopping. 

Aunt Serafina laughed. "Felisa, thy poor 
papa — no wonder he looks weary !" She 
shook her ear-rings lugubriously. "He has 
been robbed, my precious one !" 

"Cielo! It is just as I thought!" cried Jo- 
sefa, before Felisa could find her voice. "The 
minute I looked upon thy papa / knew it had 
happened !" 

"Do not interrupt me, Josefa, and I shall 
explain everything," said Aunt Serafina. 

"Yes, I am fat and old and know nothing !" 
Josefa burst out, with offended pride. "No 
one listens to what I say! And look what 
happens ! You are robbed !" 

She shrugged her shoulders impressively 
and fanned herself with her apron. 



Aunt Serafina lifted her delicate eye-brows 
and sighed a tittle. 

"Yes. It was sure to happen one day or 
another," she agreed seriously. "For all the 
world," she continued, "know of the treas- 
ures of the Medranos — our pearls, our gold 
and silver plate, our honor, our pride, our 
nose, even! And there are those who would 
rob us of them all, dear Josefa, and of other 
treasures as well. What would you, when 
one meets with the most wicked bandido in all 
the Californias — " 

"El Senor Carlos!" It was Felisa this 
time who had interrupted Dofia Serafina. 

Aunt Serafina laughed again, and drew 
Felisa close to her. ^*No, my child, one yet 
more formidable than the great Carlos him- 
self — a certain Don Felipe Alvarez. He has 
stolen — what do you think — one of the treas- 
ures of the Medranos ! Yes, he has robbed 
us— of Ysabella!*' 

"But she is here !" cried Josefa, appearing 
from beneath the apron, and staring at the 
young lady in question as though to discover 
whether or not she were real flesh and blood. 

"Yes, until San Antonia de Padua's Day," 
replied Doiia Valencia, with a little smile of 
complacency, "when there is to be a grand 
wedding at the house of Uncle Pedro and 
Aunt Serafina in Santa Barbara! Life is so 
dull at times I So what could be more de- 
lightful? All the world will be there, Josefa, 
and thou hadst best begin baking the tortoni 

For once, Josefa was rendered speechless. 
She looked almost tearfully at Ysabella. Her 
nursling to be married! And only twelve 
days ago, when the child and her father had 
departed on their innocent little expedition to 
greet Don Pedro and Dofia Serafina, no one 
had ever heard of this Don Felipe Alvarez ! 
Poor Josefa clasped Ysabella against her 
broad bosom, which heaved with sighs. 

Aunt Serafina delighted in the sensation 
her news had caused. 

"Come, I will tell you the whole story, for 
it was my fault," she acknowledged, looking 
from one to another with a whimsical ex- 
pression in her bright eyes. 

She settled gracefully into a chair, and 
fanned herself with a gauzy little black fan. 

"When one returns from a journey," she 
began, "one should always bring home some- 
thing for the children. Is it not so, Felisa 

By way of answer, Felisa fell upon her 
-^unt's neck, crying, "Oh Aunt Serafina!" 

and kissed her like an enthusiastic puppy, and 
jumped up and down. And Nino, the old 
house-dog, began to bark; and Tito, the big 
yellow cat, asleep in the corner, rose with an 
injured expression, and walked away waving V 
his plumy tail and thinking: "One never 
does have anything hut a cat-nap at the 
Rancho del Pazo. The abode of peace, in- ' 
deed! It 's anything but peaceful." 

Out of the corner of her eye, Felisa saw 
that Bonifacio, the young Indian, was remov- 
ing a large, interesting parcel from the car- 
riage. What could it contain! In another 
moment it had been opened, and, enraptured, 
she was gazing upon the most beautiful dress 
she had ever seen — z dress made for a prin- 
cess, or was it the garment of a fairy, woven 
of moonshine and rose petals? 

"Oh, Aunt Serafina!" she cried again, once 
more threatening to overwhelm the little old 
lady with her embraces. 

"What would you?" said Aunt Serafina, 
beaming. "It is only my pleasure — to bring 
home something for the children. And what 
treasures one can find in that wonderful city 
which was once," she sighed, "my home ! No 
wonder that thy Uncle Pedro prefers to keep 
me in Santa Barbara, when there are no shops 
worthy of the name! The bureaus, Felisa 
mial The laces! The ear-rings! Carriages! * 
Bonnets! The little slippers! Fans! Vests 
of yellow satin ! Even the bronze horseman 
in the Square cannot be indifferent. He 
looks straight down into the window of a 
shop where an old man with but one tooth in 
his head, and that as white as a tombstone, 
sells shawls. A shawl for my Ysabella — 
that is the inspiration of thy Aunt Serafina !" 

Doiia Valencia paused to take breath, and 
then exclaimed, "It was to be the most beau- 
tiful shawl in the Americas!" 

Her expression of solemnity, her sigh, the 
trembling of her big black-jet ear-rings de- 
manded sympathy from her hearers for what 
was to come, had there not been such a 
twinkle lurking in her bright eyes. 

"*So? Next week I shall have it for you,' 
said the old shopkeeper, obligingly. At the 
same time he showed me what he had. There 
was one, Felisa tnia, vermilion with black 
roses. So exquisite that I declare to you I 
lost my heart to it immediately. Yet would 
one not wait for the most beautiful shawl in 
the Americas, since it is promised? Mean- 
while the days pass all too quickly. I have 
bought two bureaus (what delight I take in 
them, my child, with their secret drawers, 




where one may hide away one's jewels and 
one's love-letters!), a bonnet, and the new 
carriage. Thy dress is completed to the last 
stitch. For Maddelena Gomez I have chosen 
a little spaiking fan; for her sister Dolores, 
a tall comb; for Pedro Perez, thy uncle's 
name-child, who kisses one so solemnly, a 
toy lamb with a black nose — ^you shall see it. 
I have forgotten no one. But the shawl! 
Alas ! the shawl of the Americas ! Every 
day it is promised. Every day it has not 

Poor Aunt Serafina sighed. Her dolorous 
expression would have wrung a heart of 

"And then" (the very feathers in the new 
bonnet seemed to droop in sympathy) "one 
hears suddenly — there is not time even to 
wash one's face — that the Santa Maria is to 
sail from San Bias sooner than we had ex- 
pected. The messenger is breathless. The 
diligencia, my child, is at the door, as it were ! 
Yet my one thought is — no gift for my Ysa- 
bella! Cielol I shall have to buy the ver- 
milion shawl, after all. I ran through the 
streets, — every one stares at me, — past the 
equestrian statue, to the little shop. And it is 
gone ! There is nothing — no present for my 
Ysabella ! 'Yes, Dona Valencia' (how the 
white tooth gleamed 1 I shall always remember 
it!), 'the wife of the governor purchased it but 
yesterday!' I am dazed; who would not be? 
I stand there in the shop as though turned to 
stone. No gift for my Ysabella ! Uncle Pedro 
appears in the doorway. His face is red, his 
cravat under one ear. He has run all the way 
after me. A crowd is gathering. Uncle Pedro 
takes my arm roughly. *We will miss the 
boat, do you hear?' I am thrown into the 
coach, into that ill-smelling, dark interior. I 
weep. Of what use are tears? But there is no 
gift for my poor Ysabella — unless" — Aunt 
Serafina paused once more to get breath — "I 
should give her one of the bureaus." 

"And did you ?" asked Felisa, and she looked 
at her sister as if half expecting Ysabella to 
produce a bureau, triumphantly from some 
place of concealment about her person. 

But Aunt Serafina smiled, and crossed her 
small feet upon old Nino's back (he made an 
obliging footstool), remarking, "Ah, but, 
Felisa, all young ladies desire something 
ornamented f" and went on with her story. 

"How I wept," she continued, "as I leaned 
in the dimness of the coach against what I 
supposed^ was thy Uncle Pedro's shoulder! 
Yet suddenly something tells me that the 

« <i 


shoulder is an unfamiliar one! C'ielof It be- 
longs not to thy uncle, but tcJ a young and 
charming caballero. Yet he is not a stranger. 
I have waltzed with him at the governor's 
ball, where we had discoursed pleasantly---was 
it not? — of bureaus. He is all sympathy, and 
to him I confide the cause of my sorrow: *I 
have no gift for my Ysabella.' 

"A ray of sunshine penetrates into the in- 
terior of the diligencia, and the young man 
smiles upon me; an idea is reflected upon his 
charming countenance. 

'Dona Serafina, take mel' 
'What! Shall I take thee as a present for 
my Ysabella? 

" 'Even so. Dona Serafina. Take me with 
the bureaus.' 

"And even then," said Aunt Serafina, com- 
placently, "I reflect — he is most suitable, 
much more so than the shawl bought by the 
wife of the governor." 

"God guard us, Dotia Serafina!" It was 
Jose fa. Her voice was husky with emotion, 
and she wiped her eyes in an obtrusive man- 
ner upon her apron. 

Aunt Serafina laughed lightly. (Naughty 
Aunt Serafina ! ) "Yes, it was my fault," she 
exclaimed, with a mock sigh and a shrug or 
her slim shoulders. "But, then, one must al- 
ways bring home something to the children !*' 
Felisa's eyes danced as she gazed at her 
aunt and then at the fair Ysabella. 
"So that w^as what you brought to Ysabella !" 
"Yes, and a very nice present Don Felipe 
makes, as you shall see, for a young lady,** 
said Dona Valencia, emphasizing her remark 
with piquant, birdlike nods and glances. "So 
ornamental ! So much more suitable than the 
vermilion shawl bought by the wife of the 

"Aunt Serafina," Felisa began. 

"Tell me — did you wrap Don Felipe in paper 
and tie him with pretty ribbons, like a real 
present?" she inquired. 

At that moment Felisa positively, with her 
impish expression, resembled her incorrigible 

*'What a pity I did not think of it !" cried 
Aunt Serafina. 
"But you gave her a choice?" 
**A choice?" Aunt Serafina did not under- 

"I mean," exclaimed her niece, with delib- 
eration, "it was to be Don Felipe or a bureau, 
was it not?" 

"Exactly. Well, she preferred him to a 




bureau, preciosa mia I One should always 
bring home something to the children !" said 
Aunt Serafina again. But the bureaus have 
come in for very little attention — charming 
bureaus, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and small 

Ysabella bent down and kissed the little old 

"Oh, how frivolous you are. Aunt Serafina !" 

And Aunt Serafina adjusted her bonnet, a 
tall affair with majestic feathers and twink- 
ling bead ornaments, a scandal to the ladies of 
Santa Barbara, who still wore the enveloping 
mantilla, or rebozo. Into the carriage, dis- 
daining Don Fernando's hand, she sprang 
li^tly, settled herself upon the creaking 
cushions, and, raised a small greenish yellow 
sunshade, witii a flounce of black lace. It cast 
a ghastly pallor upon her face. 

"That is what happens," Jose fa whispered 
in Felisa's ear, "when one eats too many 
chilis !" 

The carriage creaked in its newness of 
leather. Bonifacio flapped his reins proudly, 
and the little black ponies curved their glossy 

Aunt Serafina threw a kiss to Felisa. 

"Adios! I shall see thee next at the wedding 
fiesta in they new dress." 

Felisa sighed happily. 

"Aunt Serafina brings one very nice pre- 
sents, does she not, Ysabella ?" she said to her 
sister when at last the carriage had disap- 
peared behind the madrono-trees. 

"I am perfectly satisfied with mine," laughed 
Ysabella, embracing her little sister. "Cielo! 
and it might have been a shawl — or even a 
bureau I" 


she scolded. "YotJ will neve* grow up I You 
are no older than Felisa this very moment — 
»nd naughty. Just to think how you have 
nearly frightened Josefa out of her wits, telling 
her that poor Papa had been robbed \" 

"But it is true; he is a terrible robber." 
rtpHed Aunt Serafina, undaunted. "He will 
5iral thy heart, too, Felisa, and even than of 
Josefa, who is so afraid of bandidos." 

She rose, kissed both her nieces affectionate- 
ly, and prodded Bonifacio (who had gone to 
sleep in the sun on the carriage step) with 
htr parasol. • 

"Wake up, Bonifacio. We must return to 
Santa Barbara — to Don Pedro and the bu- 
reau!. Such sweet bureaus, Feliia mia!" 


It was three days later — that much nearer to 
San Antonio de Padua's Day. 

Felisa was laughing gleefully to herself as 
she hopped on one foot around the fountain. 
A dancing, skipping reflection looked up at 
her out of the shallow basin — an elf with flying, 
short black hair, with dark blots for eyes, and 
a flash of white teeth, all amusingly distort- 
ed, with no nose at all, as far as one could 

And what was that ! She paused. Another 
head had appeared in the picture. Ah, it was 
only good old Nino behind her. wagging his 
tail, regarding her with moist eyes. She 
clasped him around the neck, and he kissed 
her impudently. 

"I am sure he must be much nicer than a 
bureau." she remarked suddenly. Of course, 
she referred to Don Felipe Alvarez, that de- 
lightful "present" Aunt Serafina had brought 
to Ysabella. "And to-day we shall see for 
ourselves, Nino." 

And Felisa resumed her joyous skipping on 
the other foot. 




Suddenly a head appeared at a small win- 
dow in the adobe wall — Jose fa's head, en- 
veloped in a preposterous purple-crimson re- 

"Maledicte! thou wilt certainly destroy thy 
clean dress before Don Felipe Alvarez sets 
foot in the patio, my child ! Thou wilt take 
a g^eat tumble into the fountain there, or else 
tear thy skirt on the rose-bush. God gave 
thee two good feet to stand upon. Do so, or 
else/' Josefa, always a prophet of disaster, 
continued, "something is sure to happen." 

Felisa stood upon both feet, demurely 
smoothing out her skirts. 

"Indeed, Josefa, I am being very careful. 
Not a bow is disarranged. See? Is it time 
yet?" she asked. 

"For the stage? Maledicte!" Josefa re- 
plied, with exasperation. "I should hope not. 
I am about to arrange the hem of thy sister's 

Felisa looked in through the doorway. Over 
it, in her serenity, stood the little Madonna in 
her niche. She had been standing there in all 
weathers ever since Dona Concepcion Menen- 
dez, the mother of Ysabella and Felisa. had 
come to the rancho as a bride. The folds of 
her gown had lost all but a little of their orig- 
inal splendor of silver and blue. She was 
made of wood, clumsily carved, but for all 
that she had a benignant expression. "La Paz 
sea en esta casa." — Peace be to this house, — 
was carved in quaint lettering beneath her 
feet, on the lintel of the door. To-day she 
cast her benediction upon a very worldly af- 
fair indeed, as affairs went at the Rancho del 

The big table in the center of the room was 
covered with silks, laces fine as a cobweb, 
glittering embroideries in gold and silver. 
What a patch of color they made in the big 
bare room ! The old portraits on the walls 
seemed to look down their noses with astonish- 

Presently Ysabella Medrano entered, writh 
the air of a queen, though she could not re- 
frain from laughing a little over her shoulder. 
One must not take the occasion too solemnly, 
though one was hardly blessed with the levity, 
perhaps, of Aunt Serafina, for it was an occa- 
sion. Ysabella was wearing her wedding- 

She walked with a slow and dignified step, 
as though already marching to music. Her 
proud little head, with its wings of black hair, 
was surmounted with a tall fan like comb of 

shoulders like butterfly wings. She was ready 
for flight! 

"You are a beautiful white peacock, Ysabel- 
la !" cried Felisa, clasping her hands in ad- 

The bride's train spread out behind her, a 
foam of shimmering, silver-flecked whiteness. 
Yes, a white peacock; or was it not like the 
spread of the waves as they broke (one saw 
them from Uncle Pedro's house) upon the 
beach at Santa Barbara? 

"I beg of you !" — ^the ever watchful Josefa 
was behind her, — "another minute, and it is 
ruined !" 

She caught the train up from the floor, fear- 
ful lest a speck of dust mar its white purity. 
She had made the dress for Ysabella. 

Ysabella surveyed herself in the mirror, 
turning this way and that, smiling at the re- 
flection. No wonder she was in a mood of 
melting gratitude. 

"Thanks to thee, dear Josefa," she said, 
patting the crimson rebozo, "I shall look — 
well, a little worthy of tlie Medrano Inherit- 
ance !" 

"Thou wilt wear" — ^Josefa lowered her 
voice mysteriously — "the pearlsT" 

"So my father has promised." 

"The gold and silver, then, is to come to 
light — after all these years!" Josefa still 
spoke in whispers. 

Ysabella nodded, her fingers on her lips. 

"Why are you so pale, Josefa ?" Felisa asked 
suddenly, bending her head to peer curiously 
into the old woman's face. 

"Ay de mi!" Josefa crossed herself. "One 
never knows. One never knows," she re- 
peated lugubriously. 

And Felisa thought, "Josefa is afraid of 
the bandidos." 

A pat here, a pull there, sideway glances 
from her long, dark eyes — Ysabella was clear- 
ly, openly, flirting with her reflection in the 
mirror ! 

"Cielo!" cried Josefa, who was either all 
praise or all blame, according to the occasion, 
"Thou art like an angel from heaven!" 

She descended, with laborious signs, on her 
knees before the vision. 

"Maledicte! thou art not saying thy pray- 
ers to me, Josefa !" Ysabella cried, looking 
over her shoulder in pretended astonishment 
and distress. 

Indeed, Josafa very much resembled a hum- 
ble suppliant before some holy shrine. 

The old woman chuckled. 

ortoisc-shell. I, ittle ruffles of lace lay on her^^rj^!^^ What would you?" shie mumbled, — her 




-■•I i 

1 arranging the 

mouth was fuU of pins,- 


"MaUdicte! Stand still, Dona Ysabella, 
I beg of you. Now 1 have lost a pin, and there 
are but seven left of the twelve Dona Seralina 
gave to thee on thy birthday." 

"Perhaps thou hast swallowed one," sug- 
gested Felisa, helpfully. 

"Heaven forbid ! Alas ! I would rather 
swallow the leather boots of ray grandmother, 
which I am to wear to the wedding," cried 

and thinks of the greedy bandidos who would 
no doubt give everything in the world to get 
their dutches upon it. Pearls, and gold and 
silver plate are not to be sniffed at. Already 
all the world of Alta California knows their 
history and stirs at the well-founded rumor 
that these splendors, not seen since the death 
of Dona Concepcion Medrano (she wore the 
pearls at her wedding in Santa Barbara, just 
as her daughter — how time flies! — is to wear 
them upon a similar occasion on Saint An- 
tonia dc Padua's Day), are to see the light of 

poor Josef a, to Felisa's shrieking delight, 
"than so useful a — no I Praise Heaven! here 
it is in 3 crack." And she recovered the miss- ■ 
ing pin between thumb and finger, 

Felisa lingered in the doorway. A warm 
breeze lifted a strand of her short dark hair 
and blew it across her forehead. The after- 
noon was so still that she could almost ima- 
gine that the little wind, from over Santa Ynes 
brought upon it the echo of the sweet-toned 
bells in the Mission of Santa Barbara, even a 
whiff of the sea. mingled with the heavy sweet- 
ness of the magnolia in Aunt Serafina's garden. 

"And yet — I am really awake," Felisa 
thought, "and nothing could make me any 
happier." a sensible point of view; but she 
was wrong, as you shall see. 

And the Medrano Inheritance! With a lit- 
tle shock, Fel'sa remembered it, and scolded 
herself. "To think that I had almost forgotten 
our Inheritance !" 

We are to hear much of the Medrano In- 
heritance in this story, so it is time that we 
should know something about it. When it is 
mentioned, one speaks in whispers, like Josefa, 

day again. It is whispered that tortillas are 
twice as delicious when eaten from a silver 
plate, that it gives, for instance, to the wing 
of a chicken a flavor almost divine ! And 
when one's lips are pressed to the golden rim 
of the famous goblet, one staggers not from 
the intoxication of the ambrosial beverage, 
but — what would you? — because the flagon is 
so heavy. And we shall see presently for our- 
selves that it is all true, because Dofia Ysabel- 
la is to be married, and everybody is going to 
the wedding who is able to walk. 

As befitted a Medrano. Felisa thought of 
these things with a certain pride and no little 
curiosity. She herself had never seen the In- 
heritance, She had the vaguest idea of it^ 
history. In some way it w'as connected with n 
queen. The more she thought of it, the more 
curious she became, the more impatient to 
know all that was to be known of this Inherit- 
ance of the Medranos. 

Past Ysabella, in the gleaming white dress, 
her eyes wandered as she stood in the door- 
way, to the old portraits on the wall — that row 
of dignified forebears. 


And there were the pearls, painted always plump throat. And here was Don Maria Jose, 

with painstaking care, displayed in every por- He could not, preserving his manly dignity, 

trait; for were they not the proudest posses- wear the pearls, but in one hand he held the 

sion o£ the Medranos? goblet, in the other, the famous necklace. He 

There was beautiful DoAa Maria Narcissa, seemed continually to be offering them to some 

to whom they had been given. The necklace one outside the picture. Perhaps it was to his 

trailed from her thin little hand. She looked daughter. — Felisa's grandmother, — whose dark 

anxious, as though the responsibility were al- eyes reminded the little girl strangely now of 

most too great for one so small and timid I Ysabella, now of herself. They reposed, the 

But not so with her successor, Doiia Maria pearls, in the dark tresses of Dofia Narcissa 

Ysabella. That haughty lady looked one Felisa Ysabella Maria — the name had grown 

straight in the eye; indeed, Felisa had been longer as the necklace, it is to be confessed, 

accustomed since infancy to feel the eye of grew a little shorter. 

Dona Maria Ysabella somewhat uncomfort- The portraits seemed to smile upon her mys- 

ably fixed upon herself, especially when she teriously, and she said to herself, "Papa will 

forgot her manners. Doi\a Maria Ysabella tell me about you, and you, and you, and our In- 

wore the pearls three times wound about her herttance, and in a day or two I shall see it!" 

(T» b* eonlinu*d) 



Now here 's the way that good St. Nic'.; 

Has always looked to me: 
Well muffled in a scarlet coat 

That reaches to his knee. 
His cheeks as plump and round and red 

As the reddist plum could be; 
With whiskers floating out behind 

Like cotton in the air. 
And underneath his tassled cap 

A rim of wooly hair. 
Ah, can't you see him? Bless his heart! 

If I could have my pick, 
Of all the saints of all the days, 

I 'd cling to good St. Nick. 

He has a spanking reindeer team — 

Of that we need no proof. 
For have n't we all heard them go 

Trit-trotting o'er the roof? 
And St. Nick scales the chimney-shaft. 

And brushes off the drift, 
And then comes hurtling downward 

Like a giant chimney- swift. 
Of course, he might come in the door. 

Quite decorous and grand. 
But I hope he keeps to chimneys 

Just as long as chimneys stand. 

He comes a-slealing in at night, and never waits to knock. 
And chuckles softly as he fills each stocking and each sock. 
And then hops nimbly in his sleigh and flouri_shes his whip. 
And I hope that every Christmas-tide he makes a longer trip. 
Till every child in every land may claim him for a friend I 
And, oh, I hope he lives — and lives — until the world shall end! 

Qhr^bxfnvbw of fW Kt^K 5^tn0 



Then ke lArthur} put on hU coriet, fashioned of tteel, that an elvish 
smith made viith hit excellent craft; . , . His stvard he hung by hit 
side; it tvas wrought in Avalon with magic craft. A helm he set on his 
head, high of steel; , . . He hung on his neck a precious shield; . . . 
His spear he took in hand, . . . and then leapt he on his steed, the 
fairest knight that ever host should lead ; never saw any man better 
knight none, than Arthur he was, noblest of race I 

Layamon't Brut. 

IHE High Hall towers were fallen, fallen! The garden was waste and sere; 
The lord of the manor far away fought bravely with sword and spear. 
His lady had bound her brows with white, and served with her gentle hand; 
For the harbor gates had been forced at last, and the foe was in the land. 

Now weary, weary, along the way the Wondering Boy trudged on; 
The teardrops dried on his pallid cheeks, and his breath was almost gone. 
Afar behind him and far ahead stretched the wide, gray, lonesome moor; 
But he came to a fair round hill at last, and he knocked at the low green door. 

The door sprang back, and a Knight stood there, in glittering armor drest: 
White were his faery shield and sword, his casque and his floating crest. 
"Sir Knight," said the Boy, "to England's aid!" Then his tired knees gave way. 
"O dear little son of a dear, dear land, I have waited long this day !" 

At his side stood a white steed, silver-shod, and the Knight sprang swift to his back. 
With a tender arm round the Wonderintr Bov as they leaped up the airy track. 
"Sir Knight," said the Boy, "we be two good men. but the foe come thousands strong." 
The Knight was smiling. "Look back." he said, "and see how our comrades throng." 


And, lo! from the corners of the sky they came in a shining train. 
The vai'iant Knights of King Arthur's court: Iscawndred and Owain, 
Peredur, Kay, and the Elorious host no land can match for might : 
Bright-armed they rode, and the vaulted sky was filled with a dazzling light. 

Brightest among them the White Knight shone, and the Boy cried suddenly: 
"Are you King Arthur, the great High Kin;?" "I an Arthur," answered he. 
While up from the host went a mighty shout, 3 pjean of wild acclaim, 
"Arthur 1" Ringing from lifted shields, "Arthur !" the echoes came. 

Far to the east stretched the English line, where faint, war-wearied men 
Barred with their swords the English ivsys; but they stood as one to ten 
Before the march of the hostile hordes, line upon steely line, 
Gray as the dust and thick as the dust, their eager swords a-shine. 

One side was a fair broad water spread, with shadowy ships in wait; 

One side lay the fields and the flowered lanes cf L!ngland's dear estate: 

Beyond were the quiet English homes, bowered in moonlit green. 

Where children slept in their curtained beds, while their fathers stood between. 

Knee to knee with the crowding foes, backward and backward pressed. 
Till at last their thin-worn line gave way, ard a path lay wide lo the west; 
But while each man to his neighbor turned in a fear that found no speech. 
There camt the rush of a mighty wind, and Arthur stood in the breach! 

High overhead rang joyous cries as his knightly legions came. 
The English echoed the shouts below when they heard that magic name: 
"Arthur is with us, the great High King! Arthur himself conies back!" 
The air was filled with a cloudy fire, and they spurred to a fresh attack. 

Nothing the strangers saw or heard ; they were dulled of sense and soul ; 
Only they knew that the scattered band once more was a glowing whole; 
Only they felt that this new-found strength was a force that could not yield; 
And seized with a sudden nameless fear, they fled from the battle-field. 

They swam to their ships and sailed away to some far, outlandish shore; 

And the men of England went home again, to waken in dread no more; 

For on every headland and shining peak stood, silvered in sentinel lights. 

The white-mailed warders of lasting peace — the King and his English Knights. 




W01.P was a collie, red-gold and white of 
coat, with a shape more like his long-ago 
wolf ancestors' than like a domesticated dog's. 
It was from this ancestral throw-back that he 
was named Wolf. 

He looked not at all like his great sire, Lad, 
nor like his dainty, thoroughbred mother. 
Lady. Nor was he like them in any other way, 
except that he inherited old Lad's stanchly 
gallant spirit and loyalty. No, in traits as 
well as in looks, he was more wolf than dog. 
He almost never barked, his snarl supplying 
all vocal needs. 

The Mistress or the Master or the Boy — any 
of these three could romp with him, roll him 
over, tickle him, or subject him to all sorts of 
playful indignities. And Wolf entered glee- 
fully into the fun of the romp. But let any 
human besides these three, lay a hand on his 
slender body, and a snarling plunge for the 
offender's throat was Wolf's invariable reply 
to the caress. 

It had been so since his puppyhood. He did 
not fly at accredited guests, nor, indeed, pay 
any heed to their presence, so long as they kept 
their hands off him. But to all of these the 
Boy was forced to say at the very outset of 
the visit: 

"Pat Lad and Bruce all you want to, but 
leave Wolf alone. He does n't care for 

Then, to prove his own immunity, the Boy 
would proceed to tumble Wolf about, to the 
delight of them both. 

In romping with humans whom they love, 
most dogs will bite more or less gently, — or 
pretend to bite, — as a part of the game. Wolf 
never did. In his wildest and roughest romps 
with the Boy or with the Boy's parents, Wolf 
did not so much as open his mighty jaws. Per- 
haps because he dared not trust himself to 
bite gently. Perhaps because he realized that 
a bite was not a joke, but an effort to kill. 

There had been only one exception to Wolf's 
hatred for mauling at strangers' hands. A 
man came to The Place on a business call, 
bringing along a two-year-old daughter. The 
Master warned the baby that she must not go 
near Wolf, although she might pet any of the 
other collies. Then he became so much in- 
terested in the business talk that he and his 
guest forgot all about the child. 

Ten minutes later, the Master chanced to 
shift his gaze to the far end of the room, and 
he broke off, with a gasp, in the very middle of 
a sentence. 

The baby was seated astride Wolf's back, 
her tiny heels digging into the dog's sensitive 
ribs, and each of her chubby fists gripping one 
of his ears. Wolf was lying there, with an 
idiotically happy grin on his face and wagging 
his tail in ecstasy. 

No one knew why he had submitted to the 
baby's tugging hands, except because she was 
a baby, and because the gallant heart of the 
dog had gone out to her helplessness. 

Wolf was the official watch-dog of The 
Place, and his name carried dread to the loaf- 
ers and tramps of the region. Also, he was the 
Boy's own special dog. He had been bom on 
the Boy's tenth birthday, five years before 
this story of* ours begins, and .ever since 
then the two had been inseparable chums. 

One sloppy afternoon in late winter. Wolf 
and the boy were sprawled, side by side, on 
the fur rug in front of the library fire. The 
Mistress and the Master had gone to town for 
the day. The house was lonely, and the two 
chums were left to entertain each other. 

The boy was reading a magazine. The dog 
beside him was blinking in drowsy comfort 
at the fire. Presently, finishing the story he had 
been reading, the Boy looked across at the 
sleepy dog. 

"Wolf," he said, "here 's a story about a 
dog. I think he must have been something 
like you. Maybe he was your great-great- 
great-great-grandfather, because he lived an 
awfully long time ago — in Pompeii. Ever hear 
of Pompeii?" 

Now, the Boy was fifteen years old, and 
he had too much sense to imagine that Wolf 
could possibly understand the story he was 
about to tell him ; but long since he had fallen 
into a way of talking to his dog, sometimes, 
as if to another human. It was fun for him 
to note the almost pathetic eagerness where- 
with Wolf listened and tried to grasp the 
meaning of what he was saying. Again and 
again, at sound of some familiar word or voice 
inflection, the collie would prick up his ears 
or wag his tail, as if in the joyous hope that 
he had at last found a clue to his owner's 



"You see," went on the Boy, "this dog lived owned him seems to have had a regular knack 

in Pompeii, as I told you. You 've never been for getting into trouble all the time. And his 

there, Wolf," dog was always on hand to get him out of it. 

Wolf was looking ud at the Boy in wistful It 's a true story, the magazine says. The 

cxQiement, seeking vainly to guess what was kid's father was so grateful to the dog that 
«I>ected of him, -he bought him a solid silver collar. Solid 

"■Kni," continued the Boy, "the kid who silver! Get that, Wolfie?" 




Wolf did not "get it." But he wagged his 
tail hopefully, his eyes alight with bewildered 

"And," Said the Boy, "what do you suppose 
was engraved on the collar? Well, I '11 tell 
you : 'This dog has thrice saved his little mast- 
er from death. Once by Hre, once by flood, 
and once at the hands of robbers!' How *s 
that for a record, Wolf? For one dog, too!" 

At the words "Wolf" and "dog," the collie's 
tail smote the floor in glad comprehension. 
Then he edged closer to the Boy as the nar- 
rator's voice presently took on a sadder note. 

"But at last," resumed the Boy, "there came 
a time when the dog could n't save the kid. 
Mount Vesuvius erupted. All the sky was 
pitch-dark, as black as midnight, and Pom- 
peii was buried under lava and ashes. The 
dog might have got away by himself. — dogs 
can see in the dark, can't they, Wolf? — ^but 
he could n't get the kid away. And he would 
n't go without him. You would n't have gone 
v.'ithout me, either, would you, Wolf? Pretty 
nearly two thousand years later, some people 
dug through the lava that covered Pompeii. 
What do you suppose they found? Of course 
they found a whole lot of things. One of them 
was that dog — silver collar and inscription 
and^all. He was lying at the feet of a child, 
it must have been the child he could n*t save. 
He was one grand dog — ^hey, Wolf?" 

The continued strain of trying to understand 
began to get on the collie's high-strung nerves. 
He rose to his feet, quivering, and sought to 
lick the Boy's face, thrusting one upraised 
white fore paw at him in appeal for a hand- 
shake. The Boy slammed shut the magazine. 

"It 's slow in the house, here, with nothing 
to do," he said to his chum. "I 'm going up 
the lake with my gun to see if any wild ducks 
have landed in the marshes yet. It 's almost 
time for them. Want to come along?" 

The last sentence Wolf understood perfectly. 
On the instant, he was dancing with excite- 
ment at the prospect of a walk. Being a collie, 
he was of no earthly help in a hunting-trip; 
but on such tramps, as everywhere else, he 
was the Boy's inseparable companion. 

Out over the slushy snow the two started, 
the boy with his light single-barreled shotgun 
slung over one shoulder, the dog trotting close 
at his heels. The March thaw was changing 
to a sharp freeze. The deep and soggy snow 
was crusted over, just thick enough to make 
walking a genuine difficulty for both dog and 

The Place was a promontory that ran out 

into the lake, on the opposite bank from the 
mile-distant village. Behind, across the high- 
road, lay the winter-choked forest. At the 
lake's northerly end, two miles beyond .The 
Place, were the redy marshes where a month 1 
hence wild duck would congregate. Thither, ' 
with Wolf, the Boy plowed his way through 
the biting cold. 

The going was heavy and heavier. A quar- 
ter-mile below the marshes the Bov struck 
out across the upper corner of the lake. Here 
the ice was rotten at the top, where the thaw 
had nibbled at it, but beneath it was still a 
full eight inches thick, easily strong enough 
to bear the Boy's weight. 

Along the gray ice-field the two plodded. 
The skim of water, which the tliaw had 
spread an inch thick over the ice, had frozoi 
in the day's cold spell. It crackled like broken 
glass as the chums walked over it. The Boy 
had on big hunting-boots, so, apart from the 
extra effort, the glass-like ice did not bother 
him. To Wolf it gave acute pain. The sharp 
particles were forever getting between the cal- 
lous black pads of his feet, pricking and cut- 
ting him acutely. 

Little smears of blood began to mark the 
dog's course; but it never occurred to Wolf 
to turn back, or to betray by any sign that he- 
was suffering. It was all a part of the day's * 
work — a cheap price to pay ftor the joy oT 
tramping with his adored young master. 

Then, forty yards or so on the hither side 
of the marshes, Wolf beheld a right amazing 
phenomenon. The Boy had been walking 
directly in front of him, gun over shoulder. 
With no warning at all, the youthful hunter 
fell, feet foremost, out of sight, through the 

The light shell of new- frozen water that 
covered the lake's thicker ice also masked an 
air-hole nearly three feet wide. Into this, as 
he strode carelessly along, the Boy had step- 
ped. Straight down he had gone, with all the 
force of his hundred-and-ten pounds and wit!i 
all the impetus of his forward stride. 

Instinctively, he threw out his hands to re- 
store his balance. The only effect of this was 
to send the gun flying ten feet away. 

Down went the Boy through less than three 
feet of water (for the bottom of the lake at 
this point had started to slope upward towar:! 
the marshes) and through nearly two feet 
more of sticky marsh mud that underlay the ' 

His outflung hands struck against the ice 
on the edges of the air-hole, and clung there. 


Sputtering and gurgling, the Boy brought his 
head above the surface and tried to raise him- 
'«H, by his hands, high enough to wriggle out 
upon the surface of the ice. Ordinarily, tliis 
»'ouId have hecn simple enough for so strong 
a lad, but the glue-like mud had imprisoned 
hi' iett and the lower part of his legs and held 
I '.-.em powerless. 

Try as he would, the Boy could not wrench 
hiaistlf free of the slough. The water, as he 
■;xid upright, was on a level with his mouth. 
The lir-hole was too wide for him, at such 
1 dtpth, Co get a good purchase on its edges 
iid lift himself bodily to safety. 

Gaining such a finger-hold as he could, he 
'■Mved with all his might, throwing every 
muscle of his body into the struggle. One kg 
^as pulled almost fr^c of the mud, but the 
ilher was driven deejcr into it And as the 
^'"■'^ fingers slippecf from the smoothly wet 

icc-cdgc, the attempt to restore his balance 
drove the free leg back, knee-deep into the 

Ten minutes of this hopeless fighting left the 
Boy panting and tired out. The icy water was 
numbing his nerves and chilling his Wood intn 
torpidity. His hands were without sense of 
feeling as far up as the wrists. Even if he 
could have shaken free his legs from the mud, 
now he had not strength enough left to crawl 
out of the hole. 

He ceased his uselessly frantic battle and 
stood dazed. Then he came sharply to him- 
self. For, as he stood, the water crept upward 
from his lips to his nostrils. He knew why 
the water seemed to be rising. It was not ris- 
ing. It was he who was sinking. As soon as 
he stopped moving the mud began very slowly, 
but very steadily, to suck him downward. 

This was not a nuicksand. but it was a 




deep mud-bed, and only by constant motion 
could he avoid sinking farther and farther 
c'own into it. He had less than two inches to 
spare at best before the water should fill his 
nostrils; less than two inches of life, even 
f he could 'keep the water down to the level 
of his lips. 

There was a moment of utter panic. Then 
the Boy's brain cleared. H!s only hope was 
to kep on fighting — to rest when he must for 
a moment or so, and then to renew his numbed 
{jrip on the ice-edge and try to pull his feet 
a few inches his;her out of the mud. He must 
do this as lon^; as his chilled body could be 
scourged into obeying his will. 

He struggled again, but with virtually no 
result in raising himself. A second struggle, 
however, brought him chin-high ab®ve the 
water. He remembered confusedly that some 
of these earlier struggles had scarce budged 
him, while others had gained him two or three 
inches. Vaguely, he wondered why. Then 
turning his head, he realized. 

Wolf, as he turned, was just loosing his hold 
on the wide collar of the Boy's mackinaw. 
His cut forepaws were still braced against a 
flaw of ragged ice on the air-hole's edge, and 
all hjs tawny body was tense. 

His body was dripping wet, too. The Boy 
noted that; and he realized that the repeated 
effort to draw his master to safety must have 
resulted, at least once, in pulling the dog down 
into the water with the floundering Boy. 

"Once more, Wolfie ! Once more !" chatter- 
ed the Boy through teeth that clicked together 
like castanets. 

The dog darted forward, caught his grip 
afresh on the edge of the Boy's collar, and 
tugged with all his fierce strength, growling 
r.nd whining ferociously the while. 

The Boy seconded the collie's tuggings by 
a supreme struggle that lifted him higher than 
before. He was able to get one arm and 
shoulder clear above the ice. His numb fingers 
closed about an upthrust tree-limb which had 
been washed down stream in the autumn 
freshets iind had been frozen into the lake ice. 

With this new purchase, and aided by the 
dog, the Boy tried to drag himself out of the 
hole. But the chill of the water had done its 
work. He had not the strength to move 
farther. The mud still sucked at his calves 
and ankles. The big hunting-boots were full 
of water that seemed to weigh a ton. 

He lay there, gasping and chattering. Then, 
through the gathering twilight, his eyes fell 
on the gun, lying ten fee^ away. 

"Wolf!" he ordered, nodding toward the 
weapon, "Get it I Get it !" 

Not in vain had the Boy talked to Wolf for 
years as if the dog were human. At the words 
and the nod. the collie trotted over to the 
gun, lifted it by the stock, and hauled it awk- 
wardly along over the bumpy ice to his mas- 
ter, where he laid it down at the edge of the 

The dog's eyes were cloudy with trouble, 
and he shivered and whined as with ague. The 
water on his thick coat was freezing to a mass 
of ice. But It was from anxiety that he shiv- 
ered, and not from cold. 

Still keeping his numb grasp on the tree- 
branch, the boy balanced himself as best he 
could, and thrust two fingers of his free hand 
into his mouth to warm them into sensation 

When this was done, he reached out to 
where the gun lay, and pulled its trigger. The 
shot boomed deafeningly through the twilight 
winter silences. The recoil sent the weapon 
sliding sharply back along the ice, spraining 
the Boy's trigger finger and cutting it to the 

"That 's all I can do," said the Boy to him- 
self. "If any one hears it, well and good. I 
can't get at another cartridge. I could n't put 
it into the breach if I had it My hands are 
too numb." 

For several endless minutes he clung there. 
listening. But this was a desolate part of the 
lake, far from any road, and the seasoil was 
too early for other hunters to be abroad. The 
bitter cold, in any case, tended to make sane 
folk hug the fireside rather than to venture 
so far into the open. Nor was the single re- 
port of a gun uncommon enough to call for 
investigation in such weather. 

All this the Boy told himself as the minutes 
dragged by. Then he looked again at Wolf, 
The dog, head on one side, still stood pro- 
tectingly above him. The dog was cold and 
in pain, but, being only a dog, it did not oc- 
cur to him to trot off home to the comfort of 
the library fire and leave his master to fend 
for himself. 

Presently, with a little sigh, Wolf lay down 
on the ice, his nose across the Boy's arm. 
Even if he lacked strength to save his beloved 
master, he could stay and share the Boy's suf- 

But the Boy himself thought otherwise. He 
was not at all minded to freeze to death, nor 
was he willing to let Wolf imitate the dog of 
Pompeii by dying helplessly at his tnaster's 



r Dec. 

Unconsciously he tightened his feeble hold 
on the tree-branch and braced himself. 

From the marshes to The Place was a full two 
miles. Despite the deep and sticky snow, Wolf 
covered the distance in less than six minutes. 
He paused in front of the gate-lodge, at the 
highway entrance to the drive. But the gard- 
ener and his wife had gone to Paterson, shon- 
ping. that afternoon. 

Down the drive to the house he dashed. The 
maids had taken advantage of their employers' 
day in New York to walk across the lake to the 
village to a motion-picture show. , 

Wise men claim that 'dogs have not the pow- 
er to think or to reason things out in a logical 
way. So perhaps it was mere chance that next 
sent Wolfs flying feet across the lake to the 
village. Perhaps it was chance, and not the 
knowledge that where there is a village there 
are people. 

Again and again, in the car, he had sat up- 
on the front seat alongside the Mistress when 
she drove to the station to meet guests. There 
were always people at the station, and to the 
station Wolf now raced. 

The usual group of platform idlers had been 
dispersed by the cold. A solitary baggageman 
was hauling a trunk and some boxes out of the 
express-coop on to the platform to be put 
aboard the five o'clock train from New York. 

As the baggageman passed under the clump 
of station lights, he came to a sudden halt, for 
out of the darkness dashed a dog. Full tilt, 
the animal rushed up to him and seized him by 
the skirt of the overcoat. 

The man cried out in scared surprise. He 
dropped the box he was carrying and struck 
at the dog to ward off the seemingly murder- 
ous attack. He recognized Wolf, and he 
knew the collie's repute. 

But Wolf was not attacking. Holding tight 
to the coat-skirt', he backed away, trying to 
draw the man with him, and all the while 
whimpering aloud like a nervous puppy. 

A kick from the man's heavy-shod boot 
broke the dog's hold on the coat- skirt, even as 
a second^ yell from the man brought four or 
five other people running out from the station 

One of these, the telegraph operator, took in 
the scene at a single glance. With great pre- 
sence of mind he bawled loudly: 


This, as Wolf, reeling from the kick, sought 
to gain another grip ;0n the coat-skirt. A 
second kick sent him rolling over and over on 

the tracks, while other voices took up the 
panic cry of "Mad dog!" 

Now, a mad dog is supposed to be a dog: af- 
flicted by rabies. Once in ten thousand tinics. 
at the very most, a mad-dog hue-and-cry •< 
justified. Certainly not oftcncr. A harinle-^ 
and friendly dog loses his Master on tht. 
street. He runs about, confused and frio^ht- 
ened, looking for the owner he has lost. A 
boy throws a stone at him. Ot'^er boys chase 
him. His tongue hangs out, and his eyes g^laz* 
with terror. Then some fool bellows: 

•*Mad dog!" 

And the cruel chase is on — a chase that ends 
in the pitiful victim's death. Yet in everv 
crowd there is a voice ready to raise that 
asinine and murderously cruel shout. 

So it was with the men who witnessed 
Wolf's frenzied effort to take aid to the im- 
periled Boy. 

Voice after voice repeated the cry. Men 
groped along the platform edge for stones to 
throw. The villai^e policeman ran puffin gly 
upon the scene, drawing his revolver. 

Finding it usless to make a further attempt 
to drag the baggageman to the rescue. Wolf 
leaped back, facing the ever larger grouv. 
Back went his head again in that hideous woU- 
howl. Then he galloped away a few yards, 
trotted back, howled once more, and agai-^ 
galloped lake ward. 

All of which only confirmed the panicky 
crowd in the belief that they were threatened 
by a mad dog. A. shower of stones hurtle i 
about Wolf as he came back a third time to 
lure these dull humans into following him. 

One pointed rock smote the collie's shoulder, 
glancing, cutting it to the bone. A shot from 
the policeman's revolver fanned the fur of hi' 
ruff as it whizzed past. 

Knowing that he faced death, he neverthe 
less stood his ground, not troubling to dodg<^ 
the fusillade of stones, but continuing to run 
lakeward and then trot back, whining with ex 

A second pistol-shot flew wide. A thinl 
grazed the dog's hip. From all directions peo 
pie were running tow^ard the station. A man 
darted into a house next door, and emerged, 
carrying a shotgun. This he steadied on 2 
veranda-ra:l not forty feet away from th- 
leaping dog. and made ready to fire. 

It was then tlie train from New York canic- 1 
in, and momentarily the si)ort of **mad-dog 
killing was abandoned, while the crowd scat 
tered to each side of the track. 

From a front car of the train the Mistress 




and the Master emerged into a Bedlam of 
noise and confusion. 

"Best hide in the station. Ma'am!" shouted 
/the telegraph operator, at sight of the Mis- 
tress. "There is a mad dog loose out here 1 
He 's chasing folks around, and — " 

"Mad dog!" repeated the Mistress in high 
conlenipt "If you knew anything about dogs, 
you 'd know mad ones never 'chase folks 
around' any more than typhoid patients do. 

A flash of tawny light beneath the station 
lamp, a scurrying of frightened idlers, a final 
wasted shot from the policeman's pistol, as 
Wolf dived headlong through the frightened 
crowd toward the voice he heard and recog- 

Up to the Mistress and the Master galloped 

Wolf. He was bleeding, his eyes were blood- 
shot, his fur was rumpled. He seized the as- 
tounded Master's gloved hand lightly between 
his teeth and sought to pull him across the 
tracks and toward the lake. 

The Master knew dogs, especially he knew 
Wolf, and without a word he suflered him- 
self to be led. The Mistress and one or two 
inquisitive men followed. 

Presently, Wolf loosed his hold on the Mas- 
ter's hand and ran on ahead, darting back 
every few moments to make certain he was 

"Heroism — cousins — in — hanging — on — 
one — minute — longer," the Boy was whisper- 
ing deliriously to himself for the hundreth 
time as Wolf pattered up to him in triumph 
across the ice, with the human rescuers a 
.icant ten yards behind 1 





Shall Polly washed her children's clothes and hung them in the j 
And Tubby Spnggles' goat came by and ate them, every on«. 

First he ate a button, then he ate a string, 

And then he made a meal of it and finished everTthing. 

Kvery frock and every frill, every lacy skirt. 

And then he nipped the clothes-pins off and had tham for dessert 



On evenings when the wind is hig^. 
.\nd cloudy billows across the sky, 
You 've heard a patter like the rain, 
And buffets on your window-pane : 

You did n't know that just without 
The Scamper Children played about. 
And beat your windows as they spec 
As if they too would go to bed ! 

The Scamper Children, so they say, 
Are boys and girls who kept at play, 
Who 'd never, never leave their game 
And come within when bedtime came. 

And so these children, every one. 
Were made to romp and made to run. 
Were made to skip and made to hop. 
And never more allowed to stop. 

And when for months they had to rw 
Without so much as going home. 
As children might, in such a fix. 
The Scamper Children took to tricks. 

Aud this is what Uiey tmdertook: 
To gain a home by hook or crook 1 
"We 'd be successful, too," they 

"If all the Scamper Children 

They searched among them- 
selves and got 

The s 

iftest runner of the lot, 
nt him, fast as be could 

To Isle of Man and Finisterrc 

(There 're Scamper Children everywhei 

And Cattegat and Skager-Rack 

To bring the Scamper Children back. 

To Cuba, Haiti, MntiM, 

^^^2s^ i-4l]ll^(f^®a-(b 


Small Polly washed her children's clothes and hung them in t 
And Tubby Spriggles' goat came by and ate them, every on*. 

First he ate a button, then he ate a string. 

And then he made a meal of it and finished everything. 

Every frock and every frill, every lacy skirt. 

And then he nipped the clothes-pins off and had thorn for dessei 



Ok evening;s when the wind is hi^, 
And cloudy billows across the sky, 
You 'vc heard a patter like the rain. 
And buffets on your window-pane : 

Vou did n't know that just without 
The Scamper Children played about, 
And beat your windows as they spec 
As if they too would go to bed ! 

The Scamper Children, so they say, 
Are boys and girls who kept at play, 
Who 'd never, never leave their game 
And come within when bedtime came. 

And so these children, every one. 
Were made to romp and made to run. 
Were made to skip and made to hop, 
And never more allowed to stop. 

And when for months they bad to rm 
Without so much as going home. 
As children might, in such a fix, 
The Scamper Children took to tricks. 

And this is what they undertook: 
To gain a home by hook or crook I 
"We 'd be successful, too," they 

"H all the Scamper Children 

tried !" 
They searched among them- 
selves and got 

The swiftest runner of the lot. 
And sent him, fast as he could 

To Cuba, Haiti, Mmum, 

To Isle of Man and Finisterre 

(There *re Scamper Children everywhere) 

And Cattegat and Skager-Rack 

To bring the Scamper Children back. 


All in the space of blindman's-bufiC 
On came the children, sure enough! 
From every portion of the world 
You v. ■ ' * * 

And mi 
Upon o 
Atop p 

The Sc 
To wail 
Then, t 

"I 'm ti 
■'Once i 
"And a 
"I 11 sc 

Ere Ion 
B^an 1 

And in 
The Sci 

They pi 
And tuj 
And sn 





3i a*t?-^l^ 


IS, wiped their eyes, 
1 with their cri«; 
loked and snceaed ^ain : 

ey-pot, pell-mell, 
when the children fell, 
within the cottage woke 
to give the fire a poke. 

Then up and out tlu- 

'oured sparks and smoki' 

— and children, too! 
5uch choking fumes on 

every hand 
tVerc more than Scamp,. ■ 

Child could stand: 

And wheezing, coughing. 

blinded, burned. 
The chiklren knew n.n 
how they turned, 
lipped and jumped till it 
was plain 
'd reach their native lan'l 

:here the Scamper Ch;l 

dren roam, 

ut a place to call a home : 

!llcd to run, compelled to 


ever more allowed to stop. 

But all too late, for with a crash 
Down came the open window-sash : 
Some sleeper wakened by the blast. 
Arose to make the window fast. 

Then one, the brightest of the lot. 
Descried the yawning chimney-pot. 
And down into the chimney piled 
Each eager, agile Scamper Child. 

First one by one, then score by score. 
The Scamper Children in did pour; 
It was a mad, unseemly race 
To gain the cottage chimney-place. 

But when within the chimney-Rue 
The last had disappeared from view, 
Forthwith was heard a frightful 

And back came Scamper Girls and 


'-»>/-- "-■ ■. ' /-v -^^ ~>-. 




in paying tlie Mart:n bills, the three liail taken 
turns in going to cliurch ; one always, some- 
times two, stayed l!o:-.:e to prepare dinner. 

"They don't liim one single penny to 
spend," Kathleen explained. "I was talking 
to Mrs. Lloyd about it after church this morn- 
ing. They 're going to have a boy from a. 
farm near Clearwater down here right after 
Christmas for the second semester at Uni- 

"You mean the society is paying all his ex- 
penses for the ycnr?" gentle old Mr. Thompson 

"Not exactly," Kathleen said. "They pay for 
!:is tuition and for all his apparatus — he 's go- 
ing to take dentistry, and that costs a lot. He 's 
very smart, they say, and awfully poor. >Trs. 
Lloyd heard about him and suggested that the 
society do somclliing. So they 've foimd a 
place where he can work for his board, take 
care of the furnace and shove! snow and every- 
thing. He 's going to work in the book-store 
Saturday nights to pay for his books. But 
:hey arc n't giving him one single penny to 

spending money?" 

"Cheer up, Kathleen," young Mr. WiUis ad- 
vised; "if he 's as busy as all that, he won't 
have time to spend any, either." 

"Oh, a person always has time to spend a 
httle." Lois came to her sister's support. 

"Of course they have," said Kathleen. "! 
told Mrs. Lloyd that I should think he 'd need 
a little for — oh, for car-fare and ice-cream 
sodas and things like that. She 's an awfully 
unsympathetic woman. She said he would 
board right near the campus so that he would 
not have to take the cars, and that she did n't 
think the Friendly Help would care to buy 
ice-cream sodas for him. I don't care — I think 
;t 's mean!" 

Kathleen attacked her salad with sympa- 
thetic vigor, and the four boarders consldercil 
the case of the dental student. Brusque, busi- 
nesslike Miss Dempscy agreed with the Friend- 
ly Helj) Society; the organization was doing- 
quite enough for him. Tom WilKs assured 
Kathleen that she had not approached the 
church worker right. 



''The idea of mentioning ice-cream sodas on 
a day like this !" he said. "It 's cold enough 
for him to freeze his own. That 's the trouble, 
Kathleen ; you did n't choose a symbol likely to 
arouse sympathy. Why, at present, I can't 
shed a tear over a person who might have to 
go without ice-cream sodas for the rest of his 
natiiral life." 

Miss Dunn, the pretty little domestic- 
science teacher, agreed with Kathleen. 

"I think they ought to give him just a little 
money to do what he likes with," she said. "It 
hurts a young man's self-respect not to have a 
penny in his pocket. A person has .feelings, 
even if he is accepting charity. It would n't 
cost much, and it would make all the differ- 
ence in the world in his feelings." 

Mr. Thompson's comment was in the na- 
ture of a practical suggestion. 

"Why don't you start a fund yourself?" he 
asked Kathleen, "and send it to the young man 
for a Christmas present? You ought to be able 
10 get a little contribution from every one who 
feels that an occasional ice-cream soda in life 
floes no harm." 

Kathleen's eyes lighted eagerly. 

"Would n't that be fun! I believe I will, 
flow long is it till Christmas?" 

"Over three weeks," said her sister. VCome 
nn, let's! I '11 help." 

In spite of being two years the older, Lois 
rsualy "helped." It was fifteen-year-old Kath- 
ven who saw the visions. 

"That 's a good idea," Willis agreed. "Let 
the Friendly Help pay his necessary expenses; 
vou get the dole for hyacinths to feed his 

"I 'm not joking," said Kathleen, eagerly. "I 
really want to do it. I think it 's mean to help 
anybody by giving them what they need and 
then not want them to have a bit of fun just 
l^ecause you 're helping them. Goodness 
knows ever since the Consolidated failed I 've 
always had whatever I could sell the rags and . 
bottles for to do exactly as I wanted to with, 
and nobody knows how many times it 's just 
saved my social position." 

"I think it 's a good idea, too, Miss Kath- 
leen," said Mr. Thompson. "Ai^ .as it was 
™y suggestion, I '11 start the fund off with 
five dollars." 

"Five dollars!" Kathleen gasped at such 

"If I had five dollars," said Tom Willis, 
solemnly, "I should get married." 

So the plan was started* It was Lois's turn 
*o hftv# fh^ "rmtc iBon«v'* AnH nh^ gav* it a11 

with a recklessness which left her social posi- 
tion endangered for weeks. Miss Dcmpsey. 
although officially disapproving of everjrthing 
connected with Christmas presents and with 
this scheme in particular, drew Kathleen aside 
one evening and gave her three dollars. 

"I never was paid for overtime work be- 
fore," she said. "And I was just thinking 
that it would n't be right for that young man 
to be in town all winter and not hear any good 
music. If he gets a gallery seat, he can 
hear six symphony concerts with this." 

"Oh, thank you so much!" said Kathleen. 
And her shining eyes made Miss Dempsey 
feel so much like a philanthropist that she was 
exceptionally pleasant all the evening. 

"Well, how 's the Ice-cream-soda Fund 
coming on?" Tom Willis inquired at dinner a 
few night later. 

"That reminds me," said Miss Dunn, "that 
I 've got a dollar for it. A girl borrowed a 
dollar from me a long time ago, and I 'd for- 
gotten all about it. She returned it to-day, 
and I happened to think about the class dance. 
The Dents always have one in February, and 
a man would feel awfully out of it if he could 
not go. I think the tickets are just a dollar." 

"I lent a fellow five dollars a long time ago," 
said Tom Willis, "and if he ever pays that 
back, you can have it for the fund. Oh, don't 
look so pleased, Kathleen ; I know the fellow." 

But it was the very next day that he came 
home from the newspaper office early and 
hunted up Kathleen with a sheepish grin. 

"Here 's your five," he said. " I was sim- 
ply knocked out. That fellow never paid 
back any money before in his life. Every- 
body was joshing me for being easy and lend- 
ing to him." 

As Kathleen tucked the bill away in the 
cigar-box that held the Ice-cream-soda Fund, 
Willis made a suggestion. 

"If you write any letter when you send this 
present," he said, "tell the boy to hang on to 
this five and any more he can, and, if he gets 
a chance to join a professional society, to do it. 
I was pretty hard up when I was in college, 
and I passed up a department 'frat' because I 
did n't feel I ought to spend the initiation fee. 
I 've always regretted it" 

But as Christmas drew nearer, the fund, 
that had started at so brisk a pace, began to 
limp. Santa Claus appeared in half a dozen 
different store-windows; the shopping aisles 
were gay with green and flaming poinsettias; 
the old market on First Avenue North became 
• fofMt tii «piev-fr«grant «vargr0«n-trfMt ; 




everybody beeame intent upon his own Christ- 
mas. Kathleen canvassed bnskly among her 
high-school friends, but their gifts, when 
they came at all, were in nickels and dimes. 

A week before Christmas, Mrs. Martin came 
home from the church, smiling. She had taken 
a satchel of half-worn clothes to send to a 
poor family, and on the way back she had 
found a dollar bill l3dng in the snow right on 
Nicollet Avenue- 

"I suppose everybody has his pet extrava- 
gance," she said, as she gave Kathleen the 
money, "and the theater is mine. I can't re- 
member a time when I would n't gladly give 
up my dinner to see a good play. You tell the 
young man that I want him to see the best 
thing that comes to the city this winter with 
this dollar." 

"I wish I could give something, myself,'* 
said Kathleen. "Everybody *s helped but me. 
And nobody wants to do it any more than I do. 
I simply have n't any money. I never lent any- 
body any, so they can't return it; and I can't 
imagine ever finding a penny. I 'd spent all 
I had on Christmas presents before we thought 
of this plan, and there won't be any more rag 
money for a -month." 

"Never mind, Miss Kathleen," said the 
white-haired boarder, "you gave the spirit to 
the fund. That is the most valuable gift of all." 

But Kathleen was not satisfied. And the 
very next day she had her chance to do her 

**A letter from Uncle Will," Lois called. 

As Kathleen opened it, a check for ten 
dollars fluttered out. 

"We have n't forgotten how kind you were 
to Aunt Hattie last summer," she read, "and 
we want you to buy yourself whatever you like 
best for your Christmas present." 

"Oh, Kathleen !" Lois's voice was all un- 
jolfish pleasure in her sister's good fortune; 
'you can get your pearls!" 

Kathleen's "pearls" had been a family joke 
for a year. There was a very pretty string 
of imitations in a jeweler's window, and every 
time Kathleen passed, she stopped to gaze 
longingly at it. She had declared that if she 
were ever suddenly rich, the necklace was the 
first thing she would buy. So, early that after- 
noon, she and Lois set off for the jeweler's. 

"It seems terribly funny to be getting any- 
thing I 've wanted so bad," Kathleen said. "Of 
course, I 've never dreamed of really having 
thorn, but I go blockc out of my way just to 
look at them. There is a string of real ones 
in Hudson's window, and I was looking at 

them the other day, and it really seemed to 
me as though they did n't look half so rich 
as the imitation. I guess I 'm prejudiced, just 
as a mother is about her own baby. I *ve 
wanted this particular string for so long and 
so hard that I just feel attached to it" 

She was silent for a few moments, musing; 
over her good fortune. 

"I suppose it 's awfully silly to get them." 
she said, "there are so many things I need 
more. I could get some new shoes, and — 
But somehow — ^it 's funny, Lois — I need the 
shoes in a worldly way, but I want the pearls 
in a — ^a simply unearthly way. Of course, it 
could n't really, but I feel as though just hav- 
ing them would make me happy." 

"I know," said Lois, sympathetically. **Just 
the way Mr. Willis is always joking about the 
Ice-cream-soda Fund, calling it 'hyacinths to 
feed thy soul.' " 

"Yes," said Kathleen, "just like the Ice- 
cream-soda Fund." 

Her voice was suddenly uneasy, and she 
walked along in silence for two blocks. Out- 
side the jeweler's window, she paused to look 
at the string hungrily. 

"Is n't it lovely, Lois?" she asked. "Just 
look at the lavender lights — and the rose and 

"In the core of one pearl, all the shade an«l 
the shine of the seal" Lois quoted. 

"I don't care if it is a silly notion," Kathleen 
declared, "I never saw a real pearl that had 
half such lovely colors in it" 

The two girls went into the store, and the 
friendly clerk laid the string on a white satin 
cushion before them. Kathleen lifted the beads 
lovingly and let them trickle through her 

"Yes," said the clerk, "ten dollars. And a 
bargain, too." 

Kathleen held the string around her neck 
and looked at the pearls in the mirror. To her 
admiring eyes, they lent a touch of unreal 
beauty to her rough tweed school-coat. But 
she laid them back on the white satin cushion. 

"I guess I '11— I '11 think it over," she said. 

"What on earth did you want to think it 
over for?" Lois asked, as soon as they were 
on the snowy street again, Kathleen turned 
to her sister almost tearfully. 

"Lois," she said, "I *m afraid I ought to 
give that money to the student." 

"To the Ice-cream-soda Fund?" Lois asked 

Kathleen nodded, looking back at the pearls. 
which the clerk wa« replacing in the window. 



"Well, I think," said Lois, frankly, "that 
you must be stark raving crazj! What on 
earth — " 

"I had forgotten all about him till you said 
that about hyacinths. I 've been thinking 
about him for days — Lois, he is n't going to 
have any decent clothes, coming from a poor 
farm like that Will you ever forget the way 
that funny little freshman at High School 
looked? Don't you remember, the one who 
came from somewhere up tiorth and wore that 
awful, tight suit?" 

"The one the boys called String Bean?" 

"And that they all made so much fun of 
and the girls laughed at and I found down- 
stairs in the furnace-room crying! I '11 tell 
you, when a boy fifteen years old .cries, he feels 
lerribly. I '11 never forget it as long as I live. 
If this young man should have to go through 
that and I could stop it by going without my 

"Oh, Kathlel I think that would be silly. 
You 've wanted those pearls for a year — you 
don't even know he '11 be shabby — " 

"Oh, yes, I do," said Kathleen, forlornly. 
"I 'm as sure of it as though I 'd seen him. 
And I 'm afraid I '1! never get any pleasure 
out of the pearls; every time I look at them 
I 'II think about that freshman crying in the 
tumace-room. It is terrible to be queer and 
latighed at, and — " 

"Well, I must say I think you 're queer," 
said Lois, unsympathetically. 

She did not have Kathleen's flaming imag- 
ination. To her, this unknown student was 
the object of a worthy, mildly amusing char- 
ity; to Kathleen, he was a flesh-and-blood boy, 
shy, shabby, coming alone and friendless to 
a strange city. 

Twice the next day, she passed the jeweler's 
shop and stood looking at the pear] necklace. 
That evening, at dinner, she announced that 
she was adding her ten dollars to the Ice- 
cream-soda Fund. A chorus of protest went 
up around the table. All of the family knew 
of Kathleen's "pearls"; her enthusiasms were 
never of the kind that could be hidden under 
a bushel Miss Dempsey even begged Mrs. 
Martin to insist upon the child's buying the 

"I passed h^ this afternoon looking at those 
beads, and she looked like a hungry boy out- 
side a bakery." 

But Mrs. Martin decided that Kathleen 
might spend her gift as she chose. 

Four days before Christmas, the fund was 
addad up. The total wai twenty-eight dol- 

lars and seventy-five cents. Mrs. Thompson 
added a dollar and a quarter to make it even 
thirty. After some discussion, it was decided 
to make the gift "From Unknown Friends." 

"He '11 know then that it does n't come from 
the Friendly Help Society," said Mrs. Martin, 



"and he won't feel that he must account to 
them for what he does with it" 

"I told Mrs. Lloyd we were sending it," 
said Kathleen, "and she thought it was fine. 
She is as sympathetic as anybody when it 's 
Komebody else's money." 

MiH Dunn Mt. to *penH th^ ChriatRM* 



holidays at home; Mr. Willis lived too far 
away to go home; and Miss Dempsey and Mr. 
Thompson had no homes, or, as gentle, cour- 
teous Mr. Thompson put it, "no other home." 

The next evening at dinner they decided 
that the gift must have reached its destination. 
They had great fun conjecturing about what 
the student must have thought. 

"I noticed by the paper to-night," Mrs. Mar- 
tin said, "that David Warfield is to be here 
some time in February. I do hope he will go 
to see him." 

"And Kreisler is to play at one of the Sym- 
phonies later in the spring," said Miss Demp- 
sey. "If he only looks ahead and saves enough 
to go at that time !" 

There was a little silence, then Tom Willis 
glanced up from his coffee. 

"A kid brother of a chap I know has just 
be^n pledged to the best dental society here, 
and I 'm going to have him look out for this 
fellow. They go in strong for brains, so they 
keep their fees mighty low. He ought to be 
able to manage it if he gets a chance to join." 

So they all planned for the unknown boy 
on the Clearwater farm, wishing for him the 
particular happinesses they held most dear. 

"I stood outside that new haberdasher's on 
my way home from school till I almost froze 
my face," Kathleen confessed to her sister 
later, as they were undressing. "They are 
advertising after-holiday sales, and it is just 
surprising what nice-looking clothes you can 
get very cheap. I got so excited planning out 
just what things he '11 have that won't look 
so bad and what he '11 have to get new. 
People talk about its being more blessed to 
give than to receive, but they never say how 
much fun it is. Why, I went past the jeweler's 
right afterward and saw my pearls, and they 
looked so different to me! I was thinking 
about that poor little freshman in the furnace- 
room and about how spiffly our boy will look, 
and, do you know, when I looked at those 
pearls they had lost all their — ^their unearthly 
look. I just stared at them, and I said to 
myself, 'Why, you *re nothing but a string of 
beads, after all!'" 

The day before Christmas was Sunday and 
Kathleen's turn to go to church. She came 
home, her eyes shining. 

"I have a letter," she announced breath- 
lessly, "from our student. He sent it in care 
of Mrs. Lloyd. He noticed the Minneapolis 
postmark and knew we must have heard of 
him through her. I have n't opened it at all ; 
T watted 80 we could all hear it together." 

There was an interested silence as Kathleen 

tore open the envelop, and read: 
Dear Unknown Friends: 

I 'm not going to try to find out who you are, 
because I know from the way you sent your present 
that you would n't want me to. But I should like 
to have you know how glad I am to get it. It is 
the only money I ever had in my life that I have n't 
had to do some definite thing with, and I am — 
I am — 

Kathleen stopped to turn the page, looked 
eagerly down the next sheet. Suddenly, her 
glance paused; she read over a line incredu- 
lously. Her eyes and mouth opened wide. 

"What do yoir think," she demanded in an 
awful voice, "he has bought with our money?" 

All at the t^ble leaned forward in breathless 

"An engagement ring!" 

There was a moment of stupefied silence, 
then the whole family went off into a gale of 
laughter. It was too unexpected, too gro- 
tes<}ue, to be met in any other way. Even Miss 
Dempsey laughed till ^e had to wipe the tears 
away from her glasses. 

"Well, I must say that he 's in a fine posi- 
tion to be engaged I" she said. 

"An engagement ring !" gasped Tom Willis. 
Oh, my grandmother I It 's lucky we did n't 
send him forty dollars, or he 'd have set him- 
self up in housekeeping. An engagement ring ! 
Holy smoke!" . 

In the hilarity, nobody noticed Kathleen. 
Her eyes were fairly blazing with anger. 

"I don't see how you can laugh about it," 
she said, "after the way we planned and 
scrimped and worried to get that money. And 
then to have him just waste it like that! I 
don't think it 's a bit funny." 

"Well, he 's missing an important part of 
education in not hearing any good music. 
That 's true enough," said Miss Dempsey. 

"He won't think it 's so all-fired funny," 
Tom Willis agreed, "when he begins to need 
the money. Now a department 'frat' would 
have made a lot of difference to him." 

"Now he '11 go arotmd as seedy-looking as 
that freshman boy," said Kathleen, "and with 
the after-holiday sales, he could have — I had 
it all planned out for him. I don't care, I 
think it 's horrid ! And when I think that I 
gave up my p-pearls so that some girl I never 
even heard of could have a r-r-ring— " 

Kathleen was tired and excited, and, to her 
disgust, her voice choked and a tear trickled 
down the side of her nose. 

She tried to put her grievance ottt of h^r 



mind and throw herself into the preparations 
for the tree they were to have in the evening, 
but all through the afternoon she was con- 
scious of a miserable undercurrent of hurt She 
felt cheated, as though her gift had been flung 
back with a sneer. 

She forgot the student altogether, though, 
when dusk fell, sweet and gray with all the 


i was the nearest like 

but it was gone. 

it that they had, and — " 

"Oh, it 's simply beautiful!" 

Kathleen let the white beads drip through 
her fingers, devouring them with her eyes, anri 
Miss Dempsey decided that there might be 
something in the custom of Christmas giving, 
after all. 

mystery of Christmas eve. Mr. Thompson 
had insisted that the family must have a 
Christmas-tree, and Tom Willis had appeared 
with it over his shoulder the night before, ^t 
stood in a shadowy corner of the library, 
glistening with fairy tinsel, twinkling with.,, 
stars of candle-light Tom Willis did the hop^."' 
ors, and never was a Santa Claus ready with 
jollier, funnier quips and cracks. The very 
first package he took from the tree was "For 
Kathleen, with best wishes from Miss Demp- 

"Why, you said you did n't believe in Christ- 
mas presents I" 

"I don't," said Miss Dempsey, her lips 
twitching with amusement, "but I thought that 
in this particular case — " 

It was a long, slim box, and Kathleen opened 
it eagerly. Lying in a nest of cotton was a 
string of pearl beads. 

"It is n't the string you wanted," ' Miss 
Demgsey said; "I went down the first thing, 

The third package was for Kathleen from 
Mr. Thompson. The box was from Hudson's, 
and with a queer little feeling of premonition, 
Kathleen lifted the cover. On the satin pad- 
ding was a string of pearl beads, its tiny clasp 
Set with brilliants winking in ttie candle- 

"I "m Sorry my gift is a duplicate," he said. 
"but I did want you to have your pearls — " 

"Oh, they 're beautiful !" said Kathleen, 
"and they 're different lengths. Oh, I love 
them both I" 

When all the other presents had been given 
out, the last package of all was for Kathleen — 
"With love from Mother -and Lois." It was 
the string of pearl beads she had so often 
gazed at hungrily in the jeweler's window. 

"With love from Mother and Lois." 

Kathleen knew how large ten dollars seemed 
right now. "With love from Mother and Lois." 
Instead of the gleaming white beads, she was 
seeing Lois's shabby gloves, the made-over 



waist she would wear instead of a new one; 
she saw her mother sewing late in the ovening, 
walking home from market to save car-fare. 
Her throat tightened with a sudden choking 
ache. The gleaming pearl beads stood for all 
the scrimping, the planning, the savii^; they 
were the royal, reckless extravagance of love. 

Kathleen touched the string with a tender- 
ness that was reverent; mysteriously, all the 
"unearthly" heauty of the pearls had come 
back, the lights lavender, rose, and gold, soft 
yet bright, brighter because she saw them 
through hot, blurring tears. 

An hour later, Tom Willis found her sitting 
alone at the front window. The room was 
dark, but the light from the street lamp outside 
shone on three strings of pearl beads glistening 
in her lap. Her voice was still husky. 

"All my life," she said solemnly, "I 've heard 
people say that the spirit of a gift is what 
counts, but somehow, I never understood be- 
fore just what the spirit of a gift could be — " 

"You mean that you don't mind if you have 
got three presents almost exactly alike?" 

"Mind? Why—" 

With a sheepish grin, Tom Willis pulled a 
long, slim box out of his pocket. 

"I snaked this off the tree when I saw how 
popular my choice had been," he said. "It 
is n't as good a string as those others. I 
could n't raise ten dollars to keep from being 
shot at sunrise, but — but — " All his gay ease 

of manner had left him ; he shuffled awkwardly. 
"I don't imagine the clasp is eighteen carat." 
he said, "but, believe me, the spirit is." 

After a bit, Kathleen dried her eyes resn 

"Mr, Thompson and Miss Dempsey said 
they would n't feel a particle hurt if I shoulil 
give one of their strings to Lois," she said. 
"She likes pearls almost as well as I do — she- 
just does n't talk so much about it. But I 'n 
going to keep this string and the one from 
Mother and Lois as long as I live. They 're — 
they 're—" 

Her voice threatened to become husky again, 
but she cleared her throat resolutely. 

"And I 've been thinking about the student. 
I don't care if he did buy the ring — there! 
We gave him the money as a gift, but it wa?i 
just like the Friendly Help Society — each one 
of us had some special thing in mind. Miss 
Dempsey, music; you. the society; me, his 
clothes — " 

Tom Willis grinned. 

"We gave him the money for ice-cream 
sodas," he said, "and we wanted him to eat 
ice-cream sodas if he choked to death on them." 

"Probably he won't mind going shabby a 
bit, any more than Mother and Lois minded — " 
Kathleen had to stop to clear her throat again. 
"It seems as though the spirit is being kind of 
— kind of passed on, does n't it? He must 
have had a happy time buying that ring!" 


With a "Rooty-tooi-toot !" and a "Rooty-loot-toot!" 

Bennie is playing his little tin flute; 

And with "Rumpy-tum-lum!" and a "Rumpy-tutn-tunt!" 

Jamie is beating his wonderful drum ; 

And out on the porch, with a number of mates, 

Susie is trying her new roller-skates; 

So while there 's good will, without any surcease. 

It strikes me that somewhere we 've mislaid the peace I 

Edwin L. Sabik. 



Author of "Boy Scouta in the Wilderness" 


Jim donkgan^ the lumber-king, shows the Boy Scouts of Cornwall his wonderful collection of- gems. He 
has the famous black diamond of Captain Kidd and a number of other remarkable stones. His spe- 
cialty is pearls. He tells the Scouts that a blue pearl the size of a certain pink pearl wich he owns would 
be worth $50,000 and that he would be glad to pay that sum for such a pearl, but that no such pearl has 
ever existed. Joe Couteau, the Indian boy, contradicts him and tells him of the strange island he once, 
when a little boy, visited with his uncle, the Shuman, or Medicine-Man, of his tribe. There his uncle 
found a great blue pearl in a strange stream in the interior of the island, the hunting-ground of one ot 
the ^eat brown bears, the largest carnivorous animal ever known. Joe is sure that he can find his wa>- 
back to his tribe and can go again to the island. The lumber-king agrees, if Joe and his friend Will Bright 
will make the trip, to finance it. Old Jud Adams, who has trapped all through that region, hears of the 
plan and insits on going along. Another boy is needed to make up the party, and Will and Joe agree to 
choose the one who shows most sand and sense in the' great Interscholastic Games in which Cornwall is 
to compete. 



At last the day of the games dawned, as days 
have had a habit of doing for several years 
back. The whole school gathered at the sta- 
tion to go with their team to the college town 
where the games were to be held. There was 
Mike, wearing a wonderful new Panama, os- 
tentatiously cheerful and full of good stories 
and funny jokes, as always before a competi- 
tion. Mr. Sanford was there in white flannels, 
and Pop Smith, the pop-corn man, a little 
old man with a long white beard who looked 
like a gnome and who claimed to be the offi- 
cial mascot of the Cornwall team. Besides 
these there were several thousand rooters — at 
least, they sounded like several thousand. 
Probably, if counted by numbers and not by 
noise, they would total fifty. Just as the train 
was about to start, there was a volley of toots, 
and down the road whirled a red racer, out 
of which tumbled old Jim Donegan and Jud 

"I 'm here to sec fair play." rumbled the 

"Yep," piped up old Jud, to Mike, "I 'ni 
comin' too. in case any of them kids give out 
and you need a real runner." 

Every scat in the vast grand stand which 
surrounded the college athletic field was filled 
with rooters from the different schools belong- 
ing to the association. As Cornwall High 
marched on down to their scats, there was a 
tumult of shouts and laughter from thousands 
of boys and girls wearing other school colors. 

"Now we can start," howled one cheer-lead- 
er through a megaphone. "The Backwoods- 
men are here!" 

''Three cheers for the Also-Rans !" veiled 

''Rah! Rah! Rah! for the Tail-Enders !" 
came from across the field. 

"You just wait a bit, you fellows over 
there !" bellowed Jim Donegan, with his face 
redder than his tie, which was saying a good 
deal. "We '11 show you some surprises to-day." 

"Don't talk back to them," suggested the 
principal; you '11 only make them worse." 

"They can't be any worse !" howled old Jim. 
"I like to talk back to 'em." 

In the stillness of the dressing-rooms the 
Cornwall team missed all this. The air was 
heavy with the smell of raw alcohol, with 
which brawny rubbers massaged the muscles 
on which so much depended that day. Wor- 
ried trainers and troubled captains passed back 
and forth whispering last words of advice and 
warning. Here and there could be caught 
glimpses of boy athletes, all looking a little 
white and drawn. Some chewed gum, others 
wore a fixed smile. Some yawned continu- 
ally, and some shivered as if with a chill as 
the strain of the weary waiting affected each 
one of them. 

Old Mike wasted vcrv little time in makintj 

"Lie down, you fellows: keep off your feet 
and take things easy," he counseled. "You 
all feel nervous and scared and uncomfort- 
able and as if you can't run worth a cent. 
That *s the way you ought to feel before a 
race. I handled Owen the day he first ran 
under even time in the hundred. Just before 
the final heat he could n't talk, his teeth chat- 
tered so; but he went out and beat the pick of 
the world. Charlie Kilpatrick could n't eat 
for two days before the international g^mes 




between Great Britain and the United States 
at Manhattan Field in 1895. I had to threaten 
to lick him to keep him from starvin' to death ; 
yet he went out and beat the other side all to 
death and broke the world's record in the half- 
mile. You chaps ain't anything to look at, a 
homelier bunch I never saw," went on the old 
man, "but — ^you 're fit to run for your lives 
and you 're going to clean up these city fel- 
lows to-day." 

So he went on, beguiling the time with many 
an athletic story, jollying, joking, encourag- 
ing, until his team were as comfortable as 
could be expected. Suddenly a shrill whistle 
blew outside. Then a leather-voiced an- 
nouncer bellowed through a megaphone at the 
door of the training-house. "All out for the 
first heat of the hundred !" 

Boots Lockwood was the only sprinter in 
the school who had shown enough speed to be 
entered in the dashes. He was a long, gawky, 
awkward boy with a comical freckled face and 
always joking. Only Mike, that judge of boys 
and men, knew what fire and force were hid- 
den in that awkward body. 

"Don't hurry," he said craftily. "It '11 be 
hve minutes at least before they 're ready for 
this heat . Let the rest of *em worry out on 
the track awhile." 

Then Sid, the rubber, slapped a big handful 
of raw alcohol' on Boots's sinewy back and sup- 
pled up his lithe muscles with a final rub- 
down. Thrilling all over with the cold tingle 
of the alcohol. Boots laced on his spiked shoes, 
and, gripping his new corks, trotted out to 
join the rest of the entries on the long straight- 
away, where the dash was to be run. The rest 
of the waiting team shouted encouragement 
to him. 

"Go to it, old scout!" yelled Captain Bright, 
from his comer. 

"Eat 'em up, Boots!" squealed Bill Darby, 
who was in the half. 

"Show me how to do it," urged Ted Bacon, 
who was in the next event — the quarter-mile. 

Quite different were the remarks that greet- 
ed him on the track, ' where the contestants 
were waiting for the clerk of the course to 
finish his roll-call. 

"Cornwall 's here ; let 's go !" one shouted. 

"Don't make him run; give him the heat!" 
yelled another; while even the badged officials 
found time to smile at the gawky, freckle- 
faced country boy. None of this made any 
Impression on Boots. He grinned cheerfully 
It spectators, officials, and competitors alike, 
although his ireckJes «tood out a little briflfhter 

than usual as his face whitened under the 
strain. He trotted back and forth a few times 
to limber up, and a moment later found him- 
self lined up in the first heat. There was such 
a crowded entry that the clerk announced 
that first place alone would qualify in the 
finals. This meant hard going for Boots, for. 
of the other three men, one was Dole, the win- 
ner of the year before, while Black, the cham- 
pion of the Hill School, the largest in the 
State, had broken the interscholastic record at 
his school spring games. 

"Now — ^boys — I '11 — tell — ^you — ^to — get— set 
— and — then — fire — you — off. Any — man — 
breaking— off — ^his — mark — before — the — pis- 
tol, — goes— back— a— yard," clattered the start- 
er, jumbling the words together according to 
the time-honored custom of starters. 

Boots drew the outside place. There the 
going was a little soft, but he did not have a 
man on each side of him. The champion had 
the inside position, while next to Boots was 
the record-breaker from Hill. For a moment 
the whole place throbbed with the cheers of 
the different schools, while Boots unconcern- 
edly dug his marks in the cinders with his 
spiked shoes. 

"On your marks!" shouted the starter, and 
Boots fitted his feet into the little holes which 
he had dug. 

"Get set!" came next. 

Remembering the advice of the crafty Mike, 
who had -been one of the greatest of profes- 
sional sprinters in his day. Boots bent over as 
slowly as possible, knowing that the starter 
would not shoot the pistol until every com- 
petitor was in place. As he finally put his 
hands on the ground, fully half a second after 
the others, he straightened out his arms and 
leaped forward from both feet just as the pis- 
tol went off. It was a perfect start, and only 
ppssible for one who could control his nerves 
enough to hold bade. Like a flash he broke 
away a good yard ahead of the others. The 
unexpectedness of being beaten off their marks 
by an unknown runner flagged the spirits of 
the others for the tiniest fraction of a second, 
and. sprinting is made up of fractions. At the 
fifty. Boots was fully six feet ahead of his 
field. Then the record-holder, who was a 
wonderful finisher, began steadily to overhaul 
him, with the other two hard on his shoulder. 
Holding his breath and running as he had 
never run before, Boots sped down his lane on 
the long smooth track, while closer and closer 
he could hear the pat-pat of the speeding feet 
behind. Ten varda from the finish, the other 

■ 36 


was almost at his shoulder. Then it was that 
the boy drew upon the fighting fury which lay 
within him and which had made him Mike's 
choice. Calling on every last ounce ot reserve 
speed, and with every atom of nerve and will 
concentrated on keeping unbroken the swift, 
rhythmical beat of his stride, he breasted the 
tape by a tiny fraction of a second ahead of 
the other. So close had been the finish that 
the three judges had to confer together before 

room, cvetybody pounded him on the back. 
The four-forty, as the quarter-mile is termed 
in cinder-path parlance, came next. It was 
to be run in one heat, and Billy Darby sallied 
forth to do or die. Following Mike's direc- 
tions, he leaped into the lead at the crack of 
the pistol, and ran his first hundred yards at 
sprinting speed, forging far ahead of the field. 
Unfortunately, he let the excitement of the 
race run away with his judgment. With a 

Uie announcer bellowed to the world at large: 
"Lockwood, Cornwall High, wins first heat 
of the hundred ! Time, ten flat I" 

Boots jogged back to find that the world had 
changed. *rhere were scattering cheers in- 
stead of jeers everywhere, while from the far- 
away section that had been assigned to the 
Cornwall High School came a storm of shouts 
.ind yells, which always ended with "Boots 
Lockwood!" Old Mike met him at the Start 
and slapped him joyfully on the back. 

"You 're a corker, me boyl" he shouted. 
"I knew you could do it. You 'tc killed off 
the worst in the first heat. The final 's a pipe 
for you." 

Whan Bnott e«ni^ hark to thu draMins- 

long lead and going strong, it seemed an easy 
matter to cover the rest of the distance at top 
speed; but no human legs and lungs have yet 
been constructed which will allow man or 
boy to sprint a quarter-mile without slowing 
up somewhere. Poor Billy turned into the 
stretch well ahead of the bunch, but here his 
legs began to wabble, and a red-haired young- 
ster from the Hopkins Grammar School flashed 
by him, and, almost at the tape, an entry from 
the Haverford school crowded past him into 
second place. At any rate he had scored, for 
lirst place counted five points, second, two, 
and third, one. 

In the meantime, Buck Whittlesey and Ted 
nnt^tm. ^« WuMt and Mrmicm* >wyi> •* *^» 




Cornwall school, had been giving the field a 
taste of country muscle in the twelve-pound 
shot Although neither of them had been able 
to master the tricky drive of the arm and the 
snappy reverse of body and legs which enables 
a shot-putter to get everything possible into 
his put, yet by main strength they managed 
to score three points for the school with a 
second and third respectively. By this time 
the final of the hundred had been called, and 
Boots fulfilled Mike's prophecy and romped 
away from his field, winning die event by a 
full yard and scoring five points with a first 
for Cornwall again in even time. In the two- 
twenty, the experience and finishing powers of 
Black of Hill were a little too much for him, 
and Boots had to be content with second place. 

When the pistol cracked for the start of the 
half-mile, there did not seem to be a chance 
for Johnnie Morgan, Cornwall's entry to score 
a place; but after a game race, he staggered 
in an unexpected second, adding two more 
points to Cornwall's mounting score. 

The hurdles hurt Cornwall more than any 
other event. Try as he would, Mike had not 
been able to teach any of the boys in a single 
season the hurdle step, which looks so easy 
and is really so difficult Hill fattened her 
score by eleven points in those two events, and 
went well into the lead. The high jump was 
another event which helped Hill and hindered 
Cornwall. Not a point did her entries score. 
In the broad jump, Dick Johnstone hit the 
take-ofif only once in three tries, but that once 
carried him over twenty feet and gave Corn- 
wall another second. 

It was evident that the fight lay between 
Hill and Cornwall, and that, in order to win, 
it would be necessary for Cornwall to score 
firsts in all of the three remaining events. As 
the audience realized that the fight was be- 
tween the largest, and the smallest of the 
entries, a wave of sympathy went out toward 
Cornwall. Flags flared and fluttered through 
the different sections everywhere, and there 
was a storm of cheers and shouts, all ending 
with "Comwalll" Above them all, however, 
could still be heard the shattering "Brek-e- 
kck-kek !" cheer of the great Hill School, which 
had sent over a thousand rooters to the games 
that day. Old Mike, who had been coaching 
Oick at the jumping-pit, came huriying in. 

"Everybody 's yellin' for Cornwall!" he 
said. "Everybody wants us to down Hill. We 
can do it I Now, fellows, a long cheer for 
Captain Bright, who 's goin' to win the pole- 
vault; for Joe Cottttau, who *'9 got the fiv^ 

mile in his pocket; and for good old Freddie 
Perkins, who 's goin' to end up by takin' first 
place in the mile! Now altogether!" 

The little team stood up and gathered 
around Mike, who was standing on the rub- 
bing-table. Some were covered with the grime 
and sweat of their races, others were still sick 
and faint from their efforts. Some had won 
and others had lost, but all alike joined in the 
long cheer of the Cornwall High School with 
the names of the last three competitors at the 
end. The echoes had hardly died away when 
the door burst open and in rushed old Jim 
Donegan, his hat off and ^i<? cristimg gray 
hair standing up like the quills of a porcupine. 
He rushed to the rubbing-table, and, catching 
up the twelve-pound shot which lay there, 
banged the long-suffering table for attention. 

"Boys," he yelled, "I 'm an old man and I 
have knocked all around the world and I *ve 
seen many a grand scrap in my time, 8ut 
never have I seen such a set of young tigers 
as you fellows are ! I 'm proud of every one 
of you ! We 've got these Hill School chaps 
licked to a frazzle. All we got to do is to win 
these last three events, an' I '11 tell the world 
— w^ 're goin' to do it! There ain't nobody 
can down old Bill Bright or beat out Joe 
Couteau. They licked a gang of moonshiners, 
and they '11 just eat up that Hill team. More- 
over, I 've got a hunch right now that Freddie 
Perkins gobbles up the mile. Them 's my 
sentiments!" and the old man banged the 
twelve-pound shot down on the table and rush- 
ed out again, to yell for Cornwall. 

While they were finishing the finals in the 
high and low hurdles, in neither of which 
Cornwall had won a place. Will Bright had 
been vaulting surely and steadily through the 
preliminary stages of that long-drawn-out 
event, the pole-vault At eleven feet, all the 
competitors had dropped out except Will and 
an entry from Hopkins and Hill respectively. 
Once, twice, and three times each of the others 
essayed the bar, only to fail. 

On his first try, Will soared up like a bird, 
with a perfect take-off. Then, just as he start- 
ed the arching swing which was to carry him 
over, there was a splintering crack and the 
ash pole broke at some hidden flaw about five 
feet from the end. There was a shout of 
warning and horror from the spectators as 
Will's body plunged down headlong toward 
the jagged point The boy's quick eye, how- 
ever, saw his danger even as he fell. With a 
writhing twist in mid air, he swung his body 
out toward the landing-pit, just grazing the 



sharp fragment, which ripped through his jer- 
sey, tearing the skin of his left side. Instant- 
ly the whole front of his. running-shirt was 
stained with bright red. Half a dozen men 
rushed to pick him up, but Mike was there 
first of all. 

''Some one get a doctor 1" shouted a badged 
official, bustling up. 

"I 'm going on," panted Will, recovering his 
breath, which had been knocked out of him by 
the fall, "if I can get a pole." 

"Say, Cornwall, you 're a good sport I" said 
the defeated Hill entry. "Take my pole. I 'd 
rather be beaten by you than anybody I know." 

"That 's the talk," said old Mike, heartily, 
as Will shook hands with his late opponent. 
"There 's good sporting blood in both of you." 

The Hill pole was a built-up bamboo, with 
the strength and snap of a steel spring. With 
a good run, Will made a beautiful take-off. 
Up and up- he rose in the air until he was level 
with the bar. Suddenly he slid his left hand 
up to his right with a quick snap, and his body 
arched up and over the bar. His progress back 
to the dressing-house was a triumph. Half- 
way back, they met Jim Donegan tearing along 
toward them, wearing the flowing and re~ 
splendent badge of an inspector of the course, 
which he had inveigled out of the manage- 
ment. His duties, as he understood them, 
were to run around the field and root early 
and often for Cornwall, in spite of every at- 
tempt on the part of other officials to stop him. 

"Five more points !*' he chanted ecstatically, 
patting Will gently on his moist back. *'We 've 
got 'em beat!" 

Just as they reached the dressing-house, the 
five-mile event was announced. 

**Go to it, boy !" yelled old Jim to Joe Cou- 
teau, Cornwall's only entry for that event. 
"Remember how you used to run down jack- 
rabbits in the Northwest. Hustle out and tear 
(jff five more points for Cornwall.'* 

Joe grinned cheerfully around the circle 
as he laced on the pair of moccasins which, like 
that other great Indian distance-runner. Deer- 
foot, he wore in place of spiked shoes. These 
moccasins and his dark face made a great 

"Hi! hi!" bellowed the Hill School con- 
tngent. "Get on to the Injun, Big Chief, 
IVoO'WOo! WhoO'OO'OO-oo-oo r and striking 
their mouths with their hands, they achieved 
what they fondly believed to be an Indian 
war-whoop. Although there were twelve 
entries, yet the crowd believed that there was 
' one man in the race. That was Lowell 

of Haverford, the record-holder who for two 
years had won the event easily. The only 
son of an old Boston family, he was much 
shocked that he should be expected to run 
against an Indian. At the end of the first 
mile he led the bunch by fully fifty yards. 

Joe as he passed the starting-post for the 
fourth time began to increase his speed. One 
by one he cut down the men ahead of him, 
and by the time that the fifth quarter was 
finished he was abreast of the little bunch of 
five runners who were toiling along nearest 
the far-away leader. Then without an effort 
and with a swinging, easy gait he began to 
go through the field. One or two tried to fight 
him off, but the steady, even gait which ate 
up the ground like fire wore them down until 
he was running second to Lowell, who was 
now nearly a hundred yards in the lead. At 
the end of the third mile. Joe had cut this 
down to thirty yards. As he swung past the 
starting-post at the beginning of the fifth and 
last mile, it was as if a mask had suddenly 
dropped from his- impassive face, so keen and 
eager and confident it showed. The lonj^ 
tireless lope quickened and quickened until 
Lowell heard the rapid, even pat-pat of moc- 
casined feet coming nearer and nearer. 
Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he 
caught sight of the dark face of the Indian 
surging up beside him. Stung by the sight, 
he put on a burst of speed and for a hundred 
yards or so drew away well ahead of his op- 
ponent. Joe kept on unconcernedly with the 
same swinging, even gait. Without looking 
at his opponent, he seemed far more interested 
in the shouting, cheering crowds in the grand 

Soon the approaching beat of the moccasins 
stung Lowell to a new effort, which for a 
moment carried him out of ear-shot. Yet even 
as slackened his speed, the sound of the flyint; 
feet behind him came relentlessly nearer and 
nearer, until the Indian's even breathing was 
at his shoulder. Again he spurted, but it was 
a last eft'ort, and in a few moments Joe was 
once more and for the last time abreast of 
him. As they ran neck and neck, the two were 
in strange contrast. Lowell's face was wrin- 
kled and drawn as he strained every nerve and 
muscle to hold his place, while the Indian, 
with his effortless gait, seemed to regard his 
exhausted rival with an amused curiosity. At 
the end of another lap the Indian quickened 
his even stride and took the lead, drawing 
away from his opponent with every beat of 
his moccasined feet. Again and again Lowell 



spurted gallantly; and though now and then 
lie gained some of his lost distance, the gap 
between himself and the leader kept widening. 
On the last lap Joe cut loose and covered the 
distance at almost sprinting speed, finishing 
full]' half a lap ahead of Lowell and breaking 
the tape and the record at the same time. 
Then, to show how little the race had taken 
out of him, be kept on for an extra lap, cheer- 
ed to the echo by every section in turn as he 
passed. Even the Hill delegation gave the 
little dark record-breaker a tremendous send- 
off. . 

Cornwall had scored twenty-four points to 
twenty'five for Hill, and a roar of shouts and 
cheers swept across the field. Every thing 
'lepended on the last race of the day — the mile- 
run. The Hill delegation, in spite of the 
frantic efforts of four fat policemen, surged 
out and dragged across the track their mascot, 
a reluctant bull pup wearing the Hill colors, 
thereby throwing an exceeding baneful hoodoo 
on all the entries save, those of Hill. Not to 
be outdone, Cornwall pulled little Pop Smith 
across the same part of the track, kicking 
and squealing and struggling while his long 
white beard waved in the wind. Haverford 
liad a band. So did Hill. Likewise Hopkins. 
And the« bands played and tooted and fifed 

and shrilled- and drummed and made every 
kind of noise that ever tortured the ear-drums 

of mankind. For fully fifteen minutes the 
pandemonium kept up, until the policemen and 
all of the officials, except one gray-haired in-, 
spcctor of the course, ivcrc worn out in their 
attempts to restore order. 

Only in the Cornwall dressing-room was 
there silence. Mike himself gave Fred a final 
rub-down, and every man on the team crowded 
around to pat him on the back and shake his 
hand and wish him luck. It was a very cold 
hand, clammy with tlie weary terror of waiting 
that frets into the courage of the bravest. 
Fred's eyes however, had a steady fire in them. 
and his face, although white, was set as steel- 

"It 's up to you, my boy," was all Mike said. 

"I 'II do my best, Mike," returned Fred, verv 
quietly. Just then the door opened and in 
burst Mr. Sanford, quite different from the 
dignified principal of the Cornwall High 
School whom the boys saw every day. His 
hat was gone, his face was nearly as red as 
Jim Donegan's, and his tousled hair stood up 
like the cr«t of a cockatoo. He hurried up 
to Freddie, panting as if he himself had just 
come from a race. In'one hand he held two 
battered, scarred running-corks, in one of 
which was a large roimd hole. 



"Freddie," he said, "these are my old mascot 
running-corks. I 've carried them in nearly 
a hundred races. They 're yours now. 
Stjueeie 'em hard and bring back the cham- 
pionship to old Cornwall to-night. That round 
hole," he went on, "is 

back and forth across the little arena. Moran. 
ihc Hill miler.— slight and beautifully built, 
with a mocking, resolute face, — although not a 
record-holder, had won the event the year be- 
fore in fast time, lie was older than most of 
the other boys, and for two years had run 
on the team of a city athletic club. He had 
undoubtedly more exp>irtence than any other 
entry there. The Cornwall entries had plan- 
ned to have Morgati set the pace, keeping it 

slow enough to allow Fred's sprint to have a 
chance in the straight. 

As the pistol cracked, John dashed across 
from the outside and took the lead. Un- 
fortunately for Fred, Moran was an old hand 
at racing, and when he saw Morgan slow down 
his pace. Jumped at once to the conclusion 
that the other Cornwall entry wanted to save 
himself for the finish. Racing up, he passed 
John and, taking the pole, skimmed down the 
back-stretch at a tremendous clip. With a 
sprint, Cornwall's second string again won the 
lead as they neared the end of the first lap, but 
lost it the minute he tried 'to slow the pace. 
As they whirled past the starting-post in a 
bunch, Fred himself tried to set the pace, hop- 
ing to slow it down. Yet hardly had he slack- 
ened 3 little, when Moran went past him with 
a rush. It was evident that he intended to 
make a runaway race of it from the very start 
and would take no chances in the hcrnie- 
stretch. Fred set his teeth grimly and buckled 
down to the task of following nis pace. 

At the end of the half-mile Morgan dropped 
out. Moran still kept the lead, with Fred jusi 
back of him, while right behind Fred were the 
Haver ford and Hopkins entries, running 
craftily, hoping that the leaders might run 
themselves off their feet before the finish. For 
the third time the first four swept past the 
starting-post, and began the bitter third quar- 
ter, that quarter which tests the very soul of 
a racer, when the ache of the distance makes 
the taxed muscles and the flagging brain alike 
cry tor rest, with the finish still a weary way 
off. Moran quickened his pace a little, and 
Fred strained every muscle to hold his place. 
His chest felt as if bound with a choking iron 
band, and his legs began to acquire that 
strange, numb feeling which is the protest of 
sorely taxed muscles. 

Now it was that the long, tiresome cross- 
country runs of the winter showed their effect. 
Back of all his exhaustion, Fred still had the 
feeling of something in reserve. Yet every 
stride seemed to rack his very vitals, and tlje 
numbness seemed to be stealing from his legs 
to his brain. Suddenly a great gong clanged. 
The leader had passed the starting-post and 
was beginning the last lap. The sound seemed 
to tap new reserves of energy in Fred's lithe 
body, and he found himself plunging forward 
faster and faster as they whirled around the 
first curve into the back-stretch. At last came 
the final turn, and under a thunder of cheers 
the two turned into the hack-stretch and quick- 
ened thdr ^leed. 




Just then from behind with a rush came tip 
the Hopkins entry. On the outside he passed 
Fred and challenged Moran, who had drawn 
away a yard or so ahead. Neck and neck he 
raced with him down the stretch, but, with 
the finish still twenty yards away, suddenly 
plunged headlong, his laboring body unable 
to stand the strain which the untimely sprint 
had imposed upon it He fell right across 
Moran's path, and the latter had to swerve out 
to avoid tripping over him. This was Fred's 
chance. With a staggering plunge he shot 
forward on the inside, and in another second 
^vas running neck and neck with the leader. 
Only ten )rards of terrible struggle lay between 
them and the thin red thread that marked the 
eoal where the impassive judges and the 
timers, with stop-watches held aloft, stood. 
Fred's legs seemed made of lead. All of his 
speed at the finish seemed to have been drain- 
ed by the tremendous pace. Bright flashes 
darted before his eyes, while the shouts of the 
spectators seemed to come from afar. 

**Conie on, Freddie! Come in! Come in, 
Cornwell!" he beard faintly. Moran led by 

an inch at the last yard, and both boys, with 
hot, misty eyes, saw ahead of them die 
thin red thread which seemed to waver and 
move backward. Gripping the mascot corks. 
Fred*s finger sank into the deep hole, and the 
feeling called him back to himself for the 
fraction of a second. Setting his teeth and 
gripping his corks until his knuckles showed 
white, he drew upon the last tiny fragment of 
reserve power which he had left, and at the 
end of last stride threw himself through the 
air like a diver. Even as he plunged uncon- 
scious, he felt the blessed pressure of the 
thread as it broke against his breast, a tiny 
inch before Moran's up-raised foot. Then the 
arms of Mike and Doneg^n were around him 
as they carried him back to the dressing-room. 

"I knew it was in you. / knew," old Mike 
said, but his voice broke even as he spoke. 

It seemed a long time after, although it 
was only a few minutes, when Freddie opened 
his eyes again. The first thing he saw were 
the admiring faces of Will and Joe. The first 
thing he heard was Will's whisper. 

*' You 're going with us after the Blue Pearl !" 

(To be continued) 



Whbrs the pipes of Pan were playing 
Underneath the August moon. 

And the fairy hosts were dancing 

To the lilting, laughing tune, 

Now the legions of the winter 
Shout across the whirling snow. 

And their brazen trumpets clamor 
Where the hill crests gleam and glow. 

Sweet are pipes of Pan when playing 

Underneath a golden moon. 
When the cherry-trees are blooming 

And each blossom has a tune; 

But the bugles of the winter 
Have a summons gay to hear 

When they call us out to battle 
With a high and ringing cheer. 

Hear the summons of the trumpets 
Rolling down the valleys far; 
Coward is the heart that lingers 

Where the glowing wood-fires are I 
Hear the challenje:e of the bugles 

Calling from Uieir stormy posts* 
Daring us to meet in battle 

With the winter's snowy hosts 1 




Everybody stood in awe of Miss Blakely and 
said she was proud, stingy, and queer. She 
was a stem-visaged woman, nearing the fif- 
tieth mile-stone, and she lived alone in a huge 
house with two servants. No one visited her, 
except, of course, a very few intimate friends, 
and little children actually whispered when 
they passed the premises. 

But something happend one autumn. Jane 
Herriot, aged ten, with the warmest of brown 
eyes, the sunniest of curls, and the gentlest of 
hearts, moved into Miss Blakely's neighbor- 
hood. She had not heard the unpleasant tales 
concerning Miss Blakely, for somehow or 
other Jane did not hear unpleasant things; 
and perhaps if she had heard, she would not 
have believed them. So one morning she stood 
for a great length of time outside the great 
iron fence, gazing upon the bare trees and 
shrubbery, and the fountain, and thinking 
what a delightful place it must be in summer- 
time. Then she saw Miss Blakely come out 
on the pillared porch and walk slowly up and 

"I suppose she is very lonely," thought Jane. 
"I think I '11 go in to see her some day — to- 
morrow, maybe, if Mother says it is all right. 
And I know what I '11 do: I '11 take her one 
of Julia's eggs." Julia was Jane's pet hen, 
and she thought one of Julia's eggs would be 
quite the choicest gift she could take when 
she paid a call. 

So the next day, after obtaining her moth- 
er's permission, Jane went to see Miss Blakely. 
Hannah, the kind-looking serving-woman, was 
a little dubious about admitting Jane, but Jane 
assured her, with the most engaging smile, that 
Miss Blakely would be glad to see her and be- 
sides, she had a present which she wanted very 
much to give her. Then Hannah, shaking her 
jjray head a trifle uncertainly, led the undis- 
mayed Jane into the great library, filled with 
endless books and huge furniture. 

"Sit down," she said, trying to speak coldly; 
but certainly she found it difficult, for Jane 
had such lovable ways that it took a g^eat 
deal of courage for any one to be the least bit 
unpleasant to her. "I '11 go see if Miss Blake- 
ly will come down." 

Miss Blakely came down, plainly provoked 
at Hannah for permitting Jane to cross the 
threshold, but curious to see what sort of 
child this wgs who would dare to come to her 

house without being invited. So she stood in 
the doorway, severely surveying Jane with 
her cold blue eyes. 

"How d- ye do, Miss Blakely?" said Jane, 
instantly jumping up. "I 've been wanting to 
come to see you ever since we moved into the 
bungalow. You know, we live now in the 
bungalow at the end of the street." 

Miss Blakely made no reply. She continued 
to stand stock-still, her lips pressed in a rigid 
line, thinking she had never come in contact 
with a more forward-talking child. 

"Maybe you 've seen me standing outside," 
pursued Jane, wishing Miss Blakely would 
come into the room and be more sociable; "but 
I suppose not, or you would have called me 


Miss Blakely narrowed her eyes. Hannah, 
standing slightly behind her mistress, nervous- 
ly rubbed her hands, hoping against hope that 
Miss Blakely would not hurt the little girVs 

"And I have brouglit you a present," Jane 
went on, blissfully unmindful of her frigid re- 

"Present 1" Miss Blakely had at last found 
her voice, also her eye-glasses, for she sud- 
denly popped them on her sharp nose and 
gazed at Jane a trifle more keenly. "What 
sort of present could you brin^f me, you silh- 

Jane thought a moment. She was not al- 
together pleased at being called silly, but sud- 
denly she remembered that her mother had 
said Miss Blakely was not used to children, 
so perhaps she thought they were all silly. 

"I have brought you an tgg" Jane an- 
nounced, stepping slightly forward. 

"An egg? Absurd!" Miss Blakely exclaim- 
ed. "What do you think I want with an egg?*' 

"But it 's one of Julia's eggs, and Julia is — " 

"Ridiculous!" snapped Miss Blakely, plain- 
ly exasperated. "I suppose your mother put 
you up to this nonsense." 

"Oh, no!" Jane hastened to say, somewhat 
crestfallen. "Mother does n't know I brought 
the egg:* 

"W^ell, no wonder you 're ^cha bold child," 
retorted Miss Blakely, "allowed to run wild 
this way." 

"But I don't run wild," said Jane, peril- 
ously near tears. "And if you thitdc you don't 
want the egg, I '11 go." 




"You should never have come," was Miss 
Blakely's sharp rejoinder, "Show her out, 
Hannah. The very idea of presuming to 
come to a place where you were not invited !" 
she added, more to herself than to the aston- 
ished Jane. 

Hannah stepped on the front porch after 
Jane and very carefully 
shut the door and said 
good-by in the kindest 
possible way. 

"Good-by," Jane re- 
plied, feeling very sorry 
that she had made the 
call. But she comforted 
herself with thinking 
Miss Btakely was not 
well and regretting that 
she had not asked for 
that lady's health. Be- 
yond a doubt, that was 
the whole trouble. And 
the very next day, 
when Miss Blakely 
rode by in her wonder- 
ful automobile, the au- 
dacious Jane (Miss 
Blakely thought she 
was audacious) ran 
uut, waving her hand. 

"Well, what is it?" 
Miss Blakely asked 
after she had told her 
chauffeur to stop, and 
felt very much annoyed 
to think she would let 
a chit of child make her 
do something against 
her will. 

"I 'm sorry I went 
to see you yesterday," 
said Jane, standing on 
tiptoe. "But when 
you 're well, I 'd like 
to come again." Jane 
had really concluded 
Miss Blakely was sick. 

"And maybe then you ""^^ stoon 

will be glad to see me." 

"Humph I" retorted Miss Blakely. "Go on, 

After that. Miss Blakely kept seeing Jane, 
and Jane invariably nodded her sunny head 
and smiled and waved her hand, and the curi- 
ous part was that Miss Blakely did not appear 
so terribly displeased. As a matter of fact, 
ihoagh she would not have admitted it to a 

living sou), it was refreshing to find some one 
who did not stand in awe of her. Then one 
day the almost impossible happened, for the 
automobile actually stopped at the bungalow 
by Miss Blakely's order and Jane was invited 
to go for a ride. 

"I wish you would come to see us some time. 

Miss Blakely," begged Jane, when at last they 
were back, and after Jane had effusively ex- 
pressed her thanks for the lovely drive. 

"We shall see," answered Miss Blakely. 
She was wondering, as she drove away, if she 
had done the right thing in talcing Jane out 
and thereby encouraging the child's extremely 
friendly natore. But at least she was glad 




she had made up for the inhospitable recep- 
tion she had given Jane the day she came with 
the tgg. 

Strange things happen. Shortly after that, 
Miss Blakely was taken sick, and when, at 
length, she was convalescing she discovered 
she wanted to see Jane; in fact, she wanted 
to see her so much that Hannah was stopped 
from her work one afternoon and went post^ 
haste to bring Jane. Jane explained to Han- 
nah that her mother was out, but, as soon as 
she returned, she would be right up. 

"Where does your mother go and leave you 
so much?*' Miss Blakely asked a little fret- 
fully when Jane finally put in her appearance. 

"Oh, did n't you know my mother gives 
music-lessons to lots of children?" asked Jane, 
drawing up a small rocker close beside Miss 
Blakely. "She is helping Daddy pay for our 
bungalow, and I 'm helping, too." 

"And pray tell what can you do to help pay 
for a house?" demanded Miss Blakely, her 
eyes dwelling curiously upon Jane. 

"Well," said Jane, leaning forward and 
clasping her little hands, and looking straight 
into Miss Blakely's face, "it was this way. I 
saved up my money and bought Julia. She is 
the most wonderful layer, Mother says, that 
ever was; and I sell her eggs and put the 
money with the money Mother makes, and you 
would be surprised how it counts up." 

"You don't say!" briefly commented Miss 

"And Daddy says every little bit helps," 
Jane proceeded. "But he says goodness only 
knows when we will ever get it paid for, with 
things so high. Still, I am glad eggs are high, 
for when I get a whole dozen it seems like an 
awful lot of money." 

"How was it you brought me. one of those 
eggs when you were saving them to sell?" 
questioned Miss Blakely, her keen eyes fast- 
ened intently upon Jane. 

"Because I wanted you to have one," 
promptly returned Jane. "You see, Julia is 
really and truly mine; and when I g^ve away 
one of her eggs, I give away something that is 
really and truly mine and the nicest thing to 

"I see," said Miss Blakely. "I was under 
the impression that children were selfish and 
greedy. You don't appear to be so." 

Jane made no reply. She was thinking how 
thin and pale Miss Blakely looked, and feeling 
very sorry for her. 

"What does your father do to make a living, 
fane?" Miss Blakely suddenly inquired. 

"He is the head bookkeeper at the Harvey 
paper-mills," said Jane; "and we are paying 
Mr. Harvey for our house." 

"You '11 be a long time paying Benjamin 
Harvey," observed Miss Blakely, in a sharp 
voice. "Oh, well, that is none of my affair," 
she added, a moment later. "Now, Jane, I am 
going to let you ring that silver bell on my 
desk, and Hannah will bring us some tea and 

Jane jumped up, only too delighted to obey 
such a pleasing order, and pretty soon in came 
Hannah, broadly smiling, and carrying a tray 
of all kinds of delightful things. 

"Oh, it looks like Christmas I" tinkled Jane. 
"And, please, may I help you, Hannah?" 

"Now, ain't she the thoughtful little thing?" 
asked Hannah. "Yes, indeedy, honey, you 
can hand Miss Blakely a napkin and her grape- 

Jane was so delighted that she fairly danced 
forward to serve Miss Blakely. Then Hannah 
suggested that it would be nice to draw up a 
small table between them, and Miss Blakely 
agreed that it would be more comfortable. 

"What lovely times you must have Christ- 
mas !" she said, her happy eyes traveling over 
the inviting repast. She did not see the scowl 
which suddenly grew above Miss Blakely's 

"I think holidays are tiresome and stupid,*' 
Miss Blakely said abruptly. 

"Yes, you do get very tired," agreed Jane. 
"Mother and I go so many places and do so 
much that Daddy says we are just no account 
before the day is over." 

"What do you do to make you so tired?" in- 
quired Miss Blakely, pouring the tea from a 
nice fat teapot. 

Jane's blue eyes sparkled as she proceeded 
to tell of the fun she and her mother had. 

"Why we carry gifts around, just little 
things we have made, and of course we have" 
to stay a little while at each place; but, oh. 
it 's lovely! And what do you think Daddy 
says. Miss Bladcely?" 

"I am sure I don't know," answered Miss 
Blakely. "What does he say?" 

"Well, he says*if we don't stop, he is goin;^ 
to make us join that dreadful society somebody 
got up about not giving Christmas presents." 
Jane made a funny little grimace. "But, of 
course, he does n't mean it" 

"I suppose," said Miss Blakely, "yo" are re- 
ferring to the Society for the Prevention of 
Useless Giving— the S. P. U. G." 

"That 's it!" J^e laughed right out loud. 




and Hannah told William afterward she did 
not mean a bit of harm when she said it al- 
most sounded heavenly to hear such precious 
laughter ringing in that lonely house. "But 
the things we give are n't useless at all," Jane 
proceeded. "I just wish we could give them 

Mine useless things, and so does Daddy, for 
he was only funning about that society. We 
have some pet families — may I please pour 
some tea?" Jane broke ofE, "It 's such a funny, 
fat pot, is n't it?" 

Miss Blakely nodded in assent. Then. 
"What do you mean by 'pet' families?" 

"Well, the ones we kind of take a special 
interest in," tinkled Jane. "There are the 
Ames's, you know, who are so awfully poor. 

Their father was killed on the railroad, and 

their mother has to be out all day working, 
oh, so very hard that it just hurts you to look 
at her. Well, of course, we have to give them 
what Motljer calls 'practical' things. This 
year, Mother has knit the cunningest sweaters 
for the twins out of 
an old one of hers; 
and she made Horace, 
who is my age, two 
shirts out of Daddy's; 
and we have the nicest 
fix-up dress for Mrs. 
Ames, fixed from things 
you 'd never believe!" 
Jane's lovely little face 
was all aglow when 
she lifted it to Miss 
Blakely's and found 
that lady interested in 
her recital. "But, still, 
there are many things 
we j-JSt have to buy. 
like stockings ami 

ing to give old Mrs. 
Harper a bag of flour, 
and — " 

"I should think it 
would bankrupt you," 
interrupted Miss Blake- 
ly, "considering you are 
trying so hard to pay 
for your house." 

"Mother says it near- 
ly does," Jane replied. 
"But, you see, we don't 
give much to each 

Miss Blakely gazed 
upon her small guest 
in genuine amazement. 

"You mean to tell 
me you do without to 
give to these poor 

Jane nodded her sun- 
ny head, "Did Hannah make these nice 
cakes?" she asked. 

Hannah stepped forward, all smiles. "You 
like them, do you, honey?" 

"They are just scrum — " Jane remembered 
she was out visiting and refrained from say- 
ing "scrumtious." Then, pretty soon, it was 
time to go home, and after declaring to Miss 
Blakely over and over again that she had 
never had such a perfectly lovely time, she 




fairly flew to the bungalow to tell her mother 
of her wonderful visit 

And one afternoon a week later, when Miss 
Blakely was strong enough to go out, she 
stopped at the bungalow; and Jane's pretty 
little mother ran out to the automobile, begging 
Miss Blakely to come in, and then thanking 
her for all her kindness to Jane. 

"Tut! Tut!" said Miss Blakely, who could 
think of nothing else to say. Then, "Is Jane 
home ?" 

"Just back from school," replied Mrs. Her- 
riot. "I will call her." 

"I want to borrow her," Miss Blakely pur- 
sued, "for a little shopping expedition. I am 
not any too strong yet, and I think Jane could 
c:ive me a great deal of assistance." 

"Oh, dear me !" cried Mrs. Herriot, looking 
r.nd acting very much like a little girl herself, 
*7ane will be wild with joy. Why, you are 
just perfectly lovely to her, Miss Blakely." 
And excusing herself, she hurried into the 
liouse and soon came out with Jane, who was 
radiant at the prospect of helping Miss Blakely 
with her shopping. Then Jane kissed her 
mother good-by, hopped into the big car beside 
Miss Blakely, and away they sped down the 

"Now, Jane," began Miss Blakely, "I am 
interested in your 'pet families.' I have been 
ever since the day you had tea with me." 

"Th^ Tnaybe you will go around with us 
Christmas morning when we take the pres- 
ents?" cried Jane, clapping her hand*. 

"No, I won't do that," replied Miss Blake- 
ly. "I am going to let them come to me — 
that is, the children of the families." 

"At your house, Miss Blakely ?" asked Jane, 
in astonishment. 

"At my house," repeated Miss Blakely. 

"But, Miss Blakely, are you sure — !' Jane 
paused a moment. "You don't like children. 

"Not as a rule," interrupted Miss Blakely, 
"but you set me thinking — in fact, it has annoyed 
nie that I could not think of anything else. 
And I have also thought a great deal about 
you and your parents being perfectly willing 
to do without things to help those miserable 
people who were absolutely nothing to you." 

"But it makes us very happy," said Jane. 

"Very well," proceeded Miss Blakely. "And 
if it makes you so happy, I am going to see 
what it will do for me— that is, with your 
help. So my idea is to get a tree, Jane," she 
went on, "trim it beautifully, hang their gifts 
on it, and invite the children of these 'pet 

families' of yours to come to my house on 
Christmas morning." 

Jane was fairly bubbling with suppressed 
excitement. "Oh, it 's too wonderful!" she 
cried in soft ecstasy. "Why, you must be the 
very kindest person in the world. Miss Blake- 

"But I am not," Miss Blakely quickly de- 
nied. "I have, however, made up my mind to 
find out if I have been cheating myself of 
something, and I hope to know this Christ- 

That afternoon the sales-people and others 
in the various shops looked in blank astonish- 
ment as little Jane Herriot and "queer stingy' 
Miss Blakely" went about their shopping. 
Jane was too happy for words. It seemed to:) 
wonderful to be true to be actually buying 
things for the Ames's, the Hills, the Harpers 
and McCloskys that she had never dreamed 
it would be possible to give them. Occasion- 
ally, she caught Miss Blakely's hand and gave 
it a warm little squeeze; and Miss Blakely. 
who had never indulged in such an adventure, 
began to feel curiously warm and glad all over. 

It was a very wonderful tree that Miss 
Blakely and Jane, with William's assistance, 
trimmed a few days later. There were prac 
tical gifts, to be sure, but there were certain- 
ly any number of other gifts which the S. P- 
U. G.'s would undoubtedly have frowned up- 
on. Why, there were dolls, mechanical toys, 
horns, a wee piano for the Ames baby, an ex- 
press-wagon for the twins, games, and so on 
and so on, until Jane declared she was dizzy in 
getting them straightened out. Hannah simp- 
ly could not stay in the kitchen, where de- 
licious odors came from the oven. Never be- 
fore had so much fun and excitement. gone on 
in that house. 

The front door-bell pealed, and pretty soon 
Hannah came in to say Mr. Harvey was in 
the parlor and would like to see Miss Blakely 
for a few minutes. Miss Blakely turned sharp- 
ly. Hannah's quick eyes saw the slightest 
semblance of color come into her pale cheeks, 
and then Miss Blakely did something she had 
never done in another's presence — she looked 
at herself in the mirrow before she left the 

"William," whispered Hannah, "it 's been 
twenty-two years this Christmas since he set 
foot in this house. What does it mean?" 

"I 'm not one to tell things that ain't my 
business," returned William, in an undertone, 
"but day before yesterday I drove her out to 
the Harvey paper-mills, and they talked. 


They did t" ended William, solenmly shaking Blakely's aristocratic front door such a crowd 

his gray head. 

"Well, I never I" exclaimed poor Hannah, 
sinking into a chair. 

William nodded toward Jane. 

"I 'd say so," said Hannah. She 's bound to 
bring luck, bless her little heart!" 

"Hannah," Jane said, turning around, "I 
want you to do something for me, please. 
Here is something I have made for Miss 

of chattering, laughing, happy boys and girls 
that the whole neighborhood was set astir. 
Jane and her mother and father had arrived 
beforehand, wisliing Miss Blakely a "Happy 

Christmas !" and Miss Blakely declared the 
wash-cloths with the gay borders, which Jane 
had crocheted her very self, were quite the 
prettiest ones she had ever seen. Hannah 
stepped forward to thank Jane for a cunning 

Blakely, and I want you to tie it on the tree 
early in the morning, before she comes down." 

"I guess there 's nothing Hannah would n't 
do for you, you little darlin'," answered Han- 
nah, patting Jane's bright curls. 

Then Miss Blakely came in, and somehow 
or other she seemed different from what she 
had been when she left the room, and her 
eye» held a sparkle, and there was something 
'ike a tremor in her voice when she said: 

"Hannah. Mr. Harvey will eat Christmas 
dinner with us." 

On Chriftniss morning there came to Miss 

lijn-cushion; and William said never had he 
owned such a beautiful necktie; but, best of 
all, Jane had knit it. Then Hannah opened 
wide the library doors, and there came an up- 
roarious, "Merry Christmas!" from the crowd. 
When those children actually beheld the 
tree ablaze with lights and a-glitter with 
decorations, they appeared spellbound. Not 
a word, not a sound came from them. They 
simply stood in silent awe and amazement. 
Nor did the grown-ups know what to do; they, 
too, were silent, looking at the cKldren with 
blurry eyes. But Jane knew what to do. 




"This tree is yours, children," she said in 
her direct way. "You remember I told you 
that Miss Blakely had a perfectly wonderful 
surprise for you. This is it," gesturing to- 
ward the shimmering tree, with its weight of 
amazing packages. "So you can hunt for your 
names, and when you find them, you must 
thank Miss Blakely, for she is about the very 
kindest person in the world." 

"Jane !" protested Miss Blakely. Her 
cheeks had g^own pink and her eyes were 
bright, and Jane's mother thought her pretty. 

Then there was shouting and laugliing, and 
Jane, right in the midst of the crowd, was 
helping them find their names and just as eag- 
er with delight as they when the paper was 
lorn from the packages and the gifts revealed. 
Oh, what an hour it was ! Never had there 
been so much laughter, noise, and joy in the 
Blakely house. Never had so much genuine 
l^appiness stirred Miss Blakely*s heart. 

Suddenly, Hannah was having her turn. 
She was inviting them in the dining-room; 
and this time it was Jane who could not be- 
lieve her eyes. There was the table with 
lighted candelabra, wreaths of holly encirc- 
i ng them, and loaded down with fruits, nuts, 
cakes, and candies, besides a bag at each place taken home to the parents. It was so 
wonderful that Jane could think of nothing 
to say. So, while they were being served, she 

stole back to the library to take a peep at the 
tree. Suddenly Miss Blakely was beside her. 

"Jane," she said in a low voice, "you must 
have missed your name." 

"Why, I did n't look for my name," answer- 
ed Jane, in surprise. 

"Did n't y©u expect anything?" asked Miss 
Blakely, studying the sweet, upturned face. 

"Not with all this," replied Jane. 

"Well, suppose you run your hand 'way in- 
side the tree," suggested Miss Blakely. 

Jane obeyed, bringing out a long envelop. 

"Why, I don't understand," she said, with a 
puzzled face, as she drew out a document 

"It means, Jane," said Miss Blakely, "that 
your bungalow is paid for. It 's my gift to you." 

"Oh I" cried Jane, in breathless wonder. 
"But, no, it can't be, and maybe you should n't, 
and besides, I don't deserve it. I — I have n't 
done anything for you — oh, dear, I don't know 
what to say ! And Mother and Daddy will not 
want you to do so much, dear Miss Blakely." 

"It is all right, Jane," Miss Blakely said, 
her hand coming down affectionately on Jane's 
little shoulder. "I will make it all right with 
your mother and father, for you, my dear, 
have given me a priceless gift — you have 
shown me how to be happy in making others 
happy. You have given me a great deal, Jane, 
more than you realize, and God bless you for 
your happy heart I" 



Author of "T|ie Boarded-up House," "The Slipper-Point Mystery," etc., etc 


Life in a big hotel, in a city teeming with war work, was a new experience to Patricia Meade. She 
had come there to stay for three months with her father, Captain Meade, lately returned from overseas, 
who was in the city on a secret mission for the government. During their first evening in the hotel, he 
warns her to beware of spies and foreign secret agents, who were everywhere, and who, he fears, will try 
to discover his secret. At dinner, that night, Patricia objects to their waiter, whom she dislikes at first 
sight and fears is a spy ; but her father laughs at her fears. Later she notices, at a near-by table, a beau- 
tiful woman and a young girl of her own age, who piques her curiosity by her rather unusual appearance 
and conduct. Patricia discovers after dinner that these two are occupants of the room directly opposite 
hers, and happens to catch the young girl watching her from the doorway. They strike up an acquaint- 
ance, which pleases Patricia, but the young girl's strange manner, half friendly, half repellent, puzzles her. 
She resolves, however, to try to become better acquainted with this odd neighbor. 



Ix spite of her resolution to get better ac- 
quainted with her mysterious neighbor, how- 
ever, Patricia made no further progress in 
that direction for several days. These were 

spent in a round of sight-seeing with her fath- 
er through the big, busy manufacturing city in 
which they were staying, at present so ab- 
sorbed in its war work and munition making. 
After that came a series of delightful trolley- 
trips through distant and picturesque parts of 
the surrounding country. And when she was 




at leisure at all, Patricia spent not a little time ' 
with Mrs. Quale, finding a real delight in her 
quaint, sunny, comfortable company. During 
their wanderings, it chanced that she and her 
father took few meals at the hotel. And thus 
it fell out that she saw nothing, or almost 
nothing, of the curious couple th^t had so in- 
terested her on the first night. Once, indeed, 
she did have a brief glimpse of them at break- 
*fast, but the older woman only acknowledged 
her presence by a friendly little nod. The girl 
never so much as turned her head or looked in 
Patricia's direction. 

Then, on the sixth morning after their ar- 
rival, came a change. Captain Meade an- 
nounced it as they were taking their leisurely 

"We 've done all the gadding about that 
I '11 be able to indulge in for a while," he told 
her. "I must settle down to business now, 
and I 'm afraid you '11 be left pretty much on 
your own hands." 

"Well, to tell the truth, I don't mind very 
much," she replied lazily dallying with the 
grape-fruit. "I 'm so tired of being on the go 
that I '11 appreciate a little rest and quietness." 

"I must go off this morning to be gone al- 
most all day," went on Captain Meade. "You 
will be a little lonely, perhaps, but there 's al- 
ways Mrs. Quale. Don't rush her too much, 
however. Remember she 's a very busy wo- 
man. But you can always turn to her in 
emergencies or if you need advice." 

"No, I won't bother her," returned Patricia, 
"and I think I '11 spend the morning over at 
the sea-wall in the park. I love it there, and 
it 's just the place to take some knitting and 
a book and perhaps write some letters. Will 
you be back to lunch?" 

"I hardly expect to. Order a lunch sent to 
the room, or go down to the dining-room if 
you prefer, but don't wait for me." 

"Oh, I '11 have my luncheon sent up-stairs, I 
guess," sighed Patricia. "I detest that Peter 
Stoger more every time I see him. I feel as 
if he were spying on me constantly. I can't 
understand why you don't realize it, too." 

The captain smiled as they rose to leave the 
table. "Poor Peter would be surprised, and 
horrified probably, if he realized he was pos- 
ing as a German spy for your benefit. But 
suit yourself, Patricia, about luncheon, and 
don't be alarmed if I 'm not back till late. If 
I 'm not here by dinner-time, ask Mrs. Quale 
if you may dine at her table." 

"I surely will," agreed Patricia." And I — 

\ I beg your pardon !" The latter remark 

she addressed suddenly to the handsome wo- 
man whom she now knew as Madame "Nfan- 
derpoel, who was breakfasting alone at her 
own table, and, as they were passing, had 
touched Patricia, a trifle hesitantly, on the 

"It is I that must beg your pardon," she 
answered. "I am going to be so bold as to 
ask a very g^eat favor, though I do not even 
know you, but I am in great trouble and per- 
plexity this morning." 

"Why, I '11 be glad to do anything, of 
course," began Patricia, in surprise. 

"I was sure you would. I read it in your 
face. That is why I ask," Madame Vander- 
poel hurried on. "I am called away to New 
York this morning on the most urgent busi- 
ness — something that cannot be postponed. 
Unfortunately, my dear little charge, Virginie, 
Mademoiselle de Vos, is quite miserable — a 
violent nervous headache; she is subject to 
them frequently, poor little soul ! I dread to 
leave her alone all day in the care only of that 
stupid chambermaid, yet my business is such 
that I simply cannot postpone it. Would it be 
imposing too much on your kindness to ask 
you to stop in there occasionally, just for a 
moment or two, to see that she is as comfort- 
able as possible? You are, I believe, just 
across the hall from us, so it would not be a 
long journey." 

"Why, I '11 be delighted to!" agreed Pa- 
tricia, heartily. "I '11 sit with her just as long 
as she cares to have me. Don't worry about 
her at all. I 'm famous as a nurse, too, for 
my mother never has been very well, and I 'm 
used to waiting on her." 

"Oh, thank you so much I" breathed Madame 
Vanderpoel, seemingly much relieved. I '11 be 
so much easier in mind. I leave almost at 
once after breakfast. Go in as soon as you 
like. Just knock at the door and open it I '11 
leave it unlocked. I can never repay your 

"That solves the problem of my day for me. 
Daddy," remarked Patricia, when they were 
back in their rooms. "I '11 stay around here 
and visit Virginie de Vos (My! but I 'm glad 
I know her name at last!) every little while. 
I 've been real anxious to meet her, and did n't 
know how I was going to get the chance." 

But the captain frowned a little doubtfully. 
"It *s all right, I suppose, and you could n't 
very well refuse, but I rather wish you did n't 
have to come in contact with any strangers 
here. They may be all right — and they may 
not. These are queer times, and you can't 




trust any one. Get Mrs. Quale to go in with 
you, if possible, and don't stay there more 
than fifteen minutes at any time." 

Patricia opened her eyes widQ with aston- 
ishment "Well, of all things! You don't 
suspect people like that of — of anything queer, 
do you ?" 

'*I suspect no one, and trust no one in this 
entire establishment except, of course, Mrs. 
Quale. But don't get another attack of 'spies' 
on the brain, just because I warned you to be 
ordinarily cautious. It 's probably all right. 
I 'II be back by eight o'clock, anyway. Now, 
good-by, honey, and take care of yourself.*' 

Patricia waited until nearly ten o'clock be- 
fore essa3ring her first visit to the sick girl 
across the hall. Then, obedient to her father's 
injunction, she called up Mrs. Quale on the 
house telephone, to ask if that lady would find 
it convenient to accompany her. But the clerk 
at the desk informed her that Mrs. Quale had 
gone out for the day, leaving only her maid. 
Patricia had seen tb?«? woman several times, 
quiet, elderly, an J n-. ably hard of hearing, 
and who, Mrs. Quale said, had been in her 
service for many years. So Patricia was left 
with no alternative but to make her first ven- 
ture alone. 

"I 'm sure Daddy would n't want me to neg- 
lect the poor little sick thing, even if Mrs. 
Quale is n't there," she told herself as she 
knocked at the door of number 404, across the 
hall. ♦ 

She had vaguely expected to find the sick 
girl in bed, her head swathed in bandages, the 
room darkened and orderly. The sight that 
met her eyes as she entered, at a half -muffled 
"Come in," was as different as possible from 
that picture. The room was in great disorder, 
and bright with the glare of the morning sun. 
Both of the twin-beds were unmade — and 
empty. But at one of the windows, her back 
to the room, stood Virginie de Vos, staring out 
into the street. She did not turn round as 
Patricia entered. 

"I beg your pardon — good morning," ven- 
tured Patricia, timidly. "I came at the re- 
quest of your — of Madame Vanderpoel, who 
said you were ill. Is there anything I can do 
for you? Ought n't you to be in bed?" 

Still with her back to her visitor, Virginie 
shook her head. Suddenly, however, she 
whirled around. Her eyes were red and swol- 
len with crying, but there were no tears in 
than now. 

"Thank you — oh, very much! It is so 
thoughtful of you to come I My head docs not 

ache — ^at least, not now. I am better. I do 
not need any care." 

"But surely, there must be something the 
matter! You — you cannot be feeling quite 
well. Madame Vanderpoel said you were suf- 
fering severely," returned Patricia, thorough- 
ly puzzled. 

"Whatever it was, I am better now/' mut- 
tered the girl, almost sullenly. "But you are 
— ^you are so kind!" she added, and her eyes 
lit up with a friendly gleam for an instant. 

"Look here," cried Patricia, in sudden de- 
termination, "perhaps you are feeling better, 
but your headache may return. Now, I have 
a plan to propose. It *s very hot and glaring 
and noisy in this room. You see, it 's on the 
street side and^ou get all the racket from this 
busy avenue. Beside that, it has n't been made 
up yet. Come over and spend the morning in 
our sitting-room with me. It 's so quiet and 
pleasant there, for it faces on the little park 
at the back. I '11 darken it up, and you can lie 
on the couch, and I '11 read or talk to you — or 
just let you alone to sleep. Please come !" 

Her manner was so cordial, so urgent and 
convincing, that Virginie visibly wavered. 

"I ought— I ought not." She hesitated. 
"You do not know — you cannot know — " 

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Patricia, impatient- 
ly. "What earthly reason could there be for 
not coming? Just come right along, and we 'II 
have a lovely time. I 'm awfully lonesome, 
and you probably would be, too, alone here all 
day. So come !" 

Very reluctantly the girl assented and fol- 
lowed Patricia. Once established in the cool, 
pleasant, half-darkened sitting-room, however, 
her hesitancy seenled suddenly to vanish. Pa- 
tricia insisted that she occupy the couch, which 
she finally consented to do, though patently 
more to please her hostess than herself. 

"I am not sick; my head does not ache at 
all. Madame Vanderpoel was— -er — mistaken." 
And, indeed, she looked the picture of health, 
now that her eyes were returning to a normal 

"Never mind. She must have been worried 
about you, or she would n't have asked me to 
see to you. So lie down here for a while, and 
I '11 sit by you and do this fancy-work. I 
suppose I ought to be knitting, but I do get so 
tired of it at times. Do you ever embroider?" 

"Ah, I — I love it!" cried Virginie, in sud- 
den enthusiasm. "Anything of the — artistic 
I love and have studied to do." It was when 
she grew excited, Patricia noticed, that her 
language became a trifle confused. 




"Tell me," Patricia suddenly asked— "that 
is, if you don't mind — what nationality are 
you? I had thought perhaps you were 

The girl's manner again grew restrained. 
But she only replied in a voice very low and 
tense, "I am a Belgian !" 

Patricia impulsively dropped on her knees 
by the couch and took both of Virginie's 
hands in her own. 

"You poor, poor darling!" she murmured. 
"And did you — ^were you driven out of the 
country ?" 

"We lived in Antwerp," Virginie replied 
simply. "My father and I have always lived 
there. My mother is Jong dead. When the 
war came, I was being educated — in one of 
the best schools. At first it was thought there 
would be no danger. Antwerp was thought to 
be — what you call — impregnable. Then, when 
the Germans had taken Malines and Louvain 
and Liege, Madame Vanderpoel (she is my 
mother's sister-in-law), came to take me away 
from the school, to take me to England. She 
told my father it was too dangerous, that he 
should flee also. But he would not go. He is 
an old man, and I am the last of his children. 
He was too old for army service, but he said 
he would remain and defend his villa tliere in 
Antwerp. He declared the city could not be 
taken. But he insisted that I go away to Eng- 
land — to safety. He sent me from him, though 
it broke our two hearts — and I have never 
seen him since. You know what happened to 

She hid her face in the pillows and shook 
with unrepressed sobbing. Patricia knew not 
what to say to comfort the- stricken girl. For 
several moments she only smoothed the dark 
hair in silence, but her touch was evidently 
soothing, for Virginie presently sat up and 
dried her eyes. She continued no further, 
however, with any personal disclosures. 

"We too have suffered," began Patricia, 
thinking to divert her mind from herself, — 
"suffered dreadfully. You know, my father 
went over with the army when the war first 
broke out here, and when we bade him good- 
by, we knew there was a big chance of nevei 
seeing him again. But when we got word, a 
few months later, that he had been wounded 
and taken prisoner by the Germans, we were 
sure we should n't. The suspense was simply 
frightful. I never want to go through such 
a thing again as long as I live. Six long 
months it was, and we had no idea what had 
happened to him. We almost hoped he was 

dead, because the things we read of as hap- 
pening to the prisoners were so unspeakable. 
And then he escaped and came back to us— 
we never knew a thing about it till he was 
brought home one day. I thought Mother 
would die with the joy of it. She 's in a sani- 
tarium now — getting over the shock of it all. 
So, you see, Virginie dear, I know what you 
have suffered, and I *m sure your troubles are 
going to vanish — ^just as ours did." 

But Virginie only shook her head. "It is 
not possible. You do not know all — ^you can- 
not. My father is — perhaps — worse than 
dead. He — but still, I feel very close to you. 
We have both suffered. We understand — 
each other. I — I love you!" And she kissed 
Patricia impulsively on both cheeks. 

Another silence followed, the girls sitting 
close together on the couch, in wordless, un- 
derstanding sympathy. Suddenly Virginie 
sprang to her feet, her dark eyes gleaming. 
"Hush ! Listen !" she cried. "I heard a 
strange rustling outside the door. Can it be — 
some one listening?" She hurried to the door 
and pulled it open, Patricia close at her heelr. 
The corridor was empty. 

"It was probably only a maid going by,' 
laughed Patricia. "You 're as scary as I a^^ 
I do believe. I heard it, too. But let 's go and 
settle down again. I 'm sure we 're going to 
be the best kind of friends. Is n't it lucky 
we 're right across the hall from each other?" 

Hut Virginie did not assent to the latter 
question. Instead, she put one of her own. 
"Do you speak French at all ?" she inquired. 
"I have studied the English, but I speak it with 
difficulty. I think only in French, and I can 
express myself better in that tongue. It is 
my native language." 

"Oh, I 'd love to talk French with you!" 
agreed Patricia, joyfully. "Father made me 
study it and speak it with him ever since I 
was a little girl. But I have n't had much 
practice in it lately, and I don't believe my 
accent is very good. We '11 use it all the time, 
and you can tell me when I make mistakes." 

So they began to chatter in French, to Vir- 
ginie's evident relief, and her manner pres 
ently lost much of its restraint. At noon 
Patricia sent down for a delicious luncheon 
to be served for them both in the room, but 
was thoroughly disgusted to find that her pet 
aversion, Peter Stoger, had been sent up with 
it. And though he seemed anxious to arrange 
the table for them, she summarily dismissed 
him, shutting and locking the door after him 
with a shudder. 


"i thoroughly detest that man," she con- The afternoon wore away, finding the two 

fided to Virginie. And, rather to her surprise, girls still in each other's company, still ex- 

Virginie heartily agreed with her, changing girlish confidences over fancy-work 

"I know. I feel a great dislike toward liini, and books. But they did not refer again to 

Virginie's father, and 
both seemed to avoid 
any reference to war 
subjects in general. 
Patricia longed to take 
the girl more into her 
own confidence about 
her fattier and his af- 
fairs: but. mindful of 
Captain Meade's con- 
stantly reiterated 
warnings, she resisted 
the impulse. 

At half past five 
Virginie remarked 
that she must return 
to her room and dress 
for dinner, as Madame 
Vanderpoel would 
soon be back. 

"Tell me," asked 
Patricia, "why do you 
not call her aunt, as 
she is your mother's 
sister-in-law? Itwould 
be natural," 

Virginie suddenly 
retired to her shell 
again. "I never have." 
was all she vouch- 
safed. "I — do not 
know why — that is 
— " They were walk- 
ing toward the door 
as she replied. All at 
once she stopped. 
tensely rigid, "There 
H is again !" she whis- 
pered. "Do you not 
hear it?" There was 
indeed a curious in- 
termittent sound, as of 
"no ««,• W HMWW P viBOiinA. cUHoms to MWiOA BPAaiioincAi.i,Yf' g^me one cautiously 

tiptoeing down the 
1 think he is an enemy. I think he is — watch- carpeted corridor. Patricia opened the door 
ing." with a quick jerk, 

"Precisely what / 've thought !" cried Patri- The hall again was empty. But at the far 

cia. "Is n't it queer that we 've both felt the end of the corridor, where it turned into an- 
famc about him! Uhg! I wish now (hat we 'd other, the wall was illumined by a brilliant 
gone down to the dining-room. Wc could patch of sunlight from some window out of 
have sat at your uble. You have another sight, .^nd blackly on that patch of sunlight, 
waiter. Well, never mind. Let 's enjoy our- as on a lighted screen, was outlined the sil- 
»«lves now, anyway." houctte of 3 man's form, and of something 




else that he evidently carried in his hands. 

"You see?" whispered Virginie, clinging to 
Patricia spasmodically. 

"Yes, I see!" answered Patricia. 

The motionless silhouette was unmistakably 
the form of Peter Stoger, carrying a tray. 



"I don't like it all, somehow, and yet I can't 
exactly tell you why." Captain Meade shuf- 
fled the books and magazines on the sitting- 
room table, rearranging them precisely and 
absent-mindedly. On his forehead was an 
anxious frown. 

"But, Daddy," cried Patricia, "what possible 
objection can there be to my being friends 
with ^^at lovely girl? She is so lonely and so 
sad ! I just love her already. Think what she 
has suffered — and is still suffering! It seems 
as if it w<iuld be simply cruel not to be friends 
with her now, after what she has told me." 

"But the very things you *ve told me about 
her and your conversations with her make me 
feel there 's something strange about the whole 
affair. She 's not as candid and open in man- 
ner as I should like. She seems to be hiding 
something all tl^ time. And her relationship 
to that Madame Vanderpoel appears singular. 
She says the woman is her aunt, by marriage, 
yet she does n't seem to care to call her so. I 
am deeply sorry for the girl, if her story is 
true, as it probably is, but I feel as if there is 
much that she is concealing. And I frankly 
confess that I do not like that Madame Van 
derpoel. Why should she have told you that 
the girl was ill with a severe headache, and 
then you go in and find her in the best of 
health, apparently? Things don't hang to 
gether, somehow." 

"Well, what am I going to do?" demanded 
Patricia, almost in tears. "Madame Vander- 
poel has invited me to go with them on a trip 
to Creston Beach to-morrow and spend the 
day with them there. I suppose she wants to 
do something in return for my looking after 
Virginie to-day. She spoke to me about it 
as we passed her table to-night. You had 
gone on ahead to speak to Mrs. Quale. I told 
her I 'd ask you about it. Are you going to 
say I must n*t go?" 

Th< c^f^i'djv tngt^cd at the end of his short 

mustache and strode up and down the room 

perplexedly. At length he spoke. "You simp 

ly must trust me in this matter, honey, and rc- 

member that I 'm not an old tyrant, but just 

a cautious Daddy, striving to do what is best 
for us all. You will have an engagement with 
Mrs. Quale to-morrow. Fortunately she sug- 
gested to me this evening that perhaps you 
would care to spend the morning with her and 
help her select some wall-papers for her house 
that is being re-built and decorated. And let 
me offer just this wee bit of advice. See as 
much as you want of this little Virginie when 
you can be with her alone. She is a poor, 
forlorn child who is suffering greatly — of that 
I feel certain. And I believe there is no harm 
in her. But avoid, if you can, any engage- 
ment or invitation which includes the older 



Father, what do you suspect her of? What 
are your suspicions about her?" 

"I suspect her of nothing. I do not care 
for her on general principles. Sometimes we 
have only instinct to trust, and mine tells me, 
just now, simply to be careful. That 's all. 
Now call her up on the 'phone and say you 
will not be able to accompany them, and thank 
her, of course, for so kindly thinking of you." 

Patricia did as she was bid, and was an- 
swered by Virginie, who said Madame Van- 
derpoel was not there. "I 'm so sorry that 
I '11 not be able to go, but Father had made 
another engagement for me," Patricia assured 
her, and there was a murmured reply over the 
instrument that the captain could not catch. 
But when Patricia hung up the receiver, her 
face was a study in perplexity. 

"What do you think she said, Daddy? *I am 
not sorry. I enjoy seeing you more by our- 
selves.' That was all, but is n't it singular? 
I don't believe she cares for that aunt of hers. 
And yet, I can't understand why. Madame 
Vanderpoel seems lovely, to me, and she ap- 
pears to be so fond of Virginie. I '11 take the 
hint, however. And it fits in very nicely with 
what you advised me to do, too. Oh, by the 
way, Daddy, I nearly forgot to tell you what 
happened' this afternoon. And if you don't 
think that Peter Stoger is spying, after you 
hear it, I give up." And she described to him 
the strange incident in the hall. 

This time the captain did not laugh at her 
fears. Instead, he frowned and looked wor- 
ried. "That does certainly seem suspicious. 
I *11 have to look into the matter," he vouch- 
safed, and refused to discuss the incident 

In the two weeks that elapsed after the fore- 
going incident, the friendship between the girls 
increased, after a fashion, but Patricia was at 




times sorely puzzled and perplexed by the 
strange moods and whims and actions of her 
new companion. On one day they would be 
in each other's company for several hours, 
visiting in the Meade's attractive sitting-room, 
where they read or sewed, or taking long 
walks or trolley-rides into the country. On 
these occasions Virginie would be almost 
clinging in her confidence in, and affection 
for, Patricia. Not the tiniest flaw would mar 
their intercourse, and Patricia would acknowl- 
edge herself more deeply interested than ever 
in this attractive girl. Then on the next day, 
perhaps for several days following, Virginie 
would seem distant, reserved, morose, some- 
times almost disagreeable. She would pass 
Patricia with the coldest nod, refuse to make 
any engagement tu be with her, and almost 
seem to resent any advances toward the fur- 
therance of their friendship. Patricia worried 
and grieved about it in secret, though she 
would not openly acknowledge, even to her 
father, that Virginie's singular conduct hurt 

Madame Vanderpoel, on the contrary, al- 
ways seemed most cordial and friendly, and 
while she never. commented on her ward's con- 
duct to Patricia, would often cast at her a de- 
precatory and apologetic glance when Vir- 
ginie was more than usually disagreeable in 
manner. Plainly, the girl's strange conduct 
tried her sorely, though she was always very 
sweet about it 'and ignored it whenever pos- 
sible. Never again, since the first occasion, 
had she attempted to induce Patricia to ac- 
company them anywhere or spend any time 
in their united company. Altogether, so 
thoughtful and agreeable was she, that Patri- 
cia, more fascinated by her than ever, often 
found herself wishing that she were at liberty 
to see more of this pleasant Madame Vander- 

One rainy afternoon, Captain Meade having 
gone out, to be away till a late hour that night 
on a lecture engagement, Patricia called up 
her friend on the house telephone to ask her to 
come across the hall and spend the rest of the 
day with her. She did tfiis in considerable 
trepidation, for Virginie had been more than 
usually morose and disagreeable and distant 
for a number of days past. As it happened, it 
was Madame Vanderpoel who answered the 

"Why certainly, my dear! Virginie will 
come over at once," she replied cordially. "She 
has been quite lonely this afternoon, and wish- 
ing for something to do. You are very kind." 

Patricia had just begun to frame an answer, 
when, somewhat to her surprise, the receiver 
at the other end was suddenly hung up and 
the connection cut. The action was very 
abrupt. And though she told herself she cer- 
tainly must have been mistaken, she thought 
she had heard, before being cut off, a voice in 
the room With Madame Vanderpoel declaring, 
"I will not go!** It was all very puzzling. 

Virginie did not come in for some time, and 
in the interval Patricia framed a resolution. 
She would fathom this girl's singular con- 
duct to-day or never, even if she had to ask 
the most personal questions to do so. 

When the little Belgian at last arrived, she 
was polite, but distant, in manner, and dis- 
tinctly unhappy. To Patricia's cordial re- 
marks she returned only monosyllabic answers, 
was restless and ill at ease. They were sitting 
together on the couch, each pretending to be 
deeply engrossed in her fancy-work, .when Pa- 
tricia with widly beating heart, suddenly de- 
termined that the time had come to put her re- 
solve into eflfect. 

"Virginie," she began, abruptly turning to 
the girl, "won't you tell nfe what is the trouble? 
What have I done to offend or annoy you? 
You are often so strange in jfour actions to- 
ward me. I cannot understand it. I — " 

But she got no farther. To her intense 
amazement and dismay, Virginie suddenly 
threw herself across the couch in a passion of 
wild and violent weeping. It was sevei:al 
moments before Patricia could sooth her back 
to a state where she was able even to speak. 

"Oh, I knew you would think this ! I knew 
it. I knew it !" she sobbed. "I knew the time 
would come when I must explain — or lose 
your friendship. If you only could trust me. 
If you only knew — " 

Patricia, at a loss for words, could only 
squeeze her hand in silent assurance. 

"But you never will know — and I never can 
tell you !" she went on wildly. "I love you — 
I love you — as I love no one else on earth now 
— ^beside my father. Do you believe that?" 

"I believe it if you say so," Patricia assured 
her quietly. "I feel sure you arc telling me 
the truth." Her calm, soothing manner was 
having its effect on the girl's hysterical con- 
di<-'on. Virginie herself suddenly became 

"I wish you would make me a promise," she 
continued. "If you knew my life and all that 
I have to endure, — all the puzzling, bewilder- 
ing things that are pulling me this way and 
that — ^things that I perhaps can never tell you. 




because they would concern others, — I know 
that you would promise me this, never to care 
whether my manner seems cold toward you; 
never to think unkind thoughts o£ me. no 
matter how I may act — to say lo yourself al- 
ways, when I seem the worst, 'Virginie loves 

"You told me once, Virginie," she began. 
"that you had dotje a good deal of work in 
water-colors at various times, but voti liavr 
never shown me any of your sketches. Have 
you any here with you. and if so. coul.l I ,siv 
them ? I 'm awfully interested in that sort of 

me ; she does not mean this mood for me !' Could 
you make me thai promise, Patricia ? Some 
day, if God wills, 1 may be able to explain." 

"Indeed, Virginie," cried her companion, 
sincerely touched, "I trust you every way and 
always ! I 'II never be annoyed any more, no 
matter how you act. I 'II understand that it 's 
something quite outside of myself that is 
causing it. Will that make you feel any better ?" 

Virginie did not answer in words, but the 
grateful pressure of her hands was sufficient 
response. The atmosphere having thus been 
cleared, Patricia abandoned the subject and 
plunged gaily into something quite different 

thing, though 1 don't do much of the kind my- 

"Ah, yes !" cried Virginie, brightening at 
once. "I have a whole portfolio in my room. 
I will go to fetch it. I love the work, and I 
turn to it whenever I have an opportunity." 
She ran out of the room and hurried back 
with a. batch of color sketches that she spread 
out on the couch. They were really exceed- 
ingly clever, as Patricia recognized at once. 

"Why, this is wonderful. You are a real. 
out-and-out artist, and I never realized it be- 
fore !" she exclaimed enthusiastically. "I 
dahble a little in that sort of Aing mystV 




once in a while, but I 'm not a great success. 
t do wish I had inherited some of father's 
artistic ability. He can do beautiful work, 
but I only just love it and admire it." 

"Ah, your father is also an artist?" de- 
manded Virginie, interested afresh. 

"Well, I don't know that I 'd call him ex- 
actly an artist/' qualified Patricia. He can 
draw and paint 'most everything fairly well, 
but he does excel in one thing. He *s crazy 
about it, — it 's a regular hobby with him, — 
entomology, you know, the study of bugs and 
moths and caterpillars and butterflies, and all 
that sort of thing. And he can make the most 
beautiful sketches of them. Many 's the day 
I 've gone on a long butterfly hunt with him, 
and then have come home and watched him 
make sketches of the specirtiens we 've caught. 
Just let me show you some of the things he 's 
done. I think he has a number of his pet 
sketches in his trunk. He never travels with- 
out them." Patricia brought her father's 
sketches and placed them in Virginie's hands. 

And now it was Virginie's turn to exclaim 
over the really beautiful work of Captain 
Meade. There were caterpillars and moths 
and butterflies, executed with consummate 
skill and exquisitely colored ; each labeled with 
its own name and species. Virginie marveled 
over their curious titles. 

"Ah, but see here, what • singular names — 
The Silver Spot,' 'The Red Admiral,' The 
Painted Lady' ! Why are; they so called ?" 

"I think it 's mainly because of the differ- 
ent marking on the wings," answered Patricia. 
"You see, each one — ^but what 's that? Some 
one knocking?" She ran to the door and 
opened it. Madame Vanderpoel stood outside. 

"Do pardon me," she began hesitatingly. "I 
am making this little blouse for Virginie and 
have just come to a place where I can go no 
farther till I try it on. May I come in?" 

"Why, surely!" returned Patricia, courte- 
ously, and Madame Vanderpoel entered. As 
Patricia had feared, however, there was an 
immediate chilling of the atmosphere as far 
as Virginie was concerned. The girl said not 
a word, but obediently, if ungraciously, slipped 
the pretty blouse over her head and stood in 
silence while Madame Vanderpoel made some 
necessary alterations. The lady herself strove 
to appear quite unobservant of the change and 
chatted on brightly while she completed her 
work. Patricia, bewildered and uncomfort- 
able, also tried to appear as though nothing 
tmasual was the matter. But she found the 
task difficult At length, Madame Vanderpoel, 


declaring herself satisfied with the result, rose 
to go. While passing the table, however, she 
noticed Captain Meade's sketches, and, layin.c: 
down her sewing, stopped to examine them. 

"Ah, what beautiful, what unusual work!" 
she murmured, taking them up, one by one, 
and asking Patricia some questions about 
them. But at last she took her departure. 

"Oh, by the way, may Virginie stay and 
have dinner with me here in our rooms?" 
questioned Patricia, before she left. Madame 
Vanderpoel gave her consent and was gone. 

It was some time before Virginie recovered 
her spirits after this interruption, but when 
she was herself again, the two girls resumed 
their now wholly delightful intercourse. 

"Let 's send down for some sarsaparilla and 
fancy cakes!" suddenly cried Patricia. "I 'm 
hungry and thirsty, too, and it 's a good while 
till dinner-time." She telephoned her wish to 
the office, and Chester Jackson presently 
knocked at the door with the order. 

"Golly !" he cried suddenly, catching sight 
of the mass of sketches on the table, "but 
them 's purty things! You 'd think. they was 
the real article lit all over the place. Can I 
look at them?" Patricia laughingly gave her 
consent, and he turned them over, chuckling 
at their names. But he, too, at Ifength de- 
parted, and the girls were not . interrupted 
further till dinner-time, when Patricia asked 
to have the meal served in the room. 

It was Peter Stoger who entered later with 
a heavily laden tray, approached the table, 
glanced about helplessly a moment, then plant- 
ed the tray directly on top of all the sketches 
littered over its surface. 

"Oh, be careful !" cried Patricia, in dismay. 
"Don't you see what you 're doing? Hold 
the tray until I remove those things." Peter 
indifferently lifted the tray while she hastily 
collected the sketches and put them aside. 
Then he stolidly resumed his work of arrang- 
ing the meal, and withdrew. 

It was late when Captain Meade returned. 
Patricia had been telling how she had spent 
her day, and had just come to the part where 
she had showed his sketches to Virginie. 

"Great Jupiter! You didr he cried dis- 
tractedly. "Why on earth did n't I warn you 
not to! I never dreamed you 'd be tempted 
to do such a thing. Where are they — quick?'-. 

Patricia watched him in a mystified daze as 
he nervously shuffled them over. What could 
it all mean? Had she done wrong? 

"It 's just as I feared !'' he groaned. ''The 
Crimson Patch is gonet^ 


And he could n't abide the least delay. 
But wanted his will at once, they say. 



The king, he fretted; the queen, she cried; 
The courtiers groaned, and the maidens sighed. 
But the prince had something, himself, in view. — 
Something, indeed, entirely new, — 
And he said to them all: "I want the moon 1 
And I bid you know that I 'd like it soon!" 



SON of my heart." the queen replied, 
"Be never a wish of thine denied! 
Let the moon be gotten at once!" she cried, 
"It shall grace the top of our Christmas tree!" 
Then much distressed were the maidens fair, 
And the courtiers gasped in blank despair ; 
The chamberlain frowned and scratched his head ; 
But never a word was rashly said. 
For there was n't a soul did care to try 
To fetch the moon from her place on high. 

Then the king cried: "Now in our time of need 

Should the fairy godmother come at speed; 

For surely none but the fairies know 

The road to the moon from the earth below ! 

Our herald shall summon the lady fair. 

And beg that licr magical statT she bear. 


iB*Q HE ?<Mliiiat1ier came at the mnnarrh's vinrA 


HEN circles three on the ground she drew, 
And thrice on a silver whistle blew, 
And thrice she struck with the magic stick, 
Then called on the prince to mount it quick, 
"Now mind thy manners!" she sternly said, 
"Thou art lost if a single tear be shed; 
For there 's never a place in all the skies 
For even a prince who frowns or cries I 
And forget thou not that thy hold be tight, 
And thou safe shall ride to the moon to-night I" 

l3« — y 





Author of "On the Battlefront of Engineering," "Inventions of the Great War/' etc 

There are three cottages shown in the plan of 
Packing-box Village which was published in 
the October issue of St. Nicholas, and of 
course it will not do to build them all alike, 
or our village will look like a factory town. 
We are rather limited in our architecture by 
having to build our houses out of boxes, but 
two houses can be made very different in ex- 
ternal appearance by giving them roofs of dif- 
ferent design. The cottage described in the 
November issue was a two-room house with a 
olain gable-roof. We could make it look like 
an entirely different cottage if we used two 
cable-roofs, one over each room, but that over 
the rear room at right angles to the first one. 
Better still, suppose we add a third box and 
make an ell-shaped house, such as that indi- 
cated at the corner of Main Street and Cot- 
tage Place. 


Figure i is a roof plan of the cottage, with the 
three boxes, X, Y, and Z, shown in dotted 
lines. The boxes will have to be treated as 
they were in the two-room house, that is, the 
tops will have to be removed and the sides 
framed at the top. The side of box Y where 
it joins box Z and the side of box X where it 
joins box Y should be removed, and doorways 
will have to be cut leading from one room to 
another. There is one gable-roof over the two 
boxes X and K, which we shall call the main 
roof and which is constructed exactly as was 
the roof over the two-room cottage. 

The roof over the front room, Z, will be a 
little more difficult to construct, particularly 
where it joins the main roof. For this roof 
we shall need two gables, such as are shown 
in Fig. 2. One of these gables, which is to be 
at the front of the house, must be boarded up 
as shown at A. The other gable, however, can 
be merely a skeleton gable as shown at B. The 
construction of the gables was fully described 

the two previous issues. 

The gables must be set up on the ground, 
as shown in the drawing, just far enough 
apart to rest on the box Z and clear the roof 
over box Y, Be sure that the gables are verti- 
cal and at the right distance apart, and then 
fasten them in this position temporarily by- 
means of strips, C, C, nailed to the eaves, and 
diagonal strips, D, D. The strips D, D must 
not extend to the peak of the gables, because 
we shall have to have room to nail on' at least 
one of the roof boards at each side before they 
may be removed. After the gables have been 
set up, as shown in Fig. 2, mount them on the 
box Z, as in Fig. 3. 

Lay a roof board on the gables, resting it, 
temporarily, on a couple of nails as shown. 
This board should be long enough to allow for 
cutting it off at an angle where it meets the 
main roof. In order to get the proper angle, 
take a board, £, with its two edges truly paral- 
lel, and lay it flat on the roof board, with one 
edge resting against the main roof. Then, 
along the opposite edge of the board E draw a 
line, which will show us where to cut off our 
roof board. This line is marked F, F in Fig. 
4. First cut the board along this line, F, F, 
keeping the saw at right angles to the face of 
the board, that is, on the line G, G. Now if w^ 
set the board in place again, we shall find that 
while the inner edge fits neatly against the 
main roof, the outer edge of the board will 
stand away from it. This means that we shall 
have to undercut the edge of the board as indi- 
cated by the line H, H. Just what the angle 
should be between the lines G, G and H, H will 
depend upon the slant to the gable roof. ' The 
undercutting may be done either with a saw, 
a plane, or a draw-knife ; and it does not mat- 
ter if we cut too much, for it is not necessary 
to have the inner edge of the board bear 
against the main roof as long as the outer edge 
does. Having cut one board, we have a pat- 
tern by which all the rest of the boards may 
be cut 

The roof boards may now be fastened to the 




gables, and after the two boards have been 
nailed on at the ridge of the roof, the diagonal 
braces, D, may be removed, and eventually the 
braces, C, after a few more roof boards are 
fastened on. When the boards are all on, the 
projecting ends may be sawed off about a foot 
from the gable, A, 

The main roof is not cut away 
where it meets the front roof. 
This may be done, if desired, 
but it simplifies the construction 
to let the main roof run clear 
through from front to rear of 
the ell. This will leave a pocket 
back of the gable B, which may 
be boarded up and fitted with a 
door, providing a handy closet 
for the storing of odds and ends. 


While we are on the subject of 
roofs, we may as well look into 
the contruction of dormer-win- 
dows, as these add a good deal 
to the appearance of the house. 
Figures 5 and 6 show how a 
dormer-window may be 'made. 
First, we must construct the 
outer wall of the dormer-win- 
dow, which should be made of 
a couple of boards fastened to- 
gether with battens to form a 
wall, A, 18 inches wide and 2 
feet high. The lower edge of 
the wall must be beveled at an 
angle of forty-five degrees, so 
as to rest on the roof of the 
house. Measure up 15 inches 
from the bottom at each side of 
this wall, and draw diagonal 
lines from these two points to 
the top of the wall at the center. 
This will show us where to cut 
off the wall so as to form a 
gable. The part cut away is 
shown by dotted lines in Fig. 5. 
On the face of the wall, the rafters, B, are 
nailed. They are strips of wood not more than 
2 inches wide, mortised at the peak and ex- 
tending a couple of inches or so beyond the 
wall at the eaves. 

Before proceeding further, we had better 
cut the window, which should be an opening 
measuring about 8x10 inches, and, as in the 
case of the other windows, it should be framed 
with strips, C, C, at Uie top and bottom, and 

side-strips, D, before the opening is cut out. 
The next step is to build the two wings, £, 
E. These are made of a couple of boards 
fastened together with battens, so as to make 
a piece 15 inches square. A line is drawn 
diagonally from one corner to the other, and 
the piece is then cut into two triangles, one 

for each side of the dormer-window. The 
wing-pieces, E, B, are now nailed to the side 
of the boards A, A, as shown in Fig. 5. 

This doAe, we may prepare to set up our 
dormer-window. First, we must draw a cen- 
ter line, F, F, (Fig. 6) at right angles to the 
roof, and two other lines 9 inches each side of 
it, to mark where the wings, B, B, are to come. 
Nail a couple of strips, G, G, to the rool along 
these lines. The dormer-window is now set on 




the roof about a foot from the eaves, or far 
enough to bring the face of the dormer-window 
in the same plane as the face of the house, 
and the wing-pieces, E, B, are nailed to the 
strips G, G, Lay a rod from the peak of the 
dormer-window to the main roof, on the line 
F, F, and be sure to have it perfectly level. 
This will give us the point where the ridge of 
the roof of the dormer-window will meet the 


main roof, and from this point lines are drawn 
to the wing-pieces, E, E, which will show us 
where the roof of the dormer-window will join 
the main roaf. This done, we may proceed to 
nail our roof boards on the dormer-window, 
cutting them off at an angle, which will be the 
«me as that used on the roof boards shown in 

Fig. 4. The dormer-window should have an 
overhang of at least 4 inches beyond the wall 

Another improvement to our roof is to pro- 
vide a chimney not set astride the ridge, as 
was described in the last issue, but apparently 
emerging from the side of flie roof at some 
convenient point. All we need to do is to take 
a long box of square section, and saw off the 

lower end at an angle of forty- 
five degrees, when it can be 
nailed to the roof, as shown in 
Fig. 7, driving the nails in on 
a slant 


Another way of varying our 
cottages is to vary the design 
of the front entrances. Instead 
of having a porch, such as was 
described in last issue, we may 
provide one of the houses with 
an old-fashioned stoop. The old 
Dutch stoop consisted of a plat- 
form without any roof, but with 
a couple of high-backed settees 
on each side of the doorway. 
For the sake of variety, we 
might arrange our boxes all in 
a line and have our stoop in 
front of the middle box, with a 
gable over the doorway. Fig. 8 
give us an idea of the appear- 
ance of such an entrance. 

The settees are easily made 
if one has a compass-saw, with 
which he can cut curves. First, 
we must lay out the side-pieces 
of the settee, as shown in Fig. 10. These will 
have to be three feet, three inches high, 10 
inches wide at the top, and 15 inches wide at 
the bottom. The best plan is to take a board 
10 inches wide and add to it another S inches 
wide. Often boxes come with boards that are 
tongue and grooved, and these will serve our 
purpose admirably. In order to get the proper 
curve for the upper part of these side-pieces, 
take a big sheet of paper and lay it off with 
vertical and horizontal guide-lines, as shown in 
Fig. 9. With these guide-lines, it will be a 
simple matter to draw a curve aporoximately 
like that shown in the figure. The paper pat- 
tern should be pasted on one of the side-pieces, 
when the board may be cut by sawing along 
the curved line right through the paper. Af- 
ter one of the side-pieces has been cut out, it 




can be used in place of the paper as a pattern 
for the other side-pieces. 

Fourteen inches from the bottom of the 
side-pieces {A, Fig. lo) aail the battens, B, 
for the seat boards to rest upon, and along the 
rear edge of each side-piece nail strips, C, 
alxMit an inch square, against which the backs 
of the seats are to Ik nailed. The stoop should 
be abotit two and a half feet wide, which 
means that Ae side-pieces of the seats must be 
spaced as far apart as that, and then seat 
boards, at least an inch thick, must be cut out 
to fit between two side-pieces. They are 
nailed to the battens, B. This done, the settees 
should be set on the platform of the stoop and 
carefully leveled up, so that the side-pieces 
stand perpendicularly, after which boards are 
nailed to the strips C to form the backs of the 


ThEU is another ornamental feature that 
may be added to improve the appearance of 

our cottages, namely, flower-boxes at the win- 
dows. Boxes about 6 inches deep and a little 
longer than the width of the window may be 
used. They need not be more than 9 or 101 
inches wide. To support them we shall need 
brackets, which may be constructed as shown 
in Fig. 12. The three-cornered wooden pieces- 
are formed not by cutting a comer off a board, 
as shown at A in Fig. 11, but by cutting 
pieces out of the board, as shown at B, B, B. 
The advantage of this is that the grain of the 
wood will not run vertically or horizontally, 
but will run diagonally to the box and the face 
of the house. A comer-piece is nailed to a 
board, C, by driving nails through from the 
back of the board, and the box is nailed to the 
bracket by driving nails into it from the top 
of the box. The brackets may then be nailed 
to the wall of the house just under the win- 
dow-sill by driving nails through the pieces C. 
Window-boxes 611ed with geraniums or other 
flowers that have bright blooms will add won- 
derfully to the attractiveness of a cottage. 

(.To be cotitinMtd) 


I lots of fun for a while, but it 
becomes monotonous after a time. Far more 
sport will be had if the see-saw is made to re- 
volve as well as move up and down. It is not 
a very difiicult matter to make such a merry- 
go-round see-saw after iJie plans given in the 
accompanying drawings. 

Work should be started first on the stand 
of the machine. For the head of the stand we 
shall need a wooden disk. Instead of cutting 
this out, which may prove bothersome to one 
who is not experienced in the use of tools, we 
may knock out the bottom of a couple of peach 
bjskets and nail them together, with the grain 
of one running at right angles to the other. 
The upper face of this circular head should be 
covered with a sheet of tin, as shown in Fig. i. 
At die center of the head we shall want to 
dice a holt for the see-saw to revolve upon. 
This should be a H" •»lt ahout 4" long. ^Take 
a Mock of wood about 3" square and iVS" deep 
and bore a }4" hole through the center of it to 
recave the shank of the bolt. At the under 
iid( of the block the hole should he enlarged 
to receive the head of the bolt. This block 
<A, Fig. r) may then be nailed to the head, B, 
wift the threaded shank of the bolt projectinK 
upward We must now cut out two pieces, C 
and D, 8" long and i J^" wide, which should be 

notched at the center, so that they may be 
fitted together to form a cross. The head must 
be nailed to this cross. 

For the legs of the 
stand we shall need four jt 

pieces 3' wide and a'-o" ^T^ ^ 
long. Opposite pairs of &_r 
legs must be conn 
the bottom by m 
braces; for instai 
legs E and F are 
connected by 
means of the 
brace G, and the 
legs H and / by 
means of the 
brace /. The 
braces G and / 
are also notched 
at the center, so 
that they will fit 
together and form 
a cross. It will 
he noticed that 
the leg £ is nailed 

to one side of the ' 

brace G, and the '"■■■ ' 

leg F to the other 
side of the brace. In the same way the 



leg £ is nailed to one side of the piece D. 
and the leg F to the other side of it. The 
legs should have a spread at the bottom of 
4*-o", and, in order to make the stand steady. 
the braces G and / .should he connected by 
means of pieces K. 

Fig. 2 shows the stand completely assembled. 
Care must be taken to cut the leg.s at the bot- 
tom so that they will bear evenly on the 
ground. This may be done by setting up the 
stand on a 
smooth floor and 
propping it up so 

tional view, Fig. 5) just large enough to re- 
ceive the nuts of the bolts. Holes are then 
bored in the ends of this head through which 

MC. 3 

level, after which 
a strip of wood 
3" wide is set up 
on the floor 
against a pair of 
opposite legs and 
a line is drawn 
' on them along the 
upper edge of the 
strip. The same 
is done with the 
opposite pair of 
i legs, and then the 
"G. a legs are sawed 

off on these lines. 
For the revolving head (t. Fig. 3) of the 
machine we shall need a piece of wood 2" deep. 
3" wide and 12" long. Two ordinary casters 
must be fitted to the head so as to revolve on 
the tin surface of the stand head. At the cen- 
ter of the revolving head a hole must be bored 
to receive the bolt projecting from the block 
A. The see-saw is to rock on bolts M, project- 
ing from the ends of the revolving head. The 
best way of fitting these bolts in place is to 
bore a couple of holes in the top of the revolv' 
ing head (as shown in Fig. 3 and in the see- 

the shanks of the bolts may pass to engage 
with the nuts. These bolts should be alrout 3" 
For the see-saw body we shall need two 

strips of wood, N. Fig. 4, iz'-o" long. 3" wide. 

and fS" thick. These should be spaced apart 

by means of a couple of spreaders, 12" long. 

shown at in Fig. 4, The ends of the two 

strips are then brought together and nailed. 

and on them are secured a couple of seats. 

In front of each seat there should be a vertical 

post, P, Fig. 5, for a hold. 

The see-saw may now be assembled by 

fitting the body, N, over the revolving 

head, L. Holes are bored through pieces 
N to receive the bolt.'i 
M. The bolts are passed 
through these holes into 
the head, L, and are 
screwed into the nuts. 
Then the head is fitted 
on the bolt that pro- 
jects from the block A 
and is held in place by 
a nut. This completes 
the machine, and it will 
be lots of fun swinging 
up and down on it and 
spinning around at the 
same time. 

Gordon Bbucb. 


There is a story about an old lady who said 
she 'd had a great many troubles in her life — 
most of which had never happened. It was 
much to be hoped, in the latter days of Octo- 
ber, that the troubles which seemed to be 
about to descend upon us might somehow be 
prevented from happening. Worrying about 
them, of course, could do no good. (Worry- 
ing never does any good!) But the clouds 
were so very black that the country had to 
prepare for a storm. 

The Watch Tower does not look for 
trouble. It looks for just the other sort of 
thing. But we cannot gaze at a dark sky and 
say, "What a beautiful day it is !" 

The situation was extremely serious. Only 
a fool could have said there was no reason to 
be alarmed. A huge black wave of discontent 
was sweeping over the country. Strike fol- 
lowed strike, and the "industrial unrest" 
spread fast and far. Instead of a peaceful, 
happy, and busy people, we seemed like a rest- 
less, half-sick nation. The suspicion of in- 
justice caused angry desire for revenge. 

Gradually this vague discontent and lack of 
harmony took more definite form. The revo- 
lutionists organized on a larger scale. Yes, 
revolutionists ! For back of the labor troubles, 
there was deliberate disloyalty and opposition 
to the Government of our United States. It 
is not a bit more than the truth to say that in 
October, 1919, this country faced a peril as 
ereat as that of the months before the Civil 

In i860 the question was whether States 
had the right to secede from die Union. In 
1919 it was whether any part of our popula- 
tion could be greater than the Government, 


whether the interests of any minority could 
prevail over the interests of the nation as a 

Probably it was a clear understanding of 
the fact that the one way to settle a difficulty 
is to get each side to state its position definite- 
ly that led the President to call a conference of 
men representing capital, labor, and the pub- 
lic. Perhaps it was a mistake to have the con- 
ference assemble without a program. Pos- 
sibly the President thought such an arrange- 
ment would lead to a more candid debate. But 
the conference broke up without achieving any 
positive results. One important object was ac- 
complished, however, in showing the people 
at large where the leaders of each side stood. 

Finally, when the leaders of the coal miners' 
organization refused to call off the strike set 
for November 1, by which the operation of all 
the mines would be stopped, the Government 
took a firm stand. The Cabinet prepared, and 
the President signed, a proclamation declarine; 
that the strike was illegal, unjustifiable, and in 
direct opposition to the welfare of the nation, 
and that every power of the United States 
Government would be used to suppress this 
revolutionary movement. 

And so it came to a show-down between the 
forces of lawlessness on the one side, and 
Uncle Sam and his loyal friends on the other. 
Probably by the time this number of St. 
Nicholas is out, we shall know whether the 
America of Washington, Lincoln, and Roose- 
velt is to he preserved in accordance with their 
ideals, or is to be bruised and battered by 
those who put their own desires above the in- 
terests of this great nation. For there are 
men in this land who would wreck it, as Trot- 
zky and Lcnine have wrecked Russia, to gain 
their own selfish ends. There are leaders of 



labor who would betray the honest, loyal, A CHEERFUL ECHO OF THE WAR 
laboring man. 

The boys and girls of America can 
thills to help: they can quietly, but deter- 


minedly, oppose disloyal, disorderly talk. And 
they can help greatly in the important work 
of Americanization. 

Keep cheerful, keep busy, and show every- 
iKidy that Young America is forever on the 

Eight million women did Red Cross work in 
country during the war. If anybody 
thinks it was n't work, let him consider these 
facts and figures : 

In less than two years they made and as- 
sembled 371,000,000 articles of use for suffer- 
ers in the war. This product was valued at 
nearly a hundred million dollars. It included 
surgical dressings, hospital garments and sup- 
plies, garments for refugees, and various com- 
forts for the soldiers. 

In a single month, last February, the Red 
Cross workers took care of nearly 300,000 
home-service cases. In all, half a million or 
so of families had help, advice, or comfort of 
one sort or another from this splendid organi- 

Figures don't tell the story. Ask "the 
boys'* ! When you consider the work done by 
the Red Cross overseas and at home for sol- 
diers, sailors, and their families, — on the field, 
in camp or hospital, and in thousands of houses 
where those who stayed behind bravely bore 
their burdens of anxiety and distress, — you 
Just simply have to "hand it to" the women 
and girls ! 

And credit for one tenth of this good work 
is given to the juniors. 

People say they are "tired of hearing about 
the war," but there 's nothing dreary or pain- 
ful in this part of the record. 


Theodore Roosevelt, being a good American, 
loved his home. He might be President in the 
White House; he might be touring the world, 
the honored guest of kings and emperors, or 
hunting in the far-off jungle: but always his 
heart was at home in Oyster Bay. 

A short distance out from Oyster Bay, on 
one of the Long Island country roads, ts a 
little red brick school-house where some of 
die Roosevelt children began their education. 
Here the Colonel used to go every year to 
take part in the Christmas exercises; and here 
it was, most fittingly, that on his birthday an- 
niversary the forty-eighth star was sewed on 
the Roosevelt Memorial Flag by girls of the 

The flag, which had been carried across ■ 
New York State by relays of boys, was then 
borne from the school-house to the near-by 
crave of the ex-President, and was spread 
cjver it. It was tate in the autumn afternoon. 



and the ceremony was perfonned in silence, 
broken only at sundown by the solemn notes 
of a bugle, sounding Taps. 

No finer honor was paid, or could have been 
paid, to the memory of Theodore Roosevelt 
The memorial speeches at Washington could 
not have pleased him so much as this simple 
ceremony, near his home and by the children 
he loved. Theodore Roosevelt was not only 
the warrior who fought for the square deal; 
he was the friend of Young America, the boys 
and girls who will be the American men and 
1 of to-morrow. 


Probably it does not seem strange to yoi. 
young Americans, this business of our being 
involved in Italy's problems, but to us who 
are older, it is hard to "get." The United 
States has, of course, frequently had reason 
to be interested in events in other lands, and 
concerned over the policies of European gov- 
ernments. But it is quite a new thing for us 
to be actually taking part in European politics. 
Now, there 's a deep question for you. It 's 
too deep for us — and some of the statesmen 

who must try to answer it seem to be flounder- 
ing. Perhaps we ought to try to keep our 
good old United States out of it, or perhaps 
the time has really come when we can't help 
giving up our old-time "isolation." 


Thb visit of the royal family of Belgium was 
a delightful affair all round. If all kings had 
been like King Albert, perhaps — you know? 

Of course we were particularly hearty in 
our greeting to the king, queen, and prince 
because in America we are all kings, queens, 
princes, or princesses. Probably it was a spirit 
of true friendliness, without a tinge of dis- 
respect, that made it possible to hear on the 
streets of New York questions like these : 
"When is Albert going down the avenue?" 
and even this : "Did you see King AI yester- 

The queen won all hearts with her tmaf- 
fectedly friendly manner. The prince made 
us all laugh when he escaped from a dull 
formal dinner to have some real fun with his 
young American friends at a dance. And thi- 
king must have added something like 100,000, 


ooo friends to his list. We liked liim when he 
rode to West Point in a plane instead of a 
train, and we loved him when he stood bare- 
headed at the tombs of Roosevelt and Wash- 
ington, paying tribute to the memory of these 
great Americans and to the country they had 
so nobly served. 

If all international relationships could be 
so pleasant, no wars could ever get started. 
The St. Nicholas family joined joyously 
in the nation's salute to the King and Queen 
of the Belgians — with three special cheers for 
the Prince! 

General Mitchell, of the army air service, 
pointed out the military usefulness of the air- 
men's experience in this flight. America, he 
said "is probably the last of the great nations 
in her actual developnicnt of air power, mili- 
tary or commercial." Here 's a chance for 
Yankee brains and courage. 


The journey from New York to San Fran- 
cisco used to be made in ships going all the 
way around Cape Horn. Then came the days 
of overland voyaging in prairie-schooners, the 
Pony Express, and finally the transconti- 
nental railroad. 

No, not "finally," for our gallant airmen 
have now made the flight from one coast to 
the other and back. And what is still to come, 
who shall say? 

Lieutenant Belvin W. Maynard, the Flying 
Parson; Sergeant Kline, his mechanic; and all 
the other pilots and helpers who entered the 
wonderful round- trip cross-continent air race 
earned glory. Some of those who started the 
daring fli^t were injured; several lost their 
lives. Such is the price of progress. 

Lieutenant Maynard predicted that before 
long air-planes would be making the trip from 
coast to coast in three days, and in "a year or 
two" there would be long-distance freight and 
passenger service. 



Stop, look, and listen ! Doing that when some 
young folks were discussing St. Nicholas, 
we heard one young miss say : "Oh, THE 
WATCH TOWER is for boys I" Good gra- 
cious I but that little niece of Uncle Sam's 
was wrong, w-r-o-n-g, wrong! How could a 
properly regulated Telescope, such as ours 
certainly is, possibly help seeing what the girls 
and women are doing, along with the boys 
and men, in and for the U. S. A. they all 
love? Is n't Mrs. Maynard, with the little 
Maynards, just as interesting to look at' as 
her husband, "Parson" Maynard, climbing into 
his machine at the start of the cross- continent 
air race? The whole family appears in our 
pictures. It is n't possible to suppose that 
many St. Nicholas girls skip THE 
WATCH TOWER, and there ought not to be 
any who miss the fun. It will be well to 
remember, young ladies, you will soon be 

"Food prices tumble, U. S. bureau reports." 
That newspaper head-line looked pretty good. 
But the article showed that the "tumble" in 
September was a 2 per cent, one, while prices 
after it were still 88 per cent, higher than 
those of 1913. Still, if food prices were to 
continue going down 2 per cent, a month, con- 
sider what it would cost to eat in February, 
1923 1 

Theke has been a good deal of talk about the 
poor pay of teachers in the schools and pro- 
fessors in the colleges; it is said that ^any 
of them have found that they can make much 
more money in other "lines." Harvard, 
Princeton, Cornell, and other colleges are 
campaigning for funds. At Cornell, there ap- 
peared in a students' parade a transparency 
saying, "$125,000 will feed a prof and his 
family for a million years." If teachers and 
professors leave the schools and colleges to go 
into business, better salaries will have to be 
paid to get good men. Our boys and girls who 
are planning for their future need to know 
about these things. America will need good 

teachers more than ever in the next fifty years. 
There is no reason why good teachers should 
not be well paid. But this fact should also 
be borne in mind, that the life of a school- 
teacher or a college professor has some pleas- 
ures and rewards that are not open to those 
who go into business or the professions. One 
of them is the opportunity to go on reading. 
Studying, and ' thinking. And it is no small 
thing, either, for those who like that way of 

Finally, "last the best of all the game," here 's 
Christmas — the jolliest Saint's own day ! 
And they do say it 's goinir to be one of the 
finest Christmases ever. Well. well, and so 
it should: a giving Christmas, a Christmas 
both joyous and thoughtful, and — don't you 
think? — just a wee bit more of a religious 
Christmas than we used to have five, eight, 
or ten years ago. Here 's to you all. a merry 



Three timber- wo Ives, big, furry, and not near- 
ly so ferocious as they look, are on the trail at 
the American Museum of Natural History. 
That every one has so far escaped their pur- 
suit is due to the fact that the wolves are kept 
behind glass. But they appear very deter- 

The representation is very true to life, for 
wolves are usually nocturnal in their habits, 
spending the day in their dens and going 
abroad at night During a great part of the 
year they travel singly or in pairs, but in the 
winter they live together in packs and go in 
numbers in search of prey. One of the wolves 
is nosing the tracks of a deer. The second is 
sniffing the air as he slins out from between 
the gloomy evergreens. The third wolf is !ust 
mounting a little hill, his head low as he fol- 
lows the scent. Their wav is lighted bv the 
soft, clear glow of the moon, and the nieht 
sky of deep blue sheds a blush luster over the 
whole scene. 

The timber-wolf is a soecies commonly 
found throughout the West and Northwest 
The particular scene shown represents the 
foot of the Arapaho Peaks, in the Silver Lake 
region of Colorado. 

W. T. Perry. 


Few people realiie the ease with which the 
most beautif'il sprays of spring blossom may 
be secured in midwinter. In January and Feb- 
ruary there is a great demand for blossoms 
for house decoration. There is a simple means 
of meeting this need, as you will sec. 

It is well known that the buds on flowering 
trees and shrubs are in a very advanced state 
before the plants go to sleep for the winter. 
Packed away into a small space are the bloom 
and foliage for the next season's growth. 

Knowing this, we may anticipate the magic 
touch of spring and fill our houses with lovely 
flowers. The first thing is to go out into the 
garden or the orchard and gather branches of 
my of the spring-blooming shrubs and trees. 
Within the present writer's experience among 
the best sorts for this plan are cherry (wild 
or ornamental), plum (wild or ornamental). 

flowering currant (Rtbes). Japanese quince. 
and almond. 

See that you gel boughs with plenty of buds 
on them. The practised eye of a fruit-grower 
will at once be able to distinguish these from 
the ordinary foliage buds. Even the uniniti- 
ated person will soon notice that the bloom 
buds are fatter and shorter than those which 
produce only leaves. Moreover, they are often 
grouped together on a short, twiggy growth. 

Take pains to get boughs of a shapely appear- 
ance, such as will look well in vases about the 

When all the branches have been collected, 
take them indoors, and with a knife pare away 
several inches at the lower part of the stem. 
Then get jars or bowls of water and place 
the boughs in these. For about a week keep 
the branches in a rather dark comer, and then 
place diem right in front of the sunniest win- 




dow in a well-warmed room. Put fresh water 
in the jars every ten days, but this is all it is 
now needful to do. 

In a very short while after bringing the 
boughs into the warm room the buds will be- 
gin to show that the change from the frosty 
air outside is appreciated. Quite soon the 
bloom buds will start to break open, and it will 
not be long before the branches are covered 
with the most beautiful flowers. These last 
in good condition for a long while, much long- 
er indeed than is the case with sprays of a 
similar kind that open in the ordinary way. 
S. Leonard Bastin. 

Huge war demands, combined with regular 
trade uses, for rare metals created a scarcity 
in the market for these products which sent 
the prices of some of them soaring far above 
the highest previous quotations. 

Take platinum as an illustration. The con- 
stantly growing world-wide demand for it, 
coupled with an extreme shortage, caused a 
rise in value from $14.12 a troy ounce in 1901, 
to $36.05 in 1914, while in October, igiS, pure 
platinum was bringing $105.00 per ounce. 
Even in its unrefined state it was valued at 
approximately $90.00 per ounce, and almost 
impossible to obtain at that figure. 

It was so scarce that when 21,000 ounces ot 
this precious metal were brought into the 
United States they were regarded as a great 
prize and immediately commandered by the 
Government for the Ordnance Department, 
and deposited in the United States Assay Of- 
fice at New York, where they were quickly re- 
fined and put into metallic form for immetliate 

These precious nuggets came from the east- 
ern slope of the Ural Mountains in Russia. 
Because of the very disturbed conditions in 
that country, it would never have been safe to 
trust the shipment of this badly needed ore 
to the ordinary channels, so it was carried as 
personal luggage by an American citizen over 
the Trans-Siberian Railroad through Siberia 
to Vladivostok, concealed from the prying 
Bolshevik troops, and through Japan direct to 
the United Slates. 

Having been refined and put into metallic 
form, this metal was drawn down into very 
fine wire and spun into platinum cloth, in 
which form it was utilized by the Ordnance 
Department in the manufacture of nitrates at 
the government nitrate plants. 

The great importance of platinum for many 
special purposes is being increasingly appre- 
ciated. Most of us, however, know compara- 
tively little about this metal, which lends in- 
terest to some very instructive investigations 
regarding it which Dr. George F. Kunz, an 
expert metallurgist, made for the Government. 

According to Dr. Kunz, European knowl- 
edge of the existence of platinum dates back 
only to 1735. As early as 1741. Charles Wood, 
an Enghsh metallurgist, had already brou^t 
to England specimens of the new metallic ore 
from South America. In view of the fact 
that in 1916 platinum sold at five times the 
value of its weight in gold, it seems curious 
that from 1760 to 1790 it was employed in 
Spain for making counterfeit gold coins. To- 


day the value of the counterfeit is more than 
five times that of the genuine coin. 

Of the amazing ductility of platinum, one 
of its great advantages over many of the 
metals. Dr. Kunz says that it may be better 
conceived when we consider that out of a 
single troy ounce of the metal is would be 
possible to make an almost infinitely slender 
wire that would reach from Santiago, Chile, 
across the continent to Rio de Janeiro, a dis- 
tance of about iSoo miles. To draw ont pUti- 




nura so exceedingly fine, a wire of it is covered 
with a thin layer of gold. This gold-and- 
platinum wire is drawn to the thinness of the 
one, and the goM is then dissolved away. A 
portion of this second wire is then g^ven a 
coating of gold, redrawn, and the gold cover- 
ing dissolved. After this process has been 
several times repeated, the wire secured is so 
fine as to be virtually invisible to the eye. 

The use of- platinum in making jewelry 
dates very far back in its history. In the 
Peruvian Hall of the American Museum, New 
York City, there is a fine collection of platinum 
ornaments from Ecuador, consisting of rings, 
pins, bracelets, plates, etc. They were found 
in graves of the aboriginal Indian inhabitants 
of Ecuador. Its first known use for this pur- 
pose in Europe was in 1787, when it was used 
in making ornaments for the French crown. 

Before the Great War over 90 per cent of 
the world's supply came from Russia, but the 
supply from that country had already shown 
signs of lessening. The deposits in Colombia, 
South America, rank second to those of Rus- 
sia, but while they are being developed . with 
greater energy than formerly, the work there 
is more or less irregularly carried on, and the 
slightly increased output goes but a small way 
toward making good the loss of the Russian 
metal. In the face of this situation, earnest 
and intelligent search for platinum is now be- 
ing made in various parts of the world. 

Another metal similar in appearance to 
platinum and used for many of the same pur- 
poses, which also experienced a sudden jump 
in price during the war, is silver. 

The rapid retirement of gold from trade 
channels forced on governments and indi- 
viduals a new respect for silver. 

It is a curious fact that the movement of 
silver for 2000 years has been from west to 
east In India alone there are 2,000,000 sil- 
versmiths that require two thirds of the 
world's output. There is no more interesting 
chapter in the whole romance of silver than 
this strange devotion displayed for the metal 
by the old East. Given a choice between gold 
and silver, the Hindu, the Chinese coolie, or 
Lascar sailor will take silver every time. 

Apart from its employment as coinage and 
for certain war uses, there is an increased de- 
mand for silver in arts and industries. More 
trinkets and ornaments of solid silver were 
sold the last war Christmas than ever before. 
As there has been a gradual decline in the 
world's production of silver since 191 1, it is 
easy to understand why the price of silver 

should have risen. In 191 1 more than 225,- 
000,000 ounces came out of the mines — a 
record production. In 1917, it was estimated, 
barely 170,000,000 ounces were produced. The 
curtailment of mining in Mexico, the shutting 
down of great copper mines which produce 
silver also, strikes, shortage of fuel, and the 
alarming rise in the price of chemicals neces- 
sary for the refining of silver accounted for 
the decline. 

For three hundred years most of the world's 
silver has come from Mexico, the United 
States, Peru, Bolivia, and Australia; and 
within recent times Canada has added to this 
production from mines of incalculable rich- 

In this country, Nevada still leads in the 
production of this metal, and now that silver 
has become so much more valuable, there is 
talk of reopening many of the abandoned 
mines on the Comstock Lode. This marvelous 
deposit has produced about $750,000,000 in 
silver, and it played an immense part in re- 
habilitating the finances of the United Statf^s 
after the Civil War. 

James Anderson. 


About four miles north of Atchison, Kansas, 
is located Lake Doniphan. This lake is di- 
rectly over fields of natural g^s, which bubbles 
up through the water the entire year round in 
various places. These jets of gas, if we may 
call them such, vary greatly in size. Some 
of them are so large that they prevent the ice 
from forming over the spots where they bubble 
up, even though there may be a foot or more 
ice over the rest of the lake. 

The smaller jets are not so powerful, and 
the gas from them gathers under the ice, and 
being warm enough to melt the latter slightly, 
often form pockets which are from fifteen to 
twenty yards square. These gas pockets are 
very handy indeed to any person crossing the 
lake on a very cold night, inasmuch as a 
natural bonfire can be lighted in an instant by 
simply cutting a small hole through the ice 
and touching a match to the gas as it escapes. 
Although the gas will burn but two or three 
minutes, its heat is enough to warm the chilled 
traveler and send him on his way rejoicing. 

One precaution, however, has to be taken; 
that it, to stand with back to the wind, be- 
cause otherwise the roaring flame is apt to be 
blown right against the traveler, who is thus 
likely to get badly singed. 

WAI.TER K. Putney. 



The native of India shown here is making a 
rope ckarpoy, or Indian bed. A completed 
bed stands behind him. Instead of placing 
the strands of the rope across the frame and 

weaving back and forth through them as we 
should expect, he employs an entirely different 
method. The only strands he places before 
the weaving begins are those that form the 
crosspiece at tlie right-hand end of the bed. 
He then stretches his cord from the nearer 
(right hand) comer to the farther (left hand) 
comer and back, and then starts his design 
immediately by drawing the cord under and 
over ihe two strands thus formed. He pulls 
tight as he works, and builds them up from 
one comer diagonally across to the other, 
around the wooden frame, over and under the 
cord in place, then around the frame and 
back to the &rst comer. He has worked along 
the sides of the frame and has nearly reached, 
the opposite comer from which he started. 
When he has done this, the weaving is com- 
plete. All that there remains to be done is to 
wind rope from the loose end of the matting 
to the other crosspiece of the bed so that the 
slack can be pulled up. A mattress of this 
type is very cool to sleep on. 


A VERY curious happening is sometimes ob- 
served in winter in parts of Canada. This is 
known as frost music, and it has often puzzled 
a good many travelers. A friend of the writer 

was once riding along the shores of a lonely 
lake in winter. The water was covered with 
ice, and, all around, there was snow. Sudden- 
ly the air was filled with a strange moaning 
sound, which seemed quite unaccountable. 
There was not a breath 
of wind stirring at the 
time, and the spot -was 
miles away from any 
human habitation. 
Sometimes the sound 
was so faint that it 
seemed to be a long 
way off, and tlien again 
it would swell out to a 
loud, deep note that 
filled the whole air. 
Much puzzled, my 
friend continued his 
journey, and it was not 
until later in the day 
that he heard the mys- 
tery explained. 

As a matter of fact, 
he was told, he had 
been listening to the 
frost music. \Vhen win- 
ter sets in, the lakes arc often frozen over 
very suddenly, and the sheet of ice imprisons 
a huge amount of air. This moves about un- 
der the hard covering, and as it passes from 
one part of the lake to another, it often forces 
its way through narrow channels and then 
the moaning sound is produced. It is strange 
to think that this air will not be set free until 
the springtime comes again and the ice on the 
lake melts. 5. Leonard Bastin. 

HOW '8 weather for FLYING? 

SOHK day it may be a common thing for those 
planning a pleasure dash by air to arrange 
with the Weather Bureau for daily reports, 
without risk of running into bad weather. 
Such an expedition, which started from Port- 
land, Me., September 27, and, if all goes well, 
will end at Pensacola, Fla., in December, af- 
ter visiting more than a score of the principal 
cities on the Atlantic coast and in the Ohio an.l 
Mississippi valleys. The flying boat NC-4 is 
the craft taking this journey. When the fly- 
ing boat stops at regular Weather Bureau 
stations, the lieutenant in charge of the ex- 
pedition has the weather maps and forecasts 
placed at his disposal. At other pmnts, the 
reports are telegraphed from convenient 
Weather Bureau stations to the fliers. 




In, winter, when the dark comes soon and toys are on the shelf, 
I sit beneath the table and write letters to myself. 
From one myself that goes to church in best new hat and coat 
To t' other one that makes mud pies I write a httle note. 
There 's one that "s postmarked "Wonderland," from Alice, so I see. 
To come some day and take with her a nice mad cup of tea. 
The Little Lame Prince writes to me from his high, lonely tower; 
He 'II lend to me his traveling cloak when I 've an extra hour. 
A postal-card from Mother Goose begins; "My dear! My dear!" 
And a funny note signed "Santa Claus" says, "Christmas Day is near I" 
And as I start to write replies, when every one I 've read, 
The tea-bell rings, and crawling ou*. I always bump my head. 
Hilda IV. Smith. 

Last month, you will Tcmembcr, we printed m tliit for theie pages — too old to work for the League, 
Introduction a graceful tribute to the League from but never too old to love it I 

-an Honor Mcmljer. This month we give space here The League has been one of mj' best friends, anil 

to an appreciative and afTcctionate farewell message — T do love it I It has helped me to lind a work, it 
from another Honor ifember whose contributions has encouraged me. il has taught me. 
will be recalled with pleasure by League readers: Now I have almost reached the place where I must 

..„ .,,_.„ say "Good-by." In the years lo come, I will always 

LOOKING AHEAD. rerriember ami love the League. I shall read the con- 

" "■- "■" '- tributions whenever I have a chance. I know, and 

read them with something akin to longing. 

Cood-by, dear League, and all succcm be yours I 


(In making awards, contributors' ages are considered.) 

PROSE. Gold Badge, Ruth H. Thorp (age U), Ohio; ConsUnce Marie O'Hara (age 14), 

Pennsylvania. Silver Badges, Adelaide Humphrey (age 13), Ohio; Eudora V. Blakeney, (age 

13). North Carolina. 

VERSE. Cold Badge, Dorothy E. Reynolds, (age 17), Montana. Silver Badges, MoUIe L. 
Craig, (age 12), Massachusetts; Eloise FTye Burt (age 15), Rhode Island. 

DRAWINGS. Cold Badges, Dorothy Burns (age 16), Minnesota; Lucy G. Olcott (age 17), 
New jersey. Silver Bldgcs, Katherine C. Swan (age 15), Indiana; William W. Burgeat, Jr. 
(age 16), California. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Cold Badge, Louise E. Manley (age IS), Iowa. Silver Badges, Evelyn D. 
Goetz (age 13), New York; Mary C. RuS, (age 17), Pennsylvania; Wendell Richardson (age 
10), New Jersey; Dorothy Patty (age 16), Nebraska. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold Badge, John Roedelheim (age 11), Pennsylvania. Silver Badges, 
Harriott S. Collier (age 14), Rhode Island; Marjorie Whitchouse (age 14), New York 
PUZZLE ANSWERS. Silver Badges, Louise E. Alden (age 13). Massachusetts; Jane Patton 
(age 13)i New York; Mary Jane Burton (age 14), Ohio. 

I 10. (lILVEa »iUCS.> 




iHonor Uember) 
Oh, Chrlitinat cbimesi sweet Christmas chimeal 
Vou make me thinic of happy times ; 

Of love and friendship iweet; 
Of sleiKh-bells, evergreens, and mow, 
Of children laughing as they go 

Along the crowded street 1 

Oh, Christmas chimes] sweet Christmas chimes] 
Vou malfe me thinic of cruel times; 

Of pain and death and fear; 
And oE a land where war's long night 
Has darlcened many fireside* bright. 

Where reigns no Christmas cheer 1 

Yon make me think of holy times; 

Oh, Christmas chimes] sweet Christmas chime* I 

A stable dark and bare; 
A manger rude, a golden star, 
Briffht angels singing from afar, 

A Baby lying there! 

Oh, Christmas chimes I sweet Christmas chimes I 
Vou make me think of quid times 

When I hare beard you ring; 
For sometimes, when you 're chiming low. 
To Bethlehem in dreams I go, 

And hear those angeli sing I 


Christmas morning dawned clear and cold on the 
"Old Homestead." And "old Sol" Sun, peeping in 
at every window, saw many happy little scenes 
which radiated the cbeer of Christmaa. The chil- 
dren with the first bit of light were up, and scream- 
ing with rapture at what Santa Claus had left them. 
Church bells merrily pealed forth their songs of 
joy. A great tree atood in the liay-window, and, 
from Graadpa and Grandma down to the youngest 
child, each received a present from its heavily 

ay KUTH H. THOar (ack ii) 
{Honor Membtr) 
TooDi,U is a dear little brown-and-white fox-tefHer 
with a short forever-wagging tail. His home i* a 
comfortable house in a small Ohio town. Hi* family 
consists of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Lane, Bob, Junior, 
:od Gertie. H« is a very devoted pup, and hi* fam- 
ily are as fond of him a» be is of them. 

Bob calls him a "trick dog." Do you want your 
paper? Toodles will bring it to you. Groceries, 
etc? Send Toodles. Amusement? Oh, the many 
ibings that Toodles can do toward that end I 

Now that you are introduced to Master Toodles 
Lane, you will Icnow what consternation and chaos 
[signed when, one'August day, Toodles disappeared. 
For weeks they searched for him, but in vain. Gertie 
died for days, and then went into mourninK- Bob 
hid not his customary cheerfulness, and it was 
always thought that he retreated into a dark closet 
•ereral times without apparent reason. He, too, 
wore mourning in the shape of black tie* (when he 
»ore them at all) and black bat-bands. Mother and 
D»d were very nearly as sorry as the children, 
Certie always spoke of bim as "the dear departed," 
ud refused to let her grief be assuaged. 

It was nearly Christmas, but "Tb* Great Grief of 
Gertie," as Bob said, was still fresh. 

"It won't be any Christmas at all without Too- 
dles," she declared. But scarcely had she spoken 
(tie words when scratching was heard at the door. 
Gertie opened it, and there stood Toodles, a rope 
dragging from his collar. He barked, Gertie 
•creamed, then both 1:>egan to waltz around the room. 
"Where were you, Toodles?" demanded Mother 
Uiat night. Toodles only barked and wagged his tail. 
"Anyway, Mother," said Bob, "he '* home for 
'Tiriitman — and to stay I" 

laden branches. And then came dinner. Are any 

of us too old not to feel 1 ight-hearteil at an "Old 
Homestead" Christmas dinner? The taWe is laden 
with delicious Christmas goodies, and across from 
each other sit Grandpa and Grandma, who have 
smiled across this same table for almost fifty years. 
And at each side ait sons and daughters, grandchil- 
dren, and "in-lawa." But there is one missing, and 
on the mantelpiece is Ted's picture, with a tiny 
gold star hanging above it. And this star, like the 
star of old, which guided the ahcpherds on their 
way, helps and guides this family from bitter sorrow 
into the path of resignation and peace. 

There are many "Did Homesteads" in America, 
and this Yule-til-^ many an old couple in the sunset 
of life will VI At for their familiea to come home 





(Honor Membtr) 
What are tbese Eounds that break upon tb« stilloesi 

of the frosty air. 
These melodies that wahen all the slumbering echoes 

They are the songs of Christmas-tide, to every 

Now 3>weetly played upon the chimes that ring both 

How silently the whole world waits, and listens to 

those bells I 
And with what hope and harmony their joyous 

music swells 1 
A brighter reawakening has come again to earth ; 
The old world leaves its past to greet a new and 

wondrous birtll. 

At first each pealing chime rings out the blessed 

tale alone. 
And then they join with one accord, all blended 

How tremulous beneath the stars the great wide 

inging sound upon its bosom 

O God, Who shaped with master hand the earth, and 

The full hearts o( Thy creatures all, in love, are 

praising Theel 
Oh, help us to begin anew, at iliis glad Christmas 

9 that which swells 



{Honor Member) 
It was Christmas Eve, t^S^. In the Washington 
home. Mount Vernon, there were great preparations 
going on for the marrow ; for was not the great 
man coming back, after eight years of war, to join 
in the Christmas cheer that home alone can give? 

The preparationa took the form of mistletoe and 
holly sprigs stuck in every conceivable place ; loads 
of delicious food, that only a negro cook knows how 
to prepare; waxed floors for dancing; the tuning- 
up of old fiddles, and "sprucing-up" of the gueit- 

Invitalions had been extended to neighbors 
and near, and already the majority had arrived. Such 
bustle and happy excitement I Coaches loaded to 
the doors with belles and beaux, others on horse- 
back, on foot, in chairs, chaises, and wagons, high 
and low, flocked to greet the returning victor. 

Late in the evening a pause in the arrivals oc- 
curred. Suddenly, the sound of horses' hoofs was 
heard. Visitors and slaves hastened to the doors, 
for General Washington had arrived I Sobs, laugh- 
ter, and tears of joy evinced their varied interests. 

The general was escorted to his room by the 
whole flock, and soon the bouse was darkened for 
the night. 

Christmas Day was Spent in pure joy by every 
one. Washington himself led his wife in the pretty 
Virginia country-dances; many a fair belle was 
caught and kissed by gallant beaux beneath the 
fragrant mistletoe, and every one certainly did full 
justice to old Hetty's splendid feast. 

When it was all over, everybody realiied that 
such a Christmas home-coming came seldom, but 
when it did, came with redoubled good cheer. 





(Silver Badge) 

It was almost Christmas Eve, and Harvey Bowen 

walked to his office with a perplexed face. 

"No," be said decidedly, "I will nol have ay home 



taken awa7 from Mother and Father. I will do 
without all the runabouts that ever were made." 

Me had overheard two men talking that day about 
' moTtjcage of one thousand dollars that bad fallen 
due on his little home in Gcorgi^. This was news 
K bim. as bis mother and father did not want him 
to know of it. Tbe next day he went home for bis 

After a loving Jtreeting from his mother and 
father, he shouldered an ax and was off to the 
•oodi to get a Cbristmas-tree for the living-room. 

Tbe neitt morning every thing wore a Christmas 
■ii. Holty and mistletoe hung in every nook and 

corner: gorgeous odors caJne from the kitchen, and 
a cheerful fire burned on every hearth. But deep 
down in Mr. and Mrs, Eowen's heart they were sad, 
for on New Year's Day the farm would be gone I 

As they cut the last gift from the tree, an en- 
velop was handed to Mr. and Mrs. Bowen. Tbey 
opened it and gasped. Then tears of joy sprang 
to their eyes, for there lay one thousand dollars 
and these words. "With love from Harvey." 

That night, as they were going to bed, Harvey 

looking into their happy faces, said, : 

father i 





(Honor Member) 
Tre hills in silver Etretch away, 

And shining hosts of stars look down 
Upon the church's slender spire 

And on the huddled roofs of town. 

A silent anthem scema to rise, 

The wailing hush to breathe a prayer. 

When dear and sweet the chimes ring out 
Their message on the frosty air. 

They tell a tale forever old 

To all the multitudes of earth. 
Yet one forever marvelous — 
The ancient miracle of birth. 

How on a stilt and solemn night 

A mangcr-Iwd of hay aufhced 
To be the holy birthplace of 

Our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ 

Some call Him Lord and Mighty King, 
The Prince of Peace, the Undefiled, 

But chimes ring out on Christmas night 
To Jesus the immortal Child. 

the aviation. After a year of fighting he was shoi 
down behind the German lines and reported killed. 
There was deep sorrow in the little home, beca-usc 
not only Francois's name, but the names of his Mo 
brothers, also, appeared on the lists as killed, T»o 
years later Jeanne's f:itber received his third wound, 
and it was thought that he, too, would die. But 
then something happened that turned the tide. 
Francois came home I He had not been killed, as 
reported, but had spent two weary years in a prison 
camp. The father was so overjoyed that his wound 
was healing rapidly. 

Christmas came around. Jeanne and her little 
sister, assisted by a kind-hearted doughboy, hung iq) 
their stockings, ■'American fashion." They did n't 
expect to find much in them, so imagine their sur- 
prise when, upon arising in the morning, they found 
the stockings piled full of presents. And their sur- 
prise was greater when, entering the dining-room 
for breakfast, they found their father sitting at the 
table. His wound bad healed so rapidly that he bad 
been able to get home for Christmas. He had told 
the nurses and men in his ward about bis two little 
girls, and when he was discharged they gave bim 
many presents for them. So the family spent the 
><appiest Christmas they had had in many year;. 



■ Badge) 


» (AC 


TLB Jeanne was very happy, for her mother had 
Hved a letter from her father saying that be ex- 
led to be home by the last ol January. Monsieur 
'Ot has been in the army three years and had 
n wounded three times. He was in the hospital 
'. There was another reason for her happiness. 
At the beninning of the war her three brothers 
enlisted. Francois, the youngest, bad gone Into 

Thb b 

O'er hill and valley flying; 
The sleigh-bells ring in the frosty air. 

And the wind in the trees is sighing. 
But from every lip rise carols sweet, 

Around the organ singing 
Those dear old hymns the years repeat. 

When Christmas chimes are ringing. 

At night, from every window-sill, 

A candle bright js glowing. 
Peace, happiness, and right good will 

To every traveler showing. 
And every one glad words of cheer, 

To rich and poor is flinging. 
'T is the happiest time of all the year 

When Christmas chimes are ringing. 

Is standing ; 
'atns are Dung in tne window-case, 
he snow-covered road commanding, 
s long since the Christ-child came to 
is love and hope first bringing, 
in these ways we praise His birth 





(_Cold Badse. Silver Dadge K'on December, 1918) 

II was the holy eve of Christmas-tide; ' 
Amid Ihc spacioua halls were sallieiing 

Great lords and nobles, come from far and wide 
To join Uie Vule-iide revels of the Iting- 

Tbe corridors were hung with tapestries. 
And decked with mistletoe and holly e^een, 

While, on the hearth, the Yule-loe, burning bright, 
Shed its glad glow upon the festive scene. 

The king in state sat at the table's throne: 
The boar's head and the wassail-lkiwl went round. 

In jest and song the evening quickly sped ; 
With toasts the royal feast was richly crowned. 

But when the revelry was at its height 
A sudden hust fell o'er the merry throng; 

Through the vast corridors no voice was heard. 
O'er trembling silence fell the midnight gong. 

Then through the darkness came ■ low, sweet sound. 
The silvery chimes in the sharp air a- ringing. 

On the night wind their heavenly muiic came. 
To the still earth its Christmas message bringing. 

now loud and clear; 
"Peace on the earth, "they sang, "good will to men I" 



{Gold Dadse. Silver Badge won November, igtg) 
The letter, addressed to Miss Harriet Conway, Clo- 
verdale. Pennsylvania, and postmarked California, 
Has very thin. Harriet was grestty disappointed 
when she found only the following note: 

Dear Sis: I know how much you like riddles. 1 
will give you a week to decipher this one, but, if 
you can't, I shall have to tell you the answer, as if 
il is important. Ten. 

=7 =7 36 6 IS 4S 39 "8 4S 9 54 '7 39 57 
'i 69 36 13 13 34 'S 13 54 13 34 S7 60 3 
Although there remained only two weeks until 
Christinas, all such things 39 shopping and making 
gifts were forgotten for the next day and the next 
Both Mother and Father ollered suggestions, and 

stories like Poe's "Gold Bug" were read; yet after 
three days the solution continued to be a mystery. 

Il was not until the fourth afternoon that Harriet 
discovered that, with the exception of the 13, all 
the numbers were divisible by 3. "I shall begin 
with A as 3. B as 6, C as 9, and so on," she said. 
"The 13 may be there to separate words because 
it is used so often," she finally decided. 

1 b e o n 
f 1 .3 13 h « 

1 f . 

For several momenta she looked at what appeared 
to be another enigma. Then at last the puzile was 
unraveled I Her brother, whom she had not seen 
for over a year, was coming home for ChirstmasI 

It was in the drawing-room, decorated in ils holi- 
day attire of evergreens and holly, that, two weeks 
later, Harriet was saying to Ted: "It look me some 
time to see that the puzile sboutd be read up and 
down. Do you know," she added lauahingly, "it 
made your home-coming nicer to realize that you 


i think of s 

fould be hoi 



I 16 [ 




(_Silv*r Badge) 
When the »un in splendor rising o'er the house-tops, 

white and coltt, 
Gilds the snow, and on the steeple glints again like 

burnished gold, 
One mar f the lonel; fi^re of the sexton, bent 

As he goes to ring the tidings in the dawn of 
Christmas Day : 
"Peace on earth, good will to men." 

Still the liltle town is sleeping, blanketed by 

glistening snow. 
When the sexton's faltering footsteps nears the 

church-door, broad and low. 
Up he climbs the swaying ladder to the steeple's 

highest spear. 
For there only can the greeting sound so widely 

and so clear. 
"Peace on earth, good will lo men." 

On wings of song the village wakes to a day of joy 

When the earth is filled with gladness and all 

thoughts of trpuble cease. 
Everywhere the chimes are ringing, peal On peal. 

the heavenly strain. 
And the brimming hearts and voices swell and 

spread the sweet refrain : 
"Peace on earth, good will to men." 



{Silvtr Badge) 
Thb Croftons were very much disappointed. They 
had expected fifteen-year-old Doris to arrive on the 
morning train from boarding-school, to spend the 
Christmas holidays with them. But she had not 
come, for some reason or other. They had driven 
ten miles to town to meet the one train that stopped 
daily at B , only to turn disappointedly home- 
Mrs. Crofton surmised that Doris had missed the 
train and would come the next day. 

Suddenly, about three o'clock that afternoon, Doris 
drove up, accompanied by Mr. Johnson, a neighbor- 
ing farmer. 

"We expected you home this morning," said tirs. 

"I had quite a lime." began Doris, tossing a new 
St. N1CH01.AS to the twins, who eagerly grabbed il. 
"The St. Nicholas proved my undoing. You see, 

just before (he train pulled into B . I started 

a simply fascinating story. I was so engrossed I 
did n't even look up when the train stopped. 1 
dimly recollect heating the brakeman shouting some- 
thing. As I was sitting well back in my seat, yo-j 
probably did n't notice me. 

"When I finished the story, I asked the con- 
ductor how soon we should reach B . and you 

can imagine how I felt when he told me we had 
passed it ten minutes before I Well, I decided to 
get oil at the next station. That 'a what I did. The 
first person I saw was Mr. Johnson. He had been 
shopping, and he brought me home. I 'm afraid 
if I had started reading another story, I should u't 
have been home for Christuiasl" 



Frtd Fleyd. Jr. 
IncM A. ilitltr 

RHih Bt-aaki ' 
LBuist Cuyler 

Frit«,„ Forbri 

Alkt F. Mnulto 

Eliiab't"^ Suiimi 

Lou D. HbI< 

Rosamond II 



Dorii L(«l>art 
Mary E. SiocUbi, 
ilWloB H. SlaUiT 
Edith R. PtHtM 

ilan^nt Wart 

Ruth S. Baker 
1 Eleanor L. Roy 
Mary D. mill 
Hope Robinion 
John C. D'tier 



Uargartt Hyit 
Dorothy Fan 

Aridil, Fulltr 
Elinor E, Colby 

Beriha M. 

Josef hine Co:vIe 
We/don Melick 

'- Priicilla Haeelton 

Dorothy P. K. 

Dorothy Miner 
Klhleeu M«rrt- 


L,«d K. Ward tfotluH BrnJUy CamH FrtflMd 

Gracr p. Holcomb Mary E. Hoaii Ahct H. Uarviy 

Evrlyn H. Bulmir j1n«i L. Batingtr 

Silxta ilmi Uan L. Garfiild 


A Hsi ot thome what canlnbaltons were deierrlng of 
high pruHl 

PROSE Marnrd Crouiiw IiracI Tdcbman 

Edna a. Vcrnrll 
H.rriet MtCurlcr LouiK S. Birch PHOTOGRAPHS 

Ann Roe 

Helen B." Hijei 


Eunice W. 


Winifrrf J. 

Uurtr.ce B 




Phalli) B. Hwlgei 

Grace W. Allen 

Chirlei Pill 


I Caiher: 


Kranlior Bord D- Lewu 

^ B^m"' lufherbnd M«Jt"C VivT' 

Madeline Muter) Juli« Sabine Hunter Hair 

Mirian H«l™ E- Moiher Henr^ B(aler. Jr. 

Franlenfield Eleanor Evans Caiolin 

Marr E. Reyeley P«BIT Embick Stephenun 

Dorothr Wood 
Kathleen Landers 
Gertrude Smith 
Helen Fein 
Chiro Heroae 
Susan K. Sinu 
Marr JackKHi 
Minnie PtiferberB 

Silvia WunderUcfa 
Anna M. Sl«*d 
Elizabeth Hunr 
Haivina Holcombe 
Koxoe S. Scott 


Ma-T E- Roche 
Jonca L. Megl« 
DofDthr Eekard 

E)aiior N. Smith John Dorle Mary Swain 

Uarr E. Tracy Frances Wilder j. W. Outerbrldm 

luliel A. Dorothr Cox Eleanor L. 

LocL»ood Arthur F. Roeding 

, Br'.ndi t{. Green Hubbard Lucille Snetder 

Hd™ L. MacLeod Jean McCrum R-ith C. Murpbr 

Hirian Bradler Rachael Jones Cretchen E. 

Blmche Smith EUiabelh Rohhins Wherej- 

«iUic™t F. Cornelia Moffetl Margaret F. 


The St. Nicholas League !s an organization of 
the reailors of the St. Nicholas Macazink. 

The St. Nicholas League awards gold and 
silver badges each tnonth for the best original 
poems, stories, drawings, photographs, puzzles, 
and puzzle answers. 

Competition No. 241 will close Januai; 17- 
Owing to the enforced delay in the issue of 
the November St. Nicholas the subjects as- 
signed for the competition last month, No. 
241, are repeated for the present month. All 
contributions for this extended competition 
must be mailed on or before January 1st. 
Prize announcements will be made and the 
selected contributions published in St. Nicho- 
las for AprtL Badges sent one month later. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty- 
four lines. Subject, "The Call of the Wild." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than 
three hundred words. Subject, "The Story of 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or un- 
mounted; no blue prints or negatives. Young; 
photographers need not print and develop 
their pictures themselves. Subject, "Taken at 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink. 
or wash. Subject, "Sometliing Round," or "A 
Heading for April." 

Puzzle. Must be accompanied by the answer 
in full. 

Puzzle AiiBwerB. Best, neatest, and most 
complete set of answers to puzzles in this is- 
sue of St. Nicholas. Must be addressed to Tns 
Riddle Box. 

No unused contribution can be returned Mnless 
it is accompanied by a self-addressed and stamped 
envelop of proper si:e to hold the manuscript or 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscrib- 
er or not, is entitled to League membership, and 
upon application a League badge and leaflet will 
be sent free. No League member who has 
reached the age of eighteen years may compete. 
Every contribution, of whatever kind. 
nuut bear the name, age, and address of 
the sender and be indorsed as "original" 
by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must 
be convinced beyond doubt — and must 
state in writing — that the contribution ia 
not copied, but wholly the work and idea 
of the sender. 
If prose, the number of words should also be 
added. These notes must not be on a separate 
sheet, but on the contribution itself— if manu- 
script, on the upper margin; if a picture, on the 
margin or back. Write or draw on one side of 
Ike paper only. A contributor may send but one 
contribution a month — not one of each kind, but 
one only; this, however, does not include "com- 
petitions" in the advertising pages or "Answers 
to "Puzzles." 

Address: The St. Nicholas League, 
3S3 Fourth Avenue, New York. 


Hondo, Auakusa, Japan. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Long ago I was told of St. 
Nicholas, and I have ever since been very anxious 
to see it. My wish has been fulfilled at last, and 
nothing affords me greater pleasure at present than 
to pore over the pretty magazine after returning 
home fr6m school. Every story in it. nay, every 
content, is full of life and interest, indeed. I am 
not the least exaggerating when I say that some- 
times I even devour the advertisements. 

I have lived four years on a sea-girt island in the 
south of Japan — a very small island secluded from 
civilization. Most of the inhabitants are peasants 
and fishers, and though surrounded by scenic beau- 
ty, we are, on the other hand, subject to innumerable 
inconveniences. Not only have we to live on humble 
fare, but also we have no chance to enjoy any such 
entertainments as are commonest in a town. Still 
I am happy and content, because St. Nicholas is 
constantly with me. 

I have been studying English for more than ten 
years, but what with my block-head, and what with 
my environment. I have made so little progress in 
my studies that I can not yet thoroughly under- 
stand your magazine without the help of a diction- 
ary. Especially, since I came over to the island 
some four years ago, I have never seen any foreign- 
er who spoke English, while there is even no Japan- 
ese who is competent to instruct me in the language. 
Thus, but for St. Nicholas, I should forever re- 
main destitute of any means of attaining proficiency 
in the branch. 

I must confess that I am a grown-up man of 
thirty-four years old, engaging in teaching at a 
local middle school. But I am still a little boy as 
far as English is concerned, as an English preacher 
very cleverly remarked on my English several 
years ago. 

Wishing well to you and all your readers, I 

Your most devoted reader, 


Portland, OrA. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for two 
years, and I enjoy you very much. I got you for 
a Christmas present, and I think it was the best 
present I have ever had. 

I have only seen one picture of the Columbia 
River Highway in St. Nicholas, and I 'm sure 
others would enjoy seeing this picture I am sending, 
as Oregon's scenic beauties are not very well known. 

This is a photograph of a picturesque bridge, 
taken from one of the falls. It is called Shepherd's 

The highway follows the Columbia River, and is 
sometimes on the side of a mountain and sometimes 
down by the river. There are beautiful falls all 
along the way. 

The highest place on the highway is called Crown 
Point, where you can look all up and down the great 
Columbia, and when the sun sets, the sky and the 
river are all lit up with a golden light. 

Your interested reader, 

Anita Kellogg (age 13). 

Yakima, Wash. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you about the 
wonderful spin I had through the clouds a few weeks 
ago. They have an airplane here, which passengers 
can go up in. My mother and aunt went down to 
the aviation field with me. We got there early, and 
the airplane was still in the hangar. We looked it 
all over. It was a Curtiss tractor biplane, with a 90 
h. p. Liberty motor, 8-foot propeller, and 43-foot 
wing-spread. The mechanics rolled the plane out 
on the field, and soon after that the pilot came. 

A man was to go up first, but he was a bit shy 
about going, so they let me go. I had to have a 
leather helmet and a pair of goggles put on ; then 
the engine was started, and I got in. An airplane 
is not very easy to get into. The passenger sits 
behind the pilot. I was strapped in with a strap 
about six inches wide, then the aviator got in, and 
started the airplane going on the ground. We went 
faster and faster, and then we left the ground. It 
seemed perfectly natural to go off the ground. I 
put my arm out to throw some paper at the crowd 
on the field as we flew pa^t, and it felt as though 
my arm would be blown ofT. 

I felt real cornfortable when I got accustomed to 
the noise of the motor and the strength of the wind. 
I felt so safe and snug away down in my seat, and 
I knew I had a good pilot. We went up 1800 feet, 
and it seemed as if I were right up in the clouds 
nearly. The sun could be seen shining through 
them, though the people below could not see it I 
did not get the least bit dizzy, even when I looke-.l 
straight down. It did not seem as if I was moving 
at all, except when I looked inside the machine. 
Then I felt as if I was going very fast. I felt no 
sensation whatever, except when the aviator made 
a sudden dip. Then I guess I lost my breath, as 
it felt something like a roller-coaster. The next 
time he dipped I did not notice any sensation. Once 
we .turned sideways so far that the people watching 
from below thought the plane was going clear over. 
It seemed as if the earth was on one side and the 
sky on the other, and I did not fall or even lean 
toward the ground. 

Some people think that an airplane rocks and 
rolls in the air like a ship on the ocean, but it 
does not 

I did not get cold, though the only wrap I had 
on was a silk sweater. The air was very fresh and 
good. Sometimes the wind was warm, when it came 
from ofif the motor. Once the pilot shut off the 
motor and asked me if I was all right The wind 
made so much noice then I could hardly hear what 
he said. 

We made a big swoop downward with the engine 
off. When we got quite low the aviator turned the 
motor on again and flew over toward the field. 
Then, to my sorrow, we landed. I hardly knew 
when we touched the ground, except for a few 
bumps as the plan erolled over the ground. 

I did n't feel a bit sick or dizzy when I got out. 
Of course, I felt a little queer when the noise and 
strong wind stopped. 

I have tried to describe my trip to you, but no 
one can tell how wonderful it is, and no one who 
has never flown can understand it 

Your interested reader, 

Esther I<. Cottincham (age 14). 


>C Htih-ten. hTphcn. 

;. 2. Rolland. 1. Srokani 
6, JadooEL 7. GUflEOW. 

itl. Ulc. T»lt. tide 

. Windbam. 

Hand, haTd. hare, fan 

6. Pii< 

, ]in< 


9. Hai 

Nene. i. Eatn. 

Emuii CitAiii. 1. Ediar. 2. Arena. 3. Naial. 4. 
Allow. S. Owned. 6. Educe. 7. Cenlo, 8. Topic. 9. 
Ichor. 10. Order. 11. Erode. 12. Demon. 13. Onion. 
1-t. Onset. IS. Ether. 16. Ergot. 17. Otter. 18, Erred. 
"Tmipu BiHUoiHCi AMD TuPLB CunTiiUHO*. Brown- 

. i»ck. bark, dark, dart, 
-'-iw jVk™" 'fourth 

cart.' 10. lake, later'tane,' Ion 

Novxi. Acaosric. Primali, nnu 

row, Cheiter Arthur. Croaa.war„ 

N«ther. 3. Det«t 4. Reawn. 5. Editor. 6. Whi 
7. Jeerer. S. Annali. 9. Claret. 10. Kirtle. 11. Sag 
12. Occult. 13. N'arrow. 

DouiLE Ctois-woin Ehicua. Antietam, Hananai 
I Di*«o«Ds._ I. 1. I. J. AIL 3. AllO)'. 

I. 5. Lode! 

4. Sw. 

6. Yn. 7. S. II. I. S. 2. Awo. J. 

Wo«D-ADOiTiOK*. 1. Tra^iln*. 
lock. a. Saw-oull. 

I. Fait, latt, loM, loot, tool, i 

S. IV. 1. 5. 2. Aha. 3. Apace. 4. Shaking. S. Acids. 
G. Ens. 7. G. V. 1. S. 2. The. 3. Tramp. 4. Shapely. 

Yellow*. ' 5. Evote. 6. Ewe.' 7. S. Vll.l. S. 'l. Up. 
3. Lille, 4. Salting. S. Plied. 6. End, 7, G. End, ' 

To Oin Pdi 

foreign members and thoie living in the tar Weatern Slatei, [he 29th) of each month, and ahould be addreued to 
St. Sicbous Hiddleboi, care of Tke Cemtuiv Co., JS3 Fourth Avenue, New York Citr. N. Y. 

Soivtas wishing [o compete for prizei mmt give aniwera in full, following the plan of thoae printed above. 

Aiiwiai to AL1. THE PulzLCt tH TBE SirrtulEi NuiiBEi were duly received from Louiae E. Alden— Jane Patton 
—Mary Jane Burlon— Francei Adkine— "Polly -Ardra "—Willi am P. Piatt— Ruth T. Fulton— LouiK Keener— CUriiia 
N. Hetcalf— Charlotte R. Cabell— Cwenf read E. Allen— Virginia Ball- Eliiabeth Faddia— Buell Carej- John F. Davii 
—Margaret Traulwein— Archibald Rutledge— David M. Hudson- Helen H. Mclver— "AUil and Adi''— Uary and 
Ruth- -The Elm"— Helen A. Moulton— '"Three K's"- Florence S, Carter. 

.. . ... t Swrtuala Nvnac» were duly received from Helen de G. MeUIUn. ID— A. HaW, 

10— M. L. Butcher, 10— B, Beardaley, 10— M. J. Stfvrart, 10— B, M. Collins, 10— V. Petlee. 10— V. Fenner, 10— R, 
Ubenberg, 9— Dorothy G. Miller, 9— M. C, Hamilton, 9— M, Milaner, g^Sunley and Lealie. 8— T. F. and M., 7— 
S, Amstein. 7— M. F, Potta, 7— K. H. Hcliaac, 7— M, I. Fry, 7— K. Wilbur, ^L, Laine. 6— E. F, Dana, 6— A, 
I'etera, 6— P. H. Hermea, 6— E, C. Hilli. 5— C. S, Barnea, S— E. I, Chaie, S— B, Sliar[>, 5— E. Rhodei, S— H. A, R. 
Doyle, S— R. Lord, 5—1. Dodda, 5, Four anawera, V, Whitney- P, G. Smyth— N, Ailing— M, T. Vernon— R. F. 
Bechlel— J, Howard- K, Kridel— M, Molt. Three answers, W. T, Logan— S. E, Lyman— B. Davis— M, Griiwold- 
C. Burtenahaw— M. Kidder— C, Whiting, Two answer., B. Hodgkins— M. SwDids— S. Pick— D. Loudenbeck— E, 
Tboma.— L. McKinney— W. Tra.k— G. E. Shepherd— H. J. Miller— H, Gilbert— B. Edv-ards— Uuiae and Dorothr— 
C. de Bernard— D, Hougitad — M. Swan— K. Chleheiler, For lack of apace there cannot be printed the namea of tboae 
wbo aolved one puiile. 


ISilver Badge. St. Nicholas Leafue Competitto 

(Example: Reverse duration and make to send 
iorth. AkswEr: time, emit.) 

I. Reverse a strong fla,vor, and moke a [rouble- 

1. Reverse a movement of the sea, and make to 
prepare for publication. 

3- Reverse a former kiosdom of Spain, and make 
1 name for Christmas. 

4. Reverse to exist, and make sin. 

5. Reverse a heavenly body, and make certain 

6. Reverse a famous volcano, and make a prefiic. 

Kfao faliifies. 

13, Reverse a Latin pronoun, and make a lar^e 
wading bird that feeds on reptiles. 

14, Reverse a masculine name, and make the 
name of a cruel Roman emperor. 

15, Reverse compact and comfortable, and make 

When the fifteen words have been rightly guessed 
and reversed, the initials of the new words will 
spell a man whom everybody honors. 

BAaaioT V. s. C0LL.B> (ase 14.) 


9. Reverse 

' reproaches, and make 
D break suddenly, and make kitchen 
eat a meal, and moke a feminine 
n animal, and make ■ coarse grass. 

Ta solve this 
the first word dc 
of the second v 


take the 

make a rinf of wood U 


around a caslc 


make the first two letters 
on. The last two let- 
ters of the tenth word will make the first two let- 
ters of the first word. The ten words which fortn 
the answer are not of equal length. 

I. A Biblical personage, a. A purple stone. 3. 
A class of ocean travel. 4. A masculine name. $. 
A motion. 6. The opposite, 7, A prophet 8. A 
kind of fur. g. An African. 10. A highway. 
JBKOMB A. U9CHKOFF (age 14), League Member. 


In this enigma the words are pictured instead of 
described. The answer, consisting of twenty-three 
letters, spells a famous occurrence of almost three 
hundred years ago this December. 


{Silver Badge. St. Nichoi^s League Competition.) 
My first is in crease, but not in fold ; 
My second, in hot, but not in cold ; 
My third is in brave, but not in bold ; 
My fourth Is in punish, but not in scold; 
My fifth is in silver, but not in gold ; 
My sixth is in bought, but not in sold ; 
My aevenlh, in primitive, not in old ; 
My eighth is in make, but not in mold ; 
My ninth is in forest, but not in wold ; 
My whole is loved by young and old. 

t (age 14). 


{Gold Badge. Silver Badge won May, 1919.) 
Each of the twenty-one words described contains 
nine letters. When these twenty-one words are 
rightly guessed and written one below another, read- 
ing downward, will each spell a famous type of 

r. Rolling about, as in mire. t. To come into a 
country of which one is not a native, for perman- 
ent residence. 3. Lacking. 4. Putting in order, j. 
The union of two vowels sounds pronounced in one 
syllable. 6. The doctrine of things occult. 7. Per- 
taining to the Jewish princes called Maccabees. 8. 
To inspire with hope. g. A famous poem by Whit- 
tier. 10, That which garnishes, tt. Rubbers. la. 
The public declaration of a sovereign, showing his 
intentions. 13. Wrought with great care. 14. The 
act of ascending. 15, Persons who live near one 
another. 16. A mass or knot of nervous matter. 17. 
A "plug" useful in motors, iS. A majority, ig. 
Fit to be lived in. 20. Embodied in a human nature 
and form. ii. Sorrow for sins. 

JOHN ROEDeLHEIM (age tl). 

e Of a 

CHOSS-wonns : i. The surname of Wisconsin. 
2. A city of Virginia. 3. A city of New Hampshire. 
4. A city of New Mexico. 5. A city of Illinois. 6. 
A city of Michigan, j. A city of Georgia. 
KiUBSTH FAiasANKS (agc )0), LngHt Uember. 


] triply ctntaM satisfied, and 

I. Triply behead and triply curtail a letter that 
is not a vowel, and leave a descendent 

a. Triply behead and triply curtail unprejudieed. 
and leave dexterity. 

3. Triply behead and triply curtail reserve, and 
leave a cold substance. 

4. Triply behead and triply curtail a composer 
of sonnets, and leave a snare. 

5. Triply behead a 
leave a number. 

6. Triply behead and triply curtail one who plays 
a certain brass wind instrument, and leave a snare. 

7. Triply behead and triply curtail a sail ex- 
tended by a sprit, and leave a pronoun. 

8. Triply behead and triply curtail coarse bro- 
cades, and leave a feline. 

9. Triply behead and triply curtail the island on 
which New York City is located, and leave a cover- 
ing for the head. 

10. Triply behead and triply ctirtail lack of 
modesty, and leave a lyric poem. 

II. Triply behead and triply curtail capable of 
being beaten thin with a hammer, and leave a grassy 

la. Triply behead and triply curtail p«rtaining to 
very young children, and leave an emmet. 

ij. Triply behead and triply curtail to dispel. 
and leave to drink in small quantities. 

When these beheadings and curtailings have been ■ 
rightly made, the initials of the thirteen three-letter 
words remaining will spell the name of a noted 
bishop of Myra. , 

MAiCARST i.oucnuH (age ij), Ltague Mtmbtr. 



Conducted by Sahuec R- Simmons 

We had Intended under thEs heading to illuatTBte 
this month more of the "Armistice" or "Mittel- 
Europa" stamps. But space seems to forbid. So 
we picture a new stamp from Zanzibar, the is-cent 
multiple C A, deep blue in color. We do this for 
a peculiar reason. One of our readws writes us 
that he has a scrap-book in which he keeps all of 
the articles that appear on the Stamp Page of dif- 
ferent periodicals. He cuts out the article and 
pastes it in his book, ar- 
ranging it alphabetically. But 
be says that all of our ar- 
ticles come in the first part 
of the book ; that he has n't 
yet » single article under the 
letter "Z" I We know of 
other readers who have such 
scrap-books, and we approve 
j of the idea. So we obliRe 
I our young correspondent by 
illustrating a stamp from 
that moat interesting country, Zanzibar. Zaniibar 
is ruled by a native sultan under a British protec- 
torate. Its earliest stamps were surcharged on those 
of British colonies, but now it has stamps of its 
own design. The one we illustrate is eharacteristic 
of the lower values of the current set. The higher 
values show a native boat. The portrait is that of 
the present sultan, Kalif bin Harah. 

Chbistuas U coming. It wilt soon be here. And 
there are certain number of our readers who firmly 
believe that Santa Ctaus reads Staup Paob. That 
is, if we may judge by the letters which reach ns 
soon after the holidays. Anyhow. Santa Claus finds 
out who of our readers are on the roll of stamp- 
collectors. To such as these, there is nothing more 
welcome as a Christmas gift than something which 
in one way or another helps them in their favorite 
hobby. Indeed, one of the wisest things Santa 
Clans can do for a child is to give bim this help. 
This is not the place to enter into a discussion with 
parents and aunties and teachers, explaining to 
them the educational advantages of stamp-collect- 
ing ; or of trying to show them clearly how much of 
geography, of history, of spelling, or of all kinds of 
general knowledge is absorbed incidentally by the 
boy or girl who collects stamps. And there is n't 
any need of it, either, because Santa Claus already 
knows full well. It only remains foi- Stamp Pace, 
from its long eiperience with young collectors, to 
suggest what might be desirable and acceptable 
gifts for an open- mouthed stocking on Christmas 
morning. In mentioning these, there is really a 
sort of sequence which may be observed. First, if 
it be that this young collector is not already pos- 
sessed of a "home" for his stamps, his Crying need 
is for something of that sort. He naturally wants 
a stamp album in which to place his treasurers. And 
here there is a large field for choice. One's purse 
has to be consulted, of course. For those of limited 
means, undoubtedly the best thing is the Junior In- 
ternational. Of course this is n't quite so big and 
important as the real International ; it has n't so 


many pages or so many spaces. On the othtr 
hand, a small collection, or that of a beginner. i» n't 
lost in it When a boy shows his collection, it 
looks as if there were ever so many more ipaets 
filled, and this is much more encouraging. Oi 
course it is nice to have a real International and 
point out that the stamps which would fill in this or 
that space would cost at least a thousand dollars; it 
sounds so big and important ! But on the otlin 
hand, a smaller book without these expensive pagt! 
is almost as good and certainly fills up much mar: 
rapidly. And what greater glory ts there than to 
have a completely filled pagel It is better to havt 
International than just a National. Tlis 



should collect, stamps from every country in the 
world. Indeed, were it possible to get them, stamp; 
from the moon and stars as well. The wider hi; 
range of collecting, the more general knowledge will 
he pick up. 

After the choice of an album, the next thing the 
young collector needs is a descriptive book of stamps 
which will help him to identify his treasure)— 
teach him where they should go, what spaces to fill 
in his album. For this there is nothing equal to 
Scott'a Standard Stamp Catalogue, with thousands 
of illustrations. This book may be purchased froir. 
any stamp-dealer; but unfortunately, this year xbe 
1920 edition will not appear until March. Still, ont 
could place an advance order for a copy to be de- 
livered upon publication. 

The next need is for stamps to put in the album. 
Here the opportunities are wide and various. For 
the boy who has only a few stamps (and it is for 
these young collectors that we are writing) the best 
thing is a "packeL" Any stamp-dealer will tell you 
about these. Write to some of our advertisers for 
their lists of "packets" and "sets" and study them. 
Buy as large a packet as circumstances permit One 
gets the best value in a large packet. One reader 
of Staup Page wrote us last year that an aunt oi 

with a 

mps 1 

ind his 

talked it over and decided to use the packet 
"grab-box." Instead of looking at all the stamps at 
once, he "grabbed," taking out stamps one by one 
each time until he had picked out twenty-five. Then 
they put the packet away until these twenty-fire 
were all identified and carefully placed in the album. 
We really approve of this idea. A few at a time 
keeps up the interest very much better than a mass 
all at once. The more advanced collector will not 
care so much for a packet ; be will want to select 
his own stamps, pick out those which fill in empty 
spaces, or complete a row, or cover up a printed 
illustration. He will want to buy from "approval 
sheets." The best plan here is to buy for him » 
"credit-slip" with his favorite dealer. The boy can 
then invest this to suit his own desires, according 
to the needs of his collection. One boy wrote ui 
that many of the early United States stamps 
bothered him, that he could not tell what was meant 
by "hard paper" and "soft paper"; so when te 
found in his stocking a credit-slip, he wrote (0 1 
dealer and asked for an approval sheet having 
these stamps on il, plainly marked with the cata, 
logue number. In this way be got the stamps and 

■n page SS) 


S fl-s-<-fi'uflT — Jip Jflta out tha jnott ntlimtjc bark vqu > 

= HMyinlelliabcK— lor ihuniDuiDBiiaw toy i>iirs>l. f 
S dun bl* bulk, too tb* only unvally yst iavcptad ! 

I GIFT—Prlea 


Dancing Doll j 

oag liui><l»d dil- j 

= iunD(uiat.,UTaiT«st,BMtn.iu*. 

Stamp Saving it & faacinacing b"!"- Joi" 
enjoy it* benefits and fun. We will aend 
you B memberahip blank. If you ask for it. 


Building Blocks 

Are A New Building Toy \ 

I Boys and girls can make with j 
I their own hands bird-houses, I 
I doll-houses, garages, wind mills 

I" and many other models. 
Stnnething amusing, 
g interesting and 

a instructive 

Just the thing to ask mother or 
i father to give you for a wonder- 
i ful Christmas present. 

Great fun at all Hmes 

I For sale at any department or | 

Toy Store in all large cities. | 

If your dealer does not cany | 

I Konstructo, •write to us. g 

I I 

I Konstructo G>mpany I 

Manufactured ic 

Office and Saltu 


{Continued from page 55) 
q Quite a few of our own sumps have either por- 
traits of real Indians or Indian figurea introduced 
nto the design. We could not spare the space M 
ist all of them. Very many of the long list of new«- 
laper-stampi in the catalogue have the figure of a:) 
ndian as the central design. The heads on the onc- 
;ent stamp which you own (Scott No. 300) are por- 
raita of real Indians. The central design is Cz;-- 
:ain John Smith. The Indian medallion at the rig^it 
s the famous chief Powhatan, and the one at t'l^^ 
eft is his stilt more famous daughter, Pocahont::r>. 
She it was who saved Smith's life, and artcrwnril 
married John Rolfe. Get your history and read i*;i 
all about these people. It is wonderfully infcrcit'n^. 

fl There have been many stamps issued which ha- e 
pictures of ships upon them. Even if we knew 
them all, we could not spare (he space for a con- 

le of the ship pictured. In many 

in the current issue of Bermuda, probably 

I was in the mind of the designer. 









Dnfii LIHi'i FfKia 

A Happy New Year Recipe 

HERE'S a new Libby recipe that every woman 
will be happy to make and every family happy 
to eat! 

Quite the simplest recipe, too. Scarcely any work 
at all and requiring only easily obtained and inexpen- 
sive materials. That's the real efficiency of the 
Libby foods. They are so good in themselves that 
they better everything with which they arc combined. 

Take Libby's Peaches, for instance. Great plump 
peaches, California's finest, put up in a honey-like 
syrup! Texture, flavor, fragrance — they can't be 
improved upon. Honestly, is there anything finer to 
eat in all the land? 

Start the New Year right — with the resolution to 
let the Libby foods help you set a better table with 
less labor and less money! 

Ubby, McNeill AUbby. 901 Walf>r« Bids.. ChicaKO 

LMi: M^Nria & Ubby. o/ Can., lid. 

"Where queens sal broidering 
WkUt a page read out 0} a Hme-wom book." 


JANUARY, 1920 

I. by The CBtmiBv Co. All Tithu ruemd. 




"Merlhyn, bard of Emrys went to sea in a house of glass, 

and Ike place where he went is unknown." — Ancient Triads of Britain. ' 

There were ships of silver and ships of gold from the tall white clifls set sail; 
The moon laid a path of pearl by night, the sun blazed a burning trail ; 
The seaweed tangled about their prows, and sea-flowers bloomed in their track; 
To the East, to the West they sailed, but oh! for the ships that never came back! 

And oh, for the Home Folk! Day by day they watched for a sail to gleam; 
All night they lay in a weary sleep to watch and to wait in dream. 
At the farthest edge of the wet seashore stood the Boy at the close of day; 
The tide was out and the hollowed sands all purple and silver lay. 

Far out he gazed with an anxious eye over miles of flowering foam; 
"Oh where, oh where do the lost ships go, and why do they never come home?" 
Nothing he saw but the white sea-rim, yet a voice said clear and low: 
"Will you come away, little Wondering Boy, to find where the lost ships go?" 


There, dimly gleaming, a ship of glass lay riding the glassy sea. 

A knight stood up on the crystal prow — Merthyn of Emrys, he. 

His brow was wreathed with the red seaweed; his coat with shells was hung; 

Hia voice was the sound of faery l«lls in dear deep water rung. 


Out under the fading sky they sailed in the wake of the pearly moon; 
They followed her pathway night by night; they followed the sun at noon. 
The sky was fair and the sea was fair, yet — presto! Suddenly 
There came a strange and a dreadful sound of thunder beneath the sea! 

The knight spoke soft to the startled Boy. as he stopped in his childish sport: 
"Now fear thou not, little one. little one; we have only reached our porL" 
The sea rose up and the ship sank low. and the sky seemed far away; 
And then — in a harbor of quiet sails, on a quiet sea they lay. 


There were ships of silver and ships of gold from all ports of Christendom; 
"For this is the Isle of Avalon, the port where the lost ships come." 
The isle was peopled with Happy Folk, in the fields and the groves at play; 
"But where, oh where are the poor Lost Folk?" Said Merthyn, "These are they." 

The glass boat drifted along the sands, and they lightly sprang to the shore. 

The Wondering Boy was happier than he ever had been before. 

A clamor of joyous barlang rose, and a faery dog, silk-white. 

Came bounding over to welcome him — his lost little playmate, Sprite. 

Then Merthyn led him by winding paths through the gardens, summer-fair; 
Past little laughing and leaping groups that ringed round the roses there; 
Past bowers of leafy fragrances where queens sat broidering. 
While a p^e read out of a time-worn book in rhythmic murmuring. 

They stood by a cave in a fair green hill. Dimly, as through a veil, 
They saw the forms of the great High Kii^ and his knights in their shining mail. 
"They wait till the day of England's need; each one shall hear the call; 
And some have answered, and some not yet, and the High King last of all." 

" T is a lovely land — 1 am fain to stay; yet at home my mother dwells. 
Sir Knight, may I lake my little dog?" 

Like the sound of diver bells 
The knight made answer BOrrowful: 

"You could not keep him there; 
For one who has dwelt in Avalon is happy no otherwhere." 

The ship of glass spread a misty sail 

And followed the moon's pale track, 
Bearing the little Wondering Boy 

To the white cliffs safely back. 
And still from those shores the silver ships 

And the ships of gold sail on, 
To the East, to the West, and some, at last. 

To the Isle of Avalon. 

Leger St. John, veteran explorer and traveler 
in the far North, drew his two youi^er comrades 
aside into a doorway of the church in Battle Har- 
bor. His eyes sparkled with characteristic en- 
thusiasm. "Listen to me, fellows. I 've just 
hit on a juicy bit of news. Want to share it?" 

"Do we?" responded the older of the two boys 
he addressed. "You bet we want your news. 
We 're as hungry for news as an Eskimo is for 
blubber. Fork it over!" 

The other lad grinned delightedly, as if he 
exactly shared the sentinlent of his "pal." 

"Listen, then. You know how long we 've 
been waiting for Oleson's ship that was to take us 
to Greenland on the year's exploring trip. Well, 
I 've just received a message that the old man has 
canceled the trip for the year because of inability 
to raise the funds he needs. It was half an hour 
ago when I got the letter and I was mighty down- 
hearted, when who should I run into but an old 
friend of mine, Cap'n Slocum you know, the old 
grizzled sailor-chap." 

"You mean the old fellow with a very red 
face?" said the older of the boys. 

"The same," answered St. John. "When he 
spotted me he sings out, 'Well! Look what the 
dogs drug in!' and gave my right hand a grip that 
made me realize what a soft thing ! was after 
all. And when he asked me what I was doing, I 
told him that I was a has-been and that my hopes 
for a scientific survey of the birds of Greenland 
had gone to smash. The old rascal winked at 
me then and said slyly, 'I can put ye next to a 
leetle bit of knowledge that 'II warm that cold 
scientific heart of yours!' I asked him what it 
was, and he said, 'Have ye e'er heerd of a bird 
called the great hauk?' 

" 'Have I heard of the great auk!' said I. 'The 
great auk! Have n't you ever heard of my essay, 
"The Final Distribution of the Great Auk?'" 

"'I have not,' said the old man, unblushingly; 
'but by some remarks ye let drop when last I 
saw ye, I inferred that ye were slightly interested 
in the subject.' 

"I told him that 'slightly' was a feeble word to 
use concerning my interest in the great auk. 

" 'Well,' said he, winking at space, 'what would 
you say if I offered to take ye to where there is a 
living great hauk?' 

" 'There 's no such thing, worse luck!' said I; 
'the last great auk was seen in 1844. Then the 
race became extinct. ' 

" 'Don't ye know, me b'y,' said the old man. 
'that there 's many a bird and beasde reported 
gone Irom the world when, as a fact, it 's not gone 
from the wodd, but seeking refuge from the sav- 
agery of man. I 've sud the great hauk, so I 
know it 's not out of fashion yet. And what 's 
more, me lad. if ye 'II jine me in a little trip I 'II 
take ye to the spot where I saw it.' 

" 'Where was that?' I asked. 

" ' 'T was on a wild, remote little shore down 
north — one of the group of islands around 
American Tickle. 1 sees a pair of the hauks on 
the beach near a little cave. I can take ye ther« 
on the chance of sedn' 'em ^ain, or perhaps find- 
ing their e^s.' " 

"Welt, what did you say?" asked the older boy, 

"I said I 'd go, and I asked if you fellows could 
go too; and the old man said he 'd be glad of your 
help in manning the schooner." 

"Good for you !" cried the older boy. excitedly, 
wringing the hand of St. John. "Is n't that fine, 
Jack?" be cried. 

The other fellow grinned, "Sure it 's tine. 
Whitey," said he. 

"We sail to-morrow morning with the turn of 
the tide," went on St. John. "So long, then, till 
supper-time to-night. Amuse yourselves as best 
you can, " 

"All right. Trust us for that!" called Whitey, 
as the explorer strode oft; "hey, Jack, old boy?" 

And Jack grinned his assent. 

From the deck of the snug little schooner they 
watched the coast of Labrador slipping by. As 
the sun went down. Cape Spear loomed up ahead. 



The weather roughened a bit during the night, 
but the crew handled the boat with that skill 
which is the inheritance of the Labrador fisher- 
man. The' breeze held, and they were past 
Boulter's Rock and Venison Tickle by breakfast- 
time. Jack would hardly look at the shore, he 
was so fascinated with the stately icebergs which 
they saw all day. Some loomed up out of the 
water on thin stems — these the captain called 
"mushrooms"; others had perfect natural bridges; 
a few soared up "like the Woolworth tower," 
VMiitey said. 

In the middle of the afternoon a heavy sea was 
running. The water heaved up curling green 
mountains; and into the liquid valleys between 
them, the schooner ran like a swift, live thing. 
"I guess I *11 put into Snug Harbor for the night," 
remarked the captain to St. John, who stood by 
him at the wheel. 

They covered the half of Frenchman's Run in 
a wild smother of foam. ' Tall green seas fell 
thundering on the deck. Jack and Whitey, in 
oilskins, held on to anything within reach, and 
watched with deep interest, for they had not 
known such seas before. Once in a while they 
could see the black, wicked-looking coast, with 
its succession ot naked cliffs, conveying to the 
mind the quality that has made the name Labra- 
dor stand for all that is grim and forbidding. 

How smooth and quiet were the waters of Snug 
Harbor after the storm and scurry outside! Sun- 
set emerged in splendor out of the end of the wild 
day, and as they sat at supper in the little cabin, 
with late sunlight streaming in through the port- 
holes, Whitey stretched hiihself luxuriously. 

"Say, Labrador 's a dandy place!" he ex- 
claimed; a sentiment in which Jack fully agreed. 

It was long after sunrise when the boys woke — 
and yet by Whitey's time'-piece it was only five 
o'clock. After breakfast they went up on deck. 
There, half hidden, each behind a huge boulder, 
they saw the half-dozen houses of the setdement. 
The harbor was almost perfecdy round, a snug, 
tight little bowl of sea-water hidden in that for- 
bidding coast. On the low cliffs near the village 
they could see innumerable huskies, each dog 
with his nose up in the air, dolefully howling. As 
the schooner worked out of the harbor, that was 
the last sight they saw, the last sound they heard. 

Whitey and Jack leaned over the rail together. 
They had discovered that the work they were 
supposed to do lay entirely in the imagination of 
the jovial captain. "Have a good time, b'ys," 
he would say; "ye '11 have lots to look at. I *11 
tell ye when I needs ye." The wind had fallen, 
and they were only spinning off four or five knots 
an hour. "Gee ! Look at that sea 1" said Whitey, 
pointing. "Did you ever see anything like that?" 

"No I did n't, ever," answered Jack. 

Although the wind had gone down, the seas 
were still heaving skyward in huge, green, sloping 
hills. Far as the eye could reach, extended the 
wide and moving waste. Now and then a wave 
higher than the others slapped the side of the 
little craft and came aboard, burying the deck in 
a foot of water. The boys stood there, gripped 
by the feeling that has sent millions of boys to 
sea since that time long ago when the first hol- 
lowed log hoisted sail and launched out on green, 
tossing waters. 

St. John was standing behind them. "It gets 
you, does n't it?" he said. "I never come up 
along this coast that I don't get hit with the tre- 
mendous fascination of this icy, savage sea. 
Everything up here is reduced to the simplest 
lines. Life and nature are stripped of ornament. 
Men are primitive as they can be without becom- 
ing savage." 

"Yes, there *s something in it I can't explain," 
said Whitey. "I 've often wondered why these 
people stay here when there 's rich land and an 
easy living to be made in lots of places farther 
south. But I s'pose it gets them the way it gets 



About noon they made a group of islands a 
little way out from the coast. The captain 
pointed. "It *s on one of these that I saw the 
auks. We '11 have to go through American Tickle, 
as it 's called, and anchor inside." 

"Why do they call *em tickles?" asked Jack. 

"It 's the Labrador man's name for a narrow 
run between two islands," answered St. John; "in 
other words, a place so narrow that you tickle the 
sides of your craft going through." 

All hands, except the steersman, now turned 
to and ate a hasty lunch. The captain took the 
wheel himself, for the operation of getting into 
the tickle was one that required the most skilled 
seamanship. The matter was complicated by 
three vicious-looking black needles of rock that 
stuck up out of the water just outside the inlet of 
the tickle. 

At just the right distance from the entrance, 
the captain called out the order that let fall the 
sails. Everybody's labor was welcome in this 
emergency, and the boys had a real pride in help- 
ing handle the boat. Slowly then they drifted 
toward the black needles. With slight move- 
ments of the rudder the captain made allowance 
for tide and even for the pressure of the wind 
against the sides of his ship. They passed the 
nearest of the needles only six inches away, and 
a second later the high, precipitous black rocks 
on both sides of the tickle loomed up. Whitey 
was leaning over the rail on the port side, and 
Jack hung over the starboard. 




"This rock is scraping my nose!" called Whitey. 
"How is it on your side, Jack?" 

"I 've had to lean backward/' called Jack. 
"If I had n't, it *d have taken my face clean off." 

Shut off from the sunlight by the high walls of 
this watery cafion, they felt the sudden increase 
of cold. Ghostly, silent, the schooner glided 
through the narrow way. The tickle made a 
sharp turn, and the captain looked anxious as he 
came to it. Slowly the vessel made the move- 
ment, obeying the rudder with exquisite exact- 
ifess; but even so, the bowsprit slightly scraped 
the black rock as she swung about. A, few yards 
farther on, and the tickle began to widen. Every- 
body breathed easy once more. 

They dropped anchor in a narrow harbor com- 
pletely shut in by high black walls. Both ends 
of the harbor were open to the sea, but in each 
case it was only through a narrow tickle that the 
waters came and went. The unceasing roar of 
the ocean could be heard from outside, but in the 
tickle there was an intense, calm loneliness that 
was all the more impressive for the furor of the 
encircling seas. "Not much chance of seeing the 
birds, I 'm afraid," said St. John, as he got into 
the skiff with the two boys and the captain, "but 
we *11 have a hunt for possible eggs. They *11 
be more likely to be laid in a hidden ledge of the 
rock than anywhere else." 

They found a tiny beach half-way up toward 
the north exit of the harbor, and there they 
beached the boat. The two boys agreed that they 
would keep together, while St. John and the cap- 
tain searched in another direction. 

"Say! This island is full of cracks in the 
rocks!" called Jack, who was first up the slippery 
side of the cliffs that surrounded the beach. 

"Yes, we *11 have to look out not to fall down 
one," answered Whitey. "Gee, this is a myste- 
rious-looking island! Why, it 's full of caves. 
Here, look at this, will you?" 

He had turned a little to the left on an irregular 
ledge that he had found half-way up the face of 
the rock, and, entering a dark opening, had found 
himself in a sizable cave. It had a hole in the 
roof, very small, through which the blue sky was 
visible. "Say, this is a peach of a cave!" cried 
Whitey. "Why, there *s a chimney to take 
away the smoke and everything!" 

"So it is," answered Jack. "Say!" he cried, 
excited by a big idea, "do you suppose Mr. St. 
John would let us camp in this cave to-night?" 

"We can ask him. Guess he will. I sure would 
like to do it," said Whitey, enthusiastically. 

Th^y went out of the cave and explored 
further. They were astonished at the complexity 
of the island. It was filled with miniature moun- 
tains, having stony valleys between. There 

were many high cliffs, almost unscalable except 
with the help of ropes, and dozens of caves. 

"It will certainly take us some time to explore 
this island," grunted Whitey. "You *d never 
think it was anything like this just from seeing it 
on the outside, would you. Jack?" 

"No, you would n't," answered Jack. "And I 
tell you, it 's very dangerous, too. You have to 
be careful, walking over these slippery rocks." 

"That 's so," agreed Whitey. "If one of us fell 
into one of these cracks, there *s not enough rope 
on the schooner to get us out. " 

They found the further exploration of the island 
no easy task. It was a mass o^ caves and laby- 
rinths, accessible only by crawling and climbing. 
The boys had never been on such an island before, 
and they became completely absorbed in the 
search. It was not till the ship's bell gave the 
signal for supper that they remembered time, 
and even then it took them half an hour to get 
back to the beach where St. John and the captain 
were waiting. 

Whitey immediately broached the subject of 
camping out on the island. "Certainly!" ex- 
claimed St. John, "r d go with you myself, only 
I have to develop some negatives." 

After supper the sun still shone into the litde 
harbor, and the boys packed their duffle in the 
dny skiff. As they pulled ashore, the captain 

"Don't eat the egg, b'ys, if you finds it!" 

They landed on the tiny beach, which was still 
in sunlight, being on the eastern island. On the 
previous visit they had been much excited by the 
discovery of the wreckage of a rowboat scattered 
on another little beach by the northern end of 
the island. Immediately on going ashore they 
walked and crawled to the northern beach and by 
making several trips, * gathered enough of the 
broken boat to keep their fire going. 

When it was ready to light and the sleeping- 
bags in place, they found that two hours had gone 
by. The sun had not yet gone down. 

"Let 's go up to the ridge and have a look 
around before turning in," suggested Whitey. 

They climbed to the central ridge of the island 
and looked out to sea. There were white and 
green icebergs floating majestically in the offshore 
waters, and one which they had not noticed be- 
fore had slowly drifted doW^n until it was now 
only a hundred yards from the island. 

"Golly!" exclaimed Jack, "if she touches, let 's 
get on and explore! I 've never been on an ice- 

"I 'm game for that!" cried Whitey, with en- 
thusiasm; "she *11 be in by to-morrow, maybe." 

They clambered down to the cave again and 
lit the fire. The oak made a warm, steady blaze 




and gave plenty of light. Whitey started to called. He switched on his glow-light and 

explore their cave. It was roughly semidrcutar, showed Whitey the other side, 

about fifteen feet in diameter — not too large to Whitey applied his more bulky form to the 

be kept warm, nor too small to move about in. crack and tried to wriggle through. At the end 


"Say, Jack! here 'a another opening," called 
WTiitey. "Come and look." 

He had found, in a fold of the wall, a narrow 
oacfc which seemed to lead somewhere. 

TTiat 's great!" cried Jack. "Could n't we 
"IWew in and explore it?" 

"You try it," suggested Whitey; "you 're 

Jack squeezed through the opening without 
"•y trouhie. "Come on through, it 'a easy!" he 

of five minutes he had got himself wedged in the 
crack so that he could n't move one way or the 

"Gee!" hecried, "I guesswe 'redone for! I 'm 
stuck here, and that makes you a prisoner. 
Looks as if we got to stay here all night." 

"Yes," answered Jack, "and if a polar bear or 
something comes snifBn' around, he 'II get you, 

This thought seemed to give Wliit^ new 




strength. He made himself as small as possible, 
wriggled furiously, and, after a couple of minutes, 
he struggled through. 

*'Now," he gasped, "how *11 I ever get back? 
That 's what I want to know!" 

"That *s easy," answered Jack. "Just stay here 
a couple of days till you get thin." 

The prospect thus held forth did not seem 
alluring to Whitey. "I '11 bet there *s another 
way out,* n* I *m goin' to find it. What do you 
say, Jack?" 

"I think you Ve right," replied Jack. "It *s 
kind of dark in here, but I *m game to explore. 
Say, you don't suppose it 's something's den, do 

"Course not!" scoffed Whitey. "No animals, 
except small ones like foxes, have dens down 
this coast. I mean, in summer. And I would n't 
mind catching a silver fox worth about a thousand 
dollars, would you, Jack?" 

"I guess not! Come on, then. Let 's go on. 
It 's getting a little darker outside. The sun '11 
be down soon." Jack, the leader now by virtue 
of his smaller size, led the way along a tortuous 
passageway. Never had they known a place 
that offered so many twistings and turnings. 
They came to a larger cave, where the passage- 
way they were on was crossed by three other 
corridors, and, after some hesitation, they took 
the one that they thought led toward the surface 
of the island. But after they had gone fifty 
yards, it plunged down again and they knew they 
must be going deeper than before. They turned 
back, but, to their dismay, could not find the 
three corridors from which they had started five 
minutes before. 

"We must have gone down another crack with- 
out noticing," said Whitey. 

The boys were by this time a little scared. 
They were buried in the heart of the island, 
completely lost. Whichever path they took, it 
seemed to lead nowhere. Fortunately, Whitey 
had on his wrist a little scout-compass, and as he 
knew that the island was less than a quarter of a 
mile wide from east to west, there was a chance 
that one of the passageways might lead them to 
an opening on the ocean side if they could only 
keep working toward the east. 

Following this principle, they began to plan out 
a scheme of direction. Every crack that led 
toward the east, they took. Many times they 
found the cracks ended in a blank wall of rock, 
or else they narrowed down to nothing. The 
work was frightfully exhausting, and down there 
in ,the depths of the rocks the great cold and the 
dampness began to affect them. They had an 
awful feeling of being buried alive in their gloomy 
prison, yet with help within easy reach. 

Jack was the first to give in. "Say, Whitey," 
he called faintly, "I 'm feeling kind o' weak and 
queer inside. Let 's just stop a minute, will you?'* 

"Sure, Jack!" answered Whitey. "You 're a 
little tired, that *s all. Say!" he exclaimed, 
looking at his watch, "d' you know what time it 
is? Twelve o'clock! We 've been down here 
three hours!" 

Jack said nothing. He was staring at the 
glow-light, and there was a queer look on his face. 
"What is it. Jack?" asked Whitey; "what are you 
staring at the light for?" 

Jack turned to his friend a horror-stricken face. 
"It *s going out, that 's what!" he cried hoarsely. 

Whitey looked at the yellowing light. "Why, 
I brought mine!" he said, feeling in his pockets, 
one after the other. "No, I 'm wrong!" he cried. 
"Now I remember I left it on top of my bed in 
the cave. Jack, we 've got to save up tiie light. 
Every second counts. Shut it off while you Ve 

Jack shut off the light, and the boys leaned 
against the wall. The silence and coldness of 
the labyrinth closed around them. In the dark- 
ness, Whitey realized how tired he was. For 
three hours they had been going without a pause. 
Utter weariness fell on him. For the time being 
his spirit sank to zero, and he saw only the worst. 
Starving and frozen, they would meet a horrible 
doom in the cold and gloom of the labyrinth. 
They were in a great stone tomb. Even if the 
captain and St. John could squeeze through the 
crack, and he knew they could n't, the chances 
were a hundred to one against a meeting. 

Presently, Jack turned on the light and sighed 
wearily. "I *m ready," he said. 

The battery having been given a little rest, the 
light was not as yellow as before. Jack added 
the precaution of switching it off when they 
found themselves on a fairly straight stretch. 
/ After going on for about a hundred yards, they 
felt their way around a corner. Jack switched 
on the light. There, ahead, was another clear 
run, so he turned it off again. 

They rested, leaning against the damp walls. 
"Do you see anything?" asked Jack, suddenly. 

"No. Why?" 

"Look again! Look straight ahead. I seem 
to see a queer sort of something. Maybe it 's 
just imagination." 

Whitey stared ahead, and it seemed to him 
that it was a little different. The darkness 
seemed to be pervaded with a weird, greenish 
glow. "Don't switch on the light. Jack," he 
whispered. "Let 's move along and see what it 



Even as he spoke, a childish terror clutched his 
heart and he half wished he had not spoken. 




What could it be that was the cause of the 
mysterious and terrifying phosphorescence? 

Silent as Indians, they stole along. The green 
effect turned to grey — and then it burst upon 
them that the thing they saw was not some 
dreadful and deadly vapor or an equally awe- 
compelling apparition, but — Ughtl 

They both yelled and hurled themselves for- 
ward regardless of bruises and collisions. A few 
seconds later, Jack violently halted. "Back!" 
he shouted. Whitey cannoned into him, almost 
knocking him over. 

They had come out on a high and perilous 
ledge — a cliff, black and forbidding above; down 
far below, the sea. It was night, but the whole 
northern sky was aflame with the splendor of the 
aurora. It was the reflection of this on a great 
green iceberg, floating close in, that had thrown 
the weird light into their rock tomb. 

"The iceberg!" yelled Whitey, "the one we 
were going to explore!" 

"Yes!" answered Jack. "It 's almost close 
enough to jump to it. At sun-up, it *11 be touch- 

They looked around their ledge. It jutted out 
half-way down the face of the black, wet cliff. It 
was absolutely cut off from access on any side. 
There was no path, no crack, no hand-hold of 
any kind. 

"We *re almost as badly off as before," said 
Whitey, in dismay. "They *11 have to search for 
us and get us away with ropes." 

"Look, Whitey!" cried Jack, pointing. "For 
the love of Pete, what's that?" 

Whitey stared. At one end of the ledge a 
white object gleamed. A brighter flashing of the 
aurora had brought it to Jack's eye. Whitey 
shrunk back. "A bear or something!" he whis- 

"How can it be a polar bear?" questioned Jack, 
rather shakily. "They can't curl up as small as 

"Yes, it is small — no bigger than a dog," 
admitted Whitey. 

"Why, it is n't even the size of a dog!" ex- 
claimed Jack, in disgust; "it is n't bigger than a 

"Maybe it 's a fox or a ptarmigan!" whispered 
Whitey; "they *re about that size." 

"Gee! we 've lost our nerve being in the cave," 
jeered Jack "I '11 bet it 's only a white stone." 

"Maybe you *re right," whispered Whitey, 
with a feelii^ of relief. "Let 's go up and see." 

They crept along .the ledge in silence. Within 
a foot of the motionless, white object they paused 
and stared at it. 

"It 's a stone," whispered Whitey. 

"So it is," agreed Jack. He put out a tentative 

finger and touched the thing. "Gee! How 
smooth it is!" he went on. 

Whitey touched it with his hand. "It 's egg- 
shaped," he said. "Why, it is an egg!" he ex- 
claimed. "It 's a bird's egg. Jack. An auk's 
^^^ By Jupiter! we 've found the auk's egg!" he 
shouted. "Don't you see. Jack, there 's no other 
egg in the world like that. St. John told me all 
about it. Oh, Jack! We 've discovered the 
nest of the auk!" 

"Why, I guess you 're right!" cried Jack, 
excitedly. "I can hardly wait till daylight. 
Won't we yell for help, though!" 

They examined the egg with infinite care. It 
seemed to be about four and a half inches long 
and a little less than three inches across. The 
color was a pale olive-buff, marked with brown 
and black. 

"What 's become of the mother and father 
auk?" asked Jack, in wonder. 

"I don't know. Auks can't fly, so they must 
have had an entrance from this ledge to the upper 
surface of the island. I guess the mother auk 
laid the egg here and then maybe they were both 
frightened away, or even killed by some wander- 
ing polar bear." 

"That sounds reasonable," answered Jack. 
"This island, with all its caves and runways, must 
have been about their last refuge." 

Whitey yawned. "Auk or no auk," he said, 
"I feel awfully sleepy. Say, Jack, I 'm almost 
dead. Are n't you?" 

Jack admitted he was. Now that the excite- 
ment of discovery was over, both the boys real- 
ized how tired they were. They placed the egg 
in a small, sheltered recess in the rock at the 
other end of the ledge, and, finding a safe level 
spot some distance away, lay down close together. 
Neither the great cold of the Labrador night nor 
the hardness of their bed had any power to keep 
them awake. Five minutes later they were both 
dead asleep. 

Whitey dreamed that some one had given him 
the job of grinding up tons of ice in a stone-crusher 
to make a giant feast of ice-cream. It was cold, 
freezing work, and he was longing intensely to get 
away from it. Then the grinding machine fell 
over and dumped the whole mass of ice on him. 
He struggled to free himself from it by shaking 
his limbs and slowly drawing himself out — and 
suddenly he was awake and sitting up! But the 
terrific noise of the ice-grinding went on. Whitey 
stared wildly around. It was broad daylight, 
but the sun was entirely shut off from them by 
the green, towering mass of the iceberg which had 
at last made contact with the shore and was 
slowly grinding its way along the rocks. That 



was the noise that had given him the foundation 
for his dream. His limbs were so cold and 
numb that he could hardly move. 

A sudden alarm came into his mind. The 
auk's ^g! Was it injured by the small lumps of 
ice which were flying in all directions? 

Slowly and stiffly, Whitey turned his half- 
frozen body and directed his eyes to the other 
end of the shelf where they had left the egg. It 
was gone! But there was that in its place which 
instantly sent his blood leaping through his veins 
in such absolute terror as he had never known 
before. An enormous polar bear was licking up 
the last fragments of the precious egg. He had 
climbed over the iceberg, where he must have 
been floating for days, and had easily leaped on 
the ledge when he spied the shining egg. 

Instantly, Whitey lost all sense of personal 
fear. His mind was filled with a feeling of infinite 
outrage that the bear should destroy their pre- 
cious egg. With a sort of unthinking passion, 
hoping that even yet he might save some frag- 
ments of shell, he shouted at the bear! "G'wan! 
Get out!" and staggering to his feet, he waved 
numb ineffectual hands. 

The big white monster turned. In its eager- 
ness for the egg, it had paid no heed to the two 
silent forms lying on the rock. Whitey, still 
fearless with rage, approached a little closer and 
shook his fist at the beast "G'wan!" he yelled, as 
if ordering a dog out of the house. Perhaps it 
was that half crazy boldness which saved the boy. 
The great brute turned and stared at him. Then 
suddenly he reached out a lightning paw and, 
with a gentle tap of ^t, struck Whitey out of his 

One tremendous leap, and the big bear was 
back on the iceberg again. He flashed around a 
corner and disappeared. Whitey went spinning 
down into the deep, narrow, green strip of water 
between the island and the berg. 

At Whitey*s shouts, Jack had waked up, and he 
witnessed with stupefied senses the extraordinary 
scene between Whitey and the bear. Then he 
saw the white monster brush Whitey aside, and, 
with sudden terror, saw his pal spinning over the 
verge of the difF. He jumped up, took two steps, 
and leaped after him. Down, down he went, 
until, with a shock of ferocious arctic cold, he hit 
the salt, freezing water. Whitey came up close 
by as he went down, and he grabbed the uncon- 
scious form and held it. 

It was not till a week later that the two boys were 
able to compare notes. They were lying side by 
side in Dr. Grenfell's hospital in Battle Harbor. 
The case-card at the head of Jack's bed read, 

"Freezing"; and over Whitey's head was a card 
reading, "Freezing and contusions of the head." 
No one had been allowed to talk to them till they 
were out of danger. Then, on this bright, spark- 
ling, sunny Labrador day, St. John had come 
in and was sitting between the two beds, helping 
them to piece out the thrilling story of their last 
hour on the island. "We went to the cave, when 
you fellows did n*t turn up for breakfast, and 
found you gone. So we got a scare and started 
to row around the island, knowing that would be 
the best way to see you, wherever you were. We 
*d got as far as the outer side of the berg, when we 
heard Whitey *s yell, and then, a second later, an 
enormous polar bear bounded by us on the berg, 
plunged into the water and started across to the 
other islands. Well, you can imagine what we 
thought might have happened. We rowed like 
men possessed, and a few moments later we found 
Jack, half frozen himself, dragging you out of 
the water. He was delirious with cold and shock, 
but he was right on the job, every ounce of him. 
We got you back on the ship, gave you both what 
treatment we could, and put back to Batde 
Harbor. I *ve been wondering ever since how in 
the world you got around to that side of the 
island and what you were doing." 

Whitey sat up with shining eyes. "Has n't 
any one told you?" he cried. "Why of course 
not! How could they? Just listen!" And he went 
on to tell St. John the tale of their night's adven- 
tures. When he came to the story of their dis- 
covery of the auk's ^g, St. John was on his feet, 
his face glowing with excitement. 

"Where was the egg?" he cried; "on a big 
black ledge half-way up the cliff?" 

"Yes," answered Whitey, eagerly, "and I saw 
that beastly polar bear eat up the last scrap of it 
— egg, shell, and all! I was never so mad!" 

St. John gripped both their hands. "That 
polar bear saved your lives!" he cried. 

"You *re joking!" cried Whitey. 

"We saw the ledge," went on St John, "and 
as we were rowing away, the captain pointed to it 
and said, 'Look yonder!' I looked. An upper 
mass on the iceberg had become loosened, and, 
even as we looked, it fell crashing down upon the 
ledge. Had you been there, you would have been 
crushed under a thousand tons of ice! 

The boys looked at each other. 

"Whew!" exclaimed Whitey, slowly; "I 'U 
never kill a polar bear as long as I liye." 

* 'Same here !" cried Jack. * 'Whitey, I move we 
adopt the polar bear as our Totem." 

"Shake on it," answered Whitey, thrusting 
out his hand. 

Solenmly the pals gripped hands. 





Don Fernando was sitting tn the sun fast 
asleep, with his hands folded on top of hts ntan- 
zanita walking-stick. Felisa planted Herself bo- 
fore him. 

"Papd mid," she said softly. 

He did not wake up. His head nodded first on 
one side and then on the other. She kissed him 

on his broad, wrinkled forehead. He snored 

Ah, but Seflor Medrano had earned the right to 
sleep well and peacefully, and to snore if he likedl 
For had he not walked with Don Caspar de For- 
tola, in the old days, from one end of Alta Cali- 
fornia to the other, in search of the Port of 
Monterey? That is history, and very fascinating 
history, too, and you must read it for yourself 
some day. For then, in the CaliComia of to-day, 
when you travel in your htgh-power motor on the 
King's Highway (it is still called Ei Camino Real), 
you will see more than most people in motors ever 
dream of seeing. A little band of explorers will 
be observed on the crest of those rolling hills 
where the poppies spread their carpet of gold ; and 
on the blue Pacific, when the fog lifts, you will 
catch a glint of the white sail of the SaiUa Maria; 

you will pass a good padre (periiaps Junipero 
Sena himself, in his dust-colored robe and san- 
dals) upon the road, pursuing his long pilgrimage 
on foot from San Diego to Monterey. There is 
no use asking him to ride — he smiles and plods on 
— he has taken the vow of the Franciscans! 

"PapS!" It is Felisa who calls again, appeal- 

But Sefior Fernando, who once wore a leather 
jacket and ferocious boots, and carried a formid- 
able fUnt-Iock on his saddle-bow, continued his 
desta undisturbed. 

The little girl sighed and glanced about her 
for amusement, for consolation. 

Ah, there was Juancito, the son of the Indian 
overseer, Ximeno, in the comer, shelling beans. 
All day long now, he shelled beans for Josefa, for 
the fiesta. 

It was not long wnce Juancito had been a fas- 
cinating papoose, bound tightly and carried on 
his mother's back — or set, for convenience, in a 
corner. Now he was going to the wedding! 
Ximeno was to drive the ox -cart with provisions 
— it was all arranged — into Santa Barbara, and 
Juancito was big enough to be of great as^stance. 

Yet in vain Felisa attempted to make him 
speak. But as Pap& could not be lured from his 
siesta, neither could Juancito be lured from the 
pensive occupation of shelling beans. But there 
is an explanation! Like all who are invited to a 
wedding, Juancito was mentally reviewing his 
wardrobe, which consisted mainly of a large hat! 
A thought was perplexing his brain. He was 
silently brooding upon a matter of fashion: 
"Can one go barefooted to a wedding?" No 
wonder he could not answer Felisa. 

It was then that Nino rose languidly from his 
comer in the patio. 

As clearly as could be, his look said: "What is 
it that you wish, my adored little mistress? It 
is warm — the hour of the siesta — yet I am here," 

"Nino!" Felisa whispered, "I wanted to learn 
everything about our Inheritance. But Pap& 
insists upon sleeping! Could it have been a 
queen, Nino? You don't know! You are only 
a dog! You would rather inherit a nice juicy 
bone than all the pearls and gold and silver in the 
world. But listen, Nino!" and Felisa lifted her 
finger warningly, "If you should ever see a han- 
dido, you must growl loudly and eat him if need 
be. Because he will have come to steal our In- 
heritance. Dost thou hear, Nino?" 

But Nino only wagged his tail and looked 
incapable of ferocity. 



Felisa shrugged her shoulders and looked 
toward the long range of Santa Ynfe. She could 
see the road, like a slender ribbon, winding in and 
out of the cafions. 

Like the anxious sister in the fairy-tale, Ysa- 
bella Medrano (divested now of her wedding 
finery) came to the doorway to ask, "Do you see 
anything coming, Felisa?'* 

"No, I don't see the stage yet." 

Ysabella knit her brows. "It is very late." 

Felisa looked at her sister curiously. "Are you 
afraid," she said, and her voice sounded suddenly 
very small and timid, "that El Seftor Carlos will 
hold up the stage?" 

Her sister laughed. 

"My child, what nonsense! There are no ban- 
didos in these days. One might as truly meet 
El Diablo in person! In Pap4*s days — yes — they 
were as thick as flies." 

"Does not El Seftor Carlos know of our Inher- 

"Do not, guerida [darling], trouble thy heart 
with such fancies," Ysabella protested, drawing 
the little girl to her. 

Arms entwined, the sisters looked again toward 
the mountains. 

But there was no sight of the stage yet, not 
even of the dust cloud which was always to be 
seen even before the stage appeared. Every- 
thing was so still. The dripping of the water in 
the fountain, the gentle snores of Don Fernando, 
were the only sounds. 

A butterfly tempted Felisa to follow him. 
Ciehl If Josef a had seen her charge in the clean 
dress, running wildly through the rose-bushes — 
But luckily no damage was done. What a chase 
that butterfly led Felisa, with Nino at her heels 
barking, leaping up into the air! But the lovely 
creature eluded her — flew off through the ma- 
drofio trees — a glint of yellow wings. 

"It has gone to meet Don Felipe," Felisa 
thought, and sank breathlessly down on the soft 
carpet of leaves and moss under the madroflos. 
For she and Nino had descended to the little 
cafton below the house. 

Presently Nino began to growl, and Felisa, 
turning to scold him, saw that a man on horse- 
back was just drawing up before the low stone 

He was not young, nor yet was he as old as 
Don Fernando. Part of his face was obscured by 
a silk handkerchief (perhaps he had the toothache, 
Felisa thought, sympathetically), and his throat 
was closely mufHed in a scarf of crimson merino. 
But surely, even Don Felipe Alvarez himself 
could not be more "ornamental!" He was so 
dignified, so magnificent, and his clothes, though 
dusty, as with hard riding, were of fine texture. 

and much trimmed with gold galloon, as befitted 
a gallant caballero [cavalier]. 

He swept off his sombrero with a grand flourish. 

'* Buenos dtasiSeflorttar ["Good day, Seflorita!"] 

Felisa rose from her mossy seat and curtseyed. 
The green dress billowed about her. 

'* Buenos dias, Seftor r 

"Thou art a wood-sprite, Seftorita, no doubt? 
Dost thou, mayhap, live in the heart of the big 
madroflo? Or art thou an enchanted princess?" 

Felisa laughed delightedly, "No, Seftor, but," 
she looked at him mischievously, "I know who 
thou art!" 

''Sir ["Yes?"l 

"Thou art the statue in the City of Mexico, — 
the bronze statue on horseback, — come to life!" 

So Felisa and this strange caballero remained 
looking at each other and smiling. 

Suddenly Felisa put her hand upon his sleeve 
and looked into his eyes earnestly. 

"Thou art not Don Felipe Alvarez?" she cried. 
And then, as suddenly, "No, thou art too old. 
He is a young caballero." 

The stranger removed his sombrero and rum- 
pled his hair ruefully. 

"So — I am a veritable grandfather! Too 
old !' " He sighed and gazed at her reproachfully. 
"I am wounded." 

Felisa regarded the silk handkerchief, which 
hid half his face, gravely. 

"So that is why you wear the bandage, Seftor? 
I hope the wound is not serious." Her face was 
all tender anxiety. "And why dost thou wind 
the scarf so closely about thy throat, Seftor?" 

The caballero looked down at her gravely, shak- 
ing his head. 

"It is said I shall die of an — " he hesitated, "an 
affliction of the throat, Seftorita," he answered. 
He made an odd gurgling noise, which caused 
Nino to growl again, every hair bristling! "So — 
and that is all!" 

"How terrible!" 

" Is it not? Yet let us talk of pleasanter things. 
Tell me, perhaps, what thou dost know of this 
Don Felipe Alvarez, who is so young?" 

"He is to marry my sister, Seftor, on San An- 
tonia de Padua's Day at the Mission Santa 

The stranger looked at Felisa more intently. 

"Then thou art," he paused, "Seftorita Me- 

"5J, Seftor — ^and I am waiting for the stage 
upon which Don Felipe, whom I have not yet 
seen, arrives. Have you seen anything of the 
stage, Seftor?" she added, anxiously. 

"It is a pity, Seftorita Medrano, but to-day I 
have had more important business on hand. I 
have not been waiting for the stage; therefore, to 





my regret, I can bring you no news of it." 

Felisa sighed. "It is so long in coining that I 
am growing very anxious." 

The caballero lifted inquiring eyebrows. 
"So? And why should you be anxious, Seflorita?" 

"I am afraid of the bandidos, Seliorl" Felisa 

Then it was that the caballero put his hand to 
his side and burst into a great hearty laugh, which 
echoed in the little caAon. 

"That is good ! Thou dost not know how good, 
Sefkorita Medrano!" He laughed until the tears 

But Felisa regarded bim seriously. 

"Then thou hast no fear of the bandidos, 
Sellor? Not even of El Seflor Carlos?" 

The caballero laughed again even more heartily, 
"Cielo! Carlos!" He snapped his fingers. "Car- 
los is the least fearsome of them all, my child. 
He is subdued by a glance — turned to milk and 
water by a friendly word." 

"That is true, Seflor?" 

"Quite true." 

Felisa sighed gratefully. "Then 1 am much 
comforted. Perhaps, living in the mountains. 
El Sellor Carlos will not even have heard of 
our Inheritance," she added. She drew her- 
self up a little proudly. "You have heard, 




no doubt, of the Medrano pearls?" she asked. 

The stranger knit his brows in thought a 

"I seem to remember hearing of them," he 
said, slowly. "Was there not something else, 
too, of value, which descended to thy father from 
his illustrious ancestors?" 

"Sty Sefkor. Seven silver platters and a great 
goblet. Some day I shall drink my milk out of it, 
Sefior! I shall feel like a princess." 

"Then did I not guess thee aright, Seftorita? 
Thou art a princess. Thou hast many an Inherit- 
ance, as I see it!" 

The stranger spoke gravely, half to himself. 

Then, leaning from his saddle, "Give me your 
hand, Princess," he said. "I must be on my way." 

Felisa extended her little hand. It looked so 
small lying in his great rough one! He laughed, 
and suddenly removing the handkerchief from his 
face, he liftecl the little hand with tenderness to 
his lips. 

"Adiosr he cried, before Felisa even had time 
to look at him again. 

The horse wheeled about, with Nino barking 
violently at his heels. 

"I am certain that Don Felipe Alvarez will 
arrive safely!" he called over his shoulder, and 
galloped away through the little glade of ma- 

Nino growled as he watched the retreating 

**Nino!" cried Felisa. "How rude thou art! 
That was no bandido, but a gallant caballero from 
Santa Barbara." 

And Nino hung his head; his tail crept between 
his legs. 



Felisa heard Ysabella's voice calling her. She 
ran up the slope to the house, with Nino at her heels. 
"Look there, Felisa! At last it is coming!" 
A little cloud of dust was visible above the 
trees. Juancito had been the first to observe it. 
Felisa's heart began to beat rapidly. The 
black cat, licking warm milk from her whiskers, 
pressed against her skirt. But when the cat 
spied Nino, with whom she kept up a perpetual 
feud, her tail bristled and she flew up the grape- 
vine with every claw extended. Nino's barks 
were now deafening. Don Fernando, with a 
start, suddenly awakened from his nap. Juan- 
cito deserted the beans which he was shelling, and, 
in the distraction of the moment, hid around the 
corner of the house, where he might watch and 
remain unseen. Josefa, with a smudge of flour 
on the tip of her nose, stuck her head out of the 
kitchen window. 

In the midst of all this commotion, the stage 
appeared at last. The big top-heavy vehicle 
swayed as it came along the uneven road, ap- 
proaching the Medrano ranch with a flourish. 
The driver cracked his whip — the horses plunged 
— the dust rose in clouds — all but obscuring the 
figure of a tall young caballero who had risen at 
great peril in his seat, to wave his sombrero in 
answer to the flutterings of Ysabella's handker- 
chief, and called out greetings, which could not 
be heard, so great a rumble did the stage make. 
Past the madrofios it came thundering and lurch- 
ing. The horses labored up the little hill, straight 
to the very door of the hacienda. 

Yes, he was a very suitable gift for Ysabella, 
this gift of Aunt Serafina's! Tall and slender, 
with the most winning countenance imaginable, 
he was far more ornamental than the handsomest 
bureau in the whole of the Americas! 

The whole house had awakened to the fact of 
Don Felipe's presence. Heads appeared behind 
the wooden lattices of the windows. The cat 
stretched herself on her perch and gazed. The 
very chickens stood poised on one foot, and Nino 
sniffed appreciatively at Don Felipe's smart 
leather boots. Over in the field the Indian, 
Ximeno, driving the ox-cart down to the mill, 
pulled up and surveyed Don Felipe Alvarez, who 
was to marry Ysabella Medrano. 

Felisa said but little. She sat upon her father's 
knees, watching Don Felipe, listening to his ani- 
mated story of their innumerable delays. They 
had broken a spring! The wheel had come off! 
Felisa heard of Uncle Pedro's rheumatism — of the 
continued scandal of Aunt Serafina's bonnet. 
She learned that three new cannon had been 
purchased for the presidio — that the padre at the 
Mission had new vestments. Felisa sank into a 
sort of dream, watching Don Felipe's face, hardly 

But what was this! "El Sefior Carlos — " 
(What of El Sefior Carlos? She sat up.) "He is 
to be hung — " 

But Josefa, still leaning out of the window, her 
plump elbows on the broad sill, shook her head 
ominously, "He is not caught yet, Sefior Felipe!" 
she said hoarsely. 

All this time a mysterious box, which Don Fe- 
lipe had brought with him, had been sitting there, 
in the patio. It was a little leather trunk, surely 
the most elegant little trunk in the world. It 
could hardly be anything less, thought Felisa, 
than a treasure-chest. 

And she said to herself, "Perhaps it contains 
Don Felipe's Inheritance!" 

She began to feel very curious about that box. 
Not an inch of its fine leather surface but was 
delicately tooled, or colored, or gilded, and it was 




further embellished by gilt naila and the most 
ornamental o( lock- plates. 

Beside it was a worn old leather bag, which 
seemed to collapse at the sheer contrast with its 

Josefa's eyes suddenly discovere 

"Juancito," she called shrilly, a 
dian's head for once appearec 
around the corner ol the wall, "can 
chest to the guest chamber, thou li 

But as Juancito obediently wa 
the trunk in his arms, E>on Feli| 
lingly, "No! No!" Juancito dro 
geous "treasure-chest" as though 
him. He stumbled backward, troc 
tail, and then stepped into the 
Was there ever such confuaon? 
midst of it. Juancito vanished inti 

Then Don Felipe, laughing 
merrily, picked up the gorgeous 
little box himself and set it— at 
Felisa's feet! He then felt in 
several pockets, finally produc- 
ing, between thumb and finger, a 
small silver key, which he gave 
to her. 

Felisa was overcome with 

But one knows what one should 
do with a key! 

She sank upon her knees before 
the box. Perhaps she feit like 
Pandora (only she had never 
heard ol Pandora), 

Josefa hung over her with her 
mouth open, quite as] if she 
expected something to jump out. 

Felisa turned the key. Then she took another 
breath— and lifted the lid. 

It was then that Felisa Medrano believed her- 
self dreaming; or was she, as tliat strange cabal- 
lero had said, really a princess, that such wonder- 
ful things should happen to her? For there, 
smiling at the little girl with arched red lips and 
eyes which seemed truly to answer the look of 
adoration and wonder in her face, lay a lovely 
wax doll! Quaint and old-fashioned she would 
seem to us now, but she was really beautiful, with 
a delicately modeled face and a complexion of 
snow and rose petals; and Felisa had never seen 
a doll, much less possessed one. 

She was dressed like a high-bom Spanish lady, 
in a full nlken skirt decked with crisp lace 
flounces and beguiling ribbon bows. Her hair 
was piled high on her head and surmounted with 
a tortoise-shell comb (for all the world like Ysa- 
bella's); a little red rose nestled coquettishly 

against her ear. She was complete, even to 
her smart black-satin slippers with their red 
There she lay, luxuriously, upon piles of lovely 



frocks — such gay rebosos and mantillas, silken 
skirts, and embroidered bodices! There were 
shoes and fans, diminutive stockings, camises, 
lace-bordered handkerchiefs, necklaces and brace- 
lets, combs and ribbons — all the wardrobe of a 
grand Spanish lady, faithfully reproduced in 

Felisa was overcome. She could not speak. 
The thought flashed whimsically through her 
mind, "What if Ysabella had chosen a bureau!" 
It was too awful to contemplate. 

But at last, with her arm about Don Felipe's 
neck, she whispered to him — no, not that she vas 
glad he was n't a bureau — she was not quiie as 
incoherent as that! but — "Oh," she cried, "I am 
so glad that you and the treasure-chest were not 
stolen by the bandidcsl" 

Don Felipe Alvarez laughed. 

"Who speaks of bandidos" he cried gaily- 
"They don't exist — unless those at the Medrano 
hadenda, who steal the hearts of every one." 





Feusa was singing to her doll: 

"A la puerta des delos venden zapalos 

Para los angehtos que eslan descaJzos. 

Duermele Niiio, DuermeU NiHo, 

Duermete Nifio, Dodo, 

Ave Maria, Dodo." 
["At the doorway of Heaven ^oes are sold 
for the little barefooted angels."] 

Juancito, cross-legged on the flags of the patio 
— yes! you have said it! — ^was shelling beans! 
Sometimes Juancito wished that there were no 
beans in the world — yet without frijoles, rich in 
chili sauce, there would certainly be no backbone 
to the fiesta! In a few days there 
would be a pause in the bean shel- 
ling. No, the world was not com- 
ii^toan end — Juancito was going 
to the wedding! He should have 
been quite happy; but he was not. 
He was a funny little figure, in 
his faded red blouse and ra^ed 
trousers much too long for him, 
beneath which his bare brown 
toes appeared. He was wearing 
his sombrero. It covered him 
completely; he looked like a 
snuffed candle! The peaked "ex- 
dnguisher'' almost touched hb 
shoulders; nose, eyes, mouth, dis- 
appeared beneath, only the tip of 
his chin was visible. And his chin 
trembled, as (or the second time 
Felisa began; 

"A la pueria des cielos 
venden zapalos — " 

But the unconscious singer 
barely noticed him. She had eyes 
fornothingbutthedoil. Presently, 
however, she took Juancito into 
her confidence. 

"Juancito! All night I have 
stayed awake, trying to think of 
a iLame for my doll." 

But although the shelling went 
on. no sounds of life issued from 
beneath the sombrero. 

"Do you not think Rosita is the most beautiful 
name in the world, Juancito?" 

Sdll no answer. Felisa began to sing again 
(lor the third time) "A la puerta — " 

Suddenly the shelling stopped — a wail, a little 
smothered, it is true, but infinitely mournful, was 
heard. It came from beneath the aombrero. 

Fdisa placed Rosita carefully in Pap&'s chair. 

"What is wrong, Juancito?" 

"I wish to die." 

Felisa took the hat by its tall peak and removed 
it-from Juandto's head. 

"To dief" she inquired, with astonishment. 
"When you are going to a wedding, Juancito! 
That is very wicked of you!" 

But Juancito dug his fists into his eyes. 

"I wish to be an angel," he said, sobbing. 

"An angel?" 

".St, Seflorita, because shoes are ^ven to the 
little angels." 

"But you have a new hat!" 

Juancito howled afresh. He scrambled to his 
feet and was about to melt away, but Felisa held 
firmly to his collar. She was taller than he and 



very quick and strong, and he was just a fat 
Indian baby. Old Josefa, stern about beans, but 
very indulgent in most other matters, had emerged 
from the kitchen, bringing an agreeable odor o( 
baked cakes with her. 

"Come, what is this?" 

Felisa explained to her. 



"Cielot Nothing is simpler," cried Josef a, 
good-naturedly. "We shall exchange, Juancito 
and I. I will take the hat, which is as good as a 
parasol and will protect my complexion; Juancito 
shall have the shoes of my grandmother." 

She suited the action to the word, bustled into 
the house, and immediately reappeared with a 
shoe in each hand. They were elegant varnished 
boots of shiny leather, with high red heels, but 
Juancito accepted them joyfully. 

For he had decided, after much meditation, 
that matter of fashion. One could not go bare- 
footed to a wedding! Hatless if you like, but 
one must have shoes. 

"Even the angels wear them in Heaven!" 
Juancito said to himself, and clasped the shoes of 
Josefa's grandmother to his bosom. 



That night there was a glorious full moon, round 
and golden. It seemed to Felisa to balance on 
the mountain-side for a moment. She held her 
breath for fear that it might roll down hill. 

They had just risen from supper at the long 
table, which had been set, because it was so mild 
and sweet an evening, out in the patio. Josefa 
had outdone herself. She had even made a sweet 

The doll, Rosita, lay in Felisa's arms, close 
against her heart. Felisa was very happy. 
Every little while she would hold Rosita at arm's 
length to gaze at her. 

"Just to be sure that I am not dreaming," she 
said to herself. 

And Rosita smiled back at her, with an expres- 
sion of almost human intelligence. A fragrance 
of dried rose-leaves enveloped her. Her silks 
rustled deliciously. Her bracelets jangled. 

"I think I grow to love Rosita better every 
minute," said Felisa to Don Felipe. "I shall 
always keep her, even when I am grown up. 
And see, I wear the little key of the 'treasure- 
chest* on a ribbon around my neck." 

Don Fernando Medrano smiled upon his little 
daughter benevolently. 

"The Medranos have acquired a new treasure," 
he said. 

He made a move as though to rise. His chair 
creaked. The moment had come, then! A faint 
sigh escaped from Ysabella's lips, and Felisa 
whispered to the doll, "We are to see the Inherit- 
ance, Rosita miaP' 

Don Felipe gallantly rushed to Papa's assist- 
ance and offered his arm. As if it had all been 
arranged, they formed a little procession. Pap4 
led the way. Where were they going? Yes, to 

Pap4*8 own particular retreat in the farther wing 
of the hacienda. 

It was a small room, as bare as a monk's cell. 
There were three chairs in it, and a heavy table 
upon which sat a terrestrial globe and a solitary 
candle. Its light revealed, presently, the sou- 
venirs of Don Fernando's gallant past, hung upon 
the wall — his Toledan rapier, his cuera (a long, 
still cloak made of seven thicknesses of antelope- 
hide stitched together, to protect the wearer from 
Indian arrows), his silver spurs, a gruesome Indian 
tomahawk. There was nothing else in the room 
excepting a shelf against the wall, holding a few 
well-worn books, with Spanish inscriptions. 

Felisa glanced about curiously. She had not 
often been in this sanctuary of Pap&'s. She won- 
dered where a treasure-chest large enough to hold 
the Medrano Inheritance might be concealed. 
Certainly there was not a corner where even, for 
example, the doll's trunk might be hidden. 

Pap4 pulled the curtain close at the one win- 
dow, and drew the bolt in the door. 

Then, without hesitation, he lifted the litde 
book-shelf from the wall. Behind it wais a panel 
set in the. rough plaster. A moment, in which 
Felisa held her breath, and at the pressure upon a 
hidden spring the panel disappeared magically 
into the thick wall. Within the recess the treas- 
ure-chest was revealed. But what a shabby, 
battered thing it was! Felisa was frankly dis- 
appointed. It was not nearly so fine, so elegant, 
as Rosita's treasure-chest. Don Fernando and 
Don Felipe were lifting it upon the table. How 
ugly, how dull it was! Suddenly Felisa sneezed, 
as the pungent odor of old leather and dust filled 
her nostrils. 

**Queriday for the love of Heaven, do not do 
that again, else Josefa will be coming hotfoot to 
see if thou art catching cold, out so late!" 

Don Fernando turned the key in the lock. 
It was rusty. Would it never open? At last! 

Ysabella put her hand to her heart. Standing 
on tiptoe, Felisa could just see into the chest. 
There they were, the pearls! And the ancient 
silver! The great goblet t)f gold! 

Ysabella let her reboso fall from her shoulders, 
and Don Fernando slipped the necklace over her 
head. What pearls they were! They seemed to 
glow with an inward radiance. 

The goblet was put into Felisa's hands. 

"Oh, but it is heavy! It must certainly have 
belonged to a giant once, Pap&!" 

"It belonged to a queen, Felisa mia" 

"A queen!" (She had been right, then.) 

"Yes, Queen Ysabella of Spain gave it, and the 
silver platters and the pearls, to our illustrious 
ancestress Dofia Maria Narcissa Medrano, in 
the third year of her most gracious reign," 



brought out Pap&, in one breath, with a grandil- 
oquent gesture. 

"How kind she must have been,** Felisa com- 
mented, with wide eyes, "for she gave Seilor Colum- 
bus ships with which to discover America, also." 

"Felisa!" Josefa's voice was heard from a dis- 
tance. "Come, it is bedtime." 

Reluctantly, Felisa gathered the doll into her 
arms, and, bidding her elders good night, slipped 
out of the door, which Don Fernando promptly 
bolted behind her. 

It seemed a long way to that orange-colored 
lozenge of light, which was the window in the 

hacienda wall, across the patio. The silhouette 
of Josefa's bulky figure could be seen moving 
back and forth in front of the candle. A long 
way! Felisa held the doll closer. Now she had 
crossed the patch of shadow under the grape- 
vine. In the fountain basin, the reflection of the 
moon, now straight overhead, danced joyously. 

Suddenly she ran — she was sure that something 
had moved behind the rose-bush ! Her heart was 

But when she was safely in the lighted room, 
in Josefa's cheery presence, she thought, "No, it 
could n't have been anything." 

{To be continued) 



'T WAS Christmas eve and Bettykins 

Lay cuddled warm in bed. 
The fire cast a hundred lights 

That wavered o'er her head ; 
From Robert's room she heard the sound 

Of breathing soft and deep. 
And wondered how her brother could 

Lie wrapped in placid sleep. 

Now she had planned and plotted 

To stay awake this year. 
And catch one glimpse of Santa Claus 

And hear his sleigh-bells clear. 

But suddenly she started. 

And tried to cry aloud, 
Her bedroom walls were stretching. 

And in the room a crowd 
Of fairies, clad in green and red. 

Were dancing 'round the floor. 
And frosty sprites in silver white 

Were flocking through the door. 
They formed the sweetest fairy rings. 

And, as they tripped along. 
To softest distant music 

They sang this fairy song: 

"We are the spirits of Christmas, 

The children of dear King Love, 
We dwell in the Land of the Pine-tree, 
And come from our home far above 

To bring to the earthlihgs at Christmas 
Our message of peace and good cheer, 

Ring out, fairy music, reecho, 
The beautiful Yule-tide is here." 

And then they clambered swiftly 

Right- up on Betty's bed, 
And sang their lovely music 

And capered on her spread. 
She knew she should n't touch them, 

But still she stretched her hand 
And tried to grasp one fairy 

From out that happy band. 
When lo, a great noise sounded. 

The fairies all were gone. 
And only brother Robert 

Was standing in the dawn! 

"Oh, sleepy-headed Betty, 
Wake up and see your toys!" 

And then he blew his trumpet 
And made an awful noise. 

Our poor bewildered Betty 

Jumped quickly to the floor: 
"Oh,' where are all the fairies! 

Did they slip out the door?" 
Then long and loud laughed Robert, 

His mirth was quite extreme; 
"You never stayed awake at all. 

You 're talking 'bout a dream!" 

When Mama heard the story, 
She smiled and softly said ; 
"Old Santa made you dream it 
To keep you safe in bed*" 

^be gif and the giant 

(^^^^ by SH^abetK 



Said an elf to a giant, "Why, where i 
You 're as tall, I declare, as a t 

And as for your food, half of elfland 
For the honey you 'd eat in an 

Said the giant, "There 's no way to t 
What Ikis tiny creature can be 

Why 't would take several hundred 
To make a small jacket for me 

Then the giant laughed softly as evi 
For he wished not to frighten t 



Although it seemed small to hii 

And the elf, he laughed too, and he | 

For he wanted the giant to see 
How loud ke could laugh. So he did 

But it aounded as email as could be! 

^^w; . 



"Oh," sighed the little Christmas-tree, 
"How sad my fortune seems to be! 
Here in the dim wood might I stay. 
Where the great boughs swing tow all day. 
And the green shadows round me play. 
And all my brothers sing with roe!" 

But to the city, weeping tears 

Of crystal gum, with many fears 
The small tree journeyed, and was kept 
Where little light about him crept; 
And there, it seems to him, he slept 

It might be days, it might be years. 

Then, at last, pleasant people stirred. 

And took him where he gladly heard 

Sweet voices, and saw lovely hands 

Wreathe him with tufted snow, and bands 

Of gold, and things from foreign lands, 

With many a song and joyous word. 

And he had gifts to give, the shout 

Of happy children all about; 

And one day, when his boughs were bare, 
They laid him in the chimney there, 
And with great crackling and a flare 

His ^larks among the stars fled out'. 


"The Black-Cat," "Lotor," "The Treasure Hunt," etc. 

The sun went down in a spindrift of pale gold and 
gray which faded into a bank o( lead-colored 

cloud. The next morning the woods and fields 
were dumb with snow. No bluejays squalled nor 
white-skirted juncos clicked nor were there any 
nuthatches running gruntingly up and down the 
tree-trunks. There was not even the caw of a 
passing crow from the cold sky. As I followed an 
unbroken wood-road, it seemed as if all the wild- 
folk were gone. 

The snow told another story. On its smooth 
surface were records of the lives that had throbbed 
and passed and ebbed beneath the silent trees. 
Just ahead of me the road crossed a circle where, 
a half-centurj' ago, the charcoal-burners had set 
the round stamp of one of their pits. On the 
level snow there was a curious trail of zigzag 
tracks. They were deep and close set and made 
by some animal that walked flat-footed. I 
recognized the trail of the unhasting skunk. 
Other animals may jump and run and scurry 
through life, but the motto of the skunk is, 
"Don't hurry, others will." The tracks of the 

fore paw, when examined closely, showed long 
claw-marks, which were absent from the print of 
the hind feet. Occasionally the trail changed into 
a series of groups of four tracks arranged in a 
diagonal straight line, which marked where the 
skunk had broken into the clumsy gallop which is 
its fastest gait. Most of the time this particular 
skunk had walked in a slow and dignified manner. 
By the edge of the woods he had stopped and dug 
deeply into a rotten log, evidently looking for 
winter'bound crickets and grubs. 

At this point another character was added to 
the plot of this snow story. Approaching at right 
angles to the trail of the skunk were the tracks 
of a red fox. 1 knew that he was red because that 
is the only kind of fox found in that part of 
New England. I knew them to be the tracks of 
a fox because they ran straight, instead of sprad- 
dling like a dog, and never showed any mark of a 
dragging foot. The trail told what had happened. 
The first tracks were the far-apart ones of a hunt- 
ing fox. When he reached the skunk's trail, the 
footprints became close together and ran parallel 




to the trail aod some distance away from it. The 
fox was evidently following the tracks in a 
thoughtful mood. He was a young fox, or he 
would not have followed them at all. At the 
edge of the clearing he had ^hted the skunk 
and stopped, for the prints were melted deep into 
the snow. Sometimes an old and hui^ry fox will 
kill a skunk. In order to do this safely, the 
spine of the skunk must be broken instandy by a 
sii^le pounce, thus paralyzing the muscles on 
which the skunk depends for his defense, for the 
skunk invented the gas-attack ages before the 
Bocke. No living animal can stay within range of 
the ehokii^ fumes of the liquid musk which the 
skunk can throw for a distance of several feet. 

The snow told me what happened next. It 
was a sad story. The fox had sprung and landed 
beside the skunk, intending to snap it up like a 
rabbit. The skunk snapped first. Around the 
log was a tangle of fox-tracks, with flurries and 
ridges and holes in the snow where the fox had 
rolled and burrowed. Out of the farther Mde, a 
series of tremendous bounds showed where a 
wiser and a smellier fox had departed from that 
skunk with an initial velocity of close to one mile 
per minute- Finally, out of the confused circle, 
came the neat, methodical trail of the unrufHed 
skunk as he moved sedately away. Probably to 
ihe end of his life the device of a black-and-white 

tail rampant will always be associated in that 
fox's mind with the useful maxim, "Mind your 
own business. " 

Beyond the instructive fable of the fox and the 
skunk, showed lace-work patterns and traceries 
in the snow where scores and hundreds of the 
mice-folk had come up from their tunnels beneath 
the whiteness and had frolicked and feasted the 
long night through. Some of these tracks were 
in little clumps of fours. Each group had a live- 
fingered pair of large prints in front and a pair of 
four-fingered tracks just behind. Down the mid- 
dle ran a tail-mark. These were the tracks of the 
white-fooled or deer-mice. These are the same 
little robbers which swarm into my winter camp 
and gnaw everything in sight. Even a flitch of 
bacon hung on a cord was riddled with their tiny 
teeth-marks. Only things hung on wires were 
safe, for their clinging litde feet cannot find a 
footing on the naked iron. One night they gnawed 
a ring of round holes through the crown of a 
cherished felt hat belonging to a friend of mine. 
The language he used when he looked at that hat 
the next morning was unfit for the ears of any 
young deer-mouse. Another time the deer-mice 
carried off alxiut a peck of expensive stuffing from 
a white horsehair mattress which I had imported 
for the personal repose of my aged frame. Al- 
though I ransacked that cabin from turret to 





foundation-stone, I could never find a trace of 
that horsehair. 

In spite of their evil ways, one cannot help 
liking the little rascals. They have such bright, 
black eyes and wear such snowy, silky waistcoats 
and stockings. The other evening I sat reading 
alone in my cabin in the heart of the pine-barrens 
before a roaring fire. Suddenly I felt something 
tickle my knee. When I moved, there was a 
sudden jump and a deer-mouse sprang out from 
my trouser leg to the floor. Then I put a piece of 
bread on the edge of the wood-box. Although I 
saw the bread disappear, I could catch no glimpse 
of what took it. Finally, I put a piece on my shoe, 
and, after running back and forth from the wood- 
box several times, Mr. Mouse at last became 
brave enough to take it. When he found that I 
did not move, he sat up on my shoe like a little 
squirrel and nibbled away at his crumb, watching 
me all the time out of the corner of his black eyes. 
I forgave him my friend's hat, and was almost 
ready to overlook the horsehair episode. 

Returning to the wood -road, on that morning, 
among the trails of the deer-mice were the more 
numerous tracks of the meadow- or field-mouse. 
They show no tail-mark, and the smaller foot- 
prints were not side by side, as with the deer-mice, 
but almost always one back of the other. These 
smaller paw-marks among all jumping-animals 
such as rabbits, •squirrels, and mice, are always 
the marks of the forepaws. The larger, far-apart 
tracks mark where the hind feet of the jumper 
come down in front and outside of the forepaws 
as he jumps. 

On that day, among the mouse-tracks on the 
snow, there showed another faint trail, which 
looked like a string of tiny exclamation-marks 
with a tail-mark between them. It was the track 
of the masked shrew, the smallest mammal of the 
Eastern States. This tiny, fierce fragment of 
flesh and blood is only about the length of a 
man's little finger. So swift are the functions of 
its wee body that, deprived of food for six hours, 
the shrew starves and dies. Many of them are 
found starved to death on the melting snow, 
having crept up from their underground burrows 
through the shafts made by grass and weed- 
stems. W'andering over the white waste, they 
lose their way and, failing to find food, starve 
before the sun is half-way down the sky. As the 
shrew does not hibernate, his whole life is a swift 
hunt for food ; for every day this apparently eye- 
less, earless animal must eat its own weight in 
flesh. The weasels kill from blood-lust, but the 
shrews kill for their very life's sake. It is a 
fearsome sight to see a shrew attack a meadow- 
mouse, perhaps double its own weight. The 
mouse bites. The shrew eats. Boring in, the 

shrew secures a grip with its long, crooked, 
crocodile jaws filled with fierce teeth, and devours 
its way like fire through skin and flesh and bone, 
until the mouse falls over dead. This tiny beast- 
ling must be weighed by troy weight and tips a 
jeweler's scale at less than forty-five grains. 

To-day the snow said the shrew had been an 
unbidden and unwelcome guest at the mice din- 
ner. At first, the mice-trails were massed to- 
gether in a maze of tracks. When the trail of the 
shrew touched the circle, there shot out separate 
lines of mice- tracks, like the spokes of a wheel, 
with the paw-marks far apart, showing that the 
guests had all sprung up from the, laden table of 
the snow and dashed off in different directions. 
The shrew- track circled faintly here and there, 
ran for some distance in a long straight trail and 
— stopped. The sword of Damocles which hangs 
forever over the head of all the little wild -folk had 
fallen. The shrew was gone. A tiny fleck of 
blood and a single track, like a great X, on the 
snow told the tale of his passing. All his fierce- 
ness and courage availed nothing when the great 
talons of the flying death clamped through his 
soft fur. X is the signature of the owl-folk, just 
as K is of the hawk kind. The size of the mark 
in this case showed that the killer was one of the 
larger o * Is. Later in the winter it might have 
been t^ grim white arctic owl, which sometimes 
comes )wi. from the frozen North in very cold 
weath«. . bo early in the season, however, it 
w^ould be either the barred or the great horned 

I had hunted and camped and fished and 
tramped all through this hill-country, and al- 
though I had often heard at night the *'Whoo, 
hoO'hoOf hoo, hoo'^ of the great horned owl, which 
keeps always the same pitch, I had never heard 
the call of the barred owl, which ends in a falling 
cadence with a peculiar deep, hollow note. So I 
decided that the maker of the great track was 
that fierce king of the deep woods, whose head, 
with its ear-tufts, or horns, may be seen peering 
from his nest of sticks in a high tree-top on the 
mountain-side, as early as Februar>'. On wings so 
muffled with soft downy feathers as to be abso- 
lutely noiseless, he had swooped down in the dark- 
ness, and the tiny bubble of the shrew's life had 
broken into the void. 

Beyond this point, the road wound upward 
toward the slope of the Cobble, a steep, sharp- 
pointed little hill which suddenly thrust itself up 
from a circle of broad meadows and flat wood- 
lands. Time was when all the Cobble was owned 
and plowed clear to its peak by Great-great-uncle 
Samuel, who had a hasty disposition and a tre- 
mendous voice and plowed with two yoke of 
oxen, which required a considerable amount of 




conversation. Tradition has it that when dis- 
coursing to them he could be heard in four differ- 
ent towns. That was more than one hundred 
years ago, and the Cobble has been untouched 
by plow or harrow since, and to-day is wooded to 
the ver>- top. 

Just ahead of me on the wood-road showed a 
deep track which only in recent years has been 
seen in Connecticut. In my boyhood a deer- 
track was as unknown as that of a wolf, and the 
wolves have been gone for at least a century. 
\Vi thin the last ten years, the deer have come back. 
I,ast summer I met two on the roads with the 
cows, and later saw seven make an unappreciated 
lisit to my neighbor's garden, where they seemed 

Ew COMES, aS unW^den guest 

highly to approve of her lettuce. Straight up a 
the hilliade ran the 'line of deeply-stamped little 
hoot-marks. The trail looks like that of a sheep, 
but the front of each track ends in two beautifully 
curved sharp points, while the track of a sheep is 
stra^hter and blunter. Nor could any sheep 
negotiate that magnificent bound over the five' 
foot rail fence. From take-off to where the four 
small hoofs landed together on the other side was 
a good twenty feet. On the other ade of the fence, 
the snow had drifted in a low hummock over a 
patch of sweet-fern by the edge of the wood-road. 
As I plodded along, I happened to strike this 
with my foot. There was a tremendous whirring 
noise, the snow exploded all over me, and out 
burst a magnificent cock partridge, as we call the 
rufTed grouse in New England, and whizzed away 
among the laurels like a lyddite shell. When the 
snow-storm began, he had selected a cozy spot 
in the lee of the sweet-fern patch and had let him- 
self be snowed over. The warmth of his body 
had made a round, warm room, and with plenty of 
rich fern-seeds within easy reach, he was prepared 
to stay in winter quarters a week if necessary. 

The stories of the snow, although often difficult 
to read, are always interestii^. After the winter 

fairly sets in, we read nothing there about the 
Seven Sleepers who have put themselves in cold 
storage until spring. The bear, the racoon, the 
woodchuck. the skunk, the chipmunk, and the 
jumping-mouse are all fast asleep underground. 
The seventh sleeper never touches the ground 
when awake, and sleeps swinging upside down by 
the long, recurved nails on his hind feet. He is 
the bat, who lives and hunts in the air and can 
outfly any bird of his own size. 

Perhaps the most unexpected of the snow 

stories was one which I read one winter day when 

out for a walk with the Botanist. Although the 

snow was on the ground, the sky was as blue as in 

June as the Botanist and 1 swung into an old road 

that the forgotten 

feet of more than 

two centuries had 

worn deep below 

its banks. It was 

opened in 1691. 

when William and 

Mary were king 

and queen, and 

Boston Tea-parties 

and Liberty Bells 

and Declarations 

of Independence 

were not yet even 

dreamed of in the 


We always keep 
a bird-record of every walk, and note down the 
names of the sky-folk that we meet and any in- 
teresting bit of news that they may have for us. 
In the migration season there is great rivalry as 
to who shall meet the greatest number from the 
crowd of travelers going north. Last year, my 
best day's record was eighty-four different kinds 
of birds, which beat the Botanist by two. An early 
night-hawk and a late black-poil warbler were the 
cause of his undoing. To a birdist every walk is 
full of possibilities. Any time, anywhere, some 
bird may flash into ^ght for the first time. 

To-day we crossed a plateau where a series of 
stumps showed where a grove of chestnut- trees 
had grown in the days before the blight. Sud- 
denly, from under our very feet, dashed a brown 
rabbit, his white powder-puff gleaming at every 
jump. The lithe, lean, springing body seemed 
the very embodiment of speed. There are few 
animals that can pass a rabbit in a hundred yards, 
even our cottontail, the slowest of his family. He 
is, however, only a sprinter. In a long-distance 
event, the fox. the dog, and even the dogged. 
devilish little weasel can run him down. 

We looked at the form where he had been 
lying. It was a wet little hollow made in the dark 



grass, with only a few dripping leaves lor a mat- 
tress, a fodorn bed. Yet Runny-Bunny, as some 
children I know have named him, seems to rest 
well in his open-air sleeping-porch, and even lies 
abed there. 

One far-away snowy day in February, two of 
us stole a few momenta from the bedside of a 
sick child — how long, long ago it all seems now! — 
and walked out among the wild-folk to forget. 
In a bleak meadow, right at our feet, we saw a 
rabbit crouched, nearly covered by the snow. He 

It is the same way with celestial rabbits. Look 
any clear winter night down below the belt of 
Orion, and you will see a great rabbit-track in the 
sky — the constellation of Lepus, the Hare, whose 
track leads away from the Great Dog with bale- 
ful Sinus gleaming green in his fell jaw. 

From the rabbit-meadow we followed devious 
paths down through Fern Valley, which tn sum- 
mer-time is a green mass of cinnamon-fern, inter- 
rupted fern, Christmas fern, brake, regal fern, 
and half a score of others. In the midst of the 


had been snowed under days before, but had 
slept out the storm until half of hia fleecy coverlet 
had melted away. 

He lay so still that at first we thought he was 
dead; but on'lookjng closely, we could see the 
quick throbbing of his frightened little heart. 
There was not a quiver from his taut body, or a 
blink from his wide-open eyes. He lay motion- 
less until my hand stroked gently hb wet fur. 
Then, indeed, he exploded like a brown bombshell 
from the snow, and we laughed and laughed, the 
first and last time for many a weary week. 

Years later I was coasting down the meadow 
hill with one of my boys; and as the sled came to a 
stop, a rabbit burst out of the snow, almost be- 
tween the runners. The astonished boy rolled 
into a drift as if blown clear off his sled by the 
force of the explosion. 

To-day. as the brownie sped over the soft snow, 
we could see how its tracks in aeries of fours were 
made. At every jump the long hind legs thrust 
themselves far in front. They made the two 
far-apart tracks in the snow, while the close-set 
fore paws make the near-by tracks. Accordingly, 
a rabbit is always traveling in the direction of 
the far-apart tracks, quite contrary to what most 
of us would suppose. 

marsh were rows of the fruit-stems of the sensi- 
tive fern, which is the first to blacken before the 
frost. These were heavy with rich, wine-brown 
seed-pods filled with seeds like fine dust. They 
had an oily, nutty taste; and it would seem as if 
some hungry mouse or bird would find them good 
eating during famine times. Vet so far as I have 
(rfBerved, they are never fed upon. 

Along the side of the path were thickets of 
spice-bush, whose crushed leaves in summer have 
an incense sweeter than bums in any censer of 
man's making. To-day I broke one of the brittle 
branches to nibble the perfumed bark, and 
found at the end of a twig, pretending to be a 
withered leaf, a cocoon of the prometheus moth. 
The leaf had been folded ti^ether, lined with 
spun silk, and lashed so strongly that the twig 
would break before the silken cable. 

We passed through a clump of stag-horn sumac, 
with branches like antlers, bearing at their ends 
heavy masses of fruit clusters made up of hun- 
dreds of dark, velvety, crimson berries, each con- 
taining a brown seed. The pulp of these berries 
is intensely sour, its flavor giving the sumac its 
other name of "vinegar-plant" The stag-hom 
is not to be confused with its treacherous nster, 
the poison-sumac, with her corpse-colored berries. 



She is a vitriol thrower, and with her death-pale 
bark and arsenic-green leaves always makes me 
think of one of those ha.ggard, horrible women of 
the Terror. 

The crowning event of the walk came on the 
home-stretch. We were passing through the last 
pasture before reaching the humdrum turnpike 
which led back to the tame-folk. Suddenly, in 
the snow, 1 saw a strange trail. It was evidently 
made by a jumper, but not one whose track 1 
knew. 1 followed it until, among the leaves in a 

earth, cheerless etu>ugh, according to mammalian 
ideas. It was evidendy home for Mr. Toad, and 
when I set him therein, he scrambled relievedly 
under some of the loose wet leaves which had 
Fallen back into his nest. I piled a generous 
measure of dripping leaves and moist earth over 
his warted back. It may have been imagination, 
but I fancied that the last look I had from his 
bright eyes was one of gratitude. The Botanist 
scoffed at the idea, for toads convey absolutely 
no appeal to his narrow, flower-bound nature. 


bank, something moved. Before my astonished 
eyes hopped falterii^ly, but bravely, a speckled 

The winter eun shone palely on his brown back, 
still crusted with the earth of his chill home. 
Down under the leaves and the frozen ground he 
had heard the call and struggled to the surface, 
expecting to find spring awaiting him. Two 
jumps, however, landed him in a snow-bank. It 
was a disillusion, and Mr. Toad winked his mild 
brown eyes piteously. He struggled bravely to 
get out, but every jump plunged him deeper into 
the snow. His movements became feebler as the 
litde warmth his cold blood contained oozed out. 

Just as he was settling despairingly back into 
the crystallized cold, 1 rescued him. He was too 
far gone even to move, for cold spelb quick death 
to the reptile folk. Only his blinking, beautiful 
eyes, like lignite flecked with gold, and the slow 
throbbing of his mottled breast showed that life 
was still in him. He nestled close in my hand, 
willing to occupy it until warm weather. 

I back-tracked him from his last faltering ef- 
forts, and, where his first lusty jump showed on 
the thawii^ ground, I found his hibernaculum. It 
was only a little hollow, scarcely three inches 
deep, showing under the aoddea kavee and wet 

I have erected a monument in the shape of a 
chestnut stake be«de Mr. Toad's winter resi- 
dence, and I strongly suspect that he will be the 
last of his family to get up when the spring rising- 
bell finally rings. 

'There 's positively nothing to this early-rising 
can hear him telling his friends at 
the Puddle Club in April. "Look at what hap- 
pened to me. If it had ir't been for a well-meaning 
giant, I should have caught my death of cold 
from getting out of bed too soon. Never again!" 

Our calendar makers use red letters to mark 
special days. Personally, I prefer orchids and 
birds and sunrises and nests and snakes and 
similar markers. I have in my diary "The Day 
of the Prothonotary Warbler," "The Day of the 
Henslow's Sparrow's Nest" (that was a day!), 
"The Day of the Rattlesnake Den," and many, 
many others. But always and forever that snowy 
twenty-first of December is marked in my mem- 
ory as "The Day of the Early Toad." 

Once more I was climbing the Cobble. The 
wood-road on which I started had narrowed to a 
path. Overhead, masses of rock showed through 
the snow, and above them were the dark depths 
of the bear hole, where Great-great-uncle Jake 
had once shot with his flint-lock musket the lai^' 



est bear ever killed in that part of the State. It 
was here at the cliff ude that Scheherazade snow 
told me another story. 

Along the edge of the slope ran a track made 
up of four holes in the snow. The front ones 
were far apart, and the back ones, near apart. 
Occasionally, instead of four holes, five would 
show in the snow, and the position of the marlra 
were reversed. A little farther on, and the trail 
changed. The two near-apart tracks were now in 
a perpendicular line, instead of side by side. To 
Chingachgook, or Deer-Slayer, or Daniel Boone, 
or any other well-known tracker, the traii would, 
of course, have been an open book. But it has 
taken an amateur trailer like myself some years 
to be able to read that snow record aright. The 
trail was that of a cottontail rabbit. At first, he 
had been hopping contentedly along with an eye 


open for anything eatable in the line of winter 
vegetables. The far-apart tracks were the paw- 
marks of the big hind legs, which came in front 
of the marks made by the two fore paws as they 
touched the ground at every hop. The five 
marks were where he had sat down to look around. 
The fifth mark was the mark of his stubby tail, 
and, when he stopped, the little fore paws made 
the near-apart marks in front of the far-apart 
marks of his hind feet, instead of behind them as 
when he hopped. 

Suddenly the rabbit sensed something alarm- 
ing coming from behind, for the sedate hops 
changed into startled bounds. A little farther, 
the trail said that the rabbit had caught sight of 
its pursuer as it ran, for a rabbit by the position 
of its eyes sees backward and forward equally 
well. The tracks showed a frantic bur?t of speed. 
In an effort to get every possible bit of leverage, 
the fore legs were twisted so that they struck the 
ground one behind the other, which accounted for 
the last set of marks perpendicular to those in 
front. A line of tracks that came from a pile of 

stones, and which paralleled the rabbit's trail. 
told the whole story. The paw-marks wore small 
and dainty, but beyond each pad-print were the 
marks of fierce claws. No wonder the rabbit ran 
wild when it first scented its enemy and then saw 
its long slim body bounding along behind, whitt^ 
as snow except for the black tip of its tail! 

It was the weasel, whose long body moves like 
the uncoiling of a steel spring. A weasel running 
looks like a gigantic inch-worm, that bounds in- 
stead of crawls. Speed, however, is not what the 
little white killer depends on for its prey. It can 
follow a trail by scent better than any hound, 
climb trees nearly as well as a squirrel, and if 
the animal it is chasing goes into a burrow, it 
has gone to certain death. The rabbit's only 
chance would have been a straightaway ruii at 
full speed for miles and hours. In this way it 
could probably have tired out the weasel, which is 
a killer, not a runner, by profession. A rabbit, 
however, like the fox, never runs straight - 
Round and round in great circles it runs abotii 
the feeding-ground, of which it knows all tht- 
paths and runways and burrows. Against a dog 
or fox these are safer tactics than exploring new 
territory. ^;ainst a weasel they are usually fatal. 

It was easy to see on the snow what had hap- 
pened. At first, when the rabbit saw the weasel 
looping along its trail like a hunting snake, it 
had started off with a sprint that in a minute 
carried it out of sight. Then a strange thing 
happened. Although a rabbit can run for an 
hour at nearly top speed, and in this case had 
every reason to run, after a half-mile of rapid cir- 
cling and doubling, the trail changed and showed 
that the rabbit was plodding along as if paralyzed. 

One of the weird and unexplained facts in 
nature is that strange power that a weasel ap- 
pears to have over all the smaller animals. Many 
of them simply give up and wait for death when 
they find that a weasel is on their trail. A red 
squirrel, which could easily escape through the 
tree-tops, sometimes becomes almost hysterical 
with fright, and has been known to fall out of a 
tree-top in a perfect ecstasy of terror. Even the 
rat, which is a cynical, practical animal, with no 
nerves, and a bitter, brave lighter when fight it 
must, loses its head when up against a weasel. .\ 
friend of mine once saw a grim, gray old fellow 
run squealing aloud across a road from a wood- 
pile and plunge into a stone wall. A moment 
later a weasel, in its reddish summer coat, came 
sniffling along the rat's trail and passed within a 
yard of him. 

This night the rabbit, with every chance for 
escape, began to run slowly and heavily, as if in a 
nightmare, watching the while its back trail, and 
when the weasel came in sight again, the trail 




stopped as the rabbit crouched in the snow watt- 
ing for the end. It came mercifully quick. 
Wlien the weasel saw the rabbit had stopped, its 
red eyes flamed and, with a flashing spring, its 
teeth and claws were at poor bunny's throat 
There was a plaintive, whinnying cry, and the 
reddened snow told the rest. 

So the last story of the snow ended in tragedy, 
as do nearly all true stories of the wild-folk. Yet 
they need not our pity. Better a thousand 
times the quick passing at the end of a swift run 
or a brave fight, than the long, long weariness of 
pain and sickness by which we humans so often 
claim our immortality. 



There 's a little old fellow without any crown. 
Sometimes he is black and sometimes he is brown ; 
But whatever his color, or shade of his hair, 
He spoils all the castles we build in the air! 
He is slender and small, but the mischief he brings 
Troubles the children as well as the kings! 
The Czar and the Kaiser must yield to his sway. 
And even the Sultan cannot disobey! 
The lofty and lowly, the short and the tall. 
The sober and smiling, the great and the small. 
The aged and youthful — ^whatever befall, 
This little old fellow just troubles them all ! 

If the weather were clear, what games we could play ! 
But alas! this old fellow stands round in the way. 
And in spite of our longing, or even our frown, 
The clouds thicken up and the rain tumbles down ! 
" If I were a man" — ^there he is to annoy. 
And the youth must remember he 's only a boy! 
If Bess would be older, like Mother, or Moll — 
He bids her be quiet and play with her doll ! 
The birds and the fishes might even change places, 
And all of us sail through the blue airy spaces, 
Over hills, over mountains so purple and dim, 
But that he interposes his whimsical whim! 

He chuckles and laughs in his sleeve, no doubt, 
At the havoc he makes, within and without. 
He scatters his troubles so slyly about. 
That we scarcely can tell just when he is out 
A great many things might happen each day. 
If he would consent to keep out of the way; 
Lucky for us that he never grew taller — 
And luckier still had he been even smaller! 

If your dreams come to naught, and your castles in Spain 
Tumble down as you build them again and again, 
And the fairest of fancies go out with a whiflF, 
You may charge them all up to this horrid old"///" 

A very small fellow to shoulder such blame 
When two slender letters spdl out his whole name! 


His father was king of England and his uncle 
was king of France, yet he and his mother Isa- 
bella were refugees, riding northward from Paris 
to Valenciennes, which was then a part of Flan- 
ders, to seek protection and shelter at the court of 
Earl William of Hainault. But it mattered littie 
to Edward, although he was an exile. He was 
sixteen years old, and the glow of youth was so 
strong in his spirit that it seemed a splendid 
adventure, and, moreover, he had no doubt that 
right would triumph speedily, and then the nobles 
whose slanderous tales had turned his royal 
father against him and his mother would be shut 
up in the prison where they tried to put the queen 
and her son. So he whistled as the cavalcade 
moved northward, whisded ballads and rondels 
that strolling minstrels had brought to the Wind- 
sor Castle halls: and now and then he signaled a 
bird so blithely that it trilled back to him as it 
flew from the green tent of a forest tree to a 
cushion of spring flowers. It was blossom weather 
in the Ardennes. In the gladness of nature, it 
seemed only goodness and beauty could be in the 
world; and although homeless as the beggars 
who passed him on the roadside, he went happily 
toward the castle of the earl. There he met 

Philippa, the youngest of the Hainault princesses 
and a maid whose beauty of face and quickness 
of tongue were sung by minstrels throughout 
many provinces. 

He met Jean Froissart too, a squire and scribe 
at the castle, who delighted above all things else 
in the making of verses. He spun ballads and 
rondels by dozens and hundreds, and if it had 
not been for him and his poetry, there would he 
no story to tell, because without him Philippa 
would not have had the memory gown. But he 
set her wheels of destiny to whirring so delight- 
fully that they talk about it all over Belgium yet, 

tn that far-olT time, when Europe was young 
and America and a new route to the Indies had 
n't even been thought about, royal youths chose 
brides very early, and before Edward had been a 
month at Valenciennes he made up his mind that 
Philippa should be the future queen of England. 
There was not much time to talk about it, for 
Isabella was gathering an army with which to go 
back home and assert her rights, and of course the 
prince had to help. But when he set sail for 
London Town he left a promise with the princess 
to come back for her. 

A great many things happened on that voyage, 
— so many, that telling about them would make 
ten stories instead of one, — but after being temp- 
est-tossed and almost shipwrecked, the queen's 
forces reached the island kingdom and shut up 



the bad nobles in prisons, where they belonged. 
They dethroned the king, too, because he had 
been so weak as to be swayed by his courtiers, 
and crowned Edward king of England. Of 
course, when that came to pass, the young mon- 
arch began thinking about the Hainault girl. 

But sometimes even kings cannot have things 
as they want them, especially if they happen to be 
very young kings. Edward was still under age, 
and therefore sovereign in name only, for his 
mother, as regent, was real ruler of England, 
So his plans came to be in a very bad mix-up. 

Isabella liked her new position ever so much. 
Instead of being uneasy, as somebody says 

spirited Philippa, and therefore decided that his 
wife should be Joanne, the eldest daughter of the 
Earl of Hainault. who was more easily managed 
than her sister. She set to work at once to make 
arrangements, and secretly dispatched the Bishop 
of Hereford to Valenciennes to ask Earl William 
for the hand of his eldest child, which was a very 
deceitful and unqueenlike act. But it happens 
once in a while that queen regents do not have 
things as they want them, any more than very 
young kings. And so it happened in this case. 

Joanne had been very happy in thinking of her 
sister as queen of England, and when His Emi- 
nence of Hereford asked her to wear the ring that 


people who wield scepters always are, her head would make her the betrothed wife of King Ed- 
was so comfortable with the crown that she ward, she refused to let him put it on her linger, 
wanted to keep wearing it the rest of her days, "I know very well that His Majesty's choice is 
and planned to rule England by ruling Edward my sister Philippa," she insisted, "and I will not 
even after he became king in reality. She knew take what belongs to her." 
siie could not do this if he married the high- The Bishop of Hereford, who was red-faced 




to begin with, grew redder still with anger, be- 
cause he knew how furious Isabella would be, and 
began picturing for himself a damp, dark dungeon 
in London Tower. But Joanne did not care. She 
went out into the garden to talk things over with 
Jean Froissart, who was in a bower of myrtle at his 
favorite pastime of putting verses on parchment. 

"I feel like a cross cat!" she exclaimed, as she 
went near him; "unless somebody smooths my 
fur, I shall surely scratch." 

Jean Froissart was amazed to find Joanne so 
irritable, for she was a very nice- tempered girl. 
But when he heard about the bishop and the 
queen-mother, he was indignant, too, because he 
knew as well as anybody that Edward had chosen 
Philippa. He knew, too, that just before he 
set sail for England, the prince had said he 
wanted to give Philippa some poetry on her 
birthday, and asked him to make some verses 
and have them ready. They were finished now, 
beautifully printed on parchment, and locked 
away awaiting the anniversary. Why not get 
them out and let her see that the king had not 
forgotten? For you must know that Philippa 
thought her young lover knew all about the 
visit of the Bishop of Hereford, and was so angry, 
thinking he had turned fickle, that she declared 
she would not have his ring though it went beg- 
ging all over Europe. 

But they could change all that with the verses, 
they believed, so it did not take the squire long 
to go into the castle and get them, after which 
Joanne took them to her sister. 

Who would n't have been appeased by the 
poetry of a Froissart? Before another hour, 
Philippa accepted the ring, and that night, in 
the great hall of the castle, torches flared and 
lutes thrilled gaily as brave knights and fair 
ladies danced in honor of her betrothal to the 
king of England. 

Then what excitement in Valenciennes, with a 
royal wedding approaching! Of course, the^^e 
had to be a fine trousseau, and two weeks later 
the four sisters rode to Ghent, then one of the 
chief cloth-markets of Flanders, to purchase it. 
A stately cavalcade they made, each on a saddle- 
horse magnificently caparisoned, followed by 
pack-horses bearing empty boxes and attended 
by serving-men and lancers. The eyes of the 
girls danced as they rode through the gate of 
the town, for the great bell Roland was just then 
calling the people together, and crowds hurried 
along the streets or stood talking in groups as if 
very much excited. 

"It seems like the beginning of a fair adven- 
ture," Philippa remarked to Joanne, as they 
moved on their way toward the castle of the 
(Tount of FUnd^rs, which was to be their home 

while in the town. "There is much stir among 
the citizens, and methinks more happens here 
than at Valenciennes." 

She reckoned correctly. Much was happening 
in Ghent just then, and more was about to happ>en ; 
and although she did not know it, she herself was 
to be in the very center of the train of events. 

That night the Count of Flanders gave a 
banquet, and had as his guests the burghers, 
who were the merchants and manufacturers of 
the town. His lordship was not given to asso- 
ciating with tradespeople, but Ghent was a 
bubbling caldron of dissatisfaction just then, and 
he knew not at what moment it would boil over. 
The French king, Philip of Valois, had seized the 
town, appointing the count royal governor, and 
the people bitterly resented the loss of their 
ancient liberties and the tyranny of the foreign 
rule. Indignation grew as insult piled on insult, 
and finally a leader arose who fired the citizens 
to assert themselves. His name was Jacques 
Van Artevelde. He was head of the Guild of 
Brewers and a capable, popular man; and when 
the royal collector came to gather in the exorbi- 
tant and unjust taxes, he urged the townsfolk to 
refuse payment, with the result that they threw 
both man and money-bags into the River 
Scheldt and gave him a most unwelcome sousing. 
Consequently, the count knew that something 
had to be done, and thought a fine supper at the 
castle would flatter them so much that they 
would become docile. He little knew how indig- 
nant and proud they were! 

The burghers came, but they were not a bit 
dazzled by the splendor of the banquet-hail or 
cajoled by the rich foods. Instead they grew 
even more defiant, and told his lordship to his 
face that hereafter they meant to rule Ghent 
to suit themselves, and that if he were wise, 
he would not try to interfere. Philippa and her 
sisters heard every word, and were so frightened 
they dreaded to think of going shopping next 
morning. But the purchases had to be made, for 
a royal bride must have a royal trousseau. So, 
praying good luck would attend them, they set 
out early for the market-place. Joanne wanted 
a guard, but Philippa objected, believing that 
girls unattended would be safer than those sur- 
rounded by an armed escort, which might antag- 
onize the burghers. 

When they reached the market-place, there 
was such an amazing display of velvets, lace, and 
satins that Philippa could hardly decide what she 
liked best. But she finally selected a crimson 
redingote, a veil and coronet of Brussels lace, 
and dozens of other garments such as the high 
estate of a queen would require. She paid the 
merchant and bade him deliver the things at 



the castle of the Count of Flanders, after which 
she and her sisters started back to the ch&teau, 
the lackey of the draper following close behind 
with the bundles. 

But they did not go far. Suddenly a band of 
halberdiers surrounded them. They seized the 
man with the prack^es. They faced the girls 
about and commanded them to return with them 
to the Cloth Hall, and when they got there, they 

since I paid the merchant for it as much as he 


Van Artevelde paid no attention to her words. 

"This veil of lace," he continued, "is fit for 
the robe of a sovereign, and the weavers of Ghent 
have sworn that the yield of their looms shalh 
not go to the court of Philip Valois of France." 

Then anger went out of Philippa's voice and 
she laughed merrily. 



found the twenty-four guild heads, who repre- 
sented the people of Ghent, sitting around a 
table, with Jacques Van Artevelde preading 
over the meeting, 

"Tell us who ye may be," he demanded 
roughly, "that ye order packages sent to the castle 
of the Count of Flanders." 

He tore open a bundle as he spoke, and drew 
out the folds of the crimson redingote. 

"This garment is one of the costliest ever 
loomed in Flanders, and it is the will of the drap- 
ers to know what damsel or dame will wear it." 

Philippa's head went high and her eyes flashed 
as she retorted, "What may that matter to you, 

"Have no fear of that," she said blithely, "for 
I am Philippa of Hainault, and this redingote of 
flame is the robe I shall wear when I ride to my 
coronation as queen of England." 

For a moment Van Artevelde stared as if 
stunned. Then he and all the burghers sprang 
up and bowed in homage, for the people of Ghent 
were very friendly to the young king of England, 
who already had given hia promise to aid them. 
They be^ed Philippa to accept as a bridal gift 
the robe and veil that caused all the trouble, 
whereupon she curtsied as a future queen should, 
and set out for the castle with her sisters. 

Many moons passed. Away in Merrie Ei^^and 


the Hainautt prl went to 
wore the gift of the Flanders drapers. She 
called it her memory gown, because the sight of 
it brought back the towers of Ghent and the old 
Cloth Hall where so much had happened. And 
on her twenty-first birthday, as her ladies-in- 
waiting held up her various dresses that she 
might choose one to wear to the banquet that 
night, her eyes brightened at sight of the flame- 
colored folds, and she told them its story. 

"They seemed mighty and feariess men," she 
remarked, as she finished the tale, "and although 
I pretended boldness, I believed we should leave 
the place in chains." 

One of the ladies-in-waiting smiled at her and 
answered, "They were and are mighty, your 
majesty, for has not their craft of weaving made 
the Flanders cities rich?" 

Philippa looked up in surprise. 

"I never thought of that," she replied, "and 
it is strange, for it gives me an idea." 

That afternoon the queen of England dis- 
patched a courier with a message to a weaver in 
Ghent, and a fortnight later proclaimed to the 
English people that she had arranged to bring 
to England the craft of cloth-making, that had 
been a source of wealth to the Low Countries. 
A colony of workers under John Kempe crossed 
the sea and began operations at Norwich, and 
because its members were brought there by the 
queen and financed from her private fortune, 
they were known far and wide as "Her Majesty's 

Golden, eventful years rolled over the golden 
head of Philippa. She lived happily in England, 
and held until she died the love and loyalty of the 
English people. She was queen in more than 
name, for when Edward was absent at his wars, 
she ruled the country as regent, and the story of 
how well she ruled it is told in many an old chron- 
icle. She had numerous estates, every one of 
them magnificent, but she liked best the castle of 
Woodstock, and there, whenever she could be 
free from cares of state, she enjoyed life as men 

and women of big natures do. And there some- 
times came young Geoffrey Chaucer, a youth 
whose poetry was beginning to be talked about, 
and whose name was destined to live on through 
the ages. And there too, between his wander- 
ings in far lands, came another maker of verses, 
the playmate of the far-off Valenciennes days. 
Jean Froissart, And sometimes these two had 
contests, at which Philippa was always a 
delighted, but, according to Chaucer's notion, 
a very partial judge. 

Six hundred years have passed away. Phi- 
lippa sleeps in the Abbey of Westminster in the 
tomb of Edward the Confessor, and a sepulcher 
worthy of a sovereign marks the site of her last 
resting-place. But her most enduring monu- 
ment is the cloth industry of England, which has 
gone on successfully since the day she founded it. 
spreading from Norwich to other localities and 
becoming one of the chief sources of Britain's 
wealth. All over the world, poets and scholars 
read the works of those two friends of hers, whose 
verses gladdened life at Woodstock, and try to 
equal their achievements, for Chaucer grew to be 
the king and father of British poets, and Frois- 
sart, although he wrote excellent poetry, wrote 
even better chronicles, and stands as the great his- 
torian of the Middle Ages, And across the sea 
in Flanders, that Flanders that has been war- 
torn and peace-blessed so many times since 
Philip pa's blithe girlhood there, mothers tell 
their children, and laugh as they relate the story, 
of the viMt of a bishop to Valenciennes and the 
plan of a queen-mother that came to naught 
through some verses by a squire. And they tell 
also of Jacques Van Artevelde and the niemor>' 
gown, and how Philippa rejoiced to see him rise 
to fame, for he became one of the mightiest 
leaders of his time, the Ruwald, or president, of 

And did his eminence of Hereford get a dun- 
geon in the Tower? Well, if you look very care- 
fully through the Chronicles of Froissart you can 
find that out for yourself. 



Oh, open wide your window 
To hear the robin sing 

A cheerful little roundelay 
In praise of budding spring! 

The cricket comes with summer 

And in the locust-trees 
You '11 hear the drowsy humming 

Of honey- making bees. 

Deep in the woods, the squirrels 

Are full of frolic fun; 
And furry baby rabbits 

Go scampering in the sun. 




There was no danger of a green Christmas at 
Spruce Tree Camp. For a fortn^ht the trail that 
led up the steep mountain-Mde had been closed, 
and any letters that came to gladden the eyes of 
the snow-bound inhabitants had to be packed in 
by some adventurous spirit whose good inclina- 
tions were backed up by stout legs and an inti- 
mate knowledge of snow-shoes. 

The trees that the timberman's axe had spared 
bent beneath their loads of spotless snow, their 
lower branches firmly imbedded in the swirling 
drifts, and the paths leading to the shaft-house 
of the Spruce Tree mine had been cut with shovel 
and pick between walls of solid white. 

The few cabins that clung dizzily to the steep 
slope were not lacking in creature comforts, how- 
ever. "Grub" was plenty, fuel abundant, and 
clothing adequate to the needs of those who wore 
out the long winter days either working under 
ground or in ministering to the wants of the min- 
ers who disappeared regularly in the hidden 
depths, delving ever deeper and farther in the 
search for silver and gold. 

Danny, the boss's boy — red-headed, blue-eyed, 
square-jawed like his father — looked out of the 
cabin window. 

He did not miss the Christmas shopping, the 
streets bright with holly and mistletoe, the ven- 
dors of short-lived toys that perform so perfecdy 
on the pavement and so badly at home, tor he had 
never lived in a big city. 

But there was nothing to suggest Christmas on 
the boy's face, and his eyes, swimming in tears. 

conveyed to his tired mind, as he looked out upon 
the glistening peaks piled high against the western 
sky, only the impression of a vast, white, dazzling 

His mother moved listlessly about the room, 
and an occasional stifled sob from his Httie sister 
Nora only intensified the stillness that brooded 
in the cabin. 

Three days before, there had been a cave-in at 
the mine shaft, and when the bucket reached the 
surface on its last trip, only three men were cling- 
ing to the steel cable. Their blanched faces, cut 
here and there by Hying splinters or loosened 
stones, told the story of their ascent plainer than 

Danny, sorting ore near by, had heard the grue- 
some sounds of the creaking and rending timbers, 
the hurried signals on the gong clanging in the 
engine-room; and he had stood petrified with 
terror, watching the anxious face of the engineer 
as he opened the throttle and the wire cable S|>un 
swiftly around the big drum. Then, as he recog- 
nized the three men who were shot up from the 
shaft, he knew that the "boss," bis father, was still 
a prisoner, or worse, in the black depths below. 

He had been brought up in the hard school of 
toil and risk that makes boys old before their 
time. He did not cry, but ran to the men as they 
staggered to the floor. 

'■Where's Dad, Bill?" 

The rough miner looked at the boy and put an 
arm kindly about him. "Never fear, Danny! 
We 'II get him out. He 's surely all right. He 



^ras off in number-four stope and we could n't 
wait for him. But the ground is safe there. The 
old shaft has been working for some days, but the 
levels are sound." 

That had happened three long, anxious days 
before. Danny remembered how he had run 
home to tell the dreadful news to his mother, and 
had found her singing at her work as she made 
cheerful preparations for the Christmas-tide so 
near at hand. 

'*Oh, Mother!" he cried, wild-eyed and gasping 
for breath after his run through the thin, cutting 
air; "Dad is penned up down the mine — the shaft 
has caved — the day shift is all up but him!" 

"Come here, Danny!" said his mother. "Look 
me in the face, dear! Have you told it all? I *ve 
feared this for many a day. There 's bad ground 
in the old mine. What do the boys say?" 

**He was over in number-four stope. It *s all 
right. Mother! Don't cry! They will surely get 
him out somehow." 

By this time the whistle at the shaft-house was 
blowing its shrill alarm, and from the cabin 
doors the men of the night shift were tumbling 
out into the cold, pulling on their jackets as they 

It was only a little camp and a little mine, — 
as mines go, — and before the echoes had died out 
in the distant pines, the few men who made up 
the winter force, — ^the "boys" who stayed with 
the job until spring released them from the snow- 
blocked prison, — ^and the women and children 
who shared their isolation, were huddling around 
the boiler and casting awe-struck looks at the 
mouth of the black shaft that held its secret so 

Big Bill Fleming had disappeared down the 
ladderway to see how far the damage had gone 
and whether there was any hope of reaching the 

It was a weary time, waiting for the verdict 
that meant so much to them, but at last Fleming 

"We '11 get to him before it 's too late, Katie. 
Never fear ! But the boys have got their work cut 
out for them. I can see but one way. There 's 
no use trying anything down the shaft — a 
cat could n't get down there. The ladder holds to 
the second level. There 's about thirty feet to go 
through to the old stope over the third, but, 
from there, we can start in on the winze and sink 
to number-four stope. We ought to do it in four 
days* time, working short shifts. The boss is a 
big, strong man. He can stand it that long, as the 
air is good and water plenty." 

Then began the ceaseless round of drilling, 
blasting, and clearing away. 

There were tired muscles and aching lungs in 

that little body of faithful comrades batding with 
the stubborn rock to reach their boss, but they 
put their love for the big-hearted man into every 
stroke of the heavy hammers. 

For three days and nights the work had gone 
on. The third level had been reached, and the 
scene of action had shifted to the winze. 

As Danny gazed, unseeing, out of the cabin 
window, all these things passed in review through 
his mind, and then a suggestion, a hope, a deter^ 
minadon, flashed electrically through him. 

Once the men had let him go down to the 
third level and on his way up he had stolen, candle 
in hand, to the shaft. Caudously, on his hands 
and knees, he had peered into the black mass of 
twisted, broken and displaced timbers. He had 
heard a small stone that he had accidentally dis- 
lodged bumping from place to place — the hollow 
sound, as it struck the wood here and there, boom- 
ing out in the stillness. 

"Come here, sis!" he called to litde Nora. He 
led her furtively into the adjoining room. 

"Cross your heart and promise you won't tell 
any one. I 'm going to take Father's Christmas 
dinner to him. There ain't any one can climb 
the way I can." 

"There sure ain't, Danny," replied his sister, 
looking at him" with admiring eyes. "But oh, 
Danny! the men all say nobody can get down the 
old shaft." 

"I know they do; but they are big and heavy, 
and I am light and wiry. I know I can do it. 
Think of Dad down there! He must be awful 
hungry by this time. Gee! how he loves Mother's 
mince pies! Now here 's where you come in, sis. 
You 've got to get a gunny-sack and a pie and 
some other food. I guess he will want something 
besides pie, something kind of filling — bread and 
butter and things like that. The boys always 
like canned tomatoes for fruit. You fix it. 
Mother might suspect something if she saw me 
prowling around. When you get 'em, put the 
sack in the woodshed and don't you dare breathe 
a word to a living soul!" 

That night, when the mother and Nora were 
going to bed, Danny announced that he would 
make . one more trip to the shaft-house. Not 
many hours had passed since the accident that 
had not seen him on his way there to get the 
latest news from the men, so his going created no 
special interest. Nevertheless, his conscience 
pricked him as he looked at his sister and put a 
warning finger to his lips. 

He went out through the woodshed, where he 
found the well -stocked gunny-sack. An extra 
tin plate he bound securely over the precious pie. 




hanging the load about his neck by a stout cord. 
The snow creaked crisply under his feet as he 
picked his way over the trail that led up toward 
the light of the shaft-house window. 

There was one book in the children's meager 
collection that contained a picture of a Christmas- 
tree with a group of happy youngsters pulling 
presents from the branches. He and little Nora 
had been looking at it that very afternoon. 
About him, on every side, stood counterparts of 
that tree dotting the steep mountain-side. 

One, near the path, looked almost as if lighted 
up, when the moonlight played on the frost 
crystals. But as he brushed hurriedly past it a 
light shower of snow fell from its branches upon 
the boy's upturned face. 

"Sort of a chilly present," said Danny, and 
quickened his footsteps. 

He felt sure there would be no one to stop him 
in the shaft-house, for the hoist was now useless 
and the engineer taking his turn on the shift 
below. If he could gain the third level without 
being caught, it would be plain sailing as far as 
the men were concerned. 

Inside the engine-room, Danny removed his 
arctics and stole cautiously to the place where 
the candles were kept. He slipped several of 
them down the legs of his high felt socks, pocketed 
a handful of matches, secured a coil of light rope 
that lay near by, and then, noiselessly crossing 
the floor, lifted the hatch of the ladderway and 
began his descent. 

He knew very well that he would be stopped 
if any one saw him, so he did not light his candle; 
but as he was familiar with every round in the 
ladder, he gained the second level quickly and 
felt his way along toward the place where the 
men had sunk to cut into the stope on the third. 

Here he must see, for it was new ground and a 
misstep might mean death. He lighted a candle 
and picked his way cautiously down the impro- 
vised ladder into the stope below. In the dim 
glow this loomed like a big, dark cavern, but it 
held no terrors for him — mine boy that he was. 

He crossed to the manhole that led to the third 
level and dropped quickly into it. Working down 
through the cribbing, as a sweep would in some 
old chimney, he soon dropped into the open drift. 
He extinguished his candle, for he heard the thud 
of the hammers in the winze and could distinguish 
the voices of the men. A light flickered near by, 
and he saw the head and shoulders of Fleming 
push up out of the depths. Then he groped his 
way noiselessly toward the shaft. 

A piece of rock, dislodged by him as he rubbed 
along the side of the wall, fell to the floor of the 
drift. He held his breath and shrank behind a 
projection, fearing he had been discovered. 

"I guess this ground is none too good," he 
heard Fleming exclaim as he paused on the point 
of climbing into the manhole Danny had just 
vacated. "I wonder what *s giving way. Well, 
I ain*t got time to look into it now!" 

The boy breathed more freely as the light dis- 
appeared overhead. He felt safe from observa- 
tion now as he crawled around a bend in the level, 
so he relighted his candle and proceeded carefully 
toward the shaft. 

When he reached it, the sight was not encour- 
aging. Timbers, broken and twisted, cribbing 
and debris of all sorts, piled about like jack-straws, 
confronted him. 

If he had been older, he would have known 
better than to tempt fate by trusting even his 
light weight to any of these supports, but the 
idea of reaching his father had become fixed in 
his mind, and he had always been a fearless young- 
ster and accustomed to seeing men take big 

He found a large timber wedged, and to this he 
fastened one end of his rope. Then, carefully 
coiling the rest of it over one arm so that it would 
pay out freelv, he peered down, in the dim light 
that his candle gave, for an opening. 

Out toward the center of the shaft he could see 
one, but there was no way to get to it. Close at 
hand there was a small one, — so small it seemed 
as if a cat could hardly pass through it, — ^but 
Danny, lying face down, found that by prying 
with a piece of board he could move some of the 
timbers. With great patience, he worked away 
until little by little he had enlarged the aperture 
without dislodging anything, and then, scarcely 
touching the treacherous mass, he lowered him- 
self slowly down. 

He knew every inch of the mine and remem- 
bered that from the third to the fourth level the 
regular ladderway had not been completed, but 
that the men depended upon a perpendicular one 
which was spiked to the timbers of the shaft. 

If this had not been destroyed and he could 
reach it, he believed he might make part of his 
descent by its help. He remembered that it was 
on his side of the shaft, but he found himself 
hanging several feet out from it. His foot, 
striking a timber, dislodged some of the loose rock 
from the cave-in. He listened with beating heart 
as he heard the falling pieces bumping down, 
glancing from beam to beam, and finally striking 
the water far below with a dismal splash. 

If he could only reach that ladder and rest for 
a moment! Tough as his hands were and inured 
to hardship, they were beginning to smart and 
burn with the friction. 

He realized now how desperate his chances were. 
The light of the candle seemed to dance in sparks 


before his eyes and a sudden fear took possession over one of the rounds and he pulled himself flat 
of him, but he could detect fragments of the lad- gainst the wail. His feet found a lodging, and, 
der just beyond his reach. panting and dizzy, he closed his eyes and clung to 

Taking a turn or two of the rope about his left that blessed resting-place, 
arm, he reached frantically out. The motion set When he had recovered his breath and pulled 

himself together, he 
reached down foranother 
candle, and, breaking otT 
the end with his thumb 
to leave a long wick, in 
miner's fashion, he suc- 
ceeded in striking a 
match and soon had a 
feeble glow illuminating 
the darkness. 

With its aid, he could 
see that the ladder, 
though broken in places 
by falling timbers, was 
still held, here and there, 
by the strong spikes by 
which it had been fast- 
ened. He cautiously re- 
commenced his descent. 
He could take his time 
now and reconnoiter 
occasionally as he pro- 
ceeded. A couple of half 
hitches over a broken 
point of the ladder held 
the rope in to the side of 
the shaft 

Lowering himself 
across the gaps, he made 
good headway, and in a 
few moments could see 
the opening of the fourth 
level looming black in the 
»de of the shaft not far 

But here he was 
thrown into a panic by 
discovering that he had 
reached the end of his 
rope and that the ladder, 
(or that remaining dis- 
tance, was destroyed ! 

Behind him, a big beam 

wedged into the mass 


floor of the hard-sought 
his body swaying a little. There was an ominous haven. Should he trust himself to it? He reached 
creaking overhead where the cord rubbed against out his foot and pressed down gingerly upon it. 
a loose timber, but the tips of his fingers had It creaked, and the echo of the sound, multiplied 
touched something solid at last. He craned his by the vacant spaces of the shaft above and below, 
neck forward to see. His cap, into which he had gave back a dismal moan. 

fastened a short' bit of candle, fell off, and com- Danny was getting desperate by this time, and 

plete blackness shut him in. But his hand doeed felt that he would never have the strei^^ to get 



himseir up out of the trap in which he seemed to 
be caught. He realized that his one chance lay in 
trusting to that doubtful support. 

As a boy mounts a stair-rail to slide down, — 
only with infinitely more caution and supporting 
his weight as much as he could by the rape's end, 
— he got one leg and arm over the beam and lay 
prone upon it. As he began to slide down there 
were ominous sounds above him, and he could 
feel the treacherous wood giving way. He rdaxed 
his hold, more through fear than good judgment, 

And in each other's arms, the strong man and 
strong boy sobbed convulsively, 

"How did you ever do it, lad, and why did "you 
try it?" said the boss, when he had regained con- 
trol of himself. "I heard the timbers giving n^y 
and the scream, far off in the shaft, and 1 put it 
up to be some awful dream, I 've had a good 
many lately, for after a while a man gets flighty 
on nothing but water and darkness. But why did 
you try it, son?" 

"Oh! I don't know, Dad, I just had to. I 


but it was the saving of him, for, as the rotten and 
broken timbers parted above him, uttering one 
terrified cry, he glided like a Dash downward and 
brought up on the solid ground just as the mass 
that he had dislodged fell past the mouth of the 
level where he lay, stunned and breathless. 

Whether minutes or hours had passed he did 
not know; but when life began to come slowly 
back to him, he was conscious of a cold hand 
feebly stroking his hair. He reached up and 
caught hold of it. 

"Is that you, Dad?" he said weakly. 

"Danny! Danny! can it be you?" replied his 
father, brokenly. 

could n't bear to think of you all alone down here 
and no Christmas dinner coming to you, — to- 
morrow will be Christmas, you know, — so I 
packed up some things, and here I am. Wait till 
I strike a light and see what I 've got for you." 

"Let me shield my eyes. It seems a lifetime 
ance I saw a light. So to-mijrrow is Christmas? 
I 'd plumb forgotten it." 

Danny fastened a lighted candle in a crevice 
and then began to unload. First of all he exam- 
ined the mince pie. It was badly shattered, but 
still in the tin. 

"There 's one of Ma's mince pies!" he an- 
nounced proudly. 




"Oh! Danny," said his father, "I could n't 
touch it yet. I 'm thinking it would knock me 
out after this long fast; and that 's no insult to 
the best pie-maker in the camp, either.'* 

"Weil, how about some condensed milk?" 
said Danny, triumphantly. 

"Just the thing, lad, for a starter. Run up the 
level to where the cross seam comes in. You '11 
find an old can and water there, and we 'U soon 
have a fine drink." 

Danny took his candle and disappeared in the 
darkness, but was quickly back. Two jabs with 
his steel candlestick, and the thick liquid was 
oozing slowly into the can. 

The boss could hardly wait to stir it, but tipped 
it up and took a long pull. "Who would ever 
think condensed milk was as good as that?" he 
said, as he smacked his lips. 

"But you must be pretty hungry yourself, boy. 
Pitch in and eat, for this is our Christmas dinner, 
you know. Would n't those slices of bread make 
you think of turkey in this light? And the canned 
tomatoes — I 'd swear they were cranberry-sauce. 
Eat away, kid! It will do you good. Don't be 
afraid of the pie! I 'm feeling so good, I should 
n't wonder if I took some myself before long." 
But Danny's head was beginning to nod. 
"Gome over to my nest," said his father. "I 
have a fine place up the level a ways — all the old 
ore-sacks and some of the coats that the boys left 
behind them." 

The big man tried to rise, but the reaction was 
too much for him. He tottered until Danny's 
strong little arms were about him, and together 

they struggled along the uneven footing until 
they came to the place where the imprisoned 
miner had spent so many weary hours. 

"It 's many a long day since I have held you, 
Danny boy; snuggle up here now and tell me 
about Mother and little Nora. It surely is a cruel 
Christmas* for them. I '11 warrant they knew 
nothing of this trip of yours." 

"Nora knows about it, but she promised cross 
her heart she would n't tell. — Say, Dad, you re- 
member that picture of the Christmas-tree in our 
book? I never thought of it before to-night as I 
came over to the shaft-house, but the whole 
mountain is covered with 'em. They *re all 
lighted up with frost and snow and moonlight — 
seemed as if I could see little stars all over them. 
Could n't we have one to-morrow if the boys get 
us out? We ain't never had one yet. — There 
was one shook snow down on me as I came along 
— I 'd like to have that one, and we can fix it up 
with pieces of candle and make it look almost as 
fine as the one in the picture." 

"You bet we will, Danny! And we must have 
one every year, too, Christmas will seem differ- 
ent to me after this." 

But Danny was in the land of Nod. Wrapped 
in his father's arms and pillowing his head on his 
broad breast, he had fallen into a dreamless sleep. 

The steady beat of the hammers rung out 
above them, and ceased as the men changed 
shifts. A tear coursed down the cheek of the boss 
and fell upon the little red head. The candle 
flickered a moment and went out. 

Then all was still in the fourth level. 

Ihe I o^at vVo ] 

lick to ck! S8kicl the clock, lT< 

Ics a ttxik, stKia Tne CtJ, less I 
^Vou move vour nainas 

CkTOund oJI dck' 

utw! you do IS to st&^rc cxn 

took !*' less tcxlk 1 P^y, less Ib^lk ' ' 
ick TockTsft^ia the clockftlcK tock.!' 

EHi2e.l3etn Gcoraoa 



Author of "The Boarded-up House," "The Sapphire Signet," etc., etc. 


Patricia Meade has come to stay in a bi^ city hotel with her father. Captain Meade, who is there on a secret 
government mission, during the summer of 1918. He warns her that they may be surrounded by spies and foreign 
secret agents and that she must beware of them. During their first evening meal in the dining-room, she sees at 
another table a young girl who piques her curiosity and attracts her. Later she discovers that the young girl and 
the beautiful older woman, her companion, are occupants of the room directly across the hall from her own. They 
strike up an acquaintance, and Patricia discovers that the girl. Virginie de-Vos, is a Belgian refugee from Antwerp, 
who has fled to this country with her aunt, Madame Vanderpoel, having been compelled to leave her father to 
some unknown fate after the fall of the dty. 

Their friendship ripens, though slowly, for Patricia is often puzzled by Virginie's strange and inexplicable cold- 
ness, at times, and apparent desire to avoid her. For she herself finds the girl more and more attractive. 

One afternoon, when Virginie has spent several hours with her, Patricia discovers that the girl is quite artistic, 
and has done some very creditable work. She reciprocates by showing Virginie some sketches made by her father. 
Captain Meade, who is deeply interested in entomology and who has at various times made a number of water- 
color drawings of moths and butterflies. 

Late that night, after Patricia has detailed to her father the events of the afternoon, he startles her by hastily 
demanding to see his sketches, and, when he has looked them over, exclaims in desisair that it was just as he thought 
—"The Crimson Patch" is missing 1 



It was a white-faced pair that finished a frantic, 
but thoroughly fruitless, search, through every 
room of the suite for the lost sketch of the butter- 
fly. The captain was too upset and nervous and 
unstrung by the occurrence to comment on the 
subject, for a time, and Patricia too bewildered 
and unhappy to ask any questions. But when 
they had hunted through every conceivable nook 
and cranny in vain, they gave it up and sat down 
wearily to rest. The Crimson Patch was gone! 

"But, Daddy," moaned Patricia, "why did you 
never tell me there was anything important about 
these sketches? I never dreamed of such a thing. 
I would never, never have done what I did to-day 
if I had known." 

"That 's just the trouble," muttered Captain 
Meade. "There 's nothing important about any 
of them except just that one — ^and that *s — well, 
tntal! I never told you about it, because it 's safer 
for you and best all around that you know as 
little as possible of my affairs. Of course, it never 
crossed my mind that you *d be moved to show 
them to any one. They 're not a matter of general 

"But what is there about this sketch of the 
Crimson Patch butterfly that is so important, 
Daddy, and why did n't you keep it safely locked 
up? I should n't have thought you 'd leave it 
just lying loose in your trunk." 

"The secret about this particular sketch, I do 
not think it best for you to know, even now. 
You '11 always be in a safer position if you can 
truthfully say you know nothing about it. It 

looks very much the same as the others — but it 
is n't! That is all I can tell you. And I had an 
excellent reason for doing just as I did about it. 
Had I kept an important secret always about my 
person, or even under lock and key, it would, as a 
rule, be in far greater danger of discovery than if 
carefully concealed in some such fashion as this 
and left around as if there were nothing unusual 
about it. Don't you understand? But tell me 
again the whole history of the thing, and who 
came into the room while you had the sketches 
out, and when. We 've got to find the sketch as 
speedily as possible. Every moment that it is 
out of my hands is a dangerous loss of time." 

Patricia patiently went over the history of the 
afternoon, recounting every detail she could re- 
member. The captain listened intently, and sat 
for several moments in deep thought when she 
had finished. 

"Tell me one thing," he suddenly demanded. 
"Do you distinctly remember seeing the Crimson 
Patch among the sketches when you first looked 
them over? Think hard." 

"Oh, I know it was there, because Virginie 
spoke of the curious name and I told her it was 
given because of the two brilliant red spots on the 
wings. I know it was there." 

"Then, as far as I can see," went on Captain 
Meade, "there were no less than four people in 
the room, each of whom came in contact with 
those sketches, and any one of the four may have 
been the guilty party who took it. Your Htde 
friend, Virginie, handled them first, and when 
she left for the night, you say, she gathered up 
her own sketches?" 

"Daddy dear, you must not suspect her — von 




simply must not!" cried Patricia, sensing at once 
what he was driving at. "I would rather be sus- 
pected myself than have any one dream she could 
do such a thing. And how on earth could she 
ever know that the sketch was of any particular 
value, anyway?" 

**What she may know or not know, I have n't 
pretended to inquire, but you must certainly see 
how easy it would be for her to slip the thing into 
her own pile and walk off with it." 

"Her own sketches were all on the couch," pro- 
tested Patricia, "and they were never near yours. 
I saw her get them together before she left." 

"But was your back never turned on her during 
all the time mine were lying about?" 

Patricia put her head down on the couch pil- 
lows and sobbed audibly. 

"It seems too dreadful and unkind and mean to 
have such suspicions about her!" she wailed. 

"Now, Patricia dear, be sensible!" demanded 
the captain, despairingly. "I 'm no more suspi- 
cious of her than of any one else. I *m only try- 
ing to sift the thing to the bottom. Let 's leave 
her, for a moment, however. You say Madame 
Vanderpoel was the next one in. She stayed about 
fifteen minutes, examined the sketches, and went 
out. Tell me just exactly what she did before 
she looked them over." 

"She glanced at them as she was passing out, 
asked me if she could look at them, placed her 
sewing on the table, looked at them all, took up 
her sewing and went away." 

"Did she put her sewing down near where they 
were on the table?" asked the captain. 

"Yes, because I remember that she had to move 
it to see one or two that were lying under it." 

"Do you remember whether the Crimson Patch 
was among those she looked at or commented on?" 

"No, I don't remember. I was busy taking out 
some stitches in my fancy-work at the time, — 
something that had gone wrong, — ^and I did n't 
p>articularly notice what she said. But I *m al- 
most sure she did n't mention that one." 

"She might very easily have concealed it under 
her work and walked off with it," he went on. 
"Of course, I don't say she didj but she might 
have, had she been so inclined. Now, how about 
Chester Jackson?" 

"Oh, he could n't possibly have taken a thing 
without my knowing it. He just leaned over the 
table and looked at them all and giggled and 
laughed over their names and said they were 
'bully good stuff.' I saw him practically evfry 
minute of the time, except for two seconds when 
I ran into my room for another spool of thread. 
And he left without a thing in his hands that he 
could have hidden it in or under." 

"The *two seconds' you were out of the room 

might have been sufficient for him," commented 
Captain Meade. "So he is n't eliminated, either. 
But I rather suspect him less than any of the 
others. How about Peter?" 

"He *s the one, I have n't a doubt. I always 
did suspect him of being up to something. Of 
course he took it. Daddy! He went and set his 
tray right down on top of the whole lot of them, 
when he came in, in what I thought was the 
stupidest fashion, and I made him take it right 
up while I cleared them all aside. I believe he 
could have slipped the sketch under his tray and 
kept it out of my sight and got away with it with- 
out the slightest trouble. Can't you see it, 
Daddy?" cried Patricia, eagerly. Captain Meade 
looked only half convinced. 

"Do you happen to remember whether that 
particular sketch was on top when he came in?" 

"No, I don't honestly remember. But I know 
that the Purple Dart was uppermost when I 
moved them out of his way. It just happened to 
catch my eye in passing." 

"Well, that proves nothing, of course. But the 
question now is, what in the world are we going 
to do about it? I dare not do any telephoning at 
this time of night (or rather, morning, for it 's 
three o'clock!) or even go out, without exciting 
suspicion. And that 's the last thing I want to 
attract to myself. Better have it appear that I 
care nothing about the sketch than to raise a 
breeze about its disappearance. I had thought 
that perhaps you might find out from your friend 
the Belgian girl whether by any chance it had 
slipped in with her own by mistake. But that 
must be done later and done with the greatest 
caution or the fat will be in the fire. And it 's 
too late to order anything brought to the room, 
or I might have a chance to interview our waiter 
and bell-boy. Nothing for it, I guess, but to go 
to bed and get what sleep we can. It 's been a 
bad day's work, honey, but don't blame yourself 
for a single thing. It 's only one of those un- 
pleasant combinations of fortune that will hap- 
pen, plan as we may. And don't worry. That 
never did any good yet. Go to sleep and trust 
that everything 's going to come out all right!" 

In spite of which injunction, however, no sleep 
visited Patricia for the remainder of the night. 



During that sleepless night, however, Patricia 
laid some plans of her own, which she purposed to 
put into execution the next day. She felt weary 
and lifeless after the excitement and worry of the 
previous night and the hours of restless tossing 
that followed. Her father, likewisei seemed 




fatigued and depressed, though he strove hard, 
for her sake, as she privately surmised, to appear 
cheerful and hopeful. 

"We *11 hurry through breakfast," he told her, 
as they left the room, "and then I '11 start out on 
the hunt. I *ve been thinking over a few of the 
possibilities during the night, and some ideas 
have occurred to me that I did n't think of at 
first. I want you to stay rather close to the room 
to-day — that is, don't go out for any length of 
time till I get back. I may not return before late 
afternoon, but don't let that worry you. And 
don't lose heart, honey! It will probably turn 
out all right. By the way, when we get down to 
the dining-room, please try to act as nearly nor- 
mal as possible, and as if nothing were wrong. It 
might be fatal to let the world at large notice 
that all is not as usual. And, of course, don't 
touch this subject, as far as conversation goes, 
with a forty-foot pole!" 

His latter injunctions Patricia found rather 
difficult to carry out. It was far from easy to ap- 
pear her usual care-free self when weighed down 
with such a hideous burden of trouble. If she 
had n't felt the thing to be all her Qwn fault, she 
could have borne it better. 

Most difficult of all was having to face Peter 
Stoger, who, in his usual leaden way, waited upon 
them. His dull stupidity, she always felt, cov- 
ered a watchfulness that, being hidden, was more 
trying than if it had been open and aboveboard. 
This morning she felt certain he was watching 
them both, with a covert keenness, when he 
thought himself unobserved. The captain treated 
Peter in precisely the same fashion as usual. 
Once only did she observe anything unusual in 
his manner. This was when the waiter, in pass- 
ing behind him, brushed his shoulder with the 
edge of his tray. It was a trivial matter, and, so 
Patricia thought, would, as a rule, have called 
forth no comment from her father. But, rather 
to her surprise, the captain turned on him with an 
impatient gesture and the quite sharp remark, 
"Be careful, Peter!" The man apologized almost 
servilely and backed away. 

"That shows how worried and tired and upset 
Father is!" thought Patricia. "He does n't 
usually act that way over such a little thing. He 
probably has his suspicions of that horrid man, 
too. I 'm afraid he 's wishing he 'd taken my 
advice about him at first." 

Many times during the meal did she glance over 
toward the table usually occupied by Virginie 
and Madame Vanderpoel, hoping, yet almost 
dreading, to see them. But the table remained 
empty, nor did they appear at all in the dining- 
room during that meal. 

"Stay in the room as much as possible to-day," 

the captain again warned her before he went 
away. "I don't want to think of these premises 
being left free for any more queer things tq hap- 

"I will, but may I see Virginie?" 

"I don't see any reason why you should n't, 
especially if it comes about naturally. It won't 
do to seem to avoid these people, either. But 
don't force any meeting, and above all things, I 
hardly need warn you to say nothing about what 
has happened. That would spoil everything." 

For some time after her father left, Patricia sat 
maturing her plans. See Virginie this day she 
must, and she thought it could be effected in the 
most natural manner possible. She would ask 
her to bring her water-colors and sketches in 
again, and they would try to do some work, she 
(Patricia) attempting to make some copies of the 
sketches under Virginie's direction. In some such 
natural way the conversation might be led around 
to her father's sketches, and she might have a 
chance to determine whether the girl were at all 
involved in this dreadful affair. Nothing about it 
need be mentioned directly. Patricia felt sure 
she could determine, from Virginie's manner, 
how much she knew. 

At ten o'clock she went over to the telephone 
and called up the office, asking to be connected 
with room 404. The reply she received, caused 
her a veritable shock. 

"The room is vacant." 

'* Vacant?" she demanded. "You mean that 
Madame Vanderpoel and Mademoiselle de Vos 
are out?" 

"They have gone — ^left the hotel. They gave 
up the room this morning and went away for 
good. . . . No, they did n't say where they 
were going or if they intended to return." 

Patricia hung up the receiver and crept over to 
a chair by the window. A sort of black mist 
seemed to float before her eyes and her mind 
would register no impressions save trivial ones for 
a long while. She was aware of the distant roar 
of the city, borne across the more quiet stretches 
of the park outside her window, of the sparrows 
chattering in the branches, of the children romp- 
ing in the quiet walks, the honking of an arriving 
automobile, and of little else. 

Then gradually her numbed brain recovered 
its normal action. Virginie and her aunt were 
gone — and without a single word to her — a. single 
farewell! Could their abrupt and mysterious 
departure indicate any but one fact? After the 
strange disappearance of her father's sketch, what 
could it mean except that one or both of them 
were guilty and they were trying to conceal it by 
flight? One or both of them! — No it could not 
be that Virginie was concerned. She would never, 

never believe that — and yet, if it were not so, 
-why .had Virginie gone away without a single 
word to the friend whom she declared she loved 
next best to her father? Surely she could have 
managed to say a word or two over the telephone, 
or scribble a tiny note! Perhaps she had written 
a note and it would arrive later In the mail. 
Patrida quite br^htened for a few moments, at 

requested that 

crackers and a glass of milk 
fie sent up to the room at the same time. That 
was all the luncheon she felt ^e could possibly 

Chester Jackson arrived with the letters and 
her order a few moments later. The former she 
shuffled over nervously and hopefully. But they 
were only communications for her father, and 


the thought. She would wait and see what the 
day's post brought. That would doubtless 

The momii^ hours dragged by. The weather 
was stifling and humid, and Patricia sat by one of 
the opened windows of the darkened room. Try 
as she would, she could not keep her depressed 
thoughts from picturing the darkest aspect of 
everything. How her pleasant life had changed 
since yesterday at this time, her bright hopes and 
plans collapsed like a fragile castle of cards! 
Who would have dreamed such a calamity could 
have befallen her? 

At noon she telephoned down to the office to 
ask for the mail, and also, as she felt no appetite. 


nothing at all for her. The boy, watching her in- 
terestedly, noted the disappointment reflected in 
her face. 

"Miss your side-partner, don't you?" he 

"What 's that?" she asked, absent-mindedly. 

"You miss the mam'selle across the way a bit, 
I figure. You and her seemed pretty thick." 

"Yes, I do miss her very much," acknowledged 
Patricia, actually glad to have any one to speak 
to on the subject. "But I 'm awfully surprised 
that she went away so suddenly, i never even 
knew she was gone." 

"You did n't, hey? Well, looka here! She 
gave me a message to give to you — that is, she 




meant it for a message, I reckon, only she did n't 
get it all off her mind." 

"Oh, what was it?" cried Patricia, excitedly, 
her darkest suspicions of her friend vanishing at 
once. **I knew she would want to send some 
word to me." 

"Well, it was this way. They sent down word 
to the office they was leavin*, and for some one to 
come up and help bring down their hand luggage. 
So I went up to get it. The missus was bustlin' 
about good an' lively, but the gal was sort of 
teary and not doin' much. But when the little 
mam'selle handed me her grip, — the t'other one's 
back was turned for a minute, — she whispered to 
me low, *Tell Miss Meade I 'm going — ' But she 
did n't get no further, 'cause the other one turned 
round quick like an' called me to come an' help 
her strap a bag. An' from that time till they left 
the place she never took her eyes oflfen the young 
'un, an' she never got no chance to finish it up. 
But I thought I 'd jest tell you that much, 

"Oh, thank you so much for that, anyhow!" 
breathed Patricia. "But I can't understand why 
she was afraid to say it right out and let her aunt 
hear. It seems very strange." 

"You need n't think that *s the only queer 
thmg about that pair," he hinted darkly. "I 
could tell you an earful if I chose!" 

Patricia was just on the point of begging him 
to do so, when some delicate instinct bade her 
desist. Was it, after all, kind, or even honorable, 
to pry into the affairs of a friend, to hear "back 
stairs" gossip about them from a bell-boy in a 

"Well, thank you very much for delivering 
the message," she remarked, "and please drop 
this letter in the mail-chute as you go out." 

And after he was gone, curious as she had been 
to hear what he had to say about them, she was 
glad she had resisted the temptation. 

The stifling afternoon dragged on. Patricia 
found ample food for thought in the news she had 
heard from the bell-boy, and spent the hours in 
fruitless surmise. On one score at least, she was 
relieved, almost happy. Virginie had not tried 
to slip away without letting her know she was 
going — perhaps she was trying to tell her destina- 
tion; perhaps she was promising to write. But 
whatever it was, she had at least tried to send 
her some word. But why had her companion 
seemed to suspect it, to make it impossible? If 
indeed, she had! Why had not Madame Van- 
derpoel herself left a pleasant message of regret at 
leaving, when she had seemed so cordial, so 
friendly? Patricia could not but admit that the 
action had a very dark and suspicious aspect, 
after what had happened the night before. 

And that brought her back again to her own 
troubles: The Crimson Patch! — who had taken 
it? Which one of the four that had had access to 
the room last night had concealed and carried it 
away? All of a sudden she sat up very straight. 
There were not four — there were only three! For 
beyond all question she was certain now that 
Chester Jackson was in nowise concerned in the 
matter. She could not explain how she knew — 
she simply knew. Something in that honest, 
snub-nosed, smiling face, those candid, merry 
eyes, assured her. Chet Jackson was unques- 
tionably eliminated from the subject, and the 
puzzle was reduced to a triangle. 

Half an hour later there was another knock at 
the door and Chet, re-appearing, presented her 
with a special delivery letter. He stood inform- 
ally watching her while she tore it open and read 
it breathlessly. It was from her father, written 
that morning from New York, and it told her that 
he thought he was on the track of something that 
seemed important. The matter would keep him 
over night, but she must not be alarmed. She 
was to put herself in Mrs. Quale's care from din- 
ner-time on, and he would return the next day 
and tell her all about things. That was all. 

Though he had touched on nothing directly, 
Patricia was certain, of course, that he referred to 
the matter of the Crimson Patch. She was glad 
that he seemed to be in the way of discovering 
anything at all that would lead to the unraveling 
of their difficulty, but she felt suddenly very 
forlorn at the thought of his being away over 
night for the first time. And Chet, watching her 
keenly, saw her face fall. 

"Any bad news?" he inquired casually. 

"No," she replied, rather pleased to have some 
one to talk to, so lonely had been her day. "Fath- 
er 's going to be away over night on some im- 
portant business. I 'II miss him awfully." 

"Say!" ventured Chet, in a confidential tone, 
"I ask your pardon for speakin' about it, but you 
folks have had some trouble since yesterday, have 
n't you?" 

Rather startled, Patricia nodded her head. 
Then she looked alarmed, to think that, by even 
so much, she had revealed something of her 
father's secret. 

"Never you mind!" Chet assured her. "Don't 
get scared because you think you 're givin' any- 
thing away. I know a heap more than any one 
thinks I do." And at her amazed expression, he 
added: "I *m goin' to tell you somethin*. It 's 
a secret and don't you let on to anybody. I 
ain't goin' to be a bell-hop all my life, I ain't. I 
got ambition, and this here hotel life ain't for me." 

"What — ^what are you going to be then?" stam- 
mered the astonished Patricia. 


"1 'm goin' to be a detective or a secret service a lot of lively doings about this place, I can tell 
agent or somethin' like that. I got it in me, I you." 

have. Sort of sense things out an' nose 'em Patricia listened breathlessly. Here was con- 

down when no one suspects I 'm anything but a firmation of her own ideas, and more. Chet 

Jackson, beside being 
undoubtedly innocent of 
any complicity in the 
matter of the Crimson 
Patch, might even be- 
come a valuable ally, if 
she did but dare to enlist 
his aid. She suddenly 
decided on a bold move. 
"Chester," she said, "if 
you 're going to do any 
detective work, try and 
do a little for us. The 
only trouble is, I can't tell 
you any thingmuch about 
things, because they are 
very, very important 
secrets. So I don't 
know how you 're %oln% 
to get to work on it." 

"Don't you worry 
about tellin' me so much. 
I know a whole lot about 
you folks that you don't 
think I do. You 'd be 
s'prised if I told you how 
much I dc knowl" Chet 
assured her darkly. "I 
gotta go now, because I 
been away from the office 
long enough. But next 
time 1 see you I 'II tell 
you what I know an' 
we can dedde what I 'd 
better do. So long!" 

And he was gone, leav- 
ing her in a maze of won- 
der over this new devel- 



Patricia went back into 
the room and sat down 
to think it all over. 
■■ I AIN'T COIN" TO BE A BELL-HOP ALL MY LIFE' '■ Chester Jackson's curi- 

ous remarks had dis- 
'buttons' in this here hotel. It 's great sport, turbed her strangely. What he had said about 
You see, not suspectin' I got more 'n enough knowing "a heap more about things" than any 
sense to carry me through the day's work, folks one thought he did was a little alarming, to say 
lets out a lot of things before me that they think the least. What did he — what could he know 
I don't catch on to, an' I see a whole heap ! 'm about her father's aflairs, and how could he have 
not supposed to see. An' this here war has made found it out? If only he had had time to tell 




her before he rushed away, and not left her with 
this bewildering scrap of information! 

However, one thing was becoming every mo- 
ment more certain in her mind. The boy was 
innocent of any part in the disappearance of the 
Crimson Patch, and might, besides, be enlisted 
as an ally in its recovery, if only she dared to con- 
fide in him more fully. She wished with all her 
soul that her father were with her, that he was 
not to be detained away over night. She wanted 
to talk it all over with him, to ascertain how much 
he thought it wise to trust this boy. But he was 
not here, and presently she must go and put her- 
self in Mrs. Quale *s care. Even now she ought 
to be calling her up, as it was nearly dinner-time. 

She went to the telephone and asked to be con- 
nected with Mrs. Quale's room. The reply she 
received caused her a veritable shock. 

"Mrs. Quale came in a while ago and then 
went out again, saying she would be away over 
night in New York." 

Patricia hung up the receiver and sat down in 
the nearest chair with a little, frightened shiver. 
She would be alone over night, in this big, strange 
hotel, surrounded perhaps by unseen and un- 
known enemies. Oh, if she could only communi- 
cate with her father and urge him to come back 
at once! But that was not possible. He had 
said he was in New York, but had given no ad- 
dress, probably because he was hurrying about 
from place to place and did not intend to stop 
anywhere for the night. It was certainly unfor- 
tunate that Mrs. Quale had elected to be away 
at the same time. Well, it was too bad, but it 
was not fatal. In all probability, nothing unfore- 
seen would happen. There was no reason why 
it should. 

Suddenly a bright idea came to her. If Mrs. 
Quale's maid, Delia, had not accompanied her 
mistress to New York, why would it not be pos- 
sible to ask her to come down and spend the night? 
Her companionship would be better than none at 
all. In the long weeks of her intimacy with Mrs. 
Quale, Patricia had grown to realize that Delia 
was becoming rather fond of her, in her queer, 
taciturn way, and would probably be giad to be of 
any help. She decided to go upstairs now to see 
her and talk it over. 

Her interview proved rather a difficult one. 
Patricia had not Mrs. Quale's ease in communi- 
cating with a deaf person, and it was some time 
before Delia understood what she was driving at. 
And even when she did, there was hesitancy. 

"I *ve a bad earache to-night," she averred, 
"that *s why Mrs. Quale did n't take me with her. 
I have it quite often. I 'm afraid I won't be 
much company for you. Miss Patricia, and I 
wanted to go to bed pretty early." 

"Oh, I 'm not going to stay up late!" cried 
Patricia, "and, of course, you can have Father's 
room. I just want you to be there near me. 
Father would be dreadfully upset if he thought I 
was here alone." 

"Very well, then," Delia consented at last. 
"To be sure, I would n't have you worried, nor 
the captain worried about you, even if I am too 
miserable to hold up my head. I '11 be down at 
half past eight. I *ve things that will keep me 
busy till then." 

After that, Patricia decided to worry no further 
about the matter, dress for dinner, go down to the 
dining-room, and take her meal as if she expected 
her father at any minute. After that, she would 
read and sew and write some letters and go to bed 
as usual. The sensible resolve steadied her. 
She put on her lightest and coolest attire, for the 
evening was still very hot, and at a very early 
hour went down to the dining-room. She wanted 
to have this ordeal over as speedily as possible, 
for she dreaded sitting at her table alone and being 
waited on by Peter Stoger. 

To her intense surprise, he was not there. She 
was served by another waiter, and Peter did not 
appear during the entire meal. WTiere in the 
world could he be? She ventured to question the 
new attendant about the usual waiter, but re- 
ceived only the reply that he was away for the 
day. It was certainly all very mystifying. 

After dinner, which passed without any unusual 
happenings, she went into the lounge, supplied 
herself with some new magazines, and hurried 
away to her room. The absence of Peter Stoger 
disturbed her more than she cared to admit, even 
to herself. She disliked and feared him enough 
when he was present, but in his absence he seemed 
positively terrifying. She sat down by the i^in- 
dow in the gathering twilight to think it all over. 

Three of them gone — the very three on whom 
suspicion rested most heavily! The Crimson 
Patch gone with them. Her father gone too, in- 
volved in who knew what troubles, what diffi- 
culties, in his search. What was this strange 
Crimson Patch, anyway? Patricia shut her 
eyes tight and strove to call up the image of the 
sketch as she had seen it last. It was nothing, it 
was absolutely nothing but the cleverly executed 
sketch in water-colors of a peculiar species of but- 
terfly with a bright crimson spot on each lower 
wing. There was nothing about it that was dif- 
ferent, nothing that she could remember, to 
distinguish it from the many other sketches in her 
father's possession. That it could harbor any 
secret, and especially any government secret, 
seemed absolutely absurd. And yet — ^it must 
be so. 

Then her mind wandered back to Virginie. 




Where was she now? What had she tried so hard 
!2 communicate in that broken, incomplete mes- 
sage to Chester Jackson? Would they ever see 
«ach other ^ain? In twenty-four hours, life 
had suddenly assumed a very complicated aspect 
to Patricia. She could scarcely realize now how 
happy and care-free she had been last night at 
ihis very hour. It did not seem as if she could 
be the same person, so many were the perplexing 
problems on her mind. 

And this brought her thoughts back to Chester 
Jackson. She must see him again, as soon as pos- 
sible, and discover what it was that he knew about 
herself and her father and his affairs. She would 
call up the office and ask to have something sent 
to the room. So determined, she switched on the 

lights, went to the telephone and asked to have 
some of the hotel stationery sent up. There was 
nothing else she could think of, just at the mo- 
ment. The knock at the door a few moments later 
sent her flying to it. her mind full of the questions 
she planned to ask. To her intense chagrin, 
it was another bell-boy who brought the paper. 

Scarcely able to murmur her thanks, she 
turned back into the room and shut the door. 
Had Chester, too, deserted her? What could 
possibly have happened? It was the first time 
she could remember that he had not personally 
answered the summons. If he had also, for some 
inscrutable reason, left the hotel on this fateful 
night, she would certainly feel herself to be de- 
serted of all mankind. 


I i 




In charge of Che Seventy-Seventh Division Pigeon Section 

At 9.25 in the morning of October 3, 1918, a car- 
rier-pigeon glided lightly down to the roof of the 
Seventy-Seventh Division Pigeon Loft with the 
first message from Major Whittlesey of the "Lost 
Battalion." This swift bird had just flown 
unharmed over a section of the Argonne Forest 
through which no man had been able to pass 
alive. In just thirty minutes after he had circled 
above the gas-filled, shell-shot trap in which 
Whittlesey and his men found themselves, the 
message he brought was going over the private 
telephone line connecting the pigeon loft with 
the headquarters of the division. 

This quick work was the result of the careful, 
systematic training both of the birds and the 


men who handled them. No common barnyard 
dove woukl ever have made this flight; no full- 
blooded carrier-pigeon would have made it so 
quickly without the care and attention of spe- 
cially trained men. 

Each army division in acdon usually has a loft 
located at a short distance from the headquarters' 
oflices. The "keeper" of this loft knows every 
Bii^le pigeon under his care as he would know 
one of his friends. He always wears the same 
costume when he is among his pigeons, so that 
they soon get to know him as well, if not better, 
than he knows them. They will stand on his 
shoulders, head, or hands, and will even snatch 
kernels of grain from his lips. But let a stranger 
come in, and they immediately become suspicious, 
scurry away, and watch his every movement 

An army loft is not, as a rule, very high above 
the ground, but is conspicuously located, so that 
the pigeons can see it from quite a distance. 

The birds are kept here long enough to know 
the place as "home." 

After they have looked out of the windows tor 
several days and know the country within sight 
of the loft, they begin to take their regular morn- 
ing and evening exercise. The keeper lets them 
out just before feeding-time, and allows them 
twenty or thirty minutes in which to fly around 
and explore a little. As soon as some of them 
begin to circle near the loft, he "calls" them inside 
by rattling a can of grain, just as he has always 
done when about to give them food. The hun- 
griest rush in at once, and the rest soon follow. A 
good keeper never calls a bird in without feeding 
it at once. In this way he trains it to enter the 
loft quickly, instead of idling away an hour or 
so just out of reach when it may be carrying an 
important message. 

As soon as the trainer feels that his birds have 
become fairly well acquainted with their sur- 
roundings, he begins to train them to fly home 
from points not far distant. A few of the soldiers 
on duty with the keeper carry half of the flock 
in large baskets to an open space about a quarter 
or half a mile from the loft, and in the direction 
of the battle-front They then release one or 
two pairs of pigeons, which circle about until 
they have spied the loft and fly to it. These 
birds, hearing the keeper rattle his feed-can, go in 
for supper. The soldiers out in the open space 
now release four more pigeons, and wait until all 
of them have entered before sending out the next 
group. This method of lettii^ the birds out in 
small parties forces each group to develop its own 
sense of direction, instead of blindly foUoning 
the leadership of one or two who may excel the 
rest in that ability. 

When all of the pigeons have returned to the 
loft, the men go back and bring out the second 
half of the flock, which they give the same train- 
ing. On the following day the distance is in- 
creased to a mile, and so on, by two- to five-mile 
jumps, until a good portion of the flock can re- 
turn quickly from the most advanced line posts. 
They are then ready to be sent up to the front. 

Many people have said to me, "I can see how 
you train a pigeon to carry a message from the 
front line back to his home at division head- 
quarters, but how do you train it to carry a mes- 
sage from the loft to the front?" 

My answer is: "We can't. It is a one-way 
service only; from the front to the rear." 



For military purposes it is, therefore, necessary 
to have a team of pigeons in the forward positions 
ready at all times to be sent back with dispatches. 
Each infantry regimental and battalion head- 
quarters is equipped with two baskets, a metal 
grain-box, gas-bags, water-troughs and a rat- 
proof cage of wire in which to place the basket at 
night One of the baskets is known as a rest- 
basket, as it is used when the pigeons are not be- 
ing carried about very much. It is large enough 
to allow them to stretch their wings and walk 
aiound a little. The second basket is known as 
an assault- or infantry-basket. It is about one 
half the aze of the rest-basket, that is to say, 
about i8 by iz by iz inches. It is provided with 
two straps by which an infantryman can fasten it 
to his back at the shoulder-blades. He then has 
his hands and arms free to use his rifle and other 
equipmeni. The pigeons are put in this basket 
only when an advance is to be made, or when the 
men are about to "go over the top." The 
French Army has a third basket, known as a spy- 
basket, just large enough to hold one pigeon. It 
is used by a spy going into the enemy lines who 
may want to send back a message before he him- 
Klf can return; or he may release the bird with 
all the information he has gathered, if he sees 
that he is about to be captured. 

All of this equipment is in charge of one or two 
pigeon-men, whose duties are varied and numer- 
ous. First of all, they look out for the health of 
their birds. They must keep fresh, clean water 
in the pigeon-troughs day and night, provide a 
fresh carpet of grass or sand in the bottom of the 
basket every morning, and see that no one else 
gives the birds anything to eat or handles them. 
L'pon instant notice, the pigeon-men must be 
ready to put the gas-bag around the basket con- 
taining the birds. If the neck of the bag is tied 
tightly enough, the pigeons can remain inside 

about eight hours without suffering very much. 
One of the men in my pigeon section was able to 
put on his own gas-mask, take all four birds out 
of the rest-basket, put them into an infantry- 
basket, put the latter into the gas-bag, and tie 
up the neck of the b^ in one minute and a half! 
Another important duty of the men in the ad- 

vanced posts is to feed the birds properly. One 
of the strongest factors in making a pigeon fly 
home and enter the loft quickly is hunger, com- 
bined with the knowledge that he is always fed 
immediately upon getting home. Like most 



turds, he flies by day and roosta by night. For 
this reason it is impracticable to release him so 
late in the afternoon that he cannot reach the 
loft before sunset. Aa 
pigeons on duty in the 
line are not fed during 
the day. they are always 
hungry and ready to fJy 
home at once, if released. 
About sundown the man 
in charge gives them just 
enough food to keep them 
strong until sundown of 
the next day. By the 
following morning their 
crops are nearly empty. 
But they have nothii^ 
to eat and are, therefore, 
in the same hungry con- 
dition as they were the 
day before. 

Of course, it is just as 
important properly, to 
attach the tubes con- 
taining the mess^es so 
that they will reach their 
destination as it is to 
feed the birds correctly. 
These messages, some- 
times in code, sometimes not, are written on thin 
paper, like that often used in Bibles. The 
ordinary meaaa^e-sheet is about 3 by 5 inches in 
size. There is also a double-size sheet marked in 
squares corresponding to military map divisions. 
An officer in the field can place one of these lai^^ 
thin sheete on a map, mark the horizontal and 
vertical lines according to the numbers shown, 

up small enough to get two into the same tube at 
the same time. 
The message-tubes are of thin aluminum and 


and then indicate very accurately the position of 
hia own and enemy forces. The officer who re- 
ceives the message at division headquarters can 
put it on a copy of the same map and see the 
exact location of everything shown. These mes- 
sage-sheets are so thin that a man can roll them 


weigh very little indeed. They consist 01 two 
parts, one just small enough to lit inside the 
other, like .38- and .3a-caliber empty revolver- 
cartridges. The outer shell has two aluminum 
bands fastened around it, with ends long enough 
to be used as clamps around the bird's leg. llie 
message is placed inside the inner tube, which, in 
turn, is fitted carefully into the outer ^be. It 
is very important that the message-holder be at- 
tached to the pigeon's leg so as not to annoy him. 
If the damps are not pressed tightly enough, the 
tube will rattle around loosely. In this case the 
bird ia liable to alight on a handy tree to pick it 
off with his bill. If the damps are pressed 
tightly enough to stop the circulation in the 
pigeon's leg, he will suffer considerable pain, and 
almost surely stop to rid himself of the tube. 
Thus, in either case of faulty adjustment, the 
message would never reach the loft. 

The pigeon -man's duties do not end when he 
has fed his charges at sundown. At night, om 
man must put the basket into the rat-proof wi« 
cage near his own bunk. He must also be ready, 
in case of a gas-alarm, to adjust the pigeon gas- 
bag as soon as he has put on his own gas-mask. 

Pigeons are used only in emergencies, when 
all other means of communication tail. Some- 
times weeks may go by during which telephone- 
lines are in operation and runners can carry mes- 




sages. It IS bad for dK {Mgeona, however, to the old one with "practice" or "test" messf^ies. 
keep them away from the loft too long. Evety Each message always shows the time its carrier 
second or third day a fresh set of birds is sent out was released, so that the trainer at the loft can 
from tbe bft to rdieve those on duty. The tell how loi% the bird took to make the flight 
"non-com" in charge of 
the relief takes the fresh 
birds up to br^ade head- 
quarters in a side-car, 
motor-cycle, or automo- 
bile. From this point he 
is guided to the infantry 
r^imental headquarters, 
where he meets both the 
man at the regimental 
poet and the battalion- 
post man, who has come 
back therewith his empty 
infantry-basket. The non- 
com gives each of these 
two men a basket contain- 
ing the fresh tnrds for his 
siadan, a sack of p^eon- 
food, and one message- 
tube for each bird. The 
men from the posts each 
give him one empty bas- 
ket and food-sack. The 
men then return to their 
posts, and the non-com iblkasing tbe birds 

As a rule, the various 
teams of pigeons that 
have been released in 
this manner arrive at the 
loft hours ahead of the 
non-com making the re- 
lief, for he often runs into 
all sorts of trouble before 
he finishes his job. Dur- 
ing the war, the rides of 
these non-coms were not 
merely pleasant auto- 
mobile trips. The enemy 
shelled the roads more 
often than anything else. 
It was a rare thing, in- 
deed, for the relief man 
to make a trip without 
at least one narrow 
escape from shell-fire or 
gas. On one occasion 
the writer had just come 
into a small town with 
pigeons when an incen- 
diary shell hit a motor 

goes to the other regimental posts and makes his convoy of ammunition standing there and set lire 
deliveries there in the same way. As soon as the to the whole train. Of course, everybody dove 
man in the line receives his fresh team, he releases into dugouts or whatever shelter was nearest, 




expecting the town to be blown off the map. 
After the worst was over, it was necessary to 
hurry with the pigeons past the burning am- 
munition train to the forward posts. On the 
return trip, the flames were still so hot that they 
nearly scorched the writer and the driver, going 
at sixty miles an hour. During the next trip, 
he was sitting in a light auto- truck near a dugout, 
when a shell exploded near by and blew off half 
of the tail-board. As the relief had been com- 
pleted, all present voted that it was time to go 
home. The pigeon-men of a division to our right 
were on their way forward with a fresh set of 
birds for their comrades, when a shell struck in 
the midst of the party and killed three of the men 
and five of the birds. Of course, every trip was 
not so tragic. Many times the chief difficulty 
was to find out to what place the regimental and 
battalion headquarters had been moved since 
the last relief. 

As the army advances farther and farther it 
becomes increasingly difficult to make the relief 
over the greater distance. For this reason the 
army maintains two styles of lofts: stationary 
and mobile. The former is usually placed in 
some conspicuous building, and serves a battle- 
line that moves backward and forward com- 
paratively little. The latter is built into a 
specially constructed wagon, which can be moved 
from time to time if the division advances or re- 
treats. Before the arrival of any great number 
of American troops in France, the battle-lines 
were usually fairly stationary. But Uncle Sam's 
boys changed this. It soon became frequently 
necessary to transfer a flock of pigeons from a 
stationary loft to one of the mobile type. 

Every time the location of a loft is changed, it 
takes from three weeks to a month to accustom 
the pigeons to their new home. After a week or 
ten days in the new location, the birds have had 
ample time to look out at the landscape and for- 
get the old place to a certain extent. Never- 
theless, on the first day of outside exercise, a few, 
whose memory and "homing" instinct are 
strongest, will fly back to the old loft. For that 
reason, one man goes back there the day before 
the pigeons are to be released. He usually has a 
motor-cycle with side-car, or a light automobile 
truck, in which he carries several baskets and a 
very strange-looking costume. 

On the following morning the keeper releases 
about one quarter of his flock just before feeding- 
time. The moment any of them shows a ten- 
' dency to "break away," he calls back as many as 
he can by rattling his grain-tin. He then drives 
out the second group and treats them in the same 
way. If a great number show signs of flying 
away, he feeds all of those inside, so that the ones 

outside may see them eating. This strategv' 
generally entices the others back. Those who 
do break away completely and go back to the old 
loft, find the man with the queer costume await- 
ing them. He rushes around, screaming and 
gesticulating wildly. He thrashes around with a 
club and destroys some of the nests and roosts. 
Then he seizes some of the pigeons and shakes 
them; not too roughly, but enough to scare them, 
after which he puts them in baskets. By this 
time the poor birds feel that the place is any- 
thing but homelike. The man gives them water, 
so that they will not suffer from thirst, but does 
not feed them. He continues his fantastic antics 
for another day or two, and finally takes them 
back to the new loft where their regular keeper 
feeds and pets them. After one or two experi- 
ences like this, the pigeons decide that they like 
the new place very much better than they do the 
old one, and are quite ready to make themselves 
at home among the pleasanter surroundings. 
The keeper now commences to train the entire 
flock for service in the line, as previously described. 

As the army advanced still farther beyond the 
battle-line of 1914 to 1917, almost all of the 
pigeon service was maintained with mobile lofts. 
When one of these was moved to a new location, 
the training of the birds was similar to that 
described in the case of changing from a fixed 
loft to a mobile loft. The main difference was 
that the pigeons who broke away to go back to 
the old location found no loft there. Instead, 
they would be trapped and put into baskets as 

The three weeks of retraining on the new site 
made it necessary for the army to allot two or 
three lofts to one division in order to keep it sup- 
plied with birds at all times. While loft "A" 
was in service, loft "B" would move as lar for- 
ward as possible without bringing the pigeons too 
close to the disturbing noise of cannon or shell- 
fire from the enemy. During the ensuing three 
weeks, its flock would be trained for the new loca- 
tion. By the end of this period, loft A would 
have been left well in the rear, and loft B would 
take over active service. On the day of the first 
relief from loft B, loft A would get back all of its 
teams in the line. After a few days* rest, this 
unit would "leap-frog" well ahead of loft B, and 
start retraining. In this fashion, two, or at the 
most, three lofts could keep one flock of settled 
pigeons ready for service reasonably near to 
division headquarters at all times. 

This shows that the spectacular, thrilling work 
of the pigeons which saved the "Lost Battalion," 
was not merely the heroic action of a few gifted 
pigeons. It was the logical outcome of months 
of careful training of both men and birds. 




The people o( the dty of Florence were once 
building a church. It was to be such a fine one 
that they kept on building and building, and even 
after a hundred years had passed they had not 
yet brought it to completion. What was more, 
they did not know how to finish it. The first 
bulkier had died long ago, and the different archi- 
tects who followed had made changes here and 
there, and now it was grown so large that no one 
knew how to cover it with the dome which was 
iKcessary to make it perfect. Every once in a 
while all the architects in the dty got together to 
talk it over, but they always ended by saying it 
onild not be done. 

Now in the same city there lived two young 
goldsmithB who were fast friends. Brunelleschi 
was the name of the one, while the other was 
called E)onatello. Brunelleschi, however, did 
notlike goldsmith's work and was forever scolding 
about it. 

"It is not enduring, like work in bronze and 
Rone, for there always comes a time when it has 

to be melted down to be made into money," he 
said to Donatdlo as they worked together. 
"Then, besides, it 's too small. Now just look at 
this," he went on, holding up the cover to a gob- 
let, which was fashioned like a miniature dome. 

"Beautiful!" exclaimed Donatello, admiringly. 

"Yes. but suppose I could make it large enough 
to span our dear Duomo, what a different thing 
that would be," 

"But that is impossible!" cried Donatello. 
"You know how often it has been tried; the space 
ts too great." 

"I know it," sighed Brunelleschi. "Still, it 
would be a task worthy of an artist," and he fell 
to work again. 

Not long alter this, something happened ^ich 
made Brunelleschi forget the dome, for a little 
while, at least. The people of Florence wanted a 
pair of bronze doors for a pretty little church 
which stood close beside the great unfinished one. 
fn order to see who among the artists would be 
most worthy of the ta^, it was decided to hold a 



prize contest, and the winner was to make the 
doors. A subject was, therefore, chosen, and all 
the artists vha wanted to were called upon to 
tell the story of Abraham's sacrifice in a bronze 
relief. Six artists decided to try, and one of them 
was Brunelleschi. He gave up his goldsmith's 
work and worked day and night on the design for 
his relief. 

Meanwhile, Donatello too was busy. At last, 
one day, he suddenly burst in upon Brunelleschi 
and with an air of great mystery said: "Come 
with me; I have something to show you. / am 
not going to be a goldsmith all my days, either. 
I mean to be a sculptor." Of course Brunelleschi 
wanted to see what his friend had been doii%, and 
he went gladly with him to his room. There 
stood the work, a great crudfix carved out of 
wood. "Tell me what you think of it," begged 
Donatella, who was very proud of it. 

Brunelleschi studied it in silence for a while; 
then he said: "I don't like it at all. The figure 



looks like a peasant; he should be more noble 

Donatello usually took criticism very kindly, 
but he had set great store by this work and now 
he felt hurt. "It is very easy to talk," he re- 
torted hotly, "but it is a different thing when it 
comes to doing! Take a piece of wood and try 
it yourself." 

Brunelleschi pretended not to hear this remark, 
and soon after went home. Some weeks later, 
however, he sought out Donatella and said to 
him, "We have not had a good talk for a long 
time; come and spend the day with me." Don- 
atello was willing and they set out together. On 
their way they stopped in the market and bought 
some eggs and cheese and nice fresh butter for 
their dinner, for the great artists of old lived very 

"Now, Donatello," said Brunelleschi, "you 
take these things and go on ahead. I 11 come 
r^ht after you as soon as I have been to the 

Donatello did his comrade's bidding and went 
on to the workshop. And there he had Brunel- 
leschi's answer. For right in the middle of the 
room, so placed that his eyes must fall upon it the 
very first thing, stood a beautiful crudlix car\'ed 
out of wood. At the sight, Donatello stood 
rooted to the spot, and, all unheeding, let fall 
to the floor, cheese, butter, eggs, and all. 

"Ho, Donatello!" cried Brunelleschi, who had 
come in behind him ; "what have you done to our 
dinner? It is all spoiled!" 

"Dinner!" exdaimed Donatello; "ah, Brunel- 
leschi, I have had dinner enough for to-day! 
But," he added generou^y, "you are right; I can 
carve only peasants, while to you it is given to 
portray a Christ." He might have said, "Well, 
youra ougkt to be Ijetter, for I am only a boy of 
fourteen, while you are a grown-up young man, 
nine years older." Instead, the artist in him saw 
only where he had failed. 

But now the time had come for the prize 
bronzes to be sent in. When the judges came to 
pass upon them, they found two of them very 
much better than the others. One of the two 
was Brunei leschi's. It was very fi"e indeed, but 
the other was still better. Therefore Ghiberti. 
for that was the name of the other sculptor, got 
the prize and made the doors. 

Brunelleschi had to admit that Ghiberti had 
outdone him, but he felt most unhappy about 
it When Donatello tried to console him he 
exclaimed: "Don't tell me how good it is; you 
can't make it anything but next best, and yet it 
was my best! And if I cannot be the first sculp- 
tor, I am not going to be a sculptor at all." Then 
he thought ^ain of his dome. "It must be 
done; it can be done; and I am going to do it!" 
was his final deduon. At last (me day he said: 
"Donatello, I am going to Rome. There is an 
andent dome in that dty; perhaps it may hdp 
me span our Duomo." 

"Then I am going too!" exdaimed Donatello. 
"They have been findii^ some buried sUtues 
there that are said to be more beautiful than any- 




thing we have ever seen. Perhaps they may 
teach me somethii^, too: for I sdll mean to be 
a sculptor, in spite of my crucifix." 

Bninelleschi had a small farm, and he sold it 
that he might have money to live on. So it 
came to pass that one fine day the two friends 

lost their heads, or legs, or arms, every fragment 
was more lovely than anything people then livir^ 
could make. So, day after day and week after 
week, Donatello studied and sketched the statues 
and friezes, and torsi, as the broken ones were 
called, and be learned so much from them that 


took a last look at their beloved Florence and the 
unfinished Duomo and set out on their venture. 
At last they came to Rome. What a wonderful 
city they found it! Lai^er than Florence and 
much older and full of the most marvelous old 
buildii^. Some of these had been put up so 
long ago that time had crumbled them away, 
leaving nothing but a few arches or columns of 
what had once been a beautiful palace or temple 
or tower. Other old buildings had been buried 
altogether and had been forgotten for ages. 
Then one day, workmen, digging to lay some 
foundations, came upon some buried ruins filled 
with wonderful marble figures. 

These were the statues which Donatello had 
come to see. No, he had never dreamed of any- 
thing like them before; and he could learn much 
from them, for although many of the figures had 

he came to be one of the greatest sculptors of all 

Meanwhile, Bninelleschi too had found what 
he needed. Day by day he climbed about among 
ruins and measured and studied and examined 
columns and stones and mortar. Again, tor 
hours at a time, he sat and dreamed under the 
ancient Roman dome and tried to fathom how its 
secrets might be applied to the greater dome 
which was slowly, but surely, taking shape in his 
mind. After a time the money from the farm 
was all used up. Then the two friends had to 
stop their studies every once in a while and go 
back to goldsmith's work until they had enough 
to pay for food and shelter. 

At last, Brunelleschi had solved the problem. 
His dome had taken form not only in his head, 
but was all carefully planned and measured out 




on paper. Now back to Florence to see it grow 
in stone! Donatello rejoiced with his friend, 
and he. too, felt that he was ready to return. So 
back home they went. 

Almost the first thing that happened after 
Brunelleschi reached Florence was one ol the 
well-known meetings to talk over the dome. 
All the architects and some of the chief citizens 
were there as usual, and all sorts of plans were 
suggested. Brunelleschi said he knew how to do 
it now, and every one cried out to see his plans. 


But he, fearing some treachery, refused to dis- 
close his precious secret. "You will see it when 
I put it up. As no one here can suggest a way, 
and I can, and as I am willing to stake my name 
and fame upon its success. I see no reason why 
I should not go on." 01 course, they ail ex- 
claimed at this. But Brunelleschi broke in upon 
them with the question: "Can any one of you 
set an egg on end?" 

"Set an e^ on end, what has that to do with 
the matter?" 

"I mean what I say. Can any one do it?" 

They had never tried, but felt sure that it must 
be easy. An egg was sent for and each in turn 
tried and— -failed. 

"Give it to me!" at last cried Brunelleschi; 
and taking it up, he struck it firmly on the table. 

"Oh," cried the others; "we could all have 
done it that way, too!" 

"Yes, it 's easy when you know how; but it 's 

impossible when you don't," replied Brunelles- 
chi. "It 's the same with my dome — if I show 
you my plans, you 'II say it is easy too." 

In the end Brunelleschi had his own way and 
was appointed to set up his dome. But the task 
was thought great enough for two architects, and 
Ghiberti was appointed with him. This was 
too much for Brunelleschi. Ghiberti had fame 
enough in his bronze doors; why should he share 
in the glory ol the dome, which was Brunelles- 
chi's alone? No, this would never, do. So one 
day, after the work had been going on very 
nicely for some time, Brunelleschi suddenly 
declared himself ill. He went home, locked up his 
plans, went to bed, and had all his household 
stirring about wrapping him in blankets and 
placing cold cloths on his head. When the work- 
men went to Ghiberti for orders he could give 
them none, for he knew nothing about the dome. 
When they went to Brunelleschi's house, he said 
he was too ill to tell them what to do, and sent 
them back to Ghiberti, who, of course, was un- 
able to direct them. So the work stopped altc>- 
gether, and Ghiberti had to acknowledge that he 
could not get along without Brunelleschi. 

"Aha," said the latter when this was told him, 
"but I can easily get along without him!" 

Then Brunelleschi was told that if he would 
only get well, he should build the dome all by 
himself. This was, of course, just what he wanted. 
and he immediately threw off his blankets and 
bandages and went to work. What a wonderful 
worker he was, too! Nothing was too small or 
mean to require his attention. He examined 
the clay for the bricks and the bricks themselves. 
He tested every stone, every bit of mortar, every 
iron girder, and under his guidance the wonderful 
dome grew till it hung like a great airy bubble on 
its eight stone chains. So beautiful it was and so 
great, that Brunelleschi's dome almost made 
people forget the other part of the lovely Duomo. 
This was many hundred years ago, and still it 
hangs over the Duomo, and no one can visit 
Florence without seeing Brunelleschi's woHd- 
famous dome. 

The dome was not Brunelleschi's only work- 
He helped beautify his native city with many 
palaces, churches, and other buildings. Dona- 
tello, too, worked on the Duomo. He helped 
Brunelleschi on the dome, but his real work was 
on the inside. Here, for the front of the singing- 
gallery, he made a lovely marble relief of a joyous 
band of dancing cherubs. The ancient statues 
had taught him much, and he learned much more 
from the life around him. He had also thought 
out some little secret about drapery, which gave 
his figures a lifelike look. Therefore his cherubs 
on the singing-gallery caper as gladly as did the 




Bierry little Florentine lads whom he watched at 
their games and rounds of summer evenings. One 
can almost feel the flutter of their garments and 
hear the sound of their singing and the rustle of 
their wings and the beat of little feet. 

EXonateiio was now become not only a sculptor, 
but also a very great one. Those were busy days 
in his workshop. First he made little wax 
models of his statues, and then with mallet and 
chisel struck them boldly out of the block of 
marble till the chips flew about in all directions. 
He had many pupils, some of whom helped him 
with his work and later became famous too. All 
the great men of Florence and even of other cities 
wanted some of Donatello's work, and he was 
praised and petted by every one. But he was 
the same old Donatello still, kind and unspoiled, 
and his greatest joy was to see his beloved 
Florence grow more beautiful from day to day. 
The money he got for his work he placed in a 
basket, which he hung up in his workshop. When 
he needed any, he put in his hand and took out 
as much as was necessary. All his household 
and assistants were told to help themselves to 
what they needed, and no one had to give an 
account of what he took. Of course, he did not 
grow rich with this sort of management, and his 
friends often scolded him. But he only laughed 
and went on as before. He worked hard all day, 
and sometimes would be so carried away with 
enthusiasm that he would imi^ne the stone alive 
and would cry out, "Speak! speak!" 

And, indeed, his statues almost seem to live. 
One would not he surprised to see the old general 
Gattamelata, who sits so proudly on his tine 
bronze horse, give his steed the spurs and leap 
with him right down from the pedestal upon 

which he has been sitting for so many hundred 
years. Then there is his St. George. The brave 
young knight stands leaning on his shield. He 
looks for all the world as though he meant to 
step down from his niche, and ride away to slay 
another dragon. These and many more statues 
certainly did help to beautify Florence, and 
Donatello could feel himself her worthy son. 

Among Donatello's friends was a rich and 
powerful prince. He and all of his family loved 
art and artiets, and their great palaces were 
filled with their work. Donatello, of course, 
transformed many a marble block for him, and 
he who so dearly loved to portray children did 
not neglect the young princelings of the house 
of Medici, as many a bust of them has come 
down to ua. Life in the Medici palace was very 
gay, and Donatello greatly enjoyed meeting the 
other artists and the learned and great of many 
lands who were used to gather there But his 
dress seemed too simple for such a great artist and 
for the brilliant gatherings; so the prince sent 
htm a beautiful rose-colored velvet suit, with 
mantle to match, as a present. IDonatello wore 
it once or twice, but he did not feel comfortable 
in such finery. So he sent it back, saying that it 
was too dainty for him. The prince laughed and 
bade him wear his russet brown if it made him 
happier. A velvet gown would not make a man 
a Donatello, he said, and it had only been olf«^ 
to give him pleasure. 

The years went on and both Brunelleschi and 
Donatello grew old, and the time came when 
they laid down their tools and passed away, leav- 
ing behind what they had done to speak for them. 
And so well had they wrought that, while Flor- 
ence stands, their names shall never be forgotten. 





Author of "Boy Scouts in the Wildemeas" 


Jim Donegan, the lumber-king, has a wonderful collection of gems. His specialty is pearls. He tells the Scouts 
that a blue pearl the size of a certain pink pearl which he owns would be worth 150,000 and that he would be slad 
to pay that sum for such a pearl, but that no such pearl has ever existed. Joe Couteau. the Indian boy. contradicts 
this and tells him of the strange island he once, when a little boy, visited with his uncle, the shuman. or medicine- 
man, of his tribe. There his uncle found a great blue pearl in a strange stream in the interior of the island, the 
hunting-ground of one of the great brown bears, the largest carnivorous animal ever known. Joe is sure that he can 
find his way back to his tribe and can go again to the island. The lumber-king agrees, if Joe and his friend ^Will 
Bright will make the trip, to finance it. Old Jud Adams, who has trapped all through that region, hears of the 
plan and insists on going along. Another boy is needed to make up the party, and Will and Joe agree to choose 
the one who shows most sand and sense in the great Interscholastic Games in which Cornwall is to compete. The 
day of the games comes, and after a number of extraordinary happenings. Cornwall wins the pole-vault, the five- 
mile run. and the hundred-yard dash, and scores in other events. Everything turns on the mile-run. Freddie 
Perkins, of the Wolf Patrol, finally wins this after such a heart-breaking finish that he is unanimously elected to the 
vacant place among the Argonauts, as the four christen themselves. 



At last dawned the dJay when the Argonauts 
sailed away toward the sunset, like the crew that 
Jason captained when the world was young. 
Instead of the Argo^ Cornwall's Argonauts voy- 
aged in the super-parlor-PuUman-observation- 
private car Esmeralda^ which belonged to Mr. 
Donegan, and which, through him, had been 
attached to the great Transcontinental Express 
By reason, too, of Mr. Donegan, that celebrated 
train for the first time in its history would stop 
at Cornwall. Theretofore it had never even 
hesitated when it passed through. 

Everybody came to see them off. Strangely 
enough, too, every one from Chief Selectman 
Jimmy Wadsworth down to Jed Bunker, who 
tramped the town making baskets, knew that 
they were going pearling and when and where 
and how. Myron Prindle had inside information 
that they werp bound for "the Spanish Main." 
He was not sure just where said Main might be, 
but presumed that it was somewhere in Spain. 
Anyway, he knew that it was full of pearls and 
pirates and that Mr. Donegan had chartered a 
schooner which Jud Adams was to captain. The 
fact that Jud did n't know a schooner from a 
gondola made no difference. Myron knew. 
Uncle Riley Rexford was just as positive that 
they were going after fresh -water pearls along the 
banks of the Yukon. He also had inside informa- 
tion. Hattie Piatt, the village dressmaker, was 
absolutely certain that they were bound for the 
South Seas. She had been told so by some one 
who knew all about it. She wished she could 
tell who it was, but she had promised she would 
not. Jessalie Jones, who wrote poetry, and had 

it printed under the initials "J. J." in the "Litch- 
field County Gazette," had it on good authorit>'^ 
that the whole trip had something to do with a 
romance of Jud Adams' youth. She refused to 
give her authority. In one thing all the stories 
agreed. That was — Pearls! Miss Jane Bronson, 
who had taught drawing and English literature 
at the Cornwall High School from a time beyond 
which the memory of man runneth not, brought 
in Volume 15 of the Encyclopaedia Britannica — 
P-Q — of the vintage of i860. She whispered that 
it contained a masterly monograph on pearls 
which she hoped the boys would find time to 
read on their trip. Guinea Potter's mother 
brought a bottle of boneset tea which she had 
brewed herself and which could be used either 
inside or outside and was warranted to cure 
everything. It was a favorite Cornwall remedy 
and always very effective, probably because it 
had such an appalling taste that any one who 
swallowed a dose of it would forget everything 
else. Old Hen Root who lived over in the Hol- 
low, and who had come to Cornwall from Sauga- 
tuck on Long Island Sound, brought a clam-hoe 
down to the station, which he insisted upon 
presenting to Will. 

"It may come in handy," he remarked con- 
fidentially, "in case you want to get a mess of 

The Cornwall Horse Guards were there, ready 
for the worst, and would have been very impres- 
sive if Silas Ford's horse had not balked right on 
the railroad tracks. As it was nearly train-time, 
the rest of the guard tried to haul him off by main 
force. The Cornwall band chose that particular 
moment to break loose. They tooted and banged 
and shrilled and squealed, until it sounded as if a 
boiler factory had blown up. At the very first 




©plosion, Silas Ford's horse, which had been 
biacing his feet and holding back with at least 
ten horae-power, whisked his tail, cleared the 
tncks, and was off down the road like a cyclone. 
As most of the other horses of the guards were 
hi:ched to him, the whole squadron disappeared 
anund the corner in a cloud of dust and a con- 
fusion of **Whoasr At that moment a distant 
whistle was heard, and with a rushing roar, the 
rumble of mighty wheels and the hissing of 
sorely tried air-brakes, the majestic Trans- 
continental Express whirled around the curve 
aad came to a full stop. Then it was that Fred's 
mother, who was a widow, broke down. As she 
kissed her boy good-by she was suddenly con- 
vinced that neither pearls nor prospects were 
*orth the unknown risks of this far journey. 

"I>on't go, honey. Stay home with me," she 
whispered. "I may never see you again." 

It was a critical moment. Fred winked very 
hard and wondered whether, after all, the trip 
was worth while. It was Barbara Deering who 
made a diversion. Barbara had a bewitching 
smile and a voice that always made Fred think 
of the gurgling of a certain trout-brook as it sang 
its way down one of the Cornwall hills. More- 
over, one could never be certain as to what 
Barbara was going to do next. To-day she stood 
in a group of girls with her hands behind her as 
the good-bys were being said, and, at this critical 
moment, stepped forward with a great bunch of 
those rare rose-red orchids, the moccasin-flower, 
which she must have gathered before breakfast. 
She handed these to Fred and whispered so low 
that only he could hear, "Good-by; I 'm very 
proud of you!" After that any backing out was 
impossible. Will's father shook hands with him 
with that indifference which fathers and sons 
show in public. Joe Couteau's uncle was there 
with a package of the whitest, sweetest maple 
sugar in the world, which only the old charcoal- 
burner knew how to make in his little sugar- 
bush in the early spring. 

"You big fool to go," he murmured affection- 
ately, pressing the package into Joe's hands. 
"Hurry up and come back." 

Then Mr. Sanford* and old Mike and Buck 
Masters, the village constable who had helped 
rescue Will and Joe from the burning cabin, and 
I'ncle Riley Rexford, and Nathan Hart, the let- 
ter-carrier, with a mail-bag in his hand, and 
Virgil Jones, the postmaster, and half a score of 
others pressed forward to shake the boys' hands 
and wish them luck. Only old Jud Adams stood 
apart from the rest of the crowd 

"Ain't there no one who 's goin' to give me 
flowers or sugar nor nothin'?" he complained. 

"Sure there bel" shouted old Jim Donegan, 

who had arrived late, as usual, pushing his way 
through the crowd, red-hot with haste and ex- 
citement. *'Even if none of these good-lookin' 
girls will give you anything, I will. You 're all 
the time complainin' that you can't find any 
smokin' tobacco in Cornwall that 's got any 
taste to it. I 've sent down South and here 's 
a package of black perique that will just about 
take the top of your old gray head off," and Big 
Jim shook the old trapper's hand affectionately 
and slapped the boys on their backs. 

"Good-by, fellows," he shouted as if he were 
hailing a ship at sea. "Good luck! I wish / were 
goin' with you instead of this good-for-nothin' 
old cripple of a Jud Adams." 

"What do you mean by such talk, Jim Done- 
gan?" yelled Jud, clutching his perique in one 
hand and much incensed at this public reference 
to his age. "Thank ye for the tobacco, but when 
you come to talk about me bein' old, I want you 
to understand — " but just then the whistle 
shrilled impatiently, the majestic conductor, who 
had been regarding Cornwall tolerantly, swept 
back the crowd, the porter pushed the boys, 
clam-hoe, encyclopaedia, boneset-tea, and all into 
the car, and with another bang from the band the 
Argonauts of Cornwall were off. With a shriek 
of the whistle which echoed through the hills, the 
train whirled away toward the enchantments, 
the adventures, and the waiting lands which, 
since Time began, have always beckoned to 
Argonauts from beyond the sunset. 

Then came long and varied days of sight-seeing 
from the observation platform. At first, Jud 
insisted that they ought to have shaken hands 
with the waiter when they went into the dining- 
car, and declared that the conductor ought to 
have a military salute as a tribute to his "blue- 
and-brass uniform." The library, the baths, 
the brass bedsteads, the great leather-lined 
lounging chairs, and all the other equipment of a 
plutocratic private car were a source of never- 
ending delight and amusement to the old trapper. 
Most of all, however, the whole crowd enjoyed 
the observation platform at the rear of the car. 
There, tipped back in comfortable chairs, with 
their feet up on the brass rail, as cities, prairies 
and mountains whirled by, they would talk by 
the hour, and old Jud would spin them yarns 
about the buffalo herds, the Indians and the 
antelope which he saw on his first trip across the 
continent in the seventies. 

But even more interesting to the boys were the 
stories told by Joe Couteau. 

"Joe," said Will, one day, after one of Jud's 
yarns, "you 've never told me how you managed 
to come across the continent. Where did you 
live first, and how did you get East by yourself?" 




For a long minute Joe made no answer, but sat 
and watched the steel rails spin a shining track 
behind them across the golden wheat-fields of 

"I lived," he said at last, ''on the Island of 
Akotan. That mean 'Island of the Free People* 
in my talk," he explained. "My father was a 
French trapper, who joined our tribe and married 
my mother. I told you 'bout his being killed by 
bear," he went on, turning to Will, who nodded as 
he remembered the talks around the camp-fire 
that he and Joe used to have when they were 
winning the cabin for the Cornwall Scouts. 
"After that," went on Joe, "my mother take me 
one day across to the mainland where there was a 
Hudson Bay trading-station and mission-school. 
She tell me if anything happen to her, I was to 
leave the tribe and go to this school. When 1 
learned enough, I was to travel and travel and 
travel east until I found my father's brother. 
She gave me writing, which my father had left, 
which showed how to find him." Then Joe came 
to a stop and looked long into the distance. 
"My mother's uncle, he shuman of the Free 
People," he went on after a moment. 

"Is that the same as the chief?" inquired Fred. 

"No," said Joe, "shuman is higher than chief. 
There may be two or more chiefs but only one 
shuman. Chiefs look after every-day things, 
but shuman he say when there be war or peace, 
he medicine-man for tribe, and have charge of all 
big things. After my mother's uncle find pearl 
he go on long, long journey south to place where 
the Free People had come from a hundred of 
years before. He want to see the Great Ones, 
and learn how to keep his people free and brave 
and good. While he gone, my mother die, like 
I tell you," said Joe, turning to Will, who nodded 
without speaking. The Indian boy's eyes flashed 
and his hands clinched hard for a moment. 
"When I come back," he went on after a long 
pause, "and found she had died and my uncle 
gone and other chiefs trying to take his place, 
who would n't dared have spoken to him standing 
up, I tell tribe what I thought. No one answer 
me back. Then I take canoe and provisions and 
gun, and leave 'em all, and paddle and paddle and 
walk and walk until I come to trading-station 
where mission-school was. There I stay and 
learn to read and write and be like white boys." 

"Did they send you across to your father's 
uncle?" questioned Jud, with much interest. 

"No," said Joe after a long pause, "they not 
have the money to do that." 

"Well, who did send you?" persisted Jud. 

**Cheesay" responded the boy, finally. 

''Cheesayr exclaimed Jud. "That 's the Chip- 
pewa for lucivee." 

"You mean the Canada lynx," broke in WilL 

"Yes," responded the old man. "I call *ein 
lucivees, and the French trappers call *em loup- 
cervier, but their name in Chippewa is *Cheesay.' " 

"Tell us how the lynx sent you," begged Fred, 
who had been sitting an interested listener to the 
whole conversation. Joe hesitated a moment. 

"Well, it was this way," he said. "I want to be 
like white boys. My mother's people cowards 
and dogs to let her starve. My uncle gone. I 
remember she tell me to go back to my father's 
people. At the trading-station they tell me it 
take much money — two, three hundred dollars — 
to travel down to Sitka and take boat and rail- 
road out East. They not have any money. 1 
not have any money. So I start out to earn my 
fare by trapping. At first I not have very good 
luck. I trap and trap and hunt and hunt, but 
catch very little." 

"It 's a wonder you caught anythin'," inter- 
jected Jud. "Trappin' 's no game for kids. It 
takes a grown man with good brains and a lot 
of experience to be a real trapper," and Jud 
puffed out his chest consciously. 

Joe looked at the little old man quizzically. 
"Yes," he said at last, "it takes fine, big, hand- 
some, smart man to be good trapper — ^like old 
man Jud, but I did the best I could. I caught a 
few muskrat and once in a while a mink, but they 
hardly brought enough to pay for my traps and 
my grub and my ammunition. Then one day 
there came a heavy snow. It snow and snow 
until ground covered three feet deep. I start out 
one morning with my gun to follow up trap-route. 
Pretty soon out from the woods I come to fox- 

"How do you tell a fox-trail?" asked Fred. 

"Tracks like those of dog," explained Joe, 
"except they run in straight line and don't 
spraddle out like dog and are finer and clearer 
cut and never show any drag-mark on the snow, 
for fox lift his paw high while dog sometimes drag 
it. This trail," went on Joe, "showed that the 
fox had sunk deep, every jump. He seemed to be 
running hard, and once in a while I could see 
mark of his brush on snow, showing that he was 
tired; for while he is fresh, a fox never lets his 
brush touch the snow. I wonder at first why fox 
go so fast when snow so deep. At last I see the 
reason. Near the fox-trail runs a line of big, 
padded cat- tracks, about twice the size of ordi- 
nary cat. Only they don't show four toes like 
cat-track does. I knew then that it was trail of 

"What made them padded?" inquired Will. 

"A lynx wears snow-shows in the winter," in- 
terposed Jud, before Joe had a chance to answer. 
"Each toe is covered with a big ball of fluffy 




kair which spreads out nearly flat, so that a lynx 
can bound over the snow, hardly sinking in at all." 

"That *s what this one was doing," went on 
Joe. "At every jump he would go five or six 
feet and only sink in a few inches, while the fox 
went floundering through the snow up to his 
shoulders. The tracks zigzagged in and out 
through the trees, as if the old fox was trying to 
dodge, and once in a while he 'd make a stand 
ag^ainst some tree, but always the lynx would 
drive him out into the open again. At last they 
led to little lake all frozen over and covered level 
with snow, and there out in the middle I saw two 
animals fighting. I hurried up close on my snow- 
shoes, and just as I got there, Cheesay gave big 
jump in air and clipped Old Man Fox right over 
head with his claws and buried him in the snow. 
Before he could get out, old lynx landed on top 
of him and bite him through the neck and kill 
him. By that time I was right close to them, and 
I yell loud to drive lynx off before he rip up fox's 
fur. Cheesay very much surprised, give a jump 
away, and spit and yowled and crouched and pre- 
tended that he was going to spring at me. My 
gun was loaded, and nobody ever afraid of Old 
Man Cheesay, anyhow. I look down at fox, and 
what you suppose I saw?" 

"What?" chorused the rest of the party. 

"Silver fox!" exclaimed Joe, impressively. 
"Black, black as night, and soft and thick and 
heavy. The longest hairs were tipped with white, 
so that the fur looked as if it were all frosted with 
silver, while the big jet-black brush had a silver 

"Oh, boy!" broke in Jud. "Think of that 
luck! I trapped nigh on to twenty years before 
I got a silver fox, and then he was n't a very good 


"Well," went on Joe, "they told me at the post 
that this one was the best silver fox that had 
ever been turned in there. They gave me three 
hundred dollars for it." 

"WTiich was about a third of what it was 
worth," commented Jud. 

"It was enough to take me to Cornwall, any- 
way," finished Joe. 

"Did n't you get the lynx skin, too?" inquired 

Joe looked at him reprovingly. "That just 
like white man," he said at last; "always selfish 
and ungrateful. When animal make present to 
Indian, Indian remember it and play square with 
animal. That why Indian so much better hunter 
and trapper than white man and get so much 
more game. Cheesay he give me black fox; he 
send me across continent; he bring me back to 
my father's people. You think for that I kill 
Cheesay? No!" and Joe regarded the abashed 

Fred sternly. "I take out my knife and skin fox 
right there in snow, while Cheesay wait and 
watch me. Then I give him carcass. He say. 
Thank you,' and I leave him and never kill 
another lynx — ^and never will." 

"That 's the reason," exclaimed Will, *'that 
you never helped me the time that old lynx 
jumped over me and scratched me up when we 
were out winning the cabin for the Cornwall 
scouts! I never understood why you did n't 
clip him one when I missed him, but now I see 
the reason." 

Joe nodded silently. 

"How did the old lucivee say 'thank you?' " 
inquired Fred, inquisitively. 

Joe opened his mouth wide and gave a long, 
low "Jlfeow," followed in quick succession by half 
a dozen others, each one rising in pitch and vol- 
ume, and the whole ending with three terrific 
screeches which brought the porter, the waiter, 
and even the majestic conductor himself running 
from the car ahead. It was the yowl song of th * 
mating lynx, and it came so suddenly that Fred 
and Will almost tipped over backward in their 
chairs. Only old Jud was unmoved. He re- 
garded the imperturbable Joe admiringly. 

"You sure have got that lucivee love-song down 
fine," he said. "I 'd have sworn that there was an 
old bobcat in this car if I had n't seen you do 

"If that *s the way Old Man Bobcat talks when 
he's grateful," said Fred, "I 'd hate to hear him 
when he 's mad." 

After the train officials had become convinced 
that no murder was being done and had retired, 
Will was moved to a reminiscence himself anent 
silver foxes. 

"There was a boy named Bill Peebles," he 
began, "who once lived in Cornwall, over on 
Dibble Hill. He went to the high school a 
couple of terms or so and then his folks moved 
away. Peebles was quite a hunter, and one day 
in November he climbed Pond Hill, thinking 
that he might get a shot at a deer up in the old 
sheep-pasture at the top. As he was coming out 
of the edge of the woods, all of a sudden he saw a 
jet-black fox just ahead of him. The wind was 
blowing from the fox, and so it had n't heard him 
or scented him at all. Peebles crouched down in 
the bushes and cocked his rifle and drew a careful 
bead on the fox about fifty yards away. He was 
just going to press the trigger," went on Will, 
dramatically, "when out of a corner of his eye he 
saw something move over on the edge of the 
woods, and out into the pasture stepped a fine 
buck, just about the same distance away as the 
fox. Old Sport Peebles was up in the air. First 
he sighted at the fox and then he sighted at the 




buck. He could shoot one, but he sure could n't 
get the other. At last, he figured out that the 
buck was bigger, and so he aimed carefully and 
dropped it in its tracks with a bullet just back of 
the fore shoulder. At the first crack of the 
rifle, the fox was gone. Bill Peebles got home 
with the buck, but when his folks found that he 
had let a thousand-dollar silver fox escape, they 
came near taking his gun away from him." 

"I should think they would!" snorted Jud. 
"Any Cornwall boy over seven ought to know 
that a black fox is the most valuable fur in the 
world, bar one." 

"What 's the one?" asked Fred. 

"Kalan," said Jud. 

"What 's a kalan?" 


"Come again," said Fred. 

"Well, sea-otter then," said Jud, "since you *re 
so ignorant. I suppose a good one now would 
bring pretty near ten thousand dollars, while a 
silver fox might get as high as five thousand." 

"Me for the sea-otter!" exclaimed Will. "I 
did n't know that there was such an expensive 
animal on earth. Well, anyway, coming back 
to Bill Peebles, he moved, soon after that hap- 
pened, and I don't know what became of him, 
but I never saw a boy so sorry over anything. 
If he lives to be a hundred, he *11 never stop 
regretting that black fox." 

As the train sped across the plains and into the 
country beyond! Jud became much excited. 
Towns and cities, he remembered as trading- 
stations, cattle-depots, and mining-camps. Then 
one evening the train rumbled into Spokane, and 
Jud was full of reminiscences. 

"Do you see that stone-shed?" he inquired 
pointing to a tumble-down building not far from 
the station. "Well, boys, the last time I was 
here that was a smoke-house. There was n't 
any railroad and there was n't any dty. Where 
these tracks run was a stage route. There were 
twenty-five or thirty houses and dance-halls and 
a hotel called San Francisco House. It was about 
fifty yards away from that smoke-house." 

The old man paused dramatically. 

"Go on, Jud," urged Will, "let 's have the 
story of the smoke-house." 

"Yes, Jud," chimed in Fred, "I '11 believe it if 
it kills me." 

The old man regarded him sternly. 

"You '11 get into trouble some of these days, 
young fellow," he said austerely, "with your 
fresh insinuendoes," and he eyed him sevwely. 
Fred bowed his head meekly. 

"Go on, boss," he murmured contritely. With 
a few indignant puffs, old Jud resumed his in- 
terrupted story. 

"In the stage along with us," he went on, "was 
an Englishman. He wore a long plaid ulster that 
would have made Joseph's coat look faded, an' a 
round, shiny piece of glass seemed to have grown 
into one of his eyes. We tried to draw the critter 
out just for the fun o' hearin' him talk, for he kind 
o' bleated an' used funny soundin' words. At 
last he shut up like a dam, an' we most forgot 
him. It was gettin* toward dark when we 
stopped to change horses at the San Frandsco 
House. Spokane was an awful rough place in 
those days," and Jud stopped to charge his pipe 
afresh with some of Big Jim's penque. "All of a 
sudden," he resumed after a series of quick puffs, 
like a frdght-engine starting, "we saw that 
Britisher walkin' ofT by himself with his hands in 
his pockets, as unconcerned as if he were in 
London. Just as he got opposite that smoke- 
house, a big chap jumps out from behind it, 
shoves a gun into his face, an' wants his money 
quick. The Englishman looked so funny an' 
hdpless with his mouth open an' that eye-glass 
an' ulster, that even the hold-up man could n't 
keep from grinnin'. Before we could get to them, 
there was a shot fired, an' who do you suppose 
went down?" 

"The tourist, of course," said Will. 

"That 's what we thought," responded Jud; 
"but when we got there, it was the hold-up man 
who was lyin' on his face an' the Englishman 
standin', with his hands still in his pockets, 
starin' down at him out of that glass eye of his. 
Come to find out, he carried a short Derringer 
revolver; an' instead of puttin' up his hands, he 'd 
shot right through his coat. It was kind of 
expensive, but mighty effective. He got the 
robber right through the shoulder," finished Jud. 
"An' he was the most surprised hold-up man you 
ever saw. When we turned him over to the 
sheriff, he said it had served him right for trusdn' 
to appearances." 

It was not until toward the end of the trip that 
a hot-box gave Fred a chance to distinguish him- 
sdf. The train had been whirling at full speed 
across a wide plateau, when it came to a sudden 
stop with much crashing and danking and 
wheezing of air-brakes. The Argonauts hurried 
out, to find that it would take over an hour to 
repair dam^es. Glad of a chance to stretch 
thdr l^;s, they started to explore a dry, sandy 
plain studded with bunches of coarse grass. 
As they passed one of the grass-dumps, there 
sounded in front of them a deep, fierce hiss. 
Close by Jud's foot, the bloated, swollen body of 
a fearsome snake upreared itsdf. It was almost 
white in color, blotched and spotted with bands 
and streaks of velvety brown, and each scale had 
a little ridge running down its center. The 




snake's snout was turned upward in a sharp, 
curved horn, and its black, lidless eyes seemed to 
flash as the hideous head flattened until it was 
nearly as wide as the palm of Joe's hand. As the 
scales on the snake's neck opened out, they 
showed the golden-ydlow skin between, until the 
serpent's head and neck seemed all aflame as it 
struck out toward them, a picture of blind, 
venomous rage. As it struck, the snake hissed 
loud enough to be heard a hundred feet away. 
Jud probably broke the world's record for the 
standing back broad-jump. Will said afterward 
that he sailed through the air like a bird. 

"Keep away, boys," Jud shouted.- *'Some- 
i)ody get a stick or a stone. That 's a sand-viper, 
and he 's pizener than rattlesnake. Don't let his 
breath touch you. It 's nigh as bad as his bite!" 

Will and Joe needed no warning. Neither one 
of them knew much about snakes, and their one 
experience with the timber rattlesnake in their 
adventures in the* woods had given them a pro- 
found distrust of all snake-kind. Then it was 
that Fred came to the front. Snakes were his 
spedalty. Waving the rest of them back with a 
noble gesture, he strode right lip to the infuriated 

"Get back, boy! He '11 kill you!" piped Jud, 
from the far background. 

Fred not only did not retreat, but actually 
stretched out his hand, palm up, toward the 
sharp-curved snout of the bloated snake. With 
a tremendous hiss, the infuriated reptile ap- 
parently struck him violently on the flat of his 
hand. None of the spectators, however, noticed 
that the snake's mouth was tight shut. A gasp of 
horror came from Jud, while Joe and Will pre- 
pared to interfere. 

"You thought he bit me that time," said Fred, 
turmng to them. ''It only shows that the hand is 
quicker than the eye." 

"Don't be a fool, Fred," interposed Will. 
"He '11 get you next time." 

"There 's no danger," returned Fred, pom- 
pously. "I Ve a charm which will make this 
snake kill himself and then come to life." Before 
the boys could stop him, he stretched out his 
right hand and tapped the snake several times 

on the sharp end of his up-curved snout, mutter- 
ing some unintelligible words at the same time. 
It was as he said. The bloated serpent stopped 
hissing, and, turning over and over, seemed to 
writhe in terrible agony. Finally, it pulled a coil 
of its twisting body through its wide open jaws, 
and, with a few convulsive shudders, stretched 
itself out with its black-striped, white belly 
upward, apparently dead. There was a murmur 
of admiration from the rest of the party. 

"How did you do it, Fred?" queried Will. 

"That kid really has got somethin' to him," 
muttered Jud, while even Joe was inclined to 
believe that Fred had stumbled on some bit of the 
Indian magic in which, in spite of his white train- 
ing, he firmly believed. 

"That 's nothing," said Fred, patronizingly. 
"Step back behind that bush, and in a moment 
or so I '11 bring him to life." 

Stretching both hands palm up toward the 
sky, he made a few mystic gestures over the 
motionless snake and then joined the others 
behind the bush. One, two, three, four full 
minutes passed. Suddenly a shudder passed 
through the motionless body of the snake. Then 
its head was raised slightly from the ground and 
it peered all around. Seeing no one in sight, it 
flopped over and started to wriggle its way into 
the grass, when Fred rushed out and secured it. 
The boys and Jud were vastly impressed. 

"I never believed it was in you," said Jud, 
as, from a safe distance, he regarded the snake, 
which was now peacefully coiled around Fred's arm. 

"Tell us the charm," demanded Will. 

"Well," said Fred, "if you fellows would study 
any good book on snakes, you 'd find all the 
charm you need there. You 'd read there that 
this is tiie puff-adder, or hog-nose snake, or sand- 
viper,. as Jud calls it, or spreading-adder or blow- 
snake or flat-headed adder, for it goes by all these 
names. You would also find out that it ought to 
be called the bluff-adder. It never bites. It never 
opens its mouth when it strikes. It tries to scare 
people, but it 's really a gentle, harmless, well- 
behaved snake." 

There was a long pause. 

"It sure don't look it," said Jud. 

(To be continued) 


A Pageant 

Arranged by Margaret Kkox, Principal and Anna M. Lutkenhaus, Director cr 
THE Dramatic Club of Public School 15, New York City 

(Tht quoMioni used are gathered from many sources) 

~ Characters: 

I Goldat Future: Long, clinging dress 
t of gold-colored sateen, draped with 
a veil of cloth-of-gold. She wears 
ahead-pie«:ein theshapeof a star; 
in the center of the star gleams an 
electric light. (Note: Any electri- 
cal shop can make this head-piece 
at a small cost. A belt with a 
pocket attai^hed for holding the 
small battery is worn around the 
waist under the dress.) 
Drab Past: Long, duil-gray robe, 
trimmed with strings of clear 
white beads, to represent the 
tears of thepast year^. 
Kaleidoscopic Present: Dress of all 
colors, to represent the unsettled 
condition of the world to-day. 
Fletver Dancers: Their own little white dresses; sunbonnets made of light blue and pink crgpe paper. 

Each carries a small (kiwer-basket. 
Many other children, boys and girls, in ordbary o 


"I saw it all in Fancy's glass— 

Herself, the fair, the wild maKician, 
Who bade this splendid day-dream pass. 

And named each gilded apparition. 
'T was like a torch-race, such as they 

Of Greece performed, in ages gone. 
When the fleet youth, in long array. 

Passed the brilliant torch triumphant oi 

"I saw the expectant nations stand 

To catch the coming flames in turn; 
I saw, from ready hand to hand. 

The clear, though struf^ling, glofy bum. 
And oh, their joy, as it came near! 

'T was, in itself, a joy to see; 
While Fancy whispered in my ear, 

'That torch they pass is Libertyl' 

"And each, as she received the flame. 

Lighted her altar with its ray; 

Then, smiling, to the next who came, 

Speeded it on its sparkling way. 
From Albion first, whose ancient shrine 
Was furnished with the flame already, 
Columbia caught the boon divine. 

And lit a flame, like Albion's steady." 

(Thomas Moore) 

Hymn by the School— "These Things Shall Be" 
"These things shall be: a loftier race 

Than e'er the world has known shall rise. 
With flame ol freedom in their souls 
And light of knowledge in their eyes. 

"Man shall love man with heart as pure 
And fervent as the young-eyed throng 
Who chant their heavenly psalms before 
God's face with undiscordant soi^. 

"New arts shall bloom of bftier mdd. 
And mightier music thrill the skies. 
And every life shall be a song. 
When all the earth is paradise." 

(/. A. Symonds) 
(During the singing of the hymn thethree main char- 
acters enler. First, the Drab Past, head bowed, hands 
clasped; then, the Kaleidoscopic Present, face anxious 
and inquiring, all movemenls representing unrest; 
then, in the center, the Golden Future, face glorified.) 
The Present. (Quoting last two lines of hymn) 
"And every life shall be a song. 
When all the earth is paradise." 
How can I make America this paradise? Her 
people love their land, and "the test of all love is 
service, and to love America is to serve America." 

The I'ast. My people have always served me. 
O Present. During the last few years America's 
sons and daughters have shown the world that the\' 

"The Present. O Past, ! am not questionLne our 
children's ability toserve. But I, the Present Time, 
long to keep that glorified look on Future's face. 
Look at her, see how the star of hope sends broadcast 
its light! 

The Future. I, the Future of America, follow 
closely in your footsteps, O Present, to show the 
people of America their duty. 



"Your soldiers and sailors receive an honorable 
discharge when you no longer need them, but no 
discharge is possible lor the loyal American citizen. 
Something clearer and finer and sweeter than the 
bugle, sounds the call of Duty in the hearts of the 
true lovers of America." 

The Present. "We have been considering how 
best we may express gratitude for the triumphant 
conclusion of the war," and how best to build up the 
new America that will keep you, O Future, always 
triumphant! Who will be the builders? {Bothamu 
outstretched to the ckildren.) ^ 

The Past. O Present, have you forgotten that 

1918. our people of America have suffered much and 
learned much. We have shown ourselves staw to 
smite, but quick to save; a people of cheerful yester- 
days and qoniident to-morrows. Love, not hate, is 
the burden of America's song. Only those things 
that make for happiness — in your heart and my 
heart and in the heart of nations — are of the king- 
dom of things that are eternal." 

Third Child. We are all seeking ways to help 
the happiness of the future. We are enrolled in 
the great, nation-wide Health Crusade. 

We learn how necessary cleanliness and fresh air 
are. When I look at our beautiful, tiny school- 



the children are the hope of the Future? On them 
depends that light of hope! 

THE Future. The children of your day are the 
men and women of my day. They must be happy 
now. "In all times, happmess has been the aspira- 
tion, the hope, the dream of the world. The history 
of civilization is the story of man's changing ideals 
and standards of happiness, his groping from crude 
beginnings toward a more perfect reali;ation of the 
liberty and security, the peace and opportunity, 
that are essential to a happy life." 

The Present. Children of to-day. are you ready 
to do your part in making the world happy? 

First Child (In the assembly). Yes! I speak 
for all the children of America! We are ready to 
complete the work of making the "world safe for 

SecoM} Child. "By believing that the world is a 
better world to-day than it was yesterday, we do 
much to make it so. Since roses bloomed in June, 


parden, and see how the kindergarten children love 
It. oh, how I do wish children everywhere could have 
great beautiful school gardens! 

(At a given chord, each child in the assembly holds up 
a flower — -a pink rose, a daisy, or a piece of green. 
These can be made of paper, if necessary. The school 
sings a "Floiver Song," while about thirty tiny girls, 
wearing their paper sunbonnets anrf carrying fiower- 
baskels, dance up and doivn the aisles, picking flowers . 
As the tiny girls dance out. twelve of the larger girls, 
carrying strings of smilax, dance an asthelic dance, 
or any other dance can be used here. At the end of the 
dances, the children in the assembly hwer the flowers.) 

The Future. These are the happy, healthy 
women 0/ to-morrow. Oh. glorious i^ys await 
America ! 

The Past. Much thy children have yet to learn, 
O Future. My knights of early days set an example 
that could well be copied, when they pledged their 
vow of loyalty, chivalry, and courtesy. They were 





ready to aid the weak and helpless and to show 
respect to older people. Our bo)^ and girls must be 
trained to do likewise. 

(Abovl fifteen boys and fifteen girls dance irt. and, to 
slow, bright dance-music, they act a pantomime of 
"Courtesy." Raising of the hat. Standing aside to 
aliow lady to pass. Offering a chair. Bojcing by boys 
and curtseying by girls. Picking up Ike dropped 
handkerchief, etc. etc. Any other courtesies of every- 
day Hfe may be added here.) 

The FuTLTiE. We hope that we need have 
further fear of foreign foes. 

The Present. "Dream not thy future foes 
Will all be foreign bom! 
Turn thy clear look of acorn 
Upon thy children who oppose 
Their passions wild and policies of shame 
To wreck the righteous splendor of thy name 
Untaught and overconfident they rise, 
With folly on their lips." 

^'^'^^'^'^^'^ I ii^iirt i urn n"^^"^ 


i/ » 

The FtJTtJRE. Th^ 
are the builders who will 
grow into the rampart 
of indomitable men and 
women. Yea, more than 
that. They will revive all 
of your beet days, O Past, 
and join the olden days of 
chivalry with the age of 
loyalty and service. 

The Present. Yes, 

you are right, O Golden 

>t realize that disaster and 

le? The 

(About thirty boys and 
girls come in, taikin^ nois- \ 

ily. Exclamations in bro- 
ken English are heard. One 
boy carries a soap-box. He 
sets it down, and. jumping 
upon it, begins an anarchis- 
ttc speech.) 

SOAP-BOx Boy {Speak- 
ing with foreign accent). 
Men and women! Stand 
up tor your rights! In 
this rich country of America we should get five 
times the w^es we are getting! Down with the 
selfish, rich employers! Who are they, anyn'ay' 
The majority rules, and we, we are the majority: 




A general strike is needed! (Great excitement among 
his Usleners.) America owes us a good living, and 
we shall get it! We shall rule this land ! 


A Bov IN THE Crowd. No! No! You are no 
American to tallc like that! The best thii^ you 
can do, if you do not like America and ate not ready 
to obey her laws, is to r> straight back to the land 
you came from. We do not want people. like you 

Soap-box Boy. Who are youP 1 say that the 
majority rules here! 

Second Boy in the Crowd. But who is the 
majority? Who? 

Crowd. We are! We are! 

Second Bov. Did you select this man to be your 

relation to blood. You may be of pure Irish, Ger- 
man, Russian, Hebrew, Italian, French, Austrian, or 
Polish blood, and yet be as real an American as if 
your ancestors had come to this coun- 
try in the early days and foueht with 
Washington to make our Republic 
and with Lincoln to preserve it." 
"At the present time we have more 
than 26,000,000 people in our land 
who were bom in (ore^ lands or 
whose parents were foreign bom. 
Each and every one of these is, or 
easily may become, American it he 
understands our language and cus- 
toms and has a spirit of loyalty to 
the ideals of Americanism." Our 
task is very difficult at the present 
time because ol a rebellious spirit 
against the right. There are people 
who have no respect for law and 
order. Right here among us we have 
some. But they do not understand 
andareifi:norant of the right. People 
of Amenca! It is our duty to show 
them the right! 

Voice from thb Crowd. Where 
shall we begin with the training of 
real Americans? 

Sixth Boy. In the public schools 
of America. Let our boys and girls 
be proud to say, "1 am an Ameri- 
can!" Let their parents be proud 
to learn from the children the 
English language, so that they may 
read the newspapers and study the laws themselves. our children be trained, as we boys and girls are. 

Crowd. No! No! We are Americans! 
Third Bov in the Crowd. This soap-box orator 
does not realize the duties he owes to America for its 

K'lvileges and freedom which he enjoys here. We 
ve a great many people like him here, and we true 
American citizens have a great task before us to 
Americanize these people. 

Soap-box Boy (Laughing scornfully). How are 
you going to do it? 

Fourth Boy in the Crowd. We are going to 
try to make every one think about these subiects; 
every one should study them, and every one should 
speak about them. 

Soap-box Bov. Then why do you object to mv 
speaking? Ithoughtthiswasacountryof freespeecn 
and freedom! 

FirrH Boy. We have freedom of speech as long as 
we respect the laws and government that protects us. 
We have heard what you have to say; now it is my 
turn to speak. (He steps up on the box as the other 
boy sUps down, scowUng.) 

I am an American school-boy, and in our school we 
Icam what straight, correct thinking is. Our great 
task to-day is to make a eood American of every 01 
htte in our country. ' " ' ' ■---'-_.. 

"The word American has no 


to care for the body, 
healthy men and wotii' 
class-room i 

' that they will became 
nen; let them be trained in the 
thinking, and the Future will 

Past, the Present, the Future! 
the Free! 

Fifth Child. 
"In radiance heavenly fair, 
Floats on the peaceful air 

That flag that never stooped from victory's pride: 
These stars that softly gleam. 
These stripes that o'er us stream. 
In war's grand agony were sanctified; 
A holy standard, pure and free. 
To light the home of peace, or blase in victory!" 
SijiTH Child. 
"Don't you love it, as out it floats 
From the school-house peak, and glad young throats 
Sing of the banner that ay shall be 
Symbol of honor and victory!" 
Seventh Child. 

"L*t the school, for America's glory. 
The pledge of the fathers renew; 
Four hundred years thrilling with story, 
A thousand years rising in view; 
And as long as the old constellation 
Shall gleam on the flag of the light, 
The school shall be true to the nation. 

e to the right." 


have little to trouble her. Here come the physic- 
ally perfect citizens of to-morrow ! 

lAboul forty boys march in with military precision; 
take places in aisles and giiie a fine flag drxU. After 

Ike driU the boys 

" if the Flag Capiat 

n until the end of pageant.) 

each side of the Flay 

. with Colors in full view. 

And the 

Eighth Child. 
"Ah! what a mighty trust is ours, the noblest ever 

To keep this banner spotless its kindred stars amonK ) 
No cloud on the field of azure — no stain on the rosy 

God bless you. Youths and Maidens, as you guard 
the Stripes and Starsl" 

Fl;*g Captain. I,et us all salute our Flag! 

(Flag Salute and singing of "The Slar-Spangied 
Banner," During the singing of Ihe second stanza, the 
boys, The Present, and The Past pass sHently out 
leaving The Future standing atone.) 

The Future. Alone, I, the Future, stand, herein 
your midst. As I look into your bright faces, and 
think of the three hundred years of democracy here 
in our land, hopes for my day come to me. Let me 
say them as if you, the children, were speaking. 

"We, the children of America, hope to be ready by 
word and deed to help the future of our land. We 
shall remember the many lives lost in the great war 
and we shall strive to make our lives so noble that 
they will, in a measure, compensate .America for its 
present loss. 

" 'Our spirits are full of the springtime, our hopes 
unspoiled, our strength unspent. Surely, the Life 
within our lives, the Spirit in our spirits, the Eternal 
Purpose, on Whose Will the centuries are strung like 
jewels, needs us in this great day to share the toil.' 
We offer ourselves now, we, the school-children of 
America, to keep our land one great, righteous 

(As music is played— •■The Sound of a Great 
Amen" — tke Future tiialks out of the assembly room, 
keeping her face, vrith an uplifted expression, and lie 
star shining brightly upon her forehead, toward lit 

The Phesest. Out of these tumultuous times I 
see a l^ht breaking. 

Fourth Child. 

"Rejoice, whatever anguish rend the heart, 
That God has given you a priceless dower: 
To live in these great times and have your part 
In Freedom's crowning hour." 

The Past. O Future, this is your hour! Your 
star of hope will always shine. 

The Present. My boys and girls, O Future, 
will remember that it is their duty to keep our banner 
spotless. It is a mighty trust, but if the^ will 
volunteer as eagerly as our soldier boys hurried to 
the enlisting stations in 191 7. I know that our great 
new reconstruction army of children will carry our 
banner still leading the nations gloriously in Free- 
dom's holy way! {Flag Captain ivalks slo'wly up 

the end 

[This play has been given in a large public school in the foreign quarter of New York City. As far as 
pc«sible, the pageantry includes all the varied activities of the school year, as drills, dances takm from 
the athletic work, costumes made in the sewing department, singing by the assembled schocd. Every 
school club is represented, thus making the play a living factor in teaching all the children of the school 
the meaning of democracy.] 



Author of "On the Battle-front of Engineering." "Inventions of the Great War." etc., etc. 

Now that we have our cottages built, we shall 
want to make them livable before going ahead 
with the rest of the village. The houses will 
look better if painted ; but in view of the high cost 
of paint these days, we may just as well leave 
them in the "natural wood." As for the inside, 
we may find some extra rolls of wall-paper in the 
attic with which the walls of our cottages may be 
papered. Mother or sister may help us with cur- 
tains at the windows, to give the rooms a real 
homelike appearance. 


The furniture for Packing-box Village will have 
to be very small and compact, so as not to use 
up all the space we have. In fact, it will be well 
to use folding pieces, as far as possible, to save 
room. The best chairs for our little houses are 
camp-stools, and a camp-stool is about the easiest 
chair to make. Take four sticks of wood about 
i" by i^" in cross-section and 20" long. Nine 
inches from the upper end of each stick bore a 
hole i" in diameter to receive a bolt on which the 
sticks will swivel. The sticks are to be connected 
in pairs, as shown in Figs, i and 2, one pair, A, 
fitting outside the other pair, B ; the connecting 
pieces, C and D, of the inner pair must be made 
two inches shorter than the pieces E and F of 
the outer pair. The connecting piece should be 
2" wide by iV thick, while the length of the 
shorter ones should be ten inches and the longer 
ones twelve inches. The pieces C and E are 
nailed to the very top of the legs A and B, but 
pieces F and D are secured at about two inches 
from the lower ends. 

The pairs of legs are now fastened together 
by means of two j" bolts, each fitted with a pair 
of nuts. The first nut is screwed on until it 
bears snugly, but not too tightly, against the 
inside of the leg, and then the second nut is 
screwed tightly against the first nut to keep it 
from working loose Now take a piece of canvas 
about 20" long and 10" wide. Take a one-inch 
hem in each side, making the strap eight inches 
wide. Then tack the two ends of the canvas to 
the lower edges of the pieces C and E, forming a 

seat about twelve inches long. This done, pare 
off the projecting corners of the legs at their upper 
ends, taking care not to injure the canvas. At 
their lower ends, also, the under corners of the 




legs should be cut off, so as to give them a broader 
bearing on the floor. 


Peach baskets turned upside down make handy 
stools, if we wish to avoid the bother of making 
chairs. A very simple three-legged stool can be 
made by using the bottom of a peach basket as a 
seat and mounting it on three round sticks. 
Peach baskets vary in diameter, but a common 
size measures eight inches across the bottom. 
Take a one-inch board, draw an eight-inch circle 
on it, divide it into three equal parts by means of 




three radial lines, as shown in Fig. 3. Then two 
and one half inches from the center bore three 
holes, one on each radial line. The holes should 
be just large enough to receive the legs of the stool 
with a driving fit, and they should be slanted away 
from the center, so that the legs will have a wide 
spread at the bottom. For the legs we can use 
pieces of a broom handle, or any other round 
wood from f " to i" in diameter. The legs should 
be about fifteen inches long. Before driving the 
legs into the holes, saw off the board along the 
dotted lines shown in Fig. 3. and nail the board to 
the peach-basket bottom. Then drive in the 
legs and brace them with rungs near the bottom, 
as shown in Fig. 4. The legs should be sawed off 
at the bottom to bear evenly on the floor. A 
peach-basket bottom is apt to be rather rough 
and it will be advisable to cover it with a piece 
of soft cloth, tacking it to the under side of the 

A layer of hay or straw under the cloth will 
make the stool more comfortable. 


A CHAIR with a comfortable back can be made of 
barrel-staves, as shown in Figs. 5 and 6. Take 
the staves of a good-sized barrel, such as a sugar 
barrel. They should be about 4" wide and 2'-6" 

For the back of the chair, take two full- 
length staves and one eighteen inches long. 
Nail them at the top to a strip of V' by 2" wood, 
16" long, as shown at A. This piece is to be 
placed at the rear of the chair-back. On the 
forward side nail another piece, B, fifteen inches 
long. This will have to be i" thick by 2" wide, 
and the upper edge should be fourteen inches 
from the floor. A rung, C, of f" by iV wood 
should connect the legs of the chair near the bot- 
tom. For the front legs of the chair take staves 
sawed to a length of thirteen inches, and connect 
them at the top by means of a piece, D, measur- 
ing f" by 2" by 15". This is to come at the 
forward side of the legs, while a rung, £, is nailed 
to the back of them. Two side-pieces, F, measur- 
ing J" by 2" by 14" long, are now nailed to the 
pieces B and D, forming the frame for the chair- 
seat, and they are braced by means of pieces, G, 
while rungs, H, connect the front and rear legs. 
Because of the curve of the barrel-staves the legs 
at the floor will have a greater spread, from front 
to rear, than at the seat, as shown in Fig. 6. The 
chair is completed by nailing pieces of barrel- 
staves across from the strip B to the strip D with 
the curve down, so as to form a slightly hollowed 
seat, or, if desired, a couple of plain boards §" 
thick may be used for the seat. 


Figs. 7 and 8 show how to make a straight-backed 
hall chair, which is something like the porch seat 
described in the last instalment. Fig. 7 shows 
how to lay out the side-pieces. For each side 
take a 10" board, 3'-6" long, and a 6" board 20" 
long. They may be of i" or f " stuff. Fasten 
them together with cleats A and B. The cleat A 
should be nailed on with its upper edge fourteen 
inches from the bottom, and the cleat B with its 
lower edge three inches from the bottom. The 
cleats should be at least i" thick and should be 
set back about an inch from the front edge of the 
side-pieces. Then saw the boards as indicated 
by dotted lines. To make the cut, C, D, at the 
bottom, it will be necessary to bore a hole at D 
and use a keyhole saw; or else this part can be cut 
before the boards are nailed to the cleats. The 
wood between the points E and F can easily be 
split out and then trimmed with a jack-knife. 
Now nail to each side-piece a strip, G, to which 
the front boards of the chair may be nailed. 
These boards should make a panel 11" high and 
16" wide, so as to. fit between the side-pieces. 
The back of the chair consists of a couple of 8" 
boards 2', 4" long, fastened together at the back 
by a couple of cleats. The back is fitted between 
the side-pieces and they are nailed to it. It will 
be well to tilt the back at a slight angle. Then 
the seat is nailed to the cleats, A. The seat 
is made of a couple of boards sixteen inches long 
and wide enough to project about an inch beyond 
the front board of the chair. 


A FAR more ambitious chair is shown in Figs. 9 
to II. It will be too big for most of the rooms in 
Packing-box Village, but it will do for one of 
the more spacious cottages. Take a box 18" 
long, 16" wide, and 12" deep, or one of about 
those dimensions. At each corner nail an upright 
measuring f " by 2 V by 22". These are shown 
at A, in Fig. 9, and are nailed to the ends of the 
box. To add to the appearance of the chair a 
couple of 2^" pieces are nailed to the front of 
the box as indicated at B. On these uprights the 
chair arms, D, are nailed. Fig. 10 shows how the 
chair arms should be made. They are boards 4" 
wide and 2'-5" long. The corners are round at the 
front end, and three cleats, E, are nailed to each arm 
at the points indicated in the drawing. These cleats 
are of i "-square wood. We shall have to nail the 
arms very firmly to the uprights, and as nails 
driven into the end of a piece of wood are liable to 
work loose, we shall have to nail blocks, F, to the 
uprights, as shown in Fig. 11, and then secure the 
arms by nailing them to these blocks. The arms 
should project one inch beyond the uprights B. 



The bade of the chair is made of a couple of 
8" boards a'-o" long, fastened ti^ether with 
cleats. The chair back is fastened to the seat 
with hinges, about two inches from the rear, and 
then rests against a broom -handle, which may be 
set against any of the three pairs of cleats, E, to 
suit the comfort of the occupant. The chair 

FTq.7. Rg. a. 



Because of our narrow quarters, we shall have 
to use a folding table, that can be swung up 
against the wall when not in use. For the table 
top, take a couple of boards lo" wide and s'-o" 
long and fasten them ti^ether with a couple of 
cleats, B, to make a top, A, Fig. 12, 20" wide. 
This top should then be 
hinged to the wall of the 
room just j'-o" from the 
floor. Make a button 
of wood, C, and fasten it 
with a screw to the wall 
so that it can be turned 
down over the table top 
to hold it up in folded 
position. For the legs, D, 
of the table take a couple 




should be mounted on castors, and, if fitted with 
generous cushions, will make a very comfortable 

Chairs are the most important pieces of furni- 
ture we shall need, but we shall also want to put 
in a table and some bookcases. It is hardly neces- 
sary to describe the construction of a bookcase. 
Any boy can make one by fitting some shelves in 
a narrow box. Aa for the table, some advice will 
be needed. 

2'-o" long. Drive a nail 
in the bottom of each 
stick, letting it project 
' three quarters of an inch, 
and tile the head otT. 
Hinge these sticks to the 
table top, and in the 
floor bore two holes just 
lai^ enough for the nails 
to enter them. These 
will keep the I^s from 
folding under while the 
table is in use (Fig. 12), 
and when - the table b 
lifted up gainst the wall, 
the legs will fold back 
against the table top, as 
in Fig. 13. 


One more convenience 
is a hat-rack, which can 
be made of a strip of i" 
wood, 3" wide and 16" 
loi%. This is the base 
of the rack. Get three 
clothes-pins and bore 
three holes in the base 
just large enough for 
the clothes-pins to be forced info them when 
the forked ends of the pins are squeezed to- 
gether. After driving the pins in as shown 
by the sectional view, Fig. 15, drive wedges. 
A, between the forked ends, to jam them 
tightly in place, and saw off the projecting 
ends flush with the base. This finishes the rack. 
and it may be nailed to the wall behind the hall 

{To be ccmHnued) 





In Holland, where they always have plenty of 
skating in winter-time, they often rig up a sort 
of merry-go-round. It consists of a mast set up 
in the ice, from which a boom is swivelcd. A sled 


14 -O 

FTq. 3. 

FTq 3 

is fastened to the end of the boom, and the boom is 
revolved around the mast by skaters, making the 
sled travel at high speed, and giving the occupant 
of the sled an exhilarating ride. 

The accompanying drawings show how to con- 
struct a similar merry-go-round, simplified so that 
a boy can easily make it. The main difficulty is to 
get a post and set it firmly in the ice. Take a 
point where the water is comparatively shallow and 
drive the post through a hole in the ice into the 
bottom of the pond. The ice will freeze around 
the post and hold it firmly. It should be about 
3" in diameter. A clothes-post is just the thing. 
It should project a little more than three feet 
above the surface of the ice. While we are about 
it, we may as well make a double boom, so that 

two sleds can be used at a time. Take two 
boards of i" wood, 3" wide, and 14', o" long. 
The wood should be straight grained and free from 
knots. Take four blocks of wood 3" thick and 
nail the two boards together with the wooden 
blocks between them, as shown in Fig. i. The 
boards should overlap 4', o'', and the two middle 
blocks should be spaced 3" apart, so as to leave 
room for the post to pass freely between them. 
To hold the boom up at a convenient level, say 
three feet above the ice, make two triangular 
frames, such as shown in Fig. 2, consisting of an 
upright. A, 3', o" long, and a wooden runner or 
shoe, B, 2', o" long, which preferably should be 
hollowed out as shown, so as to bear on the ice at 
only two points. Nail the upright to the shoe, 
and brace them with a diagonal piece, C. Now 
nail these frames to the two arms of the boom 
about 6', o" from the center, and brace them with 
pieces, D. A guy- wire, E, should be run from the 
toe of each shoe to the center of the boom to keep 
the toe from being swung out by centrifugal force 
and the drag of the ice. 

The boom is now fitted over the post and rested 
on the two shoes. A couple of ropes are fastened 
to each end of the boom. E!ach pair is seized by 
the occupant of a sled, who in this way, is pulled 
by skaters pushing the boom around the post. 
As the sled gathers speed, it will tend to swing 
and slide in line with the boom, running broad- 
side to the ice. This the rider can prevent by 
pulling harder on the inside rope. If he does not. 
he is liable to have his sled upset and shoot away 
from him, letting him down on the ice. 

Gordon Van Der Veer. 







A SKATB-SAIL can be rigged with few tools and at 
slight expense. The size of the sail should be 
rather accurately adjusted for the height of the 
sailor. For a boy five feet in height, a mast 
seven and one half feet long is about right, and 
the spar for this mast should be about eight feet 
in length. This gives a spread of canvas of 
about thirty square feet, which is enough for 
even a muscular boy to ma nage in a stifT breeze. 
The sail described is of this size, but if it is found 
too powerful, the upper portion should be reefed 
to a smaller spread. For this purpose the sail is 
provided with reefing tapes, which are sewed on 
both sides of the sail as shown by B, B, B, in Fig. 
3. There should be a seam where the reefing 
tapes are sewed, thus giving a double thickness of 

The most easily constructed mast and spar, 
and the lightest for the strength obtained, are 
made from sections of a bamboo pole. The butt 
of the pole should be used for the mast, and the 
upper portion for the spar. The pole must be a 
long one so that the spar at the smaller end, F, 
in Fig. 2, will be stout enough not to buckle in a 
brisk blow. Ash masts and spars are strong, but 


FIG. 1 


FIG. 3 

FIG. 4 

heavy, and their use, for a 
boy, cannot be advised. If 
seasoned spruce can be ob- 
tained, spruce free from 
knots, this material will 
serve nicely. The diameters 
for a spruce mast are about 
one and one quarter inches 
at the bottom and one inch 
at the top, and the diameters 
of a spruce spar should be 
at least one inch at the butt 
and three quarters of an 
inch at the smaller end. 

The sail should be made 
of unbleached cotton sheet- 
ing. This comes as wide as 
two yards, and, to economize 
in the material, the sail 
should be cut as shown by 
the dotted lines in Fig. 4. 



If there is doubt as to how to cut the material, a 
piece of paper should be experimented with, 
letting an inch equal one foot. 

All seams of the sail should be double and 
stitched on a sewing-machine with heavy cotton 
thread. Here is where a boy's sister or mother 
will come in. The three outside edges should be 
lapped over and double stitched, and the point 
S, Fig. 3, is provided with a loop of strong tape. 
The loop should fit the end of the spar snugly, 
and, to prevent slipping, the spar is wound, two 
inches from the end, with a tight wrapping of 
strong twine. Shoemaker's wax, nibbed on the 
twine, will prevent the coils from slipping, even 
on the smooth surface of bamboo. 

Pieces of tape, the ends left loose, are sewed 
to the other corners of the sail and at intervals 
along the edges, shown by A, A, A in Fig. 3. The 
tapes secure the sail to the mast, and those at 
the bottom and top are wrapped into position 
with waxed twine. 

The butt of the spar b provided with a cord 
wrapping, one inch from the end, and the ends of 
the cord, M, M, Fig. 2, are left loose and about 
eighteen inches long. Midway between top and 

bottom of the mast, a stout cord loop, E, Fig. i, 
is lashed, large enough for the butt of the spar to 
pass through somewhat freely. When stretching 
the sail, the outer end of the spar is pushed 
through the tape loop, S, Fig. 3, the butt of the 
spar having been passed through the loop E, 
Fig. I. The cords, M, M, Fig. 2, are pulled tight 
and bound to the mast, and the sail is thus 
stretched into position. When furled, the sail is 
wrapped around mast and spar, and can thus 
be carried to where it is to be used. 

Unless sailing down the wind, the sailor grasps 
the mast with his right hand and the spar with 
his left, the sail being behind the sailor and the 
spar extending at a slant downward toward the 
left. * Fig. 5 shows the correct position when the 
sailor is on a ''reach," that is on ''one leg of a 
tack," and when the wind is blowing in the 
direction shown by die arrow. When sailing 
directly before the wind, the position is reversed. 
The sailor faces the sail, holding it in front of 
him, sometimes grasping the mast with his 
right hand, and the spar with his left, and some- 
times finding it better, to change the position of 
the hands. 


Make me your "mighty ally'* for IQ20 

AM the Spoken Word. I am the one 
thing you cannot do without. You 
need me in public life, in business, in 
social intercourse. With right treat- 
ment, I am your best friend. Misuse me, and 
I become your relentless enemy. 
Choose me with care, and I gain you positions, 
' make you wealthy, secure you fast friends. I 
can bring you to prominence, make you a leader 
in the affairs of men. You can use me to sway 
the minds of others to your views. By my aid 
you can strike terror into the hearts of your 
enemies, soothe the minds of the infuriated mob, 
strengthen the respect and affection of your 
friends. With my help you may become the 
master of situations and of all who oppose you. 
My power, if properly employed, is limited only 
by the stars. I am a mighty ally — I am the 
Spoken Word. 

Entrust me with messages, and I am as faithful 
and swift as Mercury. I will convey your sym- 

pathy to those in trouble. I will penetrate 
quietly into the inmost depths of the broken 
heart, and breathe into it new life and hope. I 
will carry your finest thought, your most delicate 
fancy, your noblest aspirations, your tenderest 
message to the mind and soul of your friend. Or 
send me to your battle-fields, and I will restore 
the courage of your faltering troops and lead 
them on to victory. I am an invaluable courier 
— I am the Spoken Word. 

But if you distort me, if you abuse me and mar 
my beauty, I become your most dangerous enemy. 
You lose the respect of your fellow-men; you lose 
your power of expression, the power which can 
lead you to honor and fame. 

Send me on careless missions, and I assist your 
enemies to defeat your plans and ambitions. I 
give them power to overcome you and to cause 
your friends to desert you. I am a power that 
can make you or break you — I am the Spoken 

Last January the Peace Conference opened in 
Paris, and in America the ProhitHtion Amend- 
ment was ratified by Nebraska, the thirty-sixth 
State to accept it, and so became part of our 
Federal law. 

In February, President Wilson read the Cove- 
nant of the League of Nations before a full sesdon 
of the Peace Conference, and came back to the 
United States, to begin the struggle for its accept- 
ance by this nation. 

A month later, the President left us debatii^ 
the l.e^ue, and went back to France. Japan 
sent troops into Siberia, and had to take care of a 
rebellion in Korea. Hungary threatened to join 
hands with the Russian Bolsheviks. Here at 
home we changed the clocks, to get more daylight 
for the welcome home of our victorious army. 

In April, the dispute over Fiume began, and in 
May the Germans received the peace treaty from 
the Allies. The American sea-plane N C-4, com- 
pleted its trans-Atlantic flight. 

Suffrf^sts rejoiced in June, when their amend- 
ment passed, and the friends of daylight saving 
were made gloomy when Congress voted to dis- 

In July, the airship R-34 crossed the Atlantic. 
There were race riots in Washington and Chicago. 

So the months passed by, and 1919 got older 
without getting much better. Russia kept on 
rolling over, with now the AU-Russian Govern- 
ment on top, and now the Soviet Government. 
Europe muddled along, and the United States 
carried its load of industrial unrest and high cost 
of living. The Present's illness put a stop to 
his League of Nations campaign ; and after endless 
debating, the Senate got down to real business on 
the Treaty and made up its mind what was best 
for the nation. 


As the old year came to a close there was not 
much reason to mourn for its pas^ng. It had 
been a year of trouble and worry ; and yet, though 
we said good-by to it without grief, we could 
hardly blame poor old 1919 — it did very well, on 
the whole, for the first year after a World War! 


The Senate was a long time making up its mind 
what to do with the Peace Treaty, but ended by 
killing it twice — once with, and once without, 
reservations. First, the Senate voted on the 
Lodge resolution to ratify with reservations, and 
defeated it, 51 to 41 ; and then it voted on Senator 
Underwood's resolution to ratify without reserva- 
tions, and defeated it, 53 to 38. 

Then Senator Lodge introduced a concurrent 
resolution, to be voted upon by both houses of 
Congress, declaring the state of war between 
Germany and the United States to be at an end. 
The resolution was referred to the Foreign 
Relations Committee of the Senate. Then the 
Senate adjourned, to reassemble in December. 

This left three possibilities: That the Presi- 
dent might re-submit the treaty to the Senate at 
the opening of its next session; that the resolution 
declaring the war ended might be passed firsthand 
that a new treaty, between Germany and the 
United States, might be negotiated. 

As some people saw it, Americanism had tri- 
umphed over internationalism. As some other 
people saw it, America had refused to stick with 
the Allies to the end of the job. Some newspapers 
made the President out a villain, and some pic- 
tured him as a martyr. In reality, both the 
President and the Senate had tried to do their 
duty— the right thing for America, and the fair 
thing for everybody else. Perhaps the President 
was wroi^ and the Senate right; perhaps it was 



the other way round — or perhaps both were part 
wroi^ and part right. 

The Watch Tower is not going to make hair 
its friends happy and the other half angry by 
taking ades. It is not going to try to please 
everybody and end with pleasing nobody, by 
being cautiously neutral. It is not even going 
to "play it safe" and keep silent. 

There is just one other thing that we can do — 
and that is to say that we trust every young 
American is learning big lessons in these wonder- 
ful days. Keep your eyes open! Do your own 
thinking! Form your own judgments, and 'orm 
them on facts! 


He rubbered at the sky-scrapers, and stood at the 
summit of Mt. Woolworth, looking down at the 
great city. He got mixed up in a traffic jam in 
The Avenue. He visited the Stock Exchange, 
Trinity Church, the Sub-Treasury, the Horse 
Show, and about everything else worth going to. 
He shook hands and chatted with the city 

And everybody liked htm! 

A prince could come to New York and be si 


officials and notables, smiled at the Plain People, 
and danced with the young ladies of High Society. 

princely that we would n't care for him, or be so 
unprincely that we 'd think he was trying too hard 
to be like us democratic Yankees. But this 
prince, never forgetting the dignity of his position. 
was so honestly democratic, so frank and friendly, 
that everybody had to admit that a prince could 
be a good fellow and deserve all the honors that 
fall to the lot of a king's son. 

The prince's visit to New York helped 
Englishmen and Americans to understand each 
other better. 


The posMbilities of Red trouble in this country 
took mighty definite shape in our minds when we 
read of veterans of the A. E. F. being killed by the 
people who would like to turn the United States 
into another Russia. Three of the boys who 
fought in France were shot by I. \V. W. snipers as 
they marched through the streets of a town in the 
State of Washington. 

The American legion is going to be, in the com- 
ing years, one of the great forces of public life in 
America. It is the Grand Army of the Republic 
of this generation. Men who have gone through 
battle after battle under Old Glory are not going 
to see our democracy endangered. 

The head of the Legion — National Commander, 
they call him — is Lieutenant-Colonel Franklin 




D'Olier. His services in the war proved his ex- 
ceptional ability as an organizer, and with young 
Teddy Roosevelt and Colonel D'Olier at the head 
of the line, we may be sure the Legion will step 
out in fine style. The Constitution of the United 
States of America will not lack defenders! 


The International Labor Conference at Washing- 
ton gave a good deal of attention, naturally, to 
the question of child labor. 1 1 voted unanimously 
in favor of the project of submitting to each 
Government represented in the conference an 
agreement to control the employment of children 
in industry. 

One part of the proposed agreement has to do 
with the age at which children may be employed. 
For Japan and India and some other Oriental 
lands, the minimum was set at twelve years, and 
for other countries at fourteen. 

The delegation from India was not unanimous. 
Two of its members engaged in a lively discussion. 
The one representing the Government argued 
that India was not ready for such a change from 
its established custom. The representative of 
labor contradicted him. It is pleasanter to be- 
lieve that the second del^;ate was right; and it 
seems reasonable to think that the facts justify 
such a belief. 

It has been said that the war did a lot to spread 
modem ideas in India. Would you not suppose 
that the young men returning from service in 
Europe would find eager audiences for their 
stories of what they had seen and heard? 

The people of India, like the people of every 
other country under the sun, want to be comfort- 
able and happy. If it can be proved to them that 
another system will make them more prosperous 
than the caste system does — why, it will be good- 
by, caste system! (By the way, look up "caste," 
and see what the cyclopedia has to say about 
modem India.) 


Election day in France was interesting because 
of the effort of the Socialists to take the ruling 
power away from the Conservative forces. 1 1 was 
a battle between law and order on one side, and 
anarchy, or Bolshevism, on the other. 

A few extracts from the French newspapers 
show how the battle went : A Socialist newspaper 
said, "Qemenceau is victorious, terribly and ap- 
pallingly victorious." (Hurrah for The Tiger!) 
One paper on the other side called it "a glorious 
day for law and order," and another ''a triumph 
of order against anarchy." "A vote of national 
vitality," said a third. "Bolshevism is crushed," 
*' Figaro*' announced; and "L Homme Libre** 

gave the joyful comment a constructive turn with 
this, "And now let us go to work!" 

European battles in politics are not fought out 
by two great parties, as in this country. There 
are small groups, each with its own platform and 
candidates. After the elections the delegates 
form combinations of these groups on one side or 
the other as questions of policy come up. In the 
French elections, for example, there were several 
party names of which the word "Socialists" was 
a part — ^the Radical Socialists, the Republican 
Socialists, the Dissident Socialists. 

The election does not by any means put an end 
to socialism in France. What it does is, by act of 
the French nation at the polls, to give the balance 
of power in the national legislature to the conserv- 
ative forces. It places the rebuilding of France 
in safe hands. It fortifies the frontier against the 
westward advance of Bolshevik ideas. It assures 
the other nations that in her dealings with them 
France will still be France, a nation that will keep 
its promises and continue to hold its honorable 
place among the civilized Powers. 


Money is only a measure of values, a medium of 
exchange. You can't live on money; you live on 
what money will buy for you. You can't eat 
nioney, or wear money, or make a building out of 
it. But with it, you can buy food, clothing, and a 

Before men invented money they lived by 
barter; that is, the actual exchange of goods. 
One man, perhaps, had plenty of leather, but not 
enough wheat. Another man had more wheat 
than he needed, but was short of leather. They 
got together, and the first man swapped some of 
his leather for some of the second man's wheat. 
That was barter. 

Then people fixed upon units of value, and used 
different kinds of counters for evening up on their 
business dealings. We seem to remember hearing 
in school or college days, back in the century be- 
fore this, that the word "pecuniary" comes from a 
Latin word meaning "cattle." The value of 
things was measured in terms of cattle; a house, or 
a wagon, or a suit of armor, was worth so many 
oxen. Coins stamped with the figure of an ox 
were "pecunia," money. (Probably some of you 
Watch Tower boys and girls who are "taking" 
Latin can correct our explanation in detail, but 
we imagine the statement is accurate enough for 
present purposes.) You could pay a man two 
oxen, but not half an ox — unless he wanted meat! 

The American Indians used wampum as money. 
These strings of shells had no great intrinsic 
value, no usefulness or special desirability of 
their own. But they were scarce enough to serve 



nicely as a measure of value and a medium of ex- 
change. Running Deer might give so much 
wampum to Howling WoK for some of the latter's 
finely made arrows. Howling Wolf m^ht be 
glad to make the sale, because with the wampum 
he could buy a trinket for pretty little Laughing 
Water from old Scolding Squaw — who would have 
no use lor Howling Wolf's arrows but could use 
his wampum to buy soft skins (or her tent from 
Chief 'Bend -the-Bow — and so it would go. 

In the same way, a dollar bill can travel about 
all day and day after day, as long as the paper 
lasts, settling one deal after another. And when 
the paper is worn out, it is taken back by the 
Government and another is issued, to represent 
the same dollar's worth of metal in the Treasury 

Tlie next step beyond the circulation of coins 
and paper money representing gold or silver held 
by the Government is the use of private paper, 
checks, and so on. By means of this, trade rela- 
tions can be carried on without the constant 
transfer of cash. At certain times, balances are 
figured up and settlement made between the in- 
dividuals, or firms, or even nations, concerned. 

Now, with the story almost finished, we come 
to the place where it should have started. (The 
Class in Composition will please not be too criti- 
cal!) It all began with a head-line in the news- 
paper, "Barter in Europe Replacing Money." 
Central Europe must have coal. France has 

agreed to send coal from the Saar Basin into 
Germany in exchange for commodities tliat 
Germany can spare. German money has lost 
part of its value as compared with the money of 
other countries', but German potatoes are as good 

Belgium is to swap coai for Rumania's com, 
and Great Britain is to get coal from Czecho- 
slovakia, sending enamel ware in exchange. 

Perhaps the Class in Economics will tell us this 
is nothing to get excited about, but we shall have 
to ask them to be patient with their elders trying 
to keep track of what is going on, these tops>'- 
turvy days. 


On a map showing southern Europe and Asia. 
Africa and Australia, draw a Hne from London 
across France, through the Mediterranean to 
Cairo, across Arabia and Persia, through Delhi 
and Calcutta to Rangoon and Singapore, and 
then on to Port Darwin near Palmerston on the 
northern coast of Australia, and you will have 
sketched roughly the route followed by the 
Australian aviator Captain Ross-Smith when he 
won the prize offered by the Australian Go\-em- 
ment for the first flight to be completed in less 
than thirty days from starting-time. The suc- 
cessful flier made his 12.000-mile voys^e with two 
days to spare. 





Captain Ross-Smith left London November 12. 
On the sixth day out he landed in Egypt, and five 
days later, November 23, he was at Delhi. At 
Rangoon he met Lieutenant Etienne Poulet, the 
French war-veteran flier, who had started on a 
Paris-Melbourne flight on October 14. On the 
first day of December the two airmen hopped off^, 
only an hour or two apart, for Bangkok. Poulet 
was not heard of until December 18, when a 
disp>atch from Moulmain, Burma, announced his 
safe arrival there; but Ross-Smith was in Java 
December 6, arrived at Bima in the Dutch East 
Indies December 8, made the last lap of nine 
hundred miles over uncharted waters dotted with 
volcanic islands, and came down in Australia 
December 10, his twenty-eighth day out. 

This was the most remarkable air voyage ever 
made. The trans-Atlantic fliers, with whose 
achievements it was sure to be compared, would 
probably be the first to praise the skill, courage, 
and endurance of Captain Ross-Smith. The 
following paragraph, from one of the reports of 
the flight, cabled to the New York "Sun" shows 
the sort of thing the bold bird-man had to contend 

Surprising adventures were encountered in Java. 
Near Surabaya, Smith was compelled to land by engine 
trouble and became heavily bogged. He rounded up 
two hundred blacks from neighboring villages and made 
them dig out the machine and cut thousands of bamboo 
poles, constructing a bamboo track over the bog. He 
then taxied over this to get into the air. 

In addition to the stirring appeal of any 
pioneering adventure, Captain Ross-Smith*s 
record-making flight has the advantage of the 
romance in ancient names. Imagine the whir of 
the engine over the land of the Pharaohs, the 
Sphinx, and the Pyramids; the country of Omar 
Khayyam, and the old, old empire of East Indian 
monarchs! Imagine the lonely navigator of the 
air sailing down the sky "on the road to Manda- 
lay!" They tell about folks in America being 
frightened at the first sight of a man riding by 
on one of the old-fashioned high bicycles; what 
must the natives in Siam and the Straits Settle- 
ments have thought of the man who came planing 
down into their midst out of the clouds? 

It is by contrast that we appraise the feats of 
the pioneer and the explorer. Captain Ross- 
Smith's flight contrasts not only with the sea 
voyage round Gibraltar, through the Suez Canal 
and the Red Sea into the Indian ocean, but with 
the voyages of the mariners of three centuries ago, 

when they sailed their little ships all the way 
around Africa in the search for the fabulous 
treasures of the Indies. Twenty-eight days, 
where those old seamen told their friends ashore 
good -by for an absence of two or three years! 

What next? The U. S. Air Mail Service is to 
be extended clear across the continent. Soon we 
shall see overland and transoceanic freight and 
passenger lines in operation. And in 1920 there 
is to be a race around the world. Perhaps the 
mystery of Mars is destined to be solved ! 



If the grain-production estimates made by the 
International Institute of Agriculture for 1919 
are correct, the decrease for the year, as compared 
with production in 191 8, will be 6 per cent, in 
wheat, 17.9 per cent, in barley, and 18.7 per 
cent, in oats. The United States and Canada 
both increased their production of wheat, but 
raised less of the other grains. The work of the 
farmers will be more important than ever in 1920. 

In the special session of Congress which ended late 
in November, bills were enacted providing for the 
return of the telegraph, telephone, and cable lines 
to their former owners; for woman suffrage, war- 
time prohibition, food control, and vocational 
training for wounded soldiers and sailors, and the 
Daylight Saving Law was repealed. The House 
of Representatives passed bills providing for the 
return of the railroads to private ownership; for 
an American merchant-marine service, and for a 
budget system for the Federal Government. 
These bills await action by the Senate. The 
special session also passed the appropriation bills 
which had previously failed. Add these things 
to the debate on the Treaty, and you will see that 
it was a pretty busy session. 

The football season of 191 9 was a brilliant one. 
There .were a good many surprises in it. The 
"favorites' ' were often defeated. The stands were 
crowded Saturday after Saturday, and the cheers 
and songs and waving banners made it seem like 
old times in the stadiums. 

Here we are at the end of the page, with just 
room enough for the best paragraph of all — the 
one in which we wish you all a Happy New Year! 


Verses by Mallie Lee Hausgen. lUustralions by Decie Merwin 


We made for him a solid base, And, round his neck, if it should storm. 

And built his body, head, and face. We wound a scarf to keep him warm. 

We rounded him with pats and shoves, Bobby and Jo are out there yet 

And Archie lent him his school gloves; To make sure that he won't upset. 

A broomstick makes his arms, and so He has the funniest smile — the elf! — 

The gloves look just like hands, you know. We think he smiled it by himself! 


I THINK it Strange that cold, hard metal Upon the glowing nursery fire. 

Could make such a very friendly kettle! It sings a song, and does not tire. 

From out its spout comes magic steam It more than boils the water — see? 

That turns to Fairy Folk — a stream! A kettle seems like company! 



Written and iilustraUd by Edith Bailinger Price 

A PUSSY-CAT came to our door And now he lives with us, and he 

That we had never seen before; Is just as happy as can be, — 

He was all cold, and wet, and thin, All round, and warm, and smooth, and fat 

So Mother went and brought him in. I love that little pussy<at! 

Every morning, at half past nine, whether it 's wet or whether it 's fine. 
Mother and Dollie and I must go down to the artist's studio. 
The artist is paint- 
ing a picture of tne, 
(The funniest pic- 
ture you ever did - 

He looks at me and 

he shuts one eye, 
And I laugh — no 
matter how hard 1 

• tr>- 
To look at the roof of 
the opposite house. 
And ^t as still as 

a little mouse. 
And even if some- 
thingticklesmy nose, 
I just have to pose, 
. pose, 


St. Nicholas League 

beloved Lbague. which began with the twentirlh 
century. U now twenty years old — "almost grown up." 
aa the saying goea. For the world in general, the )-ear 
jUBt ended has not been an altogether gratifying one, 
but it hag not lessened the ardor of our League youn| 
folk nor impaired the quality of their elTotta. And n 
we can regard with aat^action. and even applaud, the 
following design in which another of our young artisU 
has cleverly depicted the four rcprcsentativea of [gm 
as summarily and with cheery smiles dismissing tin 
four aeaaons that ate dejectedly carrying igtp into hit- 
tory. Let us wish for ourselves and the whole world 
that the coming tweive-month may prove to be a tmlT 

What better eiample of "A Fireside Friend" could be 
chosen than the familiar figure in the above drawing. 
by one of our twelve- year-old artists? For if the good 
Saint who fills the stockinga at Chtiat mas- time is not. 
in Booth, a "fireside friend." who is? 

Two other subjects assigned for this January issue 
happened — by chance, and not by intention — to have a 
peculiar timelineas. since the end of one year and the 
beginning of another is always an appropriate date for 
"Looking Back" and "Looking Ahead." And they 
r. the joyous reflection that our 


I In makhig swards, contributm' ages arc considered.) 
PROSE. Gold Badge, MarjorieC. Stone (age 15), New Jersey; Uargsict Hunloke Eckereon (age lo), Nen 
Jersey; MarKsret Sutherland (age 17), District of Columbia. Silver Badges, Sylvia L«wit (age 13), Ariiona; 
norcnce Beaujean (age la), Rhode Island; Alice Carolyn Pazton (age 14), Pennsylvania. 
VERSE. Gold Badges, Rosamond W. Eddy (age 16), California; Louisa Butler (age 13), Michigan; Pris- 
cilla Praker (age 16), New Jersey; Peggy Pond (age 15), New Mexico. Silver Badges, Keturah C. Rollinson 
(age 14), New Jersey; Mary Ellen Goodnow (age 13), Kentucky. 

DRAWINGS. Gold Badges, Edward E. Murphy (age 13}, Indiana; Nancy Riggs (age 14}, Massachusetts. 
Silver Badges, Harold Bartley (age 14), New York; Mary Watson (age 13), New York; AUce C. BraisUii 
(aae 13), New York. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Silver Badges, Edward Reinhold Rogers, Jr. (age 15), Virginia; Pauline Brown (age i.s). 
New York; Elizabeth D. Abbott (age 14), New York; Sue Collisaon (age 13), Minnesota: Lucy H. Shsw 
(age 13), Michigan: Marion Tombo (age 16), England; LucyT.Beswick (age il), Pennsylvania. 
PUZZLE-MAKING. Silver Badgea.Frank O. Reed (age 13), New York; Rosalind Leak (age 13), Neu- York 

(sifcVi* iAOGB.) n mar j, BBswt<;s:, Vft IJ. 




(Silnr Badge) 
Thomas Jbfpebson wss one of the most far-slgbted 
men in American history. This U proved by the Loulii- 
ana Purchaae. Louisiana then meant not only the 
district at the mouth of the Mississippi, but alM the 
vast regions between that river and the Rocicy Moun- 
tains. The land extended as far aa Canada on the 
North, and was bounded on the South by what are now 
parts of Texas. Oklahoma. ICansas. and Colorado. 
Instead of the trackless wilderness. Jefferson taw woods, 
plains, fertile fields, farms, and rivers teeming with 
commerce. He realized that here, as the population 
increased, was America's mucb-needed room for expan- 
»un. He knew what a bargain he was making — almost 
a million square miles tor fifteen million dollarst With 
control of such enormous territory, the United States 
would be a world power. Napoleon saw that, too. 
"I have given England her rival," were his prophetic 
words. Had Thomas Jeflerson not seen into the 
future, and availed himself of Napoleon's offer, oun 
would be a very different world to-day. 



IHoTuir iiembtr) 
The last rays of the setting sun 

Are fading on the hill; 
And valley, meadow, wood, and lake 

Are lying hushed and still. 
The shadows lengthen on the grass, 

Beneath the rosy sky; 
And life seems pausing in its flight 

To watch the sunset die. 

O soft brown eyes, so dear to me, 

"T is time for you to close. 
And dream about that far-olf land 

Where now the great sun goes! 
Forget the troubles of the day. 

The loneliness of night. 
And drift upon the sea of sleep 

Until the morning light! 


; 10) 

(GoW Badge. Silver Badge mm May. 1019) 
"Wb 'rb cut off from men and supplies," said Maior 
Whittlesey, quietly. "Guess we '11 have to live here 
until something turns up." 

Five days passed, and still no help came. The Ger- 
mans were pressing closer, and the men bad no food. 
Something must be done, and done quickly. It was a 
dangerous venture, to go through the German lines to 
seek help. But this task was entrusted not to a man, 
but to a bird, Cha Ami ("Dear Friend"), a cairier- 

The men watched him out of sight. On that tiny 
bird rested their lives. If he reached the French 
lines, and they received supplies, they would live; but 
if he were killed, they would die of BUrvation. or be 

A bullet shattered his leg, and another burned the 
plumage of his breast; but he kept on and finally 
irached the French lines. 

The men received help, reinforcements, and food; 
and the bird, who had saved so many Uvea, was brought 

Here be will probably "live happily ever after." . 



(GoU Badge, Silver Badge won June. tO'O) 

Hush, for the night winds are sighing, are sighing, 

Sweet is their song. 
Seep, till the dewdrops are kissed by the sunlight — 

It will not be long. 
Dark is the night, but the stars are shining; 
The dream-fairy waits for you over the sea; 
And the sea is a sunset, the boat a dream — 

Sleep, while I watch o'er theel 

Out of the hush comes a night-bird calling. 

Low is bis cry. 
The firelight fUckers while we are watching — 

Just you and I. 
Drowsy your eyes, for the Sandman is passing; 
The dream-fairy calls to you soft and low. 
Sleep, and wake with the morning-glories — 

Nor fear, for I will not go! 



(Silter Badge) 
^.oWLY we wound down "Jacob's Ladder" at sunset. 
The Grand Canon was a spot of unequaled beauty as the 
sun faded away in the west. But beautiful at the 
purples and gold were, they failed to thrill us. for on the 
morrow we were to undertake a trip known to all for its 
danger. When we reached the foot of the canon, the 
roar of the angry Colorado made us realize what a 


perilous journey we were about to begiii. for we were to 
croM the canoii in a "skip." or basket, whicb nina on a 
cable and ia large enough to cajiy an animal and two or 

three people. 

Morning saw us leady for the croasing. and two men, 
myself, and the burro (which tlie guide refuaed to 
leave behind) climbed Into the basket. It fell to me to 
Bit on the donkey's back, aa there was standing room 
for only two in the skip. All went well until we reached 
the center, when "Bright Angel" (for such waa the 
burro'a name) began to kick and jump, aa the roar ot the 
river waa ao loud it trightened him. And 1 waa nearly 
paralyzed with fright when I looked into the depth* 
below me. I began to appreciate the outside world 
more than I had the night before. Slowly Che akip 
approached land, and after a few terrible momenta the 
burro began to recover from ita tenor. Finally we 
reached solid ground; and long after, as I gaied at the 
river from the rim of the caiion. I heard some bystander 
remark. "I thought it was a big river!" as the Colorado 
looka amall from the brink. 

I wish they could croea It. as I did; they would think 
it quite big enough. 



{Honor Mfflilw) 
When the eveidng shadowa gather, and the meadow, 

lands are still. 
And the night wind aoftly 

the hill. 
Comes a blend of sweetest 

In Che hemlocks 01 

For Che fairy folk are singing, to their wee onea, li 


BY LOUISA C*'^" 13) 

(GbW Badgt. Silver Badge won June, 1019) 

Au. things that grow increase and multiply 

In strength and wisdom with the paBSing yean. 

And I, a-Iooking back, with wondering eye 
Behold my last year's self, as it appears. 

So poor in knowledge, yet ao proud of all 

Which I, on aober thought, my own could call. ' 

The thought of what I waa, or am to-day. 
Can bring none less than sweet humility; 

Since ray vain aelf and all my poor dliplAy 

Must needs contrast with what I yet may be. 

So. aa 1 strive to follow wisdom's track, 

I am most humble when a-looking back. 



(.SUcer Badge) 

Onb dark cold night, tienri, a Belgian boy. was walkiD<[ ; 

h hie sister Marie ai 

Wrapped In petals soft and dewy, hid away from mortal 

Rest the tiny elfin babies, through the long, dark hours 
of night. 

And the while their souls are drifting to the joyous land 
of dream a. 

Fairy mothers, all, are crooning melodies while star- 
light gleams. 

For each tiny mortal baby tucked in cradle, warm and 

There 'a a tiny elfin, dreaming somewhere in the dark 

And. for each, a gentle mother, lulling soon to aweeC 

Sings a lullaby most tender, till the baby eyelida close. 

along the streets of A 

He had to go cautiously, ior he had now reached the 
age of thirteen at which age the Germans might cap- ' 
ture and send him to Germany and force him to woili, 
as they had already deported many other Belgian boj'i. 

Suddenly, the form of a German guard loomed up in 
the darkness. He had seen them I ^ 

"Haiti" he commanded. Henri pushed Uarre 
around the comer of a building and halted. "How old 
are you?" the guard asked. 

"Thirteen," Henri answered. 

"Then come with roe," said the German. Henri «-aB 
forced to go. 

Marie followed them, and learned where Henri ksi 
housed, aa well as other boys who had been capturnl. 
By and by. the guard growing tir d, lay down and fell 
asleep. He had the key to the dooi in his hand! 

After making sure that the guard waa asleep, Marit 
carefully took the key from him, opened the door and 

A lantern threw a faint light about the room. Maiic 
soon discovered Henri. He aaw and recogniied her at 
once. "Oh, what will they do if they find yon here!" he 

"They won'C find rae." was the answer. "Come!" 

Before going. Henn told his nearest neighbor thai 
they would soon be free. That boy told the boy neM 
to him, and soon all the boys knew. One by one. they 
crept out. The last to go were Henri and Marie. 

"It waa a dangerous thing to do, Marie." said Henri. 
"for if they 'd caught you. I don't know wliat «-ould 
have happened. But i 'm glad you camel" 

The children soon reached home, and In their mother') 
arms told chestory of "A Dangerous Venture." 

ITIu Song of a Cast-off FiddU) 

KEH (ACB 16) 

(Gold Badgt. Silver Badge won Jun*. loio) 
Onlv an old time-worn fiddle am I, 

And broken with age are my strings: 
Forgotten, unmoumed, unloved, here I lie. 
But within me a voice still singe. 


long years ago, I was young and new. 
And my atringa were supple and strong; 
was cherished and praised, as was my due. 

And merry and glad waa my song. 






My dear master loved, in tbe twilight gray. 

To sit by the old cabin door. 
And fiddle tlie long evening hours away. 

While the children romped on the floor. 

In daylight I lay on the kitchen shelf. 

To be safe from posaible harm; 
I was proud and haughty and deeiied myself 

A thing of great beauty and charm. 

' Fled are those bright happy days of yore. 
My master is gone now. and 1. 
With my melodies hushed forevermore. 
In the gloom and darkness lie. 

For all years to come, to eternity, 

I must lie here alone, it seems. 
And all thoughts of my youth that are left to me. 

To brighten my days, are dreamal 

It was not until Jake had carried us back to the 
store on his shoulders that the silence was broken 
Then It broke in lusty cheers, that echoed to the hilis. 
for Jake, who was ever afterward Che "Terrota" " hero. 


(GdU Badge. Silver Badge won May, igio) 
ThB night is still. The dim starlight 
Creeps softly down from heavenly height. 
The peaceful mountains, tall and wise. 
Look out where oceans billowa rise. 
Now weary men. lain down to rest. 
A space give up their strifeful quest. 
In peace they close their tired eyes. 
A breeze above the hilltop sighs — 
And from the heavens' myster)'. 
An angel whom we canoot see 
Comes down, and soothes our minds to rest. 
And stills day's tumult in the breast. 
O'er sea and plain, o'er vale and steep. 
She glides, the unseen angel, Sleep, > 

Attended by soft, fluttering dreams. | 

All silver-white, like starlight's beams. 
All silent o'er the earth she goes. 
When night draws down, and eyelids close. 




(Gold Badgt. Silver Badge lam June, lo'o) 
ms when my twin sister and I were five years old 

e given the nickname of the 
Uncle Bill. He named us that during our first visit at 
the lumber-camp, and it stuck. We spent our happiest 
hours in this backwoods camp of Uncle Bill's. It was 
there that we rode on the engines, walked the logs In 
the mill-pond, rode on the mill-caniages and watched 
the big horses come tearing down the log-slcid. There 
was hardly a man. from the roughest lumber-jack to 
the mill foreman, who was not one of our staunch 

Our forbidden pastime was putting pios on the track 
for the train to mash. However, we were engaged In 
this fascinating occupation one morning, when old 
Jake, who was dozing in the doorway of the "general 
store," glanced in our direction in time to see an empty 
log-train backing down the grade upon us. We were 
too much absorbed, with our pins, to nol« either the 
runaway cats or the cries of warning. It took Jake 
only a minute to realize our danger, for the cars had 
already swung by the switch and had come between 
Jake and us. The noon-hour idlers were pale when 
Jake jumped from the porch of the store onto the long, 
low, log-car. In two flying leaps he reached the end of 
the car that was bearing down upon us, caught his legs 
around a vertical beam and. leaning over, seized us by 
our overalls and lifted us to the car. 

{Hemor Member) 
Thb firdight casts around the room 

A weird and rosy glow. 
And brings to me the mcmor>' 

Of days of long ago. 
When lassies with their full-hooped skli 

Wore rich brocades and lace. 
And danced the waltz and minuet 

With stately, old-time grace. 

To curtsey every maid must learn. 

Or she was not polite ; 
She also learned to cook and sew. 

And make a sampler right. 
A proper maid must never run. 

Or jump, or climb a tree; 
And yet. they always liad good times 

When company came to tea- 

The firelight dies; the room is dark; 

But memory's lights still glow. 
How sweet it seems to live once more 

Those days of long agol 


tBKnt. ACS 14. 




(Gcid Bodge. Silver Badgt wmi Septemba. 1QI8) 
'TwAS in muiny Italy, on oti» of the little foot-hill* of 
(lie Apennines that a dark-eyed Italian boy leaned 
aEaliuit the gnarled trunk of an old olive-tree. Below 
him lay the picturesque city of Utbino. with its ancient 
red-TDofed houses gleaming in the sun. while the sweet 
odor of ripe gtapee drifted up to him from the vineyard 
on the hillaide. 

But it w^u not of this beautiful country that he was 
thinking: his thoughts were far away In a busy dty 
■treet where a great museum stood. Inside this build' 
ing he ^w scores of wonderful paintings, many of which 
bore in the comer the name "Raphael Senxio." That 
was the dream and hope which so often filled his 
mind. If only be could win fame and honor through 
hia ait! 

All that he foresaw on that far-ofl afternoon came 
to pass, for ere long Raphael became — and remains 
to-day — one of the world's moat famous artists. 


ISiher Badge) 
Thb golden sun tonka in the west 

And twilight shadows fall; 
Each birdling from his cozy nest 

Warbles his good-night call. 

Over the earth the Sandman creep*. 

As softly shuts the rose; 
With one touch of his fairy dust 

My eyelids gently close. 

Then I sail away to the Isle of Dreams 

In a mystic, fairy ship. 
While from the oars, in the bright moonlight. 

The silvery waters drip. 

And all night long, under twinkling statv. 
With the dream-fairy holding my hand, 

I wander mid strange and marvelous sighu 
In that distant, magic land — 

Until, on the whispering wings of night. 

A message of day is borne. 
And I sail away through the Sea of Dreams 

Out into the sparkling moml 

(agb 14) 

(Silver Badge) 
Oncb a little boy was lying beneath an apple-tree. 
Reading tales of monstrous dragons, (rf knights, of 

And of maidens held in prison behind a magic wall. 
'Till his heart nigh stopped Its beating with the wonder 

of it ail. 
"How I wish I had been bom theni" he wistfully did 

"I might have killed a dragon, had I lived in days gone 

Then, slowly turning pages, he dropped his book at 

And, half-closing heavy eyelids, looked back into the 

A knight in shming armor, upon a jet-black steed. 
Came riding through the meadow at a swift and steady 

And a huge, gigantic creature rose up from out the 

His great mouth was like a furnace, all liery-red and 

But the knight without a tremor drew a iword so 

glitt'ring bright. 
That the dragon's eyes were dazzled and blinded by the 

Then began an angry battle, yet before much time 

could pass. 
The ugly head, all bloody, rolled down upon the grass. 
Next, the knight in shining armor called loudly to the 

"Vou may also kill your dragons in this world of pain 
and joy. 

Looking backward, looking forward, what 's the dif- 
ference, little friend? 

There are always knights and monsters, and there will 
be 'till the end I" 

Though the boy had been but dreaming beneath the 

He had learned a useful lesson from this knight of 

And BO when he grew to manhood, he remembered how 
to fight. 

And be battled with his troubles like a brave and gal- 
lant knight. 



Tub dangerau* venture I am going to write about con- 
cerns the boys in khaki. It is not abojt the overseas 
boys. — though theira was the moat dangerous venture of 
all. It is about the boys on the Mexican border. 
They went hunting some very lawleu bandits, wiw were 
not minding their own bualnett. Those boys took a 
big chance. They went bunting those tHindlts in 
cllfl* and behind boulders that had been there for 
centuries. They went there not knowing what they 
would find. If any of those Mericans had been there, 
they could have been shot through the back without 
knowing who had shot them. 

That was rather a dangerous venture. At least I 
think BO. Do you? 


(X Trut Slory) 


One day. as my father and his sister were coming hoax 

from 3 town near by, it began to thunder and Ughtni. 

They did not want to get soaked, so my father dron 
the auto into a neighbor's bam. to wait for the shouci lo 
paw. His sister went into the house, but be stayed in 
the bam with tlieauto. 

All of a sudden he saw an iron bar leaning againn 
the bacB. about eight feet from him. He looked at ii, 
and then said to himself: "That would be a good 
conductor for the lightning. 1 guess 1 will take ii 

So he walked over to it and put his hand out to tab 
it away, when, all at once, the lightning struck it. ami 
, the barn. too. and it threw the bar about six feet fron 

My father waf not killed; but if he bad been two 
seconds sooner, he would have been. 

They could not save the bam, but they did save ■ 
few things that were in it. 

I was about seven years old when it happened. 



Wb hear the old-fashioned curfew ring; 
All birdies are sale beneath Mother's wing; 
All wise doggies in their kennels lie; 
And you close your eyelids — and so do I. 
For night has spread her shadowy cloak 
O'er all the world — and little folk. 

A lilt of thooe whose work would have been tued bad naa 

Harriit T. Forloi 
Etofar F. Bum 
EdM Clark 

Rulk P. Fulltr 
Kalhatini M. B 
KalkUin HtiU 
Uarinn C<ituU 

liObtUa p. 

(Honor Member) 
pKtsoN walls as far as eyes can see. 
Grated bars, the clash of lock and key. 
As here I sit in abject misery. 
Looking back. 

The grim, forbidding prison fades away; 
My soul is borne into another day; 
I see myself a little child at play. 
Looking back. 

Accused of crime, my brother fled to me; 
"He do that hideous thing?"— It could not be! 
I took the blame myself. All this I see. 
Looking back. 

Perhaps it was not worth the awful price? 
Ah. yes I Until my withered spirit dies. 
Dear Lord. I 'II glory in this sacrifice. 
Looking backl 


rtr'Mcc'?o"&r PHOTOGRAPHS 

n Uaimiuillt Uarit L. Craa 

en Hayri ArUmr IV. Bain 

,. Kummu 

Hiltn S. Hou: 

y T. Cmlry 

Tlwmas U. RMha- BeUy N 
/•"•' Ucrion'Di'^irtk 


Annie H. Miiary 

■I Badter 

n MaiKay 

Louise Core 

EUtalHh SUrtMik 
Uattarii OlmtiBi 
DoroHy E. Il'mibi 

Carol F. Sl-iltmilia 
UtUrtd Bemiim 
Marto"! S. Dotal 

.wild,, is; MM 

othv M. Jones Dorothy R. Bui 

raHiiDse EllenCasliey 

Edna R. Cahn 
Mar^ret Flihcr 
John S. Kieflei 
Rov Knspp 
Jane B. Bradley 
Franca M. Hyde 
Milditd AUEUitlne 

Helen WhitwcH 
Rhoda Schocnldd 
Margaret ScofEin 

Virgtnia H. CLinin 
: Caroline Hummo 
Jennie Bruvderliii 
Faolla Laurie 
MarKBiel Hum. 

InbeUa M. Uutb- 

Helrn G. D»™ 
MIedod Rfttea- 

KHlni L Mei>w 
. Gulterawn 
Rebecca T. Far» 

RocCT B. Manurd 

ncur uavB : 

Mainict Sptna 
EUnbetli iVter I 

DanKhy M. Pud- 

Danxliy Good 
CttholiieD. Vkti 
France* A. Dickton 
Siuaa E. Lrmu 
Elsabeth l^kwo«9 
Ashley Pond stA 
Dorotlty Wurea 

AhmK. Mlsud 
WiHa ClBpluie 
Kahrya Stctnen 
LyiUa RaMOD 
Evdyn Ftnr 
LonkeH. Rom 

. EIh KiotmynB 

Chailnte Cuihnua 
Marie MludieU 
Marcsiet M . Pofie j 

fil»E. Homrd 
ekne Edwartig 
HcDiJFCta Ro«i ta 
CaUtarint Kouveo- 

PkRoceH. Pteraon 
Erma Hllttdlck 
Lydia A. Cutler 

Staiilerde J. 

Margant Horton 

ClailM K. Metcalf 
Roannanr Bur^ 

Alfred R, Alt™, . 
EUiabelh Lewis 
Buell Carey 

re FOa JAHUA«Y. 

&kB Hyde II Vluxnt P. Jenklna 

Ekaaor F. Stone Eleanor Slater 

Berlha Berob- Doroiby O. Tbomp- 

UatvrctC.Sdilnd- Nancy (^ C«l>nu> 

Mary A. Fuerta 
ComeUa B. Hiuaey 
Anna M. McDowell 
Knthryn Hopkioa 
Cbailotte Whltini 
Charlotte Reynold* 
Cwenfretd E. Allen 

Chauncey D StUl- 

The St. Nicholas League is an organization of 
the readen of the St. Nicholas MAGAifiNE. 
7^ Lkacub motto is, "Live to learn and learn to 

The League emblem is the "Stan and Stripes." 

The League memberahip button bears the League 
name and emblem. 

The St. Njciholas Leaci^, organized in No- 
vember, 1899, became immediately popular with 
earnest and enlightened young folks, and is now 
believed to be one of the greatest artistic educational 
factors in the world. 

The St. Nicholas League awards gold and 
silver badges each month for the beat original 
poems, stories, drawings, photographs, puzzles, and 


Owing to possible delay in publication, < 
tioa No. 243 will close February 5. Ah concn- 
butions uitended for it must be mailed on or before 
that date. Prize announcements will be made and 
the selected contributions published in St. Nichcx,as 
for May. Badges tent one month later. 

Verse ' To contain not more than twenty-four 
lines. Subject, "The Birds' Return." 

Prooe. Euay or story of not more than three 
hundred words. Subject, "My Happiest Memory." 

Photocfop'k Any size, mounted or unmounted; 
no blue prints or n^atives. Voung photographers 
need not print and develop their pictures themselvea. 
Subject, "A Bit of Life." 

Ih-awing. India ink, very black writing-ink, 
or wash. Subject, "Playmates," or "A Heading (or 

Puzsle. Must be accompanied by answer in 

Puzzle Answers. Best, neatest, and most com- 
plete set of answers to puziles in this issue of St. 
Nicholas. Must be addressed to The Riddle 

No unused contribution can be returned unUa 
it u aecoMpanied by_ a self-addreised and stamped 
eiuelop of proper siie to hold the manuscript or 

Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber 
or not, is entitled to League membership, and upon 
application a League badge and leaflet will be sent 
free. No League member who has reached the age 
of eighteen years may compete. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear 
the Dame, age, and address of the sender and be 
Indorsed as "ori^nal" byparetit, teacher, or suard> 
ian, who mutt be convinced beyond doubt — and 
must state in writing — that the contribution is not 
copied, but wholly the work and idea of the sender. 

If prose, the number of words should also be added. 
These notes must not be on a separate sheet, but 
on the contribution itself— if manuscript, on the 
upper margin; if a picture, on the martin or both. 
Write or draw on one side of the paper only. A con- 
tributor may send but one contribution a month — 
not one of each kind, but one only; this, however, 
does not include "competitions" in the advertisiiq^ 
pages or "Answers to Puzzles." 

Address: The St. Nicholas League^ 

The Century Co., 

353 Fourth Avenue, New York. 



Threb notable contributions to this number of St. 
Nicholas — Mr. Avery's unique account of "The Silent 
Messengers" (carrier-pigeons in the war), Mr. Sexton's 
vivid adventure story, "The Last Egg of the Great 
Auk," and Mr. Scoville's remarkable article. "Snow 
Stories" (which we were unable to print before the be- 
ginning of his Boy Scout serial) — convey so much infor- 
mation relating to natural history and in a style so 
interesting that our Nature and Science department 
is omitted this month. It will, of course, appear in the 
February issue, as usual. 

Warm Springs, Va. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am staying down here at 
"Three Hills," the home of Miss Mary Johnston, the 
author. She took you when she was a child, and told 
me that once, when she was eight years old, she wrote 
you a letter, but it was not published. 

Warm Springs is just five miles from Hot Springs, 
and there are two swimming-pools h^re, one for the 
women and one for the men. These pools are filled 
with natural warm sulphur-water, which is continually 
bubbling up from the bottom and filling the pool. An 
old colored woman named Aunt Fanny, who is about 
eighty-five years old, taught me to swim two years ago, 
but she has given up teaching now. 

"Three Hills" is a farm, comprising about forty 
acres of land. There are four cows here, and one of 
them is very fierce. There is also a pretty little heifer, 
and a cunning baby bull. Besides that, there are many 
chickens, two pigs, a couple of dogs, and a horse. We 
have a wonderiul time here, and I hate to think of 
going back to school this winter. 

Your eager reader, 
Virginia H. Cowperthwaite (age 12). 

County Dublin, Ireland. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I am just beginning to take you 
monthly, but I am not quite a stranger to you for my 
mother took you when she was a little girl and we have 
the volumes bound. 

I have read them over and over again, and I love the 
stories that were in them. "Two Girls and a Boy," 
"Under the Lilacs," and "Phaeton Rogers" are my 
favorites. I also got the second part of the 1916 
volume for a Christmas present, and even though I 
only read the end of "The Sapphire Signet," I loved it. 
Also. "The Life of Mark Twain." 

With every good wish for St. Nicholas, from 
Your devoted reader, 
Maureen Harrington (age 12). 

Far Rockaway, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Though I am now living in the 
United States, a short time ago I was living on a small 
island in the Pacific Ocean. 

While my parents and I were cruising near there in 
our yacht, we were dashed against the rocks and were 
rescued by the natives, and lived among them for eight 
months. A ship from Honolulu came there to investi- 
gate, and brought us back. We were very lucky, for 
we might have had to stay there for years. The 

inhabitants were civilized to a certain extent, but did 
no trading. We learned to speak their language, and 
if it had not been for my parents. I should have for- 
gotten English. My parents are American, but I was 
born in China, and lived in Switzerland until I was nine 
years old. There I first got St. Nicholas and have had 
it ever since, though I have lived in Italy, France, and 
England. I have been^ in the United States for a 
year, now. and I still love St. Nicholas and will always 
love it. 

From a lover of St. Nicholas, 

Jean R. Weiller. 

Napa, Calif. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I had a lovely and wonderful 
experience yesterday. Mother and Daddy took me 
down to see the most noble people in all Europe, They 
were Queen Elizabeth and King Albert of the Bel- 
gians, with their son Prince Leopold and their two 
American friends. Ambassador Whitlock and Mr. 
Herbert Hoover. They are touring the west, and last 
night they left for Yosemite Valley. 

I am sure your story in the May St. Nicholas of 
King Albert and his family and their goodness is true. 
King Albert appeared to be a wonderiul man, and also 
to be quite tall. He is about six feet and some inches 
tall. The queen is the dearest little creature, and seems 
not to be one of these queens that are not willing to 
help others, but, on the contrary, quite what she is 
called— "The Queen Angel." 

With love from 

Your interested little Reader. 

Edna Raymond. 

Manila, P. I. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have been taking you for al- 
most four years. I love all of your stories; they are finel 

This is the rainy season in Manila, and the typhoons 
have begun. One day last week it rained two and a half 
inches in one hour, between four and five in the after- 
noon. It has been raining seventeen days now, and 
we have had five typhoons, one after another. 

We have beautiful sunsets down at Manila Bay. and 
some very queer ones. too. One night, coming out from 
dinner, we saw a pinkish glow in the sky, and some one 
said, "Pier number five is on fire!" But we found out 
afterward that it was only a strange sunset. 

Wishing you many years of prosperity, I remain. 

Your loving friend, 
Beatrice FoRNrrzER(AGEi2). 

A True Story 

In Italy; one night, we were all in bed. It was war 
time. We were all asleep, when suddenly my mother 
awoke me and said that the Germans were coming. 

So we got up and dressed. I put on my father's 
sweater and a very few clothes. We took a lantern, 
because the electric light went out, and we went down 
in the cellar. The guns were firing and we saw many 
search-lights and we heard the German dirigibles over 
our heads. 

I was so sleepy. It began at ten o'clock at night and 
lasted until three in the morning. Then it was all 
over, and we went up to bed and slept until morning. 

The dirigibles did a lot of damage. 

MiMi Casano (age 9). 





RsvBSSALS. General Pershing, i. Tang, gojit. 2. Tide, 
edit. 3. Leon, noel. 4. Live, evil. 5. Star, rats. 6. Etna, 
ante. ?• Rail, liar. 8. Snap, pans. 9.. Dine, Enid. 10. 
Deer. reed. xx. Pals. slap. 12. Pooh, hoop. 13. Sibl. ibis. 
14. Oren, Nero. 15. Snug, guns. 

Endless Chain, x. Ad-am. 2. Amethy-st. 3. Steera-ge. 
4. Geor-ge. 5. Gestu-re. 6. Rever-se. 7. Se-er. 8. Ermi-ne. 
9. Neg-ro. xo. Ro-ad, Adam. 

IixusTSATBD NtncBRiCAL ENIGMA. The I^andlng of the 

Cboss-wokd Enigma. Christmas. 

NOVKI. Acrostic. Second line, American Naval Seaplane; 
sixth line, Wright Brothers' Biplane. 

Cross-words, x. Wallowldk. 2. Immigrate,. 3. Deficient. 
4. Arranging. 5. Diphthong. 6. Occultism. ?• Maccabean. 
8. Encourage. 9- Snowbound. 10. Garniture. 11. Over- 
shoes. 13. Manifesto. lir Elaborate.* ■ 14. Ascension. 15. 
Neighbors. 16. Ganglions. 17. Sparkplug. 18. Plurality. 
19- Habitable. 20. Incarnate. 21. Penitence. 

Diagonal. Montana, x. Madison. 2. Norfolk. 3. Con- 
cord. 4. Santa F£. 5- Chicago. 6. Laxuing. 7. Atlanta. 

Triplb Bbhkadings and Triple Curtailings. Saint Nicho- 
las. I. Con-Bon-ant. 2. Imp-art-ial. 3. Ret-ice-nce. 4. 
Son-net-eer. 5. Con-ten-ted. 6. Cor-net-ist. 7. Spr-its-ail. 
8. Bro-cat-els. 9' Man-hat-tan. 10. Imm-ode-sty. 11. Mal- 
lea-ble. 12. Inf-ant-ile. 13. Dis-aip-ate. 

To Our Puzzlbrs: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 24th (for foreign mem- 
bers and those living in the far Western States, the 29th) of each month, and should be addressed to St. Nicholas Riddlebox, care 
of The Century Co., 353 Fourth Avenue. New York City, N. Y. 

Solvers wishing to compete for prises must give answers in full, following the plan of those printed above. 

Answers to All the Puzzles in the October Number were received within the time limit, from Barbara Beardsley — Charlotte 
Ridgeley Cabell— Florence S. Carter— William P. Pratt. 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were duly received from Gwenfread E. Allen, 8 — Mary C. Hamilton, 8 — Helen 
H. Mclver, 8— Frances M. Breneman, 7— Virginia Ball. 7 — "Three M's," 7— Eloise C. Smith, 6 — Mary S. Blackford, 6 — Margaret 
O'Gara. 5 — Helena Merriman. 5 — ^Virginia Seaman- 5 — Margaret E. McGaughey. s — Dorothea Darrah. 4 — Elizabeth Russle. a — 
Virginia Whitney. ^— Betty Raymond, 4 — ^Jennie Looney. 4 — Helen Fraker. 3 — Frances D. Barry. 3 — Dorothy Marshick. 2 — No 
name. 2 — Marian E. Willcox, 2 — Emil S. Dessonneck, 2— -Cornelia B. Hussey. 2 — C. E. Bent, 2. One puzzle. A. Bichl — A. 
Field — D. W. Eckley— M. E. Tracy— M. Cohen— M. Hore — M. Read — D. C. Holme»— B. Wendell— J. Clayton— M. L. 
Young — M. Shepard — E. Perkins— J. Wenncrholm— V. H. Bowman — R. Strauss — R. Y. Kirby — K. A. Harcourt — F. P. Tartt — 
L. Linerd — M. L Estes— J. Ascheim— V. Feldman— D. Webster— R. Salomon. 


2 . 

I . 

3 . 


6 . . 

3. A 

3. A 

2. A 

I. I. To listen. 2. The end of a prayer, 
dty in Nevada. 4. To be aware of . 

II. I. A masculine name. 2. Qualified, 
tribe. 4. A county of England. 

III. I. An outer garment. 2. Lineage. 3. 
mination. 4. To skin. 

IV. I. To be exposed to genial warmth, 
prefix meaning "before." 3- A deer. 4. Small barrels. 

V. I. To stumble. 2. A part performed by an 
actor. 3. Misfortunes. 4. A nuisance. 

VI. I. Cuts off. 2. To stare rudely. 3. A proj- 
ect 4. Dispatched 

VII. I. To strike. 2. To wash. 3. A river of 
£ngjaod. 4. Shut in. 

VIII. I. Part of the foot. 2. A precious stone. 
3. Comfort. 4. A winter play thing. 

IX. I. Strikes with a gentle blow. 2. A plant. 
3. A perch. 4. Observed. 

ANDREW B. FOSTER (age 16), League Member. 


The letters, from the upper left-hand letter to the 
lower right-hand letter will spell an inheritor. The 
four cross-words rhyme. 

Cross-words: i. A quadruped. 2. A fruit. 3. A 
couple. 4. To have on. 

WILLIAM TOTH (age 13). League Member. 


{Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition.) 

1. It makes its nest in an orchard wee*. 
The cunning, tame little . 

2. If you go in the woods in May you'll see 
A sad little bird called the . 

3. At times you may hear a scolding note; 
These sounds come from a . 

4. A hanging nest, like a swinging bowl. 
Is built by the dainty . 

5. One sometimes sees, when they go hunting,. 
Our little friend, the . 


And all about the fields at dark. 
You may hear the song of the — 
And one bright day I overheard 
The jeering song of the 

8. While round and round at night doth prowl 
The large-eyed bird, the great — •■ .- 

ROSALIND LSALB (age .12). 



I. In lubti^ction. 3. Confroated In conflict 3 One 
of the United States. 4. A color. 5. In subtmction. 
CHARLorra crbknhoot (age is). Uapu Mtmbtr. 




All of tile thirteen pictured object* may be described 
by words of equal length When rightly guessed and 
written one below another, the rigiag (t>^nning at the 
upper, left-hand letter and ending with the lower, 
left-hand letter) wiU spell a few words often seen in 


My first is in Utah, but not in Idaho- 
My second, in Idaho, but not in Kanau; 
My third is in Kansas, but not in Kentucky; 
My fourth is in Kentucky, but not In South Dakota; 
My fifth is in South Dakota, but not in Illinois' 
My sixth is in IllinoU. but not in Michigan; 
My seventh is in Michigan, but not in Wisconsin: 
My eighth is in Wisconsin, but not in Veiinonf 
My ninth is in Vermont, but not in Arizona- ' 
My tenth Is in Arizona, but not in Arkansas- 
My eleventh is In Arkansas, but not in Georgia- 
My twelfth is in Georgia, but not in Colorado; 
My thirteenth is in Colorado, but not in Maine- 
My fourteenth is in Maine, but not in Wyomhii- 
My fifteenth is in Wyoming, but not in Utah. ' 
My whole has been eagerly anticipated. 

DORIS WALKBa (age 13). Ltapu Manbtr. 


All the words described contain the same number <rf 
lettWB. When rightly gueswd and written one below 
another, the initial letters will spell the name of a 

tftmou* American gtnenl. and ftoother row of kMera 
will ipell the name of a tainoui American patriot. 

Cross-womm; I. A form of verse containing four 
teen line* in two rhymes. ». Not transparent. 3. 
Superior. 4. Belonging to races or nations, s- Out 
who nads. 6. To offer. 7. To indte by argumeni. 
S. Aq Idler. 9. To engage for military service. 10. 

EUTH LABENBEKc (age 14). Ltapu Mtmbtr. 


Nearly all the words in the English language contain 
one or more of the vowels, a. e, I, o, u. but the wordi 
which answer the following definitions do not contain 
any of these vowels. Example: To shed tears. An- 
Bwer. cry. 

1. A vault under a church, a. Crafty. 3. Onsfria 
vagabond race. 4. To flee. 5. Timid. 6. A meet- 
ing-place. 7. To cook in a pan. S. A popular fable. 
9. To inspect closely. 10. A fierce, (st-like animaL 
II. An IncloBure for swine. 13. To attempt. 13. A 
dwarf. 14. To go back and forth. 1%. A song at 
praise. 16. An aromatic substance, mentioned in the 
second chapter of Matthew. 17. A goddess of the 
mountains, forests, and meadows. iB. Arid. 19. A 
slender little fairy. 10. To attempt to raise or more 
31. Nimble. 

MILDRED LUU. (age IS). Honor JfemicT. 


Thb wintry wind goes shrieking swiftly past; 
I am my firsl, before my cheeriul last; 
With thankful heart 1 rest, my journey o'er, 
I 'd be my whoU did I dare wish for more. 

(Silvtr Badtt. St. Nicholas L«ague Competition} 










































































Begin at a certain square and move to an adjoinlar 
square (as in the king's move In chess) until each 
square has been entered once. When the moves have 
been made correctly, the names of nine places made 
famous by the Great War may be spelled out. The 
path from one letter tQ soother is continuous. 

r«WK o. tJtma (age ijj.. 


There £ire very few children of 
siny age who would not be fortified 
in strength and built up in body by 
the daily use of 


Its rich, nourishing properties are a 
basis of strength and sturdiness to 
many growing boys and girls. 

Scott's is a body-building and 
strength-making factor that should 
never be denied a growing child. 

Built for Service 

Corhin Duplex 
Coaster Brake 

Euily regulated but powerful grip, deiign nmplicity, 
liDoothnna, flexibility, action potitiveneu. A brtke 
that doei iti woik TCguloily and well. 

Fnd SI. Onaft neu book on hoa to riiU and 
cart for pour bicgcU —at fn« on raguaat 



Parents Know 

Absorb ine J' 

may be used with full assurance that 
it will cleanse, heal and halt infec- 
tion. Then, too, they know that 
Absorbine, Jr., is purely herbal. They 
keep it constantly on hand because 
it gives double service — as a power- 
ful antiseptic and a most efficient 

Children Like 


They like the "feel" of this clean, 
fragrant and antiseptic liniment. 
They know that it penetrates quick- 
ly, leaves no greasy residue and that 
it is intensely refreshing. They "are 
wise" to the fact that Absorbine, Jr., 
is highly concentrated and that only 
a few drops are needed to do the 

For Years 

Absorbine J^ 

has been a staple household antiseptic 
a?td germicidal liniment; 
d is preferred because 
is absolutely depend- 
le and safe. Besides 
minating stiffness and 
allaying inflamma- 
tion, Absorbine, Jr., 
cleansesand heals, and 
can be applied to cuts 
and open wounds for 
it is a soothing and 
antiseptic lotion. 

AbBrbliw, Jr., * « 
bottU Mt ikwnUta or 

A Llbual TrUI Bottl* will b* 
•■nt ta rour addnu an r>- 
calpt of 10s In (tamp*. 

W. F. YOUNG. Inc. 

360 TwnpU St. 
SpringfiaM, Mau. 


Conducted by Samuel R. Sihuons 


Thb cIok of the war has brought into existence, for 
one reason or another, many ataropa. And not a few 
of them, we imasine, were issued primarily for sale to 
Btamp-col lectors. Some of them will be very successful 
in extracting pennies from the pockets of these game 
stamp-collectors, and others will not. We piedict. 
however, that one of the most successful of all that we 
have BO far seen 

three -Peace" 
etampa issued by 
Switzerlantl. We 
ourselves, hard- 

the sight of many 

Issues covering 
many years, still 
have left enough 
enthusiasm to en- 
joy and revel in 
this Peace series. 
Also, it has this 

judgment, the best of the three. The third stamp haa 
a deep-piuple background; the word "Helvetia" ia 
yellow extends across the entire upper part of the stamp 
in letters which we think too heavy. The date, in 
figures far apart, is seen across the bottom. At each 
side of the central design is the value " 15" in yellow and 
purple. The center shows "War," with broken sword. 
falling prostrate before the white and yellow rays of a 
flaming sun, which bears the word "Pax." It ia strik- 
ing and dramatic, but by no means so pretty as the other 
two values. Vet the set as a whole is very attractive. 
It is well worth Owning, and we predict many a boy 
and 'many a girl collector will take great pride in its 


e will I 

Throuoh the courtesy of one of the readers of Stamp 
Pagb. we are able to illustrate for the pleasure of our 
other readers a very interesting stamp. The person 
who sent it did so anonymously, and we are. therefore. 
unable to thank him, or her. directly, and can only 
express our appreciation through this Page. Unfortu- 
nately, but little information came with the stamp. 
We do not know whether it was used on letters or not. 
though we are inclined to think it was not. We are 
unable to Bnd such a stamp listed in any catalogue. 
t be But that proves nothing — so many new issues are 
some of which are not yet catalogued. So we 
the stamp, and ask any of our readers who 
at it is to tell 

readers. That 's 
a big advantage. 
No matter how 
beautiful a set of 
stamps maybe, of 

lessly many dollars. But when it can be bought for 
dimes Instead of dollars — that 's different. As will be 
seen by the illustrations, there are three stamps, of 
different designs. Note the size and shape of the 
stamps, giving unusual space lor the scope of the de- 
signer in elaborating his ideas. The colors arc soft and 
blend well. Th« first, the 7) centimes, lias at the left 
the one word, "Helvetia" (Switzerland). Save for a 
small space In the upper right comer given to the value. 
7J. and the date. 1919. all the rest is occupied by the 
designer in depicting two fighters, who. at iJie sound of 
truce, drop their arms and shake hands. Behind the 
broken artillery in the center can dimly be seen the 
white peaks of the Alps. The color is a soft gray, 
the tetters of Helvetia, the date, and the rays issuing 
from that date are white, making a very harmonious 
and striking combination. The lo^entimes shows a 
design typifying "Peace." a female figure bearing in her 
upUfled right hand an olive-branch, and in her left a 
bunch of flowers. The figure is yellow and white upon 
a background of dull terra-cotta. The word, "Hel- 
vetia" and the date. 1919, are in yellow, and the value 
"10" in white. It is a very beautiful stamp — in our 

much as they may 
happen to know. The 
stamp is deep blue in 
color. In the center 

In both upper 
J is (he value, 
t. In the left 


probably Ciecho-SlovKk; 

in the other lower cornel, the shield of the United 
States. Under the central are the words "Slov.-Liga," 
and under these is the phrase "Slovenaky Brat. Objira 
Si Mat." A free translation of this would be, "Slovak 
brother, embrace your mother," This naturally would 
mean the "Fatherland." But why the two shields in 
such close conjunction? Why the shield of the United 
States at all? Can it be that it means something dlRer- 
entf The word "Slovensky" is just under the Slovak 
coat of arms, while the word "Mat" ia iust under the 
shield of the United States. Is this accident, or is it 
design? May not this stamp or label be issued by 
some NationalilBlovak Association as a recognition of the 
help given by the United States in liberating and creating 
the new nation, or perhaps an evidence of the intention 
of the younger republic to emulate the purposes of the 
older one? May not the words. "Slovak brother, em- 
brace your mother." mean — "Slovak Republic, honor 
and emulate this older republic which is your prototype, 
example, and inspiration"? 

As we have asked before, who can help us leant more 
about this interesting stamp? 

Like a breath of Spring 
to your winter appetite 

¥ T'S a bit weary of heavy foods— no doubt-^that winter 
appetite of yours. It needs stimulating;, cheering, fresh- 
ening ! And that's just what tliese delightful Libby's fruits 
will do^and solidly satisfy you at the same time. 

Libby's Peaches, for example big and plump and juicy — 
ripened to perfect flavor in the golden sun shine of the West 
and packaged while the bloom is on them 1 Apricots, pine- 
apples, cherries , asparagus — each comes to you with its full 
native flavor sealed in — a wonderfully /r«sA flavor you will 
notice at once, 

B ring Springtime to your family today — the simple dish 
shown here is as easy to make as it is easy to cat. Your 
grocer has Libby's fruits or can get them for you. 

Libby, MfNeill & Libby. 902 Welfare BIdg.. Chicago 

Libty. MfN/ill t LibbyofCaH.. Ltd.. 

u inU Ul'l nrhnJor fw* wf 
nf HatwttffrrfKl j>rBrln.W- 

•mrUtiisriimilf jd( HUfrniHOI) 

bH Wv*(/b/ iw«im 

lilitt ImtluT Oiffmrtln' 
Mr aj LiUy'l 
nipfiil of miik and Urn IibI UNt- 
fiwii/iili D/ronutarrA mijf^ inU ffv- 
liiti nrlul nosr axdaliaal fflrt 
orange petl Wlini 1/iitkmt4. toii it 

g hnri ■ 

•^ rark frartt m 

( MiU > 

■„ TnJ 



Without Water 

In freezing weather use 
Old Dutch dry and have dear, 
sKiniii^ windows. PlaCe a 
small amount of Old Dutch on 
a dry cotton clothi fold so one 
ihidmess of cloth cowrs the 
powder and nib over the glass 

(The entire contents of thii Magatlne are covered by the general copyright, and articles mast not be reprinted withoat special permission.) 


Frontispiece: "Humbly He Stood Before the Wonderful Bronze.** Drawn by Page 

George T. Tobin 
His Tribute. Story. lUustrated by George T. Tobin Mary Wells 291 

Ten Years of the Boy Scouts. Sketch. lUustrations from photoKraphs. . M. R. nper 296 

A Boy Who Has Refused to Grow Up. Sketch James Anderson 304 

Illustrations from photographs 

The Treasure- Chest of the Medranos. Serial Story Elizabeth Howard Atkins 306 

Illustrated by W. M. Berger 

Grandmother's Story. Verse. lUustrated by Reginald Birch George WUliam Ogden 314 

The Race to the Valley. Story, illustrated by A. D. Rahn Arthur Wallace Peach 318 

Perfect Mary Jane. Verse Nahda Frazee-Wheeler 322 

Old Mr. Grumps. Verse Mabel Livingston Frank 322 

Johnny Mouse: "This Is a Chance." Picture. Drawn by cufton Meek 322 

The Crimson Patch. Serial Story, illustrated by C. M. Relyea Augusta Huiell Seaman 323 

A Clever Craftsman. Verse Sophie E. Redford 329 

How Elephants '* Packed *' Their Trunks to America. Sketch . . . George Burbank Shattuck 330 

Illustrations from photographs and map 
Little Lady Amy. Picture. From painting by Harrington Mann 332 

Boy Scouts in the North: or. The Blue Pearl. Serial Story Samuel Scoviiie,Jr 333 

Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull * 

Mother's ''Highwasrmen." Verse Minnie L. Upton 339 

How the Bamboo Shadows Saved a Province. Verse Ethel Morse 340 

Illustration from a Japanese print 
Lincoln with the Young Folks. Sketch, illustrated by Oscar Schmidt . . Mrs. Taylor Z. Marshall 343 

Where Children Love Music. Sketch Chrisdne B. Rowell 348 

Illustrations from photographs and prints 

Peddling Poetry. Verse Nora Archibald Smith 353 

For Boys Who Do Things : illustrated with diagrams 

Packing-House Village— V A. Russell Bond ^ 354 

A Home-made Sled-Pusher w. M. Butterfleid * 357 

A Brake for the Roller-Coaster William Harte 359 

Billy's Way. Verse Harriet Prescott Spofford 359 

The Watch Tower, illustrations from photographs and print Edward N. Teall 360 

Nature and Science for Young Folks: illustrated 365 

The Largest Log House in the World (James Anderson) — 

Another Famous Ride (Francis Dickie)— But Moose Out 

Be Tamed! (A. A. Hovey). 
For Very Little Folk : 

The Little Bear Cub Who Became a Cook. Story Frederick S. Church 370 

Illustrated by the author 
St. Nicholas League. With Awards of Prizes for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles. Illustrated 374 

The Letter-Boz 382 

The Riddle-Box 383 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page. Conducted by Samuel R. Simmons Advertising page 24 

ffTj Sp The Century Co. and Us editors receive manuscripts' and art material, submitted for publication, only on the understanding 
\StZS thai they shall not be responsible for loss or injury thereto while in their possession or tn transit. Copies of manuscripts 
should be retained by the authors. 

In the United States, the price of St. Nicholas Magazine is $3.00 a year in advance, or 25 cents a sinf^le copy; the price 
of a yearly subscription to a Canadian address is $3.35; the subscription price elsewhere throughout the world is 53.6o (the 
regular price of I3.00 plus the foreign postage. 60 cents). Foreign subscriptions will be received in English money at 16 shillinss. 
in French money 24 francs, covering postage. We reoucst that remittances be by money-order, bank check, drstft, or registered 
letter. All subscriptions will be filled from the New York office. The Century Co. reserves the right to suspend any subscript 
tion taken contrary to its selling terms, and to refund the unexpired credit. PUBLISHED MONTHLY. 

The half-yearly parts of ST. NICHOLAS end \^ith the October and April numbers respectively, and the red cloth covers 
are ready with the issue of these numbers; price 75 cents, by mail, postpaid; the two covers for the complete volume, li-so. 
We bind and furnish covers for I1.25 per part, or 53.50 for the complete volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers 
to us, they should be distinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are not exchanged for numbers. 

All subscriptions for, and all business matters in connection with. The St. Nicholas M^^gazine should be addressed to 

THE CENTURY COMPANY, 353 Fourth Ave., at 26th St., New York, N. Y. 


DON M. PARKER, Secretary JAMES ABBOTT, Ass't Treasurer 

Board of Trustees 

VOL. XLVII. GEORGE H. HAZEN, Chairman No. 4 


(Gofyyriftht, 1920, by The Gentuiy Go.) (lltle Re^stered U. S. Pat. Off.) 

(Entered as Second Class Mail Matter, June 19, 1879, at the Poet Office at New York, under the Act off March 3, 

1879, and at the Post Office Department, Ottawa, Can.) 



lo, by The Cbntukv Co. All rlghu re 



Mrs. North paused in her knitting to smile up 
at the eager face of her fourteen-year-old son. 

"1 don't know that I have any objection, if 
your father is willing, Robert. It is n't as if 
Mther play came on a school night." 

"No," said Bob; "and anyway, I 'd be willing 
to work like a Trojan the rest of the week for the 
sake of going. It will be great, Mother! There 
Kill be Barry Anderson, and Hal Warren, and 
Jim Howe, and Ted Brewster — all our crowd. 
Just think! EMwin Booth! To say nothing of 
the tun. I 'm almost sure Father will — " 

"Father will what?" queried a pleasant voice. 

Bob turned quickly. Doctor North stood in 
the doorway, pulling off his driving gloves. Bob 
burst into e^er explanation. 

"You see it 'b like this. Father. We 've been 
studying 'Julius Csesar' in English class, and 
we 're goii^ to read other plays of Shakespere 
later. Professor Kendall has told us a lot about 
ihe different actors, and now that Edwin Booth is 
mming to Chicago, he wants us to hear him — and 

"This morning he told us that they want some 
extra people down at the theater, and he thinks 
some of us boys could get a chance 'suping,' as 

they call it. We '11 get a dollar and twenty-five 
cents a night. Mother is willing if you are." 

Bob paused, out of breath. Doctor North's 
eyes twinkled. 

"So you are thinking of trying out your his- 
trionic ability? I can remember when I had 
serious thoughts of running away to join the 
circus, but I don't know that I ever aspired to 
Shakesperian rAles. For what part do you think 
of applying?" 

Bob took his father's bantering good-naturedly. 

"Oh, we 'II probably be the mob in 'Julius 
Ciesar.' Al! we 'II have to do is to look interested 
and yell at the right time. Maybe, though, 
they 'II let us be soldiers in the Battle of Philippi," 
he said hopefully, "with helmets and swords. 
That would be great sport." 

He waited anxiously for his father's verdict 

"Well," said the doctor, slowly. "I have 
tickets for both nights, but we can take Aunt 
Fanny in your place. Far be it from me to crush 
the ambitions of an embryonic actor. Mother 
and I will be on the lookout tor you. Orchestra 
circle, five rows back. If I had known my son 
was going to take part, I might have engaged a 




"I '11 wave my hand,*' said Bob, joyfully, "or 
my sword if I have one." 

"Only remember. Bob," said his father, more 
seriously, "this does n't establish a precedent. 
There are plays and plays, and all actors are n't 
Edwin Booth." 

"I know, Father. It 's awfully good of you 
and Mother to let me do this!" Bob's tone was 

"Why would n't it be a good plan," suggested 
Mrs. North, "for you to invite Professor Kendall 
and the boys here some evening to read 'Hamlet?* 
You have n't yet studied that in school. Then 
the play would be so much more interesting." 

"You always do think of things. Mother," said 
Bob. "I know they 'd all like it, and do you 
think — ^maybe — ^if it would A't be too much 
trouble — ^we could have cocoa and some of those 
little nut-cakes?" 

"I think, myself, the nut-cakes would help 
digest 'Hamlet,'" said the doctor, solemnly. 
"I speak for the cakes. What do you say, 

"I say," said Mrs. North, laughing, "that you 
and Bob are two boys together; but I think we 
can manage the cakes. Here 's Nora to tell us 
lunch is ready. Come along, son. You must n't 
be late for the afternoon session. Oh, and be 
sure not to forget that you 're to go over to Mrs. 
Anderson's for the pattern she promised me." 

"I won't forget," declared Bob. "I told Barry 
I was coming." 

At half past three that afternoon, Bob and 
Barry came down the steps of the old high school 
together, their books dangling from straps at their 

"Let *s go across the park," said Bob. "It 's 
a lot pleasanter, and cooler, too." 

"All right," said Barry; "I 'm agreeable." 

Engrossed in boyish conversation, the two 
strolled through the beautiful public gardens. 
On either side of the winding paths, tree and 
shrub were bright with spring, while here and 
there through the delicate foliage glinted the 
water of the great lake. 

The particular path the boys were following 
wound through the shrubbery till, like several 
others, it opened upon a slight rise of ground. 
Here, instinctively, the two paused. Before 
them, backed by trees and flanked by massive 
globes of bronze, rose St. Gaudens's statue of 
Abraham Lincoln. With the vista of Lincoln 
Park stretching behind it, it stood "lifted up in 
grand isolation, as Lincoln himself was lifted 
above the passions of his time." 

For a moment the boys stood gazing, awed by 
the silent majesty of the figure. Then Barry 

"Do you know, this mormng, all the time Pro- 
fessor Kendall was talking about Edwin Booth, 
I kept thinking about this statue. It was 
Booth's own brother, John Wilkes Booth, who 
assassinated Lincoln." 

Bob nodded. "Yes, and Mother said it was a 
terrible shock to Edwin Booth. He gave up 
acting for nearly a year, and he never set foot in 
Ford's Theater again; for years he never played 
in Washington." 

"Maybe that *s why all his pictures have such 
a sad look," suggested Barry. 

"I should n't be a bit surprised," acquiesced 
Bob. "Seems to me I 'd look sad if my own 
brother had killed the greatest American that 
ever lived." 

"Of course, Edwin Booth was n't to blame," 
said Barry. 

"Of course not," assented Bob. "I was only 
thinking of how he must feel." 

"Anyway, I *m glad we 're going to hear him," 
said Barry. "Father says he 's wonderful, that 
no one else compares with him." 

"I 'm glad we live in Chic2^;o," said Bob, 
"where we have a chance to hear ind see such 
splendid things. For instance, I 'm willing to bet 
there is n't another city in the United States that 
has a statue like this." 

"I bet there is n't, either," said Barry. 
"It seems just as if he were going to speak, 
does n't it?" 

Bob pointed to the wall where were inscribed 
the immortal words of the Second Inaugural: 

"With malice towards none, with charity f or all . . • 
let us strive on to finish the work we are in — " 

"I reckon he really is speaking," he said. 

"That 's so," said Barry; "and he would n't 
bear malice even to the man that killed him." 

The week preceding Edwin Booth's visit to 
Chicago was an exciting one for Bob North and 
his friends. There were extra reading-classes, 
interesting talks by Professor Kendall, and the 
evening session at Doctor North's, where atten- 
tion was duly divided between 'Hamlet* and the 
nut-cakes. Then at last came the eventful night 
when the mysteries of the green-room and stage 
make-up were revealed to the amateur actors. 

"You look as if you had the jaundice," said 
Bob, surveying critically his friend Barry, who 
was strutting about attired in a mustard-colored 
tunic and tousled yellow wig. 

"Look at yourself!" retorted Barry. "With 
those bare knees and that dilapidated jerkin, 
you *re a cross between a Scottish Highlander 
and an ash-man. Your wig 's on sideways, too. 
Say, do you suppose we can ever get this paint 
off our faces?" 





'Don't know," said Bob, doubtfully. "They 
laid it on pretty thick. Listen! The orchestra 
is slowing down and there goes the curtain. 
Come on!" he said excitedly; "let 's stick to- 

A sudden flare of light and the proverbial sea 
of faces stretching from pit to topmost gallery. 

"Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home. 
Is this a holiday?" 

declaimed the tribune sternly. The play had 

It was not till the third act that the boys 
obtained their first good look at Edwin Booth. 
Then they forgot that he was Booth. To them 
he was Marcus Brutus, and they were members of 
the Roman populace, gazing at that composed, 
melancholy face with the speaking eyes, listen- 
ing to that wonderful voice: 

"Not that I loved Caesar less, but that I loved 
Rome more." 

It seemed to fourteen-year-old Bob that never 
before had he realized what love of country 
might mean. 

In the general discussion of the play at the 
breakfast-table the next morning, Bob voiced 
his sentiments: 

"Some of those fellows seemed to be just saying 
their parts; but when it came to Edwin Booth, 
somehow you forgot he was acting." 

"That," said Doctor North, "is what makes an 
actor. Bob — the ability to make his audience 

"I reckon he forgets, himself," said Bob, sagely. 

"That *s just it," said his mother. # "He sinks 
his own identity into that of his character. 
You *11 feel that more than ever when you see 
him in 'Hamlet.' " 

"Barry and I are counting the minutes," said 
Bob. He looked across the table at his father. 
"Speaking of Barry, he wants me to stay ajl 
night witji him. We would like to talk things 
over while they 're fresh in our, minds. I *11 
come home for breakfast, of course." 

Bob's tone was a little mischievous. With 
regard to Sunday morning breakfast, his father's 
rule was as fixed as the laws of the Medes and 
Persians. All members of the family must be 

"Talk it over by all means," said the doctor, 
laughing. "You might as well finish out the 

"Don't stay awake too long," cautioned Mrs. 

"I don't think you need worry, Mary," said 
the doctor. "When two healthy boys strike the 
pillows, there is not much lying awake." 

In his dreams Bob North was once more wit- 
nessing the duel between Hamlet and Laertes. 
Rapiers flashed and the clang of steel on steel 
resounded. Then suddenly he opened his eyes. 
The noise continued. He stared blankly for a 
moment, then, as comprehension came to him, 
he reached over to the little bedside stand and 
turned back the lever of the alarm-clock which 
had been set for seven. With a wistful look at 
the calmly sleeping Barry, he clambered out of 

Bob was brushing His hair when Barry lazily 
opened one eye. 

"'Lo," he said. "Got to go?" 

"If I get home to breakfast, I have," said Bob. 
"You know Father's rule." 

"Sorry you can't stay. See you this after- 
noon, though," and with a prodigious yawn, 
Barry buHed his curly mop once more in the 

As Bob North entered the park on his short cut 
home that spring morning, he was going over in 
memory the plays he had recently witnessed, 
unaware that he was on his way to a more thrill- 
ing drama, of which he was to be sole spectator, 
a drama whose setting was to be the springing 
green of tree and shrub, with the arching blue of 
the sky as canopy and the lilt of singing birds 
as orchestra. 

As far as eye could see, the park was deserted, 
and Bob had that peculiar feeling of isolation and 
solemnity that comes to one who in the early 
hours of the day finds himself alone in the great 
out-of-door world. 

He purposely took the path which led to the 
Lincoln statue, in which he was so keenly inter- 
ested, and as he stood before it in the spring sun- 
shine, more than ever its noble simplicity stirred 
his boyish heart. It seemed to him that he was 
face to face with a friend whose friendship was 
warmly personal and yet reached out to all 
humanity, one whose presence was both inspira- 
tion and benediction. 

"It 'fi almost as if we had been having a little 
talk," thought Bob. 

As he turned into one of the paths which 
branched from the main driveway, the sound of 
wheels made him pause. He wondered , with some 
curiosity, who like himself was so early a visitor in 
the park. 

Looking through a break in the bordering 
hedge, he saw approaching a carriage driven by a 
white-haired negro coachman. Then, suddenly, 
his heart gave a leap. Through the glass of the 
carriage door, he had recognized the finely 
chiseled, melancholy profile of Edwin Booth. 
Involuntarily, he drew back behind a clump of 



The carnage stopped before the rise of ground 
on which stood the statue. The actor alighted 
and with a quiet gesture dismissed the old negro, 
who, respectfully touching his hat, drove on till 
the carriage disappeared beyond a bend in the 
graveled path. 

Bob was able neither to advance nor retreat 
without making his presence known, and, aware 
that the actor believed himself alone, he hesitated 
to do either. It seemed best to remain a passive 
spectator of what might happen. The events of 
the next few minutes fixed themselves indelibly 
on the boy's mind. 

Never in his greatest r61es had the actor pre- 
sented a more dramatic figure. He stood with his 
silk hat reverently in his hand. One corner of the 
black cape he was wont to wear had blown back 
over his shoulder. In his buttonhole a crimson 
rose gave a touch of brilliant color to the somber 

Humbly he stood before the wonderful bronze. 
What sad thoughts and bitter memories filled 
his heart? He alone knew. From above, the 
homely, kindly face looked down upon him with 
that mingled expression of sympathy and under- 
standing which the sculptor had so marvelously 

Into Bob's mind flashed a sentence from one of 
the speeches which Professor Kendall had read: 

"I have never williilgly planted a thorn in the 
bosom of any man." 

A ray of sunlight filtered through the leaves 
upon the face of the statue. It seemed to the 
boy that the expression became more compas- 
sionate, more kindly, as if the great heart would 
fain radiate comfort. 

The actor's gaze turned to the words of the 

"With malice towards none, with charity for 

He drew his hand across his face; then, going 
slowly forward, he took from the lapel of his 
coat the crimson rose and gently laid it at the 
feet of Abraham Lincoln. For a long moment 
he stood with bowed head, then, with a last look, 
turned away, walking slowly toward the bend 
beyond which the carriage was waiting. Bob had 
a glimpse of his face. It was that of one who has 
seen a vision. 

There was a mist in Bob's eyes and a lump in his 
throat as he came forward. He realized that what 
he had seen had been no play to the galleries, but 
the simple tribute of one great man to another. 

"I *m so glad I saw it," he said. "Father and 
Mother will be interested ; so will Barry." 

Suddenly, he stopped short. A thought had 
come to him. 

"Maybe, though, I ought not to say anything 

about it. He thought he was alone. Telling 
would be almost like reading somebody else's 
letter and repeating what was in it. I *d awfully 
like to tell Mother," he added regretfully, "but 
I reckon it will have to be a secret between me — 
and Abraham Lincoln." 

Bob smiled at the whimsical conception, and it 
seemed to him almost as if Lincoln smiled back in 
friendly understanding. 

At breakfast he was so strangely silent that his 
mother was a little worried. 

"Tired, Bob?" she queried finally. 

Bob shook his head. "Only my mind — a little. 
I Ve been thinking a lot lately." 

"That 's a process that many people find tir- 
ing," said the doctor gravely; then, casually, 
"How 's Barry?" 

Perhaps the two chums had had a falling out. 
That might account for Bob's unusual silence. 

Bob grinned. "He was fast asleep the. last I 
saw of him. He 's coming over this afternoon if 
he wakes up." 

The doctor looked across the table at his wife. 
"I give it up," his glance plainly said. 

Only when alone with his mother did Bob 
make reference to his secret. * 'There *s something 
I 'd like to tell you. Mother, only I feel as if it 
would n't be fair to another person, because, you 
see, I was n't supposed to know about it. I just 
happened to see it. That was what I meant 
when I said I had been doing a lot of thinking." 

As Mrs. North looked into the honest blue eyes 
which met her own so frankly, she had a feeling 
of pride in her son. 

"Do what you think is right. Bob. I 'm sure 
you '11 be fajr." 

So the boy put away as a cherished memor>- 
what he had seen that spring morning. Not 
until Edwin Booth had passed into "that still 
country where the heaviest laden wayfarer at 
length lays^down his load," did he tell of the 

More than thirty changing years had passed 
when Robert North, visiting Barry Anderson in 
New York City, stood before the statue of Edwin 
Booth. It had been erected in Gramercy Park 
before the Players' Club, from whose windows the 
great actor had been wont to watch the drama of 
the outside world. Now the grave eyes of Ham- 
let rested on the passing throng. Robert North's 
mind went back across the years to that spring 
day when Edwin Booth had stood humbly before 
the statue of Abraham Lincoln. Again he saw 
the shining in the actor's face. Now, with a 
smile infinitely tender, he laid at the feet of 
Edwin Booth a cluster of red roses. 
"From Abraham Lincoln," he said. 


Ten years ago, the while sort. And all this is done with a bunch of 

Boy Scout scheme, 
adapted (rom the 

British Scout As- 
founded by Lieu- 



Baden- Powell, was 
just being quietly 
pUnted in this 
country by a few 
far-sighted men, 
who were also 
enough to remem- 
ber their own boy- 
hood and to know 
what is good for 
boys and what 
boys are good for. 
This month, The 

Boy : 

America, celebrat- 
"THE SIMPLE LIFE" ing its decennial, 

numbers a mem- 
bership of approximately 370,000 boys and over 
a hundred thousand adult leaders and is the 
largest and most efficiently organized boys' club 
in the world, established in every State and nearly 
e\'ery county in the United States as well as in 
Alaska, Porto Rico, and Hawaii. Three hundred 
and seventy thousand Boy Scouts, all strong (or 
Scouting, and a movement which, in ten years, 
has spread from coast to coast and made itself a 
Mtal part of the life of our Nation! Rather 
inspiring, — is n't it? — and worth inquiring into, 
especially if you are a boy yourself and know that 
three hundred and seventy thousand boys are n't 
likely to go in for a thing unless it is the "real 
stuff'? You can't fool a boy. 

Well, Scouting is the real stuff and no mistake, 
real boy stuff at that. It isn't something a group 
of remote grown-ups think a boy ought to like. 
It is something he does like, honest to goodness, 
no two ways about it. Why not? Scouting is 
hiking and camping and treking, building shacks 
and house-boats and bird-houses, learning signal- 
ing, bridge-building, swimming, following trails 
through pathless woods, getting on intimate 
terms with birds and beasts, trees and stars, 
doing a thousand other fascinating things which 
are the best of good fun in themselves and yet are 
•Iso training and education of the most worth- 

ither fine chaps of about your o 
ested in the same things, and playing the game 
according to the same standards and in the same 
spirit of fair play and good fellowship, and under 
the leadership of live men who have the same sort 
of red blood in them as ran in the \'eins of Daniel 
Boone and Crockett and Abraham Lincoln. 
Yes, and Theodore Roosevelt, too, who was him- 
self a scout and a strong believer in the Scout 
^Movement and all it stands for in health and 
happiness and outdoor life, in good citizen- 
ship, generous ser\'ice, and sturdy all-American 

Scouting is n't a two-by-four, front-parlor 
proposition. It is as wide as all out doors, i:) 
which it grows and flourishes. Watch a group of 
scouts, setting out on a Saturday hike, khaki clad. 


pack on back, staff in hand, and a good scout grin 
on their faces. You would know just to look at 
them they were in their native element under open 

Every boy likes to camp out, but it takes a 
scout to know how to do the thing in tirst-cl3s.s 



style. He knows how to choose the best camp- 
^te, on soil which is high enough to permit proper 
drainage and which wilt hold his tent-pegs tirm. 
You don't catch a scout having to turn out in the 
middle of the night because a sudden storm has 
arrived and made his sleeping-quarters look like 


a trench in Flanders fields. He picks a spot t() 

pitch tent which offers drinkable water — no 

germs — and burnable wood — no trespassing. 

He understands camp sanitation and how and 

why to dispose of camp refuse. He can set up 

his tent so solidly that the rudest gale will not 

uproot it, and can build 

a shack and a browse 

bed to sleep in and on. 

Bui he is by no means 

dependent upon this sort 

of shelter and comfort. 

He can make himself 

equally at home, if need 

be, rolled in his blanket 

with nothing but fragrant 

pine boughs and fresh 

air between him and the 

No scout can pass out 
u[ the tenderfoot class 
until he is able to build a 
fire in the open, using not 
more than two matches. 
Some litde trick, that. 

as you can imagine, especially when you 
remember how easily a merry little west wind can 
bk>w out a match and that a wood lire out of 
doors b as temperamental as a grand opera star. 
unless handled judiciously! Moreover, a real 

scout does not even have to be supplied with 
those two precious matches. If they fail him, 
hecanproducefireby friction asdeftly and swiftly 
as any primitive old Indian. Wet weather 
does n't daunt him, either. His camp-fire is no 
exclusively blue-sky product. He knows how to 
select the right kind of wood, which variety makes 
a quick, snappy blaze, and which will build a 
slow, long-lasting fire. 

And oh, the "eats" he can produceover the 
camp-fire or in his self-made stone oven! The 
servant prob!em means nothing in his life. He 
operates on the "self-service" plan. Baked pota- 
toes, fish fresh frbm the lake, sizzling, delicious 
bacon, "twist on a stick," pancakes equal to Aunt 
Jemima's, coffee better than any ambrosia Hebe 
ever served the lazy gods on Olympus. But we 
need n't go on — every camper can fill in the de- 
tails and will feel his own mouth water in envy 
of that lucky scout. And when the camp meal is 
over, the clean-up is just as efficient as the prep- 
aration. There are no unsightly cans or crum- 
pled papers left in the wake of the scout, and no 
mischievous small sparks to do big damage. To 
respect the rights of others and to keep the law 
are primary scout obligations. 

Most of us have eyes and see not. Scouts are 
taught to use their vision, and incidentally, also, 
their well -sharpened wits. A scout can tell you 
approximately how tall a tree is by merely glan- 
cing at it. He can estimate distance by applica- 
tion of "scout's pace," You can't lose him, for 
even if the compass is left behind, he can tell which 
way north lies by the shadow on his watch, by 

the way moss grows on the trees, or by the stars 
at night, and, adde from compass directions, he 
observes landmarks, trees, boulders, and so forth 
as he goes along, instead of traveling like a blind 
man, and consequently can retrace his path' if he 


BO desires. A Boy Scout on the hike is "mentally 
awake" as well as physically so. 

He knows what kind of trees he sees, and what 

testify. Photographing wild life is a great sport 

in itself. 

Nothing is meaningless to a scout. A stone 
upturned, with moisture still on the surface, a 
misplaced branch, a fallen feather, empty nut- 
shells, a print in the snow or on the sand, a notch 
in a tree, all have their message for him. He can 
follow a trai] himself, or leave one that a fellow- 
scout can follow unerringly. For example, an 
arbitrary arrangement of twigs or pebbles means 
"This way" to him. A large fiat stone with an- 
other smaller stone placed on top of it means 
"This is the Trail." But when the small stone 
sits jauntily and purposefully at the right of the 
big one, then it says to the scout, "Take the right 
fork." Stones piled three deep, the smallest on 
top, signifies "Danger! Help!" And so on in- 


bird it was that just called out of the thicket to 
his mate. He knows which kind of snakes it is 
suitable to chum with, and which are better 
avoided. He can tell by an examination of 
tracks what kind of animal has passed and in 
what direction the traveler was going. Even 
Br'er Fox, who doubles on his own path, cannot 
fool him. He is "on to" the ways of the small 
folks of the wood, and makes friends with them 
when he can. He stalks game as patiently and 
enthusiastically as any hunter, only he does it 


h camera or note-book and not with a 
gun. This kind of hunting is quite as exciting, 
too, and quite as exacting in the way of ingenuity 
and intelligence, as any one who has tried it will 

definitely. All things have meaning to eyes that 
see, and scouting is an undeniable eye-opener. 

One of the first tasks of a scout is to master the 
intricacies of knot-tying. He studies knots and 
practises tying them until he knows them like a 
sailor or a lumber-jack. Sheet-bend, timber- 
hitch, sheep-shank, and the rest — they are all at 
his command, not merely as a trick performance, 
but for practical utility. 

Signaling, too, is an important part of scout 
training, elementary for the second-class scout, 
advanced for the first-class, and real spedaliza- 
rion for the first-class scout who elects to go on 
and qualify for the merit badges in signaling or 
wireless, A scout can send or rece 
by either the general service code or by s 
phore. He can make a heliograph outfit, and 
flash greetings or information by it from a hilltop 
to another scout miies away. Scouts in camp 
erect signal-towers from which they can com- 
municate with troops of scouts in other camps, 
and they have intertroop or interpatrol contests 
in agoal-practice which are as thrilling as a foot- 



■ i 





ball game. So thorough and practical is this 
part of scout training, that many members of 
the A. E. F. found advancement quicker in serv- 
ice because they had been scouts. Milton Lowen- 
Btein, the E^le Scout who was selected last spring 
to drop copies of the President's Boy Scout Proc- 
lamation over New York City from an aSro- 




plane, was in the United States Air Service and 
did gallant work overseas. Scout Lowenstein 
traces his quick acceptance into the service to his 
scout training and says that his t)eing an 
(the top rank in Scouting, standing for all sorts 
of attainments, including the passing of stiff 
Merit Badge requirements in twentynane sub- 



jects) enabled him to be permitted to waive the 
two years of college requirements. 

A first-class scout is required to be able to "read 
a map correctly and draw from field notes, made 
on the spot, an intelligible, rough sketch-map, 
indicating by their proper marks important build- 
ings, roads, trolley-lines, main landmarks, prin- 

be helpful to all people at all times" is an impor- 
tant part of scout obligation, and to "Be pre- 
pared" is a scout motto. The scout b trained 
to think and act quickly and efliciently. He 
does n't get frightened or confused in an emer- 
gency, because he has been taught tn advance 
what to do when things happen, how to keep a 

cipal elevations etc." Here, too, scout training cool head, use his mother 

mber he 


came in as an aid to Uncle Sam. For 

former Cleveland Scout, Carl Bunder, was selected 

to do some special map-work at Camp Sheridan 

last year from among a class of seventy-five men 

picked from three regiments. Scout training 


Incidentally it might be added that an intelli- 
gence officer of one of the regiments overseas once 
remarked that if all his detachment of men had 
been Boy Scouts, as a few of them had, three 
fourths of his work in training them would have 
been eliminated. 

First-aid work is another scout specialty. "To 

is a scout. He may go years without ever having 
an opportunity to use his first-aid training. On 
the other hand, the chance may be his to-morrow. 
And when it does come, he is ready. A whole 
story could be written on this subject of scout 
readiness, full of thrilling incident and really 
heroic deeds accomplished modestly and 6rmly 
by Boy Scouts. Being prepared is n't a myth so 
far as a scout is concerned. It is the real thing. 
Last year, William J. McCaferty, of the Rio 
Grande Secret Service, had his hand blown off 
while up in the moimtains on a hunting-trip with 
his fourteen -year-old son. He would have bled 



Co death in a short time if his son had not been 
vith him, and, being a good scout, known exactly 
what to do. An improvised tourniquet did the 
business, and a valuable life was saved because a 
boy was prepared. 
Not loi^c ago at Lynchburg, West Virginia, a 


IS far 

his duty as a scout. That was the end of it a 
as he was concerned. 

Last summer a little girl who was celebrating 
Independence Day, not wisely but too well, 
managed to get her clothing afire. Two scouts 
happened along. It is queer, but scouts always 


small boy fell into a lake in the park, as small boys 
"ill- He was dragged out unconscious. A phy- 
acian was sent for, and the usual crowd of useless 
curious bystanders lined up. A scout arrived 
and proceeded at once to adminster resuscitation 
raethods. When the doctor got there, the victim 
*as sittii^ up, breathing naturally. The doctor 
looked him over, pointed a finger at him, and 
said solemnly, "Young man, you owe your life to 
tbt Boy Scout." So he did. But the Boy Scout 
"■as already out of sight. He was n't waiting 
wound to be made a hero of. He had simply done 


do seem to be happening along when there is any- 
thing to be done. Anyway, it was the work of a 
few minutes only for them to strip off their coats, 
smother the flames, and save the celebrater from 
serious injury, if not fn>m death. That is a hot 
story. Here is a cold one. A bunch of boys, 
some of them scouts, were skating last winter, 
and one of them went through the ice. The ice 
was exceedingly thin, which made rescue particu- 
larly difficult. But you can't stump a scout. 
They used their shoe-strings and good, trust- 
worthy, scout knots, tied theircoata together, and 


thus improvised a life-line by which the shivering 
victim was draKged to safety and dry land. 

An interesting story of volunteer first-aid of 
another sort is told of a small boy in Omaha dur- 
ing the recent riots, when the mob was amusing 
itself, endeavoring t