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3-0 J

^J, CHOLAS

• 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^

CONTENTS OF ST. NICHOLAS FOR NOVEMBER, 1919

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

Pas.

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

. . .1*
... 11

. . .12

... 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
. . .79

... .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.

BOARD OP TRUHTKBB
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
arisen.

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.

ST. NICHOLAS

Vol. XLVIl

NOVEMBER, 1919

No. 1

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

BY SAMUEL SCOVILLE, JR.

Author of "Boy Scouts in the Wilderness

CHAPTER I

THE ARGONAUTS

"Fifty thousand dollars I" said big Jim Don-
egan.

"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

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

[Nov.,

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.

«i

t*i

1919.1

nOY SCOUTS IN THE MORTH

"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
exclaimed.

Joe shook his head, doubtfully.

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

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

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
years."

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-
turbed.

"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
astonishment.

"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
along."

"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."

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

[Nov..

"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

191$.1

BOY SCOWS IN rut NORtH

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
distance."

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
expect."

"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

RA66tiDY CROW

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.

continued)

RAGGEDY CROW

By ELEANORE MYERS JEWITT

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 !

J.AtBBRT OF eei,GlUll FLVIMC A

S IHS E14CUSH CUAHNBL.

WHEN HIS MAJESTY FLIES-OR TAKES COVER

By HENRY WOODHOtlSE

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-

WHEN HIS MAJESTY FLIES — OR TAKES COVER

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
olograph.

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-
jected.

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.

ALBERT, PRIKCB Ot WALES, piLoiina E

WHEN HIS MAJESTY FLIES — OR TAKES COVER

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.

INo'

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-

WHEN HIS MAJESTY FUES — OR TAKES COVER

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.

r THE WESTSHN f

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

WHEN HIS MAJESTY FLIES — OR TAKES COVEJi

[Noi

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

ATTENDINC TUB PenCE

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

1919.1

WHEN HIS MAJESTY FLIES — OR TAKES COVER

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
killed.

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,

WHEN HIS MAJESTY FLIES — OR TAKES COVER

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,

THE CRIMSON PATCH

By AUGUSTA HUIELL SEAMAN

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

CHAPTER I

SUITE NUMBER 403

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
comforted.

"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

THE CRIMSON PATCH

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

THE CRIMSON PATCH

[Nov.,

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?"

CHAPTER n

FRIENDS OR ENEMIES?

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?"

"Swiss."

"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

me.

»»

"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.

1919.]

THR CRIMSON PATCH

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,

tHU CRIMSON PATCH

[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
tray.

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

"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-

1515.1

THE CRIMSON fATCM

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
acquaintance.

"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.

(THE WONDERING BOY: SIXTH BALLAD)
By CLARA PRATT MEADOWCROFT

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.

. SWAM THE WONDERING BOY

THE AWENTure of the WATER-KMIGHT

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.

FOR BOYS WHO. DO THINGS

PACKING-BOX VILLAGE^— II

By A. RUSSELL BOND

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.

THE MITER-BOX

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.

A CARPENTER'S LEVEL

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

;?Q

PACKING-BOX VILLAGE

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.

A TWO-ROOM
COTTAGE

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
room.

FOUNDATIONS

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

ns.s.

Rg.H.

■'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

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

[Nov..

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.

DOORS AND WINDOWS

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 COTTAGE ROOF

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

I».]

PACKING-BOX VILLAGE

Rg.ll

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
overlaps.

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
laid.

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,

.Rg.ia

BUILDING THE
PORCH

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

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

[NOT<

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 BALUSTRADE

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.

continued)

BRIDGE-BUILDING FOR BOYS

By CHARLES K. TAYLOR

MAKING A BOWSTRING SPAN

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.

PIG. I. THE BLACK DOTS INDICATE THE STAKES

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

BRIDGE-BUILDING FOR BOYS

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

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

CNov.,

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

'"*' BRtDGK-BUILDING FOR BOYS 37

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

POR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

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-

AN "X" FOOT-BRIDGE

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,

BRIDGE-BUILDING FOR BOYS

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
bridge.

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.

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

A "TRIPOD" FOOT-BRIDGE

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
"tripods."

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.

THE QUEEN'S MESSENGER

BY LELIA ENDERS

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

THE QUEEN'S MESSENGER

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

THE QUEEN'S MESSENGER

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.

CHILDREN'S BOOK-WEEK

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.

MAKING YOUR OWN LIBRARY

By ANNIE CARROLL MOORE

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

MAKING YOUR OWN LIBRARY

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
countries.

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,

BOOK HOUSES

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
achieved.

BOOK HOUSES

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON

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.

FROM DRAB TO GOLD

By ADRIADNE GILBERT

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-

FROM DRAB TO GOLD 49

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
v.as 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

tt TBS JOLLV

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

INlT

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
child-heart:

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
wonder."

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.

9.]

FROM DRAB TO GOLD

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
jelly."

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

FROM DRAB TO GOLD

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-

EPriB, tat UTTU BSROINB OF "SILAS uarnBk"

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.] .

FROM DRAB TO GOLD

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-

FROM DRAB TO GOLD

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

A KIND OF SPPIB M0TI9"

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."

INDOOR FOOTBALL THAT
EVERY BOY CAN PLAY

By RALPH W. KINSEY

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
excitedly.

"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
monotony.

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
developments.

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-
cation.

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.

INDOOR FOOIPBALL THAT EVERY BOY CAN PLAY

[Nov.

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

HARVARD

15 ao 25

FIRST HALF

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

DIAGRAM FOR TH8 FIRST HAI,F OF A GAMS OF INDOOR FOOTBALL.

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

1919.]

INDOOR FOOirBALL THAT EVERY BOY CAN PLAY

(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
done.

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

INDOOR l^OOTBALL THAT EVfiRY BOY CAN PLAY

[Nov.,

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-
mouth.

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.
Bucknell.

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

1919.]

INDOOR I^OOTBALL THAT EVERY BOY CAN PLAY

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:

Aver-

Touch-

Player

Position

Halves Points age

downs Goals

Chadwick

R.E. •

30.5

2.3

Hogan

R.T.

4.7

Jones

R.G.

28.5

3.1

Morton

R.G.

19.S

2.9

Hoyt

X.2

Bloomer

L.G.

4.8

Jones

L.T.

4.2

Leavenworth L.T.

i7S

2.8

Shevlin

L.E.

83.5

6.4

Rockwell

Q.B.

55.5

4.6

4 4

Kinney

Q.B.

3-2

Owsley

R.H.

35.5

3.3

Glass

R.H.

9-5

1.9

Lcvinc

L.H.

38.5

2.9

Bowman

F.B.

75-5

4-7

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.

THE AMETHYST SET

By GEORGE MERRICK MULLETT

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
surfaces."

'"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
memories."

"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,

THE AMETHYST SET

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
jewelry."

"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
for."

"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

THE AMETHYST SET

[Not.,

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

19.1

THE AMETHYST SET

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

S IT— WHO COULD r CASPBD STLVIA," (SIS MgXT PACK)

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

THE AMETHYST SET

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
day."

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

DYNAMITE AND A I^LASH OI^ UChTNING

ov.

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
hole."

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

""■> DYNAMITE AND A FLASH OF LIGHTNING 6

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.

DYNAMITE AND A FLASH OF LIGHTNING

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
banged."

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 !"

LEWIS RUSSEL WRITES TO PHIL
GREGORY

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

LEWIS RUSSEL WRITES TO PHIL GREGORY

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.

THE STORY OF OUR LITTLE THEATER

Ry GRACE HUMPHREY

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
reply.

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-

^»

THE STORY 01^ OUR LITTLE THEATER

tWov.

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
mechanical
drawing
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

OUR LITTLE

THEATRE

RBBIVBD SBAT^ 10. » AND « CINn

A TICKJtT OF ADMISSION

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
play."

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

THE STORY OF OUR LITTLE THEATER

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
^>pliquM.

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."

THE LEAGUE DEBATE

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

By EDWARD N. TEALL

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.

THE GALE FROM THE GULF

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

THE WATCH TOWER

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?

CARDINAL MERCIER

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.

THE NEW BRITISH AMBASSADOR

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-

ways

. be
nthe

MBBCtKB ACXHOWUtDGIHC HtS WttCtUtt AT

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

THE WATCH TOWER

l^ov..

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
Grey.

OM. BOSTON, BOSTON!

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!

PREPAREDNESS AGAIN!

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!

THE CHAMPION HIGH-FLIER

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 —

THE WATCH TOWER

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

lOLARD tLOUl,te, AtTtX HIS BSCOKD-IUSAKIHC
AI^ITUDE FLIGHT

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 !

LOOK OUT: HERE 'S A SERMON!

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-
handle.

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
quitting.

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

THROUGH THE TELECOPE

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, .

GEKEKAL PER SI

r SALUTE BEStDB THE LIBERTY BELL IN PHILADELPHIA

NATURE AND SCIENCE FOR YOUNG FOLKS

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

BY WILLIAM IL EASTOX

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

NATURE AND SCIENCE FOR YOUNG FOLKS

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
elevator.

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 loo.ooo-horse-powcr 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 \

NATURE AND SCIENCE POR YOUNG FOLKS

no. 3. TBI GUAT SPINDLS BSIMQ UnVBUO V.

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
does.

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
ADVENTURES OP FRIDAY

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
beginning.

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

NATURE AND SCIENCE FOR YOUNG FOLlCs

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-
ture.

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

PUSAY UKBS CICAUSTTfiS

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-
ture.

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

9-1

NATURE AND SCIENCE POR YOUNG EOLKS

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-
venture.

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
scampering
here and there,
investigating
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,
Friday

thi

sHovviNO ins I'HKv-tY PAWS slecplng-bag
every day, for
it sits close to the radiator and is such a cozy
spot.

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.

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

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.

PRIZE COMPETITION No. 237.

(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 Z.is-
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.

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

A RED-LETTER DAY

BT lU-VIA WUHPERLICH (aCI (6)

(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

"NEATH SPREADING BOUGHS

BV BXUK I_ BUUUOHS (a« Ij)

(Honor Mtmbgr)
TBOU, whoM hooghs have tossed 'mid storm and

Or heav'nward itretefaed themselves, serene ami
high.

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.

A RED-LETTER DAY

BT JOHTHIHB F. WELLS (aG> I4)

(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.

A RED-LETTER DAY
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 '

far

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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

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

A RED-LETTER DAY

BV rHILUS A, WHITBEY (ACB IS)

(^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.

A RED-LETTER DAV

(^ Trut Slory)

BV DOEtOTBV JEANNE WtLLEB (aCB m)

(Silver Badge)

N'evER had I been so lonely ae 1 v.as 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?

'MEATII SPREADING BOUGHS

(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.

outdoors.

weet sumi

rtier

days

vhcn (

me cai

1 live 0.

Who do.

Dt lo

this

hese radi

}m\«

lauty

To the I

■igh

hilb

and 11

Ingers

the

nd paints

: in

glor

as spl

cnJor

all

the

St I

A CBEurui. icijEcr."

THANKSGIVING— A RED-LETTER DAY

BV FRANCES STEWART (ACE I4)

(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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

•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.

A RED-LETTER DAY

DY KUTH H. THOBP (aC8 II)

■ 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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

all is clear to m« aj thpush it had happened but
yetterday.

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
boughs
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"

A BED-LETTER DAY

■Y BOSAUOHD TUCE-IB (AQS II>

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 ■

A RED-LETTER DAY,

> (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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

:H»e«FUi. suBjicr."

(siLvu unci.)

yellow.

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.

■NEATH SPREADING BOUGHS

Sr UABY aARRIBT WH118 (ACg Ij)

{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 RED-LETTER DAY

(A True Slory)

BV EATHABIKB MATTHIE3 (aCB I^)

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-

A RED-LETTER DAY

■ V UABCEKV SAtlNDEIS (aCB la)

(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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

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 .

A RED-LETTER DAY

IS)

{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.

XEATH SPREADING BOUGHS

BV DONALD [■.*V HOBLVSOK (Ar.E U)

[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.

rooklcl

; 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.

A RED-LETTER DAY

{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.

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

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-

A RED-LETTER DAY

BY DOROTHY CKKEN (aCE IJ)

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 j-.ist so happy
Daddy hi;;pcd

ihett

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

MY RED-LETTER DAY

(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.

•NEATH SPREADING BOUGHS

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!"

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

IN,

A RED-LETTER DAY

•V XLItABCTH POWLES (aGS 11)

{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.

SPECIAL MENTION

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.

Turner PHOTOGRAPHS

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

A RED-LETTER DAY

* (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

ROLL OP HONOR

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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

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

DRAWIMGS

Shnberd
Anne I. Faolkocr
DoTothj Gliddcn

Catharine E.

Scharler
Uura A. Smitb
Harr U. Kern
DoTotbT Heinlie
Kathnmc A.

Srivw M. Kurwr
QlcD Hallowdl

Southard, Jr.
Eleanor D.

Nobtc
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-

Hillrr
Marian Parr
Olive Z.Mulford
Katharine S,

Conning
Eliiabeihoudler
Mary N- Greer
Vi.iirini.JL.

Enii™BBldwin
Alice A. Waller
Dorothr Van A.

Fuller
Rath Van Wigner
France* M. Froal
Elizabeth

Hamburger

CoDitance T.

Fraocea Forbe*

, PHOTOGRAPHS

I Martha C, Dukea

Barbara 5. Tbarer
Ruth Hungcrford
lant A- Carllon
Jean Guntber
Emelrn W,«
Cecile M.

Creveling
Helen M. Hagei
lone Finch
Vincent P. Jenfcin.

PUZZLES

Mona Mornn

BeuieH.^mpaon
Kboda Hellman
Jean Oflner
Harriott S, Collier
Hilda J. Miller

Eliubelh Adan
lean Crawford
Helen E. Mosb

KIS;

itaell Mar; F. Bond

'°7'Bon

PRIZE COMPETITION No. 241

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
full.

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

RULES

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.

EDITORIAL NOTES

ST. NICHOLAS AND THE CHILDREN'S

BOOK-WEEK

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.

A CORRECTION

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
proof.

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"

DY MAJIY E. SOUTH WICK (aCE h)

'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.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER

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.-

CHARADB

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

IS).

CEOCRAPHtCAL DIAGONAL

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,

WORD-SQUARE
t. A bird. a. A bird. 3. To turn away. 4. Cour-
age, j. To go in.

EVtLVM HRVUAHN (age 13), htaguf Member.
ENDLESS CHAIN
(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.

Her

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.

METAMORPHOSES

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.

NOVEL ACROSTIC

(.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).

DOUBLE CROSS-WORD ENIGMA

(Silver Badge, ST. Nicholas Lkacuk Coupeti'
My firsts are in Cbickamauga. but not in

Run;

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 ;

Bull

My fifths are in Fort Donelson, bat not in Cold
Harbor:

My sixths are in Gettysburg, but not in Cedar
Creek;

My sevenths are In Appomattox, but not in Fred-
ericksburg ;

My eighths are in Fort Sumter, but not in Perry-
Tille.
My whole name two battles of the Civil War.

[UBSY (age i3>:

CONNECTED DIAMONDS

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.

CSS, PURELY VEQCTABLE. INFANTS' AND CHILDREN'S
CH AND BOWEL REQULATOR, FORMULA ON EVERY LABEL

OUARANTEED NON-NARCOTIC-NON.ALCOHOUC

Make. Baby Coo and Crow

et of health in infancy is keeping the stomach functioning
ind bowels open by using the safe, guaranteed preparation

?S. WIN SLOWS

SYRUP

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
ANGLO-AMERICAN DRUG COMPANY

— ^ 215-217 Fulton St., Naw York

^- General StlllngAtcnl,

HAROLD F. RITCHIE A CO., Ine.
Naw Yoifc Toronto, Can.

Unde:r.we:a.s

" 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

COFFEE

In thiw tiMMMllng faahion, coA«« irau uervad
ia lint ooart of Louia XIV: —

"la gorgeous eoahiBioa, on bar.dad 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
banquet

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.

DrrLyoivs

^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

COLGATE A CO.

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

BLUE GRASS
HLd BROADWAY

By MARIA THOMPSON DAVIESS

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
readera,

"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

By LEE THAYER

"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

THE CENTURY CO.

Conspicuous nose pores

Tiow h reduce .ihent

^fcBfci^

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

Mpl^W

Soapl

'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.

BUSHELS OF FUN

Playing Railroading with

SL^^^^GE

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
delegate.

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

Absorbme.J!

because it gives prompt relief from
aches and pains, is safe and pleasant
to use and is positively harmless.

Girls Like

AbsorbmeJ'^

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

AbsorbineJ'^

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.

Furthermore

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
minerals.

Afaaorbhia, Jr. 91-25 >

bottl* at tlmffuU or

pottpahT

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.

RICE & HUTCHINS, Inc.
17 High Street Boston, Mau.

■■■ RIC£ A HUTCHINS

FDUCATO^

— - — 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

3-IN-ONE

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

KAZOO

▼ASupport/6' I^nts «™a Hose

Agts 4 to 18
HARRIS SUSPENDER CO.

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

ST. NICHOLAS STAMP PAGE

.■ Samuel R. Sin

Usi

STAMPS OF THE ARMISTICE
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 Germ.in. 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 h.is 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

The!

; 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.

last

stamps from Fi

andsc

This

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
cuously

This

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
printed.

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)

ST. NICHOLAS STAMP DIRECTORY

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.

8C0TT STAMP 4 COIN CO.
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.

DARnAIN^ EACH S£T 5 CENTS

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.

CHAMBKBS STAMP CO ., Ill O NaSHAU STREET, NBW YORK ClTT

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.

STAMPS 29 VARIETIES DNUSEO, FREE to all sending
for our approval sheets at 60% discount. Postage 2 cents
Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Tolbdo.Oboio

hinges:l";:2

-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.

FREE

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.

GENUINE U. S. AND FOREIGN STAMPS On Approval.
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

10,<wo

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.

BONANZA BARGAIN OFFER

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.
FENNELL STAMP CO., DKPT. S.

FULLERTON BLDG.. ST. LOXTIS, MO.

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.

'TAMPSt

_ 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.

AGENTS WANTED
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

approval.

A. C. nouoi^.A'^. Routhampton, Ont."

lUfOOM I-atest NEW EUROPE ijwues at Net prices.
tv^^-'Vyiv Standard varlctif^s at Ilboial Discounts.

BEAMS

PRE.MIUMS
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-

_ _ . . . •

STAMPS FREE, 60 ALL DIFFERENT

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

ZOO

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

■iHiiiaillllllilBllll^

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
tiBjvihnt,

Dean MedldiM ConpaB^

'mentholated
GODGHllniK

WIRE

[i"7i"

wire fencr^

lUuat^ated Boolu DtHcrlbing' Uaea. FREE

Awriran Sled & Wire Co. '- ■■«*J'H,'EiA!do* '^ '

ai.f*,ln OlfeMafUKfh

/BOifS & GIRLS EARN XMAS MONEY \

I BRdMaSps-kwoMOlirFunaul Punmio Chtlnm*A
£■]«. 8(41 [dTlOo k pukice, WIicBUUI lend ulSl.MKnd

RANKS

THE NEW GAME CRAZE

IMHT F*ECIN«TINa EDUCITIONU,

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Odb WeeUf Leiier Tor One

HOLLOW TREE. COOK

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

DAISY MANUFACT

DAISY

AHIMATETOV WFG. C0..3t E, 17th St . HEW YORK

A Worth While

Christmas Gift-

ItBringHappineufor aUfetimc

rhere is no gift that will give more
happiness than a

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Order Now 5^S!.''_^mw S'TS^'S'

ROCHE'S HERBAL EMBROCATION FOR

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WHOOPING COUGH

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The A.B.C. Adjustable Car

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS FROM 2 TO 5 YEARS

*'^"'STS TO THREE SIZES

GROWS WITH THE CHILD

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

CHICAGO ILLINOIS

TOY BUILDING BLOCKS

Patented Ijuly 2. 1918

iKONSTRUCTOf

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

instructive

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

OREGON NEW YORK CrTY 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

BIG PRIZE CONTEST-
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

THE A. C. GILBERT COHPANY

130 BlitcU«r:AT«., NEW HAVEN, CONN.

atdMi Tk A. CjerLBEBT HENZIESCIHFAIIT/LM.. Ton

ec.elg*l.MtoUS.

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

BlofKadt^

Prim tl-ES <o t^t.M.
(In Canada, i3.U to SII.J

A deiightfully dainty
(In Canada U.TE.>

SetalScI
lo»l.W.)

W.»»

(In

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.....

NICHOLAS FOR 1920

PUBLISHER'S PRELIMIN'ARV ANNOUNCEMENT

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

A DEPARTMENT
FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

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.

BIOGRAPHY AND INSPIRATION

.^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-
printing!

^(A^■UFACTURERS• AIRCRAFT ASSOCIATION, Inc.

ST. NliltOLA

Magazine,

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

"BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH"

BY SAMUEL SCOVILLE. JR.
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

^sfcrn"

, 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

vid

report of »

hat goes on

ther

Th«

AlLAKTIC MOMTB

..V hM print*

;d 1

everal of Mi

:. S«oville-a

naiu:

%s;

d calU him

-the be«t of

naturalists"

[| nosth"

"st

St'S.:

.£ T.'\i

reade

ral-hislorj pap

by Mr. ^c™

ie Be

S^J

t'l of"!

Ihe Wilderai

Slorjr that wi

ill hold an*

The

chara

lalfint

w lerial, and St. Nicnou

«.d •

^Wber."'

ofyoi

ithful courage ind grit in

'■B.

DT Seouu in

the North."

"THE MYSTERY OF THE SEA-LARK"

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.

"THE CRIMSON PATCH"

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

"THE TREASURE-CHEST OF
THE MEDRANOS"

BY ELIZABETH HOWARD ATKINS

and for everyone who enjoy, a beaulituUy-t.

ald-slory. The Kcne t

.laid

In the California of a century ago when Ihe

Spanish dons and gra

were in possession and lived in almost regj

bac"

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

high-

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.

SHORT STORIES. FUN, ETC.

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
organization.

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

CONTENTS OF ST. NICHOLAS FOR DECEMBER, 1919.

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 ' ■ ■ •
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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

ST. NICHOLAS

>L. XLVII DECEMBER, 1919 Na

CopTrisht, 1919, br Thb Cikiuiv Co. All r[ghti r««r*ed

THE CABALLERO AND T

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
Pazo.

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-

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

lOI

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
startling.

"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
saying.

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
lips.

"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.

102

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

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
immediately."

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
miaf*

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,

104

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

VUsc.

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
come."

Poor Aunt Serafina sighed. Her dolorous
expression would have wrung a heart of
stone.

"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
governor."

"Aunt Serafina," Felisa began.
"Yes?"

"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
aunt.

*'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-
stand.

"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

l».l

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

loS

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
shells."

Ysabella bent down and kissed the little old
lady.

"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"

CHAPTER n

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!"

FEARS AND AN

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
see.

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.

io6

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

[Dec.

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-
boso.

"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
wedding-gown."

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
Pazo.

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-
ment.

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-
gown.

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-
miration.

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

1919.]

THE TREASURE-CHEST OE THE MEDRANOS

107

-■•I i

1 arranging the

mouth was fuU of pins,-

"Where?"

"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.

io8 THE REAL ST. NICK

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)

THE REAL ST. NICK

By FLORENCE BOYCE DAVIS

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

(THE tVANDERlNC BOY : SEVENTH BALLAD)

By CLARA PLATT MEADOWCROFT

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."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE HIGH KING

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.

ONE MINUTE LONGER''

By ALBERT PAYSON TERHUNE

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
people."

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
meaning.

112

"ONE MINUTE LONGER" 113

"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?"

114

*'ONE MINUTE LONGER"

[Dec,

Wolf did not "get it." But he wagged his
tail hopefully, his eyes alight with bewildered
interest.

"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
boy.

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
ice.

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 '
lake-bed.

His outflung hands struck against the ice
on the edges of the air-hole, and clung there.

"ONE MINUTE LONGER"

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

ii6

"ONE MINUTE LONGER"

ID«c.

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
air-hole.

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
again.

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
bone.

"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-
ferings.

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

ii8

"ONE MINUTE LONGER"

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
waiting-room.

One of these, the telegraph operator, took in
the scene at a single glance. With great pre-
sence of mind he bawled loudly:

"MAD DOG!"

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
citement.

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

1*19.1

■'ONE MINUTE LONGER"

119

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.
Then—"

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-
nized.

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
followed.

"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

■■%,

,^«=!a

iTra^^csia-u"

By MRS. JOHN T. VAN SANT

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

THE SCAMPER CHILDREN

By SEYMOUR BARNARD

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

cried,
"If all the Scamper Children

tried!"
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

By MRS. JOHN T. VAN SANT

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

THE SCAMPER CHILDREN

By SEYMOUR BARNARD

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

cried,
"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.

THE SCAMPER CHILDREN

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
Topped
Atop p

Around
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
Theyb*
And sn

[-.^U~

3i a*t?-^l^

THE SCAMPER CHILDREN

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-

chimney-flue
'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

hop,

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

doIm,
And back came Scamper Girls and

Boys.

'-»>/-- "-■ ■. ' /-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 g.ve 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-
versity."

"You mean the society is paying all his ex-
penses for the ycnr?" gentle old Mr. Thompson
.".sked,

"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 ICE-CRE'AM-SODA SPIRIT

127

''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
soul."

"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
munificence.

"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 ;

128

THE ICE-CREAM-SODA SPIRIT

[Dec.

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
share.

**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
gold-"

"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
fingers.

"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
incredulously.

Kathleen nodded, looking back at the pearls.
which the clerk wa« replacing in the window.

THE ICE-CREAM^ODA SPIRIT

139

"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
omamcnL

"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,

"SHB STOFFU I

CAM UHCIHCLV AT It."

"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*

136

THE ICE-CREAM-SODA SPIRIT

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
interest.

"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

"■OH. THEY 'RE BEAUTIFULI' SAID KATHLEEN" (SEE NEXT PAGE)

THE ICE-CREAM -SODA SPIRIT

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

[Dae..

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-
sey."

"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-
light

"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

A CHRISTMAS ERROR

133

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
lutely.

"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!"

A CHRISTMAS ERROR

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.

BOY SCOUTS OF THE NORTH

By SAMUEL SCOVILLE. JR.

Author of "Boy Scouta in the Wilderness"

SYNOPSIS OF THE FIRST INSTALMENT.

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.

CHAPTER II

THE MILE RUN

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
Adams.

"I 'm here to sec fair play." rumbled the
lumber-king.

"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
another.

''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
speeches.

"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

134

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

135

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

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

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> •* *^»

1919J

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

137

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

83S

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

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
sensation.

"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
stand.

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

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

L UEAKU THE K

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.

140

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH

"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.

1919.]

THE CHALLENGE

141

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)

THE CHALLENGE

By ARTHUR WALLACE PEACH

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

MERRY CHRISTMAS, MISS BLAKELY!"

By LINDA STEVENS ALMOND

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
down.

"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

m."

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
feelings.

"And I have brouglit you a present," Jane
went on, blissfully unmindful of her frigid re-
ception.

"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-
child?"

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."

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, MiaS BLAKELY"

'43

"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,
William."

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

144

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, MISS BLAKELY"

[D«c.,

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
Blakely.

"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
give.

"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
.cake."

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-
fruit."

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
eyes.

"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.

1»19.1

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, MISS BLAKELY"

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
other."

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

146

"MERRY CHRISTMAS, MISS BLAKELY"

tDec.

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
road.

"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.
Maybe—"

"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-
ly!"

"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-
mas."

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
room.

"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.

^•*'J "MERRY CHRISTMAS, MISS BIW^KELY" 147

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.

"'WHY. r DON'T UNHERSTAND,' SHE SAID. WITH A PUZZLED FACE"

THE CRIMSON PATCH

149

"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
to.be 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"

THE CRIMSON PATCH

By AUGUSTA HUIELL SEAMAN

Author of "T|ie Boarded-up House," "The Slipper-Point Mystery," etc., etc

SYlsFOPSIS OF THE FIRST INSTALLMENT

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.

CHAPTER III

THE SHADOW ON THE WAtt

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

150

THE CRIMSON PATCH

[Dsc,

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
breakfast.

"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
arm.

"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
kindness."

"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

191^.3

THE CRIMSON I>ATCM

igi

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
appearance.

"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.

152

THE CRIMSON PATCH

tT>«c..

"Tell me," Patricia suddenly asked— "that
is, if you don't mind — what nationality are
you? I had thought perhaps you were
French."

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
Antwerp."

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«»J THE CRIMSON PATCH 153

"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

154

THE CRIMSON PATCH

[Dsc.

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.

CHAPTER IV

THE CRIMSON PATCH

"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

woman.

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
further.

In the two weeks that elapsed after the fore-
going incident, the friendship between the girls
increased, after a fashion, but Patricia was at

1910.1

THE CRIMSON PATCH

155

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
her.

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-
poel

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
'nhone.

"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
calmer.

"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.

'5^

THE CRIMSON PATCH

tD«e,.

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-
self."

"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

^'ilM

TtiE CRIMSON t>ATCM

*57

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,

iToht

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^

continued)

And he could n't abide the least delay.
But wanted his will at once, they say.

THE DISCONTENTED LITTLE PRINCE

Hvfi'

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!"

THE DISCONTENTED LITTLE PRINCE

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.

THE DISCONTENTED LITTLE PRINCE

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

THE DISCONTENTED LITTLE PRINCE

THfi DISCONTENTED LITTLE PRINCE

PACKING-BOX VILLAGE— III

By A. RUSSELL BOND

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.

THE ELL-SHAPE COTTAGE

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

1«4

fOK BOYS WHO t>0 THINGS

i6S

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.

DORMER-WINDOWS

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

t66

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

[Dae..

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

Frg.g.

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
A,

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

A DUTCH STOOP

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

19I9.1

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

i«?

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

WINDOW-BOXES

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)

A SEE-SAW MERRY-GO-ROUND

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

t6B

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

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
VIEW

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"
long.
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.

THE SEEDS OF REVOLUTION

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
War.

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,

By EDWARD N. TEALL

whether the interests of any minority could
prevail over the interests of the nation as a
whole.

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

I70

THE WATCH TOWER

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-

A CRUSADES or THE BED CB033

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
iob!

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-
zation.

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.

THE ROOSEVELT FLAG

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
school.

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.

THE WATCH TOWER

UBMOHIAL FLAS,

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.

ITALY AND AMERICA

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."

THE KING OF THE BELGIANS

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-
day?"

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,

THE WATCH TOWER

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.

FLYING TO FRISCO

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.

THE WATCH TOWER

THROUGH THE WATCH TOWER'S
TELESCOPE

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
voters.

"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

NATURE AND SCIENCE FOR YOUNG FOLK

TIMBBR-WOLVES IH NEW YORK CITY

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-
mined.

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.

FORBSTALLIHO THB BPRIHO

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
house.

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-

176

NATURE AND SCIENCE FOR YOUNG FOLK

[Dvc..

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-

I. COVEBHIIBHT

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-

1919.]

NATURE AND SCIENCE FOR YOUNG FOLK

177

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-
ness.

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.

A QUEER BONFIRE

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.

NATURE AND SCIENCE FOR YOUNG FOLK

A ROPE MATTRESS

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.

FROST HtlSIC

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.

"UP THE SKY FAIRWAY"

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK

LETTERS

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

PRIZE COMPETITION No. 238.

(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.>

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

WHEN CHRISTMAS CHIMES ARE RINGING

BV UAaiOH BIAtCHrORD (aCB tS)

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

HOME FOR CHRISTUAS

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

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS.
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

184

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

WHEN CHRISTMAS CHIMES ARE RINGING

■Y WILLia FAIT UHK (ACE l5)

(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

A CHRISTMAS HOME-COMING

BY A. APFLBTON PACKAKD, JR. (aCE I4)

{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 f.ir
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.

^ fAHILIAa OBJKCT.

(JUVW

A CHRISTMAS HOME-COMING

BV RUDORA v. I11.AK5.NEV (aOE IJ)

(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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

■8S

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
Chriitmas.

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

"This

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

WHEN CHRISTMAS CHIMES ARE RINGING

BV UABTHEDLrH FCTRNAS (aCE 15)

(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;.

WHEN CHRISTMAS CHIMES ARE RIXGING

(Silt

■ Badge)

A CHRISTMAS HOME-COMING

» (AC

I')

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

ST. NICHOLAS LKAGUR

.87

CHRISTMAS CHIMES

BY DOBOTTIV E. REVNOLDS (ACB I7)

(_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"

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

■ V POROTHV JEANKS UILLtl (aCE I4)

{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

clev

i think of s

fould be hoi

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

[Dk..

I 16 [

I W. BUKEU, JL,

WHEN CHRISTMAS CHIMES ARE RINGING

BV EU>ISe fVVt BURT (aCB I5)

(_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."

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS.

BV ADELAWe HUMPHREY (ACK I3)

{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.
Crofton.

"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"

SPECIAL MBNTtON

PHOSE

Frtd Fleyd. Jr.
IncM A. ilitltr

RHih Bt-aaki '
LBuist Cuyler

Frit«,„ Forbri

Alkt F. Mnulto

Eliiab't"^ Suiimi

Lou D. HbI<

Rosamond II

Eddy

PHOTOGRAPHS

Dorii L(«l>art
Mary E. SiocUbi,
ilWloB H. SlaUiT
Edith R. PtHtM

ilan^nt Wart
Kolt,»intA.

Wailtr
Ruth S. Baker
1 Eleanor L. Roy
Mary D. mill
Hope Robinion
John C. D'tier

«"T„W»

DRAWINGS

Uargartt Hyit
Dorothy Fan

Aridil, Fulltr
Elinor E, Colby

Cu-nintham
Beriha M.
DtBinneU

Josef hine Co:vIe
We/don Melick

'- Priicilla Haeelton

Dorothy P. K.

Deahy
Dorothy Miner
Klhleeu M«rrt-

ST. NICHOIfAS LEAGUE

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

ROLL OP HOKOR

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
DRAWINGS

fcE-

Eunice W.

Cameron

Winifrrf J.

Uurtr.ce B

lMbtTle'l!!''Ell><

Lijowrtf

Goodrich

Phalli) B. Hwlgei

Grace W. Allen

Chirlei Pill

P-Jf?

I Caiher:

fe«.i.n>io J.ni«Thomp™

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

VERSE

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.

PRIZE COMPETITION No. 241

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

RULES

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.

THE LETTER-BOX

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
remain,

Your most devoted reader,

SUNAO PuNAStt.

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
Dell.

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).

190

>C Htih-ten. hTphcn.

;. 2. Rolland. 1. Srokani
6, JadooEL 7. GUflEOW.

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN NOVEMBER NUMBER
itl. Ulc. T»lt. tide

. Windbam.

Hand, haTd. hare, fan

6. Pii<

, ]in<

nint

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.

REVERSALS

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
r*dert».

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.)

ENDLESS CHAIN

utensils.
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

pun

take the

make a rinf of wood U

exclamatio

of
around a caslc

rmpt.

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.

ILLUSTRAICD NUMERICAL ENIGMA

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.

CROSS-WORD ENIGMA

{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).

NOVEL ACROSTIC

{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).
DIAGONAL

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.

TRIPLE BEHEADINGS AND TRIFLE CURTALINCS

] 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
Geld.

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.

ST. NICHOLAS STAMP PAGE

Conducted by Sahuec R- Simmons

NEW ISSUE
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.

CHRISTMAS
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

(Con/inued

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

coUec

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)

e
per

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

AUTOMATIC

Dancing Doll j

oag liui><l»d dil- j

= iunD(uiat.,UTaiT«st,BMtn.iu*.
miiiimiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiiiii

Stamp Saving it & faacinacing b"!"- Joi"
the ST. NlCHCa-AS STAMP CLUB nod
enjoy it* benefits and fun. We will aend
you B memberahip blank. If you ask for it.

KONSTRUCTO I

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

ANSWERS TO QUERIES

{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.

ICHOLA

DR BOYS AND

GIRLS

^v^r^^jjj^^^^^"

■'

i
i

-.->^.

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."

ST. NICHOLAS

JANUARY, 1920

I. by The CBtmiBv Co. All Tithu ruemd.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SHIP OF GLASS

(THE WONDERING BOY: EIGHTH BALLAD)

By CLARA PLATT MEADOWCROFT

"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?"

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SHIP OF GLASS

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.

"FAR OUT BE GAZED WITH AK ANXIOUS BYE OVER UILES OF FLOWERING FOAM"

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.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SHIP OF GLASS

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,
breathlessly.

"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 LAST EGG OF THE GREAT AUK

199

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

us.

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.

200

THE LAST EGG OF THE GREAT AUK

Uaiu

"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
called:

"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-
berg."

"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

THE LAST. EGG OF THE GREAT AUK

201

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

"%OOK, whitey!' CRIED JACK, POINTING. 'WHAT'S THAT?"' (SEE PAGE 203)

"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
small."

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
other.

"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,
sure."

This thought seemed to give Wliit^ new

202

THE LAST EGG OF THE GREAT AUK

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
you?"

"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
resting."

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

18.

Even as he spoke, a childish terror clutched his
heart and he half wished he had not spoken.

I920.J

THE LAST EGG OF THE GREAT AUK

203

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-
mg.

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-
pered.

"How can it be a polar bear?" questioned Jack,
rather shakily. "They can't curl up as small as
that?"

"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
cat!"

"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

204

THE LAST EGG OF THE GREAT AUK

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
way.

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.

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

By ELIZABETH HOWARD ATKINS

CHAPTER in

THE STRANGER

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
peacefully.

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-
ingly.

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.

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

207

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-
itance?"

"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
wall.

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
Barbara."

The stranger looked at Felisa more intently.

"Then thou art," he paused, "Seftorita Me-
drano?"

"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

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

"HE SWEPT OFF HIS SOMBRERO »

a A GRAND FLOURISH.

>, SEHORITAI' "

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
confessed.

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
came.

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,

IWO.J

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

209

no doubt, of the Medrano pearls?" she asked.

The stranger knit his brows in thought a
moment.

"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-
droflos.

Nino growled as he watched the retreating
horseman.

**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.

CHAPTER IV

THE ARRIVAL

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
listening.

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

210

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

Dan.

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
shabbiness.

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
bond!"

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
astonishment.

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
heels.
There she lay, luxuriously, upon piles of lovely

"FELISA WAS OVBKCOUK, SHE COULD N

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
miniature.

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."

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

211

CHAPTER V

THE FROBLEUS OF JUANCITO

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

'■ "WHAT IS WKONG, JUANCITO?' "

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.

212

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF tHE MEDRANOS

"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.

CHAPTER VI

THE INHERITANCE

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
pudding.

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,"

214

THE CHRISTMAS DREAM

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
fluttering.

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)

THE CHRISTMAS DREAM

By MARY M. FLATLEY

'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
*4-lavens

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
clothes
To make a small jacket for me

Then the giant laughed softly as evi
For he wished not to frighten t

BUT IT SOUNDED THE W

GIANT'S LAUGH WOUL!

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; .
^:^,^^

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE

By HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD

"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'.

SNOW STORIES

By SAMUEL SCOVILLE, JR.
"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

"BE HAD STOFFBD AND Dl]G DEEPLY INTO A KOTTEN LOG"

SNOW STORIES

217

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

"AT THE EDGE OF THE CLEARING HE HAD SIGHTED THE SKUNK AND STOPPED"

218

SNOW STORIES

Uan..

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
owl.

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

">.l

SNOW STORIES

21«

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

ICE DINNER land.

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

220

SNOW STORIES

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

"THE RABBrr SENSED SOUETBtNG ALAUIING COUINC FROU BEHIND" (SEE PAGE 222)

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.

SNOW STORIES

221

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.

"THE WEASEL, WHOSE LONG BODV UOVE3 LIKE THE UNCOILtHG OF A STEEL SPRING" (SEE NEXT PAGE)

bank, something moved. Before my astonished
eyes hopped falterii^ly, but bravely, a speckled
toad.

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^'

SNOW STORIES

Ejan

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

"TWO JUMPS LANDED HIU IN A SNOW-BANK"

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

x9ao|

A TROUBLESOME FELLOW

223

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.

A TROUBLESOME FELLOW

BY BENJAMIN F. LEGGETT

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!

THE STORY OF HOW A SQUIRE NAMED JEAN
FROISSART OUTWITTED A QUEEN-MOTHER, AND
A DRESS THAT BROUGHT WEALTH TO ENGLAND

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

PHILIPPA'S MEMORY GOWN

225

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

"THIS 1 SHALL WEAR WHEN I HIDE TO UV CORONATION AS QUEEN OF ENGLAND" (SEE PAGE ZZ7)

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

226

PHILIPPA'S MEMORY GOWN

Uan.

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

PHILIPPA'S MEMORY GOWN

227

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

required?"

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.

"ASD SOMETIMES THESE TWO— JEAN FROISSART AND GEOFFREY CBAUCBR HAD

E NEXT PAGE)

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

PHILIPPA'S MEMORY GOWN

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
Weavers."

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
Flanders.

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.

THE SEASONS

By ALICE C. ROSE

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.

"HE PICKED HIS WAT OVEE THE TRAILjTHAT LED UP TOWARD THE LIGHT" (SEE P

AT THE FOURTH LEVEL

By THEODORE HOLLAND

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
words.

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

AT THE FOURTH LEVEL

231

^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
ran.

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
grimly.

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
boss.

It was a weary time, waiting for the verdict
that meant so much to them, but at last Fleming
appeared.

"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.

232

AT THE FOURTH LEVEL

Daa.

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
chances.

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

jMo.] AT THE FOURTH LEVEL 233

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
below.

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

"THE LADDSK, FOR THAT REMAINING DISTANCE. WAS DESTROYED I" rested itslowereodon the

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

234

AT THE FOURTH LEVEL

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

', KIDI IT WILL DO VOU GOOD. DONT B

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.

i9ao.]

AT THE FOURTH LEVEL

235

"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

THE CRIMSON PATCH

By AUGUSTA HUIELL SEAMAN

Author of "The Boarded-up House," "The Sapphire Signet," etc., etc.

SYNOPSIS OF THE TWO PREVIOUS INSTALMENTS

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

CHAPTER V

WHO TOOK IT?

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
interest."

"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

336

THE CRIMSON PATCH

237

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.

CHAPTER VI

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

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

238

THE CRIMSON PATCH

Uan.

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-
pen,"

"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

THE CRIMSON PATCH
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
manage.

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

" 'WHEN THE LITTLE UAM'SELLE

the thought. She would wait and see what the
day's post brought. That would doubtless
explain.

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.

GRIF, SHE

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
queried.

"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

240

THE CRIMSON PATCH

IJaa..

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,
anyway."

"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
hotel?

"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.

.woj THE CRIMSON PATCH 241

"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-
opment.

CHAPTER VII

IXFT ALONE

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

242

THE CRIMSON PATCH

Uan..

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.

».l

THE CRIMSON PATCH

243

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.

(TabtcoMittKaO

I i

A SNOW BABY

THE SILENT MESSENGERS

By CORPORAL WILLIAM F. AVERY

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

CARRIER-PIGEON READY T

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
alertly.

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."

THE SILENT MESSENGERS

AMEBIC AN PtG BON-LOFTS IN PRANCE

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

246

THE SILENT MESSENGERS

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

SHOWING TUBE OPEN ns TWO PAETS) AND CLOSED

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

TTTPICAL FBENCH STATIONARY L(WT

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-

NMJ

THE SILENT MESSENGERS

247

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,

PBBFAKING A UBS9ACB IN TBB TRENCHES

248

THE SILENT MESSENGERS

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
before.

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.

ms GKEAT DOUB THAT BRUNBU.BSCHI BUILT F<

TWO FLORENTINE FRIENDS

By S. M. COLLMANN

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

250

TWO FLORENTINE FRIENDS

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

DONATEIXO'S

S OF ST. GBORCB

looks like a peasant; he should be more noble
lookii^E."

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
simply.

"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-

I910.)

TWO FLORENTINE FRIENDS

251

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

GATTAHBLATA, THE GREAT EQUESTRIAN STATUE BV DONATELLO

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

252

TWO FLORENTINE FRIENDS

U-r

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.

~A YOUNG FRINCELING OF THE ROUSE CXUEDICI"

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

:«!«).l

TWO FLORENTINE FRIENDS

253

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.

"AJOY0USBANI>O

V DONATELLO

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH; OR, THE BLUE PEARL

By SAMUEL SCOVILLE, JR.

Author of "Boy Scouts in the Wildemeas"

SYNOPSIS OF THE FIRST TWO INSTALMENTS

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.

CHAPTER III

OUTWARD BOUND

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
oysters."

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

254

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH; OR, THE BLUE PEARL

255

©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?"

256

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH: OR, THE BLUE PEARL

[Jan.

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
Dakota.

"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-
trail."

"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
Cheesay."

"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

19*0.1

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH; OR, THE BLUE PEARL

257

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
tip.

"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

one.'

"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
Fred.

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
that."

"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

258

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH; OR,' THE BLUE PEARL

(Jan.,

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?"

"Bo-bear."

"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

1920.]

BOY SCOUTS IN THE NORTH; OR, THE BLUE PEARL

259

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
serpent.

"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)

THE FUTURE DEMOCRACY OF AMERICA
AS OUR YOUNG FOLK SEE IT

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

Prologue:

"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.

THE FUTURE DEMOCRACY OF AMERICA

261

"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-

THB DRAB PAST

THE GOLDEM f

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
democracy!"

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,

THE KALEIDOSCOPIC PRESENT

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

THE FUTURE DEMOCRACY OF AMERICA

THE DANCE OF T

B FLOWBR-GATHEREKS

"AT A GIVEN CHORD, BACH CHILD HOLDS UP A FLOWER"

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"^^"^

DANCE OF THE LARGER GIBLS CAkRVING

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:

THE FUTURE DEMOCRACY OF AMERICA

263

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 !

FROM THE COURTESY

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.
I.et 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

THE FUTURE DEMOCRACY OF AMERICA

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."

SALtrriNG THE FLAG

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

sung,
To keep this banner spotless its kindred stars amonK )
No cloud on the field of azure — no stain on the rosy

bars-
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
democracy!"

(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
audience.)

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.]

PACKING-BOX VILLAGE— IV

By A. RUSSELL BOND

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 CAMP-STOOL

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

F7q.L

FTg.3.

llL.,A±.

legs should be cut off, so as to give them a broader
bearing on the floor.

THREE-LEGGED STOOL

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

365

266

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

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
seat.

A layer of hay or straw under the cloth will
make the stool more comfortable.

BARREL-STAVE CHAIR

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"
long.

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.

HALL CHAIR

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.

THE MORRIS 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.

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

267

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.

53-14.

FOLDING TABLE

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

squ.

5ti(

n.ANS FOR HALL CHAIB.

should be mounted on castors, and, if fitted with
generous cushions, will make a very comfortable
louogjng-seat.

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.

HAT-RACK

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)

CBAIR. FOLDING TABLE. AND HAT-KACK

268

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

A MERRY-GO-ROUND FOR THE
SKATING-RINK

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

6-0

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.

113

FOR BOYS WHO DO THINGS

269

TO MAKE A SKATE-SAIL

By LADD PLUMLEY

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
material.

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

HO*

FIG. 1

FIG. 5. THE CORRECT POSITION
WHEN THE SAILOR IS ON A
REACH" (SEE NEXT PAGE)

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.

270

THE SPOKEN WORD

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.

THE SPOKEN WORD

By E. TRYON MILLER (AGE 16)
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
Word.

THE OLD YEAR
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.

By EDWARD N. TEALL

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 TREATY

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

272

THE WATCH TOWER

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!

THE PRINCE OF WALES SEES THE
SIGHTS

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

O THE NATIONAL

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.

COMMANDER OF THE LEGION

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

i©ao.l

THE WATCH TOWER

273

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!

CHILD LABOR

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.)

THE FRENCH ELECTIONS

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.

COMMERCE WITHOUT CASH

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
house.

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

274

THE WATCH TOWER

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.

■PLANING TO THE ANTIPODES

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.

4 WHtCB THEY ItADK THE GKEAT

iswo.]

THE WATCH TOWER

275

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
with:

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 !

THROUGH THE WATCH TOWER'S

TELESCOPE

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!

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK

Verses by Mallie Lee Hausgen. lUustralions by Decie Merwin

THE SNOW MAN

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!

THE COZY KETTLE

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!

FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK

NURSERY RHYMES

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!

THE PORTRAIT
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 -

see!)
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,
and
. pose,
and
POSE!

_fcLiS

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

A BIADIKG FOB JANUART."

PRIZE COMPETITION No. 139
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.

"A GOOD TIME"

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

LOOKING AHEAD

BY ALICK CAHOLVN PAXSON (aCB I4)
(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.

WHEN EYELIDS CLOSE

BY WILLIS FAY LINK <AGE I6)

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!

A DANGEROUS VENTURE

; 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
captured.

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." .

WHEN EYELIDS CLOSE

BY FBCCY POND (aOB 1$)

(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!

A DANGEROUS VENTURE

D¥ SVLVtA LEWIS {AGB I3)

(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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

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.

WHEN EYELIDS CLOSE

BY VIKGINIA FOLLIN (ACS I4)

{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

LOOKING BACK

BY LOUISA BUTI.br 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.

A DANGEROUS VENTURE

BV PLORBNCB BGAUJBAN (aGB 13)

(.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
aight.

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

tight.
There 'a a tiny elfin, dreaming somewhere in the dark

to-night.
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."

"LOOKING BACK'-
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.

Oni

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.

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

(SILVBK BAIKC)

■A GOOD TIME"

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

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.

WHEN EYELIDS CLOSE

BY ROSAMOND W. BDDV (AGB IO)
(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.

LOOKING BACK

A DANGEROUS VENTURE

BV MAKGABBT StnUBRLAtlD (ACS I?)
(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
friends.

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

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

tBKnt. ACS 14.

"A GOOD TIME"

LOOKING AHEAD

LOOKING BACK

BT MARJORIB C. STONE (ACE I5)
(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.

WHEN EYELIDS CLOSE

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

chivalry.
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

sigh;
"I might have killed a dragon, had I lived in days gone

byi"
Then, slowly turning pages, he dropped his book at

last.
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

ground:
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

sight.
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
apple-tree,

He had learned a useful lesson from this knight of
chivalry;

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.

ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE

A DANGEROUS VENTURE

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?

A DANGEROUS VENTURE

(X Trut Slory)

BY HUTB R. SOUTHWICK (A0« II)

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
thebahf.-

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.

WHEN EYELIDS CLOSE

BV AI.LASE ABBOTT (AGB 8)

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.

SPECIAL MENTION
A lilt of thooe whose work would have been tued bad naa

A.P.Ci-oPt,
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

PROSE EliMObOM Blair

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

DRAWINGS

Annie H. Miiary

■I Badter

rlBaUmn
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
CuohnGUlk*
JeuGcufna
WiHa ClBpluie
Kahrya Stctnen
LyiUa RaMOD
Evdyn Ftnr
FraBkUnBoycr
LonkeH. Rom
AdalCRew

. EIh KiotmynB

Chailnte Cuihnua
GnccHaya
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
BlinSyniec
Cbailotte Whltini
Charlotte Reynold*
Cwenfretd E. Allen

Chauncey D StUl-

WHAT THE LEAGUE IS
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

PRIZE COMPETITION No. 342

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
May."

Puzsle. Must be accompanied by answer in
full.

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
Box.

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

RULES
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.

THE LETTER-BOX

EDITORIAL NOTE

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 DANGEROUS ADVENTURE
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).

386

THE
RIDDL&BOX

ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER

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
Pflgrima.

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.

CONNECTED SQUARES

2 .

I .

3 .

6 . .

3. A

3. A
Cul-

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.

DIAGONAL

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.

RHYMING BIRDS

{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).

387

DIAMtWID

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.

ILLUSTRATED ZIGZAG

THE RIDDLE-BOX

l^^uj

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

CROSS-WORD ENIGMA

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.

NOVEL ACROSTIC

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.

ABS NT VOWELS

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.

CHARADE

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.

KING'S MOVE Pt gyiK
(Silvtr Badtt. St. Nicholas L«ague Competition}

-k

■•

-is

I>\

■^

3fl

-r

4«

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..

STURDY CHILDREN

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

SCOTT'S EMULSION

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

CORBIN

SCREW CORPORATION

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
liniment.

Children Like

Absorbine.J-

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
work.

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., *i.is «
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.

ST. NICHOLAS STAMP PAGE

Conducted by Samuel R. Sihuons

PEACE STAMPS

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
advantage

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
possession.

WHAT .IS IT?

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

"WHAT IS n

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
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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)

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lilitt ImtluT Oiffmrtln'
Mr aj LiUy'l Pmtn.au
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

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■„ TnJ

WlndoAvs

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.)

CONTENTS OF ST. NICHOLAS FOR FEBRUARY, 1920

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
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THE CENTURY COMPANY, 353 Fourth Ave., at 26th St., New York, N. Y.

W. MORGAN SHUSTER. President GEORGE L. WHEELOCK Treasurer

DON M. PARKER, Secretary JAMES ABBOTT, Ass't Treasurer

Board of Trustees

VOL. XLVII. GEORGE H. HAZEN, Chairman No. 4

GEORGE INNESS, JR. W. MORGAN SHUSTER

(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.)

ST. NICHOLAS

FEBRUARY, 1920

lo, by The Cbntukv Co. All rlghu re

HIS TRIBUTE

By MARY WELLS

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

292

HIS TRIBUTE

(Feb..

"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
eloquent.

"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,
Mary?"

"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
side.

"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
spoke:

"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?"

1920.

HIS TRIBUTE

293

«<i

'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-
gether."

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
begun.

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
forget,"

"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
present.

"Talk it over by all means," said the doctor,
laughing. "You might as well finish out the
weeK.

"Don't stay awake too long," cautioned Mrs.
North.

"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
bed.

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
pillow.

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
shrubbery.

294

HIS TRIBUTE

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
garb.

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
depicted.

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
inscription:

"With malice towards none, with charity for
all—"

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
incident.

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 OF THE BOY SCOUTS

By M. R. PIPER
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-

t-Ge;

■ral

Baden- Powell, was
just being quietly
pUnted in this
country by a few
far-sighted men,
who were also
"hind-sighted"
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
patriotism.

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
skies.

Every boy likes to camp out, but it takes a
scout to know how to do the thing in tirst-cl3s.s

TEN YEARS OF THE BOY SCOUTS

297

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

"THE TOP O- THE MORNING TO YOU!"

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

TEN YEARS OF THE BOY SCOUTS

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-

FIRST AID; LIFTING THE PATIENT TO THE STRETCHER

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

YOUNG STRETCHER.

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-

TEN YEARS OF THE BOY SCOUTS

■ i
I

■BOY SCOUTS TO THE RESCUEI"

1. THE CANOE ACCIDENT

2. THE RESCUER

3. TOWING THE CANOEIST

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-

4. THE ROWBOAT COMES ALONGSIDE

6. PRACTICE IN TOWING

6. SCHAEFER METHOD OF RESUSCITATION

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 Ea.gle
(the top rank in Scouting, standing for all sorts
of attainments, including the passing of stiff
Merit Badge requirements in twentynane sub-

300

TEN YEARS OF THE BOY SCOUTS

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

H SANITATION: BURNING UP CAM? RUBBISH

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

pays.

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

»l

TEN YEARS OF THE BOY SCOUTS

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

301

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

JOCK. WHEN VE 'B

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

B STICKING IN A TREE;

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

TEN YEARS OF THE BOY SCOUTS

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 to bum down the court house
and hang the mayor. The police naturally being
pretty busy coping with the situation, traffic con-
ditions became uncomfortably congested and

center has a well -worked -out system of mobiliza-
tion by which its scouts can be called out and

got under way in a surprisingly short time. At
Morgan, almost immediately after the disaster,
scouts from the surrounding towns were on hand,
administering first aid, helping the police to tceep
off looters, looking after children and finding their
lost relatives for them, escorting refugees to
places of safety, making themselves indispensable

even dangerous at a crowded point in the city.
A small scout, Verne Joseph by name, observed
this, and, gravely placing himself at the critical
spot, directed traffic with all the dignity and pose
of an authorized traffic officer. "It was n't any-
thing," young Joseph observed afterward; "any
fellow could do it. I saw that something had to
be done at that corner, because everybody was
getting mixed up. People like to have somebody
tell them which way to travel. They get used to
having a regular cop at the comers, and they get
scared if they don't find one. So I just stepped
out and started telling them when to come on.
Any Boy Scout can do that."

During the last year's devastating influenza
epidemic, scouts were in action everywhere, run-
ning ambulances, directing nurses, serving as
messengers, orderlies, and telephone-operators,
carrying soup, distributing "anti-flu" literature,
helping to improvise hospitals. In one town,
the headquarters of several scout troops were
turned over as temporary hospitals, and scouts
served in them in shifts of so many hours each for
days at a time. The tragedy of the Morgan, New
Jersey, munition-plant explosion again found the
scouts ready for instant service. Every scout

in a hundred ways. For a scout has sharp eyes
for opportunities for service as well as for trail-
marks and hickory-nuts. During the sad days
that followed the fearful catastrophe, detach-
ments of Boy Scouts were on duty, practically,
continuously doing an enormous amount of work
with a minimum of fuss and confusion, and all, as
a local newspaper said at the time, "with a gallant
courtesy that was fine to see," Scant wonder
people are saying everywhere, "What should we
do without our scouts?"

When the nation was plunged into war, the
National Council of The Boy Scouts of America
immediately offered the full strength of its mighty
peace army of men and boys for any sort of service
for which they were fitted. Patriotic and digni-
fied resolutions to this effect were passed and
transmitted to Washington. Almost as promptly,
a small boy, on his own initiative, addressed the
President as follows:
Dear President Wilson:

I am a tirat-class Boy Scout, 14 years old. t own a
complete wireless set, which I operate by Intemational
Moree code. I offer you myself and my wireless for our
country. We men have all got Co pull together.

And pull together they did, selling bonds and

■saO.]

TEN YEARS OF THE BOY SCOUTS

war-savings stamps, collecting car'loads of gas-
mask material, locating and reporting thousands
of feet of walnut timber, distributing millions of
pieces of patriotic literature, operating thousands
of war gardens, helping the American Red Cross,
the War Camp Community Service, American
Library Association, and all the other splendid
organizations and institutions which stood behind
the Government in its time of stress. All this,
too, is a story too long to tell here, though it is a
story well worth recording and con»dering as a
remarkable proof of what hoys — just hoys — with
the right spirit and plenty of patriotic energy can
accomplish under good leadership for a great and
inspiring cause.

Service is the essence of scouting. And the
scout "daily good turn," which few people know
about, is the secret of that fine scout spirit which
all the world knows. What is a "good turn"?
The good turn is simply an act of kindness done
to somebody from sheer good-wiU and friendli-
ness, with no thought or expectation of reward of
any kind. It may be as small a thing as helping
a timid old lady across the street or feeding a
snow-bound bird. It may be as important a
service as saving a person from drowning or put-
ting out a fire which, if allowed to spread, would
work untold havoc. The bigness or littleness of

the service has nothing to do with it. The spirit
is what counts.

This year, in celebrating its birthday anniver-
sary, the anniversary which marks a ten-year
period of time and looks backward over a line
record and forward into a splendid future of ever-
widening possibilities of development, the Boy
Scouts have chosen to concentrate the whole
celebration upon the daily good-turn idea. They
are going to renew their own obligations as loyal
Boy Scouts to the doing of that daily act of unsel-
fish kindliness which, multiplied by the three
hundred and sixty-five days of the year, adds so
materially to the world's stock of happiness and
well being. But they are going to go a step
farther, also. They are suggesting to everybody
in the United States, every man, woman, and
child, every church, school, and other institution
and society, that they, too, take upon themselves
the scout pledge to "Do a good turn daily" during;
the Boy Scout Anniversary Week, which begins
February eighth. Rather a good idea, is n't it?
Just imagine what the effect would be, for in-
stance, if every reader of St. Nicholas should
promise himself or herself to try the thing out for
a week, anyway. Would n't it be "rather jolly,"
as our British friends would say? One fancies
good old Saint Nick himself smiUi^ a cozy, con<

DAN BEAKD GIVES A LESSON IN WOOnCKAfX

304

A BOY WHO HAS REFUSED TO GROW UP

tented little smile when he heard about it. Can't
you hear him saying something like this? "H-m!
So that is the Boy Scout idea, is it? Maybe they
think it is original wdth them. Sounds pretty
much like the good old-fashioned Golden Rule to
me. Never mind. Who cares whether the thing
is or^nal or not, so long as people get to doing it?

1 have been trying to tell folks for a good many
years that they would be a whole lot happier and
healthier and better off if they would stop think-
ing about themselves for a while and go and do
something for the other fellow. If the Boy
Scouts can make them ^t up and listen, I say
God bless the Boy Scoutsl That 's all."

A BOY WHO HAS REFUSED TO GROW UP

By JAMES ANDERSON

LIEUTEN A NT-GENERAL
THE BOY SCOUT LEADER

Some men never
grow up. SO far as
youthful thoughts
and actions go, and
if there ever was a
boy who absolutely
refused to do so, it
is Lieu tenant-Gen-
eral Sir Robert
Stephenson Smyth
Baden-Powell. Al-
though over sixty
years old (he was
born in 1857 on the
birthday of our
Washington), he is
just as young in his
feelings, just as
much in sympathy
with boys and their
ways, as he was
when he was fifteen. General Baden-Powell's
visit to this country, last year, was part of a
world's tour, undertaken in order to confer per-
sonally with scout officials. Before coming to
this country, he visited France, Italy, Serbia,
Belgium, and Canada.

At New York, Philadelphia, Washington, and
several other cities, huge crowds of Boy Scouts
assembled to greet him. General Baden-Powell
was accompanied by Lady Baden-Powell, who is
chief guide of the Girl Guides, as the girls' or-
ganization in Great Britain has always been
known.

The main feature of his visit to New York was a
welcome-rally one afternoon on the Sheep Meadow
of Central Park, at which time there was a mobil-
ization of 20,000 Boy Scouts. This was a formal
occasion in which Scouts awaiting Honor Medals
and Elagle Scout Badges received them from the
hands of Sir Robert himself, an honor these fa-
vored boys will never forget,

Because he had always been a boy among boys,
because the happiest moments of his life have

been spent with youthful companions. Sir Robert,
twelve years ago, started in Finland the Boy
Scout Movement.

The new organization was launched under most
adverse circumstances. At the time, pacifism
was in the air in Great Britain, where many
people believed the already small English army
should be reduced in size, and abused the late
Field-Marshal Lord Roberts as a scare-monger
when he preached the doctrine of military pre-
paredness. The public frowned upon the Boy
Scout Movement as an attempt to militarize —
"Prussianize "was the word used — the youth of the
United Kingdom. It was assailed and ridiculed
from the pulpit, from the platform, and in [he
press, and, above all. it was discountenanced and
discouraged in every way by the War Depart-
ment and by those who were then in authority at
Whitehall.

Fortunately for the Boy Scout Movement, and
for boyhood the world over, it excited the
interest and, in course of time, won the good will
and support of Lord Roberts, who was quick to
appreciate the fact that boys trained according to
the plans of Baden-Powell would grow up not
only into first-rate citizens, but also into well-
disciplined, and, therefore, useful defenders of
their country.

Through the veteran iield-marshal, the atten-
tion of the late King Edward was attracted to the
organization. In the early fall of 1909 Baden-
Powell was "commanded" by the king to visit
him at Balmoral. The general's stay at the
highland home of his sovereign was prolonged for
several days, during which time Edward VII
went carefully into the various phases of the
movement, made certain very useful and practi-
cal su^estions, and ended by giving his hearty
and enthusiastic approval of the organization,
promising the general that he would take the
earliest opportunity possible to review the Boy
Scouts, so as to give a public recognition of the
force. It is said that it was Baden- Powell's
youthful enthusiasm which went far toward

A BOY WHO HAS REFUSED TO GROW UP

305

convincing the kii^ that the Boy Scouts, under
his organization, would prove a success. He
quicldy gained the impression that the general
a-as not only a gallant and capable soldier, but a
boy among boys, and probably the one man in the
world capable of successfully carrying out the
undertaking.

When Baden-Powell left Balmoral, he had
become Sir Robert, and had received, at the hands
of 'his royal host, the Star of a Knight Commander
of the Victorian Order.

Perhaps one of the reasons for the great hold
Sir Robert is able to gain over boys is his ability
as an entertainer. Indeed, it Is said that his
rapid advancement In the British army, years
before the Boy Scout movement was born, wasdue
to this same qualification, as he first commended
himself to the good will of his immediate superiors
by the talent which he displayed as a mimic, a
singer, and a musician. The story goes that at
his fir^t mess dinner, after joining the Thirteenth
Hussars as a subaltern, when he was only about
seventeen years of age, he was commanded to ^ng
a song, with the idea of subjecting him to the
same amount of mild hazing which falls to the
share o( almost every new recruit. It was ex-
pected that this Charterhouse boy would make
the same embarrassed exhibition of himself as
do most other young English officers, who are, as
a rule, somewhat shy and diffident. Instead of
that, he asked permission to accompany himself
on the piano and treated his hearers to such a
performance that they kept him at it for nearly
two hours, treating him to round after round of
applause.

The spontaneity of his efforts and the fresh
boyish enthusiasm he put into them was what
won his audience, and, although Baden-Powell
has had a wider experience since then, everything
he does to-day is still marked mth the same
buoyant good spirits.

While Kr Robert has seen much military serv-
ice, his fame as a soldier rests largely on his won-
derfully efficient defence of Mafeking, one of the
finest features of the South African War, rivaling
that of Ladysmith, for which General Sir George
White received the baton of a Field -marshal.

Like every other old soldier on the retired list,
Sr Robert rejoined the army on the outbreak of
the Great War in August, 1914, and, attached
to the Headquarters Staff in France, rendered
services of a secret, yet of an extraordinarily
valuable, character in connection with the Intel-
ligence Department. The War was the great
opportunity for Sir Robert's Boy Scouts to prove
their worth and usefulness, and they made good
in a most impressive fashion. Those in Great
Britain took over duties at home, which relieved

a force of nearly 50,000 soldiers for service at the
front. They watched the coasts of the United
Kjngdom by day and by night, kept watch on
suspects, helped to guard prison camps, and,
with every faculty and sense on the alert, rendered
services without number to the military, the
naval, and the civil authorities. Indeed, through
their agency a number of attacks by the enemy

LIBUTENAKT-GBNBRAL SIR BOBEBT BADBN-POWELL

on the coast were frustrated, and no less than
thirty German submarines haunting territorial
waters were either bagged or destroyed.

The Boy Scouts of America are not primarily
a military organization, but one that in every
way cultivates manliness and makes for good
citizenship. And what they did for their coun-
try during the great conflict is a story much
too well known to need repeating now. The
Grand Scout-Master has lived to see the Boy
Scout Movement adopted in Australia, in Japan
and China, and in well-nigh every coflntry in
South America, but nowhere has it been taken up
with quite so much enthusiasm as in the United
States, the organization seeming to pull at the
very heartstrings of red-blooded American boys.

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

By ELIZABETH HOWARD ATKINS

CHAPTER VII

EL SENOR CARLOS

Later that night, as Ximeno took his nightly
stroll over the Medrano Rancho, he saw two
horsemen going along the road in the direction
of Santa Barbara.

But there was nothing unusual in that, and he
lit another pipe and listened to the frogs croaking
and thought about the fiesta which was soon to
take place — and was he not himself to go into
Santa Barbara to be a guest at the wedding?

However, Ximeno would not have puffed his
pipe quite so comfortably had he overheard what
those late travelers were saying to each other, as
they rode on up the hill through the groves of oak
and madrofio that moonlit night.

For a long time the elder of the two had ridden
on in silence, a silence which his companion could
at last endure no longer.

"£/ Seflor,'' he said plaintively, "art thou to tell
Lorenzo nothing?"

The other stirred from his reverie, but it was
not to enlighten Lorenzo; it was to ask a ques-
tion — an absurd one, too, thought his companion,
indignantly!

"Lorenzo, dost thou remember the child I told
thee about yesterday?"

Now it was Lorenzo's turn to remain silent.
But £/ SeHor Carlos (for it was no other than he!)
continued :

"She showed me great confidence, Lorenzo. I
cannot have such a bad face, and yet I have done
many bad things ! She stood there smiling at me
— under the big madrofio — ^at we, Lorenzo!"

Lorenzo gnawed his mustachios impatiently.

"To-night I have seen her again. She crossed
the court, with her doll in her arms, while I was
playing hide-and-seek in the rose-bushes. It
is a long time since I have played hide-and-seek,
Lorenzo!"

"It would seem that thou art playing the fool
now, El Senorr

Carlos reined in his horse, and laid his hand
gently, but firmly, upon Lorenzo's shoulder.

"I have such a weakness for the young," said
he, with astonishment, "that I cannot even kill
thee, Lorenzo! In the old brave times El Seflor
Carlos would have struck a man down for less.
Well for thee that I have not the temper of my
old days!"

"But surely. El Senary thou hast brought news,"
said the other, reproachfully.

'What news, amigo? [friend]" inquired Carlos,
nonchalantly, as he rolled a fresh cigariUo,

Lorenzo's mouth hung open and he clutched
the pommel of his saddle. He was a young and
serious bandido,

"But the Inheritance? The Medrano Inherit-
ance?" he almost whined.

His companion paused to light his cigariUo,

"Well," he said at last, "what is rumored is
not always so, my son. But now I have seen with
my own eyes."

"And it is worth our trouble, Senor?'*

"It is a wonder I was not struck blind by the
sight, as I stood with my nose pressed to the
window-pane, where one small hole in the curtain
permitted me to see everything! Pearls — ^as big
as the berries of the manzanita, white as milk,
lustrous as yonder moon. They would turn a
bandido into a poet, Lorenzo."

"And the plate — ^it is also magnificent?"

"Ah, of a splendor unsurpassed, amigo. The
little girl was very amusing. She thought the
great goblet must have been made for a giant!
Lorenzo, it is a great pity that I did not have a
daughter! My life might have been so difTerent!
What think you, Lorenzo?"

But Lorenzo said nothing. - His thoughts were
too deep for utterance. He was a young and
serious bandidoj and El Seflor had promised him
many things.

CHAPTER VIII

PREPARATIONS FOR THE WEDDING

The next day, Don Felipe Alvarez returned to
Santa Barbara.

As the stage departed, he had called out,
holding up his hand with all the fingers extended,
"In so many days, Felisa, we shall be dancing
the fandango together!"

The hacienda was now all in a bustle of prepara-
tion. Juancito shelled beans all day long, yet
with a light heart when he thought of those fine
shoes he was to wear to the wedding. Such
tortillas as were baked in Josefa's cavernous oven,
made of maize and sweetened with honey; bufiue-
los of white cornmeal, fried, like doughnuts, in
big kettles of boiling lard ; azticariUos (little white
cakes made of crystallized sugar) in tempting
profusion.

Felisa frequently deserted her doll long enough
to scrape out the bowls in which something espe-
cially delicious had been mixed — ^and Juancito
came in for a spoonful now and then, over which

300

tHE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

307

he smacked his lips appreciatively. Even Nino
and che cat took an interest in what was gcung
on, and quarreled over any crumbs which hap-
pened to (all, during the excitement, on the
earthen floor of the kitchen.

Bags bulging with scarlet pimentoes, oranges,
and the yellow pomelo (or grape fruit) began to
accumulate in the courtyard. There were little
golden loquats and ripe pomegranates, too; bags
of dried figs and dates. Old Ximeno bundled
the dry, whitened corn-huska together, which
were to be used in the making of the tamales.

Josefa directed everything. Like a figure of
Plenty, spoon in hand, her round face beaming
like the sun, she reigned supreme in the Medrano
hacienda.

"For if all Santa Barbara is to come to the
fiesta," she exclaimed, "it shall not be said that
there was not an abundance for all! And how
can one be certain that Dofia Serafina, who has
but a bird's appetite herself, will provide any-
thing but chilis?"

Therefore the preparations went forward
la\'ishly.

In these busy times no one had a moment for
Felisa. She would have been po^tively lonely
had it not been for Rosita. But all day long she
played with the doll. She was the mother and
Rosita was the daughter. She praised Rosita,
scolded her {after the fashion of Josefa), kissed
her, tended her through a serious illness lasting
one whcJe day, told her all Josefa's stories
(especially those about the bandidos). The doll
looked at her with shining eyes, smiling red lips.
Felisa almost fancied she might come alive and
apeak.

So the days passed and the great morning of
departure arrived. It began at dawn with the
packing of Ximeno's ox-cart. Every one had
bundles, boxes, bags, to dispose of. — Don Fer-
nando, Ysabella, Felisa, Josefa herself — one
would think that the Medrano family were going
to stay a year with Aunt Serafina and Uncle
Pedro. It was an imposing sight, certainly.

Juancito. who was to ^t behind amidst the
cargo, in order to see that nothing was lost or
atoleo, placed himself upon a box in the bottom
of the cart. Then other boxes, bundles, and
bags were piled about him. Bit by bit Juancito
disappeared. He was submerged. At last only
his round and serious face could be seen rising in
the midst

Suddenly Juandto cries out (his face b the pic-
'ure of anguish), "I have forgotten to put on my

"You bad boy!" says his father, "You deserve
to go without!"

Juancito wails and sniffles, and some one must
dry his tears with a handkerchief — he cannot be
extricated! Therefore, the shoes are set on top
of everything, and the tantalizing Nght provokes
fresh tears.

Presently — what an overwght ! — it is discovered
there is no room for Ximeno to stand in front!

"But no doubt the ox-cart can drive itself!"
Ximeno remarks, with cutting sarcasm, to Josefa,

who at that moment appears, out of breath, from
the kitchen with a monumental pastry in each
hand, and a cake, yes, balanced on her head!

Everything must be taken out and arranged
all over again.

This is pleasing to Juancito, the slave of fashion, ,
who wriggles out joyfully and puts himself into
the shoes. They hurt his bare toes, but what
matter — he is going to a wedding! Clad, assur-
edly, like the angels "d la puerta des cUlos"!

This time Don Fernando himself packed the
cart. There was a place for everything — the
corn-husks here, the tortilla dt maiz there.

"What is that bundle?" Josefa inquired.

308

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

IPb«..

"That? Oh, that contains chilis for Dofia
Serafina," Don Fernando replied. "Take special
care of those chilis, Ximeno."

Soon everything was disposed of, as neatly, as
compactly, as a cargo on the Santa Maria; with
Juandto sitting (like the goblin in the fairy-tale)
on top, dangling his heels happily in the shoes of
Josefa's grandmother; and plenty of room for
Ximeno to stand up in front and drive his long-
horned oxen.

The wooden cart was certainly well laden. It
was a cumbersome affair, with solid wooden
wheels. It creaked and groaned ominously.
One might wonder, in these days, how Ximeno
would ever reach Santa Barbara at all. But
then, no one had any misgivings.

Ximeno stood in front, his sombrero pulled so
far over his eyes that the only feature visible was
his wide, thin-lipped mouth. Juancito waved his
hand solemnly in farewell.

Felisa could hardly drink her chocolate or eat
her tortilla de tnaiz, she was so excited. All
Rosita's belongings were packed, Rosita herself
lay in the midst of her grandeur, and Felisa wore
the key of the chest around her neck on a bit of
ribbon. She could not have trusted the doll to
Ximeno. Rosita would travel on the stage.

Then Felisa was summoned to be dressed for
the journey. Cielo! she had got her face dirty —
and her hands! Josefa was distracted.

Between scrubs, Felisa said, "In two nights, I
shall be dancing the fandango with Don Felipe."

"Indeed yes! But thou must stand still now.
Thou art not yet dancing at the ball, querida
miar ["my darling!"]

"Please do not scrub my cheeks so roughly,
Josefa.'*

"I wish to bring the roses into them — ^what
would you!" answered the old nurse.

Presently, Felisa was standing in the patio, in a
••ed frock with a black velvet bodice — a reboso of
thin black silk wrapped about her head. She
felt very happy and excited.

It was too bad that Rosita would not be able to
look about her, as they traveled from the Rancho
mto Santa Barbara. Felisa ivould have liked to
hold the doll in her arms, but she was safer, no
doubt, away from the hot sun, in the cool dark-
ness of the "treasure-chest."

Arrayed, herself, in unwonted splendor, Josefa
fluttered about like the hen with one chick.

"Thou hadst best wear thy cloak, child. Hast
thou a handkerchief? Bless me! Thou hast
already a smut on the end of thy nose!"

Now the stage drew up before the hacienda.

The whole patio seemed blocked with boxes —
as if enough had not gone away earlier in Xi-
•neno's ox-cart !

Suddenly Felisa had thought of something.
She took Don Fernando's arm and asked in a
whisper, **Our inheritance?"

"Never fear, preciosa mia, it is safe."

"You see, I have my treasure-chest, too,"
Felisa said, lifting the doll's trunk in her arms; but
she nearly tumbled over; she was such a little
thing, and the chest so majestic an affair.

Don Fernando laughed and took it from her,
saying, "I *11 take care of it for you."

The moment of departure had arrived! Don
Fernando gave Ysabella his hand. Then Felisa
was lifted up, and insisted upon having the doll's
trunk placed on her knees. She could hardly see
over the top of it. The sight so convulsed Josefa
that she could scarcely get breath enough to clam-
ber up herself.

Last of all, Don Fernando Medrano mounted
to the high seat, and they were off.

All the dogs barked, Nino loudest of all.

"I won't forget to bring you the bone I prom-
ised," Felisa cried.

Every servant on the Rancho stood in front of
the house to bid them good-by. Ysabella waved
her hand and laughed and cried at the same time,
and threw a kiss to the blue mountains, the oak-
trees, to the long adobe house with its shady gal-
leries. The driver whipped up his horses.

"if Diosl A Diosr cried every one.

CHAPTER IX

ROSITA AND THE BANDIDOS

Thb Stage descended the little hill, passed through
the woodland (where Felisa had encountered the
strange caballero, whom we know now to have
been no other than El Senor Carlos himself!), and
presently swung out into the highroad with a
great flourish. i

Felisa clasped the "treasure-chest," as it had
come familiarly to be called, nobly with both
hands as the big stage swayed from side to side.

"It is too bad that Rosita cannot see anything,"
she said.

"Certainly the sun would melt her nose before
the day is over, if you were to take her out,"
Josefa replied, "She is better where she is."

"Yes, I think so, too," said Felisa, with resigna-
tion. "But look how pretty everything is!"

There were veritable carpets of flowers upon
the hillsides — ^patches of blue lupines, rosy Gode-
tias, and golden poppies. Along the road the
wild mustard made a high hedge of yellow, waving
bloom. Groups of oak-trees nesded in every lit-
tle cafton. The sleek red trunk of the madrofto
was revealed beneath its dry and curling bark — •.
as if some Indian dryad of the woods were emerg-
ing from her prison. The buckeyes were in

l«ao.|

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

309

bloom; their tall flowers were like the white can-
dles in the Mission, Felisa thought. Butterflies
itrere everywhere; larks singing. Like a trailing
reboso of some mysterious fabric, a thin veil of
ft^ clung to the crest of Santa Ynfa. Everything
vfas delicious — the cool, fresh, morning air against
their faces, the caressing warmth of the sunshine.

They had left the little caflons and the fields far
behind, and were slowly climbing the winding
road to the highest point in the pass, when sud-
denly, with a horrid jolt. Felisa was awakened.
The stage had stopped so suddenly that they were
all thrown forward in their seats. Some one
screamed — it was Ysabella. Josefa made hoarse,

"THE WOODEN CART WAS 1

A blue-jay looked down from an overhanging
branch and scolded them querulously. A little
rabbit dashed out into the road, with a frightened
pause as it saw the horses bearing down upon it.
and then scuttled away into the fields, to relate,
no doubt, the terrifying adventure to its family in
the burrow.

It was not long before they had overtaken
Ximeno and the ox'cart. Ximeno was standing
up in (rant, half nodding over the reins. Juan-
dto sat on top embracing the large cake, tied up
in a cloth, which had given him a great deal of
trouble, as it would stay nowhere — -it seemed
alive and anxious to jump ofT every minute.
Ximeno turned out to let the stage pass, and was
soon left behind in a cloud of dust.

Felisa was very happy. But as the heat of the
day grew more intense, she leaned against her
father's arm, and fell quite fast asleep. Yet still
tightly, even while she slept, she held Rosita's
"treasure-chest" in her arms. But at last her fin-
gers relaxed their hold, and gently Don Fernando
took it on his own knees.

half -inaudible noises, like some one having a hor-
rible nightmare.

"Heaven save us! The bandidos!" cried the
stage-driver, turning pale, and holding up his

"Can it be a dream?" thought Felisa, as she
rubbed her eyes, and clung to her father's arm.

A masked man had apparently risen out of the
earth in front of them. He caught the bridle of
the plunging leader with one hand, while with the
other he pointed the muzzle of his great pistol at
the driver's head. He was on foot, and a beau-
tiful black horse was grazing, unconcernedly, be-
side the road. This man was impressively tail
and very calm, almost indifferent. Behind the
mask his eyes could be seen, languid and dark.
They looked straight into Felisa's.

Suddenly Josefa found her voice: "Infelit de
mil ["Unhappy that 1 am!"] There are two of

At her side of the stage, another terrifying figure
had appeared. This man was mounted, and
Felisa shivered to see how he drove his spurs into

310

THE TREASURE-CHEST OF THE MEDRANOS

the horse's flanks and pressed the quivering ani-
mal close against the wheel of the stage. Behind
his black mask his eyes gleamed, and with the
effort of wheeling his horse, he ground his teeth
together.

Then, before any one knew what he was about,
he had risen in his stirrups, and, reaching out a
long arm, he snatched the doll's trunk from Don
Fernando's lap with an unmistakable yell of
triumph! At the same moment, the bandido
who held the leader, relesised him, struck at
his flanks with the butt of his pistol, and off
the frightened horses tore — down the hill, over
the summit of the pass, the stage lurching and
swaying.

Now it was Felisa who found her voice — "My
Rosita!" Tears streamed down her pale cheeks.
"Why did they take my doll? Oh, why? My
darling!"

She leaned out over the back of the stage, her
imploring hands outstretched toward the two
figures still visible at the top of the steep grade.

*'Qtieridar [darling!] she cried, once again.

CHAPTER X

A LITTLE SURPRISE FOR LORENZO

El Senor Carlos removed his sombrero and ran
his hand through his thick black hair.

"The little one is grieved, Lorenzo."

Lorenzo regarded his superior with no little
curiosity, with scorn, even. Was this the terror
of Alta California, the bold man of the roads — EL
Seflor Carlos — he who had a price set upon his
head? Lorenzo's lip curled, but he said nothing.

As long as the stage was visible, E/ Senor
Carlos stood in the road, pensively twirling his
mustachios.

"One would not think," said he, as it finally
disappeared around the curve at the foot of the
hill, "that the little one would be so attached to
the Medrano Inheritance. Can pearls mean so
much to a child, Lorenzo? Or perhaps it was the
giant's drinking-cup she valued. Poor little one!
Did you notice how pretty she was, Lorenzo?"

Lorenzo shrugged his shoulders and bit his lip.
Oh, for once to speak one's mind freely! But no
— one might die for that, and life was still
sweet.

Yet, after all, here was the booty — the Medrano
Inheritance was theirs! Lorenzo shook the doll's
trunk in delightful anticipation, weighing it
thoughtfully. "It is heavier than I thought it
would be. Yet the goblet is of solid gold, it is
said. And what a beautiful treasure-chest. El
Seflor. You have a taste in these things. Unfor-
tunately, it is locked. We might have asked for
the key, but one forgets one's manners at times,

is it not so? The lock-plate is a work of art,
amigo, and it is a great pity to scratch it!"

They had left the road now and were climbing
the hill through the chaparral, leading their
horses, who trampled the lupine under their feet.

Lorenzo chattered enthusiastically to his silent
companion.

"But Don Fernando, the stupid 1 To carry the
treasures thus — for all the world to see! Yet the
wise profit by the innocence of fools, is it not so,
amigo?"

Presently they had come to a little hollow, and
there El SefU>r tethered the horses where they
could nibble to their hearts' content. A spring
trickled from the rocks and the grass was tender
and green. It was one of Carlos's favorite re-
treats from a world — he was beginning to confess
to himself — of which he was rather weary.

Here, though up so high, they were out of
sight of the road.

Carlos gazed out over the hil