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ST. NICHOLAS: 



Illustrated Magazine 



For Young Folks. 



. VOLUME XXXIV. 
Part L— Nov. i9«6, to April, 1907. 



T«E CENTURY CO., NEW YORK 

FREDERICK WARNE & CO., LONDON. 



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CopTii^u. 1906, t;on br Thi CiXTintv Ca 



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CONTENTS OF PART I. VOLUME XXXIV. 

Six Months — Nov., 1906, to April, 1907. 



Amn Amh. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) George Madden Martin.. 55, 

126,213,317,407,484 

A^AiB OP Honor in Juncleville, Am. Pictures, drawn by I, W. Taber 236 

AnEK THE Ball. Verse 62 

"A Jolly Young Abtist Called Bbuno." Verse. (Illustrated 1^ 

Reginald B. Birch) 25 

"Always Diffekent" Story, The Etitabeth Flint Wade ... . S46 

AuBinous Arthur's Sas Mistake. Verse. (Illustrated and en- 
grossed by the Author) Charles F. Lester 382 

April Skies, Under. Picture, drawn by G. A. Harker 49' 

Arctic Advantages. Verse Mary Catherine Callan. . . 249 

At the Sign of the White Lion. (Illustrated by Arthur Hen- 
derson) Arthur M. Lane 517 

Baby's Ten Ltttlb Live Playthings. (Illustrated by Albertine Ran- 
dall Wheelan) J.K.Barry 454 

Ball Gaub, The. Victoss and Vanquished. Pictures, drawn by 

Culmer Barnes 510 

Betsy Brandon's GtnsT. (Illustrated by H. S. Potter) Carolina Mays Brevard.. 301 

Bnos, Keeping "Open House" pok the (Illustrated from photographs )£mMt Harold Baynes. . . 208 

Blacks, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Josephine Bruce) Elisabeth L. Gould 421 

Blowing Bubbles. Verse. (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer) Nancy Byrd Turner 395 

Boxes, Toysprou Pasteboard. (Illustrated by the Author) Lina Beard 343 1 

Boyhood's Book-shelf. Verse. (Illustrated by George A. Harker).. .£iftMK L. Sabitt 228 

Boys' Life of Abhahau Lincoln, The. (Illustrated by Jay Ham- 

bidge) Helen Nicolay 41 

By Trevi's Waters. (Illustrated by W. Benda) Ceorgiana Homer 534 

Cadtts Learning to Shoot. (Illustrated from photographs) Lieut. Henry J. Reilly, 

U.S.A 530 

Captain June. (Illustrated by C D.Weldon) AUee Hegan Rice 116, 

221,304,414 

Changeable Little Maid, A. Verse George L. Benedict 48 

CHATTZRWATTSa, Tre. Verse. (Illustrated by Arthur Henderson and 

G. A. Harker) Charles F. Junkin 356 

Chinaman and the Kite, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Jessie McD. 

Walcott) Margaret Johnson 26 

Christmas Day, Fob. Verse. (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer) Nancy Byrd Turner 164 

Christmas Eve in Wildwood Hollow. Verse. (Illustrated by Cul- 
mer Barnes) Pauline Frances Camp... 344 

Christmas Joys. Four pictures, drawn by Emilie Benson Knipe 107 

Christmas Morning. Picture, drawn by J. B. Graflf 259 



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IV CONTENTS 

CHKisntAS Without tse Chkistuas TkSE. (Illustrated by Florence 

E. Storer) May Snyder 258 

Clothes-pin Toys. (lUustratetl by the Author) Una Beard 246 

Coasting Season Opens in Rabbttboro, The. Picture, drawn by 

Harrison Cady 312 

Concerning Eves. Verse. (Illustrated by Emma E Clarke) Carolyn WelU 302 

CooxY Man, T'he. Verse. (IHustrated) '.Nancy Byrd Turner. 574 

County Fair in the Congo, The. Picture, drawn by I. W. Taber 448 

Cousin-Hunt, A. (Illustrated by J. A. Cahill) E. Vinton Blake 149 

Cozy Lion, The. (Illustrated by Harrison Cady) Frances Hodgson Bur- 
nett 291,387 

Cbimson Sweateb, The. (Illustrated by C M. Relyea) Ralph Henry Barbour... 14 

Cbooked Will. Verse. (Illustrated by W. T. Benda) George Phillips 22 

Curious Facts About the Figure Nine IVilliam B. Whiting 476 

"Daisy's Baking Cake." Verse Nancy Byrd Turner 164 

Disconcerted Scholar, A. Verse, Pauline Frances Camp... 341 

'DoG-UERREOTYPE, A." Picture, drawn by F, G. Long 139 

Dolly Dialogue, A. Verse, (Illustrated by Albertine Randall 

Wheelan) Carolyn fV ells 156 

Dorothy May and Walter Hay. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch).. Gina H. Fairtie 60 

Dot Pictures. Verst. (Illustrated) Margaret Johnson 26,27,426 

Double Surprise, A, (Illustrated) P. S. 525 

Early and Late. Verse if. S. Reed 71 

EAStER M(»ifiNG, When Grandpa Was A Boy. Picture, drawn by 

Ruth M. Hallock 498 

Easy E's, The Tudor Jenks 541 

Electric Locouotives. (See "Goodly '3876'!") 324 

Etery-day Franklin, The. (Illustrated) Rebecca Harding Davis. . 158 

Examination Day at Congo High School, Picture, drawn by Cul- 

mer BarAes , 49 

Fairy Cobweb. Picture 4S 

Fairy Stcxues. (Illustrated by Harrison Cady) Frances Hodgson Burnett 

How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 3 

Raeketty-Packetty House 97> I9S 

The Coiy Lion 291.387 

Fishing Docs of Catalima, The. (Illustrated by I. W. Taber) Charles F. Holder 236 

For Christmas Day. Verse. (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer) Nancy Byrd Turner 164 

«Franxlin, The Every-day, (Illustrated) Rebecca Harding Davis.. 158 

Fbitzl (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer) Agnes McCieiland Daullon 511 

FUNNYCHUCXLE, ScEAPPEROTGHT AND ChATTERWATTER, ThE. VcrSC. 

(Illustrated by Arthur Henderson and G. A. Marker) Charles F. Junkin 354 

GooD-BY "3876" I (Illustrated from photographs) Charles Barnard 324 

Good King, The.* (Illustrated by I. W. Taber) Margaret and Clarence 

Weed 69 

Goose Girl, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Mildred Howells 445 

Grandpa— ON Easter Morning. Picture, drawn by Ruth M. Hallodc 498 

Hans the Innocent. (Illustrated by the Author) M. I. Wood 446 

Haknessing the Elements. (Illustrated) George Etkelbert Walsh.. 427 

High Life in Jungletille. Pictures, drawn by I. W. Taber 332,333 

Hints and Helps for "Mother" ...Lina Beard 

Qothes-pin Toys " Z46 

Toys from Pasteboard Boxes " 343 

Spool Playthings " 439 

The "Always Different" Story Blixabeth Flint Wade.... 546 

History Class in 1950. Picture, drawn by L. J. Bridgman 490 

HisTtSY Lesson, Short Cuts to the 5+3 



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CONTENTS * V 

How A Cadet Leabks to Shoot. (Illustrated from photographs) Lieul. Henry I. Reilly, 

U.S.A 530 

HowJosEPH Skipped THi Lower Rungs. (IlIustratedbyH.S.Potler).Mar(tf* M. Fois 396 

How Knives Cut. (Illustrated from photo-micrographs) C. H. Cloudy 449 

How TO Teach a Pet BntD Pkeitv Tricks. (Illustrated from photo- 
graphs) Mary Daviton 64 

How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks. (Illustrated by Harri- 
son Cady) Frances Hodgton Burnett 3 

HuuPTY DuuPTY. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch) Anna Marion Smith 352 

HutitttED-YEAK-OLi> MiUTAKY AcAtsuv, OuB. (Illustrated) H. Irving Hancock 52S 

I Do t— Don't You ? Verse Isabel EccUstone Mackay iii 

I Had a LiTTLe Husband. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch). j4»nii Marion Smith 537 

I Love Little Pussy. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch), ,..,4nno Marion Smith 526 

Indian Letixk, An. (Illustrated) T. R. Porter 250 

Jack's Valentine. Verse Blanche EOxabeth Wade. 323 

Japanese Candy Shop, A. (Illustrated from a photograph) Grace S. Zorbaugk 227 

JlHUY THE Ghost. (Illustrated by R. Emmett Owen) Dorothy Jenks 436 

Jingles 62, 123, 169, 203, 220, 249, 298, 299, 302, 309, 3161 34i. 382, 431, 442, 448 

Keeping "Open House*' for the Birds. (Illustrated from photographs) £m«jf Harold Baynes. .. 208 

Kindergakten Orator, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Charles F. Lester )./i(iia H. May 442 

KnTEN THAT FoRCOT How TO Mew, The. (Illustrated by Ruth M. 

Hallock) Stella George Stern . . 357 

Kitty and the Mouse. Verse. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott 

Walcott) Margaret Johnson 426 

Knives and How They Cirr. (Illustrated from photo-micrographs). .C H. Claudy 449 

Lamp, The. (Illustrated) S. E. Forman 522 

Last Day (^ Wiktes and the First Day or Spring, The. Pictures 435 

Lieutenant akd the Lions, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald 

B. Birch) Kent Packard^ 124 

Lieutenant's Hunting Trip, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Regi- 
nald B. Birch ) Kent Packard 314 

Light of the Christmas Windows, The. Picture 319 

Lincoln, The Boys' Life of Abraham. (Illustrated by Jay Ham- 

Indge) Helen Nieolay 41 

Limx Common People, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Florence £. 

Storer) Naney Byrd Turner 207 

LiTn.E DtrrcH Girl and the Bear, The. Verse. (Illustrated by 

Jessie McD. Walcott) Margaret Johnson 26 

Little Eski and the Polar Bear. Pictures, drawn by Culmer Barnes ■ 303 

Little Gray Kitten, The. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall WheeIan)M<iry I^urence Tumbull. 262 

Longfellow's "Ebon Throne." (Illustrated from a photograph) /. L. Harbour 310 

Lost Top, The. Verse, (Illustrated by the Author) C. F. Lester 320 

Mace, The. (Illustrated) Thomas W. Lloyd 313 

Merchants, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan)/.»iM £. Mackay 140 

Mischief. (Illustrated) Rosamond Upham 537 

Mother Goose Continued. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch) ^imo Marion Smith 

The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe , 166 

Humpty Dumpty 352 

The Queen of Hearts 347 

One Misty, Moisty Morning 347 

Old King Cole 412 

Pussy Sits Beside the Fire 413 

The North Wind Doth Blow 413 

Sing a Song o' Sixpence 526 

I Love LJttle Pussy ; 526 

I Had a Little Husband 537 






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VI * CONTENTS 

There Was a Man in Our Town 527 

See Saw, Sacaradown 527 

MuRAMASA AND MASAMUNfe. Verse Arthur Upson 491 

Mystery, The. Verse. (Illustrated) Johnson Morton 220 

New Boy at Hilltop, The. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Ralph Henry Barbour. .. . 133, 

229,334 

Neighbors. Verse. (Illustrated by G. A. Harker) Malcolm Douglas 4JI 

No Hunting ! Picture, drawn by Will Vawter 323 

North Wind Doth Blow, The. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch). /fnna Marion Smith 413 

Not Afraid or Work. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 148 

Ocean Liner, On the Bridge op ak. (Illustrated from photographs). franm Arnold Collins .. 34 

Old Blue Pottery. (Illustrated from photographs) Ada Walker Camehl..., 423 

Old King Cole. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Anna Marion Smith 413 

Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe, The. Verse. (Illustrated by 

Reeinald B. Birch) Anna Marion Smith 166 

One Misty, Moisty Morning. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch)... i^nno Marion Smith 347 

On the Bridge op an Ocean Liner. (Illustrated from photographs) . .Fran^u i4moM Collins... 34 

Patient Rover. Picture 453 

p£t Bear, The. Verse. (Illustrated from a photograph) U. Francis Duff 309 

Pickaback Plays. Verse. (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer) Emilie Poulsson a6o 

Pictures 48, 49, 60, 107, 108, 109, no, iii, 132, 139, 148, 212, 219, 235, 236,259, 

303. 312, 323, 332, 333, 425. 443, 448. 453. 49a 49i. 498, 510. 542, 543, 548, 574 

PiNKEY Perkins. (Illustrated by (Seorge Varian) Captain Harold Ham- 
mond, U. S. A. 

How Pinkey Foiled a Practical Joker 28 

How the Coasting Party Ended 142 

The Battle of the Snow Forts 338 

How Pinkey Collected a Bad Debt., 348 

How Pinkey Brought Disaster Upon 'Himself 430 

How Pinkey Attained the Unexpected 493 

Pins, The. (See "The Little Common People") 307 

Poetry of Motion, The. Verse. (Illustrated by G. A. Harker) Eloise Sharon 399 

Politeness in Jungleville. Pictures, drawn by 1. W. Taber 542 

Popcorn, A Song OF. Verse. (Dlustratedby AlbertineRandall Wheelan)^ani:y Byrd Turner 13 

Pottery, Old Blue. (Illustrated from photographs) Ada Walker Camehl 422 

Pussy Sits Beside the Fire. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Anna Marion Smith 413 

Puzzled Thermoueter, The Cornelia Walter McCleary 548 

Queen of Hearts, The. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Anna Marion Smith 347 

Queer Fuel Crittenden Marriott 544 

Question of Coals, A. (Illustrated by H. Stoner) Margaret Johnson 50 

RackettV'Packetty House Frances Hodgson Bur- 

*w» 97.195 

Red Ball, The. Picture, drawn by Harrison Cady 132 

Red RmiNG-HooD of To-BAY. A. Picture, drawn by Emma E. Qarke 235 

RETtniNiHG FROM THE Ball Gaue. Pictures, drawn by Culmer Barnes 510 

Riddle Rhyme, A. Verse. (Illustrated by George R. Halm) E. B. Stems 551 

Rubens, The Two Sons op Peter Paul. (Illustrated) N. Hudson Moore 205 

Santa Comes but Once a Year. Picture, drawn by E. B. Bird in 

Saturday Before Easter, The. Picture, drawn by Ethel A. Jackson 548 

ScRAPPERFiGHT, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Arthur Henderson and 

G. A. Harker) Charles F. Junkin 355 

See Saw, Sacaradown. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch). ./4nfi<i Marion Smith 527 

Sentimental Sunny. Verse. (Illustrated by Mark Fenderson) Stella George Stem 249 

Short Cuts to the History Lesson 540 

Silhouettes. (See "When the Camera Was Unknown") 330 

SiNo A SoNc o' Sixpence. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch).^nfw Marion Smith 526 



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CONTENTS VII 

Skifpeb's Lad, The. Verse, (Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs) Arthur Upson 112 

Skipping Rope Time Has Come Again. Picture, drawn by Rose 

Mueller Sprague 574 

Sleeping Beauty, The. (Illustrated by Maud Thurston) Rhodes Campbell 499 

Smallest Doc in the W<»u.d, The. (Illustrated) Helene H. Boll 539 

Snow Brigade, The, Pictures, drawn by Culmer Barnes 212 

Song of Pofookn, A. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan) Nancy Byrd Turner 13 

Sfool Playthings. (Illustrated by the Author) Lina Beard 439 

Sfkikg Waking. Verse. (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer) Isabel Eccleslone Mackay 483 

Squikbel or Cehtsal Pakk, The. Verse. (Illustrated by G. A. 

Marker) Laura E. Richards 489 

Stamp Collechng. (Heading by G. A. Marker) Frank J. Stillman 504 

STAHP-CoLLzcnKG Experience, A. (Illustrated by G. A. Marker)...//. Hervey 508 

Stories of Useful Inventions. (Illustrated) 

The Lamp S. E. Forman 522 

Talks with Nature. Verse .^ Nixon Waterman 539 

Ted's Fooush Wish. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by the 

Author) C. F. Lester 123 

Thanksgiving Holidays and When They Are Not Popular. Pic- 
ture, drawn by I. W. Taber 60 

There Was a Man in Our Town. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald 

B. Birch) Anna Marion Smith 527 

Three Times Thru Brothers on the French Throne Elisabeth F. Parker 540 

Tiny Hare and the Wind Ball. (Illustrated by G. A. Marker) A. L. Sykes 451 

Toy Beabkins, The. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) John H. lewelt 549 

Toys from Pasteboard Boxes. (Illustrated by the Author) Lina Beard 343 

Twelfth-Night Story, A. Verse Mary Bradley 255 

Twin's Complaint, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer). £lfa»t Manly 342 

Two Sons of Peter Paul Rubens, The. (Illustrated) N. Hudson Moore 205 

Under Apwl Skies. Picture, drawn by G. A. Harker 49' 

Unhappy Fiddler, The. Verse. (Illustrated) John Kendrick Bangs.... 298 

Up-to-date Pussy-cat, An. Verse. (Illustrated and engrossed by 

Albertine Randall Wheelan) .Adeline Knapp 316 

VAumyiLLE Performance in Fairyland, A. Picture, drawn by Al- 
bertine Randall Wheelan 443 

Vida's Gray Muff. (Illustrated by Florence E. Storer) Kendrick Ferris 161 

War-ships— Ancient and Modern. (Illustrated) Frank E. Channon 402 

West Point. ("How a Cadet Leams to Shoot") Lieut. Henry I. Reilly, 

U.S.A 530 

West Point. {"Our Hundred-Year-Old Military Academy") H. Irving Hancock 528 

What Rosemary Says. Verse. (Illustrated by Isabel Lyndall) Emily Lennox 169 

When the Camera Was Unknown. (Illustrated) Morris Wade 330 

Wbitk Lion, At the Skn of the. (Illustrated by Arthur Hen- 
derson) Arthur M. Lane 5'? 

Who's Who? Verse. (Illustrated by Wra. A. McCuIlough) Annie Willis McCullough 203 

Why? Verse John Kendrick Bangs 148 

Will They Dare? (Illustrated) F.S 443 

Word to the Wise, A. Verse Louise M. Laughton 44S 

FRONTISPIECES. 

"The First Snowfall," by Florence E. Storer, Facing page 3— "Old Time Christmas Visitors," by 
Reginald B. Birch, lacing page 9;— "On New- Year's Day," by Blcndon Campbell, facing page 195— 
"But He Got Away!" by Walter J. Biggs, facing page 291— "Will They Dare?" by Frank Stick, facing 
Cge 387 — "A Double Surprise," by Frank Stick, facing page 483. 



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Tin CONTENTS 

FOR VERY UTTLE FOLK. (Illostoatid) 

Thr Good Kihg Margaret and Clarence 

Weed 69 

Eaklv and Late W. S. Reed 71 

What Rosuiabv Says Emily Lennox 169 

Pickaback Plavs EmiUe Poulsson a6o 

The Little Gkay Kittbn Mary Laurence Tumbull. 363 

The Ktitkn that Fokgot How to Mbw Stella George Stem 357 

Tiny Hark and the Wind Ball A. L. Sykes 451 

Baby's Ten Little Live Playthings J. K. Barry 454 

■ The Toy Beakkins fokn H. lewett 549 

A Riddle Rhyue E.E. Stems 551 

DEPARTMENTS. 

St. Nicholas Lbacub. (Illustrated) 80,176,272,368,464.560 

Natuse and Scixnce. (Illustrated) 72, 170, 264, 360, 4S6, 552 

Books and Rkading. (Illustrated) .ga, 188, ^ 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 94. IQO, 286, 380, 477, S72 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 95, 191.287, 383, 479, 575 

Editorial Notes 286,477.572 



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A NEW STORY BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 

NOVEM BER, 1906 

ST ICHOLAS 

ILLUSTRATED AVAGAZINE 

FORYOUNG FOLKS 



ft FREDERICK WARNE & CO • BEDFORD ST • STRAND • LONDON « 

THE-CENTURY-CO-UNION-SQUAR-E-NEW-YORK 



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Drawn lor St. Nicholas by Florence E. Storer 



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ST. NICHOLAS 



Vol. XXXIV 



NOVEMBER, 1906 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 

As told by Queen Crorapatch 

By Frances Hodgson Burnett 

Author of " L4Ille Lord Fauntleroy," " Sara Crewe." " Edilha's Burglar," etc., etc 

With niuMrationa by Harriton Cady 

Now please to remember that it is a Fairy chain and the ugly little Imp caught sight of 
who wrote this story — a real Fairy—Just as real it and you should have seen him kick up his 
r you are yourself— because if you don't re- heels and shout; 



member it will make me scold like anything. 

I AM a little cross to begin with but I believe 
I shall get better as I go on with my story about 
Winnie and the little rooks, because it is such 
a nice story. You will scarcely believe what a 
nice stoiy it is. But I feel cross because just as 
■ )ugh the Crystal Hall 



" Oh .' minkery — tinkery — winkery wee 
She's got her cage and she thinks she 7/ 

get me I 
Well, minkery — tinkery. We shall see." 

I stopped a moment and almost stamped but 
I remembered again and clinched my teeth and 
palace to go to Rose Garden and begin to write flounced past him, and I am glad to say that he 
I suddenly caught sight of a tiny tittle ragged was so frightened that he tumbled over and lay 
black creature hiding behind one of the glitter- sprawling and kicking on his back, 
ing crystal chairs and kicking its legs about and Then I went to the Rose Garden and found 
dancing and giggling in the most impudent the Respectable person waiting for me and I sat 
way, and I heard it cackle at me as it peeped down and ordered her to Spell what I told her 



in and out. 

"He-he-he — kee-e-e-e! She thinks she is 
going to write a book." 

And I saw it was nothing more or less than 
my little Temper, the one I lost out of my sil- 
ver cage, and he looked so tatteredy and raggedy 
and black and ugly and saucy that I am sure 
I should have begun to scream and stamp my 
feet but that I remembered quickly, that I had little body as pli 
madeupmymindtokeepmyselfquitequietuntil Shelived ' 



about Winnie. 
And this is it : 

Winnie was one of the nicest little girls I ever 

knew. She was only five and she was a round 

little thing. She had a round little face and 

round very blue eyes, and round red curls all 

over her head, and she had a round rosy button 

mouth, and round fat legs, and a round 

ip as a robin redbreast's. 

castle and her nursery was 



some day I could pounce upon him and catch in a tower and her nurse Binny lived in it with 

him when he was n't expecting it and just snip her. She had no papa and mamma and the 

him into his silver cage again and shut the castle really belonged to her but she was not 

door. I had the silver cage with me that min- old enough to care about that, because she had 

ute, swinging at my waist by a tiny diamond so many other things to care about. She cared 

Capyriiht, 190*, liy Th« Catrrvitv Co, AU riihli reserved. ,--~- i 

. vCooqle 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 



about Binny who was fat and had a comrortable 
lap and could sing songs and tell stories, and 
she cared about the thousands and thousands 
of primroses and bluebells which grew in the 
park round the castle, and she cared about the 
deer with horns and their wives who had no 
horns and the little fawn children who skipped 
about under the trees. But most of all she 
cared about the birds and was always asking 
Binny questions about them. One day when 
Winnie and Binny were walking together Binny 
stopped by a hedge and said ; 

" There is a thrush's nest with four eggs in it, 
in that hedge." 

" Oh 1 Binny ! " said Winnie, " do lift me up 
and let me look at it." 

" No," said Binny. "If the eggs' mothersaw 
us do it, she would go away and never sit on 
the eggs again, and they would starve to death." 

Then Winnie dragged her away by the hand 
and ran as fast as her round little legs would 
carry her. When she stopped running, her verj' 
blue eyes were rounder than ever. 

" If the eggs' father was flying about and saw 



T Little Gikls 



i, would he tell the mother ? 

'breath with running. 
" I daresay he would," ans> 
"And if the eggs' aunt saw 



[Nov, 

or cousins, would they tell the mother and 
would she never sit on the eggs again and 
would they starve to death ?" 

" That's just what would happen," said Binny. 
So from that time, when Winnie went walking 
with Binny, she always turned her face quite 
away from the hedges for fear a mother bird 
would think she was looking at her eggs and 
would go away and leave them to starve to 
death. 

She was always watching birds, but I think 
she watched the rooks most. That was be- 
cause she could look out of her window in the 
tower and see the Rookery where they lived. 
Rooks are big black birds who always fly in 
flocks and build their nests near each other in 
the tops of tall trees. A great many rooks 
built their nests in some trees Winnie could see 
from her window and she used to sit and watch 
them every day. In the morning when she 
heard them begin to say " Caw-w ! Ca-aw ! 
Caw!" She would run to the window andcallout; 

"Binny! Binny! the rooks are getting up 
and going to breakfast." 

Then she would watch and see first one 
glossy black rook come out of his nest and 
stand among the green leaves and shake his 
wings and preen his glossy black feathers with 
his beak. And then he would " Caw ! Caw ! " 
to his wife until she came out and sat among 
the leaves and smoothed out her glossy black 
feathers, and then they would Ca-aw ! Ca-aw ! 
Caw ! to their neighbors in the other branches 
and then they would Caw to the rooks in the 
ne.xt tree, and the next and the next, and the 
rooks would keep getting op and answering, un- 
til all the trees in the Rookery were full of 
rooks, all Cawing as if they were talking about 
the weather. But Binny told Winnie they were 
saying things like this : 

" / know where there 's lots io eat 
Caw, Ca-aw, Caw.' 
I know where there 's afield of wheat 

Caw, Ca-aw, Caw! 
The farmer sows that he may reap 
But the Scarecro^i) 's nodding and fast 

Who cares fer the Scarecrow .' " 

And at last they would all rise together flap- 
ping their wings and fly away over the tree tops 
like a black cloud, and Binny said they were 
laughing at the idea of being frightened of the 
Scarecrow the farmer put in the field to keep 
them from stealing his wheat. 

Winnie always watched them until they were 
out of sight and she could hear them cawing 
no more. 



rib/ 



Google 



'^^^ How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 5 

Then about sunset she liked to be at the Rook's nest so that she could see better. She 
window to watch them come home to sleep, began to feel as if she was the eggs' mother her- 
First she would see a little black cloud in the self and was quite anxious when Mrs, Rook 
sky and then it would come nearer and nearer, went away for a minute, 
until she saw it was made of rooks al! flying to- 
gether, back to their nests in the high, high old 
trees. Then Binny told Winnie they were say- 
ing things like this: 

" Flying and fun and food all day. 
Caw, Ca-aw, Caw, 
Flying and fun and meat and play. 

Caw, Ca-aw, Caw, 
We 've sat on the backs of fat old sheep. 
High up in our tree lops" 

And oh! what fun it was to see them settle 
down for the night. What a fuss they made 
cawing and talking and flapping their wings. 
When the last of them had got into his neat 
with his wife, and the cawing had stopped, 
everything seemed so quiet that Winnie was 
quite ready to get into her nest and sleep as 
they did. She loved the rooks because there 
were so many of them, and they seemed to live 
so near her. She used to feel as if they knew 
she was watching them from the tower window. 

At last one day Binny said to her. 

" The mother rooks are beginning to sit on 
their eggs." 

Winnie gave a little jump and scrambled 
down from the window seat. 

" Then I must n't look at them," she said, "I ■ ; • ■ ■ 

must n't look at them." 

"Yes, you can look at them from here," ..o. „..„.,.„ ^„^„ „.^„ i ...^„,„^ ., .r-., 
Binny answered. " They can't see you. Get up 
in your seat again. There 's a mother on the 
nest in the top of that nearest tree." 

Winnie scrambled back full of joy. There 
was a nest in the nearest tree and she could see 
a bit of it and Mr. Rook was sitting near it and 
talking to his wife. 

And he said this : (I told Binny and Binny 
told Winnie.) 

" Spread out tny dear, tuck in your legs. 

Caw, Ca-aw, Caw ; 
At/end to your business — eggs is eggs, 

Caw, Ca-aw, Caw ; 
It 's not the first time you 've been told 
T7iat if you let your eggs get cold, 
IVe shall have to send for the doctor" 

For the next two days Winnie sat and watched 
and watched. She wanted to sit in the window 
scat all day and she asked Binny questions and 
questions. 

Because I was so fond of her I sent some of 
my Fairies to push the leaves aside near Mrs. 



One day when she was watching from her 
window she suddenly saw a boy standing be- 
neath the tree and looking up. All at once he 
began to scramble up it and he scrambled very 
fast. 

" He will frighten Mrs, Rook," cried Winnie 
to Binny. 

" He is going to st«il the eggs," said Binny. 

" Run as fast as you can," Winnie said, " and 
tell him he must n't — he must n't." 

Binny ran as fast as she could, but by the 
time she got to the foot of the tree the boy was 
at the top of it. Winnie saw him put out his 
hand and she gave a little scream as Mrs, Rook 
flew up with a loud cry, and sailed away to 
find Mr. Rook and tell him what had hap- 
pened. 

" Come down ! come down ! " Binny called 
up from the fool of the tree. "How dare you 
touch the rook's eggs ! " 

The boy looked down and was very fright- 
ened when he saw the fat nurse from the,castle 

I . Ciooglc 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 



[Nov, 



scolding him. He thought she might send for 
the village policeman and he put the eggs back 
and scrambled down faster than he had scram- 
bled up. And Binny caught him and boxed 
his ears before he ran away. 

When she went back to the nursery in the 
tower Winnie was crying. 

" Mrs. Mother Rook will never come back 
and the eggs will starve to death," she said. 

And she sat and watched and watched, and 



then she called out, " Binny, Binny ' here is a 
Fairy ! " But Binny had gone oul of the room. 
I did not want her interfering. 

" I am glad you know a Fairy when you see 
one," I said. " Would you really like to sit on 
the nest and keep the eggs warm." 

In the nest on the top of the tree ? ' said 
Winnie, all in a flutter. 

" Yes, I answered. " Would you like to sit 
on them until they change into baby rooks, and 
then would you like to teach ihera to fly ? " 

" Yes ! Yes ! Yes ! " said Winnie. " But I 
can't fly myself. Fairy. And Binny would n't 
let me chmb up the tree." 

I just turned round and blew my tiny golden 
trumpet, I blew it once, 1 blew it twice, I blew 
it three times. And suddenly Winnie saw a 
flock of lovely green things she thought were 
butterflies. They came flying and flying. They 
were my Working Fairies, dressed in their green 
working-smocks. They all stood in a row be- 
fore me on the window ledge and made a bow 
and they sang together: 



Binny sat and watched and watched. Mrs. 
Rook and Mr. Rook came and flew about and 
cawed and talked to the other rooks and every- 
body cawed and scolded, but go back to that 
nest Mrs. Rook would not. 

" When the sun goes down they will get cold," 
wept Winnie. " Oh ! I wish I could go and 
keep them warm myself" She covered her 
very blue eyes with her very fat hands. 

" If a Fairy would only come and help me," 
she cried. " Nobody but a Fairy could help 
me." 

The very minute I heard her say that I 
flew on to her window ledge and let her see 

" Just look at me," I said. 

" Oh t you are a Fairy I " she gasped, and 



" Get out your tools," I ordered them, "and 
make this young lady small enough to sit on 
a rook's nest," 

They took theirtiny silver hammers out oftheir 
tool bags and they began to work. Their taps 
were so tiny that Winnie did not feel them and 
only laughed as they Hew up and down her 
and worked and worked, darting about and all 
talking at once, so it sounded as if a whole hive 
of bees were buzzing. 

Winnie held out her hand which was cov- 
ered by a swarm of them and she laughed and 
laughed. 

" Oh ! how pretty they arc ! " she said. 
"Binny! Binny! do come and see! I am 
covered with Fairies ! " 

" Hush," I said, " and stand still. There is 
a great deal to be done." 

Presently she began to grow smaller and 
smaller and in a few minutes she was quite 
small enough to sit on a nest. 

" Now," I said, " you arc ready to go." 

"But what will Binny do when she misses 
me ? " she asked. 

" Binny will not know," I answered. " I am 
going to leave an Imitation Winnie in your 
place." 

Then her very blue eyes grew rounder and 
rounder. 

" Oh I " she said. 

But I knew my business and I called to one 
of my Working Fairies : 



Google 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 



"Tip, can you turn yourself into a little girl ?" 
He looked ashamed of himself and wriggled. 
" 1 'm afraid I've forgotten how, Your Ma- 



Tlien he puffed and he fluffed until his body 
was round and plump, llien he puffled untU 
his arms were round, and he tlufHed until he 
had a round rosy face. Then he puffled and 
lluflled and huffled all at once until short red 
curls came out all over his head, and he had 
very blue eyes and a mouth like a rose button. 
And when he had done he stood there and 
looked exactly hke Winnie. 

"There," he panted out, "but my word, it 
was hard." 

" If he stays here until I come back, Binny 
will never know I have been away," said Win- 
nie. 

" Of course she won't," I said. " What do you 
suppose I made him do it for ! He is the Imi- 
tation Winnie. Now we must go or the eggs 
will be cold." 

I touched her on the shoulder and a lovely 
pair of wings sprang out. 

" Just try flying around the room a few times," 
I said. She stood on her lip-toes and gave a 



jesty," he stuttered. I stamped my foot hard 
and called to another one : 

"Nip, can you?" 

He began to wriggle too and tried to slink 
behind the others. 

"I — I — never learned. Ma-am," he stam- 
mered. 

Think how disgraceful. It shows what Fairy- 
land is coming to. 

"Rip! Skip! Trip!" I called out, and 
they all wriggled and tried to slink because 
Done of them could do it, and 1 was just going 
to fly into a rage and scream when a very tiny 
one called Kip stepped forward looking very 
red. 

" I 've been practising three hours a day if 
you please 'm," he said. 

" Then do it this minute," I commanded. 

He went and stood in the middle of the room and round, 
and began. Heputfedand he fluffed and he "How easy it 
puffed and he flufted until one of his legs beautiful 
was round and fat like Winnie's. Then 
he fluffed and he puffed and he fluffed and 
lie puffed until the other one was like it. 



few flaps and sailed up to the ceiling and round 

she said. " Oh ! how 

fly right out of the window and we 
will come with you," I said, " and take you to 
your nest." ^-. , 

M -. i./Cooglc 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 



But when she flew to the window ledge she 
Stopped a moment to speak to Imitation Winnie. 

" Be very nice to Binny," she said, " and al- 
ways say ' please.' " 

She flew right out of the window and when 
she got outside, flying was so delightful that 
she felt as if she would like to fly up into the 
sky. But she flew straight to the rook's nest. 

It was high up in a lovely tree and when she 
lighted upon the branch among all the waving, 
rustling green leaves she laughed for joy. There 
were green branches below her and green 
branches above her and green branchesall round 
her,and all the trees in the Rookery touched 
each other, and the blue sky was quite close, and 
there was the nest with the lovely eggs lying 
there waiting for her. 

" I hope they are not cold. Fairy," she said, 
and she put her hand on them. They were not 
cold but they would have been if they had waited 
much longer. Then she settled down in the 
nest like a mother-bird. She spread out her 
little flouncy embroidered frock and fussed and 



their real mother," All the Working Fairies 
crowded round in their green smocks with their 
little hammers and picks over their shoulders 
and looked at her. They kept nudging each 
other and smiling delightedly. They had never 
seen a little girl sit on a nest before. 

" Good-night," I said to her. 

Then all the Working Fairies said: 

" Good-night. Good-night. Good-night. 
Good-night," in low singing silvery voices, and 
we all flew away. 

The nest was very comfortable and the eggs 
grew warmer and warmer, the top of the tree 
rocked like a cradle, the wind whispered 
through the branches like a nurse saying: 

"Sh — sh — sh," and in the park Winnie could 

hear two nightingales singing. She lay and 

watched the stars twinkling in the blue sky 

above her head until her eyes closed and she 

fell fast asleep. When she wakened, the sun 

was just getting up out of a rosy cloud, and all 

'■WisMK Ki r.iv STRAKiiiT TO TUP. RooKs NhST." '^"^ ^" scemcd full of blrds singing. The rooks 

were cawing and flapping about, and suddenly 

fussed until nothing could have been warmer she found she could understand what they were 

than the eggs were. saying. 

" They won't get cold now," she said. " I 'II I had not told her about it but I had taught 
love them and love them until they think I am her rook language in her sleep. 



./Google 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 



A very handsome, glossy young rook had 
alighted upon a branch close to her nest and was 
looking and looking at her. When she opened 
her eyes he said this: 

" My goodness me .' I am surprised 
Caw, Ca-aw, Caw, 



Til/n. 






Caw, Ca-aw. Caw, 
JTiat liidy Rooks could be pink and while. 
With feathers of snow and eyes so bright. 

It really sets me fluttering. 
Suck a lady rook I have never seen. 

Caw, Ca-aw. Caw, 
Suth a lady rook sure has never been. 

Caw, Ca-aw, Caw. 
I really can think of nothing to say, 
I feel so shy I could fly away. 
My gracious .' I hopf she II admire me." 

Winnie sat up and smiled at him. 

" Are you my Rook husband ? " she asked 

He put his claw up to hide his blushes of 
joy and fluttered about on his branch. 

" Are you ? " said Winnie, and she pushed 
her flouncy little frock aside so that he could 
see the eggs. 

'■You see I am sitting," she explained, 
"and when 1 hatch, I shall be obliged to have 
a Rook husband to go and get things for the 
children to eat. Binny says that you 'd be 
surprised to see how much they do eat. If 
you are not my husband »vill you be him ? " 

" Oh ! Caw ! May I ? " said the young 
gentleman rook. 

" I should like to have you very much," 
said Winnie. " You are a beautiful rook. Do 
come close and let me stroke you, I have al- 
ways wanted to stroke a rook. But they never 
will let you." 

The young gentleman rook came sidling 
along and stood by her with his head on one 
side. And you never saw anything like the airs 
and graces he put on when Winnie stroked him. 
He asked to see the eggs again and Winnie 
showed them to him, 

•' Do you think I ought to wash them every 
morning? "she said. "Or would they take 
cold if I did?" 

" t am afraid they would," he said. " I never 
was washed." 

When I came with my Working Fairies to 
bring her a Fairy breakfast he was sailing about 
over her head and flapping his wings and caW" 
ing and showing off in a perfectly ridiculous 
manner. He actually wanted to fly at my 
Working Fairies and peck them away, 

" Get away, green butterflies ! " he cawed, 
" Don't bother my wife." 



But I soon brought him to order. 

"Green butterflies indeed!" I scolded. 
" They are my Fairies — and what is more you 
would never have seen this new kind of lady 
rook if I had not brought her here. I am 
Queen Crosspatch — Queen Silver-bell as was." 
He was frightened then. They all knew me. 

" I sent him here to be company for you," I 
said to Winnie, 

" Oh ! thank you," she said. " He is so nice. 
He lets me stroke him," 



He was so pleased and she was so pleased 
that I knew I need not trouble myself about 
them. Every rime 1 went to see Winnie she 
talked about her Rook husband, or else I found 
him sitting close to her cawing softly while she 
stroked him, or sat with her hand on his neck. 
He said that none of the other rooks had such 
a happy home. I never saw a bird as senti- 
mental. He -said his one trouble was that he 
was not a nightingale, so that he could sing to 
her all the night while she was sitting. He 
tried it once, though I told him not to do it, 
and Winnie had to ask him to stop. She could 
not go to sleep herself and it made all the other 
rooks in the Rookery so angry, and besides she 
was afraid he might waken the eggs. It was 

>oglc 



'0 How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks ^^'"■• 

beautiful sitting on that nest, rocking softly on " Whenever you hear the ieast little tapping 

the tree tops and looking up at the sky. All sound, tell me," he said, "because that will 

sorts of birds used to stop to talk and sing; mean one is beginning to break his shell." He 

squirrels came scuffling up to call and bring would scarcely go out to get things to eat. He 

ready cracked nuts; and bees came and was so afraid of being away when she hatched, 

hummed and hummed about flowers and hives, One beautiful sunny morning he was sitting 



and the lady rooks who were sftting on their 
nests in the other liranches, told Winnie story 
after story about the lovely places they flew to 
when they were not busy with families. 

She grew fonder and fonder of her rook hus- 
band. He loved her so much and was so proud 
of her, he would have done anything for her, 
and he was so delighted with the eggs. 



near her being stroked when she gave a little 

jump. 

" Oh ! I am sure 1 heard a tap ! " 

Then she gave another little jump and said: 

" Oh ! I am sure I heard a crack ! " 

And when she pushed her flouncy little frock 

aside there was a baby rook scrambling and 

kicking out of his shell, and in a few minutes 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 



more, another, who was perhaps a sister, both 
of them with nothing on but pin feathers and 
with their mouths wide open. Then there 



U 



" Make Mr. Root peck them if they won't 
behave themselves," I said to her. 

But she spoiled them dreadfully. 

" Oh ! no ! " she would say. " They are so 
little and they have no feathers yet." And she 
would fuss and fuss and spread her flouncy 
little frock out and cover them up as if they 
had been little golden rooks instead of squawky 
little things with big mouths and bare backs, 
liut she was so glad that she had saved them 
from being starved to death that she even 
thought they were pretty. 

One morning I went and found her in a 
great flutter. The baby rooks were fledged 
and Mr. Rook had told her they must be taught 
lo fly. But when he made them come out and 
stand on the tree they were so frightened that 
they would not stir and even tried to scuffle 
back into the nest under Winnie's flouncy little 
frock. 

" Oh ! do you think they are big enough ? " 



) Flutter and i'u 



began to be work for Mr. Rook to do. He had 

to fly and fly and fly and bring food to drop 
into their mouths, and the more he brought the 
more they wanted and the wider their mouths 
opened and the more they squawked and cried. 
He worked so hard that drops of perspiration 
stood on his forehead, but he was so proud that 
he never grumbled at all. 

" You are a good husband," Winnie said. 

" But just think how patiently you have sat 
on them," he answered smiling at her with his 
head on one side. I can tell you they both had 
to work before the baby rooks were fledged. 
They were restless, kicking babies, and Winnie 
had to fuss and fuss and tuck them in every 
few minutes to keep them from falling out of 
the nest and tumbling from the tree top. I 
used to send a guard of my Working Fairies to 
stand round the nest and help her. Every 
morning at six o'clock I used to go to see her 
and give her good advice. 



she said. " Suppose they should fall from the 
tree top." 

"If they fall they will begin to flap their 
wings, and if they flap their wings ,tlvey will i 

.Coogle 



12 



How Winnie Hatched the Little Rooks 



find out they can fly," said Mr, Rook. " I 
think I 'II give the eldest a little push," 

"Oh! don't!" cried Winnie. 

So he talked to them and argued and flew 
about to show them how to use their wings and 
he said : 

" Come off the tree yott silly things. 

Caw, Ca-aw, Cdtv. 
The only way to use your wings. 

Caw, Ca-aw, Caw, 
Is lo know that you were made to fly 
And then flap and sail inlc the sky. 

For thai 's all there is in flying." 

But they shivered and squawked and clung to 
Winnie until I began to scold them. And 
after i had scolded them I just marched up to 
the eldest one and gave him a push myself. 
He gave a big squawk and tumbled and his 
brother tumbled after him, for I gave him a 
push too. And of course the minute they 
found themselves falling, they began to flutter 
and flap their wings, and they found out they 
could fly and they just fluttered and flapped 
gently to the ground at the foot of their tree, 
and there they stood squawking and casing and 
boasting to each other about their cleverness, 
and saying they knew they could do it. Mr. 
Rook flew down to them of course and Winnie 
was left alone. 

'■ Oh ! " she cried. " The nest feels so empty. 
Will they never comeback ? " 

"They will never come back to stay," I 
answered. 

" But I will make them come and visit you 
on your tower window ledge. And I am sure 
Mr. Rook would visit you whether I made 
him or not." 

" Well 1 did hatch them, did n't I ? " said 
IVinnie, " and they did n't starve to death, and 
I am very fond of Binny — very." 

The next evening after Binny had gone to 
bed, I took her back. She kissed Mr. Rook a 
good many times and he told her he would 
come to see her three times a day. 

When we flew into the nursery window, 



Imitation Winnie was in bed waiting for usand 
was very glad to see us. She wanted to turn 
into Kip again. 

But the first thing was to make Winnie the 
right size once more — the size Binny was 
accustomed to. So my Working Fairies began. 
They swarmed all over her like bees and began 
to pull and tap and puffle her out — and in a 
few minutes there she waS standing quite big 
enough to put on Imitation Winnie's night- 
gown and get into Imitation Winnie's bed, so 
that Binny would find her all right when she 
came in the next morning. 

" Oh ! it has been nice," said Winnie as she 
cuddled down into her frilled pillow. " I never 
shall forget how lovely it is to rock in a nest in 
a tree top." 

When she told Binny about it Binny believed 
she had been dreaming. Of course she had 
never known she had been away because 
Imitation Winnie had looked exactly hke her 
and had always said "please." 

But there was one thing she could never 
understand and that was why so many rooks 
used to come and fly about the nursery window 
and sit on the window ledge. They actually 
seemed lo love Winnie, particularly one very 
glossy handsome young gentleman rook, who 
called there three times a day and was so tame 
that he used to perch on her shoulder or stand 
quite still with his head on one side while she 
stroked him. 

So you see that is the story of one of the 
things that would 'never have happened if 
Fairies had not been real and muth cleverer 
than People. 

The next story I am s^oing to write is af^oui 
two dolls' houses and the doll families who Irt-ed 
in them—and I hiou' both families well. One 
dolCs house was a grand one and one was a 
shabby, disreputable one. And one doll family I 
liked, and the other doll family I did n't like. 
And you will have to read the story and find out 
for yourself — if you have seme enough — which 
was the nice one. 

Queen Crosspatck 




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d by Google 



The Crimson Sweater 

By Ralph Henry Barbour 

With iriutlratioDB by C. M. Relyca 



Chapter 


XXVII 


THE GAME 


WITH HAMMOND 


Frrry Hill 




Jfammond 


Eaton, ib 




Mullen, 3t 


Bacon, ss 




O'Meara,^ 


Thurlow, 3b 




Stone, cf 


Pryok, ir 




Young, rf 


KiRBV, Cf 




Hartley, i 


Patten, ib 




Hviie, 2b 


CoLEjC 




; -aft, ir 


Welch, ri 






Post, p 




ROLUNS, p 



Post showed his ability in that first inning. 
Not a man reached first. Three strikes and out 
was the invariable rule, and Ferry Hill went 
wild with joy. If Post could serve Hammond's 
best batters in such fashion what hope was there 
for her tail-enders ? 

But Post was not the only one who could 
strike out batsmen. In the second half of the 
inning Rollins disposed of Chub, Bacon and 
Thurlow in just the same fashion, and so far 
the honors were even. Ferry Hill, who had loy- 
ally cheered each of the warriors as they stepped 
to the plate, looked less elated. The game 
speedily resolved itself into a pitchers' battle in 
which Rollins had slightly the better of it. Two 
innings passed without a man getting safely to 
first base. Then Sid, who was still rather bulky 
m spite of the hard work he had been through, 
got in the way of one of Rollins' in-shoots and 
trotted to first ruefully rubbing his hip. He 
made a vahant effort to profit by Post's scratch 
hit to shortstop but was easily thrown out at 
second. Not satisfied with this, Hammond 
played the double, catching Post a foot from 
tJie base. That was the last of tlie third. So 
far the game had dragged along uninterestingly. 
But now things began to happen, and at the 
end of fourth inning Hammond had scored 
twice while Ferry Hill had piled up another 
goose egg. 

Again, in the fifth, Hammond scored and an 
error went down in Thurlow's column. Ferry 
Hill had begun to have listless moments which 
boded ill for success. Errors were becoming 
too frequent to be merely accidents; it was a 
case of discouragement. Post, however, in 



spite of the gradual weakening of most of the 
nine, held up his end nobly. And Chub never 
for a moment eased his pace. But the rest of 
the team, if we except Cole, who was catching 
Post steadily and well, was plainly suffering 
from a fit of stage-fright. Whether the attack 
was to be temporary or permanent remained to 
be seen. Ferry Hill's supporters were getting 
uneasy; three runs to nothing seemed a pretty 
long lead with the game more than half over! 

Cole got his round of applause when he 
stepped to bat in the last of the fifth and it 
seemed to hearten him. Rollins was still pitch- 
ing the best of ball, but Cole was a weak batter 
and the Hammond twirler proposed to rest his 
muscles when the chance afforded. So he 
started out to dispose of Cole with as little effort 
as possible. The first two deliveries went by 
and were called balls. Then came a strike ; 
then another ball. It was time for Rollins to 
get down to work. Cole let the next one pass 
him, hoping that it would give him his base, but 
the umpire announced strike two. Cole gripped 
his bat a little farther toward the end and got 
ready. Smith, the Hammond catcher, read 
this to mean that he was resolved to strike at 
the next ball no matter what it looked like and 
signalled for a drop. It came. The umpire 
glanced at his tally and waved toward first. 

" Four balls ! " he called. 

Roy and the other cheer leaders leaped to 
their feet as Cole trotted down the line. 

" Start it going now ! " cried Roy. " Regular 
cheer and make it good ! " 

They made it good. Then they made it bet- 
ter. Chub, back of first, was begging Cole to 
take a longer lead and assuring him that Rollins 
would n't throw. Sid selected his bat and 
stepped up to theplate. There was one excel- 
lent thing about Sid ; he did n't know what it 
was to get really nervous. He had his instruc- 
tions to sacrifice and |)roceeded to do so by 
hitting the first ball thrown and trickling it 
slowly toward third. Third baseman and 
pitcher both made for it with the result that 
each interfered with the other and when the ball 
reached second Coie had been there for ages. 
And Sid, to his own surprise, was safe on fost 






by Google 



The Crimson Sweater 



With none out it looked like a score at last, and 
the cheering became continuous. But Post, 
although a good pitcher and clever fielder, 
was a miserable batter. It took just four balls, 
three of them straight over the plate, to send 
him back to the bench. 

Chub went to the bat looking determined. 
With two foul strikes on him and two balls he 
found something he hked the looks of and let 
go at it. It resolved itself into a long high fly 
to deep center. Stone was under it in time to 
gather it in, but not in time to field it home to 
prevent Cole from scoring. Ferry Hill jumped 
and shouted. They had made a run at last ! 
Then Bacon tried to bunt Sid home and him- 
self to first and only succeeded in rolling the 
ball out for a foul. After that he swung at a 
drop and missed it. He let the next two go by 
and found the fifth delivery for a safe drive in- 
to shortstop's territory, a drive so hard and ugly 
that it was beyond handling. Sid romped home 
like a Percheron colt and Bacon got to first. 
Thurlow killed time until Bacon had stolen 
second and then in an effort to knock the cover 
off the ball merely sent up a pop fly that was 
easily pulled down by second baseman. That 
ended the fifth inning, but Ferry Hill was vastly 
more encouraged. Two to three is n't so 
bad ; a run would tie the score. 

But they were reckoning without Mr. Right 
Fielder Young. Mr. Right Fielder Young 
started the sixth in a way that made the Ham- 
mond supporters hug themselves and each other 
ecstatically. He drove out a three-bagger over 
Kirby's head. Then when Hartley found Post's 
first delivery for two bases, sending Young home, 
the Feny Hill pitcher went up into the air. 
Hyde advanced Hartley and went out himself 
at first. Taft waited and trotted to first and 
the bases were full. Things looked dark for 
the home team Just then. But there was some 
comfort in the fact that the batters coming up 
now were the poorest of the Hammond string. 

Smith, Hammond's catcher, knocked a weak 
liner which Bacon got on the bound and fielded 
home in time to cut off Hartley. Ferry Hill took 
heart and cheered. Rollins came to bat, struck 
at the first ball pitched and sent a foul far back 
of the boards. Post steadied down now ; pos- 
sibly he forgot his nervousness in his desire to 
even matters with RolHns for the summary way 
in which that youth had dealt with him. Post , 
scored another strike against his rival and then 
Rollins let go at an out-shoot. 

The ball bounded off the rip end of the bat 
and went whirhng along the first base line. 
Rollins lit out in the track of the ball. To field 
it Patten had to run up a few steps directly in 
Rollins' path. He got the ball on a low bound 



15 

and tried to step aside and tag Rollins as he 
passed. He tagged him all right but he did n't 
get out of his way in time, and the runner with 
head down collided with him and sent him 
sprawling three yards away. The inning was 
over, but Patten was in a bad way. Rollins' 
head had struck him between chest and shoulder 
and as a result his shoulder blade was broken. 
It was not serious, said the doctor, but it ended 
his playing for that day. Patten begged to have 
his shoulder bandaged and be allowed to return 
to the game, but the doctor would n't consider 
the idea for a moment. And Chub, watching 
Patten being led away to the gymnasium for 
repairs, felt as though the very bottom had 
fallen out of things ! 

Pryor opened the last of the sixth with a 
" Texas Leaguer " behind first that gave him 
his base with seconds to spare. But Kirby 
went out on strikes. Caqienter, a substitute 
batting in Patten's place, followed suit and the 
inning came to an inglorious end when Cole 
sent a liner straight into Rollins' glove. 

Chub brought Kirby in from center to first 
and placed Carpenter in center. Kirby was 
not a wonderful baseman by any means, but he 
was the best at Chub's command. Carpenter 
was merely a common or garden variety of 
player who could n't be depended on to hit the 
ball, but could pul! down flies when they came 
near him and field them home with some chance 
of their reaching the plate in course of time. 
Chub was pretty well discouraged by this time; 
only Mr. Cobb kept a cheerful countenance. 

" It 's never over until the whistle blows," he 
said. And Chub was too miserable to notice 
that the coach had confused baseball with foot- 
ball. 

The seventh opened with the score four to 
two and ended with it seven to three. For Post 
went quite to pieces and the only wonder was 
that Hammond did n't score six runs instead of 
three. Mullen, the head of the Hammond bat- 
ting list, found Post for two bases, O'Meara, 
the captain, hit him for two more, scoring Mul- 
len, and Stone hit safely to right field. Sid 
could n't get under that ball in time, but he did 
field it back so as to keep O'Meara on third. 
Then Post presented Young with his base, and 
the bags were full. Hartley hit to Bacon and 
a double resulted, O'Meara scoring, Hyde, 
ai^er hitting up six fouls, none of which were 
capable of being caught, lined out a hot ball 
that escaped Chub by a foot. Stone scored the 
third run of the inning. Then Taft obligingly 
brought the slaughter to an end by putting a 
foul into Cole's mitten. 

Sid opened the last half of the seventh for 
Ferry Hill by a splendid drive into deep left 



Google 



16 

field that brought a throb of hope to ihe breasts 
of the wavers of the brown and white flags. 
But stupid coaching by Bacon resulted in his 
being caught off of first. Post surprised every- 
one by hitting to third and reaching his base 
ahead of a slowly fielded ball. Chub flied out 
to left-fielder. Bacon got his base on balls. 
Thurlow hit weakly to second who iried to tag 
his base, slipped and fell and only recovered his 
footing in time to keep Post from scoring. Pryor 
knocked a high fly back of third which that 
baseman allowed to go over his head and Post 
came in with Ferry Hill's third tally. Kirby 
struck out- Score, 7 — 3. 

Harry had viewed proceedings with a sinking 
heart and when Post went to pieces, making it 
evident that Kirby would have to be taken 
. from first and placed in the box if only 
to keep the opponents from entirely running 
away with the game, she felt desperate. Per- 
■ haps she would have continued to feel that way 
with nothing resulting had she not, while glanc- 
ing dejectedly about her, spied Horace Burlen 
in the throng below her. Post had just reached 
first at the moment and in the resulting delight 
Harry's departure was not noticed by the Doc- 
tor or his wife. She called to Horace over the 
heads of the throng surrounding him. 

" Horace ! Please come here a minute. I 
want to speak to you ! " 

When he had made his way out of the crowd 
and joined her she led him to a quiet comer 
at the back of the stand, Harry's cheeks were 
flushed and her eyes were sparkling excitedly, 

" Horace," she began breathlessly, " Kirby 
will have to pitch and there 's no one to take 
his place on first ! We 'II be beaten as sure 
as anything if Roy does n't play. You 've 
got to tell the truth to Dad, Horace I " 

Horace flushed a litlle but only laughed care- 

" You 'vejust got to, Horace! "she cried. "If 
you don't tell I will. I don't care if I did prom- 
ise Roy ! " 

" Say, Harr}', what 's the matter with you ? " 
Horace asked. " What are you going to tell ? " 

" About this ! " She held up the crimson 
sweater before him. " Vou know what I mean, 
Horace, and there 's no use in pretending you 
don't. You 've got to go to Dad this minute 
and tell him ! " 

Horace's eyes fell and the blood rushed to 
his cheeks. He turned away. 

" I can't stay here and talk nonsense with 
you," he muttered, " I want to see the game." 

But Harry seized him by the arm. 

" Why won't you own up, Horace ? " she 
pleaded. " You might. Roy saved you and — " 



The Crimson Sweater 



" How did he ? " asked Horace, pausing, 

" Why, by not telhng. He knew yesterday. 
But he would n't tell ; he would n't let us tell; 
lie said if he did you 'd lose your place in the 
boat and we 'd get beaten. He made us prom- 
ise not to tell Dad, but I will, just the same, if 
youdon't promise this minute to do it yourself!" 

" I don't know anything about the sweater," 
muttered Horace, 

" Oh you big fibber ! Jack and Chub were 



under the bed and saw you take it out oi j'our 
trunk and put it under Roy's mattress ! And 
we told Roy, and he would n't tell on you be- 
cause he said — " 

" Oh, I 've heard all that once," he inter- 
rupted roughly. " I guess if he did n't tell he 
had a mighty good reason for it ! " 

" 1 've told you why he did n't ! " cried Harry 
impatiently. " Do you suppose he wanted not 
to play to-day? He spared you and I think 
you might do that much to help him — and me — 
and the school." 

" It was just a sort of joke," murmured Hor- 
ace, his eyes on the ground. " I did n't know 



./Google 



I906-1 



The Crimson Sweater 



it was going to cause so much bother." He 
laughed uncertainly. " What 's the good of 
making more rumpus now ? Roy can't win the 
game ; we 're beaten already," 

" You don't know I " insisted Harry. " Any- 
how, it would be only fair and square ; and you 
want to be that, don't you, Horace P " 

" And get fired ? " he asked glumly. " Oh, 
sure ! " 

"You won't be fired! Why, it *s almost the 
end of school ! " 

Horace was silent a moment, his gaze on the 
diamond where the Hammond second basenun 
was picking himself up from the ground in a 
successful effort to head off Post at the plate. 

" Look here, Harry," he said finally, " do you 
really think Roy kept quiet so that I could stay 
in the race? Honest injun ? " 

" I know he did ! Chub and Jack will tell you 
the same thing ! Honest and honest, Horace ! " 

There was another moment of hesitation. 
Then Horace squared his shoulders, laughed 
carelessly and turned away. 

"All right, Harry," he said. "Lead me to 
the slaughter!" 

" You go into the box," said Chub to Kirby, 
"and for goodness sake hold 'em down, old 
man ! Post, you go out to center, will you ? 
Who 'vc we got for first, sir ? " 

And Chub turned in perplexity to Mr. Cobb. 

" Thurlow ; let Reynolds take third." 

Chub groaned. 

" Maybe I 'd better try it myself, sir. And 
let Reynolds take second." 

But Mr. Cobb shook his head. 

" Won't do," he answered. " You 're needed 
where you are." 

" All right. Where 's Reynolds ? Hello, Roy I 
Is n't this the limit ? If only you had n't been 
such an idiot I " 

" Why ? " asked Roy, his face one broad 
smile. 

" Why ? Why ! Oh, go to thunder ! Because 
if you were playing first we would n't be in such 
a hole, that 's why." 

" I 'm going to," answered Roy. 

" Going to what ? " 

" Play first, if you want me to." 

" Want you to ! " shouted Chub. " But what 
about Emmy ? " 

" He 's given me permission. Horace has 
'fessed up. It 's all right." 

Chub hugged him violently and deliriously. 

" Oh, good boy ! " he cried. " It 's all right, 
sir ! " he called to Mr. Cobb. " We won't need 
Reynolds. Porter "s going to play 1 " 

Mr. Cobb hurried across from the bench and 
nearly wrenched Roy's hind off. 

Vol. XXXIV.— 3. 



17 

" Doctor willing, is he ? That's good! That's 
fine! Do your best, Porter, do your best. 
Eaton 's a bit discouraged, but I tell him it 's 
not over till the whistle — that is, till the umpire — 
er — Well, good luck ! " And the coach hurried 
over to the scorer to arrange the new batting list. 

" Come on, fellows ! " cried Chub. Let 's win 
this old game right here ! " 

And Ferry Hill trotted out to the field for the 
first of the eighth. 

Chapter XXVIII 

THE CRIMSON SWEATER DISAPPEARS 

" Seven to three," muttered Roy as, drawing 
his big leather mitten on, he stepped to the 
base and held his hands out toward Kirby. 
" That 's four to make up to tie them." Sock 
came a ball against the hollow of his mitt. " If 
Kirby does his part, though, and they don't get 
any more runs, we 've got a chance." Back 
went the ball to the new pitcher and once more 
it flew across to Roy. " If I was n't surprised 
when Emmy sent for me ! ' There seems to 
have been a mistake Porter,' he said. ' I trust I 
have not discovered it too late for the successof 
thenine. Ifyou are wanted, take a hand, and 
good luck to you. Come and see me after 
supper.' What it means — (I beg pardon, 
Kirb; my fault!) — I don't know; unless 
Horace told on himself; he was there looking 
kind of down in the mouth. I 'm certain 
Harry did n't break her promise ! " 

" All right, fellows ! " shouted Chub, throw- 
ing the practice ball to the umpire and trotting 
to his position. " After 'em hard now. We 're 
all back of you, KJrb ! " 

Cole settled his mask into place and Kirby 
sent three trial balls to him. Then Smith, the 
first of the Hammond batsmen, stepped into 
the box. 

" Hello, you ! " called Chub cheerfully as 
Roy edged over toward him. "It 's good to 
see you there, old chap. Get after 'em, Roy. 
We 're not beaten yet ! " 

" Not a bit of it !" answered Roy. " We "11 
have them on the run in a minute." 

A whole lot depended on Kirby, and every- 
one realized that fact. If he could pitch his 
best game and hold Hammond down to her 
present score there might be a chance of Ferry 
Hill's doing something in the next two innings. 
But Kirby had had but a few minutes of warm- 
ing up work and might prove stiff. He got 
one strike on Smith and then sent him four 
balls, one after the other, seemingly unable to 
find the plate. Smith trotted to first. Chub 
called laughingly across to Kirby. 



./Google 



18 

"That's right, Kirb, give 'em a show." 

Kirby smiled and dug his toe into the 
ground. 

Rollins tapped the plate with his bat and 
shot a questioning look toward Smith on first. 
Kirby pitched wide, Cole slammed the ball 
down to Roy and Roy swung at the runner. 
But Smith was full-length in the dust with his 
fingers clutching a comer of the bag. Roy 
tossed the ball to Kirby. Smith crawled to 
his feet, dusted his clothes and took a new lead. 

" Strike one ! " droned the umpire. 

Smith trotted back to the bag. The coach 
sent him off again. 

"Take a lead, take a lead 1" he shouted 
through his hands. " He won't throw it ! Down 
with his arm, now ! Look out ! " 

But the warning came too late. Kirby had 
turned suddenly and thrown swiftly, and Roy's 
downward swinging hand had found Smith a 
good six inches away from base. 

" Out on first," said the umpire. 

From the Ferry Hill side came the sound of 
clapping hands and cheering voices. Smith 
walked back to the bench and Roy, moistening 
his mitten in the inelegant but effective manner 
of the ball player, trotted out to his position. 

" One gone. Cap ! " he cried. " Let 's have 

" All right, Roy. Next man, fellows ! " 

The next man was easy for Kirby. Rollins 
already had one strike and one ball on him and 
Kirby finished him up in short style, causing 
him to strike a full six inches above a deceptive 
drop and then putting a swift ball directly over 
the center of the plate and catching Rollins 
napping. 

" Well, well," cried Chub merrily. Only 
one more, Kirb. They can't touch you, old 
man ! " 

But that was n't quite so, for Mullins, the 
head of the rival batting list, touched him for 
two bases. O'Meara came up plainly resolved 
to do as well if not better, but only brought 
the first half to a close by popping up a high 
foul which Thurlow had no trouble with. 

As the teams changed places the cheering 
broke out simultaneously from both sides of 
the diamond, and flags waved tumultuously. 

" Who 's at bat ? " asked Chub as he trotted 
to the bench. 

" Carpenter," answered the scorer, " No, I 
mean Porter." 

" All right, Roy," said Chub. 

" Take it easy," counseled Mr, Cobb. " All 
you want is to reach first. We 'II get you on 
from there." 

" What 's he like ? " asked Roy of Chub as 
he stooped to select his bat. 



The Crimson Sweater 



" Oh, kind of hard. Look out for slow balls ; 
he 's full of 'em and works 'em on you when 
you 're least expecring 'em. You can hit 
him." 

" Hope so," answered Roy as he selected his 
sdck and walked to the plate. As he faced the 
Hammond pitcher, who grinned at him in prob- 
able recollection of the camp adventure, the 
Feny Hill supporters started a cheer. 

" Rah, rah, rah ! Rah, rah, rah! Rah, rah, 
rah I Porter! " 

Roy felt a little warming tingle in the region 
of his heart. Then be was swinging his bat back, 
for Rollins had undoubled and shot the ball 
forward. Chub staggered back oufof its way. 

" Ball ! " droned the umpire. 

Then came what was seemingly a straight de- 
livery and Roy swung at it. But it went down 
so suddenly when a few feet from the plate that 
his bat traveled several inches above it and 
threw Roy off his balance. Hammond jeered 
and laughed. 

" Don't try to slug, Roy ! " called Chub. 
"Easy does it!" 

And so it proved. Rollins sent a " teaser," 
one of his puzzling slow ones, but Roy had the 
good fortune to guess it before it reached the 
plate. He met it with an easy swing and made 
for first. Third baseman smothered it as it 
arose from the ground for the first bound and 
threw swiftly. But Roy was like a streak 
when it came to running bases, and this fact, 
coupled with the fact that first baseman had to 
step wide of the bag to get the throw, made 
him safe. Chub raced over to coach and seized 
the moment while the pitcher was returning to 
his box to whisper instructions. 

" Don't wait for a hit ; steal on the first ball." 

Cole appeared at the plate and Chub re- 
treated to the coacher's box and knelt on the 
ground. 

"Not too far," he counseled anxiously. 
"Watch out! Wait for the hit. Charlie 'II 
send you down." 

Rollins looked over at him, but did n't throw. 
The new player wasplainly timid and wouldn't 
give much trouble. So he turned his attention 
to Cole, Roy pranced nervously about on his 
toes a scant yard from base while the pitcher 
doubled himself into a knot. Then, as the arm 
began to drop swiftly, Roy leaped forward aad 
shot for second. 

" He 's gone! " cried the infielders. 

Cole swung at the ball, which was a drop, 
the Hammond catcher found it near the ground, 
side-stepped and sent it swiftly down to second. 
Unfortunately for success, he delivered it head- 
high to shortstop and in the moment that it 
took for the latter player to swing down with 



Google 



190C] 

it Roy found safely. Squatting on the bag 
he waited for proceedings to resume, dusting 
the brown soil from the front of his shirt and 
hearkening happily to the cheers which thun- 
dered from the Ferry Hill side. Then he was 
up and taking a good long lead in response to 
the appeals of Thurlow back of third. Rollins 
evidently felt sore, for Roy had done jvhat few 
had succeeded in doing that spring ; he prided 
himself on the fact that runners found it mighty 
hard work to steal bases on him ! So lie tried 
twice to catch Roy napping on second, but 
failed each time. Cole sent up a foul and (hen 
fanned out. 

Sidney Welch took his place. Sid had made 
a. good record to-day for a youngster and Roy 
looked for a hit. It came at once. Sid took 
a try at the first delivery and sent it speeding 
into short center field. Center slammed the 
ball down to third, but Roy was up again by 
the time it got there. Post came to bat 
looking determined. Roy danced along third 
base line and once narrowly escaped a put-out 
when Rollins slammed the ball over to third. 
Then Post let drive a straight one and hfted a 
high fly into short left field. He was caught 
out and neither Roy nor.Sid had a chance to 
advance. 

" Two gone 1 " shouted Cole over at first. 
" Everything goes ! " 

" You 've got to score, Roy 1 " coached Thur- 
low. "Take a good lead now! That 's it! " 

Chub was at bat. Rollins sent a strike over. 
Chub tapped the plate. Sid edged farther away 
from first. Rollins pitched again. 

" He 's gone ! " was the cry. " Watch home ! " 

Sid was hghting out for second. Shortstop 
ran in and catcher threw down lo him. Roy 
lan a few steps farther toward the home plate 
and stayed there, ready to go on or return to 
third. Sid doubled back for first. Shortstop 
sized up the situation, made as though to throw 
to third and then sent the ball to first. Sid 
turned again toward second. Roy was dancing 
about a third of the way home. 

" Watch home I " shouted the catcher. 

But first baseman did n't hear, or hearing 
thought he knew better what to do. Sid was 
between him and second baseman now, scram- 
bling back and forth like a rat in a trap. First 
threw to second and — 

" Home I Home ! " shrieked the rest of the 
players. 

Second threw home, but he threw wildly 
and the ball struck the ground to the left of the 
catcher and went bounding back toward the 
fence. Roy picked himself up and, patting 
the dust from his clothes, walked panting to 
the bench. Sid had reached third. Ferry Hill 



The Crimson Sweater 



19 

shouted and capered and waved brown and 
white flags. 

The scorer credited Ferry Hill with one more 
precious tally and Chub stepped smibng back 
mto the box. 

Rollins was the least bit rattled for the first 
time during the game. Chub found a nice one 
and Sid raced home. Out between right fielder 
and center fielder the ball fell to earth un- 
touched and Chub was on first. 

The cheering from the Ferry Hill side was 
wild and discordant, and it did n't stop for an 
instant until Chub was caught stealing second 
and put out two yards from the bag. 

Ferry Hill's supporters were happier than 
they had been for an hour and a half. To be 
sure, Hammond was still two runs to the good, 
but seven to five sounded a whole lot nicer than 
seven to three ; and, besides, Ferry Hill's best 
batsmen were coming up for the last of the 
ninth. Hammond went to bat, with Stone, 
her center fielder up. 

But Kirby had found his pace. Stone stood 
idle while two strikes and one ball were called 
on him. Then he swung at what seemed to be 
made for his purpose. Then he went back to 
the bench. Young took his place. Young was 
a good hand with the stick and even Kirby's 
most puzzling balls could n't keep him from 
first. He lined out the hottest kind ofa sizzler 
over Chub's head and was ready to go to sec- 
ond when Post fielded it. But he decided to 
stay where he was for the present. Perhaps 
had he known what was to befall Hartley and 
Hyde he would have risked more then. As it 
was, when he left first base it was not to take 
second but lo trot out to his position in right 
field. For Kirby struck out the next two bats- 
men in a stjle extremely pleasing to his friends 
and was the recipient of an embarrassing ova- 
tion when he walked to the bench, 

" Here 's our last chance," said Chub, a trifle 
nervously, as he ran in. " You 're up, Bacon. 
Do something now, for goodness sake ! " 

Well, not to prolong the suspense. Bacon did 
something. He struck out ; struck out as mis- 
erably as though his side did n't need two or 
three runs the worst way in the world. And he 
went back to the bench and Chub and the others 
looking ready to cry. 

"Hard luck," said Chub, striving to seem 
cheerful 

"Rotten batting!" muttered Bacon angrily, 

Thurlow brought hope back, however, by 
getting to first on second baseman's juggling of 
a liner. Pryor went to bat with instructions to 
bunt, tried it twice and then went out to third 
baseman. There were two out, a man on first 
and the tag end of the batting list was in sight. 



./Google 



20 

On the Hammond side the cheeriag was loud 
and contented. On the opposite side the brown 
flags were drooping dejectedly and the stands 
were emptying. Clearly, defeat was lobe Ferry 
Hill's portion to-day. 

But Kirby was n't 
ready to acknowl- 
edge it. At least, he 
told himself, he would 
have one good bang 
at that ball. He 
could do no more 
than go out. So he 
slammed away at two 
deliveries, wailed 
while a third went by 
and then hammered 
out a clean two-base- 
hit that sent Thurlow 
ambling across the 
plate for the sixth 
tally. Somehow, that 
seemed to change 
the entire aspect of 
things. Homeward- 
bound spectators 
paused and edged 
back to the diamond. 
Ferry Hill's cheers, 
which for the last five 
minutes had been 
weak and quiie evi- 
dently " machine 
made," now broke 
out afresh and the air 
became full of waving 
brown flags. 

It was " Porter at 
bat!" now, and Chub 
was whispering in- 
tensely in Roy's ear, 
accompanying him to 
the plate and parting 
from him finally with 
a slap on the shoulder 
that was heard across 
on the stand. 

Now, if there 's one 
thing in the whole 
wide world calculated 
to give a chap a fit of nervous prostration, it is to 
go to bat in the last half of the ninth inning with 
die knowledge that on his ability or inability to 
hit safely hangs victory or defeat. Roy had that 
knowledge, and httle chillscrept up and down his 
spine when he considered it. So he tried not to. 
He tried to forget everything .save that he was 
there to hit the ball; everything save that and 
what Chub had whispered in his ear at the last. 



The Crimson Sweater 



"'When you 're up against a bigger man, 
Roy, grin as hard as you can grin ! ' Don't for- 
get what your brother told you ! That 's all, you 
dear old chump ! " 




So Roy grinned. Perhaps he grinned so 
much that he quite disordered his features, for 
he found Rollins looking at him curiously as 
though wondering as to his sanity. But Roy 
still grinned — and watched. 

Rollins wound himself up and unwound him- 
self, and the ball shot forward. Roy judged it 
quickly and let it go by. The umpire vindicated 
his judgment 






by Google 



I90&] 

" Ball I " he said. 

Then came something of a difierent caliber 
and Roy stepped down and hit at it. It went 
by without a jar. 

" Strike ! " said the umpire. 

Again Roy tried his luck, spun half around 
and recovered himself to find Rollins doing the 
grinning. Roy grew angry. To have Rollins 
laugh at him was too much. He gripped his 
bat and took position again. Then he remem- 
bered his grin. It was hard to get it back, but 
he did it, Roy has an idea that that grin wor- 
ried Rollins ; be that as it may, it is a fact that 
the next ball went so wide of the plate that 
catcher had to throw himself on the ground to 
stop it and Kirby was safe on second. 

"Two and two!" cried the catcher, setting 
bis mask firm again. " Right after him, Jim. 
He 's pretty easy." 

Jim undoubtedly meant Roy to strike at the 
next one, but Roy did n't because the ball evi- 
dently had no intention of coming over the base. 

" Three balls," remarked the umpire in a dis- 
interested tone, just as though hundreds of hearts 
were n't up in hundreds of throats. 

For the first time since coming to bat Roy 
had a gleam of hope. Rollins had put him- 
self in a hole and the next ball svould have to 
be a good one. And it was. 

Roy swung sharply to meet it, dropped his 
bat like a hot potato and streaked for first. Out 
in left field a cherry and black stockinged youth 
was gazing incjuiringly toward the afternoon sky. 
Home raced Kirby, around the bases streaked 
Roy. He had seen the ball now and hope was 
dying out within him. Left fielder seemed di- 
rectly under it. But he would run as hard as 
he knew how, at any rate; there was no harm 
in that ; and you never could tell what would 
happen in baseball. So Roy went flying across 
second base and headed for third like a small 
cyclone in a hurry. And as he did so his heart 
leaped, for left fielder had suddenly turned and 
was running sideways and backward by turns 
out into the field. 

He had misjudged it badly. Had he not 
done so I should have had a different ending to 
narrate. But he did, and when the ball came 
to earth he was not quite under it although he 
made a frantic effort to get it. And by the 
time he had picked it up and relayed it to 
short-stop Roy was turning past third. And 
by the time shortstop had his hands about it 
and had turned, Roy was almost at the plate. 
And by the time — But what 's the use in draw- 
ing a victorv out in this way ? Roy beat that 
ball to the plate by at least two seconds. And 
ID one more second he was being literally car- 

THE . 



The Crimson Sweater 



21 

ried to the bench in the midst of a howling, 
shrieking, dancing mob of Ferry Hillitcs. Per- 
haps Ferry Hill would have continued the 
game until her third man had been put out had 
she had a chance. But when the spectators 
take it into their heads to have a war-dance in 
the middle of the diamond, ball playing is ex- 
tremely difficult. So Chub shouted something 
to the umpire, the scorer slammed his book 
shut on a score of 8 — 7 and pandemonium had 
everything its own way. 

Here and there a Ferry Hill player tried to 
sneak back to the gymnasium undetected, but 
in every case he was captured and placed high 
up on the shoulders of frantic, joy-crazed friends. 
There was no band there to lead that trium- 
phant procession around and around the dia- 
mond, but no one felt the necessity for one. 
There was noise enough without it. 

Roy, swaying unsteadily on the shoulders of 
a little group of hatless, red-faced youths, 
looked down on the sea of pushing, panting fig- 
ures and grinned happily. Chub, chnging 
desperately to the heads of two of his bearers, 
charged through the throng in Roy's direction. 

" Hello, there ! " he bawled. " Use your 
spurs and come on I " 

But Roy's bearers needed no spurs. They 
charged the crowd and Roy went bobbing 
through a hltle forest of upraised eager hands. 
Then the procession took some semblance of 
form and began its march around the bases ac- 
cording to time-honored custom. As Roy, fol- 
lowing closely behind Chub, passed third, he 
found Doctor Emery and his family beside him. 
The Doctor was smiling broadly, Mrs. Emery 
was waving a diminutive banner and Harry 
was dancing and shrieking, her red hair float- 
ing in disordered wisps about her face. She 
caught sight of Roy and darted toward him. 

" Wail ! Wait 1 " she commanded shrilly. 

Roy's bearers waited, laughing and panting 
protestingly. 

Harry reached up and tossed a crimson 
sweater about Roy's shoulders, 

" I 'm so glad, Roy," she cried breathlessly. 
" And it 's all mended ; I did it myself! " 

Roy nodded, drew the arms of his precious 
sweater across his chest and ;called his thanks. 
Then, impatient of thedelay, his bearers charged 
forward again and Roy clutched wildly to keep 
his seat. Thrice around the diamond the pro- 
cession went, cheering and singing, and then it 
turned across the track and filed through the 
gate in the hedge and so through the June twi- 
light and under the elms to the gymnasium. 

And in the van of the line, like a vivid stand- 
ard of victory, swayed The Crimson Sweater. 



d by Google 



By George Phillips 

With Illuilralioni by W. T. Ben 



Kino William rode a-liunting in the merry time of year, 

When frosts are strong and nights are long and Yule-tide draweth near. 

He wound his horn at starting and lo the Withesome sound 
Full half a hundred gentlemen came trooping close around. 
He wound his horn at even when the snow began to fall. 
And only one attendant was left to hear the call. 

Then laughed King William, cheerily, " A scanty train have I ; 
The darkness Cometh rapidly, the snow begins to fly ; 
The red deer led us such a chase the town is far away, 
Seek we some hut where we may bide til! dawning of the dav." 

Then rode they many a weary league all through the darksome wood 
Until at last they came to where i little cottage stood. 
The forester was far awa\ the loorwas barred and fast, 
But as the page's voice rang out the) heard a sound at last. 

The bar was drawn, the looi flung wi le there stood a little maid 
Who gazed at them wide eje I unl 1 the King cried—" An afraid? " 
Then gaily laughed the httle mi d and clapped her hands in glee, 
Crying, " Oh! the bonny horses! A\ilt give the gray to me?" 

The page has put the weary steeds beneath a shelter rude, 
The little maid has stirred the blaze and brought the guests some food. 
Then, standing close beside the King, she raised her curly head— 
" I prithee lell me what 's thy name? " the Httle maiden said. 



./Google 



■■THK BAR WAS DRAWX. Till: DOOR KLLNG WIDE, THKRE STOOD A LITTLE MAID." 



./Google 



Crooked Will 

King Wiiliam laid the flagon down from which he 'd drunk his fill. 
" Art not afraid of hunchback forms? Men call me Crooked Will," 

(And was it but a straying gleam from out the firelight ? 
Or was it truly sudden tears that made her eyes so bright?) 
Then softly said she—" Father had a brace of puppies tall ; 
But one was lame and might not hunt— I liked him best of all. 
How bravely shine tliy golden spurs— and what a wondrous ring! 
I prithee tell me who thou art?" "Perchance I am the King." 




Then gaily laughed the little maid and shook her liead in scorn, 

" The King would not come riding here at nightfall so forlorn! 

The King sits on a golden throne, a scepter in his hand— 

A royal robe about him flung, he judges all the land. 

The King is served from golden plates by men on bended knee — 

" But thou hast eaten from my plate and shared the food with me. 

" On winter nights I hear the wolves when all alone am I, 
The hut is cold, the snow is deep, no stars are in the sky. 
And Father ranges all the woods to guard the King's red deer, 
But sitting by the hearth I feel no sliadow of a fear. 
I shut my eyes and see the King upon his golden throne. 
And if I could not see him then, I 'd dare not slay alone, 

*' But in the great while hall I see the courtiers all around— 
The ladies fair in jeweled gowns that trail upon the ground. 
Tlie pages dressed in silk I see— Oh! everything is fair. 
But best of all there stands one form, blue-eyed with golden hair. 



V Google 



Crooked WiU 

So straight he stands, so tall he seems, he towers o'er everything ! 
Oh, Crooked Will, wouldst thou not love, just once to see the Kingi*" 

At midnight came a snow-clad band to find the missing King, 
With stamping hoofs and jingling bits they made the forest ring. 
They came into the little hut to search in wild alarm — 
And found a little maid asleep against the lame King's arm. 

And when they rode away again she rubbed her sleepy eyes. 
And standing in the doorway watched them go with many sighs. 
And still they heard her calling as they galloped on their way — 
" Come back again, dear Crooked Will, and bring the bonny grayl" 

Next morning came a silk-clad page to find the little maid, 
And many a rare and royal gift before her feet he laid. 
But best of all the gifts he bore, before he went away 
He left the steed he rode upon, the gentle, bonny gray. 

And through the lonely winter nights she dreamed her fancy still, 
And never knew and never guessed the King was Crooked Will. 



Vol- XXXIY.-4. 



d by Google 



The " Dot " Pictures 




THE 

onbtbe 





By M. J. 

*' Six little dot! on the pAge, my dnn, 
You miv pul them mharever you wUL 

Doubk or «^Tigle, Of nor or iux. 

ClKli or diunond, iquire or >ur. 

HowewT, wherever, the linle dou uc. 
They iholl make yoa ■ pieture idlL" 

A splendid big Kite, 

With a wonderfd tail, 
To float on the breeze 

Or to darxo with the gale, 
Like a bird In its frolicsome flight I 
To be sure, far beyond ■ 

There 's a little Chinee 

Who is running this way, 

But 't is easy to see 
That this tale is the Tail of a Kite I 

A httle Ghinea, 

With a beautiful queue 
That falls from hia cap 

With its button of blue, 
And a jacket as flne as can be 1 
To be sure, there 'e a Kite 

Far away in the sky, 
But this tale, it is easy 

To see with one eye, 
Is the Tail of a little Chinee ! 



d by Google 



The " Dot " Pictures 




UTTLE DUTCH 
^^ GIRL ^ 
/^NDTHE BE/1R 

By M. J. 

Gunning little Dutch girl, 

Face so round and sunny, 
Sitting on Lor little ctool 
Where the air is sweet and cool, 
Eating bread and honey. 

Great luzzy brown bear, 

Doea n't he look funny 1 
Tina's bib beneath his chin, 
Smiling as he gobbles in 

Tina's bread and honey. 

Tired little Dutch girl. 

Has n't any money. 
Come and ride with me," saya Bear, 
You 'v6 already paid your fare, 

Dear, in bread and honey 1 " 




Uigtizcd by Google 



Pinkey Perkins: Just a Boy 

By Gaptein Harold Hammond, U. S. A. 

niuamted by George Varian 
HOW PINKEY FOILED A PRACTICAL JOKER 



"Come on 'Bunny,' let 's hurry, the church 
is all lit up and lots o' people are going in 
already." 

It was the night of the church festival and 
fair, and "Pinkey" Perkins, accompanied by 
his chum, "Bunny" Morris, was hurrying 
churchward. Bunny liad "come by" for 
Pinkey, who lived somewhat nearer the 
church, and they had started as early as per- 
mission was granted. 

At Pinkey's exclamation, made on coming 
in sight of the church, the pair broke into a 
run, fearful lest they miss something in the 
way of entertainment. They had looked for- 
ward with great anticipation to this evening 
for a week or more and they were dressed in 
their newest and most uncomfortable Sun- 
day attire in honor of the occasion. Each 
clutched in his hand three bright new dimes 
which their parents had awarded them to meet 
the evening's expenses. 

Arriving at the church, Pinkey hung his 
cap on one of the hooks in the vestibule and 
entered the main hall, followed closely by 
Bunny. Pinkey's first act was to cast a hur- 
ried glance over those already assembled, 
searching for a familiar face and figure, with- 
out which no function, however brilliant, 
could be a success to him. But his search 
availed him nothing. His Affinity, Harriet 
Warren, had not yet arrived, which fact he 
noted with some concern. He had debated, 
mentally, sending her a note, "request- 
ing the pleasure of her company" on this 
occasion, but had finally decided that, owing 
to the nature of the entertainment, he would 
wait until it was over and then ask to "see 
her home." 

"Let 's look around and see what they 've 
got, and what table we want to sit at when 
we eat our ice cream and cake," said Pinkey, 
moving toward the center of the room, but 
still managing to keep a close watch on the 
door, Each table was presided over by two 
or more zealous church workers, and all were 



anxious, even to the point of solidting cus- 
tomers, to supply ice cream, peaches and 
cream, lemonade, cake, and other delicacies, 
as well as all sorts of fancy articles which had 
been donated for the good of the cause. 

Presently, as Pinkey looked for the 
fiftieth time toward one of the two 
entrance doors he caught sight of a head of 
golden curls and a bright laughing face, 
which he imagined showed a gleam of recog- 
nition when the dancing eyes saw that he was 
watching for them. What gave him addi- 
tional pleasure was the fact that his Affinity 
had come with several girls of her own age 
and that Eddie Lewis, his rival for her af- 
fections, had not yet put in an appearance. 

The attendance grew rapidly now, and the 
small rooms adjoining the large one were 
thrown open to accommodate the crowd. 

Pinkey was not long in maneuvering his 
position BO as to bring up at his Affinity's side 
in the most casual way, and he resented it 
deeply that Eddie, who bad by this time ar- 
rived, should stay so close to them and seem 
to consider himself a factor in her entertain- 
ment. Also he grew somewhat heavy-hearted 
when his AflSnity seemed inclined to encour- 
age Eddie and to act as though he too were 
entitled to notice. He felt sure that he stood 
above Eddie in her estimation and he could 
not understand why she should not show it 
more plainly. 

But Pinkey stood manfully by his post and 
when opportunity offered, said to his Affinity 
in a low, nervous undertone, while his heart 
thumped too loud for comfort: "Would you 
like to have some ice cream after a while?" 
He wanted to be sure of his ground and also 
to have some valid claim on her company for 
the remainder of the evening. 

"Yes, I guess so," she replied vaguely, 
looking away, and then added tauntingly, 
"unless there 's somebody else you 'd raUier 
ask." 

There 's nobody else in lown I 'd ^luttk 



a town I 'd i/At 

Googrc 



Pinkey Perkins : JusC a Boy 



29 



of asking," asserted Pinkey, stoutly, before 
he realized what an open declaration he was 
making. 

It was not easy to get rid of Eddie, how- 
ever, and what bothered Pinkey a great deal 
was that every time he had about succeeded 
in getting his Affinity well separated from the 
crowd, it would suddenly become necessary 
for her to hold a whispered conversation with 
some girl, which occasioned her returning to 



"Do T 






I Both 7 ■ Inquired t 



the crowd again and within the danger zone 
of Eddie's perseverance. Then Pinkey would 
walk slowly back and wait uneasily until the 
conversation was over and seek a good oppor- 
tunity to start again. This and the lack of 
assistance he received from his Affinity in dis- 
couraging Eddie's advances worried him into 
a state of despair. But at last, when he had 
become about as miserable as the artful ways 
of his Affinity could make him, she allowed 
herself to be entirely isolated from the others 
and in a few moments she had succeeded, by 
a few coy glances and an occasional con- 
fiding pressure on his arm, as he conducted 



her through the more crowded parts of the 
room, in raising his drooping spirits. 

Pinkey and Bunny were two of a very small 
number of the boys who had money enough to 
treat their girl-friends and he felt both proud 
and confused as he escorted his Affinity 
to an empty table and generously requested 
her to order what she desired in the way of re- 
freshments. He would have liked to sit at 
the table with Bunny and Bess Knapp, where 
they would not be so 
conspicuous, but his 
Affinity and Bess were 
still at outs over a re- 
cent quarrel and it 
would be two or three 
days before they were 
on speaki ng terms again. 
"I think I Ml have 
some strawberry ice 
cream," faltered Hat- 
tie, blushing as she ob- 
served the good-natured 
attention she and Pin- 
key were receiving 
from the older people 
on all sides. It was 
their first appearance, 
together and entirely 
alone, in such a public 
place and it confused 
her as much as it did 
Pinkey, if not more. 

"I '11 have some 
strawberry, too," said 
Pinkey, and then turn- 
ing to his Affinity he 
continued: "What kind 
of cake do you like?" 
"I don't believe I 
care for any cake," she 
!." (See next paoe.) replied, promptly. It 
took all her courage 
to decline it, but she remembered tliat when 
Pinkey had invited her in the first place, he 
had only mentioned ice cream, and she feared 
that his generosity lacked financial backing. 
"Ice cream 's no good without cake," said 
Pinkey, airily. "Two pieces of chocolate 
cake, please, with plenty of frosting on them." 
When they had been served and had begun 
to enjoy their refreshments, Pinkey noted with 
delight that his Affinity had changed her mind 
about not caring for cake and that when they 
had finally finished there was not even a crumb 
to be seen around her plate. 

The lady who had served th^tt-asked ifi 
M -. 1 vCiOOQlC 



30 

they desired anything more, and this time, 
when his Affinity declined, Finkey did not 
urge her to change her decision. 

"How much is it?" he inquired Ci^lessly, 
as he arose from the table. 

"Do you mean for both?" inquired the 
lady. 

"Yes, indeed, I mean for both," answered 
Pinkey, visibly nettled. "Of course 1 
would n't ask a girl to eat ice cream with me 
and then expect her to pay for itl" 

"Thirty cents," replied the lady without 
making any apology for arousing Finkey's ire. 

Finkey laid the three dimes on the table 
and walked away, as though it would have 
made no difference to him had it been twice 
that amount. 

After it seemed that everybody had par- 
taken of refreshments and had purchased all 
the fancy articles they cared to, the Sunday- 
school superintendent mounted the low plat- 
form at one end of the room, and announced 
that there would be a short program to com- 
plete the evening properly and that the first 
number would be an organ duet by two young 
ladies of the Sunday-school, who then arose 
and came forward. After a few necessary 
preliminaries, such as arranging music, mov- 
ing lamps, and dexterously whirling the tops 
of the organ stools round and round, screw- 
ing them up and then down again to their 
original position, they entered on their selec- 
tion, tremulously at first, then vigorously. 
One of the girls occasionally added to ttie 
evident difficulty of execution by crossing 
her right hand over her left and striking a few 
doleful notes on the lower end of the key- 
board, while her companion pumped valiantly 
at the pedals all the while and ran her fingers 
up among the tinkling notes as high as she 
could go. 

After bowing and blushing properly at the 
applause which followed their effort, the pair 
resumed their seats and the superintendent 
arose and announced that the next treat would 
be a recitation by Miss Harriet Warren. 
Pinkey felt his heart swell almost to bursting 
as his Affinity slid from her chair beside him 
and picked her way starchily through the 
well-filled room to the platform. He also 
gloated over the fact that all eyes would be 
upon her when she returned to her seat and 
would see that it was by his side that she chose 
to sit. 

So intent was he on her recitation, and the 
charming figure she made on the platform, 
that he failed to notice the stealthy removal 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



[Ha*^ 



of the chair beside him, on which his AfBnity 
had been sitting, and the suppressed titter 
behind him as Eddie Lewis, with a great 
show of mock importance, seated himself upon 
it, folded his arms, and looked about at his 
friends for approval of his joke. 

Pinkey had not taken his eyes from his 
Affinity from the time she left him, and when 
he saw her stop on the way back to her seat, 
look perplexed for a moment, and then ask 
another little girl to share her chair with her, 
he could not understand what it meant. Then, 
for the first time, he noticed that the chair 
was gone and his wrath rose instantly. He 
looked around to see if there was anyone near 
who might have done it, but Eddie had wisely 
vacated the chair before Pinkey missed it and 
had tiptoed his way to another part of the 
room, followed by "Putty" Blapk and two or 
three others. 

Pinkey did not give any further indication 
of the anger which was consuming him for 
he knew that it would only please all the more 
whoever had taken this method of teasing 
him. He had a good idea who it was and 
made up his mind then and there to settle 
with the guilty one as soon as he should find 
out to a certainty. 

He sat through the remainder of the pro- 
gram with a load of anger and despair on 
his heart that crushed out his interest in every- 
thing. Gloomily he regarded his Affinity, 
whose back was toward him, wondering if she 
would be so inconsiderate as to blame him for 
allowing her chair to be taken away and pos- 
sibly to think he did not care to have her re- 
turn to him. His misery was doubled when 
the last number was ended and, as the people 
arose and began preparing to leave the church, 
his Affinity left the chair, which her friend 
had so kindly shared with her, and without 
so much as a glance in his direction, walked 
straight to the little room where several of 
the ladies and girls had left their wraps. 

But Pinkey resolved not to be too deeply 
troubled over it, for it was but a small matter 
and one which could be easily explained to 
her on their way home. With his burden 
somewhat lightened by this reasoning, he 
started for the vestibule to get his cap so 
that he could get around to the other entrance 
and be there waiting for her when she came 
out. 

To his surprise and perplexity, Pinkey 
found that his cap was not where he had 
hung it, nor could he see it on any of the 
hooks near-by. At first he did not consider 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



his discovery seriously and expected any mo- 
ment to find it under some of the coats and 
wraps which were hanging all about and 
folded on chairs in the comers. 

When at last it dawned upon him that his 
cap must have been taken away purposely and 
hidden, he was downright angry. Savagely 
he searched everywhere he could think of, 
little caring that he needlessly disturbed the 
belongings of others in his whirlwind search. 
Everybody and everything seemed to he 
against him just at present but he got a few 



"OVERTUBNINC CHAISS I] 



s Mad Haste." 



crumbs of comfort by disarranging these 
things, since somebody had so carefully hid- 
den his. 

He started to leave the church without his 
cap and then he realized that it was his Sun- 
day one and that it would cripple his ward- 
robe very seriously to lose it, and furthermore 
it would give too much satisfaction to the 
culprit who had hidden it to see him leaving 
bareheaded amid the laughing taunts of the 
crowd of boys, which he knew would be as- 
sembled just outside. 

After charging about in the small room 
which adjoined the vestibule on one side, 
overturning chairs in his mad haste to find 
his cap before his Affinity should leave, and 



meeting with no result, save the astonished 
looks of the more deliberate ones still stand- 
ing about, Pinkey decided to look in the dark 
room adjoining, wherein was one of the fur- 
naces which furnished heat for the building. 

He pushed open the door leading into the 
furnace room. 

Once inside, Pinkey struck a match and 
looked all about. At iirst, the glare of the 
match blinded him ; then, as he became more 
able to see, his eye caught sight of a white ob- 
ject on the floor, near a long wooden bench. 
Picking it up, he discovered it to be a handker- 
chief, which, on closer inspection, proved to 
have Eddie Lewis's initials in one comer. 

"Just as I expected," muttered Pinkey; 
"two to one my cap 's under that bench," 
and with that he stuffed the handkerchief in 
his coat pocket, dropped on his knees, and be- 
gan feeling blindly under the bench. In an- 
other moment, his search was rewarded by 
his drawing forth the cap from beneath the 
far comer, soiled and dusty from being 
thrown on the floor. But still it was his cap 
and its condition did not worry him then. 

Madly he rushed from the room, through 
the vestibule, and out into the open air, and 
it would not have been good for Eddie Lewis 
to ha\'e encountered him at that moment. 
There were still a few boys standing around 
the door, and although a large part of the 
people had gone by this time, Pinkey hoped 
against fate that his Aflinity might still be 
among those remaining. 

As he started for the other entrance, where 
he hoped to find her, he heard someone call- 
ing to him softly from the shadows beneath 
the trees. 

Looking in that direction, Pinkey could just 
make out the figure of the village fiddler, a 
sort of half-witted fellow, known to 'every- 
body as "Liberty Jim." Jim was sitting on 
the ground, his back against the fence, and 
under his arm was clutched his old violin 
which was his constant companion. He was 
very fond of children and had recently taken 
an especial liking for Pinkey. His chief oc- 
cupations were sawing wood, tending gardens 
and playing patriotic airs on his violin, which 
latter habit had given him his nickname. He 
also found time to make sleds and kites for 
the boys during the Winter and Spring. 

"What is it, Jim?" inquired Pinkey, hur- 
riedly, not wishing to ignore his friend and 
still desiring to get to the door as soon as 
possible. 

"She 's gone with that Lewis boy, 1 



•■«y6gie 



32 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



replied Jim in an undertone. "I saw him ask 
to take her home and she went by here with 
him just a few minutes ago," Jim knew of 
Pinkey's admiration for Harriet Warren and 
concluded that it must be for her that he was 
looking. 

That blow was worse than all others com- 
bined, and although it was what Pinkey had 
feared would happen, the realization of it 
made him thoroughly sick at heart. To think 
that his Affinity should now be on her way 
home with Eddie, who was the cause of his 
not being at the door to meet her and who 
had also undoubtedly taken away her chair 
and thus caused her vexation and embarrass- 
ment, for which he was no doubt held to 
blame. 

Pinkey's sense of justice could not stand 
such a shock without demanding immediate 
and urgent protest. 

"Thanks, Jim," said Pinkey, evidently very 
much in earnest, "I '11 get even with him 
yet, though, you see if I don't," and Pinkey 
started off alone in the direction which he 
knew his Affinity and Eddie must have taken. 
He did not intend to overtake them; he 
wanted to meet them face to face, and, to this 
end, after he had come in sight of them, he 
cut diagonally across a square, and, after 
reaching a side street, so timed his steps that 
he should meet them at the next comer, im- 
mediately under the street lamp. 

When they came along, Pinkey walked up 
to the surprised pair and, holding out the 
handkerchief he had found, demanded: "Ed 
Lewis, is this your handkerchief?" His eyes 
were ablaze with the injustice that had been 
done him and he was so intent on settling 
with Eddie that for the moment he entirely 
ignored the presence of his Affinity, 

Eddie was taken completely off his guard. 
He started visibly and unconsciously began 
feeling, first in one pocket, then in another, 
but no word came from him. Harriet stood 
by, looking at the queer performance in dumb 
amazement. 

"Well, is it?" persisted Pinkey, holding 
the handkerchief still closer. "5a;' some- 
thing." 

Eddie tried to speak, but his voice failed 
him and his attempt amounted only to a piti- 
ful swallow and a few low, mumbling sounds. 
Finally, he managed to admit, by nodding 



his head and some more unintelligible sounds 
that he was the owner of the hateful object 
Pinkey held in his hand. 

"Well," continued Pinkey, pitilessly, "how 
did it come by the bench in the furnace room 
where somebody hid my cap?" 

No answer came from Eddie. He hung 
his head, shifted uneasily from one foot to 
the other, and reached mechanically for the 
handkerchief. 

"No you don't," said Pinkey, drawing it 
back. '■ How did it come there? Did you lose 
it when you were hiding my cap?" 

There was no use denying the charge; the 
evidence was clearly against him, so Eddie, 
fearing to deepen his guilt by disowning it, 
slowly nodded his head. 

"And did you lake away the chair from be- 
side mine when I was n't watching?" Pinkey 
did not intend to leave any doubt in his Affin- 
ity's mind as to who was responsible for his 
apparent lack of attention to her and was 
driving his advantage with dogged persist- 
ence to the end. 

"I was just fooling," Eddie managed to 
answer, almost inaudibly. 

" Well, that kind of footing does n't go with 
me," said Pinkey, "and the sooner you find it 
out the better. There 's only one thing that 
keeps me from licking you, right here and 
now," and for the first time he turned his 
gaze toward his Affinity, who had retained 
her attitude of speechless surprise all the time 
Pinkey was exposing Eddie's perfidy in such 
a heartless way. , 

After a moment, he moved away a couple 
of steps and said to his Harriet, as he looked 
frankly up at her: "Now you know just why 
the chair was n't there for you when you 
came back to sit down, and you know why I 
was n't at the door waiting for you when you 
started home. I 'm here now, and it 's for you 
to say who goes the rest of the way home 
with you." 

With one glance of mingled scorn and pity 
at the dejected figure beside her, Harriet 
walked boldly forward to where Pinkey was 
standing and placed her arm confidingly in 
his. Without another word to the crushed 
and disgraced Eddie, Pinkey dropped the 
telltale handkerchief on the sidewalk beside 
him and in triumph bore his Affinity away 
in the direction of her home. 



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■■'IS THIS YOUR HANDKERCHIEF?''- 

Vol. XXXIV.-5. 33 



d by Google 



■■ DeUTSCHLAND. 



On the Bridge of an Ocean Liner 

By Francis Arnold Collins 

ntuviraicd by phoiograpbt laken by the author on the bridge of the "Deutsdiland." 



How many of you boys and girls have ever 
been on the Captain's bridge of a trans-atlan- 
tic steamship? 

Indeed few mere landsmen ever come to 
know the bridge of an ocean liner well. 
Throughout the voyage this narrow platform 
is a very busy place after its own quiet fash- 
ion and visitors are likely to be in the way. 
All responsibility in guiding the great ship 
and safeguarding the passengers centers here. 
The steamer may be more than an eighth of 
a mile in length with a population of more 
than 3000 people. The powerful engines, 
measured by tens of thousands of horse- 
power, must tirelessly drive this great mass 
through the water almost at the speed of an 
ordinary railroad train. The life-saving de- 
vices throughout the ship must be always 
ready at an instant's notice. So perfect, how- 
ever, is the machinery of these great ships, 
so sensitive the great system of nerves which 
center at the bridge, that a single hand may 



control them. The bridge of one of these 

liners may be compared to a great keyboard. 

As a rule it is only on the captain's invi- 
tation that one is allowed in these upper 
regions. When you are so fortunate as to 
be invited, you are led up a narrow flight of 
steps from the boat deck to the bridge and 
thence to the pilot house. The bridge, 
especially in fair weather, will be found to 
be a very quiet retreat. At thfa height you 
no longer feel the deep throbbing of the 
engines ; while the busy decks seem to have 
been left far below. There are seldom more 
than two persons on duty here ; one, an of- 
ficer, paces quietly back and forth across the 
bridge, the other, a seaman, stands with his 
hand on the wheel intently watching the bin- 
nacle in which is suspended the compass. No 
conversation is allowed on the bridge, and 
scarcely an unnecessary word is spoken. 

The bridge may be sixty feet or store in 
length, probably five feet or more in width 



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On the Bridge of an Ocean Liner 



and with a considerable open space at the 
sides of the wheel-house. At sea the front 
and sides of the bridge are likely to be built 
up with canvas to protect the officers from 
the force of the wind which blows "great 
guns" in so exposed a position. A row of 
mysterious looking instruments called tele- 
graph signals and a series of speaking tubes 
are grouped at the center of the bridge ; at 
either end is a broad low seat. The wheel 
house at the center of the bridge, a heavy 
structure of polished wood, seems small when 
one thinks of the work which must be done 
there. 

THE WHEEL-HOUSE 

On entering the wheel-house a landsman 
is likely to be awed by the groups of instru- 
ments and masses of complicated machinery 
on every hand. Your eye will first be caught 
by the wheel, or wheels, for often there are 
two or more of them one directly in line 
with the other. The first of these is an in- 
significant looking affair perhaps a foot or 
so in diameter which seems out of all pro- 
portion to the work it must accomplish. Di- 
rectly in front of it stands the ship's compass 
while back of it are massed many compli- 
cated wheels and levers which transform the 
slightest motion of the wheel into the great 
force which guides the ship. 

All the great steamers are steered nowa- 
days by the aid of steam or electricity. In 
the old days half a dozen men at times 
would struggle with the wheel in high seas, 
and sailors have been killed by the rapid re- 
volving of the projecting spoke-handles. The 
modern steering-gear makes it possible to 
guide these great ships with the slightest 
pressure. The rudder weighing many tons 
is perhaps five hundred feet astern yet with 
a touch of the polished wheel the great 700 
foot ship will swing from side to side with 
almost the delicacy of a compass needle. 
The wheel that the steersman operates merely 
governs the steering engine, which, in turn, 
moves the great rudder. 

The most astonishing thing about the 
bridge is to find the wheel-house with all its 
curtains tightly drawn, as often happens, 
and the man at the helm steering the boat 
without seeing ahead at all. At night or 
even by day if the light of the binnacle is 
confusing the wheel-house is often completely 
shut in. The man at the wheel, it is ex- 
plained, does not need to look ahead. The 
look-out high up in the "crow's nest" and 



35 

the officer on watch on the bridge will keep 
him informed if any object is sighted. The 
duty of the man at the wheel is to keep the 
ship on her course. Throughout his watch 
of four hours he must keep his eyes on the 
compass and nowhere else. 

On one side of the wheel-house are posted 
the sailing directions which give the wheels- 
men explicit orders. The course to be fol- 
lowed for the day is placed in a neat little 
rack called the compass control. It suggests 
the rack in church at the side of the pulpit 
which announces the number of the hymns 
and psalm for the day's service. The com- 
pass control will announce for instance N, 7, 
8, W, or some such formula. The wheels- 
man glances at this as he takes his watch at 
the wheel and holds the great ship exactly 
on this course imtil he is relieved. To show 
how compact is the machinery of even the 
largest liners the accompanying photographs 
were taken on the bridge of the "S. S. 
Deutschland" which is one of the largest as 
well as the speediest ships afloat. 

STEERING THE SHIP 

The work of steering a great ship, even 
with the aid of all this machinery, is much 
more delicate than one would imagine. The 
larger and faster the ship the greater is the 
difficulty. It is not enough to hold the wheel 
in the same position to keep the ship on her 
course ; for the wind and waves and the cur- 
rents of the ocean tend constantly to knock 
the ship off her course. The great wall of 
steel ( for the hull may be 700 feet long and 
sixty feet high) offers a broad target for the 
wind and waves. The art in steering is to 
humor the ship to these forces and when she 
is deflected bring her back quickly to her 
course. If you could watch the binnacle, es- 
pecially in bad weather, you would see the 
needle of the compass constantly shifting 
from side to side which means that the great 
steel prow is not going forward in a per- 
fectly straight line. 

Nowadaj's the great liners are built for 
speed, an.d the steamer which regularly makes 
the best time in crossing will be intrusted with 
the mails and the longest passenger list. So 
much depends upon the runs of the great 
ships that two continents are constantly watch- 
ing them; and should they beat their records 
by but a few minutes the news would be 
flashed all over the world. No matter what 
happens the ship must be kept on her course. 
Let the great steel prow be aimed ever aa 1 



36 

little in the wrong direction, tlie deflection 
may be a fraction of an inch on the com- 
pass, and a few seconds will be lost in bring- 
ing licr back to her course. Should this mis- 
take occur many times the loss quickly grows 
into minutes. 



On the Bridge of an Ocean Liner 



if possible visit the bridge at noon when the 
sun is "taken" and the chart-room where the 
position of the ship is calculated and the 
course laid for the day. In the chart-room 
are kept the great maps and charts of the 
But the ship which makes the coasts and ports' the ship visits or is likely 



fastest crossing brings credit to hcrsdf, her 
company and the flag she floats. So the su- 
premacy of the sea.-i is i-ery largely dL'termined 
by the skill and faitiifulness of the man at 
the wheel in the dark and silent wheel-house. 
Before the man at the wheel-house in 
point of responsibility comes the master of them down the speaking tube to the chart- 
navigation and before him of course the cap- room. With the aid of these readings and 
tain. To understand their work you should some not very difficult mathematical calci\- 



^vts ON THt Compass ami Nowhere Flsr. 

to visit if she lose her way. Precisely at noon 
on every clear day the master of navigation, 
sextant in hand, takes bis position on the 
bridge and makes certain measurements of 
the pi^sition of the sun. He repeats his ob- 
servations while an assistant beside him calls 



On the Bridge of an Ocean Liner 



lations, the exact position of the ship is de- 
termined and marked on the map, and the 
course is laid for another day. At the same 
time in the cabins below the passengers are 
gathered to hear the ship's run and to com- 
pare it with the distance covered on the pre- 
ceding day. 

SAFETY DEVICES 

It is in its safety devices and the provision 
made to meet every possible accident that one 
of these great ships is perhaps most remark- 
able. All the machinery which may be set 
in motion in case of danger is centered on 
the hridge and so perfectly has it been ar- 
ranged that the entire vessel could be con- 
trolled, if the necessity should arise, by means 
of a series of levers and push buttons. About 
the walls of the wheel-house are ranged 
curious- looking indicators much the same as 
one sees behind the desk of a great hotel. 
About them are hung a surprising variety of 
barometers, thermometers, thermostats, wind 
and rain gauges and other less familiar look- 
ing instruments. There are rows upon rows 
of buttons and levers on every iiand, all 
highly polished and in the most perfect work- 
ing order. 

The danger of fire at sea for instance is 
anticipated by a thermostat connected with 
the frame filled with little squares like the 
hotel indicator. There are thermometers in 
every part of the ship electrically connected 
with this box which are constantly on guard. 
If a fire should start in any part of the great 
ship the temperature would of course rise, and 
the fact would instantly be announced in the 
wheel-house by the ringing of a bell while 
3 red light would flash at the same time in 
one of the squares of the indicator. The 
man at the wheel could tell at a glance the 
exact point of danger. 

The wheel-house is also the telephone 
"central" of the ship and it would be only 
the work of a moment to have men at the 
point of danger. 

The modern ships are divided into many 
different compartments by many partitions 
each carrying heavy steel doors. A series of 
levers will be pointed out to you in the wheel- 
house by which these great doors may be 
closed in any part of the ship at an instant's 
notice. These steel compartments, it will be 
explained, are so strong that in case of col- 
lision or of fire one or more of them might 
be filled with water and yet the rest of the 
ship would be unharmed. Should a fire be 



37 



discovered an entire compartment might be 
flooded in a few seconds. There is a series 
of squares in another indicator corresponding 
to every one of these steel doors throughout 
the ship. In case of danger it is possible 
to close all of these doors at the same instant 
by touching a single lever on the hridge. And 
should any door fail to close, a red light would 
instantly appear in one of tiie little squares 
to tell just where the trouble lay. These in- 
dicators to be sure look much like a hotel 
office but one watches them with a curious 
interest when you know that the lives of 
thousands may depend upon them. 

Still another safety device which may be 
watched from the bridge is the indicator 
connected with the submarine wireless system 
which gives warning of the approach of 
another ship. This invention, but lately 
added to the great ships, consists of a delicate 



instrument so connected with wires beneath 
the water that the presence of a large body of 
iron or steel, even at a considerable distance, 
is instantly recorded. Iliere is besides of 
course the regular wireless apparatus for 
sending and receiving signals over hundreds 
of miles of water, the great fog horn to gi' 



'ygk 



38 



On the Bridge of an Ocean Liner 



warning for several miles in the thickest 
weather ; and there is alwav's an alert watch 
in the "crow's nest," the little seat high up 
on the mainmast. The submarine wireless 
system is kept in perfect working order just 
as is the thermostat, the automatic contriv- 
ance for closing the steel doors and other 
safety devices, to meet a demand which it is 
likely will never arise. Few ships have ever 
used them but this elaborate preparation is 



work more quickly than the fire itself. No 
fire, it is claimed, could gain headway with- 
out being announced by the thermostat ; and 
even should it get beyond control an entire 
compartment or even a deck could be flooded 
with water in a few seconds with the use of 
machinery on the bridge. Tlie danger of 
collision with an iceberg, a rock or another 
vessel is anticipated by the steel compartments 
which, as we have seen, are controlled by a 



Sending i 



\ FI.A 



always made so that if danger ever came 
they would save a few seconds of time. 

The Captain surrounded by these banks of 
keys and levers is master of almost any situa- 
tion. He explains to you that every wreck or 
accident of the past has taught (he builders 
of ships some new lesson and that the same 
catastrophe is extremely unlikely to ever hap- 
pen twice. The greatest peril of the sea is fire, 
but even this danger has been met, it is be- 
lieved, by supplying machinery which will 



single lever shutting out the water from all 
parts of the ship except the compartment in 
wliich the hole has been made. 

SIf.XALS TO THE EN'GIXE ROOM 

The telegraph signals on the bridge are 
still another safeguard, although they are also 
used for the sake of convenience in docking 
the steamer. These signals consist of drum- 
shaped boxes mounted on stands, each with 
a lever, which passes over a dial. By turn- 



ing this lever it is p 

engine room or the wheel-house at the s 

such directions as start, stop, slow, fast, ri 



On the Bridge of an Ocean Liner 

ble to telegraph to the against the masts, and endlessly the deep 



pulsing of the engines. Outside the lights 
at the masthead swing from side to side mark- 
ing off the roll of the ship in great arcs 
against the sky. 

If yon are so fortunate as to stay until mid- 
night you will see perhaps the most curious 
sight of the twenty- four hours, when the 
ship's officer changes the time. The clock 
which sets the time for the life of the ship is 
put back about an hour if the vessel be sail- 
ing west or an hour ahead if it be pointed 
east, and the sleeping hundreds beneath will 
wake up in the morning to find their time- 
pieces all wrong. The helmsman's "watch" 



The Telegraph Signals to the Engine Room. 
left, and so on. In starting one of these 
great boats, before the great engines are set 
in full motion for the long trip and the ship 
answers her helm, the machinery may be con- 
trolled instantly by this telegraph. In the 
event of danger should the steering machinery 
in the wheel-house fail to work, should there 
be a fire or a collision smashing in the vessel 
amidships the officer on the bridge would 
still be in instant control of the great engines 
and of the rudder SCO feet astern. 

THE BRIDGE AT NIGHT 

The bridge is especially impressive at night 
when the great ship is asleep. The wheel- 
house is completely dark except for the cov- 
ered lamps in the binnacle. From time to 
time the captain enters the house asks a few 
questions in a quiet conversational tone, per- 
haps give some order. TTie marvelous ma- 
chinery which lines the walls stands silent 
guard. The bridge is quiet except for the 
curious singing note of the wind in the rig- 
ging and the sharp crack of the halyards 



Re-Settini 






MlU! 



comes to an end when the call of the lookout 
from the "crow's nest" announces another 
day. The beautiful sea cry is taken up and 
repeated down the long-deserted deck. 
"Eight bells and all ' 



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""■^'.Google 



The Boys' Life of Abraham Lincoln 



By Helen Nicolay 

IUiittrai«d by Jay Hambidg« 



Chapter XIII 



THE FOURTEENTH OF APRIL 

Refreshfj) in body by his visit to City Point, 
and greatly cheered by the fall of Richmond, 
and unmistakable signs that the war was 
over, Mr. Lincoln went back to Washington 
intent on the new task opening before him — 
that of restoring the Union, and of bringing 
about peace and good will again between the 
North and the South. His whole heart was 
bent on the work of "binding up the na- 
tion's wounds" and doing all which lay in his 
power to "achieve a just and lasting peace." 
Especially did he draire to avoid the shed- 
ding of blood, or anything like acts of de- 
liberate punishment. He talked to his cabi- 
net in this strain on the morning of April 
14, the last day of his life. No one need 
expect that he would take any part in hang- 
ing oT killing these men, even the worst of 
them, he exclaimed. Enough lives had been 
sacrificed already. Anger must be put aside. 
The great need now was to begin to act in 
the interest of peace. With these words of 
clemency and kindness in their ears they left 
him, never again to come together under his 
wise chainnanship. 

It was Good Friday, a day observed by a 
portion of the people with fasting and prayer, 
but even among the most devout the great 
news of the week Just ended changed this 
time of traditional mourning into a season 
of general thanksgiving. For Mr. Lincoln 
it was a day of unusual and quiet happiness. 
His son Robert had returned from the field 
with General Grant, and the President spent 
an hour with the young captain in delighted 
conversation over the campaign. He denied 
himself generally to visitors, admitting only 
a few friends. In the afternoon he went for 
a long drive with Mrs. Lincoln. His mood, 
as it had been all day, was singularly happy 
and tender. He talked much of the past 
and future. After four years of trouble and 
tumult he looked forward to four years of 
quiet and normal work; after that he ex- 

VOL. XXXIV.— 6. 



pected to go back again to Illinois and prac- 
tice law. He was never more simple or more 
gentle than on this day of triumph. His 
heart overflowed with sentiments of gratitude 
to Heaven, which took the shape, usual to 
generous natures, of love and kindness to all 
men. 

From the very beginning there had been 
threats to kill him. He was constantly re- 
ceiving letters of warning from zealous or 
nervous friends. The War Department in- 
quired into these when there seemed to be 
ground for doing so, but always without re- 
sult. Warnings that appeared most definite 
proved on examination too vagiie and con- 
fused for further attention. The President 
knew that he was in some danger. Madmen 
frequently made their way to the very door 
of the Executive Office; sometimes into Mr. 
Lincoln's presence; but he himself had so 
sane a mind, and a heart so kindly even to 
his enemies, that it was hard for him to be- 
lieve in political hatred deadly enough to 
lead to murder. 

He therefore went in and out before the 
people, always unarmed, generally unat- 
tended. He received hundreds of visitors in 
a day, his breast bare to pistol or knife. He 
walked at midnight, with a single Secretary 
or alone, from the Executive Mansion to the 
War Department and back. In summer he 
rode through lonely roads from the White 
House to the Soldiers' Home in the dusk of 
the evening, and returned to his work in the 
morning before the town was astir. He was 
greatly annoyed when it was decided that 
there must be a guard at the Executive Man- 
sion, and that a squad of cavalry must ac- 
company him on his daily drive ; but he was 
always reasonable, and yielded to the best 
judgment of others. 

Four years of threats and boastings that 
were unfounded, and of plots that came to 
nothing passed away, until precisely at the 
time when the triumph of the nation seemed 
assured, and a feeling of peace and security 
settled over the country, one of the con- 
spiracies, seemingly no more importaQt than 






The Boys' Life of Abraham Lincoln 



42 



the others, ripened in a sudden heat of hatred 
and despair. • 

A little band of desperate secessionists, of 
.which John Wilkes Booth, an actor of a 
family of famous players, was the head, had 
their usual meeting-place at the house of 
■ Mrs. Mary E. Surratt, the mother of one of 
the number. Booth was a young man of 
twenty- six, strikingly handsome, with an 
ease and grace of manner which came to him 
of right from his theatrical ancestors. He 
was a fanatical southerner, with a furious 
hatred against Lincoln and the Union. After 
Lincoln's reelection he went to Canada, and 
associated with the Confederate agents there ; 
and whether or not with their advice, made 
a plan to capture the President and take him 
to Richmond. He passed a great part of the 
autumn and winter pursuing this fantastic 
scheme, but the winter wore away, and noth- 
ing was done. On March 4 he was at the 
Capitol, and created a disturbance by trying 
to force his way through the line of police- 
men who guarded the passage through which 
the President walked to the East front of 
the building to read his Second Inaugural. 
His intentions at this time are not known. 
He afterward said he lost an excellent chance 
of killing the President that day. 

After the surrender of Lee, in a rage akin 
to madness, he called his fellow- conspirators 
together and allotted to each his part in the 
new crime which had risen in his mind. It 
was as simple as it was horrible. One man 
was to kill Secretary Seward, another to make 
way with Andrew Johnson, at the same time 
that he murdered the President. The final 
preparations were made with feverish haste. 
It was only about noon of the fourteenth that 
Booth learned that Mr. Lincoln meant to go 
to Ford's Theater that night to see the play 
"Our American Cousin." The President en- 
joyed the theater. It was one of his few 
means of recreation. 

Mrs. Lincoln asked General and Mrs. 
Grant to accompany her. They accepted, 
and the announcement that they would be 
present was made in the evening papers, but 
they changed their plans and went north by 
an afternoon train. Mrs. Lincoln then in- 
vited in their stead Miss Harris and Major 
Rathbone, daughter and stepson of Senator 
Ira Harris, Being detained ^ by visitors, the 
play had made some progress when the Presi- 
dent appeared. The band struck up "Hail 
to the Chief," the actors ceased playing, the 
audience rose and cheered, the President bowed 



CNot., 



in acknowledgment, and the play went on 
agam. 

From the moment he learned of the Presi- 
dent's intention Booth's actions were alert 
and energetic. He and his confederates were 
seen in every part of the city. Booth was 
perfectly at home in Ford's Theater. He 
counted upon audacity to reach the small 
passage behind the President's box. Once 
there, he guarded against interference by 
arranging a wooden bar, to be fastened by a 
simple mortice in the angle of the wall and 
the door by which he entered, so that once 
shut, the door could not be opened from the 
outside. He even provided for the chance 
of not gaining entrance to the box by boring 
a hole in the door, through which he might 
either observe the occupants, or take aim and 
shoot. He hired at a livery stable a small 
fleet horse. 

A few moments before ten o'clock, leaving 
his horse at the rear of the theater, in charge 
of a call-boy, he entered the building, pass- 
ing rapidly to the little hallway leading to 
the President's box. Showing a card to the 
servant in attendance, he was allowed to en- 
ter, closed the door noiselessly, and secured 
it with the wooden bar he had made ready, 
without disturbing any of the occupants of 
the box, between whom and himself yet re- 
mained the partition and the door through 
which he had bored the hole. 

No one, not even the actor who uttered them, 
could ever remember the last words of tbs 
piece that were spoken that night — the last 
that Abraham Lincoln heard upon earth; 
for the tragedy in the box turned play and 
players alike to the most unsubstantial of 
phantoms. For weeks hate and brandy had 
kept Booth's brain in a morbid state. He 
seemed to himself to be taking part in a great 
play. Holding a pistol in one hand and a 
knife in the other, he opened the box door, 
put the pistol to the President's head, and 
fired. Major Rathbone sprang to grapple 
with him, and received a savage knife wound 
in the arm. Then, rushing forward. Booth 
placed his hand on the railing of the box and 
vaulted to the stage. It was a high leap, 
but nothing to such a trained athlete. He 
might have got safely away, had not his spur 
caught in the flag that draped the front of 
the box. He fell, the torn flag trailing on 
his spur ; but though the fall had broken his 
leg, he rose instantly, brandishing his knife 
and shouting, "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" fled 
rapidly across the stage and out of sight. 



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The Boys' Life of Abraham Liacohi 



Major Rathbone shouted, "Stop himt" The 
cry, "He has shoVthe President!" rang through 
the theater, and from the audience, stupid at 
first with surprise, and wild afterward with 
excitement and horror, men jumped upon the 
stage in pursuit of the assassin. But he ran 
through the familiar passages, leaped upon 
his horse, and escaped into the night. 

The President scarcely moved. His head 
drooped forward slightly, his eyes closed. 
Major Rathbone, not regarding his own griev- 
ous hurt, rushed to the door to summon aid. 
He found it barred, and someone on the out- 
side beating and clamoring to get in. It was 
at once seen that the President's wound was 
mortal. He was carried across the street to a 
house opposite, and laid upon a bed. Mrs. 
Lincoln followed, tenderly cared for by Miss 
Harris. Rathbone, exhausted by loss of blood, 
fainted, and was taken home. Messengers 
were sent for the cabinet, for the Surgeon- 
General, for Dr. Stone the President's family 
physician, and for others whose official or 
private relations with Mr. Lincoln gave them 
the right to be there. A crowd -of people 
rushed instinctively to the White House, and 
bursting through the doors, shouted the dread- 
ful news to Robert Lincoln and Major Hay 
who sat together in an upper room. 

The President had been shot a few minutes 
after ten o'clock. The wound would have 
brought instant death to most men. He was 
unconscious from the first moment, but he 
breathed throughout the night, his gaunt face 
scarcely paler than those of the sorrowing men 
around him. At twenty -two minutes past 
seven in the morning he died. Secretary 
Stanton broke the silence by saying, "Now he 
belongs to the ages." 

Booth had done his work thoroughly. His 
principal accomplice had acted with equal 
audacity and cruelty, but with less fatal re- 
sult. Under pretext of having a package of 
medicine to deliver, he forced his way to the 
room of the Secretary of State, who lay ill, 
and attacked him, inflicting three terrible 
knife wounds on his neck and cheek, wound- 
ing also the Secretary's two sons, a servant, 
and a soldier nurse who tried to overpower 
him. Finally breaking away, he ran down- 
stairs, reached the door unhurt, and spring- 
ing upon his horse rode ofE. It was feared 
that neither Secretary Seward nor his eldest 
son would live, but both in time recovered. 

Although Booth had been recognized by 
dozens of people as he stood before foot- 
lights brandishing his dagger, his swift horse 



43 

soon carried him beyond any hap-hazard pur- 
suit. He crossed the Navy Yard bridge and 
rode into Maryland, being joined by one of 
his fellow-conspirators. A surgeon named 
Mudd set Booth's leg and sent him on his 
desolate way. For ten days the two men 
lived the lives of hunted animals. On the 
night of April 25 they were surrounded as 
they lay sleeping in a barn in Caroline 
County, Virginia. Booth refused to sur- 
render. The barn was fired, and while it 
was burning he was shot by Boston Corbett, 
a sergeant of cavalry. He lingered for about 
three hours in great pain, and died at seven 
in the morning. The remaining conspirators 
were tried by military commission. Four 
were hanged, including the assailant of Sec- 
retary Seward, and the others were sentenced 
to imprisonment for various lengths of time. 

Upon the hearts of a people glowing with 
the joy of victory the news of the President's 
death fell as a great shock. In the unspeak- 
able calamity the country lost sight of the 
great army successes of the week before ; and 
thus it came to pass that there was never any' 
organized celebration in the North over the 
downfall of the Confederacy. It was unques- 
tionably best that it should be so. Lincoln 
himself would not have had it otherwise, 
for he hated the arrogance of triumph. As 
it was, the South could take no offense at a 
grief so genuine; and the people of that sec- 
tion even shared, to a certain extent, in the 
mourning for one who, in their inmost hearts, 
they knew to have wished them well. 

Within an hour after Mr. Lincoln's body 
was taken to the White House the town was 
shrouded in black. Not only the public 
buildings, the shops, and the better class of 
dwellings were draped in funeral decorations ; 
still more touching proof of affection was 
shown in the poorest class of homes, where 
laboring men of both colors found means in 
their poverty to afford some scanty bit of 
mourning. The interest and veneration of 
the people still centered at the White House, 
where, under a tall catafalque in the East 
Room the late chief lay in the majesty of 
death, rather than in the modest hotel on 
Pennsylvania Avenue, where the new Presi- 
dent, Andrew Johnson (who as Vice Presi- 
dent succeeded Lincoln), had his lodgings, 
and where the Chief Justice administered the 
oath of office to him at eleven o'clock on the 
morning of April IS. 

It was determined that the funeral cere- 
monies in Washington should be held on 



igle 



The Boys* Life of Abraham Lincohi 



44 



Wednesday, April 19, and all the churches 

throughout the country were invited to join 
at the same time in appropriate observances. 
The ceremonies in the East Room were simple 
and brief, while all the pomp and circum- 
stance that the Government could command 
were employed to give a fitting escort from 
the Executive Mansion to the Capitol, where 
the body of the President lay in state. The 
procession moved to the booming of minute 
guns, and the tolling of all the bells in 
Washington, Georgetown and Alexandria; 
while, to associate the pomp of the day with 
the greatest work of Lincoln's life, a detach- 
ment of colored troops marched at the head 
of the line. 

When it was announced that he was to 
be buried at Springfield, Illinois, every city 
on the way begged that the train might halt 
within its limits, to give its people opportu- 
nity of showing their grief and reverence. 
It was finally arranged that the funeral cor- 
tege should follow substantially the same 
route over which Lincoln had come in 1861 
to take possession of the oifice to which he 
added a new dignity and value for all time. 
On April 21, accompanied by a guard of 
honor, and in a train decked with somber 
trappings, the journey was begun. At Bal- 
timore, through which, four years before, it 
was a question whether the President-elect 
could pass with safety to his life, the coffin 
was taken with reverent care to the great 
dome of the Exchange, where, surrounded 
with evergreens and lilies, it lay for several 
hours, the people passing by in mournful 
throngs. The same demonstration was re- 
peated, gaining constantly in depth of feel- 
ing and solemn splendor of display in every 
city through which the procession passed. 

Springfield was reached on the morning of 
May 3. The body lay in state in the Capitol, 
which was richly draped from roof to base- 
ment in black velvet and silver fringe, while 
within it was a bower of bloom and fragrance. 
For twenty-four hours an unbroken stream 
of people passed through, bidding their 
friend and neighbor welcome home and fare- 
well. At ten o'clock on the morning of May 
4 the coffin lid was closed, and a vast pro- 
cession moved out to Oak Ridge, where the 
town had set apart a lovely spot for his grave. 
Here the dead President was committed to the 
soil of the State which had so loved and 
honored him. The ceremonies at the grave 
were simple and touching. Bishop Simpson 
delivered a pathetic oration, prayers were 



oilered, and hymns were sung, but the 
weightiest and most eloquent words uttered 
anywhere that day were those of the Second 
Inaugural, which the Committee had wisely 
ordained to be read over his grave, as cen- 
turies before, the friends of the painter 
Raphael chose the incomparable canvas of 
"The Transfiguration" to be the chief orna- 
ment of his funeral. 

Though President Lincoln lived to see the 
real end of the war, various bodies of Con- 
federate troops continued to hold out for 
some time longer. General Johnston faced 
Sherman's army in the Carolinas until April 
26, while General E. Kirby Smith, west of 
the Mississippi River, did not surrender until 
May 26. 

As rapidly as possible Union volunteer 
regiments were disbanded, and soon the 
mighty host of 1,000,000 men was reduced to 
a peace footing of only 2S,000. Before the 
great army melted away into the greater 
body of citizens its soldiers enjoyed one final 
triumph — a march through the capital of the 
nation, undisturbed by death or danger, un- 
der the eyes of their highest commanders and 
the representatives of the people whose 
country they had saved. Those who wit- 
nessed the solemn yet joyous pageant will 
never forget it; and pray that their children 
may never see its like. For two days this 
formidable host marched the long stretch of 
Pennsylvania Avenue, starting from the 
shadow of the Capitol and filling the wide 
street as far as Georgetown, its serried ranks 
moving with the easy yet rapid pace of vet- 
erans in cadence step. As a mere spectacle 
this march of the mightiest host the conti- 
nent has ever seen was grand and imposing, 
but it was not as a spectacle alone that it af- 
fected the beholder. It was no holiday pa- 
rade. It was an army of citizens on their 
way home after a long and terrible war. 
Their clothes were dingy, and pierced with 
bullets, their banners had been torn with shot 
and shell, and lashed in the winds of many 
battles. The very drums and fifes had called 
out the troops to night alarms, and sounded 
the onset on historic fields. The whole 
country claimed these heroes as part of them- 
selves. They were not soldiers by profes- 
sion nor from love of fighting; they had 
become soldiers only to save their country's 
life. Now, done with war, they were going 
joyously and peaceably back to their homes 
to take up the tasks they had willingly laid 
down in the hour of their country's need. 



THE STATUE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN, BY AUGUSTUS ST. GAUDEMS. 



d by Google 



The Boys* Life of Abraham Lincoln 



46 



Friends loaded them with flowers as they 
swung down the Avenue — both men and offi- 
cers; some were almost hidden under them. 
But with all the shouting and the joy there 
was, in the minds of all who saw it, one sad 
and ever-recurring thought — the memory of 
the men who were absent, and who had, never- 
theless, so richly earned the right to be there. 
The soldiers in their shrunken companies 
thought of the brave comrades who bad fallen 
by the way ; and through the whole vast 
army there was passionate, unavailing regret 
for their wise, gentle and powerful friend, 
Abraham Lincoln, gone forever from the big 
white house by the Avenue — who had called 
the great host into being, directed the course 
of the nation during the four years that they 
had been battling for its life, and to whom, 
more than to any other, this crowning peace- 
ful pageant would have been full of deep 
and happy meaning. 

Why was this man so loved that his death 
caused a whole nation to forget its triumph, 
and turned its gladness into mourning? Why 
has his fame grown with the passing years 
until now scarcely a speech is made or a 
newspaper printed that does not have within 
it somewhere a mention of his name or some 
phrase or sentence that fell from his lips? 
Let us see if we can, what it was that made 
Abraham Lincoln the man that he became. 

A child born to an inheritance of want ; 
a boy growing into a narrow world of igno- 
rance ; a youth taking up the burden of coarse 
and heavy labor; a man entering on the 
doubtful struggle of a local backwoods career 
— these were the beginnings of Abraham Lin- 
coln if we look at them only in the hard, prac- 
tical spirit which takes for its motto that 
"Nothing succeeds but success." If we 
adopt a more generous as well as a truer 
view, then we see that it was the brave, hope- 
ful spirit, the strong, active mind, and the 
grave law of moral growth that accepts the 
good and rejects the bad, which Nature gave 
this obscure child, that carried him to the 
service of mankind and the admiration of 
the centuries as certainly as the acorn grows 
to be the oak. 

Even his privations helped the end. Self- 
reliance, the strongest trait of the pioneer, 
was his by blood and birth and training, and 
was developed by the hardships of his lot to 
the mighty power and iirmness needed to 
guide our country through the bitter four 
years' struggle of the Civil War. 



[Not, 



The sense of equality was his also, for he 
grew from childhood to manhood in a state 
of society where there were neither rich to 
envy nor poor to despise, and where the gifts 
and hardships of the forest were distributed 
without favor to each and all alike. In the 
forest he learned charity, sympathy, help- 
fulness — in a word neighborliness — for in 
that far-oft frontier life all the wealth of 
India, had a man possessed it, could not have 
brought relief from danger or help in time of 
need, and neighborliness became of prime im- 
portance. 

In such settlements, far removed from 
courts and jails, men were brought face to 
face with questions of natural right. The 
pioneers not only understood the American 
doctrine of self-government — they lived it. 
It was this understanding, this feeling, which 
taught Lincoln to write: "When the white 
man governs himself that is self-government ; 
but when he governs himself and also governs 
another man, that is more than self-govern- 
ment — that is despotism" ; and also to give 
utterance to its twin truth : " He who would 
be no slave must consent to have no slave." 

Lincoln was born in the slave state of 
Kentucky. He lived there only a short time, 
and we have reason to believe that wherever 
he might have grown up, his very nature 
would have spurned the doctrine and prac- 
tice of humarf slavery. Yet, though he hated 
slavery, he never hated the slave-holder. His 
feeling of pardon and sympathy for Ken- 
tucky and the South plajrd no unimportant 
part in his dealings with grave problems of 
statesmanship. It is true that he struck slav- 
ery its death blow with tlie hand of war, but at 
the same time he offered the slave-owners 
golden payment with the hand of peace. 

Abraham Lincoln was not an ordinary man. 
He was, in truth, in the language of the poet 
Lowell, a "new birth of our new soil." His 
greatness did not consist in growing up on 
the frontier. An ordinary man would have 
found on the frontier exactly what he would 
have found elsewhere — a commonplace life, 
varying only with thachanging ideas and cus- 
toms of time and place. But for the man with 
extraordinary powers of mind and body — 
for one gifted by Nature as Abraham Lin- 
coln was gifted, the pioneer life with its 
severe training in self-denial, patience and in- 
dustry, developed his character, and fitted him 
for the great duties of his after life as no 
other training could have done. 

His advancement in the astomshing career 

13,0 -z.d., Google 



The Boys' Life of Abraham Lincoln 



that carried him from obscurity to world- 
wide fame — from postmaster of New Salem 
village to President of the United States, 
from captain of a backwoods volunteer com- 
pany to Commander-in-chief of the Army 
and Navy, was neither sudden nor accidental, 
nor easy. He was both ambitious and suc- 
cessful, but his ambition was moderate, and 
his success was slow. And, because his suc- 
cess was slow, it never outgrew either his 
judgment or his power. Between the day 
when he left his father's cabin and launched 
his canoe on the headwaters of the Sanga- 
mon River to begin life on his own account, 
and the day of his first inauguration, lay full 
thirty years of toil, self-denial, patience; 
often of effort baffled, of hope deferred; 
sometimes of bitter disappointment. 

Almost every success was balanced — some- 
times overbalanced, by a seeming failure. 
He went into the Black Hawk war a cap- 
tain, and through no fault of his own, came 
out a private. He rode to the hostile fron- 
tier on horseback, and trudged home on foot. 
His store "winked out." His surveyor's 
compass and chain, with which he was earn- 
ing a scanty living, were sold for debt. He 
was defeated in his first attempts to be nomi- 
nated for the legislature and for Congress ; 
defeated in his application to be appointed 
Commissioner of the General Land Office; 
defeated for the Senate when he had forty- 
five votes to l)egin with, by a man who had 
only five votes 'to begin with; defeated again 
after his joint debates with Douglas ; de- 
feated in the nomination for Vice-President, 
when a favorable nod from half a dozen poli- 
ticians would have brought him success. 

Failures? Not so. Every seeming de- 
feat was a slow success. His was the growth 
of the oak, and not of Jonah's gourd. He 
could not become a master workman until 
he had served a tedious apprenticeship. It 
was the quarter of a century of reading, think- 
ing, speech-making and lawmaking which 
fitted him to be the chosen champion of free- 
dom in the great Lincoln- Douglas debates 
of 18S8. It was the great moral victory won 
in those debates ( although the senatorship 
went to Douglas) added to the title "Honest 
Old Abe," won by truth and manhood among 
his neighbors during a whole lifetime, that 
led the people of the United States to trust 
him with the Presidency. 

And when, at last, after thirty years of en- 



47 

deavor, success had beaten down defeat, when 
Lincoln had been nominated, elected and in- 
augurated, came the crowning trial of his 
faith and constancy. 

The outlook was indeed grave. There was 
treason in Congress, treason in the Supreme 
Colirt, treason in the army and navy. Con- 
fusion and discord were everywhere. To 
use Mr. Lincoln's forcible figure of speech, 
sinners were calling the righteous to repent- 
ance. Finally the ^ flag was fired upon, at 
Sumter; and then came the humiliation of 
the riot at Baltimore, and the President for 
a few days practically a prisoner in the capi- 
tal of the nation. 

But his apprenticeship had been served, and 
there was to be no more failure. With faith 
and justice and generosity he conducted for 
four long years a war whose frontiers 
stretched from the Potomac to the Rio 
Grande ; whose soldiers numbered a million 
men on each side. The labor, the thought, 
the responsibility, the strain of mind and 
anguish of soul that he gave to this great 
task, who can measure? "Here was place 
for no holiday magistrate, no fair weather 
sailor," as Emerson justly said of him. "The 
new pilot was hurried to the helm in a tor- 
nado. In four years — four years of battle 
days — his endurance, his fertility of resources, 
his magnanimity, were sorely tried and never 
found wanting. " " By his courage, his 
justice, his even temper, . . . his hu- 
manity, he stood a heroic figure in the center 
of a heroic epoch." 

What but a lifetime's schooling in disap- 
pointment, what but the pioneer's self-reli- 
ance and freedom from prejudice, what but 
the clear mind, quick to see natural right and 
unswerving in its purpose to follow it ; what 
but the steady self-control, the un warped 
sympathy, the unbounded charity of this man 
with spirit so humble and soul so great, could 
have carried htm through the labors he 
wrought to the victory he attained? 

With truth it could be written, "His heart 
was as great as the world, but there was no 
room in it to hold the memory of a wroilg." 
So, "with malice toward none, with charity 
for all, with firmness in the right as God 
gave him to see the right" he lived and 
died. We, who have never seen him, still 
feel daily the influence of his kindly life and 
cherish among our most precious possessions 
the heritage of bis example. 



THE END. 



d by Google 



A Changeable Little Maid 

By Geo. L. Benedict. 

I KNOW a little bright-eyed maid, 
Whose moods now grave, now gay, 

Change like a shifting weather-vane, 
In quite a puzzling way. 

While those who hear her laughing voice. 

Her roguish smile remark. 
Are wont with pleased accord to say 

" She 's happy as a — lark" 

Yet oftentimes, I grieve to add, 

If vexed by hurt or care, 
Transfonned at once this maid becomes 

As cross as any — bear. 

And then our tongues in mild reproof 

Of conduct bad we loose. 
And with a frown address her thus: 

" You silly little — gooseV 



d by Google 



A Changeable Little Maid 

Throughout the day her active fonn 
First here, then there, we see. 

And in amazement say she is 
As busy as a — bee. 

At last when evening shadows fall 
And silence rules the house, 

In slumbetland she rests at ease, 
As quiet as a — mouse . 

How she can be at once a goose, 

And on the selfsame day 
A mouse, a lark, a bee and bear. 

Is more than I can say. 

Yet none the less wilt I maintain, 

Nor contradiction fear. 
That in addition to all else 

She 's just a little — dear. 



J High School. 



d by Google 



A Question of Coals 

By Margaret Johnson 

llluBtrated by H. Stoner 



It was bitterly cold, and Hetty hung shiver- 
ing over the liali register. 

"I 'm almost sorry we asked the girls to 
come to-day," she said. ''We never can make 
this old barn comfortable in such weather!" 

The "barn" was the Marvins' big, old- 
fashioned country house, heated by a furnace 
in the cellar, and by no means proof against 
the nipping winds of this dark December 
morning. 

"What are they coming for?" asked Rob, 
going to the closet for his overcoat. 

"A Tea," said Hetty, with importance. 
"Not a real Tea," she answered to his shrug 
of masculine scorn at the word. "But just 
some of the girls, to sew and talk, and have 
a jolly time, and refreshments." 

"No use in my coming home early, then, 
if it is Saturday," said Rob, in a slightly 
embittered tone. 

"Not any," assented Hetty, promptly. 
"Boys are n't invited. We sha'n't have much 
of any dinner, either. For one thing, Jane 's 
got the neuralgia, and I know from past ex- 
perience that she will retire permanently 
from view right after lunch. Emily and I 
won't be hungry, anyway, after all the things 
we 've had for Tea ; but we '11 have a cold 
bite together, late, after it 's all over." 

"Cheerful prospect!" murmured Rob to 
the hat-rack, rummaging for his gloves. 

"Children!" Emily, huddling a shawl 
round ber shoulders, came out of the dining- 
room, with a letter in her hand and tragedy 
in her face. "The Tracys are coming to 
spend the afternoon, — Mr. and Mrs. Cieorge 
Tracy, you know, from Portsmoutli. To- 
day, of all days! She says they 're so sorry 
Father and Mother are not at home, but they 
have only a week in the city, and must see 
us dear children, anyhow, and — what shall 
we do?" 

"Telegraph 'em not to come!" said Rob, 
with inhospitable energy. 

"Never!" cried Emily, scandalized. 
"They 're Mother's dear old friends, and we 
shall have to be nice to them." 



"Get them to chaperone the crowd, then. 
1 guess they won't mind, if the^girls don't." 

"There 's one thing," spoke up Hetty, 
waking, apparently, out of a trance of dis- 
may. "If the Tracys are coming, they 've 
got to be kept warm 1 1 can't have them go- 



ing back to Portsmouth and saying they were 
frozen out at the Marvins'. Besides, Mrs. 
Tracy is delicate — she feels draughts." 

"It 's her heart," said Emily. "I 've 
heard Mother say so; and it 's scares she 's 
afraid of — not draughts. But I do think 
Rob ought to be able to manage this furnace 
belter, if he really tried! There is n't a 
bit of heat coming up the register now I" 



low I I 

^ogle 



A Question of Coals 



"He does n't half shake it," declared 
Hetty, shaking her own determined young 
head. "I believe I could do better myself, — 
and I shall certainly have to try," she added 
pointedly, "if he does n't wake up and take 
a little more interest!" 

Rob chuckled. He had an exasperating 
habit, when family affairs became deranged, 
of doubling up his long body in a chair, and 
shaking with mirth, as if — strictly from an 
outside point of view — he were vastly amused. 

"Vou may laugh," said Hetty, with rising 
spirit. "But I don't believe this house needs 
to be so cold! If Father were at home, it 
would n't be. And if you can't or won't do 
anything with the furnace, I shall take hold 
and see if / can!" 

Rob chuckled again, resorting to his favor- 
ite method of self -protect ion. If there were 
ever hurt or angry feelings behind this show 
of quiet amusement, they were as safely con- 
cealed there as pride could wish them, and 
no one was the wiser. 

"Good-by, — wish you joy!" he said, open- 
ing the front door, and letting in a blast of 
freezing air. 

"We ought n't to have scolded him!" 
sighed Hetty. "Now he won't come back 
at all ! Well, we '11 manage some way. Let 's 
go and make the cake, quick, Emily, before 
Jane gives out." 

True to the traditions of her past, that 
good woman betook herself to her room and 
her bottle of Pond's Extract shortly after 
lunch. All was then ready for the Tea. 
The parlor was dainty and charming, the 
table spread with alluring confections, and 
only the icy chill which still hovered in the 
atmosphere belied the cosy completeness of 
the preparations. 

"Go and dress, Emily," commanded Hetty, 
"while I run down and fix that fire. / 'II 
make it burn!" 

She flew down into the cellar, and Emily, 
shivering into her clothes upstairs, heard her 
rattling and banging away at the furnace, 
singing at the top of her blithe young voice. 
When she emerged, breathless and begrimed, 
she looked still a trifle anxious, though tri- 
umphant. 

"I 'm not sure about the draughts, but I 
guess it 's all right," she said. "There 's 
the bell now ! Well, they won't realize that 
it 's cold just at first, and the room will 
warm up presently. Let them in, Emily, and 
light all the lamps! I '11 be down in a min- 
ute and join the reception committee !" 



51 

The warmth of the welcome which Emily 
bestowed upon Mr. and Mrs. Tracy would 
have compensated for much that was lack- 
ing in the atmosphere. They were so dear 
and kind, — and their familiar faces made her 
think of her own absent mother ! 

"Well, well !" cried Mrs. Tracy, in her 
soft, surprised old voice. "And so you are 
keeping house all by yourselves ! Frank, my 
dear, think of it, — tliey are keeping house 
all by themselves !" 

."Frank" shook his silvery head in pleas- 
ant wonder. 

They were childless, these two old people ; 
but their hearts were as fresh as the color 
in their un wrinkled cheeks. They seemed 
never to have lost the simple, wondering atti- 
tude of children toward the experiences of 
life. Existence ofltered to them a series of 
innocent little surprises, in whose zest they 
continually renewed the dew of their youth. 
This happy characteristic made the events of 
the afternoon nothing less than a long de- 
light to them. Their kind faces beamed art- 
less wonder and enjoyment upon the merry 
girls, who, in all the bustle of their work and 
chatter, paid a pretty deference to the gray- 
haired guests. 

Hetty, feeling that all was going well, 
and, to her unutterable relief, that the room 
was growing wanner, slipped away to look 
after her fire. Perhaps somtf thing more 
ought to be done to it by this time. She 
lighted a candle, and went gingerly down 
into the cellar, which was quite dark, even 
now. The wind, howling around the house, 
mingled uncannily with the sounds of merri- 
ment from above, coming down hollow and 
distorted through the pipes. A vague rust- 
ling in a corner startled her. She looked 
ba-stily at her fire, assured herself that it was 
all right, and fled away up the stairs again, 
slamming and locking the door behind her 
with a breath of relief. 

Back in the bright room, she gave Emily's 
hand a reassuring squeeze as she passed, and 
abandoned herself to enjoyment, until, pres- 
ently, she caught a look of apprehension on 
Mrs. Tracy's face, and moving nearer, saw 
that her eyes were fixed uneasily upon the 
register. The next moment she heard a 
singular sound of rapping and scratching on 
the pipes below. 

"What is that noise, my dear?" asked Mrs. 
Tracy, mildly. 

"O, — that is — cats!" said Hetty, promptly. 
"Yes 'm — they do get in the cellar some- 



1 vGoogle 



A Question of Ckmls 



[Kov 



times, in winter. They like the heat, you 

The relief afforded by this happy inspira- 
tion was short-lii-ed. The noise increased, 
and was followed by a rattling crash and 



"(t, that\" Hetty smiled brilliantly. 
"Thai must be the — um — ah — O, yes 'm — 
the girl ! She 's probably down cellar, get- 
ting coal." 



"Emily HEAnri her Rattlinc and Bancisg / 

bang, as if somebody had stumbled and fal- 
len over some lieavy object on the floor. 
The girls, absorbed in their fun, did not 
notice it, but Mrs. Tracy's eyes grew large. 
"What can it be?" she breathed. 



To herself, with an accusing vision of 
poor Jane, swathed 
in Pond's Extract, 
up in her chilly 
room, she said, with 
conviction, " There 
is a man in the cel- 
lar — somebody has 
broken in! He is 
there now — and 
Mrs. Tracy must 
not know it — the 
shock would kill 

Something like a 
groan came waver - 
' ing up through the 
register, — then a 
sighing, sinister 

whisper that froze 
one's blood. 

"Crazy!" thought 
Hetty calmly. "Or 
a tramp. Thank 
goodness, the door 
is locked !" 

She dashed gaily 
in among the girls. 

"Let 's have some 
music!" she cried. 
"Come, Emily, we 
'11 play that new 
duet of ours — I 
know Mrs. Tracy 
would like to hear 

"Louder !" she 
murmured, as they 
began the dainty 
Kinderstiick, thun- 
dering away at her 
bass with an energy 
that left the discom- 
fited Emily's part 
* a mere trickle in the 

treble. "Play like 
ivAV AT TjiE Klhnace." mad — I 'U explain 

later." 
They played and played, Hetty- dashing 
wildly from one thing into another, satis- 
fied so long as Mrs. Tracy's attention was 
diverted, and unruffled peace sat on her gen- 
tle brow. When at last she paused, re^iz- 



A Question of Coals 



ing that all was quiet below, she wondered 
to find herself in such a heat. Looking 
about, she saw that the other girls' faces were 
flushed, and that Mr. and Mrs. Tracy's 
cheeks glowed like winter apples. 

"It 's getting awfully hot here," Emily 
whispered in her ear. "Is n't there anything 
we can do to the furnace?" 

"Nothing!" said Hetty, with fervent em- 
phasis. She might nerve herself to go down 
and brave the unknown terrors in the cellar, 
but who could tell what startling discovery 
might ensue, and if anything should happen 
to Mrs. Tracy's heart — better they should 
all perish with the heat than risk the pos- 
sibility of that ! If only Rob would come 
home! 

The bell rang, and she flew to the door 
to find, not Rob, but one of his dearest chums, 
Dick Norris. 

"Rob has n't come," she said, smiling at 
him nervously. "I wish he had! O Dick, 
do me a favor!" 

"Of course!" said Dick, heartily. "What 
is it?" 

"Go to the office, and get Rob! Tell him 
we v.-ant him at home right off!" 

"I Ml bring him back myself!" cried Dick, 
plunging gallantly out into the snow. 

Refreshed by her breath of cool air, Hetty 
returned hopefully to the parlor. It was 
growing hotter and hotter. The girls were 
fanning themselves with handkerchiefs and 
papers, and Mrs. Tracy smiled drowsily in 
a corner, while Mr. Tracy wiped the moisture 
from his perspiring brow. 

"Somebody will spontaneously combust if 
we don't do something !" thought Hetty, 
desperately, and opened a window with 
stealthy hand. But Mrs, Tracy was in- 
stantly conscious of a draught, and it was 
closed again. 

"Pretty warm here, are n't you?" sug- 
gested Diet, easily, coming back with the re- 
port that Rob was not at the office — had 
probably started for home. 

"O, does it seem warm?" wondered Hetty, 
politely. "It 's such a cold day, we thought 
— Stay with us till Rob comes, won't you?" 
she finished, in a different tone. Dick, 
catching its eagerness, assented cordially, and 
with the added gayety of his presence, the 
Tea came to a joyous end. 

Mr. and Mrs. Tracy stayed until the last 
girl had gone. "Such a treat, dear!" said 
Mrs, Tracy, as Emily bundled her in her 
wraps. "Such a happy afternoon, — was n't 



S3 

it, Frank? There 's only one thing — you 
won't mind an old woman speaking of it, 
dear? — 1 do think you keep your house a 
little too warm^ — don't you think so, Frank? 
— just a little, — for health, you know!" 

Hetty fell hack on the sofa in a collapsed 
heap as the door closed. 

"We keep our house too warm !" she cried. 
" We, Emily, — what a triumph ! Now, lis- 
ten both of you, quick — there 's somebody 
down in the cellar — a robber or a burglar 
or — what 's that!" 

A vigorous pounding on the front door 
brought the girls to their feet, and Dick 
sprang into the hall with an air of being 
equal to a whole army of burglars. "Stay 
there!" he cried. "I '11 go!" 

The door flew open. There was a shriek, 
a scuflle, a shout of laughter, and Dick came 
flying back, followed by a familiar, yet 
strangely terrifying figure, — white with dust 
and cobwebs, black with coal, wet with snow, 
breathing threaten ings and slaughter from 
every feature of his fierce though grimy 
countenance, — by all that was incomprehen- 
sible—Rob I 

"Where have you been?" cried Emily; but 
the truth burst upon Hetty even before he 
answered. 

"Been? In the cellar!" thundered Rob. 
"Hettv ought to know — she locked me down 
there!" 

"I never!" gasped Hetty. "Vou were n't 
there ! " 

"Was n't I, though!" scoffed the victim, 
bitterly. "Did n't I sneak in the back way 
so as not to disturb you, and go down to 
fix the fire, and while I was round the cor- 
ner getting coal, did n't you creep down like 
a ghost, so that I never knew you were there 
till I saw your candle going up the stairs, 
and then I rushed after you and almost 
])ounded the door down, but you 'd gone back 
to your precious Tea, and never heard." 

"But why did n't you" — began Emily. 

"I did\" cried her brother. "1 signalled 
up the register every way I could think of, 
but you did n't catch on a bit. I did n't 
dare make too much of a row, for fear of 
Mrs. Tracy's heart; and when that racket 
on the piano began, I knew it was all up with 
me, and just sat down in sackcloth and ashes, 
— especially ashes,— and— went to sleep." 

Dick doubled himself up on the sofa and 
roared, and the girls laughed until even Rob's 
injured and indignant countenance relaxed 
into a protesting grin 



- Jt 



h, Google 



54 



" How did you get 
through her tears. 

"Broke a window, and crawled 
a coal-heap," answered her brothi 
slam of tile door must have waked m 



A Question of Coals 

asked Emily, 



" A Fahiuai 



r Stbanof.l\ 



the people went. I supposed I 'd been there Hetty said, tenderly: 

all night, probably, and thought 1 might starve for almost roasting u; 

to death if I did n't get out somehow, soon." ot poor Mr. and Mrs 

"O Bobby dear, don't mind — we can't have n't an ounce of sense among us — be- 

help it!" said Hetty, wiping her eyes. "If cause I know now it was just 'coals of fire' 

you knew — " for Emily and me, and we deserved it !'' 



"I 'm not mad — only grieved," said Rob, 
with dignity. "Besides, though it was dirty 
down there, it was n't cold; and then, I got 
used to it after a while. 'My very chains 
and I grew friends, So much a long com- 
munion tends' — Dick 
Norris, if you don't 
quit laughing, and 
come and help me 
brush up, I '11 put 
you down there to try 
being 'Prisoner of 
Chillon' awhile your- 
self I" 



"But I thought you 
were n't coming 
home," Emily began, 
later, when they were 
all gathered about the 
table, and Rob, 
washed and com- 
forted, was being fed 
by the repentant 
Hetty with bread and 
milk and all the left- 
over luxuries of the 
Tea. "You said — " 
" YoW said there 
was n't going to be 
any dinner!" retorted 
Rob, witliout bitter- 
ness. " But I thought 
I 'd come home and 
look after things any- 
how — I knew Hetty 
could n't do any- 
thing with that fire. 
By the way," he 
added, looking up in- 
nocently. "Were you 
warm enough? I did 
my best — just fired 
up the old caboose, 
put all the draughts 
on, and let her go, be- 
fore I went to sleep. 
It seemed to me when 
I woke up" — A shout 
of laughter stopped 
him, astonished. But 
"I forgive you, Bobby, 
■> alive— to say nothing 
. Tracy, who think we 



IV Google 



Abbie Ann 

By George Madden Martin 

Aulhor of Ihe "Emmy Lou" Stories. 

llliMtnted by C. M. Relye* 

Chapter I Mr, McEwan, as they darkened the door- 

way looked up, and the telegraph instrument 
Abbie Ann, as she skipped along the plat- clicked on under his rapid fingers, 
fonn of the little railroad station by her "May I leave Abbie with you for an 
^ father's side, turned 
her head to see her new 
sash. Perhaps she was 
wishing there was some 
one beside herself to 
admire it ; but the 
tracks, the switches, 
the station, made Coal 
City, as it was some 
twenty years ago. Be- 
yond the bend, nearer 
the coke ovens, were 
the rowsof frame houses 
occupied by the miners 
and their families. 

Abbie Ann's father 
was tall and close- 
bearded and he looked 
p re- occupied ; he was 
leading her along by 
the hand as if he had 
forgotten entirely that 
she was there, and she 
was skipping, not only 
because the general 
tune of life is one to 
skip to, but because he 
went so fast. 

He paused at the 
open door of the sta- 
tion, and Mr. Mc- 
Kwan, the agent, with- 
in, looked up. Next 
to her father, Abbie 
Ann, who was nine 
years old, long ago had 
decided she cared for 
Mr. McEwan more than 
for any one else in the 

world. Now her world, -She Tried to See Herself in the Looking-Glass." 

beside father and Mr. 

McEwan, consisted of Coal City and its in- hour or more, Mr. McEwan?" asked her 
habitants, the miners and their families. father, stepping familiarly into the room. 



d by Google 



■■A BUMP. A RUSH OF AIR. THE NOISE OF THE LOCOMOTIVE WAKED HER." 



./Google 



Abbie Ann 57 



Mr. McEwan looked at Abbie Ann. He 
wore glasses and when he opened his eyes 
wide and blinked them quidt, the glasses 
winked. They winked at Abbie now. 

"Why not?" said he. 

Another thing about Mr. McEwan was, 
that when he raised his eyebrows interroga- 
tively, it lifted his hair too, which was red 
and which stood up like a brush. When his 
glasses winked and his hair lifted, Abbie had 
come, long ago, to know that he was pleased. 

This being the case now, and his little 
daughter provided for, Abbie Ann's father 
turned hastily and went back to the wagonette 
where the gentlemen who had come to see the 
mine, were waiting. When money b being 
sought to further develop a coal mine, would- 
be investors are to be given undivided at- 
tention. So Abbie Ann was left behind and 
Father and the gentleman drove off. 

Abbie went over to the desk and stood be- 
side Mr. McEwan. Looking up, he surveyed 
her with a speculative air. Then he shook 
his head dubiously. 

"You really don't look it," he said. 

"What?" asked Abbie Ann. 

"A young barbarian." 

Abbie Ann grew violently red. Mr. Mc- 
Ewan was quoting the lady who had gone ofF 
on the evening train the night before last. 
She had been engaged to come to Coal City 
in the interests of Abbie Ann and her general 
welfare and education and had departed after 
making a discouragingly short trial of the 
situation. Therefore Abbie Ann now grew 
red. 

But here the telegraph instrument, which 
never had stopped, began to click frantically, 
and Mr. McEwan transferred his attention 
from her to it. 

Abbie was used to every one being busy; 
her father was always pre-occupied, being a 
part owner, and the superintendent of the 
mine; everybody in Coal City was busy, the 
miners, their wives, the children, all, it would 
seem, but Abbie Ann and the babies. 

It was very hot in the telegraph office. The 
benches too around the walls were hard, and 
Abbie knew the old faded railroad posters 
by heart, so she tried to see her new sash in 
the cheap little looking-glass which hung, 
tilted, opposite the ticket window. She had 
bought the sash herself, that morning, at the 
store, her father allowing her to choose any- 
thing she preferred, for staying behind with 
Mr. McEwan. It was a rich magenta and 
the great amount of linen in its composition 

Vol- XXXIV.— 8. 



gave it a stiff and elegant gloss indeed. 
Abbie considered the effect against her pink 
gingham dress very fine. 

She had a fear that her father had not tied 

it right, though it had taken him some time, 
but the glass hung too high for her to get a 
view of it. She could. see her face however 
and since it was smiling at her, she smiled 
back at it, then tipped her hat a little to ob- 
serve the effect that way- 
She was obliged to admit that her hair was 
red; Mr. McEwan always told her so, but 
then it was not the red of his, and "it was not" 
straight. Abbie Ann called hers "brown red" 
and she called his "red red," and she consoled 
herself further with the fact that hers curled. 
When Mr. McEwan wanted to tease he 
told her that her temper was the color of her 
hair, at which for a long time she used to 
stamp her foot; but lately she had stopped, 
since he asked if that did not prove what he 
said. 

The glass tilted on the wall also showed 
Abbie's cheeks to be red, and her eyes brown. 
She felt she would hate not to be as pretty as 
she was, but she felt also, she would feel 
worse to have Mr. McEwan know she thought 
she was pretty. He declared even now that 
when she wore a new dress or a new hat she 
strutted. On all such occasions he used to 
drawl: 

"How lovu the little Abbie Ann 
To diess lo fine each boar. 
And tpeud ber money for a fan 
Or artilicial flower." 

When Abbie Ann found, any way she tip-toed, 
that she coutd not see her sash, she went out 
on the platform. She had her new August 
St. Nicholas, but the platform was reeking 
and resinous even in this early morning sun, 
so fierce was the day. Across the main tracks 
on a switch, upon which the shadow of Black 
Diamond Mountain still fell, stood a flat-car. 
A few tarpaulins lay together on it. That 
Abbie was forbidden to play on the tracks or 
to walk on the switches was true enough, but 
there are always reasons to apply to the espe- 
cial case at hand. It looked cool and shady 
and inviting on the flat-car, and the tarpaulins 
offered a comfortable nook. It was n't a flat- 
car suddenly, as she looked over at it, it was 
a house, her own little house in which she 
lived and looked out on the rest of the world, 

And here Abbie jumped down off the plat- 
form and ran across and clambered up on it. 

It was snug, and cosy, and far-off, even as 
she had pictured, and crouching down on the 

M -..I .Google 



68 

other side of the tarpaulins she laughed to 
think what a hunt Mr. McEwan would have 
when he came to look for her. 

She would not let him hunt too long, be- 
cause there was sure to be an apple for her, 
or maybe a candy pipe if he had been to the 
Junction lately, or periiaps a chocolate mouse. 
Once it had been popcorn, and in the box 
with it was a ring set with a green diamond. 
Mr, McEwan said it was a rare thing, a green 
diamond, a rare gem, he called it. Next to 
her father, Abbie cared most for him. 

While Mr. McEwan had been at College, 
he became sick. Later he came to Coal City, 
away off in the Allegheny Mountains because 
he could get a job and get well, too. At first 
he used to say he meant to go back to College. 

"When?" Abbie Ann had asked him, for 
even that long ago she hated to spare him. 

"Some time," he always assured her. 

"Why some time," Abbie had worried him 
to know, "Why not what time?" 

"Because time 's money," Mr. McEwan al- 
ways said. 

But later on he stopped saying he was go- 
ing. Abbie asked him why again. 

" Because I 'm finding time is n't," said he. 

"Is n't what?" queried Abbie. 

"Money." 

It was very hard to follow Mr. McEwan 
sometimes. Abbie did not try to that day. 
While she waited for hira to come hunting her, 
she read her magazine. There was a dis- 
couraging number of words she had to spell. 
Her father one day said she was backwanl in 
her reading, but she told him he was wrong, 
that she always spelt right ahead. 

•Somehow, to-day, the reading seemed harder 
than ever, and Abbie found it warmer than 
it had looked, in the car ; the click, click, click, 
of the telegraph instrument reached her far 
off and faint, and — presently her head fell 
over against the piled up tarpaulins and she 
forgot to lift it, — and 

A BUHP, a rush of air, the noise of a loco- 
motive waked her. Scrambling from the 
tarpaulin little Abbie Ann stood up, but lost 
her balance and sat down again. The flat-car 
was one of a long train leaving the switch. 
Coal City was already behind, its little square 
station, gleaming yellow against the moun- 
tainous background, growing smaller every 
moment. A brakeman was walking the long 
line of cars ahead. Abbie Ann screamed 
to him, but her voice was lost in the bumping 
and grinding of the brakes. 



Abbie Ann 



Had the train been going westward toward 
the Junction, Abbie knew she could have got- 
ten off in an hour and waited for the after- 
noon train back to Coal City, but they were 
rushing in the opposite direction. The moun- 
tains loomed strange and dark, it was somber 
in this defile and chill and tunnel-like. The 
flat-car jerked and bumped. 

Abbie Ann swallowed tears and lumps and 
sulphur smoke all together. Ever after she 
never knew whether terror meant a sulphur 
taste on the tongue, or whether a sulphur 
taste brought back terror. Or did a falling- 
away at the pit of the stomach mean both? 

She screamed, and screamed again to the 
vanishing station, and choked between times. 
It was as if, across the increasing space, she 
yet clung with desperate little fingers to 
father, to Mr. McEwan, to the known, the 
familiar, the habitual, and one by one the 
fingers were being torn from their hold. 

She screamed, and screamed again, then 
with a sudden sense, such as can come even 
to a baby, of "what 's the use?" the little red- 
headed girl in the pink dress and magenta 
sash, with the grim flre-clad Alleghenies loom- 
ing either side over her, threw herself on the 
gritty car floor and clung to the tarpaulins 
and cried and beat with her feet against the 
boards. It was rage. Abbie Ann was one to 
shake furious little fists in the face of con- 
trary Fortune. 

After how long she did not know, little 
Abbie, clinging to the tarpaulins for very ter- 
ror of this swaying, rocking fury of the rush 
through space, sat up. 

Not long before, in the night, her father 
had wrapped her in a blanket and carried her 
to the window. It was a red-eyed monster, 
with a fiery trail behind, speeding the skies, 
she looked out on. It was called a comet. 
Herself a mere speck on the trail of this rush- 
ing thing, Abbie found herself thinking of 
that monster now. 

Yet seeing them go by Coal City every day, 
ordinarily Abbie Ann called them locomotives 
and freight cars. She even knew their number 
and the names of the engineers. 

Then with a gone feeling everywhere, the 
small object on the flat-car gazed at the fly- 
ing scene, a brawling river churning itself to 
foam on one side, steep walls and dark-clad 
slopes of mountains on the other, and each 
moment of it carrying her away from father. 

She even thought of jumping, but she was 
afraid. The cinders fell thick, the rush thun- 
dered back upon her in the echo. And on they 



Google 



Abbie Ann 



59 



went, over bridges, the brawling river beneath, 
through tunnels where the smoke blinded and 
choked and strangled the little numbed soul 
clutching at safety and the tarpaulins, in and 
out the gloom and somber grandeur, the long 
freight train rushed. 

At last when rage and terror and the numb 
despair all had died away to apathy, when she 
could not even cry, as the train took a curve 
Abbie Ann saw the brakeman traveling over 
his route, from car to car. Do things always 
begin to travel our way when once we have 
given in? This time the brakeman was 
traveling backward over the train. He 
reached the rear end of the box-car next to 
her flat-car. It was Jim, a trainman Abbie 
had talked to often, on the switch at Coal 
City. He used to smile when he talked and 
his eyes and teeth, all shiny white, would 
look funny out of the grime of his face. 

"Jim," she cried, "Jim, oh Jim!" Her 
little voice, naturally, was lost, but since in 
her joy to see him, she had crawled out to the 
middle of the swaying flat-car, why Jim saw 
her and climbed down. Now one is not 
looking for red-headed little girls to roll out 
of tarpaulins on a freight train. 

"Great Scott!" roared Jim, almost losing 
his balance in the suddenness of his surprise. 
Abbie Ann smiled through tears. It was dif- 
ferent now Jim had come. 

"It 's the little Coal City kid," he gasped. 
Abbie Ann explained in hysterical screams. 
His face of mingled grime and concern made 
her laugh. 

Jim straightened up. "Hold on," he 
roared, "wait here till I come back." 

As if she could do anything else, Jim was 
so fuimy. Everything however was all right 
now, and with an amazing sudden sense of 
light-heartedness, little Abbie watched Jim 
go on his clambering way. It was Jim's 
responsibility now. Even the mountains seemed 
lower. Or were they foothills along here? 

But she had time to think that terrible 
things had befallen him before he returned. He 
did n't come, and he did n't come. Had Jim 
forgotten her? Had he fallen off the train? 
Never, never would she see her father again. 
Just then he came clambering back, and 
reaching her, sat down on the tarpaulin and 
wiped the smoke and grime from his face. 

"We 're going to put you on the passenger 
we meet at Lynn, at fivs-ten. We 're side- 
tracked there. That '11 get you at Coal City 
at eleven. We 'II tel^aph your Father our 



next stop. It 's three now. I reckon he 's 
about crazy." 

"But it will be all right wheg I get there," 
said the now satisfied Abbie Ann hopefully. 

At Lynn, two hoifts later, Jim carried her 
off, and took her over to the hotel and got her 
some supper, but first he asked a girl there to 
wash her face. Abbie Ann caught a glimpse 
of it in a gilt- framed mirror on the wall. 
Her eyes and her little teeth gleamed white 
through grime; but she did not laugh as she 
had when it was Jim's face. It was a nice 
girl he asked this favor of, a girl with red 
dteeks, and she even stayed while Abbie Ann, 
perched on a high stool at a counter, ate sup- 
per. When the express thundered in, Jim 
boarded it with Abbie Ann, His own train 
was puffing on the switch. He explained the 
matter to the conductor, whom Abbie Ann had 
often nodded to from the Coal City platform. 

"Richardson of the Black Diamond? I '11 
see she reaches him," he said, and off into the 
night the Express thundered westward. They 
reached Coal City at eleven. The conductor 
handed off a plump, red-headed little girl 
half asleep. In her arms were a bag of candy, 
one of fruit, a toy puzzle, and a picture paper, 
given her by the conductor, the porter, the 
butcher boy and a lady on the sleeper. Abbie 
Ann had quite enjoyed the trip. 

She saw Mr. McEwan first. His hair was 
standing up brushier than ever, and he looked 
strange and wild. When he grabbed her 
from the conductor, the clutch of his hand 
hurt. 

"She 's here I— and safe! — " he called. And 
then his breath seemed to catch. And as the 
Express rushed on into the darkness, he 
handed Abbie Ann over to her father next 
behind him. The whole of Coal City seemed 
to he there too, men, women, visiting gentle- 
men and all. They had been hunting Abbie 
Ann from noon until the telegram came in the 
afternoon. 

Generally her father was pre-occupied. 
Now he held her close. 

"My little girl, — my little girl," he kept 
saying under his breath, all the way up the 
cinder road, vhile the strange gentlemen fol- 
lowed after, past the coke ovens, throwing 
their deep glow out into the darkness, to the 
big house next the store, where Abbie Ann 
and her father lived. And when for answer, 
Abbie Ann rubbed her cheek against his, Bh« 
found his was wet 



d by Google 



WusBB Thanksgiving Holidays a 



Dorothy May and Walter Hay 



*'GooD Morning!" said Walter Hay. 

"Good Morning!" said Dorothy May. 

They were very polite, — they never said 
"Halloo!" — in the days when little girls wore 
bonnets and long dresses, and the little boys, 
tall hats and long trousers. 

"I 'm going across the fields to Grand- 
ma's," said Dorothy May. 

"So am I," said Walter Hay, " — to my 
Grandma's, so we can go together." Then 
they walked on, and Walter Hay thought of 
the cookies he would get at Grandma's, and 
Dorothy May of what she could say next. 

At last she thought of something. "I have 
just been reading a most enjoyable book, 
called 'Brave Deeds of Youthful Heroes,'" 
she began, in the prim little way she had 
learned from Aunt Eliza. 

" I always enjoy a book telling of the deeds 
of brave men or boys," said Walter Hay. 

" But this is n't only about boys — " objected 
Dorothy May, resentfully. "Half the stories 
in it are about girls, and they were every bit 
as brave as the boys !" 

Walter knew it was not polite to contra- 
dict, but in his heart he thought that girls 
could n't be as brave as boys. 



At last they came to the stile leading into 
the field they were to cross, and the gentle- 
man gallantly helped the little lady over. 

Suddenly Walter caught Dorothy's arm, 
"Oh — " he whispered excitedly, "Oh — 
there 's a big black bull over there beside that 
bush, and — and — he 's coming right for us." 
And with a wild scream, he tore back to the 
stile again, without a thought for Dorothy 
May, 

As breathless and panting he scrambled to 
the top, he gave a terrified glance behind him, 
and then and there he changed his mind about 
boys always being braver than girls, for Doro- 
thy May stood with her arm around the "big 
black bull's" neck, laughing gaily. 

"Why it 's only an old Brindle Cow," she 
cried, "a dear Brindle Cow, who would n't 
hurt a fly. Come on, you silly Walter Hay!" 

And Walter Hay "came on" with a very 
red, sheepish face, and across the fields they 
went again, but this time it was Dorothy May 
who thought of cookies — at her Grandma's — 
while Walter Hay- thought of "Brave Deeds 
of Youthful Heroes," and wished he had been 
a hero when he had the chance. 

GiNA H. Fairlie. 

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How to Teach a Pet Bird Pretty Tricks 



By Mary Dawson 

Ulsitraied by Vhotoinpb» 




^^HE bright bird learns to per- 
form simple tricks as leadily 
as a puppy or a kitten, and 
if his education has been 
properly conducted enjoys 
his pretty "stunt" and takes 
as much pride in it as does 
his human audience. 
e hirds, like some people, 
are slower to master an idea than others, but 
with patience and kindness any feathered pet 
will acquire a few tricks at least, and if there 
are several bird members of the household, 
quite a little circus may be arranged. 

Much of the originality of the songsters is 
destroyed, or prevented from developing, by 
keeping them continually in the cage. If 
you want to discover the true characteristics 
of your pet, open the cage door from time to 
time, and welcome him as a member of the 
family circle. With the windows closed there 
is no possible danger, and besides supplying 
the exercise which caged birds get too little 
of, this freedom and familiarity will help to 
develop "cute" little traits of character which 
you would otherwise never suspect. 

It is a common mistake to think that pets 
can only be taught when hungry, and to com- 
mence a bird's training by depriving it of 
breakfast, dinner or supper is a most unhappy 
beginning. 

In reality the feathered folk are just as apt 
and full of fun after a comfortable meal as 
before it, and to starve, scold or otherwise ill- 
treat the little creature will usually render it 
too unhappy to learn quickly if at all. 

Birds are extremely nervous beings. They 
love a low, quiet'voice.and gentle movements — 
love to be talked to, coaxed and made much of. 
If the pet is a new one and seems specially 
excitable or timid, you will have to teach it 
first of all not to fear you. Any little games 
he is to learn must be acquired afterwards. 

To calm and reassure a nervous bird make 
it a point never to run up to the cage in a 
hurry or with noise of any kind. Approach 
slowly and call to the warbler as you go to let 
him know that breakfast or bath or some 
other good thing is on the way. 



The boy or girl with no idea of the timid- 
ity of bird nature rushes toward the cage 
without warning, jerks the seed cup from its 
holder, replaces it in the same way and snaps 
the door to without a word, almost frighten- 
ing the poor inmate to death. This is a very 
unfortunate course, for to train a bird it must 
become thoroughly tame and fond of master 
or mistress. It must be convinced of the af- 
fection of those among whom it dwells. 

It is well to accustom the pet little by little 
to gentle and considerate handling. Aiter 
the first nervousness has been coaxed away 
this second step may be attempted. When he 
will sit on your hand or perch on your shoul- 
der, the foundation of some pretty trick has 
been laid. 

To take a bird in your hand don't open the 
cage and grab for it at random. This excites 
the tiny creature and teaches it to dread your 
arrival. First take out the top perch, slip one 
hand inside of the cage and follow the bird 
outside the cage with the other. When 
caught, hold it very, very gently between the 
hands, and lightly, for birds cannot endure 
squeezing or any kind of pressure. Allow it 
to settle its feet comfortably on one of your 
fingers, talking to it in a low, coaxing tone, 
and after a few minutes return it to the cage. 
Some little treat should be given as you put 
it back, such as a leaf of lettuce, a bit of 
apple or a fig. Fruit and green tidbits are 
the candy of the bird-world. Repeat this 
every morning for a short time. 

Next teach the little fellow to hop on your 
hand of his own free will. You can easily 
tempt him into doing this by placing a leaf 
of lettuce or some other dainty of which he 
is fond on your palm and holding your hand 
just outside the open door of the cage. The 
coveted morsel will help him to overcome any 
lingering fears he may have of you or of the 

Another time he may be wheedled into 
mounting your shoulder. This trick is readily 
taught by pinning a crisp, fresh lettuce leaf 
to the sleeve of coat or gown. When this has 
been repeated a number of times, the bird 
hopping up to get it on each occasion, he will 

vGoogIc 



How to Teach a Pet Bird Pretty Tricks 



have discovered what a comfortable perch 
the human shoulder can be. 

A simple trick which most birds learn 
readily is that of kissing the master or mis- 
tress. They can be trained to kiss the person 
they are fond of whenever he or she ap- 
proaches the cage, ei^en through the bars. 
Place between your lips a seed or some edible 



65 

wa.j repeated until the supply of hemp was 
exhausted after which the clever pet returned 
to enjoy his own morning meal. 

Some very pretty tricks of the more un- 
usual order are shown in the photographs. 
These were posed by birds belonging to Miss 
Virginia Pope, the Bird Doctor. 

A charming one is climbing a ladder. For 



One of ti 

which the pet especially likes, and let it re- 
move the morsel with its bill. It will learn 
after a fmall amount of practice to come to 
your shoulder and to kiss you. 

A clever little canary called Tiddlywinks 
was trained to feed his master with hemp seed 
before beginning on his own breakfast. This 
is an interesting little "stunt" which other 
intelligent birds could readily pick up. Two 
or three of the hemp seeds for the master 
were placed in the seed-cup with the canary 
food. When he placed the cup in the cage 
The owner would say "Tiddlywinks, master 
wants his breakfast." The little creature 
would immediately find one of the hemp 
seeds and bring it to the door of the cage 
which was opened when he arrived with it. 
Flying to the finger held out for him to perch 
upon, Tiddly would shell the seed and place 
the' kernel between the owner's lips. This 

Vol. XXXIV.-9-I0. 



this, coax the bird to hop first on one finger, 
then to hop from a finger of the left hand 
we will say, to one on the right. Then raise 
the hands one above the other so that in hop- 
ping from the index finger of the left to that 
of the right hand, or vice versa, the sugges- 
tion of climbing a ladder will be given. Lift 
one hand over the other several times. When 
the pet has learned to enjov this frolic which 
he is sure to do in a short time, try a real 
ladder of doll-house size such as you see in 
the photograph. Rest it against the back of 
a doll's chair or anything else suitable which 
happens to he at hand. Lift the bird upon 
the first round and coax it from this to the 
one above. Never force or scold the pet if 
he fails to seize your idea and to carry out 
your wishes at once. Work little by little 
and always with unfailing kindness until the 



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How to Teach a Pet Bird Pretty Tricks "•" 





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*^ 






S„>SAW. 




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Bai.akcisc. 




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The Baskpt Tbick. 






An Afternoon Drive. 



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How to Teach a Pet Bird Pretty Tricks 



In the ladder trick just described a tiny 
bell can be fastened to the top round of the 
ladder as shown in the illustration. Birds 
having a keen sense of fun love to play with 
the jingling bells. They will cheerfully 
mount the ladder for the amusement of ring- 
ing one, having once discovered what it is 
there for. 

There are many, tricks which two, three or 
several birds can lake part in together. For 
example, if the ladder is poised across the 
back of a tiny chair or something else of the 



same kind, two birds will immensely enjoy a 
seesaw game. They leam naturally to bal- 
ance and manage the seesaw as cleverly as 
any boys or girls. 

Another trick is balancing on a ball, while 
three birds can have jolly good times riding 
in and drawing a cart. One pet plays horse, 
being harnessed to the miniature cart with 
narrow ribbon. Two birds ride in the cart 
holding the ribbons in their bills. The driv- 
ing party will sometimes wend its way quite 
a little distance (as bird -distances go) around 



.% 



A Three-Part Act, 



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How to Teach a Pet Bird Pretty Tricks 



68 

the room, before the feathered steed is tired, 
or the excursion party wishes to dismount. 

\Vhen your pet has become thoroughly ac- 
customed to a little gentle handling, he will 
probably have learned to lie on his back., 
either in the palm of your hand or anywhere 
he is placed. This, also, is the foundation of 
more than one merry game. Thus, he may he 
willing to lie on his back as represented in 
the picture holding a wee marble in his claws. 

If the little fellow is particularly good 
about sitting still, make for it a tiny foolscap 
and ruff of white paper and teach him to wear 
these for a few minutes when told to do so. 

One bird owned by Miss Pope had the 
particularly cute trick of bursting through 
the tissue paper of a circus hoop ( made 
specially for his hirdship, a few inches in 
diameter), while another converted the swing 
of its cage into a trapeze, and would whiz 
through the air heels over head like a circus 
performer. A third memtwr of the same 
happy family would slide down a wire or cord 
to imitate an escape from a burning building. 

Birds and animals are like "humans." 
Studv their dispositions and you will find 
them both different from each other and 
original in their tastes and views. All birds 
are not of equal intelligence, the difference 
being in the individual pet rather than in the 
species, so that whatever the class to which 
your pet bird belongs it may turn out to be 
eMremely clever if its intelligence is devel- 
oped by kindness and petting. 

However, even those who are not apt at 
mastering complicated performances will be 
found to have a dozen and one pretty traits. 
Dy studying to develop whatever cleverness 
yours possesses, you cannot fail to make it 
doubly interesting. 



Sometimes a trait or habit which the pet 
acquires naturally can be developed into a 
fascinating little stunt which will be per- 
formed at the wish of master or mistress. 
In this way the bird shown in the pictures 
was found to have taken a great fancy to a 
wee basket cut from a nutshell. Developing 
this natural liking he was trained to stand 
on the back of a doll-chair or in some similar 
position holding the nut shell basket. Not 
until a seed or something edible was dropped 
into his toy does he abandon the "pose". 

Most birds love toys. The playthings help 
to while away the time and prevent them 
from tearing their plumage. Parrots are 
especially devoted to playthings and can be 
trained to do simple tricks with the objects 
specially fancied. A soft-billed bird will 
amuse itself for an hour with a peanut which 
it can not break, a tiny bell or a mirror just 
big enough to reflect its own head. 

Wild birds as well as canaries and other 
imported birds learn tricks readily and while 
it seems infinitely pleasanter to have the wild 
friends singing for us outside our windows 
than imprisoned indoors, circumstances some- 
times occur which make it desirable to domes- 
ticate them. For example, a young bird may 
have fallen or fluttered from the nest, and if 
the home cannot be found it must be fed to 
save it. Or an older bird maybe discovered 
injured in some way, or stunned from contact 
with an electric wire. In such cases birds 
often become devoted to their rescuer. They 
can be taught and trained exactly like a 
canary or a bulfinch. Special gentleness is 
necessary in handling wild birds, as unlike the 
domesticated species they are not used to as- 
sociating with human beings and are there- 
fore more easily frightened. 



% 



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FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK 




By Margaret and Clarence Weed 







On'ce upon a time there was a King in Spain who had only one leg. He 
was a Good King and he had a big Animal Farm where he kept all the ani- 
mals who had lost one or more of their legs. 

In another part of Spain there was a Little Half Chick with only one eye, 
one wing and one leg. The other chickens with two eyes and two tegs 
gobbled up the corn so fast that Little Half Chick was nearly starved. 

One day a Donkey told Little Half Chick about the Good King and his 
Animal Farm. Little Half Chick at once started hoppity-hop for Mother 
Hen and said, 

" Mother Hen, I am going to Madrid to see the Good King." 

" All right," said Mother Hen, " good luck to you." 

So Little Half Chick started off, hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop along ihe road 
to Madrid to see the Good King. 

Soon she met a Two-legged Cat going along hippity-hip, hippity-hip 
on her leg and crutch. The Cat said, 

" Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast? " 

Little Half Chick said, " I am going to Madrid to see the Good King." 

" May 1 go too ? " said the Two-legged Cat. 

" Yes," said Little Half Chick, " fall in behind." 

So the Cat fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop went Little Half 
Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip went the Two-legged Cat 



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70 The Good King i" "- 

Soon they met a Three-legged Dog going along humpity-hump, humpity- 
hump. The Dog said: 

" Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast ? " 

Little Half Chick said: " I am going to Madrid to see the Good King." 

" May I go too ? " said the Three-legged Dog, 

" Yes," said Little Half Chick, " fall in behind." 



"Thev Both Laughed as All These Funny Animals Came Up." 

So the Dog fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop went Little Half 
Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip went the Two-legged Cat. Humpity- 
hump, humpity-hump went the Three-legged Dog. 

Soon they met a One-legged Crow going along jumpity-jump, jumpity- 
jump. The Crow said : 

'■ Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast? " 

Little Half Chick said: " I am going to Madrid to see the Good King." 

" May I go too? " said the One-legged Crow." 

"Yes," said Little Half Chick, "fall in behind." 

So the Crow fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop went Little Half 
Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip went the Two-legged Cat. Humpity- 
hump, humpity-hump went the Three-legged Dog. Jumpity-jump, jumpity- 
jump went the One-legged Crow. 

Soon they met a Snake with no legs at all. He had caught his tall in 
his teeth and was rolling along loopity-loop, loopity-loop. The Snake said, 

" Hello, Little Half Chick, where are you going so fast? " 

" I am going to Madrid to see the Good King." said Little Half Chick. 

" May I go, too ? " said the Snake. 

"Yes." said Little Half Chick, "fall in behind." t^ ^^^\^ 

Uigtizcdby VjOOy It. 



■'"*' The Good King 71 

So the Snake fell in behind. Hoppity-hop, hoppity-hop went Little Half 
Chick. Hippity-hip, hippity-hip went the Two-legged Cat. Humpity- 
hump, humpity-hump went the Three-legged Dog. Jumpity-jump, jumpity- 
jump went the One-legged Crow. Loopity-loop, loopity-loop went the 
Snake with no legs at all. 

Soon they came to Madrid and saw the Good King. With the King was 
his little daughter Margaret. They both laughed as all these funny animals 
came up. The King said to Little Margaret; 

" Do you want to see us all go out to the Animal Farm? " 

" Yes," said Little Margaret, " I will lead the way." 

So she led the way along the street to the Animal Farm. Behind Mar- 
garet came the One-legged King. Next came the Little Half Chick, next 
the Two-legged Cat, next the Three-legged Dog, next the One-legged 
Crow, and last of all the Snake with no legs at all. So they all went out to 
the Animal Farm. And there they lived happily ever after. 



&> 



EARLY AND LATE. 
By W. S. Reed. 



Go to bed early — wake up with joy ; Go to bed early — no pains or ills ; 

Go to bed late — cross girl or boy. Go to bed late — doctors and pills. 

Go to bed early — ready for play ; Go to bed early — grow very tall ; 

Go to bed late — moping all day. Go to bed late — stay very small. 



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NOVEMBER CHEERINE3S. 
There are easier paths than the one we shall 
take ; but we soon choose between the smooth 
country road and the rough field route. No 
wagon road allures us with its twists and 
turns, for it often wanders to avoid wild 
Nature ; we shall ramble to find her where she 
has decked the walls and hung her rich 
festoons, or where she smiles through the vistas 
of the woods. 

Here is a dear old btone wall half hidden 
among wild plum shoots, bushes and tall 



sun for shining so warm into their cozy nook. 
Oh, what a sight ! Or should we not rather 
say "What Music"? It is a kind of music 
for the eye as well as the ear, for on a close 
approach we find the brambly growth teeming 
with white-throats, song sparrows and myrtle 
warblers, that flit about or rustle merrily among 
the dry leaves. Here a white-throat mounts 
a thorny plum-branch and calls cheerily to 
his comrades ; another suns himself near by, 
and then we surprise a song sparrow at his 
bath in a spring twinkling among the tall 
grass. Here are juncos, too,— a happy bevy 
of them about the briars and black haw 
bushes. 

Some would say, '■ Here is a bare pasture 
to be crossed now," but rather let us respond 
to the crickets who are chirping, and explore 
it. A flicker has come before us : there he is, 
hopping in his awkward fashion and hunting 
ants. Even the late and pretty burr thistle is 
not ■' wasting its sweetness on the desert air," 
for see the bumble-bee— still busy of course. 
And now we have our crickets, under this flat 
stone. They are by no means so spry as they 
were a month or two ago when we tried, and 
found it hard work, to catch some of them for 
fish bait ; they are so numb with cold, and 
still they chirp 1 Goldflnch has been at work 



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Nature and Science for Young Folks 



on the thistles, for here is a stalk with ragget 
and well-plucked burrs and a black and whiti 



The Hvla"s Cheery 



73 

hidden. And see the beech trees nearly 
coveted with yellow leaves. 

That musical piping we hear is not a bird's 
voice, though as sweet as one and coming from 
the birds' airy haunts. Pickering's hyla grew 
silent in the pond ; but now from some tree 
he looks abroad on the landscape and finds 
an impulse to sing again. '!"he "peeping" is 
springlike, but sleepy and still welcome. 

Why, we are scarcely out of the wood, 
and here is a pretty little field mouse, but 
he vanishes in the tall grass in a moment. It 
is quiet in these fields again ; but I think 
Nature has fulfilled her promise. Don't you ? 
How happy those bluebirds are even as they 
fly away southward ; They like spring and 
" purer " skies best. '•Purc-cr,purc-er.'" Hear 
them ! They have gone now, over the harvest 
field, toward the purple hills. But don't you 



tail feather in a spider's web. The goldfinch 
has on his brown suit now and is oil to the 
birch trees with his most happy family. 

We have followed a cow path out of the 
pasture into an alder swamp ; and here is the 
merriest bird group we have heard yet. We 
might have expected these tree sparrows, for 
this is their time and place exactly. 'I'hey are 
not a bit afraid, except of being stepped on, 
and do not leave us out of sight, but only fly 
on a little ahead, as we go, till we are out of 
the thicket. 

Golden-rods and a buttercup! And there 
is a wall covered with clematis, and a pictur- 
esque old apple tree overhung with a bitter- 
sweet vine, and a rock decorated with the 
Virginia creeper turned to all shades of red and 
purple. See how fondly that wild grape vine 
has embraced the old stump, till it is nearly 



think Nature has heard their call, and will give 
us the fair skies when the bluebird comes back 
again? Euml'nd J. Sawvkr. 



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Nature and Science for Young Folks 



shore. They are the inner coaU 

or bodies of the wild balsam apples 

(E(hinocystis lobaia) which have dropped from 

the vines overhanging the stream and now 

float lightly away with their large seeds. 

The green prickly bag of the balsam apple 
itself began to form in late summer and by 



The Purse-Like Seed-Caki)ie( 



autumn it has withered and faded to a pale 
Straw color. We may see the trailing vines 



meshes but that also falls away through the 
action of water and the winter storms, until 
only the ball-like tissue of the "purse" is 
left. These little piu^es, being extremely light 
and buoyant, float far and wide o\-er the 
submerged swamplands in late autumn carry- 
ing the seeds with them, and so planting the 
vine in new situations. If, however, we take 
these seeds home with us and plant them 
there. Mother Earth will suitably reward us in 
the following year with vines of oiu' own ; 
they will spring up and spread rapidly until all 
the stone walls and garden fences are deco- 
rated with the tracery of their stems and star- 
shaped leaves. 

Howard J. Shannon. 

MOUNTING BIRDS' NESTS. 

Of all the treasures of wood and field none 
are more interesting and beautiful than the 
nests of many of our native birds. I have 
often secured fine specimens but dust and fre- 
quent handling soon impaired their perfection, 
and it was only recently that an enthusiastic 
bird -student showed me a satisfactory and 
practical way of mounting and preserving the 
trophies. 

Here isaphotograph which shows a mounted 
nest, and the method of procedure is as follows : 
First, saw out the standard from a board about 
half an inch thick. Plane neatly and bevel the 
edges. The size should be in proportion to the 
nest for which it is intended. The one in the 
picture is four inches square. Give it a coat 
of shellac or stain and allow it to dry. Remove 
the leaves and trim the twigs upon which the 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



nest is built. Now, take a piece of stout wire, 
loop the middle twice securely around the 



A Simple vet Effi 



Ihey ai 



ininjured by ill 



75 
BASKET FISH. 

At its marine residence, away down in deep 
water, the name on the door plate would ht 
Astrophyton and it belongs to a species called 
Ophiurans. It has a well-marked central 
disk, not unlike a clam, but has no shell. 
From this central body radiate arms, five in 
number, like those of the familiar starfish, and 
these arms are divided into minute branches 
like the twigs on a tree, until they number in 
some cases a thousand separately defined hair- 
like tendrils. While the body is not large, 
the branches, when extended, measure about 
eighteen inches in diameter. The creature 
has the power of incurling these branches 
until it closely resembles a shallow dish. This 
it does when caught and about to die. remain- 
ing in that shape when dried. 

It has been given the name of basket fish ; 
it frequently (when caught by a dredge— for 
that is the only way it can be taken—) throws 
off these arms or parts of them, so that a per- 
fect specimen is hard to be procured in its 
natural condition. 

These arms and their subdivisions are almost 
white when dried, and closely resemble plaster 
of Paris. They are very brittle, easily broken, 
and cannot be repaired. The fish live among 
the roots of sea weeds and are supposed to 
feed upon these, moving about by wriggling 
and clambering with these arms, or fastening 
upon the roots and pulling themselves along. 

Most of the knowledge regarding their 
habits is conjecture for none have been taken 
alive and kept for sufficient time to give them 



branch and then twist the ends together, mak- 
ing a firm support a little longer than the nest 
is deep. Bore a tiny hole m one side of the 
standard, insert the wire and your mount is 
complete. If the nest is so built that the 
branch should be held perpendicular instead of 
horizontal, the wire may be dispensed with and 
the bough itself fa.stened into the base. A nest 
built on the ground may be wired or glued se- 
curely to the wooden standard. Fifty or more 
beautiful examples of the skill of our native 
birds suitably arranged in a cabinet such as 
any handy boy can make for himself will form 
a worthy ornament for the "den " of a nature 
student. Rose Goodale Davton. 

STUDVINO THE MEADOWS IN NOVEMBER. 
Dr. Charles C. Abbott more than most other 
naturalists praises November. He seems es- 
pecially to delight in the month—" and what 
perfect days do we often have, even so late as 
in the last week of November!" His favorite 
study this month is the meadows. This is an 
excellent suggestion and I invite our young proper examination and study. The picture 
folks to write letters regarding "November here given shows as perfect a specimen as can 
Meadows." probably be found anywhere. W.J. Handy, i 



A Fine SptciMES c 



£ Basket Fish. 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



[Nov., 



FEATHERED HIGHWAYMEN. 

It is a comnion practice, throughout the 
feathered race, for one bird to snatch a 
coveted morsel from another. This is inter- 



^ 



C JAE 



estingly and readily noticeable among little 
chickens. But only in a few species has the 
offense become a habit. 

Thus it is that in certain groups, there are 
species that rely on the efforts of others to 
procure them an easy living. Perhaps the best 
examples of these depraved birds are the 
skuas and jaegers or hunting gulls. These, 
while belonging to the same family as the 



Bald Eaule anu Osprev. 

gulls and terns, are tif a more hawk-hke build, 
and this resemblance serves them in good 



stead, as a means of procuring their prey. 
With the general make-up of a sea-gull their 
wings are longer, the point of the bill well 
hooked, and, in most cases, a decidedly hawk- 
like coloration. 

At the breeding places of sea fowl in the 
far North, both skuas and jaegers, when op- 
portunity offers, destroy the eggs and young 
of any species of bird smaller or weaker than 
themselves; but it is not until later in the 
season that their peculiar habits are in evi- 

There is only one species of skua found in 
America, a rare vistant to the Atlantic coast. 
In the Old World it is of more frequent oc- 
currence, breeding from the Orkney Islands, 
northward. It is of the size of a large gull, of 
a uniform brown color and very strongly built. 
In the Orkney Islands it is known as xhe 
•' Bonxie " and in its defense of its eggs or 
young is the most courageous of any bird 
nesting there. 

The skua will attack the largest gulls and 
make them disgorge their prey. Closely 
allied to the skua are the jaegers, of which 
there are three species, the parasitic, long- 
tailed and Pomarine jaeger. All three breed 
on the " tundras " of the Arctic regions, and 
migrate southward in August and September. 

The parasitic jaeger is the commonest 
species, and his mission in life is to constantly 
harass and worry the pretty little Bonaparte's 
gulls. A flock of these charming little guilt, 
will be busy with a school of small fish, dart- 
ing down and seizing their prey while hardly 
seeming to touch the water. Suddenly, from 
nowhere, appears a long-winged, swift flying 
apparition, terrifying in his Hkeness to their 
worst enemy, the Peregrine falcon ; hither and 
thither dart the screaming gulls while the 
jaeger, singling out his victim, pursues it 
through its most intricate twistings and turn- 
ings. Higher and higher mount.j the gull, 
but the pursuer with hardly a movement of 
his wings is always close behind, until at last 
the gull, in an agony of fear, ejects from its 
mouth the fish it has lately captured. In an 
instant the jaeger wheels and drops gracefully 
downward catching the fish in mid-air before 
it has reached the water. Over and over 
again this robbery is effected, each time 
with a new victim, until at last the jaeger, 
satiated, wings his way out seaward, and 
alights, light as thistledown, on the water to 
digest his meal. 

The adult parasitic jaeger is a very hand- 



; bird, brown above, with 4 black 



,e,oog 



k cap, 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



delicate yellow tinged neck, and white breast ; 
the two central tail feathers elongated far be- 
yond the rest. The size is about that of a 




ring-billed gull. The young bird in the first 
plumage has the central tail feathers only 
slightly lengthened beyond the others, and 
in color is dark brown all over, handsomely 
marked with light rufous. A long-tailed 
jaeger is very similar, the young bird lighter 
and grayer, and the adult with still longer 
central tail feathers. The Po marine jaeger, the 
third species, is larger and of rather clumsier 
build, with duller coloration. All three have 
the same hawk-like aspect especially in flight. 

Once while I was watching a. large flock of 
Bonaparte's gulls, which were feeding on the 
wing, like swallows, on a swarm of flying ants, 




77 

was a Peregrine falcon, or " Duck Hawk." 
Shortly afterwards I avenged the gulls by 
shooting, not only the falcon, but the two 
jaegers as well. 

Another highwayman is the bald eagle, who, 
though capable of catching fish for himself, 
prefers to let the more active osprey, or fish 
hawk, secure him a meal. This habit is so 
well known, and has been written of by so 
many authors, that it is needless to enlarge on 
it here. Suffice it to say that the osprey is 
never hurt in any way, but is simply " bluffed " 
out of his hard earned meal by his larger 
relative. This practice is common to several 
species of sea eagles of the Old \\'orld. Many 
species of ducks are persistent thieves, but in 
their case the likeness is more to a pick- 
pocket than a bolder robber. 

The widgeon, or baldpate. is one of the 
worst offenders. Unable to dive in deep 
water for food itself, it filches scraps of weed 
from the bills of deep-diving ducks as they 
come to the surface. This habit is especially 
noticeable in winter when the shallower 
waters are frozen. The redhead is the prin- 
cipal victim though canvasbacks and scaups 
also suffer. A bunch of widgeons on settling 
among a large flock of feeding redheads, 
instantly scatter, each widgeon patroling a 
different portion of the flock. No sooner 



i Robbing Red He. 



a couple of jaegers came along, com- 
pletely puzzled at the changed habits of 
their former fishermen. Presently what I 
took for a third jaeger shot into the maze of 
drcltng gulls, and for an instant I was 
astounded, for as he came in contact with a 
gull there was a slight click, and the gull 
whirled, stone dead, to the beach below. Only 
then did I realize that the supposed jaeger 



does a redhead come to the surface with his 
mouth full of weed than a widgeon is at hand to 
defdy snatch a piece and make off. Active and 
graceful they can easily elude the more clumsy 
redhead, if the latter attempts to retaliate. 

Widgeon also keep a close attendance on 
swans, whose long necks can reach from the 
bottom many succulent roots and grasses 
otherwise unobtainable. Allan Brooks. 



rib/ 



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Nature and Science for Young Folks 



"WE WOL WRITE TO ST. NICHOUS ABOIT IT." 



TWISTED PINE TREE. 

Dear St. Nicholas; I am sending you a picture 
of a very curious Iree. I thought thai you could give 
a reason for its having such a lueer twist iti it. 

The tree was pine, about fifteen feet high. I do not 
thinlc ' it probable that it was trained that way for 
we fount) it growing in the wilil woods. It was 
transplanted to a place near bur log cabin because it 
was so curious. It is now dead probably on account 
of trmsplanling. 

Yours truly, 

Svi.viA F. CONANT. 

If it was not purposely trained to grow, that 
way, it seems probable that the curious form 
is the result of anacddent when the tree was 
very, small. Perhaps it was crushed and 
twisted by the wheel of a farmer's cart, or was 
twisted by some person in an attempt to break 
it off, and the slender stem held long enough 
in its curled position until it had got a perma- 
nent " set." 



WHITE SPOTS OH LILAC LEAVES. 

Enclehood, N. J. 



This is the common hlac mildew (tiny 
pl&nls—Aficrosp/iaera a/iii). A little later the 
winter form that is the fruit will appear as 
small black specks. It seldom causes much 
damage. A microscope is necessary in order 
to examine the very pretty and interesting 
fruits. John L. Sheldok. 



The Twisted Pine Tree. 



Atlantic City, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please tell me nhat 
makes the tide high and low? We are here at .Atlantic 
City and have been watching the ocean and we, my 
brother and I, cannot understand it. 

\'our interested reader, 

WVBURN L. X. Lee. 

The action of the moon on the eanh is the 
principa! cause of the- tides. The moon pulls 
the part of the earth nearest it more strongly 
than the great body of the earth, and also 
pulls the earth away from the part of the earth's 
surface farthest from the moon. Tliis pull of 
the moon starts a great wave in the Pacific 
Ocean, which follows after the moon, so that 



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i»o6.1 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



79 



high water comes for any given place at nearly " The shooting-fish (or archer-fish) of Java 
the same interval of time after the moon has does its shooting with head and eyes out of 
crossed the meridian of the place. — 
Malcolm McNeill, Professor of 
Astronomy. 

CAN FISH SEE OUR "aerial OCEAN" I 

Dear St. Nicholas: Would you tell 
me whether A^h see our Aerial Ocean 7 
Also please tell me if ti^ihes see the water 

in which Ihcy live? Please do me the \ 

(avor of publishing Ihe answer in Nature 



While they cannot see the air, it 
is certain that at least some can see 
objects in the air. The shooting-fish 
of Java shoots drops of water from 
its long snout, so as to bring down 
insects flying above the stream, or 
resting on leaves of plants on the banks. 
This is done with surprising accuracy of aim. 

Do you see the air in which you live ? 
Would you suppose that fish can see the 
water in which they live? I am sure that 
they cannot. 

1 submitted this answer to Dr. H. M. Smith. 
He says it is correct and adds : 



The Shooting- Fish q 



water. Certain gobies {Periophthalmus, etc.> 
pass much of their life out of the water, and 
have very acute vision, being exceedingly diffi- 



A BintJ'S NEST. 

ROCKFORn, Il.I,. 

Dear St. Nicholas; I took a long walk along 
a country road. I came upon a row of thorny bushes 
and saw what I supposed to be a number of last 
year's birds' nests at different heights from theeronnd. 
They were queer looking things, about six inches in 
diameter and dome-shaped, made of dry grass. Think- 
ing they would be gooil for my collection I chose one 
within my reach and pulled it down. To my sur- 
prise the top canie off as the cover of a boK would and 
revealed to me a feather.lined nest with five little ob- 
jects huddled together. They looked like mice and 
were evidently only a few days oki as their eyes were 
unopened and they had no hair. The parents of the 
youngsters were nowhere to be seen. I replaced the 
top of the nest and as carefully as I could, put nest and 
all back where I had found it. Although I was curious 
as to whether the other nests contained the same thmg 
as thi< one I let them alone not wishing to disturb any 
more nests. After I had passed that clump of bushes- 
I saw no more of the queer nesls. 

Could you tell me what kind of animal; live in such 
nests as I saw? If Ihey were 'field mice, do they 
generally make their nests in bushes in the early 
spring ? Yours truly, 

Margarf.t E. Nash (age 13). 

It is extremely probable that the species in- 
volved was the white-footed mouse {Peromys- 
cus)~ol which there are an appalling number 
of sub-species. All are good climbers. 

W. T. H. 

Nature's exchanges of labor are interesting. 
White-footed mice often occupy birds' nests, 
and some nests of ground mice are occupied 



by bumble bees! 



./Google 



{UM /!,r./st. 


) 


Her shining hair 


,\si>ERE[)in an orcharil at thi 
air was filled wilh fragrance 
Ihe May, 


MiawningotilieJay, 
from llie blosBoms uf 


As fine and soft 
(eel. 


■ new-born sun whs rising i 

Uike a dying nun. the mom 
high. 

i,1 the blooming trees I saw a 


1 Tay cold and pale on 
vision of deligbt. 


And from'her el 

l«rfan.e. 
She smiled at mi 



Her shining hair, like golden sheaves of newly-ripened 
niilk.iieed down, fell to her tiny 



I cheek there was a tinge of apple 
in form there flowed a flood of faint 
in lovely-wise, she spoke wilh flow'rjr 

Her voice wai sweeter than 



The lady lold me of her 
life anil of her mystic 
birlh, 

Aht she was not like other 
maiilK who tread this 
mortal earth, 

For she. like Ulad's dainty 
wife, was bom of 
fragrant flow'rs, 

And nourished by the ten- 
der love of sun and 



And, ere a lillle time hail 
passed, she sniilcil — 
a wondrous light 

Shone al! around—nnd 
then, alas ! she faded 

I left the haunted orchard 

But in my soul were bloom- 
ing still the blossoms 



of tlu-May. i 

dbyCjOogle 



St. Nicholas League ^i 



Now this is the month when the first annoancerneni League who have become coatribators in ihe great 
was made of the formalion of the St. Nicholas waild of publishing (and there are many such) are 
League. That was seven yews ago— a long time in glad to-day of the years they spent in League Land, 
young lives. Onr most youthtul members then are even thoogh the " sad little gate " shut behind them 
almost young men and women now, and our older just when it was all beginning to be worth while. 
members have passed with their aspirations and their 

hopes and their honors beyond the gate which at the PKIZE WIMMXKS, TOLV COMPETITION, 

eighteenth mile stone stands always ajar lor the out- 
ward going bat has no inward swing. Many, oh very Is making Ihe awards, contributors' ages are con. 
many, have passed through that gate in seven years, sidered. 

Veise. Gold badges, Blizabetli 
BuDBS (age 17), St. Gabriel's 
School, Peekskill, N. V., and AiuUe 
Louise Hillyer (age 14), St. 

Cabriel'a School, Peekskill, N. Y. 

Silver badges, Lillie G. KetUUT 
(age 11], Altnamackin, Caslleblay' 
ncy, County Monaghan, Ireland, 
and Doris F. Halmsn (age 10), 
5 Mountfort St., Boston, Mass. 

Prose. Gold badges, Dora I. 
Winn (age 14), care of Mrs. M. M, 
Tompkins, San Anselmo, Calif., 
and Once Momson BoyntOD (age 
iS)i 34^ Washington Ave., Urook- 
lyn, N. Y. 

Silver badges, Mu; ViUepon- 
U«iu Lee (age 14), liox 145, Sum. 
merville, 5. C, . Hancy Payson 
(age 9), Boit4, Falmouth Foreside, 
Portland, Maine, and Lul K««ni 
Carloclc, (age 11), Mechanicsburg, 

Drawing. Cash prije, Oadley 
■nd when we have read the letters of some of those T, Fisher (age 16), 363 W. 7th Ave., Columbus, O, 
who said good-bye it seemed a sad little gate that Goid badge, KoBAlind B. Weissbein (age 13), 2105 

closed on a pleasant land just when they were begin- Vallejo St., San Francisco, Calif. 

ning to find it worth while. And we are not sorry that Silver badges, Hnriel BaJstead (age li), Zeiger 

It is a sad little gale that swings between the League Hotel, El Paso, Tex., and Max Bolnilc (age 16), 125 
and the world onlside, for it shows that whatever the Clinton St., N. Y. City. 

effort and struggles and disappointments have been, the PhotOgiaphy. Cash priie, Lewis P. C«lig (age 

result has not been wholly without happi- 
ness and some measure 01 gain. The gain 
lies chielly in the persevering effort which 
has been made by those determined to 
succeed in the end. The winning of a 
priie is an encouragement, but it is not the 
end. The priie-winner who is satisfied 
• ith his achievement is in (hmger of 
(ailing twhiod in the race, while the per- 
sistent endeavor o( the slower.looled will 
Dot rest short of the farther goat. No 
boy 01 girl with any love for art or 
literature ever made a determmea effort 
in the League without winning more than 
Ihe eflorl cost, even if the effort brought 
no tangible reward. Some day out young 
friends will realiie this more fully. To 
those who intend to continue their League 
Labors in the world's wider fields the 
benefit has been very practical. Besides 
what has been gained in artistic knowl- 
edge, they have learned to prepare their 
work properly, they have learned to ex- 
pect disappointment (a priceless lesson) 

and they have now and again tasted •• t„, shook." bv ei-Nici 1.. hdws, a<-.e 14. tt,ou> iui>Ge,) 

something of the feeling which conies 

with seeing one's effort set forth on a carefully printed 16), Shelbyville, III. Goid hadge. Eunice L. Howe 
page. This is all valuable knowledge to the young (age 14), Bisby Lake, via McKecver, N. Y. 
author and artist, and most oi it is not to lie gained in Silver badges, Robert W.HObatt (age 9), Price Hill, 

the ordinary way. We feel certain that those of Ihe Cincinnati, O. ; KatllATine Steele (age 15), Box F, 
Vol. XXXIV.— II. 



I F. , 

ogle 



St. Nicholas League 



Now the pears are small and golden, 
And [he leaves are emerald green; 

All the ruby apples twinkle 
With a wond'rous fairy sheen! 

"And our tea will be informal," 

So the invitations read, 
" Fancy dress is not required ; 

Wear your ' pinafores,' " tliey said. 

Oh, that most successful party. 
All the birds supplied the song — 

An<! tlie hostess' heart was happy: 
Not a single thing went wrong! 



Oh, 


that hos- 


pit -a 


■ble par 


N 




EifTme 




s made 


And 


thi 




fi g" 


y refres 


W 




-the' 


appl 


es on lb 



I John B. Bnrln (age ii). 



Ken [1 worth, 

Brady St., Milwaukee, Wis. 

WlM-creAtare Photography. First Prize, "Young 
Purple Finches" by Carletou B. Swift (age 15). 40 
Cypress St., Newton Centre, Moss. Second priie, 
"Wild Turkey" by Doiuld C. AimouT <age 13), 160S 
Ridge Ave., Evanston. III. Third prize, "Wild 
Geese " by Arthnr S. Faiitwiika (age 13), 62 Circuit 
Rd., Chestnut Hill. Mass. 

Pmile BlakiDg;. Gold badges, Enut Snebel (age 
14). 4649 Collage Ave., St. 
Louis, Mu,, and Pme K. Jamle- 
8011 (age II), Lawrenceville, 
N.J. 

Silver badges. Bather B. 
Schmitt (age IJJ, 1^8 South 
Cliff .St., Ansonia. Conn., and 
Minabelle Sutniay (age 14), 
1831 North 4th St., Columbus, 
Ohio. 

Puzzle Aosweia. ' Gold 
badges, William W. BI0S8, Jr. 
(age 16), 85J East 69th St., 
Chicago, 111., and Robert SewaU 
DuBois (age, 14^, 232 N. Em- 
poria Ave., Wichita, Kansas. 

Silver badges, Alice PatteraOD 
(age 14), Chestnut Hill. Phila- 
■ ■ -lia. Pa. ; 
(age 13), 1929 N 
dianapolis, Ind., and Frances 
Bounquet (age 13), Fruiiland 
Park, Fla. 



(m:e 14). 
(GW</ Sadgt.) 



The 



DESCRIPTION OF A FIRE. 

■ r.RACE MORRISON BOVNTOI4 (ai:K I5). 

(Gold Badgt.) 
: had been gorgeous, and the i 



Where the seckic pears 
swinging, 



'. the joyous birds all 



aglow with a blinding expanse of daizling yellow, 
contrasted with the burning purple of a July suo-down. 
The brilliance of the coloring softened into deeper 
tones and shaded into the most exquisite tints o( rose 
and violet, which colored the clouds floating upon the 
edge of that sea of light, like ripples breaking on the 
shadowy shore of the blue evening sky. 

As the light faded in the west, a line of strange 
color appeared above the hill- 
tops in the east. The glory in 
the west dimmed and grew 
fainter, but that ugly stretch of 
crimson burned stronger, until 
every dark pine standing on the 
hilltops seemed outlined in fire. 
Slowly, relentlessly, that line 
broadened, that sinister color 
deepened, and then, as twilight 
came on, a tongue of flame 
shot up, mirrored in the Chiqoa- 
gua river, which flowed at the 
base of the burning hills. The 
great pines blazed like beacon 
tights, and then fell into the 
consumingheat, whiletlie flame* 
reached higher and higher, 
scorching the very sky, so that 
it glowed a hideous copper- 
color. The river, too, seemed 
molten copper as it moved nnder 
the glare of the flames, and the 
surrounding country was hidden 
trader the clouds of smoke that 
rolled upward from the lire. 

The sight was awesome. The 
flRTnes reached out, licking up 
every^gnnring thing and Aaring 
brighter after each conque»I, 
The blasting heat swept over 
the hilt sides, insatiably hungry, 
implacably angry, covering thetn 
over with fields of flame. 

Dusk passed. Tlie wind 
:atha>ikb sriELi arose and turned the smoke 

i-iR BADCB.) ' toward the sea, and the Haines 



St. Nicholas League 



followed Ihe smolie as an army its flag. On 
they trooped, breathing dcstmction, but tlie 
wind was leading them lo iheir own. On ihe 
shores of the ocean Ihey burned themselves out, 
'leaving behind ilieni a blackened, smoking 
4ract o( land, where the green growth of the 
nenl spring hid their ravages, and where we 
children went, speaking in low voices of the 
great forest tire. 



IN AN ORCHARD. 

BY DORIS F. ll.^LMAN (AGE 10). 
{Sih-ir Badgf.) 

Beneath ihc shady orchard trees. 
While fruit falls down on us ; 

We sit upon (he grass to eat. 
And read St. Nicholas. 

The boys climb up and shake the (rait, 

Down on the grass below ; 
And then they scramble down again. 

We laugh to see theai go. 

We play we are some shipwrecked folk, 

In a secluded land; 
The boys then come and bring us frnil, 

A friendly native band. 

And, ohl the picnics that we have. 

In bright autumnal days ; 
Whh apples, pears, St. 



DESCRIPTION OF THE 
GREAT SAN FRAN. 
CISCO FIRE. 
BV DORA J. wiSN (Acr, 14). 
{Cold Badgt.) 
The most horrible aighl I 
have ever seen was the sweeping 
ol those awful flames in the 
cily of San Francisco, after the 
earthquake on the eighteenih o( 
April. Rising in the commer 
dal district, they crept np, 
noihing slopping ihem. Men 
rushed around helplessly, some 
panic-stricken, a few atlempttng 
to save something in a building 
about to disappear. Women 
uid children, their homes already 
burnt, carried Iheir only worldly 
-possessions on iheir backs. 

Uptown, various reports were 
■spread. Some said thai the 
whole dty was doomed, on 
account of Ihe lack of water, as 
the pipes were stopped by the 
«a)1bqiake; others, that ihe (ire, 
now thai the soldiers were in 
charge of everything, was under 
conlrol. But we continued to 
hear of new buildings falling. 

Before now, another lire had 
sprung up in the south, which 



threatened to come up our way, but a sadden change 

of wind inrned the danger in another direction. 

From our house, as we looked east, we could not 
see the actual buildings burning, but the dull red glow 
covered the whole sky. Il was certainly a fearfnl 
sight ! All day long ihere were constant explosions of 
houses being dynamited, bul still the Are drew closer. 

The next day people left Ihe homes in our neigh- 
borhood, and we went too. My father, an army oflicer, 
took us lo Ihe Headquarters in Fort Mason, where we 
were safe. From there we 
could see the flames clearly, and 
we watched houses catch the 
blaze, slowly, at iirsi, and then 
suddenly becoming illuminated; 
we could see through them, and 
in another minute the walls 



Of c 



.ring 



all ihe lime lo free the pipes, 
so Ihal ihcy could have water, 
bul they could not succeed. 

For three days tlie fire raged, 
bul al the end of thai lime it was 
stoppeil. Our own liouse was 

It was many days, however, 
before the last sparks and burn- 
ing embers were extinguished, 
and piles of ashes smoldered 
for weeks. 



THE ORCHARD'S BLOOM. 

BY ULLIE G. .MENARY (ACE II). 

{SihfT Badgf.) 
I 'VE watched the orchard Irecs 
all glow 



I 



flowc 



■ die. 



n il««ead. , 

./Coogk 



St. Nicholas League 



A DESCRIPTION OF A FIRE. 



{Silver liaJi'i.) 

We were ju^it sitting down lo sup- 
per when the fire bells began to rinE- 
" Let 's see if we can see it," cried 
one of the boys, so we all ran to the 
windows; we cunld not see the 
flames, only the smoke, but il looked 
so near that papa thought we could 
just go and see where it was, so off 

We walked and walked but still 
no fire. "It must lie very big lo 
have ihe smoke come over so far," 
said papa. Suddenly we noticed a 
big crowd in front of us. 

We all climbed up on a fence 
i the 



that t 

lire! The fl 



leapt liigh il 



the 
s the 






e scurrying this way 
and thai. " It 's getting quite late," I said. " Yes," 
said papa. So we went home, and the very last 
glimpse I caught of the (ire over my shoulder as we 
went Dp the street was a big red and gold flame that 
leapt high in Ihe air, and all around it it was misly 
looking from the smoke. 

It is too bad that such a beanliful thing is so harmful. 



THE DESCRIPTION OF A FIRE. 



In the month of October, 1901, a fire occurred i 

the city of Ccbu, in the Philippine Islands (where w 

then lived). It was starle 



JOHNNV'S ORCHARD. 



JoHSVYmade an orchard. 
With his colored crayons new; 
He drew some yellow apple trees, 
With leaves of red and bine, 
lie made a brook a.twisting 
In and Out among the trees ; 
And the queerest bird in purple. 
And a swarm of brownish bees. 
Then he heard his mamma calling, 
"Oh, do come quickly, Pet! " 
He left the picture lying. 
And il is n't fini^he-t yet. 



their little shop on that 
night. One of thcni over- 
turned their candle, and it 



Vol 



t knf 



.■ that 



sjiread quickly, 1 

cause most of the little 

shops are made of a kind 

of a grass called "nipa." 

The fire burned a large part 

of (he Chinese portion of 

the city. A few funny in- 

cidents occurred at the time 

of the fire. One story is of 

a Chinaman who had quite 

a large chest in which he 

kept his money. It was 

so heavy that he cotild not 

1;. (HD-voR UEMBEB.) gct It luto s placc o( safelv, 

but still, he could not bear 

the thought of parting with his money. So he 

just sal down on the chest and borncd to death 

there. The Indian merchants, instead of trying to 

save even the most valuable of their goods, opened 

(heir stores and told the Filipinos lo come in and lake 

everything Ihey could carry. For days afterwards it 

was a common sight to see some of the poorer class 

walking al>ou( the streets with handsome silk shawls 

around their shoulders and beautiful sandal-wood fans 

in their hands, but with no stockings nur shoes 

on (heir feet. It was often am using lo see 

Chinamen, whose shops had been burned, sitting 

on the street corners eating their rice with their 

chopsticks. 

For days after the fire it was sO hot that we could 
hardly drive (Iirough the burned portion. 



.Google 



St. Nicholas League 



And then he buys some candy, 

A bag of peanuts loo; 
1 like to help my grandpa; 

I think it 's fun! Don't you ? 

DESCRIPTION OF A FIRE. 



E(A<. 



"4). 



GRANDPA'S ORCHARD. 



s (AC 



9). 



{Silver Badgt.) 
One night last autanin, I was in the 
sitting-room reading, ivhcn suddenly I 
lieard something pop in the hall, and just 
as I reached the door I saw a Corked 
flame dart up from tlie hanging lamp, 

"Oh, Miss Annie!" I shrieked to a 

friend who was staying with as. "(he 

hall lamp has burst." As I finished 

speaking, niy little brothers rushed past 

mc, wiid with terror, and out into the 

yard. Aa neither Father nor Mother 

)S ,j. were at home, I did not know what to do, 

but I saw Miss Annie trying to get a 

blanket over (he lamp, and realized that 

the (our chains would prevent it; all at once I remeni 

bered hearing thai earth would smother a kerosene fire, 



illonor Mrnibrr.) 
Mv Grandpa has an orchard, 

With apples big and round, 
An<l always in the autumn 

They 're scattered on the ground. 

And then we take n ladder, 
And take some baskets too; 

He lets me drive old Major, 
That -s what I like to do. 

And then I climb the ladder, 

And go out on the limb, 
And I pick of[ the apples. 



And then we go lo market. 
And sell them at the store. 

And grandpa takes the money, 
A dollar-bill or more. 



ito the yard and got my skirt full of sand, 
'cnl up the steps I saw one of my brothers 
racing wildly up and down. " Oh, 
Bert," 1 called, "what ate you doing?" 
"Looking for dirt," he said, despair- 
ingly, **bu( I can't find any." The nejrt 
thing I knew Bert was at the 'phone, 
shouting excitedly, ' Hello, Central ! Our 
house is on fire!*" But before Central 
had canaecled the tines, he dropped the 
receiver and dashed into the street, 
yelling '" Fire, fire! " as he ran. 

Two of our neighbors canie in im- 
mediately, and one of them pulled the 
lamp down while the other beat out the 
fire. 

Of course after the fire was over we 
thought the excitement was also; but not 
so! As the lamp crasheil on the floor the 
harsh clang of the fire-bell was heard ; so 
we swept up the glass, and sat on the 
steps lo welcome the people, and there 
we stayed for a long lime, holding a sort 
of reception. When Father came home 
the house was all quiet, and but for the 
absence of the lamp, Ihci 



IS nothing to I 

bgle 



St. Nicholas League 



ening s[ght. To watch the flames dart ap for 
a moment with an unearthly brightness and 
then settle back into the same awful glare 
as,' with a crash, a block of frame houses fell ; 
lo gaze apon beautiful buildings, standing 
proudljr 'miilst tlie flames in one moment, — 
dynamited to the earth the nest— made a thrill 
of horror go through my heart, sucli as I tiave 
never felt before— and hope I newer shall feel 

Night came—with no relief. People could 
npt sleep. The fire held a kind of awful 
fascination as the flames leaped and danced 
while feeding on the houses which lay within 

Fighting this raging demon of smoke and 
flame was a terrible danger, and [he brave men 
who did il were struggling under fearful difh- 
culties. There was no water, the earthquake 
having burst ihe mains. There was no chief, 
the earthquake had killed that courageous man. 
There was nothing to be relied upon but dyna- 

Four days and nights the torture of the an- 
cerlainty of whether to-morrow would find us 
alive and with a roof over our heads, continued, 
and I think the most welcome words I ever 
heard were called by a sentinel on Sunday at 
midnight, " The 6re's out, and all 's well." 



show that there had been a fire. I 
laugh at usi But it had been no laui 
night before. 

THE ORCHARD. 



Eakly [n Ihe springtiro 
When Ihe • 



The little flowers and grasses 

Through the earth will come astray ; 

Then the trees begin to blossom 

And the leaves begin lo grow, 

In a sunny orchard where I lived so long ago. 

Then later on in summer 

I would look with child's delight. 

To see the (ruit turn pink 

In the golden summer light ; 

But now those happy childhood days 

Again I 'II never know. 

In that sunny orchard where I lived so long ago. 



IN THE ORCHARD. 

BY AILEEN HVLAND 

(AGE 13). 

{//i-ner Memifr.) 

In Spring the trees were 

clothed with green, 

And spiders wove a 

Of silken threads, and 
vehs of sheen 



To c 



the 






DESCRIPTION OF A FIRE. 


BV GLADYS P 


lELAV (ACJE IZ). 


Fll'TBEN minutes after 


the terrible earthquake of 


April l8, as people wer 


rushing around (he streets, 


they were startled by an 


ominous glow in the sky co- 






" It is a fire," said on 


e person to another, but Kltle 


<lid they think that that 


tire would destroy the entire 



important business— and 
of their dearly beloved city. 

Every moment the flames gained impetus an 
burning district was, in a shore time, a raging fi 
nace. The sun rose as a glaring red ball, and I 
heat and smoke of the fire made the atmoaphi 
Mifling- 

To see our beloved city burning was a sad and sick- 




t the heal of 



And then, like magic. 

Transformed the leaves 

And, with a motion of 
her hand 

le sent the breeie to 
waft theni down. 



St. Nicholas League 



And now, in place of leaves chat fell, 
In robes ol snow ihe gauni Irecs star 

For Wintet laid an icy spell. 

And bound it with his mighty hand. 

But do not fear, oh ice-chained treea! 

Nor cease to cbant your endless croon 
For Spring is wliisp'ring in the brecic ; 

" Be of good cheer. 1 will come sood. 



'3)- 



The most notable event in Chicago's his- 
lory was the great fire of 1871. 

It commenced by the overturning of a 
lamp in a district which was built np 
almost eiclasivcly of wood. 

The fire commenced on Sunday even- 
ing, Oct. 8, 1S71. 

It coniinned through the night and the 
greater part of the next day. 

It destroyed many blocks of houses. 

The fire was finally checked on the south "HMDmG 1 

by the eiploding of gunpowder, and it 
raged on the north, teeding upon everything that 
woald ignite. 

Many ihoasands of people were rendered homeless, 
out of which two hundred and fifty people were either 
canght in the flames or died because of exposure. 

Many, flying before the flames, went into the lake, 
standing in the water for hours as the only means of 
preservation from the heat of the fire and Ihe cinders. 

The city fire department, though large and efBcient, 
was almost exhausted on account of a large fire on 
the preceding Saturday evening and could not check the 



system of 

organized and help came 

from all parts of the world. 

Rude houses were made 
and about forty thousand 
people that were without 
homes were sheltered. 

The work of rebnilding 
the city was accomplished 
aiveloos rapidity. 



The 



work 



menced before Ihe cindei 
got cold, and the people 
seemed to gain new energy 
and new ambition from the 

The poorer class of 
people were made more 
comfortable after the fire 
than they were before. „^ hsadii 

Some people slated it 
wonld take ten years to 
bnild np Chicago, bat it only took about 



And we watched the birds fly to and fro, 
And the clouds sailed on, now high, now low. 
To a realm no mortal e'er should know, 
To the Land of the Sunset Sky. 

Those were glorious times, those days of old. 

When we played : my chum and I. 
And the future shone brighter than burnished gold. 
And the pleasures it held could ne'er be told. 
They gathered around as fold on fold. 

Richer than Tyrian dye. 

But Ihe days have past and 

the years have flown 

Since we played; my 

And the orchard and I are 
left alone. 

For my chum has gone to 
the Land Unknown, 

Where trouble nor sorrow 



And I wish I could cross 

that bridge's piers 

Between us : my chum 

and I. 

Forgotten would be those 

countless fears. 
United we 'd be after long, 
long years, 



A HSVSMMKDMW 



And 1 



In the land of the Sunset Sky. 



veil M 



■ part with 



THE ORCHARD. 



DESCRIPTION OF A FIRE. 

BV JANE HEISOS MARK (AGE I4). 

I the West, they 

liich was then 
,y nations could be 
1, among them a number of Indians. 



gle 



St. Nicholas League 



And Ihe distant, cheerful humming 

of the busy litlle bees. 
As they sip the flowers' fragrance, 

in the mellow sunlight's glow, 
In the happy days of Sprlng-lime, 

when the apple-orchards blow. 

Soft yet swift the leaves are falling, 

one by one, in downward flight, 
And a flaming banner trembles, in 

the forest's ruddy light. 
Where forsaken in ils splendor, like a 

gorgeous host it stands, 
' Overlooking all the richness of the 

har vest-laden ed lands. 
While above ihe pnrpie hill-crcsl. 

Host the cloud-iortns silent by. 
In the mystery of Autumn, when the 

harvest-time is nigh. 



One evening they saw people pouring in one direc- 
tion. The two withdrew into a doorway, and father 
explained lo mother that it was a lire. Men in wagons 
and buggies were lashing their horses and trying [o 
oatstrip the others, for, as (here was no regnlar fire 
company, a prize was oRered to the man who wouhl 
first reach (he hose and hook it to his wagon. So 
great was the rush (hat he and she could get no 
farther than the building in which their rooms 



DESCRIPTION OF A FIRE. 



Only fo 


.ur buildings w 


ere on 


fire al 


; first, 


, bu( the 


flames spr 


ead to others. 


Two 






re among 


these, not 


qnite finished. 


The ( 




of OI 


le melted 


and ran i 


nio the s(reet. 


The 






for these 


rushed foi 


rward. "Two 


hundred dollars to 


(he (irsi 






of 1 






Qildin 



shouted one. " Five hundred dollars to the first 
who turns a stream of water on my building! " cried 
the second. "One thousand dollars to the lirst man 
who turns a stream of water on my building! " 
screamed the other. 

Kven at such a dreadful time there was something 
ridiculous to be seen. A man came to a window of 
one of the smaller buildings, carrying a pitcher and 
basin. The Hames were bursting through the window 
next (o the one at which he stood. He poureil all the 
water out of the pitcher, and Ihen threw both pitcher 
and basin to the ground. Those outside screamed to 
him to come down, but he would not, so finally some 
one put up a ladder and dragged him out. 

One hotel was catching continually and being pul 
oat again. In another the windows cracked, making 
reports that could lie heanl. Mother and father stood 
there watching until eight o'clock, when father was 
obliged to leave. 

in this destructive tire fourteen e<Iilices were burned, 
some of them to the ground. 



IN' THE ORCHARD 



> (,u 



■7). 



(lienor MimKr.) 
a hush upon ihe valley, niul a light U]>on the 
ous song of greeting, in Ihe murmur of the 
a sound of life awakened, in ihe budding 



It was one of the windy days that only Western 
chies know, thai llie large Antlers Hotel burned lo the 
ground. All the morning Ihe wind had roared and 



iwled, ! 



aying 



the 



. that 



irked the straight streets of Colorado Springs. 

At two o'clock great cxcitemcnl was aroused by the 
news that the station and a few of the surrounding 
buildings had caught fire, owing to the explosion of a 
car of gunpowder. Since the Springs at that time 
boasted no fire engine, this meant a great deal of 
danger. 

In an hour's time a hirge lumber yard was 
fiercely blazing, and the wind, which had lost none of 
its furious force, was sweeping the flames toward Ibe 
Antlers Hotel. Already, streams of people were leav- 
ing this building, each with a sheet, blanKot or pillow- 
case, filled with (heir most valuable properly. 

The hotel where I was slaying was about two blocks 
from the s(a(ion. and a block and a half from the 
.Antlers, and even at our hotel, people were preparing 

It was now seen that the whole town was in dan- 
ger. They had sent to Denver, ninety miles away, for 
an engine. This, with another from Pueblo, arrived 
lalein (he aflcrnuon. 

Finally the Antlers caught fire, and fast became 
enveloped in a great pyramid of flames. 

I went with my mother up to the lop slory of onr 
hotel ami from lliere looked over at the slowl)^ disap- 
pearing building. I still vividly remember seeing the 
flames leap up a hundred feet into (he air. as fanned by 
the mighty wind, they hungrily devoured ihe turrets of 
Ihe faled building. I have never seen anything so 
beautiful, and yet so terrible, as those flames, as they 
towered upward, while men stood powerless, gating al 
Ihem from below. We saw Ihe crumbling walls fall 
in, lill but one remained standing. If this should fall 
outward, it would mean the probable destruction of 
many blocks. We had not long to wait before this last 
wall fel!-inward! 

At last the d.tngcr was ovtr, but the beautiful Antlers 
lay a heap of rum>i 

That night, «hen we si« from one wmdow llie 
glowing heap of embers in jiloce of the stalely hotel, 
am! from anolher, the distant (;'eam of forest fires, 
raging on Pike's Peak, we (hanked God for Our de- 



Google 



St. Nicholas League 



THE ORCHARD. 

BY CLARA BUCHKft SHANAFELT (ACB I4). 

Life led me throagh the crowded cily street, 

Lore passed me by ; 
She might nol »lop to give her roses sneet 

To snch ts I. 
fiat came a fragrance from her perfumed feet 

Like honeyed dover or the goldeo rye. 

The charmM orchard stands apon a hill. 

Aod through the branches of the apple trees 
Clear sunshine trickles down lo feed Ihe rill 

That is the joy of Ilow'rs and birds and bees. 
The long sweet grass is fragrant in the son, 

Bright flowers bloom along the old stone wall, 
And happy children play about, and run 

To catch the ruddy apples as they fall. 



Bat now the dream is gone, 

It niighC not stay. 
I know not whence it came 



the vision spent, 



Bat with its memory I am content 
To work and weep through many a weary 
day. 

THE BALTIMORE FIRE. 

BV ALICK K. CARPBNTEK (AGK Ij). 

On Febmory 7, 1904, Baltimore was visited 
by a great conflagration which continued for 
three days. Engines from New York, Phila- 
delphia, Washington, Wilmington, and from 
Other dties, were sent to aid our helpless fire- 
men, who had given up all idea of ever getting 
it under control. Nearly two thousand build- 
ing were crashed to ashes. 

The reflection and heat from this fire were 
seen and fell for many miles away from Ihe 
dly. In the central part of the city, where the 
fire raged, the wind blew the sparks around in 
the air, so that they fell in showers which 
closely resembled a snowstorm. Persons walk- 
ing along the streets kept their collars tnmed 
op, for fear of the sparks going down their 
coats; and some of the people even held UTn. 
brellas Over them, to ward off the dangerous 
embers that were falling; and many an um- 
brella was lost by baming. 

The tire spreul so rapidly that you could 
Stand oR at a distance and watch building after 
building catch on fire, and finally collapse. 
Everywhere could be seen patrols, ambulances, 
or any other kind of conveyance that could be 
procured, taking injured firemen to the hos- 
pitals. Fortunately no one was killed in that 
terrible lire, which will never be forgotten by 
those who witnessed it. 

IN THE ORCHARD. 



He lay and dreamed beneath yoor clouds of fragrance. 

You dropped the dainty blossoms on his head ; 
What was their message? Were they showers of 
blessing. 



Wide orchard, when your summer leaves were : 
ing. 

A man aweary came, and laid his head ; 
Slowly he murmured, " Failure, gloom, and sorri 
Black the to-day, and blacker the to-morrow " : 

And then,— what was it that you softly said? 

Who knows that message? He at least has heard 

Beneath your harvest boughs I hear him say, 

" 'T is late — my name is not on oft-read pages. 

My deeds will not go down th' increasing ages. 

But I have learned to live for every day." 



*TM.OLtrt«i 



Fair orchard, when your snowy blooms were 
A little lad from yon white farmhouse come, 

Within his bands he held a wondrous story. 
Vol. XXXIV.— 11. 



NOTICE.— The St, Nicholas league »!>"!« welcom 
.ugK«uon.c™cB«,n^^«y«0«Hieon,p.uB«B._ ^ 



./Google 



■ St. Nicholas League 



Vtmilij Qtiacf 



UarS. 

Coolie.- 

MuyPemlKr-Alicc Cailipd 

ion NouncJuxiniRoBic 
Doroihy Mujurie Cochnia 

Douglu CaUiwUe Bckoun 
Karharine Mirum W^ Cngie 
I. Hmvaa Miqunc CuptBta 
Alice Sluiley Gennide Wifdc 

WilfuTciwColKn 
PiuUne U HuTT B. Mane 

Wulf Cuihann* E. T>c>'°~- 

EunkeClaii Mabel W. WTiii(__ 

Baniov Diiniihy G. GUsoi 

Irene Fuller Julia D. Miuw 

MalEaret Lou le E. HoDko 

Cupenia Muiiei Binrunu 

-PflpTO- WUliiui C™r. Jr- 



.tie. 



1uv« beea uted had 



ROLL OF HONOB. 

n« of ihue w W work in 



■dipmce p4 



VERSE I, 



5?^?' 



PnmroH Lawrence PhrllU Acki 
-Cari T. PioPHa May Lyman 

Eleanoi Mordy EJ--'^— ■ "' 

Minam Allen DcFoid Fi 
Manha G. Rchreyer Ci 
""- ■>"--■--■ "— --.n MaryiKl Hi 






Eliubelh Girdi 

Tagpirt 



ro.hr V. 



Miiy Eli 

LouuaF. Spear 

Frederick l>. Seward Dorc._, _. 

Catharine W. Babcock Beulah E. Amidon 
<;enfude T. Ciaci Maiy B. Guy 
Twila Arnu Uc- Ime H. Clopton 

DowetT FTancea Hylanri 

M. W. Swenton Genmde bnerun 

Cladn NeUon 
UildndSdB 
Nannie Clai* Ban 
Xatharine G. Thomai 
CraceE. Hiu 
Maryaiel Crawford 
. ImvE O. Giahara 

DorodKa S. Dand- 
Fredf H. Harruan 



Henry M. Divenpai 
Ruih E. Abel 

Id Delie Bancmfl 
Gladyi M. Adauia 

s tdward Gay. Jr. 
DoTQlhy Dnuelau 
Gayiotd M. («K> 
Evelyo Bucban 
Marnret Eveiett 
Eihi^da Bbck 
Beatrice Hewell 
Eliiabedi Gtier 

Alheitiai 
Jinaphine Schotf 
Piancet Tiylot 
tieoaE. EkJi 



BoydV 



n F. Keai 



GRAPHS I 



11 lniL.._ __ _ 



Aline Chawca 

Helen SLmpton 
Kormin W. AveiiU 
Henry S Hall. 
Marian R. Prieetley 
Kalbirine M. Huney 

M^ri™ R. Pe« ' 
jobn W. BeaiiT, Jr. 
Marion 1. tlnaiey 



Ilerben H. Bell 

MutelUlc Wation Gilbert M. Tnse 
Vera Price WHliam W. Whin 

Kalhaiine Brant Frail Stuarl Randolph 

L5. Btown.Jt. Whitman ,... . -.,-,. 

lie Kennedy Re|inHltl A. UUcT Marion L. ttradlei 

Maiy Lawrence Eatnn K«)iarioe C. Miller Chaijei Thoitmni 

E. S. McCawley " 

Marpsenle McCord 
DRAWING I. IiDicioBauer 
H. EneuBcU 
Edith Emenon 
Webb Melliu Siemeni 
FraiKct lubel Powell 
Manha O. (.'aihnut ' PHOTOGRAPHS : 
C. HowBid Mellon 
Joan Spencer- Smjlh 



Eliiabeth Andrewn 
I. Oliver Beebe 
Marcuec Bolud 
WiSuini D. Stroud 
Henry Trawbridae 
John Emien Buliock 
. Dorii I. Stemu 



Eliubeib Eckd 



Alihine H. Greeni 
Dorothy Ramaey 



Knowlea EnHikb 

^l^wlE 



Helen Louiie Sieve 
Jeuie Prinale Palm 
Rulh McNjIniee 
Dorii Long 
Marguerite Preaaly 



DRAWING 1, 



Flomce Kutheribrd 



Henry Reich 
Fnmcei" " 
>n ElUce C. 

Eleuoi Alice Abbott Theodi 

Winilied M. Perluot 

Gladyi Anthony While 
Stella F. Boydet 
Catherine W. G 






MildndAUea 



Alberta A. Heinmii 

'd'^n'ohn^ 
'1y Thomaa 



Man Spihl Caiona Wiliiama 

joaeph F. D. Hull Kathleen McKeia 
loutt Duiint Eilwaidt Alleo Kiinli Gnwe 



Connd E. Snow 
Eliiabeth Toof 
lubella Stnthy 
Alice Kiabonl uoroii 

Beatrice logilli Poner Maiy 
William Eaile Paltuet Mans 
Ethel B. Youngi Ham 

BeanriceC. Tennani Wei 
Kekn Peabody Eliiab 



lian«,Jr. 
:l M. Talbott 
Dwight 

llaijorieMacy 



DiiBcie Murphy 
Louie Phoebe Smith 
E. Adelaide Hahn 
SuMn J. Applelon 
Inei PiKt»l 
Fred Do 



Ruth Cutlet 
Alwyn C. B, Nicol* 
Lcwue Seymour 
Amy Savilte 
■"--'— Troendh! 

Bradley Emily 

Louiae A. Bateman Beatrice MDliki 

SniJ? Haai^"' Marian Matlin 
arian P. Via Buien Beth Sioddart 

Getuve Hoadley Garth SihhaM 

_._., DoraXei^ Nathalie Hairi. 

Alice Bell CeleHe Laii|:don Lucia Beebe 

Alfred A. Schwarti Vouna Call G. Freeie 

InaL. Brieriy Mary Klauder MaryM. P.Sh 

Marie Hill Helen Ludlow Eliiabeih McC 

Marsaret BoDtaem VtcUitKoluiniU Lewii GiiriinK 

Richarftun Marniet E. Keliey Flotence S. He 

Abraham VanValowitt Madae Dunlap Eleanor Wilhai 

J»ine> HiTYCy Willianu E. Laurence Pi 

Edna Kroute Edward Cirrinfton I.ouit Reimet 

"leoUld Thayer Martha A. Sha 

Alice Cragin Ruth Ball Haki 

HydeSmiih Henrietta Haveni JoKphine Hall 

Elbel Wen K. Thanpton Dorothy Potter 

Ward Reece Buhbnd Willie R. Lohie Allan Langley 

Joiephinc Keene Eliiaboh B. NciU Eailc H. Balloi 

Annie Miller 

itance Ric h ardaot 



Mario 
Mary 



n Biriow 
thea S. Walker 
ence B.SieKlri« 

iWeitCabb 
L. Wtaaler 

■ M*i!^^eed 

■ 5.H>Bk> 
1 P. Hallocic 



Etliih M. Yi 
Francea W. 
Helen 



Marie Armnrong 
Helen VIncini' Fiay 
Rtiih E. Jane. 
Alice WeaiDD Cone 
-Clem Dickey 
Hdrn M. Ogden 

lUlbarine Neumuui 
jeanneile Munro 
Elinat L. P. Lyon 






> Heni 



Jean Grave. 
1;liK F. Stem 
Hone Daniel 
BanuTV Hepburn 
Margaret Hylaad 
Gladyi Alitoti 



Flater_ 

Eliiabeth R. Hinh 

Eleanor Setden 

Alice McDougall ^ 

Dorothy Beu^ier ir 

Stephen Culler Clark, ci 



-J'- 



e> Hulben Peril 



Frida Tillnii.. 
Saiah SwiR Cam 
George Ripley W 



Helen Irene Tiyk 
Joiephlne Hoey 
Robet T, WiUiui 



LEAOOE 

Ptirui Bkakch, M. C. 
Dear St. Nichoi^b Liacue: I wiih 1 could tell jroubow 

oally thia Ia5t year, when 1 have been working bo hard tor ihe 
L priic. It Kcmt to me that yonr poema have achieved a high 
II o( perfection, I have to work, oh lo haid before my poema 
in that excellence, but do I care for Ibaie houri of labor when I 
my name with olhcn that hare ilriven eijiially ai hard orperfaapi 

firai M"K'Ro™of^*oMt,'fOT of law my work hai 



win that coveted ptiie. 



St. Nicholas League 



can working for St. Nichoijj eterj n 
1, tad ilihouBh I have bad my luou 
rtecn tiaiet, 1 hftve never had any of i 



Scho^ Rdl* Kien, Ruth P. Ronrdl, 
E, Mw^eJd, Herbert A. C " 
Mi1lEi-Pnv<»i KhlplcTi Ruih 
Rktaud A. ReddT, M. * "— 



Rktaud A. ReddT, M. A. Himion, Suun V 
ilh for almat Ideager, Boulub E. Amidan, Mur Kliuder. 



Davidion. Chiria 

■.r, /iDjiEi' C. Dnrkow, Miiy 

SeviDour, DcvoihcH L. Lymter, 

■'■ WabuT, tiufiel 



Ql onlr for my bcAutif uL badge, but far 



■"•{■".-S 



™™i 'of ihe buried diy- Suddenly Ihe wind^nnged ind ii 
•biRed die atha on lo us. ll gol darlt and ihcy had to dig out the 
IniD. Then we came out of that dreai" ' " " " ' '■ ■ 
Pnmpeu. We could not get home on aei 

where am is a bcauti^ gitrtto. Then aft 
br bow to Naplei. 



4fld landed i 



Thio 



.■ St. Nic 



I mlly do ni 



for the gold bndge- 

thF hivh^d Driic of all baa been ai 
^e aymbobca] of mj 

, ^en, at Icaat, I can lign mraclf, 
A devoted Logue 






leeming ly fhiitleaa ■ triving, 

more than for the beautiful 
old "^St. Nicic"t«ewdl 

her. 

n DmFd«d. 



PRIZE COHPETITIOir No. 85. 

The Si. Nicbolos League swaids gold and silver 
badges each month for the best oiiginai poems, sloties, 
drawings, photographs, puzzles, and puzilc-answers. 
Also cash prizes of live dollars each to gold-badge win- 
ners who shall again win first place. " Wild Animal 
and Bird Photograph " prize-witiners winning the cash 
prize will not receive a second badge. 

CompfttitioD Ho. 85 will close HorembBr 20 (for 
foreign members Kovember 25). The awards wili be 
annoanced and prize contributions published in St. 
NiCHOUis for Ibrch. 

Verae. To contain not more than twenly-foor lines. 
Title, "The Land of Romance." 

PlOM. Story or article of not more than four hnn- 
dred words. Subject, " My Favorite Book, and Why." 
Must be true. 

Photograph. Any size, interior or exterior, mounted 
or unmounted; no blue prints or negatives. Subject, 
" Pets." 

Dnwlng. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash 
(not color). Two subjects, "An Animal Stody," 
(from life) and a Huch Heading or Tailpiece for th« 
League, Books and Reading, or any St. Nicholas 



MY FAREWELL TO THE LEAGUE. 

The hour t> cDine when I Au*t bid " Goad-bTc." 

For 1 tee Fate, witit haltavened face, 
RjuK a TCiied hand to beckon me away. 



Now'ild 






: fare, with the glad thoughti of youth, 
. hopei and reaoTutioa strong, 
itever lay my lute may fraine 
Piide or Self may mac the loog. 

n my cUMhood'i lunny (ielda. 



a helped and cheere 
10 you J lena my inie and gialeful thanki 
And aik your blbaing en 1 miul be gone. 

Whalererlale the futiae years may hold, 
1 ihall remember Ihe kind hand which gam 



Glendevon, Devon: 



HiUyer, Cordelia f 
Colbun, Han>]d [ 
Could Hendec- 



£d. 



Pniile. Any sort. 

mswer in full, and m 

Ptuile-anawers. 



ut mast be accompanied by Ihe 

t be indorsed. 

St, neatest, and most complete 
set ol answers lo puzzles in this issue of St, NICHOLAS. 
Mast be indorsed. 

WUd *"'""' or Bird Photograph. To encourage 
the pursuing of game with a camera instead of a gan. 
For the best photograph of a wild animal OT bird taken 
in itt natural home : First Priit, five dollars and League 
gold badge. Second Priit, three dollars and League 
gold badge. Third Pri*e, League gold badge. 

RULES. 

Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber 
or not, is entitled to League membership, and a Leagae 
badge and leaflet, which will be seni free. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, mtist bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed 
as "original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, viho 
must be eonvinted biyond doubt that the contriiutien is 
net cttpied, bot wholly Ihe work and idea of the sender. 
It prose, ibe number of words should also be added. 

uticn itse!f-i( a 
' margin ; if a 
bad. Write or 
paper ettly. A 
r may send but 
bation a month 
-not one of 
each kind, but 

- oneonly. Con- 
~ tributions not 

] properly pre- 
pared cannol 
be considered. 
Address 1 
J SLHichoUs 
LoMine, 

- Union Square, 
)BV. a-cHAnH, Alia 13 {uoiroa hiubib). ^NewVorlu , 

),,] -..I . ClOOglC 



The Season's New Books 
This department appears just about in the 
" publishing season." Preparing for the hol- 
iday-trade, publishers bring out their choicest 
wares at diis time of the year. Thus it 
is important that lovers of books should be 
especially vigilant during tliese November days 
in order to become acquainted with the many 
good things offered them. The buying of 
books intelligently takes time and judgment. 

You must devote some of these fall days to 
the book-market, even if your final choices 
are not made until nearer the holidays. 

An "Aged " Boy 

Upon an old tombstone in Salem, Massachu- 
setts, is a curious inscription saying that " Mr. 
Nathan. Mather died October the 17th, 1688," 
and then come the curious words, "An agM 
person that had seen but nineteen winters in 
this world." Nathaniel Hawthorne said of 
this, "It affected me deeply when I cleared 
afray the grass from the half-buried stone, and 
read the name " ; but he gives the inscription 
as reading " An ag&d man." Hawthorne 
speaks of the apple-trees " throwing blighted 
fruit on Nathaniel Mather'sgrave— he blighted 
too," but does n't explain the curious epitaph. 
The explanation is given thus in a news- 
paper: " Nathaniel was the brother of Cotton 
Mather. He graduated from Harvard at six- 
teen. At twelve he read Greek and Hebrew 
and conversed familiarly in Latin, and he be- 
came distinguished for learning in mathemat- 
ics, philosophy, history, theology, and rab- 
binical learning. No wonder the poor boy 
was ag^d at fifteen and died four years later ; 
and think what good times a real boy might 
have had around Salem harbor from about 
1674 until 1688— when Massachusetts colony 



extended all the way to the Kennebec River, 
and 'King Philip's War' was raging, when 
'Bacon's Rebellion' was taking place in Vir- 
ginia, La Salle was exploring Canada, and a 

hundred other lively events were afoot. Young 
father seems to have grown old too fast, and 
to have had too much ' Books and Reading.' " . 

Real Athletics in History 
There are some boys who, unlike young 
Mather, pay too little attention to books, and 
too much to athletics, perhaps. They will 
read eagerly about foot-ball, base-ball, golf, 
tennis, and so on, and neglect many other 
more exciting topics. For, after all, even if 
Waterloo '• was won on the foot-ball fields of 
English schools," as it is sometimes said, it is 
more interesting to read of Waterloo than any 
athletic contest. For " breaking the center," 
or failing to break it, the charge of Napoleon's 
" Old Guard " is unequaled ; and no line of 
Yale, Harvard or Princeton ever stood up 
against " hammering " as stood the thin red 
line of the English in the same great battle. 
Pickett's charge at Gettysburg, also, and its 
repulse, can bear comparison with the most 
exciting ninth inning ever contested even by 
University teams. "Play" cannot compare 
with "earnest." 

Simplified Spelling 

President Roosevelt's action in favor of 
spelling reform, though it went no further than 
ordering a few words to be spelled in the re- 
formed style in certain documents, has 
brought on a wide discussion of the question. 
You may not realize the situation, \iaX.yoii are the 
ones who are to decide upon the futiu-e spell- 
ing of English. The older people are not likely 
to change ; but the children growing up can, 
if they choose, bring the new spelling; about. 

UigtizcdbyGoOt^lc 



Books and Reading 



We have already said something warning you 
not to decide until you have thought well over 
the question. Mr. Rossiter Johnson, an old 
friend of St. Nicholas, recently offered an 
argument against the change. He points out 
that since spelling is mainly for the eye, it may 
be unwise to simplify words when they are 
thereby made too much alike. Thus, we 
easily distinguish " the," " they," and 
" though." But suppose they were spelled by 
sound, thi, iha, tho ? This seems a suggestion 
worth some thinking over. Consider thoro and 
thru. In handwriting, too much likeness would 
make manuscript harder than ever to read. 
Few writers make plain vowels. 

Are Fairy-Stories " Babyish " ? 
Another friend, a Baltimore girl, sends a 
list of books read, asking that we criticise it. 
But we can only commend it, with the single 
reservation that it contains a few novels fitter 
for grown-ups. " Faiiy Legends of the French 
Provinces," translated by Mrs. M. Carey, we 
have not seen, though it is on her list. The 
same correspondent confesses a love for faiiy- 
stories, and hints a question about whether 
they are " babyish." They certainly are 
"babyish "—the right kind of babyish. For 
they belong to the lovely imaginative world 
in which children are permitted to live, and 
wherein only the very nicest of grown-ups 
are allowed. Those who have " life-member- 
ships " arc the poets. 

Famous Fairy-Story Tellers 

What a list of writers we should have if we 
should bring together the m'akers of our 
Fairy-stories! Shakspere would come in 
with a ticket marked '• Midsummer Night's 
Dream " ; Tennyson's poen) of the " Sleeping 
Beauty " you all know. Browning's " Pied 
Piper" also. Homer and Virgil tell plenty 
of fairy-stories, and all great literatures are 
full of them. Thackeray's " Rose and Ring " 
is a peculiarly delightful one, especially be- 
cause of its pictures ; and there are plenty in 
Dickens's row of great books, his " Holiday 
Romance " being full of humorous fancy. If 
such men were willing to write fairy-stories, 
it caimot be foolish to read them. 

Do Your Parents Read Your Books ? 

How many boys and girls like their fathers 
and mothers to read the same books they read. 
Do not forget they have been as young as 
yourselves, and have probably gained man- 
hood and womanhood without losing or for- 



new 



getting their youngw days. Try them with 
some of your favorites; you may find 
pleasure in theiis. 

"Everyman's" Library 

You are already familiar with the "Thumb- 
nail Series," —dainty little classics in buff- 
leather ; with the " Temple Classics " bound 
for grown-ups in green leather, and for young 
readers in blue, and with the " Knickerbocker 
Nuggets," in various colors. Now there is a 
new set— known as " Everyman's Library." 
This is bound in various colors according to 
contents of each volume— so that those 
on similar subjects can be kept together. So 
far the children's volumes comprise only old, 
old favorites. 

Story-Books as Helps to Study 

Most of you are pupils in school. Have you 
ever thought of asking your teacher to write 
out a list of interesting books that will go well 
with your lessons for the term, and make them 
easier? Do notundertake too many, and leave 
recreation hours free; but a few good books , 
will be the better liked if illustrated by your 
lessons in history, geography, or literature, 

" Norse Stories " 
A letter from Minneapolis says : " I would 
hke to recommend ' Norse Stories ' by Hamil- 
ton W. Mabie. After reading it I don't 
know who could help reading the Eddas and 
all the Sagas they can get hold of." We 
thank our correspondent, and beg that she 
will tell of a few incidents or episodes she 
especially enjoyed, and also let us know how 
to read them conveniently. How are they 
published ? 

The Wrong Kind 

All of us read many books that are not 
" great classics," and we should do so. It is 
entirely right to read at times only as a pastime, 
and to read books that make no other claim to 
notice than that they are amusing. But even 
with these, one should make some choice. 
There are right and wrong sorts of amuse- 
ment, and it seems to us that one of the wrong 
sorts is the amusement excited by the troubles 
and worries and embarrassments of others. 
Many things pretending nowadays to be 
" comic " are of this kind. They are coarse, 
crude, ugly, and foolish. You all know what 
they are, and where they are published ; and 
the mere fact that such a description points 
them out is enough to condonn them. 

Digtizodb/GoOgle 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



KittzryPt., Me. 
DeaB St. Nicholas :— Kittery is a small tow 
Portsmouth, and u I snmmer here, and u 
all tbe relics in old 5l. Jobn'i Chnrch, Porl! 



I hot fire. But » 



?PP 

ith, I was very mucb 
Hondred-Vear-Old Church," by J. L, Harboar, 
JqIv namber of ST. NiCHOI-AS. 

Although the article menlioDi many quaint things 
ahoat the church which were very interesting. I be- 
lieve the author docs not mention the fact that the same 
woman whose will provided loaves 10 be pvcn to the 
iraor, left a sum with which "ten cords otgood hem- 
lock boaghs" should be bought yearly for the carious 
old stoves which arc still in use. 

There " boughs " are slill bought year by year. The 
richest treasare of the church is the baptismal font 
which is of porphyry. It was taken from a Spanish 
ship and placed in ibis church. 

Only one more of Che many interesting relics vil! 
I mention, and (hat is a Prayer Book from which a 
palriotic Revolutionary soldier slashed out, with his 
tword, the "Prayer for the King." 

Yoar interested reailer, 
HoFK Adgatk Conant (age 14}. 



ALPHABET OF CHARACTERS IN ST. 
NICHOLAS. 



t ANNBTTE HOWE- 



'3). 



L is for Alfred, who had brothers two ; 

i is (or Betty no mother she knew. 

' is for Carrots of Newspaper Row; 

> for Denise her dear Ned we all know. 

Z is for Essex of brave Navy fame; 

r is for 'Frisco Kid — what a queer name I 

; is for Gertrnde oftheColbum Priie; 

I is for Hallie, at whom Pinkey " made eyes." 

is the imp who to run away tried; 

is for Josie sbe'd a queer litlte guide. 



ogirl 



!r brave 



N for Miss Nina alas and alack '. 

is for Oscar who the truth wonld not tell ; 

P, Prettv Polly who could draw very well. 

g's Qaicksilver Sue, who came out all right; 
is for Rowley, by Henry made knight. 
3 is for Sinbad, regarded with dread; 
r, Toby Traflford, whose " Fortunes" we 've read. 
U is for Uther, Arthur's father was he ; 
V for Van Sweringen in Bamiiby Lee. 
W for Wdf in the rushes laid : 
X for Xantippe who was n't afraid. 
If, Voun(t Lee,a funny "Chinee;" 
Z is for Zixi,a wilcli-queen was she. 



Bkitisk Embassy, Tokio, Japan. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I saw in the letier box of 

April that some one wished lo know how rice is 

cooked here, [t is boiled in a pot with a wooden lid, 

so that no steam escapes, and boiled for 30 or 30 



. ^ . . . boiled r._ 
as paste to stick things tngelher. We have jasi had the 
news to-day of the disaster al San Francisco. Our 
Japanese maid asked me to-day if hrr friend (who has 
gone with a lady lo Washington) would be in danger 
n'om the lire at San Francisco? I told her no, I thought 
that she was quite safe from that fire 1 Veslerday was 
the Emperor s cherry-garden party, and on the 30th 
there is the big review, to which I think I 'm going. 
There are going to be special 3 sen, 5 sen and I sen 
stamps issued in commemoration of it — also some j sen 
post-cards. 

From a lover of St. N1CH01.AS, 
Dorothy Barclay (age 13). 

La Casita, Lausanne, Switzekund. 
Dear St. Nickoijis: My winter at buarding-school 
is drawing to a close, as in Jane it breaks up, and I go 
to London, where my father, mother, and I stay for about 
a month before crossing to dear old America, again. As 
sotm as we get 10 New York we go 10 the counlry, Nar- 
raganiett Pier or Bar Harbor, only I am not quite sore 

I am very interested in " From Sioni lo Susan," espe- 
cialljf as nea Sionx is going to boarding-school. I am 
looking forward to reading my May namber this after- 

I have not been able to contribute to the League this 
winter, much to my disappointment, as I never nave a 
minute to spare, all is so checked out for us ; but as soon 
as I am in England, in July, I shall begin again. When 
I think that in fifteen weeks I shall be in America again, 
I feel half wild. Father says I am not at all an English 
girl now (I really am English, yon know), and always 
calls me " Little Yankee,'' 

Hurrah for tbe Stars and Stripes. 

Your devoted little reader, 

Dorothy Butbs. 

ROCKV FnED, CoLO. 

Dear Sirs :— I have been taking the St. Nicholas 
as long as I can remember. 

Mama has taken it since she was a little girl and we 
have a big volume. 

Wc live where the famous cantaloupes grow. 

Here school lets oat 33d of May and we thin beets jnst 
as soon as school lets out. 

Tbe beets are the kind they make sugar out of; there 
is a factory here and there is another 6 mites easL 

We get from the Arkansas river the water the farmers 
Qse to irrigate the land ; we cannot depend on rain. 
Yonr reader, 

Kenneth Evans. 

We regret that lack of space prevents our printing 
interesting letters from Mary Famnm Packard, " Wil- 
marth," Katherlnc Le Moine ('Tey, Nancy Smith, Mar- 
iorie Potts, Ruth Sweat, Edith Lirbcrman, Erica 
Rape, Maijorie B. Corn, Susan J. Appleton, Harriet 
Henry, Walter B, Day. Eliiabeth McConnell, Dorothy 
' fierson, Robert BuckmB^ — n-.-i. •.! r.... ._ 

an, Louise H. Spragne, 1 



7. UuminEdon. 8- Biiifhiuiii 

Ckakadi. Mcd-b«. 

ADDinoKa- Hmllawe'cn, 
leu. 4. Lap-wiDE. j. Oil 
& Ead-mou. 9. Naw^en. 

DUHOHDI AHD S«UA1I. 
t R. II. I. P. 1. For. 



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE OCTOBER NUMBER. 
r. WAvnnburg. i. EdaiKheitcr. T 

S. HuTuburg. 6. BimunilULai. 4- I 



I. 1. Fop. 1. Dan«. 4- t 
V. 4. Red. s- R. 111. 



Illuitkatcd Ziciac. Contdlle. i. <! 
Torch. 4. Swuu. J. SlaK. 6. Cluir. 
9. EcreL 



Mgbr. S. Album 
lowledgEd in Ibe ID 



=n^™ 



i. Sendi. III. 1. T. ). Pit 3. TnK 
S. >. Id. 3 Tiuib. 4, An*. 5. T. 
. OUtc 4- Rann. S- Tr^ VI. i. I 
4. Rmo. }. Trh. 



NovKL Acaosnc. Temple of Kurnk. i. f^.uoui. 
ebald. J. Pi-nplei. •- Pi-ppin. j. Pi-How. «. Pi-ene. 
Dui. t. Pi-ai». 9. Pi-ke. io.Fi.un. 11. P^nH. 11. P 
i^ Pi.uio. t4. Pi.kelin. 



niTcdi bdbn April islh. from Hury EIkt* Jr.— Lowry 



iiL NuH»a woe ncdved, hefc . 
— D. F. Cuisubh, i— C. H. Gould, 
Hby. i-Mnrie Rucbd, B— .Sam ' " 
I— Myrtk AlderKm, J 



Amsoiiiii to Puizi 
Ltao, I- A. Mayo, i— I 
Brock, I— Edna ^Mcyk, 
Rilph B. Vewdak, i-I 
Ruuell, 1— H. Scud, i- 



All of ihe words described conlain the same niunb«T 
of letters. When they have been riehtly gnessed and 
written one below another, one of tne rows of letteis 
reading downward, will spell a channel thai became very 
bmous in March, l86a; another row of letters will spell 
the name of a great coantry. 

Ckoss- WORDS : I. To frequent. 2. To abolish. 3. 
lodian core. ^ A masculine name. 5. Belonging to 
them. 6. Ancieat. 7. Pertaining to the nose. 8. To 
(rjranin. 9. A tribe of Indians now living in the ladian 
Terntorj. la A caper. 11. Acta. ii. The Indiati 
antelope. 

BUZABETH PALMEft LOPER (League Member). 

CIUIUSB. 

ISihnr BaJgt, St Nkholaa League Compctitioii.) 
My ^ril is osed 00 many a horse ; 
My itamd is to man a cross; 
My third, a boy's name, oAen beard ; 
My wMele, a strange, uacanny bird. 

RSTHER B. SCHMITT. 
DOVBLE DEBEADEN08 AND CDBTAIUNG8. 

KCtild Badp. Sl Nicbolai League Compcddon.) 
(Example: Doubly behead and doably curtail 
TBined, and leave to ationnd. Answer, es-leem-ed.) 

I. Doubly behead and doubly curtail a breastwork, 
and leave a Heht knock. 1. Unadmitted, and leave to 
posKii. 3. Vegetables which grow in pods, and leave 
pan of the mouth. 3. To raise, and leave a feminine 
amnte. 5. Imgnlar, and leave ■ rodent. 6. Dwells, 



Beaty-Ja. 
April ijth, frt 



:Mctcal£ 
.S.CLj 



Lfer, Jr.— Lowry A. 
-Maijuerije Hyde— 



.9/^^ 



iy, ^KitllaoJFlyiin, j— Arthur P. Cald*^. Jr.. j— 
»-Sl Gabiiel'i Chapter, fi-W. G. Rice, Jr., j-M. 



and leave a boy's niclcname. 7. Sad, and leave luck, 
li. Nobility, and leave an epoch. 9. A favorite candy, 
and leave to cram. 10. Mean, and leave to fortify. 
II. Distracted, and leave an insect I3. Conducts,and 
leave to lease. 

The initials of the remaining words will spell the 
name of a signer of the Declaration of Independence. 
FBUE K. JAMIESON. 

HOTEL ACBOSnC 



Ckoss-Words: i. An Indian chief. 2. Slothful- 
ness. jj. An ancient dty of Pbrygia. 4. Pertaining to 
a certain continent. 5. Communicated by signs. 6. 
Motion. 7. Antipathy. 8. Banter. 9. Annoyance. 
10. One who admonishes. II. The act ol turning. 

Wlien rightly guessed and placed one below another. 
Ihe initials and the letters indicated by I to II each spell 
ft book written by the star tigutg. 

- -. J. 



>/GoogIc 



i>oi;bi.ea 

(iiftwr Badp, Sl Nichalu Lafue Compedl 
Mr primals and my (iDals each spell the n 



The Riddle-Box 

same pl<y. 



&.moi]s pilgrim. 

Cross-words: I. PerUining lo the sea. i. A 
feminine name. 3. A fabulons lale. 4. Dominion. 
■>. Elder. 6. An outlying part of a dty. 7, Anger. 
8. Counsel. 9. or little bread I h. 10. Kubbish. 11. 
A yoang cbild. 12. Sale. 13. A Trojan hero. 

MINABBLLS SUMMV. 



My 55-84- 37-4 1 -32 -19 is ■ character in 
-" My 67-21-61-71-30-79-35-33 was Prince 
of Tyre. My 10-64-45 ■8-81-6 " " character in " Mid- 
summer Night's Dream." My 39-82-5i-74-59-i3-i^ is 
another character in the sameptay. My 84-(>7-4-8d-49 
is a character in " Two Gentlemen of Verona." My 
26-69-3 [s a tree held in superstitious awe in Shak- 
spere's lime. My zS-80-78 is an old word which mean* 
to hasten. aGnes k. lane (Honor Member). 



night is d 
jihe . . 



on when the ni 

Hiding among in 

Two gleaming eyes that sun 

of witches' won, perdie- 



. my horoscope," then I cry, 
aught for such as I ? 
> ifon the wind tc 



" thou naught for such as I ? 

Thoa as ifon the wind to fly." 

The cat heeds not as she hnrries by. 

Who tomake life bright and gay 

Finds room to insert (which the Jl^diGpIaj) 

A good word for all ; but our fears lo allay 

Thoo of evil spells (bat beiray. 

Once more, begone ! I Away I 

Thy spite but on thyself, I say. 

ELLA H. t:O0PER. 
DUCBLB DEHEADINGS. 
I. Doubly behead a tree, and leave an enclosure. Z. 
Doubly behead finely groDnd wheat, and leave a pro- 
noun. 3. Doubly behead (o happen, and leave a mon- 
Kl. 4. Doubly behead trite, and leave a beverage. 5. 
ably behead of a color between while and gray, and 
leave a common fowl. 6. Double behead a spy, and 
leave away. 7. Doubly behead a femiDine name and 
leave a snaie. 8. Doubly beliead frequently, and leave 
a number. 9. Doubly behead a small table, and leave 
a conjanction. 10. Doubly behead the sap of the pine- 
iree, and leave iniquity. 

When the words have been rightly beheaded the 
inilials of the remaining words will spell the name of an 
Indian maiden. 

JOHN HAYES LORD (League member). 
CONKBCTED DIAMONDS. 
iGci^ Ba^gttSy. Nicholai Lcairue Compediion.) 



Each of the objects in the sbove picture may be 
described by a word of seven letters. When these 
words are rightly guessed and written one below 
another, one of the rows of letters will spell the name 
of a place where a famous battle was fought. 

NTIMEBICAI. ENIGMA. 

I AM composed of eighty-eight letters and form a quo- 
tation from Shakspere. 

My 54-lS-45-50-72-79-29-40is a character in "Twelfth 
Night. My 65-16-56-70-85-62-35-53-81-11 is a charac- 
ter in "As You Like lu" My 6 7-55- 7-36- j3 -60 is a 
character in "Merchant of Venice." My 13-31-46-32- 
l6'30-34 is another character in that play. My 44-3-22- 
9-68-73-42-76 is a female character in "Hamlet." My 
17-79-87 20-83- 1 3-1 's a character in "Timon of Athens. 
My 75-43-45-Z4-38-5 is a character whose name appears 
in the title of a play. My 47-53-8S-6i-i4-5SistheChris- 
tian name of a loohsh fellow m " Twelfth Night." My 
J7-37-66-33-4S-72-77 is a character in ■' Merry Wives o( 
Windsor- My 4S-63-54 is another character in the 



I. I. In November. 3. A large serpent. 3. A 
division of the year. 4. Consumed. 5. In chums. 

II. I. In churns. 3- Sometimes worn around the 
neck. 3. Sometimes worn on people's heads. 4. To 
annei. 5. In chums. 

IIL I. In chums. 1. A small rug. 3. Tasle. 4. 
The highest point. 5. In chums. 

IV. I. In chums. 3. A bever^e. 3. Large, hol- 
low grasses. 4. Foss. 5. In chur~~ 



. In chnr 



:, A lur 



lary. 3. A Common 



shrub. 4- A short sleep- 5, In chorns- 

VI- I. In churns. 3. To take food. 3. A hut. 4. , 
metal. 5. In churns. 

VII- I. In churns. 2. A vegetable. 3. Require 
4. To onite- 5. In chums. 

VIII. 1. In churns. 2. An uproar. 3. A sei 
nymph. 4- A snare. 5- In churns. 

The eight k-tters represented in the diagram by sttu 
will spelt a word often seen and used. 

—1ST RUUBI 



CST RUUU. 
oogTc 



A FAIRY STORY BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT 
DECEMBER 1906 



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ST. NICHOLAS 



Vol. XXXIV DECEMBER, 1906 



Racketty-Packetty House 

Aa lold by Qu«cn CroHpMch 

By Frances Hodgson Burnett 

IT of " Lillle Lord Faunlleroy," -Sara Crewe," " Editha's Burglar," etc., elo. 



Now (his is the story about the doll family I liked and the doll family I did n't. When 
yon read it you are to remember something I am going to tell you. This is it: li you think 
dolls never do anything you don'l see them do, you are very much mistaken. When people 
are not looking at them they can do anything they choose. They can dance and sing and play 
on the piano and have all sorts of fun. But they can only move about and talk when people 
turn their backs end are not looking. If any one looks, they just slop. Fairies know this 
and of course Fakies viail in all the dolls' honses where the dolts are agreeable. They will 
not associate, though, with dolls who are not nice. They never call or leave their cards at a 
dolls' house where the dolls ore proud or bad tempered. They are very particular. Jf yon 
are conceited or ill-tempered yourself, yon will never know a fairy as long as yon live. 

Queen Crosspatch. 



RACKETTy-PACKETTV HousE was in a corner the front door, an( 

of Cynthia's nursery. And it was not in the in it at the back. 

best corner either. It was in the comer be- called out r 

hind the door, and that was not at all a fash- "Oh! what a beautiful doll castle! What 

ionable neighborhood. Racketty-Packetty shall we do with that untidy old Racketty 

House had been pushed there to be out of Packetty House now? It is too shabby and 

the way when Tidy Castle was brought in, old-fashioned to stand near it." 

on Cynthia's birthday. As soon as she saw In fact, that was the way in which the old 

Tidy Castle Cynthia did not care for Rack- dolls' house got its name. It had always 

etty-Packetty House and indeed was quite been called. "The Dolls' House," before, but 

ashamed of it. She thought the corner be- after that it was pushed into the unfashion- 

hind the door quite good enough for such a able neighborhood behind the door and ever 

shabby old dolls' house, when there was the afterwards — when it was spoken of at all — 

beautiful big new one built like a castle and it was just called Racketty- Paeketty House, 

furnished with the most elegant chairs and and nothing else. 

tables and carpets and curtains and orna- Of course Tidy Castle was grand, and 

ments and pictures and beds and baths and Tidy Castle was new and had all the modem 

lamps and book-cases, and with a knocker on improi'ements in it, and Racketty-Packetty 



CopTiigbt, iga6, b^ Tm Cbn 

Vot. XXXIV.— 13-14. s 



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98 

House was as old-fashioned as it could be. 
It had belonged to Cynthia's Grandmamma 
and had been made in the days when Queen 
Victoria was a little girl, and when there 
were no electric lights even in Princesses' 
dolls' houses. Cynthia's Grandmamma had 
kept it very neat because she had been a good 
housekeeper even when she was seven years 
old. But Cynthia was not a good house- 
keeper and she did not re-cover the furniture 



Racketty-Packetty House 



[DM., 



Mabkkt-Dav 



■Packettv Housi 



when it got dingy, or re-paper the walls, or 
mend the carpets and bedclothes, and she 
never thought of such a thing as making new 
clothes for the doll family, so that of course 
their early Victorian frocks and capes and 
bonnets grew in time to be too shabby for 
words. Vou see, when Queen Victoria was a 
little, girl, dolls wore queer frocks and long 
pantalets and boy dolls wore funny frilled 
trousers and coats which it would almost 
make you laugh to look at. 

But the Racketty-Packetty House family 
had known better days, I and my Fairies 
had known them when they were quite new 
and had been a birthday present just as Tidy 
Castle was when Cynthia turned eight years 
old, and there was as much fuss about them 



when their house arrived as Cynthia made 
when she saw Tidy Castle. 

Cynthia's Grandmamma had danced about 
and clapped her hands with delight, and she 
had scrambled down upon her knees and 
taken the dolls out one by one and thought 
their clothes beautiful. And she had given 
each one of them a grand name. 

"This one shall be Amelia." she said. 
"And this one is Charlotte, and this is Vic- 
toria I^opoldina, and this one Aurelia Ma- 
tilda, and tliis one Leontine, and this one 
Clotilda, and these boys shall be Augustus 
and Rowland and Vincent and Charles Ed- 
ward Stuart." 

For a long time they led a very gay and 
fashionable life. They had parties and balls 
and were presented at Court and went to 
Royal Christenings and Weddings and were 
married themselves and had families and 
scarlet fever and whooping cough and funer- 
als and every luxury. But that was long, 
long ago, and now all was changed. Their 
house had grown shabbier and shabbier, and 
their clothes had grown simply awful ; and 
Aurelia Matilda and Victoria Leopoldina had 
lieen broken to bits and thrown into the dust- 
bin, and Leontine — who had really been the 
beauty of the family — had been dragged out 
on the hearth rug one night and had had 
nearly all her paint licked off and a leg 
chewed up by a Newfoundland puppy, so 
that she was a sight to behold. As for the 
boys, Rowland and Vincent had quite disap- 
peared, and Charlotte and Amelia always be- 
lieved tJiey had run away to seek their for- 
tunes, because things were in such a state at 
home. So the only ones who were left were 
Clotilda and Amelia and Charlotte and poor 
Leontine and Augustus and Charles Edward 
Stuart. Even they had their names changed. 

After Leontine had had her paint licked 
off so that her head had white bald spots on 
it and she had scarcely any features, a boy 
cousin of Cynthia's had put a bright red spot 
on each cheek and painted her a turned-up 
nose and round saucer blue eyes and a comical 
mouth. He and Cynthia had called her 
"Ridiklis" instead of Leontine, and she had 
been called that ever since. All the dolls 
were jointed Hutch dolls, so it was easy to 
paint any kind of features on them and stick 
out their arms and legs in any way you liked, 
and Leontine did look funny after Cynthia's 
cousin had finished. She certainly was not a 
l>eauty but her turned-up nose and her round 
eyes and funny mouth always seemed to be-. 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



laughing so she really was the most good-na- 
tured-looking creature you ever saw. 

Charlotte and Amelia, Cynthia had called 
Meg and Peg, and Clotilda she called Kil- 
nianskeg, and Augustus she called Gustibus, 
and Charles Edward Stuart was nothing but 
Peter Piper. So that was the end of their 
grand names. 

The truth was, they went through all sorts 
of things, and if they had not been such a 
jolly lot of dolls they might have had fits and 
appendicitis and died of grief. But not a bit 
of it. If you will Iwlieve it, they got fun out 
of everything. They used to just scream with 
laughter over the new names, and lliey 
laughed so much over them that they got quite 
fond of them. When Meg's pink silk flounces 
were torn she pinned them up and did n't 
mind in the least, and when Peg's lace man- 
tilla was played with by a kitten and brought 
back to her in rags and tags, she just put a 
few stitches in it and put it on again ; and 
when Peter Piper lost almost the whole leg 
of one of his trousers he just laughed and said 
it made it easier for him to kick about and 
turn somersaults and he wished the other leg 
would tear off too. 

You never saw a family have such fun. 
They could make up stories and pretend 
things and invent games out of nothing. And 
my Fairies were so fond of them that I 
could n't keep them away from the dolls' 
house. They would go and have fun with 
Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg and Gustibus 
and Peter Piper, even when 1 had work for 
ibem to do in Fairyland. But there, I was so 
fond of that shabby, disrespectalile family my- 
self that I never would scold much about 
them, and I often went to see them. That is 
how I know so much about them. Tliey were 
so fond of each other and so good-natured and 
always in such spirits that everybody who 
knew tliem was fond of tbein. And it was 
Tfally only Cynthia who did n't know them 
and thought them only a lot of old disrepu- 
table-looking Dutch dolls — and Dutch dolls 
were quite out of fashion. The truth was tJiat 
Cynthia was not a particularly nice little girl, 
and did not care much for anything unless it. 
was quite new. But the kitten who had torn 
the lace mantilla got to know the family and 
simply loved them all, and the Newfoundland 
puppy was so sorry about I.eontinc's paint and 
her left leg, that he could ne^'er do enougli 
to make up. He wanted to marry Leontine as 
soon as he grew old enough to wear a collar, 
but Leontine said she would never desert her 



99 

family; because now that she was n't the 
beauty any more she became the useful one, 
and did all the kitchen work, and sat up and 
made poultices and beef tea when any of the 
rest were ill. And the Newfoundland puppy 
saw she was right, for the whole family simply 
adored RidikJis and could not possibly have 
done without her. Meg and Peg and Kilmans- 
keg could have married any minute if they 
had liked. There were two cock sparrows 
and a gentleman mouse, who proposed to them 
over and over again. They all three said they 
did not want fashionable wives but cheerful 
dispositions and a happy home. But Meg 
and Peg were like Ridiklis and could not bear 
to leave their families — besides not wanting to 
live in nests, and hatch eggs — and Kilmans- 
keg said she would die of a broken heart if 
she could not be with Kidiklis, and Kidiklis 
did not like cheese and crumbs and mousy 
things, so they could never live together in a 
mouse hole. But neither the gentleman 
mouse nor the sparrows were offended because 
the news was broken to them bo sweetly and 



they went on visiting Just as before. Every- 
thing was as shabby and disrespeclable and 
as gay and happy as it could be until Tidy 



100 



Castle was brought into the nursery and then 
■ the whole family had rather a fright. 

It happened in this way: 

When the dolls' house was lifted by the 
nurse and carried into tlie corner behind the 
door, of course it was rather an exciting and 
shaky thing for Mej; and Peg and Kilmanskeg 
and Gustibus and Peter Piper (Ridiklis was 
out shopping). The furniture tumbled about 
and everybody had to hold on to anything they 
could catch hold of. As it was, Kilmanskeg 
slid under a table and Peter Piper sat down in 
the coal-box; but notwithstanding all this, 
they did not lose their tempers and when the 
nurse sat their bouse down on the floor with 
a bump, they all got up and began to laugh. 
Then they ran and peeped out of the windows 
and then they ran hack and laughed again. 

"Well," said Peter Piper, "we have been 
called Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg and 
Gustibus and Peter Piper instead of our 
grand names, and now we live in a place 
called Racketty- Packet ty House. Who cares! 
Let 's join hands and have a dance." 

And they joined hands and danced round 



Racketty>Packetty House 



It was just at this minute that Ridiklis 
came back. The nurse had found her under 



ind kicked up their heels, and their 



a chair and stuck her in through a window. 
She sat on the drawing-room sofa which had 
holes in its covering and the stuffing coming 
out, and her one whole leg stuck out straight 
in front of her, and her bonnet and shawl 
were on one side and her basket was on 
her left arm full of things she had got 
cheap at market. She was out of breath 
and rather pale through being lifted up and 
swished through the air so suddenly, but her 
saucer eyes and her funny mouth looked as 
cheerful as ever. 

"Good gracious, if you knew what I have 
just heard!" she said. They all scrambled up 
and called out together. 

"Hello! What is it?" 

"The nurse said tlie most awful thing," she 
answered them. "When Cynthia asked what 
she should do with this old Racketty-Packetty 
House, she said, 'Oh! I '11 put it behind the 
door for the present and then it shall be car- 



rags and tatters flew about and they laughed ried down-stairs and burned. It 's too dis- 
until thev fell down, one on top of the other, graceful to be kept in any decent nurservi' " 

iXiOoglc 



"°*^i Frances Hodgson Burnett loi 

"Oh!" cried out Peter Piper. Gustibus leaned against the wall with his 

"Oh!" said Gustibus. hands stufEed in his pockets. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" said Meg and Peg and "1 would n't move if I was made King of 

Kilmanskeg. "Will they burn our dear old England," he said. "Buckingham Palace 
shabby house? Do you think they will?" would n't be half as nice." 
And actually tears began to run down their "We 've had such fun here," said Peg. 
cheeks. And Kilmanskeg shook her head from side to 

Peter Piper sat down on the floor all at side and wiped her eyes on her ragged pocket- 
once with his hands stufEed in his pockets. handkerchief. There is no knowing what 

would have happened 
to them if Peter Piper 
had n't cheered up as 
he always did. 

"I say," he said, 
"do you hear that 
noise?" They all list- 
ened and heard a 
rumbling. Peter Pi- 
per ran to the window 
and looked out and 
then ran back grin- 
ning. 

"It 's the nurse roll- 
ing up the aroi-chair 
before the house to 
hide it, so that it 
won 't disgrace the cas- 
tle. Hooray! Hooray! 
If they don't see us 
they will forget all 
about us and we shall 
S not be burned up at 

^ all. Our nice old Rack- 

*■•, etty-Packetty House 

I will be left alone and 

we can enjoy ourselves 
more than ever — be- 
cause we sha'n't be 
bothered with Cyn- 
thia— Hello! let 's 
all join hands and 
have a dance." 

So they all joined 
hands and danced 
round in a ring again 
and they were all 
so relieved that they 
laughed and laughed 
until they all tumbled 
down in a heap 
"Two Cock Sparrows and a Gentleman Mouse Proposed to Them." just as they had 

done before, and rolled 

"I don't care how shabby it is," he said, about giggling and squealing. It cer- 

"It 's a jolly nice old place and it 's the only tainly seemed as if they were quite 

house we 've ever had." safe for some time at least. The big easy 

"I never want to have any other," said chair hid them and both the nurse and Cyn- 

Meg. "They sha'n't burn our dear old house." thia seemed to forget that there wffl such ai 



; WS3 such a I 



102 



thing as a Racketty-Packetty House in the 
neighborhood. Cynthia was so delighted with 
Tidy Castle that she played with nothing else 
for days and days. And instead of being 
jealous of their grand neighbors the Racketty- 
Packetty House people began to get all sorts 
of fun out of watching them from their own 
windows. Several of their windows were 
broken and some had rags and paper stuffed 
into the broken panes, but Meg and Peg and 
Peter Piper would go and peep out of one, 
and Gustibus and Kilmanskeg would peep 
out of another, and Kidiklis could scarcely 
get her dishes washed and her potatoes pared 
because she could see the castle kitchen 
from her scullery window. It was so 
exciting ! 

The Castle dolls were grand beyond words, 
and they were all lords and ladies. These 
were their names. There was Lady Gwen- 
dolen Vere de Vere. She was iiaughty and 
had dark eyes and hair and carried her bead 
thrown back and her nose in the air. There 
was Lady Muriel Vere de Vere, and she was 
cold and lovely and indifferent and looked 
down the bridge of her delicate nose. And 
there was Lady Doris, who had fluffy golden 
hair and laughed mockingly at everybody. 
And there was Lord Hubert and Lord Rupert 
and Lord Francis, who were all handsome 
enough to make you feel as if you could faint. 
And there was their mother, the Duchess of 
Tidyshire; and of course there were all sorts 
of maids and footmen and cooks and scul- 
lery maids and even gardeners. 

"We never thought of living to see such 
grand society," said Peter Piper to his 
brother and sisters. "It 's quite a kind of 
blessing.- 

"It 's almost like being grand ourselves. 
just to be able to watch them," said Meg and 
Peg and Kilmanskeg, squeezing together and 
flattening their noses against the attic win- 
dows. 

They could see bits of the sumptuous white 
and gold drawing-room with the Duchess sit- 
ting reading near the fire, her golden glasses 
upon her nose, and Lady Gwendolen playing 
haughtily upon the harp, and Lady Muriel 
coldly listening to her. Lady Doris was hav- 
ing her golden hair dressed by her maid in 
her bed-room and Lord Hubert was reading 
the newspaper with a high-bred air, while 
Lord Francis was writing letftrs to noblemen 
of his acquaintance, and Lord Rupert was — 
in an aristocratic manner — glancing over his 
love letters from ladies of title. 



Racketty-Packetty House 






Kilmanskeg and Peter Piper just pinched 
each other with glee and squealed with delight. 

"Is n't it fun," said Peter Piper. "I say; 
are n't they awful swells! But Lord Francis 
can't kick about in his trousers as I can in 
mine, and neither can the others. I 'd like to 
see them try to do this," — and he turned three 
summersaults in the middle of the room and 
stood on his head on the biggest hole in the 
carpet — and wiggled his legs and twiggled 
his toes at them until they shouted so with 
laughing that Ridiklis ran in with a saucepan 
in her hand and perspiration on her forehead, 
because she was cooking turnips, which was 
all they had for dinner. 

"You must n't laugh so loud," she cried 
out. "If we make so much noise the Tidy 
Castle people will begin to complain of this 
being a low neighborhood and they might in- 
sist on moving away." 

"Oh ! scrump !" said Peter Piper, who 
sometimes invented doll slang — though there 



was n't really a bit of harm in him. "I 
would n't have them moi'e away for any- 
thing. They are meat and drink to me." 

"They are going to have a dinner of ten 
courses," sighed Ridiklis, "I can see them 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



cooking it from my scullery window. And I 
have nothing but turnips to give you." 

"Who cares!" said Peter Piper, "Let 's 
have ten courses of turnips and pretend each 
course is exactly like the one they are having 
at the Castle." 

" I like turnips almost better than anything 
— almost — perhaps not quite," said (^iustibus. 
" I can eat ten courses of tutnips like a shot." 

''Let 's go and find out what their courses 
are," said Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg, 
"and then we will write a menu on a piece of 
pink tissue paper." 

And if you '11 believe it, that was what they 
did. They divided their turnips into ten 
courses and they called the first one "Hors 
d'oeuvres," and the last one "Ices," with a 
French name, and Peter Piper kept jumping 
up from the table and pretending he was a 
footman and flourishing about in his flapping 
rags of trousers and announcing the names of 
the dishes in such a grand way that they 
laughed till they nearly died, and said they 
never had had such a splendid dinner in their 
lives, and that they would rather live behind 
the door and watch the Tidy Castle people 
than be the Tidy Castle people themselves. 

And then of course they all joined hands 
and danced round and round and kicked up 
their heels for joy. because they always did 
that whenever there was the least excuse for 
it — and quite often when there was n't any 
at all, just because it was such good exercise 
and worked off their high spirits so that they 
could settle down for a while. 

This was the way things went on day after 
day. They almost lived at their windows. 
They watched the Tidy Castle family get up 
and be dres.sed by their maids and valets in 
different clothes almost every day. They saw 
them drive out in their carriages, and have 
parties, and go to balls. They all nearly had 
brain fever with delight the day they watched 
Lady Gwendolen and Lady Muriel and Lady 
Doris, dressed in their Court trains and feath- 
ers, going to be presented at the first Draw- 
ing- Room. 

After the lovely creatures had gone the 
whole family sat down in a circle round the 
Racket ty- Packet ty House library fire, and Ri- 
diklis read aloud to them about Drawing- 
Rooms, out of a scrap of the Lady's Pictorial 
she had found, and after that they had a 
Court Drawing-Room of their own, and they 
made tissue paper trains and glass bead 
crowns for diamond tiaras, and sometimes 
Gustibus pretended to be the Royal family, 



103 

and the others were presented to him and 
kissed his hand, and then the others took 
turns and he was presented. And suddenly 
the most delightful thing occurred to Peter 



Piper, He thought it would be rather nice to 
make them all into lords and ladies and he 
did it by touching them on the shoulder with 
the drawing-room poker which he straight- 
ened because it was so crooked that it was 
almost bent double. It is not exactly the 
way such things are done at Court, but Peter 
Piper thought it would do — and at any rate 
it was great fun. So he made them all kneel 
down in a row and he touched each on the 
shoulder with the poker and said : 

"Rise up, Lady Meg and Lady Peg and 
Lady Kilmanskeg and Lady Ridiklis of Rack- 
etty-Packetty House— and also the Right 
Honorable Lord Gustibus Rags!" And they 
all jumped up at once and made bows and 
curtsied to each other. But they made Peter 
Piper into a Duke, and he was called the 
Duke of Tags. He knelt down on the big 
hole in the carpet and each one of them gave 
him a little thump on the shoulder with the 
poker, because it took more thumps to make a 
Duke than a common or garden Lord. 



104 Racketty-Packetty House ^°"=- 

citing thing loot place. The nurse was in a the way down the staircase, and Peter Piper 
bad temper and when she was tidying the and Gustibus had to dart out of the drawing- 
nursery she pushed the easy chair aside and room and pick them up, Ridiklis came stag- 
saw Racketty-Packetty House. gering up from the kitchen quite out of 

"Oh!" she said, "there is that Racketty- breath. 
Packetty old thing still. I had forgotten it. "Oh ! our house is going to be burned ! Our 

liouse is going to be 
burned!" cried Meg 
and Peg clutching 
their brothers. 

"Let us go and 
throw ourselves out of 
the window !" cried 
Kilmanskeg. 

" I don't see how 
they can have the 
heart to burn a per- 
son's home !" said 
Ridiklis, wiping her 
eyes with her kitchen 
duster. 

Peter Piper was 
rather pale, but he was 
extremely brave and 
remembered that he 
was the head of the 

"Now, Lady Meg 
and Lady Peg and 
Lady Kilmanskeg," he 
said, "let us all keep 
cool." 

"We sha'n't keep 
cool when they set our 
house on fire," said 
Gustibus. Peter Pi- 
per just snapped his 
fingers. 

" Pooh 1" he said. 
"We are only made of 
wood and it won't 
hurt a bit. We shall 
just snap and crack 
and go oS almost like 
fireworks and then we 
shall be ashes and fly 
away into the air and 
see all sorts of things. 
Perhaps it may be 
IHE LoiKTVARD OF TiDv Castle, more fun than any- 

thing we have done since 
It must be carried down-stairs and burned, we were given to Cynthia's grandmother." 
I will go and tell one of the footmen to come "But our nice old house! Our nice old 

for it." Racketty-Packetty House," said Ridiklis. "I 

Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg were in do so love it. The kitchen is so convenient — 
their attic and they all rushed out in such a even though the oven won't bake any more." 
hurry to get down-stairs that they rolled all And things looked most serious because the 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



Nurse really was beginning to push the arm- 
chair away. But it would not move and I 



lOS 



That was how I saved them that time. 
There was such excitement over Lady Patsy 
and her little crutches and her nurse that 
nothing else was thought of and my Fairies 
pushed the arm-chair back and Racketty- 
Packetty House was hidden and forgotten 
once more. 

The whole Racketty-Packetty family gave 
a great gasp of joy and sat down in a ring 
all at once, on the floor, mopping their fore- 
heads with anything they could get hold of. 
Peter Piper used an antimacassar. 

"Oh! we are obliged to you. Queen B-bell- 
Patch," he panted out, "But these alarms of 
fire are upsetting." 

"Vou leave them to me," I said, "and I 'II 
attend to them. Tip !" I conimanded the 
Fairy nearest me. " Vou will have to stay 
about here and he ready to give the alarm 
when anything threatens to happen." And I 
flew away, feeling I had done a good morn- 
ing's work. Well, that was the beginning of 
a great many things, and many of them were 



"They Made Peter Piper the Duke of Tags." 

will tell you why. One of my Fairies, who 
had come down the chimney when they were 
talking, had called me and I had come in a 
second with a whole army of my Workers, 
and though the Nurse could n't see them, 
they were all holding the chair tight down on 
the carpet so that it would not stir. 

And I — Queen Crosspatch — myself — flew 
downstairs and made the footman remember 
that minute that a box had come for Cynthia 
and that he must take it upstairs to her 
nursery. If I had not been on the spot he 
would have forgotten it until it was too late. 
But just in the very nick of time up he came, 
and Cynthia sprang up as soon as she saw 

"Oh '." she cried out, "it must be the doll 
who broke her little leg and was sent to the 
hospital. It must be Lady Patsy!" 

And she opened the box which the foot- 
man gave her, and gave a little scream of joy, 
for there lay lady Patsy (her whole name was 
Patricia) in a lace-frilled night-gown, with 
her lovely leg in bandages, and a pair of tiny 
crutches and a trained nurse by her side. 



•i CBOSSHATCH— 



connected with Lady Patsy ; and but for me 
there might have been u 



'""'""■"'"•Google 



106 



Racketty-Packetty House 



Of course the Racketty-Packetty dolls for- 
got about their fright directly, and began to 
enjoy themselves again as usual. That was 
their way. They never sat up all night with 
Trouble, Peter Piper used to say. And I told 
him they were quite right. If you make a 
fuss over trouble and put it to bed and nurse 
it and give it beef tea and gruel, you can 
never get rid of it. 

Their great delight now was Lady Patsy. 



"And the Racketty-Packetty House Dolls 

Crowdf.d akound their Window and 

Adored Hem." 

They thought she was prettier than any of the 
other Tidy Castle dolls. She neither turned 
her nose up, nor looked down the bridge of 
it, nor laughed mockingly. She had dimples 
in the corners of her mouth and long curly 
lashes and her nose was saucy and her eyes 
were bright and full of laughs. 

"She 's the clever one of the family," said 
Peter Piper. "I am sure of that." 

She was treated as an invalid at iirst, of 



course, and kept in her room ; but they could 
see her sitting up in her frilled nightgown. 
After a few days she was carried to a soft 
chair by the window and there she used to sit 
and look out; and the Racketty-Packetty 
House dolls crowded round their window and 
adored her. 

After a few days, they noticed that Peter 
Piper was often missing and one morning Ri- 
diklis went up into the attic and found him 
sitting at a window all by himself and staring 
and staring. 

"Oh I Duke," she said (you see they al- 
ways tried to remember each others' titles). 
"Dear me, Duke, what are you doing here?" 

" I am looking at her," he answered. " I 'm 
in love. I fell in love with her the minute 
Cynthia took her out of her box. I am going 
to marry her." 

"But she 's a lady of high degree," said 
Ridiklis, quite alarmed. 

"That 's why she 'II have me," said Peter 
Piper in his most cheerful manner. "Ladies 
of high degree always marry the good-looking 
ones in rags and tatters. If I had a whole 
suit of clothes on, she would n't look at me. 
I 'm verv good-looking, you know," and he 
turned round and winked at Ridiklis in such 
a delightful saucy way that she suddenly felt 
as if he was very good-looking, though she 
had not thought of it before. 

"Hello." he said all at once. "I 've just 
thought of something to attract her attention. 
Where 's the ball of string?" 

Cynthia's kitten had made them a present 
of a ball of string which had been most use- 
ful. Ridiklis ran and got it, and all the 
others came running upstairs to see what 
Peter Piper was going to do. They all were 
delighted to hear he had fallen in love with 
the lovely, funny Lady Patsy. They found 
him standing in the middle of the attic un- 
rolling the ball of string. 

"What arc you going to do, Duke?" they 
all shouted. 

"Just you watch," he said, and he began 
to make the string into a rope ladder — as fast 
as lightning. When he had finished it, he 
fastened one end of it to a beam and swung 
the other end out of the window. 




by Google 



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Digitized by Google 



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Uigiizcd by VjOOQIC 



I Do! -Don't You? 

By Isabel Ecclestone Mackay 



"Summer," said the humming Bee, 
" Summer is the time for me ! 

Richest fields of luscious clover, 

Honey-cups all brimming over, 

Not a cloud the long day through! 

I like Summer best — don't you ?" 

Said the dainty Primrose sweet ; 
" Summer is the time of heat. 

In the Spring when birds are calling 
And the crystal rain is falling 

All the world is cool and new ! 

I like Springtime best— don't you?" 



Said the Apple : " Not at all, 
There 's no season like the Fall ! 

Golden skies thro' soft mists glowing 
Where the golden-rod is growing, 
Reaping done and harvest through— 
I like Autumn best— don't you?" 

Said the Holly : " It is clear 

Of all seasons of the year 

Winter is the best and dearest. 
Winds are stillest, skies are clearest — 

Snowballs, sleighrides, Christmas— whew! 

I like Winter best— don't jiauf" 



"Santa Comes But Once a Year" 



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The Skipper's Lad 

A Chrritmaa Tale 

By Arthur Upson 

Illustrated by W. L. JaLobi 



Black night, and biting keen, it was, 
For Winter swept the sea ; 

The Skipper and the Bo's'n's mate 
Aboard the Jane Magee 

They heard the Bo's'n's whistle sound 
Aloft so cheerlessly. 



" What may this be ? " Tom Wiggins cried ; 
" The sea-mist creeps and crowds, 
And o'er the port rail I did see 

Strange shapes among the clouds." 

" And hark ! " old Tompkins answered low, 

" There 's creaking In the shrouds!" 



The Jane Magee of Portland Town 
Bent through the gliding mist ; 

Whate'er she rode on lay unseen, 
And all around was whist ; 

It was as though when night came o 
All sound had been dismissed. 



" I've sailed through storms,"spoke trusty Bill, 
" From Hatteras to Belle Isle; 
But rare the gale that, ere she broke. 

Held not like this a white." 
They saw the Skipper's tad look up- 
Then smiled to see him smile. 



Now all was well, above, below, 
Yet down the night had closed 

So dreary in the first dogwatch 
The sailors scarce reposed 

As in their fo'c's'le bunks they lay 
And dozed and woke and dozed. 



" You laugh, my lad," the old tar cried ; 
" There "s sommat on your tongue. 
Heave sail, and let 'er have the wind. 

And so your song be sung ! " 
Then clear the lad's sweet voice arose 

And round the cabin rung. 



dbyGoot^Ic 



The Skipper's Lad 

VII VEII 

" Come, messmates, let us have a song, '■ My father walks ihe deck to-night, 

Together, every man 1 My mother 's on the land ; 

At home the Yule log burns; at sea A fortnight 't is we left her there 

Let 's show the Night we can Against the yellow sand ; 

Keep Christmas cheer as merrily She had a red cap on her head, 

Here off the Grand Menan. A kerchief in her hand. 



d by Google 



The Skipper's Lad 



" I stood astern and signaled back " ■ Davy ' — says she— ' this Christmas Eve 

A-leaning from the rails ;— ■ Will find you on the main ; 

And well 1 cherish all her lore The carol that I sang for you, 

And all the old sea-taks Oh, sing it there again, 

She told me, from the store she had Remembering the Holy Night, 

Of her kin back in Wales. Nor shall it be in vain! T^i-v/^.-jIp 



The Skipper's Lad 



"' For oft '—says she— 'by night I 've he; 

My poor old father say 
His ship and crew once hung in spell 

Without Caermarthen Bay:— 
Bethought him 't was the eve of Vule, 

And carolled it away.' 



" God rest you, merry gentlemen. 
Wherever you may be: 
God rest you ail in field or hall 

Or on the stormy sea; 
For on this morn our Christ was born 
That saveth yon and me .' " 



'So, sailor lads, pipe all hands r 
And set your voices free, 

For I propose a cheery song 
Upon the Christmas sea. 

To hail the blessed evening 
Of our Lord's Nativity ! " 



They sing as only sailors sing 

Before the capstan-bars. 
Or high amid the rigging 

For their audience of stars — 
And as they sing the mists break way 

And scatter round the spars ! 



Three cheers for Da\'e, our Skipper's lad ! 

The sturdy voices cried ; 
The cabin timbers rang again 

And shook from side to side ; 
The watch up in the crow's-nest heard— 

" Three cheers! " his heart replied. 



Then, through the sudden rift, a sharp 

Great golden radiance ran 
To melt around the good ship's prow. 

And in another span 
Lo, full upon its rock appeared 

The Light of Grand Menan! 



And then in tones full rich and strong 
A well-known hymn they raise — 

A simple carol all had known 
In boyhood's homely days. 

The Skipper feels the air less keeD, 
Less chill the circling haze. 



The night was clean of mist as noon, 
And all the stars hung free ;— 

The Skipper's lad rode sailor-back 
To music of their glee 

Till eight bells called the sta'board watch 
That Christmas Eve at sea. 



"Thb Skipper's Lad Rode Sailor-Back t 



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Captain June 



By Alice Hegan Rice 

Author of " Mrs. Wiggs of (he Cabbage Patch " ; ■■ I^vey Mary." 
With Picturei by C. D. Wcldon 



June had never sat still so long during tlie 
whole six years of his existence. His slender 
body usually so restless and noisy was motion- 
less; his hands too fond of teasing and 
mischief lay limp in his lap, even his tongue 
was still and that was the most wonderful 
of all. The only part of him that stirred was 
a sparkling pair of gray eyes that were look- 
ing out upon the strangest world they had 
ever seen. 

The entire day had been one of enchant- 
ment, from the first waking hour when he 
discovered that the engines on the big steamer 
where he had lived for seventeen days had 
stopped, and that the boat was actually 
lying at anchor just off the coast of Japan. 
Seki San, his Japanese nurse who had cared 
for him ever since he was a baby, had been 
so eager to look out of the port- hole that she 
could scarcely attend to her duties, and 
the consequence was that he had to stand on 
the sofa and hook his mother's dress and help 
lier with the little pins at the back of the 
neck while Seki San finished the packing. 
June could not dress himself but he knew a 
great deal about hooks and eyes and belt 
pins. When mother got in a hurry she lost 
things, and e\iK-rience had taught him that 
it was much easier to fasten the pin where it 
belonged than to spend fifteen minutes on the 
floor looking for it. 

At last when all the bags and trunks were 
ready, and the pilot and the health officer had 
come aboard, and evcrvbody had waited un- 
til they could not wait another moment, the 
passengers were brought ashore in a wheezy, 
puffy launch, and were whirled up to the 
hotel in queer little buggies drawn by small 
brown men with bare legs and mushroom 
hats, and great sprawling signs on their 
hacks. 

Since then June had sat at a front window 
too engrossed to speak. Just below him lay 
the Bund or sea-road, with the wall beyond 
where the white waves broke in a merry 
splash and then fell back to the blue water 
below. Out in the harbor there were big 
black merchant steamers, and white men-of- 



war, there were fishing schooners, and sam- 
pans with wobbly, crooked oars. But the 
street below was too fascinating to see much 
beyond it. Jinrikishas were coming and 
going with passengers from the steamers 
and the coolies laughed and shouted to each 
other in passing. Women and girls clat- 
tered by on wooden shoes with funny bald- 
headed, si ant -eyed babies strapped on their 
backs. On the hotel steps, a little girl in a 
huge red turban and a gorgeous dress of 
purple and gold was doing handsprings, 
while two boys in fancy dress sang through 
their noses and held out fans to catch the 
pennies that were tossed from the piazza 

If Cinderella, and Jack the Giant Killer, 
and Aladdin and AH Baba had suddenly ap- 
peared, June would not have been in the 
least surprised. It was where they all lived, 
there could be no possible doubt as to that. 
Here was the biggest picture book he had 
ever seen, the coming true of all the fairy- 
tales he had ever heard. 

He was dimly conscious that in the room 
behind him Seki San was unpacking trunks 
and boxes, and that his mother was coming 
and going and leaving hurried instructions. 
Once he heard her say, "Don't say anything 
to him about it, Seki, I '11 tell him when he 
has to be told." But just then a man went 
by with a long pole across his shoulder and 
round baskets on each end. and in the baskets 
were little shining silver fishes, and June for- 
got all about what his mother was saying. 

June's father was a young army officer 
stationed in the Philippines. June was born 
there but when still a baby he had been des- 
perately ill and the doctor had sent him back 
to the Stales and said he must not return for 
many years. It was a great grief to them all 
that they had to be separated, but Capt. Roy- 
ston had gotten two leaves of absence and 
come home to them, and now this summer 
June and his mother had come all the way 
from California to meet nim in Japan. 

June was not his real name. It wasRobert 
Rogers Royston, Junior, but mother said 



Alice Hegan Rice ■ i "> 

there never could be but one Robert for her, that he was not as strong as other boys, and 
and father did not like the Rogers for a sur- when his throat was very bad and his voice 



Tub Tk 



name, so they called him Junior, and Junior would not come, why he sat up in bed and 

soon got bobbed off into June. The name whistled, just the keenest, cheeriest, healtlii- 

suited him too, for a sunshinier little chap est whistle you ever heard. 
you never saw. He never seemed to know It was on the indoor days that Sgki San 



/CoogI 



e 



118 

used to tell him about her wonderful country 
across the sea, of the little brown houses with 
the flower gardens on the roofs, of the con- 
stant clatter, clatter of the'wooden shoes, and 
the beautiful blossoms that rained down on 
you like snow. 

"Where are the blossoms?" he demanded. 
suddenly turning in his chair, "You said they 
came down thick and white and that I could 
let them fall over my face." 

Seki San did not answer, she was kneeling 
beside si very disconsolate figure that lay on 
the bcl with face buried in the pillows. 
When June spoke, his mother sat up and 
pushed back her tumbled hair. She was a 
very little mother with round eyes and lips 
as red as June's, only now her eyes were red 
and her lips trembling. 

"You may go in the other room, Seki 
San," she said, "I want to talk to June by 
himself." 

June sidled up cautiously and took a seat 
near her on the bed. The one unbearable 
catastrophe to him was for his mother to cry. 
It was like an earthquake, it shook the very 
foundations on which all his joys were built. 
Sometimes when the postman forgot to leave a 
letter, and occasionally when he was sick 
longer than usual, mother cried. But those 
were dark, dreadful times that he tried not to 
think about. W!iy the tears should come on 
this day of all days he could not understand. 

She put her arm around him and held him 
close for a long time before she spoke. He 
could feel the thump, thump of her heart as 
he leaned against her. 

"June," she said at last, "you are going to 
be a soldier like father, are n't you?" 

June's eyes brightened. "Yes, and carry a 
sword!" he said. 

"There is something more than a sword 
that a soldier has to have." 

"A gim?" 

Mother shook her head. "It 's courage, 
June! It 's something I have n't got a scrap 
of. You '11 have to be brave for us both!" 

"I 'm not afraid," declared June, "I go to 
liL'd in the dark and go places by myself or 
anything." 

"I don't mean that way," said his mother, 
"I mean doing hard things just because they 
are right, staying behind for instance when — 
when somebody you love very much has to go 
away and leave you." 

June sat up and looked at her. "Who 's 
going away?" he demanded. 

Mother's voice faltered. "Father 's ter- 



Captain June 



[Dec. 



ribly ill with a fever, June. The letter was 
waiting here, it is from our old doctor in 
Manila, be says 'Come on first steamer, but 
don't bring the boy.' " The earth seemed 
suddenly to be slipping from under June's 
feet, he clutched at his mother's hand. "I 
am going too!" he cried in quick alarm, "I 
won't stay behind, I can't, mother!" 

Her arm tightened about him, "But I 
don't dare lake you, June, think of the ter- 
rible heat and the fever, and you are the only 
little boy I 've got in the world, and I love 
you so!" 

"I won't take the fever," protested June, 
"I '11 be good. I 'II mind everj- word Seki 

" But Seki is n't going. She wants to take 
you home with her down to a little town on 
the Inland Sea, where there are all sorts of 
wonderful things to do. Would you stay 
with her, June, while I go to father?" 

Her voice pleaded with eageniess and 
anxiety, but June did not heed it. Slipping 
from her arms, he threw himself on the floor 
and burst into a passion of tears. All the 
joys of tjie enchanted country liad vanished, 
nothing seemed to count except that mother 
was thinking of leaving him in this strange 
land and sailing away from him across the 

"Don't cry so, June, listen," pleaded his 
mother. " I have not decided, I am trying to 
do what is best." 

But June refused to be consoled. Over 
and over he declared that he would not stay, 
that he would rather have the fever and die 
than to be left behind. 

By and by the room grew still, his mother 
no longer tried to pacify him, only the tick- 
ing of the little traveling clock on the table 
broke the stillness. He peeped through his 
fingers at the silent figure in the cliair above 
him. He had never seen her look so white 
and tired, all the pretty smiles and dimples 
seemed gone forever, her eyes wore closed 
and her lips were tightly drawn together. 
June crept close and slipped his hand into 
hers. In an instant her arms were about 
him, 

" I don't know what to do, nor where to 
turn," she sobbed. " I am afraid to take you 
and afraid to leave you. What must I do?" 

June was sure he did not know but when 
mothers are little and helpless and look at 
you as if you were grown up, you have to 
think of a way. He was standing beside her 
with his arm around her neck, and he could 



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Alice Hegan Rice 



feel her trembling all over. Father ofien 
said in his letters, "Be sure to take care of 
that little Mother of yours," but it had al- 
ways seemed a joke until now. He sighed, 
then he straightened his shoulders: 

■'I 'II stay, Mudderly," he said, then he 
added with a swallow, "Maybe it will help 
me to be a soldier when I get big!" 

Chapter II 

"Seki San, look at the old woman with 
black teeth! What made them black? What 
have the little girls got flowers in their hair 
for? What are they ringing the bell for?" 

Seki San sitting on her heels at the car 
window tried to answer all June's questions 
at once. The sad parting was over. Mrs. 
Royston had left in the night on the steamer 
they had crossed in, and the Captain and the 
Purser and all the passengers were going to 
take care of her until she got to Hong Kong, 
and after that it was only a short way to 
Manila, and once she was with Father, June 
felt that his responsibility ceased. 

When they first boarded the train, June 
had sat very quiet. K you wink fast and 
swallow all the time, you can keep the tears 
hack, but it does not make you feel any better 
inside. 

"If God has got to take somebody," June 
said at length gloomily, "I think He might 
take one of my grandmothers. I have got 
four but one of them is an old maid." 

"Oh no," said Seki, "she is n't." 

'"She is," persisted June, "she keeps e%'ery 
thing put away in little l)oxes and won't let 
me play with them. Seki, do you guess Cod 
would jes' as lieve for me to have a horn as a 
harp when I go to Heaven? I want a presser 
horn like they have in the band." 

" But you will not go for many long times '." 
cried Seki, catching his hand as if he were 
about to slip away. "Look out of the window. 
Seel They are giving the cow a bath I" 

In a field nearby an old man and woman 
were scrubbing a patient-looking cow, and 
when the creature pulled its head away and 
cried because it did not want to get its face 
washed, June laughed with glee. After all, 
(me could not be unhappy very long when 
every minute something funny or interesting 
was happening. At every station a crowd of 
curious faces gathered about the car window 
eager to catch a glimpse of the little foreign 
boy, and June, always ready to make friends, 
smiled at them and bobbed his head, which 



119> 

made the boys and girls look at each other 
and laugh. 

"We bow with our whole self, so," Seki 
explained putting her hands on her knees and 
bending her body very low, "and we never 
shake with the hands nor kiss together!" 

"Don't the mothers ever kiss tiie children 
good-night?" asked June incredulously. 

"Oh I no," said Seki, "we bow." 

While June was thinking about this strange 
state of affair.s, a man came close under the 
window, carrying a tray and calling: "Bentof 
Eo Bcnto-'" 

Seki San took some money from a little 
purse which she carried in her long sleeve, 
and handing it out to the man, received two 
square wooden boxes and a fat little tea-pot 
with a cup over its head like a cap. 

"Are we going to have a tea-party?" asked 
June, scrambling down from his perch. 

"So," said Seki San reaching under the 
seat and pulling out a tiny chest, in which 
were other cups and saucers and a jar of tea 
leaves, "we will have very nice tea-parties 
and you shall make the tea." 

June, following instructions, put some of 
the tea in the small pot and poured the hot 
water over it, then he helped Seki San spread 
two paper napkins on the seat between them. 

"Now," he said, "where 's the party?" 

Seki San handed him one of the boxes and 
began to untie the string of the other. 

"I have some sticks tied on to mine!" 
cried June, "two big ones and a tiny little 
one wrapped up in paper." 

"That is your knife and fork and pick- 
tooth." said Seki San. "You must hold the 
sticks in one hand like this." 

But June was too busy exploring the con- 
tents of the two trays that formed his box to 
slop to take a lesson in the use of chop- 
sticks. The lower tray was full of smooth 
white rice. In the top one, was a bit of 
omelet and some fish, and a queer-looking 
something that puzzled June. 

"W'hat is it?" he asked. 

"Guess it!" said Seki mysteriously, "guess 
it with your nose." 

"It 's pickle!" cried June. 

"Pickled sea-weed," said Seki, "and I have 
also brought you some Japanese candy that 
you pour out of a bottle." 

There was no bread, no butter, no knife 
nor fork nor spoon, bat June thougtit it 
was the very nicest tea-party he had ever 
been to. Sitting with his stocking feet curled 
up under him as Seki had hers, he clattered 



./Google 



ALL DAY LONG THL BOVS I'LAVED DOWN BV THE KIVER BANK.'* (Sef. cACE iia.) 



Digitized byGoOgIc 



Alice Hegan Rice 



his chop-sticks and spilt the rice all over the 
seat, while they both grew weak with laugh- 
ter over his efforts to feed himself. 

"Don't you wish you were a little boy, 
Seki San?" he asked when most of the lunch 
had disappeared. 

"Why?" said Seki. 

" 'Cause," said June, "you 'd have such a 
good time playing with me all the time I" 

"But no," said Seki seriously, "I must be 
big womans to take care of you." 

"And tell me stories!" added June poli- 
ticly: "Tell me 'bout Tomi now." 

"Tomi?" said Seki San, smiling. "You 
going see Tomi very soon, to-morrow, per- 
haps to-night. Tomi very bad little dog, 
makes a cross bark at all big peoples, but 
loves children. When Tomi very little his 

nose stick out, so ^Japanese think it very 

Ugly for little pug-dog's nose to stick out, so 
we push it in easy every day. Now Tomi 
has nice flat nose, but he sneeze all the time 
so kerchoo, kerchoo, kerchoo." 

June laughed at the familiar story, but 
suddenly he sobered: 

"Say, Seki, I don't think it was very nice 
to push his nose in ; I would n't like to have 
my nose pushed in so I would have tc sneeze 
all the rest of my life." 

"Ah! but he must be beautiful! Tomi 
would not be happy if his nose stuck out 
when other pug-doggies had nice flat nose. 
Tomi is very happy, he is grateful." 

It was quite dark when they reached their 
destination; June had been asleep and when 
he slipped out on the platform he could 
not remember at all where he was; Seki's 
mother and her sisters and brothers besides 
all the relatives far and near had come 
to welcome her back from America, and 
quite a little crowd closed in about her, 
bowing and bowing and chattering away in 
Japanese. 

June stood, rather forlornly, to one side. 
This time last night Mother had been with 
him, he could speak to her and touch her, 
and now— it was a big, strange world he 
found himself in, and even Seki seemed his 
Seki no longer. 

Suddenly he felt something rub against 
his leg, and then he heard a queer sound 
that somehow sounded familiar. Stooping 
down he discovered a flat-nosed little pug 
that was kissing his hand just as if it had 
been brought up in America. 

"It 's Tomi," cried June in delight, and 
the pug, recognizing his name, capered more 
Vol. XXXIV.— 16. 



121 

madly still, only stopping long enough to 
sneeze between the jumps. 

Ten minutes later June was sitting beside 
Seki San in a broad jinrikisha, rushing 
through the soft night air, down long gay 
streets full of light and color and laughter, 
round sharp comers, up steep hills, over 
bridges where he could look down and see 
another world of paper lanterns and torches, 
and always the twinkling legs and the big 
round hat of the jinrikisha man bobbing 
steadily along before him. 

"Is it like a story book all the time?" 

Seki San laughed: "Oh, no,- June, story- 
book land is back in America, where the 
grown-up houses are, and the rich, tine furni- 
tures, and the strange ways. This is just 
home, my very dear home, and I have such 
glad feelings to be here !" 

Jime cuddled close and held her hand, and 
if he felt a wee bit wistful, and wiped his 
eyes once in a while on her sleeve, he did it 
very carefully, so that Seki would have noth- 
ing to spoil the glad feeling in her heart at 
being home again. 

Chapter III 

The new life which opened up for June was 
brimming over with interest. Seki San lived 
in a regular toy house, which was like a lot 
of little boxes fitted into one big one. One 
whole side was open to the garden and a 
tiny railed balcony ran around outside the 
rooms. The walls were made of white paper, 
and when the sun shone all sorts of pretty 
shadows danced on them, and when it rained 
everybody ran about to put up the wooden 
screens, and fasten the house up snug and 
tight until the shower was over. A flight of 
low steps cut in the rock led down to a bam- 
boo wicket, and here green lizards sunned 
themselves all day and blinked in friendly 
fashion at the passer-by. 

The night June arrived he had looked 
about blankly and said : 

"But Seki there is n't any furniture in 
your house; have n't you got any bed, or 
chairs or table?" 

And Seki had laughed and told the others 
and everybody laughed until June thought he 
had been impolite. 

"I like it," he hastened to add, "it 's the 
nicest house I ever was in, 'cause, don't you 
see, there is n't anything to break." 

It was quite wonderful to see how easily 
one can get along without furniture. ^ After 

i.,.i -.1.. Google 



132 



one has sat on bis heels, and slept on the floor 
and eaten off a tiny table no bigger than a 
foot stool, it seems the ntost sensible thing 
in the world. June did. hang up one picture 
and that was a photograph of his mother. 
She had left him two, but one was taken with 
her hat on. 

"I don't like for her always to look as 
if she was going away!" he said to Seki San 
when she wanted to put them both up. 

The life, interesting as it was, might have 
oroven lonely, had it not ■ been for Seki's 
younger brother, Toro, who was two years 
older than June. Although neither could 
understand a word the other said, yet a very 
great friendship had sprung up between them. 
"We understand just like dogs," June ex- 
plained to Seki San. 

All day long the two boys played down by 
the river bank, paddling about in the shal- 
low shimmering water, building boats and 
putting them out to sea, sailing their kites 
from the hill top, or best of all, sitting long 
hours on the parade grounds watching the 
drilling of the soldiers. 

Sometimes when they were very good, Seki 
San would get permission for them to play 
in the daimyo's garden, and those days were 
red letter days for June. The garden was 
very old and very sacred to the Japanese, for 
in long years past it had belonged to an old 
feudal lord, and now it was the property of 
the Emperor. 

From the first June had cherished a secret 
belief that somewhere in its leafy bowers he 
would come across the Sleeping Beauty. It 
was all so old and so still that even the 
breezes whispered as they softly stirred the 
tree-tops. In the very heart of the garden a 
little blue lake smiled up at the sky above, 
and all about its edges tall flags of blue and 
gold threw their bright reflections in the 
water below. A high-arphed bridge all gray 



Captain June 



with moss, led from one tiny island to an- 
other, while along the ^ore old stone lan- 
terns, very stiff and stem, stood sentinel over 
the quiet of the place. Here and there a 
tempting little path led back into mysterious 
deeps of green, and June followed each one 
with the half expectancy of finding the cob- 
webby old place, and the vine-grown steps, 
and the Sleeping Beauty within. 

One day when they were there, Toro be- 
came absorbed in a little house he was build- 
ing for the old stork who stood hour after 
hour under the cool shadow of the arching 
bridge. June, getting tired of the work, wan- 
dered off alone, and as he went deeper into 
the tangle of green, he thought more and 
more of the Sleeping Beauty. 

It was cool and mysterious under the close 
hanging boughs, and the sunshine fell in 
white patches on the head of an old stone 
Buddha, whose nose was chipped off, and 
whose forefinger was raised in a perpetual 
admonition to ail little boys to be good. Just 
ahead a low flight of steps led up to a dark 
recess where a shrine was half concealed by 
a tangle of vines and underbrush. June 
cautiously mounted the steps ; he was mjJdng 
believe that he was the prince in the fairy- 
tale, and that when he ^ould push through 
the barrier of brier roses he would find the 
Sleeping Beauty within the shrine. 

As he reached the top step, a sound made 
him pause and catch his breath. It was not 
the ripple of the falling water that danced 
past him down the hillside, it was not the 
murmur of the wind in the bamboos overhead ; 
it was the deep regular breathing very close 
to him of some one asleep. For a moment 
June wanted to run away, but then he re- 
membered the golden hair and blue eyes of 
the princess and with heart beating very fast, 
he pushed through the underbrush and 
stumbled over some one lying in the grass. 



d by Google 



d by Google 



dbyGooi^le 



The Lieutenant and the Laons 



And you know, my gentle reader, the sea-lion is a beast 

That dwells in ocean's siuges, twenty fathoms at the least, 
So when that "extra dry" blue book pervaded his inside, 
That poor, misguided animal, he laid him down and died. 

When they saw this, his companions to the sea raced back in flight. 
For the fate of their brave leader had endued their hearts with fright. 
But Lieut. Gadzooks Peters- Brown threw out his chest with glee. 
And exclaimed, " I am the greatest thing that ever went to sea ! " 

And a medal from the Admiralty engraved with his full name. 
Hands down to his posterity his everlasting fame. 



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Abbie Ann 

By George Madden Martin 

AulhoT of Ihe "Emmy Lou" Storiei 



UliwIraMd bf C. M. Relyea 



Cbapter II 



i next evening shortly before 
Abbie Ann's bedtime, her 
father pushed his books aside 
and wheeling his chair around 
from the desk, took her on his 
knee. He had his office at 
home, and the two generally spent their eve- 
nings here, he at work, she with her dolls. 

There was a space between the wall and the 
end of the desk that almost seemed to have 
been meant for a doll-house, and her father 
let Abbie Ann use a drawer of the desk for 
her playthings. 

Once a lady came to Coal City with her 
husband who had business at the mine, and 
they stayed over night, and she kept saying 
"poor child," and every time she said it she 
stroked Abbie Ann's hair. Then while the 
two gentlemen were out, she brushed up the 
ofhce hearth, and put things around in the 
places where she said they ought to be. The 
office being at home, there was no covering 
except a coat of paint on the floor, or on the 
floor of the hall. The color of the soil of 
Coal City is red, and red clay foot-prints on 
a painted floor show disco uragingly. After 
the lady had brushed around for a while, she 
gave up, and saying "poor child" some more, 
bade Abbie Ann bring her all her stockings 
that she might darn them. 

Afterward Abbie asked her father why the 
lady said, "poor child," but he only looked 
out of the window across the valley and did 
not reply. Unless she was in a temper, when- 
ever she saw her father glance that way, out 
across the valley, Abbie Ann changed the sub- 
ject, for something seemed to tell her then 
that father was worried. So she saved the 
question, and later asked Mr. McEwan why 
the lady had said "poor child." 

That person, surveying small Abbie Ann, 
lifted his forehead in ridges and gazed de- 
batingly. Her hair was in tangle, one shoe- 
string was broken and the tongue of the shoe 



hung loose ; there was red clay on her stock- 
ings, and a long scratch on her face, results 
of a scramble up the mountain side for black- 
berries; also there was a slit in her dress skirt, 
where a briar had caught it. 

"Because," said Mr. McEwan solemnly, 
"there is so little demand on the market for 
young savages." 

But this had been some time before, in one 
of the intervals between teachers. 

This evening Abbie Ann's father, pushing 
his ledger away lifted her to his knee. Now 
her father was that sort of person who, a 
dripping umbrella in his hand, stands in a 
doorway, and looks helplessly around until 
the women folk rush to him and take it. But 
there were no women folk to take care of him 
and Abbie Ann. Her father loved the 
small bundle of herself, tears, smudges, 
and all, better even than he himself knew, 
better than all else in the world, but he did n't 
know what to do with her. His attitude with 
Abbie Ann was very like that of himself with 
the tmibrella. 

He lifted her to his knee now and stroked 
her hair awkwardly. It .made her think of 
the lady. She endured it, hopeful that it 
would n't last long. Perhaps it was because 
it was n't natural to her father that it made 
her embarrassed. She was right. It stopped. 

"How brave to do her duty is my wilful 
offspring?" suddenly he inquired. 

Now wilful offspring meant Abbie Ann, It 
was what still another lady brought to Coal 
City to teach her, had called her. 

Abbie had no idea what wilful offspring 
meant, but she did know the lady had not 
meant it to be complimentary. 

"How brave?" father was repeating. 

Abbie Ann thought of the day before on the 
freight train. 

" Not so brave," she concluded. 

Which evidently was disconcerting. Her 
father began to stroke her hair again, and 
Abbie to endure it. "But brave enough, I 
am sure, to stand by her duty?" he suggested. 



George Madden Martin 



He spoke so uneasily, it sounded so con- 
cQiatoiy, that Abbie Ann grew dubious. His 
voice sounded solemn too, almost as if they 
were in church, which in itself was an alarm- 
ing sensation, Coal City having Church at the 
most, perhaps three times a year, when a min- 
ister could be secured. 

"Brave enough, I am sure," said father, 
"to stand by her duty." 

"I, — I don't know," faltered Abbie Ann. 

"For father has made up his mind to be 
brave enough to show his little daughter her 
dtity," he continued. But here he paused, 
paused so long, and appeared to be pondering 
so hard that Abbie Ann to show how entirely 
at ease and free from embarrassment she was 
began to twist his mustache to stand out, a 
sharp point each side above his pointed beard. 
Then when he looked at her so earnestly above 
the fierce mustache, Abbie Ann forgot she 
was embarrassed and laughed. 

"Such a little girl," said her father, hope- 
lessly, "such a little child." 

"I was only pretending," she hastened to 
assure him, "1 'm listening." 

"And it is only for a few years at most," 
her father then said, as if continuing a 
former thought; was he talking to her or to 
himself ? 

"What 's for a few years?" asked Abbie 
Ann. 

At this he seemed to come back to her and 
hastened to stroke her hair, "I have been 
meditating it for some time," he confessed, 
even guiltily, "and yesterday's happening de- 
termined me." 

But it was to be seen that Abbie Ann's tall 
bearded parent eyed the inquiring-eyed object 
on his knee with considerable apprehension. 
He also continued to stroke her hair vigor- 
ously. 

"I am going to take you away from Coal 
City, and put you at school," he told her. 

There was a pause, there seemed no support 
under Abbie Ann ; there was a singing in her 
cars and a dryness in her mouth. Coal City 
meant all she knew. "Away" meant that un- 
known void and desolation the cars were rush- 
ing toward yesterday, and its inhabitants were 
summed up in the lady who called her "poor 
child" and made her uncomfortable. 

"But I don't want to go to school," she 
rejoined, and her voice sounded so far off, 
even to herself, and strange, that she threw 
herself upon him and clung to him, suddenly 
and fiercely, "I don't want to go to school, 
I don't want to." 



127 

Father said nothing. The silence was 
alarming. She burrowed her head deeper into 
his coat collar, "Why can't I have a teacher 
here?" came up in muffled tones from Abbie 
Ann. 

" We have tried it, and how long have they 
stayed ?" 

It sounded as if it meant what it said, that 
voice this time. 

"They stayed longer than the cooks," came 
up from Abbie Ann, sulkily, and unwisely; 
for the number of cooks brought to Coal City 
for the superintendent's household, from all 
points far and near, had become a jocular 
matter up and down the railroad ; none could 
or would stand the isolation of the life. Her 
father had grown as sensitive about cooks 
as was Abbie about teachers. 

So at this he spoke decidedly. Perhaps the 
allusion had nettled him. 

"The teaching is not all," he said, "you 
need to be with other children," he was quot- 
ing the words of the lady, "and you need to 
have what only different surroimdings can 
give you." 

"I don't," said Abbie Ann. There was no 
doubt as to the finality of her utterance. She 
had slipped down off his knee and stood, iinn 
planted on the floor. A red spot was burning 
on either cheek. Suddenly she stamped her 
foot, and stamped again ; then she seized the 
nearest thing, it chanced to be her youngest 
child, and flung the luckless infant across the 
room. This done, simultaneously, as it were, 
with the dull thud of its unhappy head against 
the wall, Abbie Ann threw herself upon the 
floor, prone, and beat with her small hands 
and feet thereon. 

It was not the first time this big man had 
watched his little daughter thus, nor yet the 
first time he had wondered what he ought to 
do about it ; he had met a mine disaster with 
a promptness that saved his men's lives; he 
had averted a strike by a just grasp of the 
situation ; he had quelled a riot in a neighbor- 
ing district during the miseries of actual 
strike there; but those things were a matter 
of course, in mere line with a man's work, 
and he thought no more about them. But 
what to do with one small daughter who flung 
herself on the floor and beat with her fists and 
feet thereon, this big man did not know. 

Meanwhile the heap of red tangles, skirts, 
arms and legs, there before him, began to 
be shaken by sobs. Abbie Ann usually grew 
more reasonable at the weeping stage. Her 
father gazed down upon her. Those small , 

igle 



138 



iDtc, 



moaned "ohs," on his little daughter's lips 
hurt him surprisingly. He would try reason. 
He offered it somewhat diffidently, seeing that 
Abbie Ann had a disconcerting way of reject- 
ing it. 

"Suppose," he said, "that I failed in my 
duty to you now, and lived to feel my own 
and your reproaches?" 

His little girl, sitting up at this, to listen, 
here shook her head violently, so violently 
the red curls flung about wildly. She was 
ha^y as to what it was he might some day 
feel, but from her position, it was safest to 
combat everything. "That would n't never, 
never be, — " she stated, with general vague- 
ness of statement, but much decision. 

But her father thought differently, and said 
moreover that she was too young to know. 

"And further," he added, "it is my daugh- 
ter's duty to help father to do his." He 
spoke so solemnly it might have been Church 
again. Abbie Ann hugged her knees. It 
would never do to weaken now. 

But he went on. The words seemed to 
come with effort, at first, but later, something 
came into them that made them easier. Was 
it tenderness? Or was it sad laughter? 

"Once Abbie Ann — there was a little girl 
with hair and eyes like yours. She lived in a 
city, and used to come by a certain gate every 
day, the last little girl in the procession com- 
ing from a neighboring boarding-school for 
the daily walk. There was a boy generally 
hanging on that gate, that in time that little 
girl came to nod to. Perhaps, — some day — 
you may be shown some medals and some 
prize books laid away by persons who loved 
this little girl, that will prove to you how 
faithfully she did her duty." 

Abbie Ann had wriggled along the floor, 
still embracing her knees, the better to hear. 
Now she got up and leaned against her 
father's knee. The story rather than the 
moral of it, had seized her. 

"Who was she, the little girl, father?" 

"Your mother, Abbie." 

There was a silence. Nobody spoke. Little 
as she had been, Abbie Ann seemed to herself 
to remember, — 

Therefore she rose up and flung herself 
upon him and wetted his poor collar with a 
fresh burst of tears ; " I '11 be good, I' 11 be 
good,-—" she whispered. 

" I know, I know, — " said father, in return, 
gathering her up, and this time forgetting to 
stroke her hair. 

I'hen Abbie Ann sat up. Had she known 



her little nose was pulTed like a ripe red 
cherry, she might have been disconcerted. 

"Who was the little boy?" she asked. She 
liked that story. 

"His name in those days, was, Johnnie, 
Johnnie Richardson." 

Abbie Ann laughed delightedly. It was 
father himself, that boy, father's name was 
John Richardson ! 

He was saying more: "And I have chosen 
to send you to this same school, because the 
same teacher is there who taught your mother? 
Will this help you to go and try to be 
happy?" 

He never had talked just this way to her 
before. She felt solemn, and began to cry a 
little again, but sobbed her willingness to try. 

And it was settled, and big, bearded John 
Richardson drew a breath. 

Chapter III 

But the going did not seem possible by the 
next day, and Abbie Ann kept her face swol- 
len by weeping afresh every time she thought 
about it, feeling herself a mistreated little 
girl, sent off into the great, terrifying world 
with no one caring, a little girl gotten rid of 
by being put at a terrible place called a school. 
Very well, she would go, since she had 
promised, she would go, but once there she 
would cry herself ill, oh, very ill, and perhaps 
die, and — 

At this point Abbie Ann burst into tears 
again. 

Mr. McEwan came up that evening to sup- 
per, as he often did, in order, he said, to help 
them out. 

This was because of a peculiarity of Fabe, 
the cook. Mr. McEwan had brought Fabe 
from Washington on returning from his vaca- 
tion some time before. Fabe having hitherto 
officiated in restaurants and boarding-houses, 
said he did not know how to cook for two. 
And true enough, when he made, for instance, 
a pudding, it was so liberal an affair, that 
Mr. Richardson and Abbie Ann continued to 
eat pudding day after day, until it was gone. 
In a way it might have been said to save Fabe 
trouble, and it was owing to this peculiarity 
that Mr. McEwan said he came to meals to 
help them out. 

This evening after supper they sat on the 
side porch. One did not see the station" from 
here, or the chutes, or the coke ovens, only 
the anvil-shaped valley with the enclosing 
mountains making a purple rim around. 



George Madden Martin 



Across on the opposite slope of the valley 
stood the Church, ugly, it is true, but the 
miners had built it themselves ; there was a 
graveyard by the side of the church and in it 
a tall white shaft. Abbie Ann's young mother 
lay beneath thai shaft; it was while she was 
among them that the miners had built the 
Church. 

Out on the porch this evening Abbie Ann 
told Mr. McEwan about her going away; he 
had been talking business to her father all 
through supper, and she had had no oppor- 
tunity to tell him before; her father, cigar 
in hand, listened, too, and very cruel, and very 



terrible it sounded, the way she started 
it. Somehow, by the time she reached the end, 
she felt asliamed. 

But Mr. McEwan was making notes on the 
back of an envelop. " Albemarle County 
pippins, maple sugar, hickory nuts, — " he was 
muttering. 

"What?" Abbie Ann asked him. 

"H'm," he was still jotting down, "did 
you speak, — oh, — to be sure. I was planning 
for the Thanksgiving box; but that is going 
too fast, you have n't gone yet, — " 

"Ho\?" asked Abbie, 

Mr. McEwan blinked, and his red head 
nodded across at her red head, confidentially. 
"At Thanksgiving," said he, "and at Christ- 
mas, and on birthdaj's, and at Easter; what 

Vol. XXXIV.— 17. 



129 

else did you suppose boarding-schools were 
for?" 

This was a new phase of things. "Real- 
ly?" asked Abbie Ann. 

Mr. McEwan turned his head; he was sit- 
ting on the porch railing smoking, "Oh, 
Fabe," he called. 

Fabe came out from the dining-room ; he 
was very black and very shiny, and he wore 
a paper cap. When he first arrived at Coal 
City he said his name was Fabe Winbush ; but 
Mr. McEwan said that he was too modest to 
tell it all, that his whole name was Fal>acious 
Vespuscious McCruder Daniel Winbush. 

Abbie Ann had 
asked Fabe if it 
really was, whereupon 
he showed all his 
teeth, but he never 
said. 

When he came to 
the door Mr. Mc- 
Ewan asked him, 
" How about a cake, 
Fabe? None of your 
little miching meas- 
urements, either, but 
an ample, sizable, 
cake- walking article, 
pink and white per- 
haps, and fruity, and 
say, nutty, within?" 

Fabe grinned, in- 
deed he always 
grinned at Mr. Mc- 
Ewan. "Th' ain't 
no trouble 'bout its 
Iwing sizable, if it 's 
wnn Hair and Lyes ^ ^^.^ ^^^^ ^^^ 

want, — " 

"And candy," said Mr. McF.wan, "the 
real thing in Allegheny maple sugar, 
with hickory nut meats through. I mean to 
scour the mountains for the nuts myself." 

But after Mr. McEwan had gone, the 
shamed feeling came back upon Abbie that 
she had not been honest. She went slowly 
and stood by father. He was on the settee, 
his arm stretched along the railing. 

"I won't," she said, "I won't any more." 
and she touched his hand on the railing. His 
closed on hers. Then he lifted her to the 
bench by him. 

In the valley below them, a mist was Boat- 
ing over the low-lands. The young moon 
shining down upon it, made it a moving silver 
sea. But above the mists, on the opposite 



,/ Google 



130 



Abbie Ann 



IDwi. 



slope across the valley, stood the shaft, tall Not that Abbie thought these things, she 

and gleaming. Abbie sat very still, she only sat close within the circle of father's arm, 

had no idea why. The sheep bells from some while Fabe's voice, mellow and low, came 

hill side tinkled faintly. It hurt, not that crooningly out from the kitchen, that kitchen 

Abbie knew that it did, she only knew which had so shocked the strange lady, to 

something made her creep closer to father. the rattle of his pots and pans. 

Ch.akter IV 
Whex Mr. Richard- 
son and Abliie Ann 
left Coal City in Sep- 
tember, the whole 
community was at the 
station to see them 
off, the miners, their 
wives, the older chil- 
dren, the babies, Mr. 
McEwan and Fabe. 

Abbie felt impor- 
tant. She even had 
a trunk of her own 
:ind on one end of it, 

Abbie Ann Rkbariison. 

Down at the junc- 
tion there lived a lady 
who sewed and she 
had made the new 
clothes; that is she 
. and Abbie had studied 
the fashion papers to- 
gether, and the lady 
liad sent down to Cin- 
cinnati for the pat- 
terns and the materi- 
als. Mr. Richardson 
seemed doubtful at 
the results, but said if 
Abbie and the lady 
were satisfied, they 
, , were the ones to know. 

And Mr. McEwan said 

they wcretoo plain, that 

"MR. McKwAN WAS MAKING NOTES ON THK BACK OF AN Envblop,'' mere ^i// braid did Well 

enough for Coal City, 
but for metropolitan purposes, it ought to be 
gold. Since which Abbie had been a little 
troubled in her mind. 

'Every one had brought her something for 
a "good-by" ; indeed she could not take them 
all, the peach pic and the pet squirrel, for 
instance, Mr. McEwan said he would take 



It is a question if Abbie even rightly 
understood that she and father in their time 
must come to cross the Valley also to wher ; 
that shaft stood; it was not that kind of fea., 
for only vaguely did Abbie Ann know what 
the shaft meant. Yet the beauty of th . eve- 
ning, and the young moon on the mists, and 
the shaft across the valley, stayed on the lit- 
tle heart. It is good that it should have ; 
The Star stayed with Dickens' child. 



z of t 






George Madden Martin 



g a _ 
, dark-blue 
■d. \ 



131 

hanging out the window, while her father shine too, the furniture, the fender, the mir- 
clutchwi her skirts, waved too. It made her ror between the windows, the chandeliers. 
new ring glisten. Mr. McEwan had given Straight back mahogany chairs sat straight 
her that. The green diamond in the other back against the walls. 

one had chipped off in discouraging fashion, Abbie felt her heart sinking. The truth 

and finally had fallen out, while this new one was, though she did not know it, in the 
had for a setting 
little, clci . " " " " 
stone, that glistened. 

"Not so rare a gem, .| 
perhaps," Mr. Mc- i 
Ewan had explained, I 
"but with better wear- 1 
ing qualities. And blue, | 

Abbie Ann, gazing ( 
at her ring, resolved . 
she would be true. A 
verse had accompanied 
the ring. It read: 

" I knew by her hair that so 
gracefully curled 
AroDnd her pink ears, 
thai she ringlels held 

So I said, • Of all nalu- I 
ral things in the | 

A ring let roe give her ' 
before she leaves 



Abbie Ann gave 
Mr. McEwan a pin. 
which originally had 
a black bead for head 
until she dipped it in 
sealing wax. He had 
it on at the station in 
his tie, a green and 
blue necktie, where it 
showed beautifully. 

That night Mr. 
Richardson and Abbie 
Ann reached the city, 
going to a hotel. The 
next day they went to 
the school. 

It was a large, square 
house of red brick, 

with white shutters, and the door knob and 
the door bell shone. The maid who answered 
the ring, and who showed them into a parlor, 
was square herself, and staid and neat and 
noiseless. Everything in the room seemed to 



midst of this depressing propriety she fult 
herself a very small somebody indeed, and 
she resented the feeling. 

Then a lady came in, whom Mr. Richard- 
son, rising to meet, addressed as Miss Owsley. 



d by Google 



"The Red Ball Is Up!" 

"Good Skating on the Pond!" 



d by Google 



The New Boy at Hilltop 

By Ralph Henry Barbour 

Author of "TheCrimsDn Swealer," elc. 



Hilltop School dosed its Fall Term with 
just ninety-five students; it opened again two 
weeks later, on the third of January, with 
ninety-six ; and thereby hangs this tale. 

Kenneth Oar wood had been booked for 
Hilltop in the Autumn, but circumstances had 
interfered with the family's plans. Instead 
he journeyed to Moritzville on the afternoon 
of the day preceding the commencement of 
the new term, a very cold and blustery 
January afternoon, during much of which he 
sat curled tightly into a corner of his seat in 
the poorly heated day coach, which was the 
best the train afforded, and wondered why 
the Connecticut Valley was so much colder 
than Cleveland, Ohio. He hud taken an 
early train from New York, and all the way 
to Moritzville had sought with natural eager- 
ness for sight of his future schoolmates. But 
he had Iwen unsuccessful. When Hilltop 
returns to school it takes the mid-afternoon 
express which reaches Moritzville just in 
time for dinner, whereas Kenneth reached 
the school before it was dark, and at a quarter 
of five was in undisputed possession, for the 
time being, of Number 12, Lower House. 

"We are putting you," the Principal had 
said, "with Joseph Brewster, a boy of about 
your own age and a member of your class. 
He is one of our nicest boys, one of whom we 
are very proud. You will. I am certain, be- 
come good friends. Mr. Whipple here will 
show you to your room. Supper is at six. 
Afterwards, say at eight o'clock, I should 
like you to see mc again here at the oflfice. 
If there is anything you want vou will find 
the Matron's room at the end of the lower 
hall. Er — will you take him in charge, Mr. 
Whipple?" 

On the way across the Campus, between 
banks of purple-shadowed snow and under 
leafless elms which creaked and groaned dis- 
inally in the wind. Kenneth reached the firm 
conclusion that there were two persons at 
Hilltop whom he was going to dislike cor- 



dially. One was the model Joseph Brewster, 
and the other was Mr. Whipple. The in- 
structor was young, scarcely more than 
twenty- three, tall, sallow, near-sighted and 
taciturn. He wore an unchanging smile on 
his thin face and spoke in a soft, silky voice 
that made Kenneth want to trip him into 
one of the snow banks. 

Lower House, so called to distinguish it 
from the other dormitory. Upper House, 
which stood a hundred yards higher on the 
hill, looked very uninviting. Its windows 
frowned dark and inhospitable and no light 
shone from the hall as tliey entered. Mr. 
Whipple paused and searched unsuccessfully 
for a match. 

"I fear I have left my match-box in my 
study," he said at length. "Just a moment, 
please, Garwood, and I will — " 

"Here 's a match, sir," interrupted Ken- 
neth. 

"Ah!" Mr. Whipple accepted the match 
and rubbed it carefully under the banister 
rail. "Thank you," he added as a tiny pale 
flame appeared at the tip of the side bracket. 
"I trust that the possession of matches, my 
boy, does not indicate a taste for tobacco on 
yourpart?" he continued smiling deprecatingly. 

Kenneth took up his suit- case again. 

"I trust not, sir," he said. Mr. Whipple 
blinked behind his gla.sses. 

"Smoking is, of course, prohibited at 
Hilltop," 

"I think it is at most schools," Kenneth 
replied gravely. 

"Oh, undoubtedly! I am to understand, 
then, that you are not even in the least ad- 
dicted to the habit?" 

"Well, sir, it is n't likely you '11 ever catch 
me at it," said Kenneth imperturbably. The 
instructor flushed angrily. 

"I hope not," he said in a silky voice, 
" I sincerely hope not, Garwood, — for your 
sake!" 

He started up the stairs and Kenneth fol- 
lowed, smiling wickedly. He had n't made a 
very good beginning, he told himself, but 
Mr. Whipple irritated him intensehrj. After 

^ Google 



134 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



IDk.. 



the instructor had closed the door softly and 
taken his departure, Kenneth sat down in an 
easy-chair and indulged in regrets. 

"I wish I had n't been so fresh," he mut- 
tered ruefully. "It does n't do a fellow any 
good to get the 
teachers down on him. 
Not that I 'm scared 
of that old boy, though I 
Doctor Randall is n't 
so bad, but if the rest 
of the teachers are 
like Whipple I don't 
want to stay. Well, 
dad said I need n't 
stay after this term if 
I don't like it. C.uess 
I can stand three 
months, even of Whip- 
ple! I hope Brewster 
is n't quite as bad. 
Maybe, though, they '11 



drawing aside the faded brown chenille cur- 
tain to let in the light. There was n't much 
to see, two iron beds, two chiffoniers, two 
chairs, a trunk bearing the initials "J. A. B." 
and a washstand. The floor was bare save 



give 



lother 



if I kick. Don't see 
why I can't have a 
room by myself, any- 
how. I guess I '11 get 
dad to write and ask 
for it. Only maybe a 
chap in moderate cir- 
cumstances like mc 
is n't supposed to have 
a room all to himself." 

He chuckled softly 
and looked about him. 

Number 1 2 consisted 
of a small study and 
a good- sized sleeping 
room opening off. The 
study was well furn- 
ished, even if the car- 
pet was worn bare in 
spots and the green - 
topped table was a 
mass of ink blots. 
There were two com- 
fortable arm-chairs and 
two straight-backed 
chairs, the aforemen- 
tioned table, two bookcases, 
side of the window, a wicker 
and two or three pictures. Also there was 
an miitmg wmdow seat heaped with 
faded cushions On the whole. Kenneth de- 
cided the study seen in the soft radiance of 
the drop light had a nice "homey" look. 
He cro>.^>ed oier and examined the bedroom. 



ne on each 
vaste basket 



for three rugs, one beside each bed and one 
in front of the washstand. The two windows 
had white muslin curtains and a couple of 
uninteresting pictures hung on the walls. He 
dropped the curtain at the door, placed his 
suit-case on a chair and opened it. For the 
next few minutes he was busy distributing 
its contents. To do this it was necessary to 



Google 



*.] 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



light the gas in the bedroom and as it flared 
up, its light was reflected from the gleaming 
l>ack5 of a set of silver brushes which he had 
placed a moment before on the chiffonier. 
He paused and eyed them doubtfully. 

"Gee!" he muttered. "I can't have those 
out. 1 '11 have to buy some brushes." 

He gathered them up and tumbled them 
back into his s,uit-case. Finally, with every- 
thing put away, he took off coat and vest, 
collar and cuffs, and proceeded to wash up. 
And while he is doing it let us have a good 
look at him. 

He was fourteen years of age, but he 
looked older. Not that he was large for his 
age; it was rather the expression of his face 
that added that mythical year or so. He 
looked at once self-reliant and reserved. At 
first glance one might have thought him 
conceited, in which case one would have done 
him an injustice. Kenneth had travelled a 
good deal and had seen more of the world 
than has the average boy of Jiis age, and this 
had naturally left its impress on his counte- 
nance. I can't honestly say that he was hand- 
some, and I don't think you will be disap- 
pointed to hear it. But he was good-looking. 
with nice, tjuiet gray eyes, an aquiline nose, a 
fairly broad mouth whose smiles meant more 
for being infrequent, and a firm, rather 
pointed chin of the sort which is popularly 
supposed to, and in Kenneth's case really did, 
den»)te firmness i)f character. His hair was 
brown and quite guiltless of curl. His body 
was well set up and he carried himself with 
a little backward thrust of the head and 
shoulders which might have seemed arrogant, 
but was n't, any more than was his steady, 
leiel manner of looking at one. 

Presently, having donned his clothes once 
more, he picked up a book from the study 
table, pulled one of the chairs toward tlie 
light and set himself comfortably therein, 
stretching his legs out and letting his elbows 
sink into the padded leather arms. And so 
he sat when, after twenty minutes or so, there 
were sounds outside the building plainly de- 
noting the arrival of students, sounds fol- 
lowed by steps on the stairs, shouts, laughter, 
happy greetings, the thumping of bags, the 
clinking of keys. And so he sat when the 
door of Number 12 was suddenly thrown wide 
open and a merry face, flushed with the cold, 
looked amazedly upon him from lietween the 
high, shaggy, upturned collar of a voluminous 
dark gray ulster and the soft visor of a 
rakishly tilted cap. 



MAKING FRIENDS 

And while Kenneth looked back, he felt his 
prejudices melting away. Surely one 
could n't dislike for very long such a jolly, 
mischievous -looking youth as this! Of Ken- 
neth's own age was the newcomer, a little 
heavier, yellow-haired and blue-eyed, at once 
impetuous and good-humored. But at this 
moment the good-humor was not greatly in 
evidence. Merriment gave place to sur- 
prise, surprise to resentment on the boy's 
countenance. 

"Hello!" he challenged. 

Kenneth laid the book face down on his 
knee and smiled politely. 

"How do you do?" he responded. 

The newcomer dragged a big valise into 
the room and closed the door behind him, 
never for an instant taking his gaze off of 
Kenneth. Then, apparently concluding that 
the figure in the arm chair was real flesh and 
blood and not a creature of the imagination, 
he tossed his cap to the table, revealing a 
rumpled mass of golden yellow hair, and 
looked belligerently at the intruder. 

"Say, you 've got the wrong room, I 
guess," he announced. 

"Here 's where they put me," answered 
Kenneth gravely. 

"Well, you can't stay here," was the in- 
hospitable response. "This is my room." 

Kenneth merely looked respectfully inter- 
ested. Joe Brewster slid out of his ulster, 
frowning angrily. 

"Vou 're a new boy, are n't you?" he de- 
manded. 

"About an hour andahalf old," said Ken- 
neth. Somehow the reply seemed to annoy 
Joe, He stepped toward the other trucu- 
lently. 

"Well, you go and see the Matron; she 'II 
find a room for you ; there are lots of rooms, 
I guess. Anyway, I 'm not going to have you 
butting in here." 

"Vou must be Joseph Brewster," said 
Kenneth. The other boy growled assent. 
"The fact is, Brewster, they put me in here 
with you because you are such a fine character. 
Dr. Wjiatshisname said you were the pride of 
the school, or something like that. I guess 
they thought association with you would 
benefit me." 

Joe gave a roar and a rush. Over went 
the arm chair, over went Kenneth, over went 
Joe, and for a minute nothing was he^rd in 

.,.] - .1 . Ciooglc 



136 

Number 12 but the sound of panting and 
gasping and muttered words, and the collid- 
ing of feet and bodies with floor and furni- 
ture. The attack had been somewhat unex- 
pected and as a result, for the first moments 
of the battle, Kenneth occupied the uncom- 
fortable and inglorious position of the under 
dog. He strove only to escape punishment, 
avoiding offensive tactics altogether. It was 
hard work, however, for Brewster pummelled 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



[Dk., 



were turned. Now it was Kenneth who was 
on top, and it took him but a moment to 
seize Joe's wrists in a very firm grasp, a 
grasp which, in spite of all efforts, Joe found 
it impossible to escape. Kenneth, perched 
upon his stomacJi, — uneasily, you may be 
sure, since Joe heaved and tossed like a boat 
in a tempest, — offered terms. 

"Had enough?" he asked. 

"No," growled Joe. 



like a good one, his seraphic face aflame with 
the light of battle and his yellow hair seem- 
ing to stand about his head like a golden ori- 
flamme. And while Kenneth hugged his ad- 
versary to him, ducking his head away from 
the incessant jabs of a very industrious fist, 
he realized that he had made a mistake in his 
estimation of his future room-mate. He was 
going to like him ; he was cjuite sure he was ; 
providing, of course that said room-mate left 
enough of him! And then, seeing, or rather 
feeling his chance, he toppled Joe Brewster 
over his shoulder and in a trice the tables 



"Then you '11 stay here until you have," 
answered Kenneth. "Vou and I are going to 
he room-mates, so we might as well get used 
to each other now as later, eh? How anv 
fellow with a face like a little pink angel 
can use his fists the way you can, gets me!" 

Kenneth was almost unseated at this junc- 
ture, but managed to hold his place. Pant- 
ing from the effects of the struggle, he went 
on: 

"Seems to me Dr. Randall must be mis- 
taken in you, Brewster. You don't strike me 
at all as a model of deportment. Seems to 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



me he and you fixed up a pretty lively wel- 
come for me, eh?" 

The anger faded out of Joe's face and a 
smile trembled at the corners of his mouth. 

"Let me up," he said quietly. 

" Behave ?" 
. "Yep." 

"All right," said Kenneth. But before he 
could struggle to his feet there was a per- 
emptory knock on the door, followed in- 
stantly by the appearance of a third person 
on the scene, a dark-haired, sallow, tall youth 
of fifteen who viewed thp scene with sur- 

"What 's up?" he asked. 

Kenneth sprang to his feet and gave his 
hand to Joe. About them spread devastation. 

"I was showing him a new tackle," ex- 
plained Kenneth easily. 

Joe, somewhat red of face, shot him a look 
of gratitude. 

"Oh," said the new arrival, "and who the 
dickens are you, kid?" 

"My name's Garwood. I just came to- 
day. I 'm to room with Brewster." 

"Is that right?" asked the other, turning 
to Joe. Joe nodded. 

"So he says, Graft. I think it 's mighty 
mean, though. They let me have a room to 
myself all Fall, and now, just when I 'm 
getting used to it, they dump this chap in 
here. It is n't as though there were n't plenty 
of other rooms!" 

"Why don't you kick to the Doctor?" 
asked Grafton Hyde. 

"Oh, it would n't do any good, I suppose," 
said Joe. 

Grafton Hyde sat down and viewed Ken- 
neth with frank curiosity. 

"Where are you from?" he demanded. 

"Cleveland, Ohio." 

"Any relation to John Garwood, the rail- 
road man?" 

"Ye — es, some," said Kenneth. Grafton 
snorted. 

" Huh ! I dare say ! Most everyone tries to 
claim relationship with a millionaire. Bet 
you, he does n't know you 're alive!" 

"Well," answered Kenneth with some con- 
fusion, "maybe not, but — but I think he 's 
related to our family, just the same." 

"Vou do, eh?" responded Grafton sarcas- 
tically. "Well, 1 would n't try very hard to 
claim relationship if I were you. I guess 
if the honest truth were known there are n't 
very many fellows who would want to be in 
John Garwood's shoes, for all his money." 

Vol. XXXIV.— 18. 



137 



"Why?" asked Kenneth. 

" Because he 's no good. Look at the way 
he treated his employees in that last strike! 
Some of 'em nearly starved to death!" 

"That 's a — that is n't so!" answerejl 
Kenneth hotly. "It was ail newspaper lies." 

"Newspapers don't lie," said Grafton sen- 
tent iously. 

"They lied then, like anything," was the 
reply. 

"Well, everyone knows what John Gar- 
wood is," said Grafton carelessly. "I 've 
heard my father tell about him time and 
again. He used to know him years ago." 

Kenneth opened his lips, thought better 
of it and kept silence. 

"Ever hear of my father?" asked Grafton 
with a little swagger. 

"What 's his name?" asked Kenneth. 

"Peter Hyde," answered the other im- 
portantly. 

"Oh, yes! He 's a big politician .in 
Chicago, is n't he?" 

"No, he is n't!" replied Grafton angrily. 
"He 's Peter Hyde, the lumber magnate." 

"Oh!" said Kenneth. "What — what 's 
a lumber magnet?" 

"Magnate, not magnet!" growled Grafton. 
"It 's time you came to school if you don't 
know English. Where have you been going?" 

"I beg pafdon?" 

"What school have you been to? My, 
you 're a dummy!" 

" I have n't been to any school this year. 
Last year I went to the grammar school at 
home." 

"Then this is your first boarding school, 
eh?" 

"Yes; and I hope I 'II like it. The cata- 
logue said it was a very fine school. I trust I 
shall profit from my connection with it." 

Grafton stared bewilderedly, but the new 
junior's face was as innocent as a cherub's. 
Joe Brewster stared, too, for a moment; then 
a smile flickered around his mouth and he 
bent his head, finding interest in a bleeding 
knuckle. 

"Well, I came over to talk about the team, 
Joe," Grafton said after a moment. "I 
did n't know you had company." 

"Did n't know it myself," muttered Joe. 

Kenneth picked up his book again and went 
back to his reading. But he was not so 
deeply immersed but that he caught now and 
then fragments of the conversation, from 
which he gathered that both Joe and Hyde 
were members of the Lower House Basket- 



Google 



13S 



Ball Team, that Hyde held a very excellent 
opinion of his own abilities as a player, that 
Upper House was going to have a very strong 
team and that if Lower did n't find a fellow 
who could throw goals from fouls better than 
Simins could it was all up with them. Sud- 
denly Kenneth laid down his book again. 

" I say, you fellows, could n't I try for that 
team?" he asked. 

"Oh, yes, you can try," laughed Grafton. 
"Ever play any?" 

"A little. We had a team at the grammar 
school. I played right guard." 

"You did, eh? That 's where I play," said 
Grafton, "Maybe you 'd like my place?" 

"Don't you want it?" asked Kenneth in- 
nocently. 

"Don't I want ill Well, you 'U have to 
work pretty hard to get it !" 

"I will," said Kenneth very simply. Graf- 
ton stared doubtfully. 

"Candidates are called for four o'clock to- 
morrow afternoon," said Joe. "You 'd better 
come along. You 're pretty light, but Jim 
Marble will give you a try all right." 

"Thanks," answered Kenneth. "But 
would practice be likely to interfere with my 
studies?" 

"Say, kid, you 're a wonder!" sneered 
Grafton as he got up to go. "I never saw 
anything so freshly green in my life I You 're' 
going to have a real nice time here at Hill- 
top ; I can see that. Well, see you later, Joe. 
Come up to-night ; I want to show you some 
new snowshoes I brought back. Farewell, 
Garwood, By the way, what 's your first 
name?" 

"Kenneth." 

"Hey?" 

"Kenneth; K,e,n,n,e, — " 

"Say, that 's a peach!" laughed Grafton. 
"Well, bring little Kenneth with you, Joe; 
I 've got some picture books." 

"Thank you," said the new junior grate- 
fully. 

"Oh, don't mention it!" And Grafton 
'went out chuckling. 

As the door closed behind him, Joe Brew- 
ster sank into a chair and thrust out his legs, 
hands in pockets, while a radiant grin slowly 
overspread his angelic countenance. 

"Well," he said finally, "you 're the first 
fellow that ever bluffed Graft ! And the way 
he took it !" 

Kenneth smiled modestly under the admir- 
ing regard of his room-mate. 

"Gee!" cried Joe, glancing at his watch. 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



[Dae:. 



"It 's after six. Come on to supper. Maybe 
if we hurry they 'II give you a place at our 
table." 

Kenneth picked up his cap and followed 
his new friend down the stairs. On the way- 
he asked: 

"Is that chap Hyde a particular friend of 
yours?" 

"N-no," answered Joe, "not exactly. 
We 're on the team together, and he is n't 
such a bad sort. Only — he 's the richest fel- 
low in school and he can't forget itl" 

"I don't like him," said Kenneth decidedly. 

Hilltop School stands on the top of a bill 
overlooking the Connecticut Valley, a cluster 
of half a dozen ivy-draped buildings of which 
only one, the new gymnasium, looks less than 
a hundred years old. Seventy-six feet by forty 
it is, built of red sandstone with freestone 
trimming ; a fine, aristocratic looking struc- 
ture which lends quite an air to the old cam- 
pus. In the basement there b a roomy base- 
ball cage, a bow'.ing-alley, lockers and baths. 
In the main hall, one end of which terminates 
in a fair-sized stage, are gymnastic apparatus 
of all kinds. 

It was here that Kenneth found himself at 
four o'clock the next day. His trunk had ar- 
rived and he had dug out his old basket-ball 
costume, a blue sleeveless shirt, white knee- 
pants and canvas shoes. He wore them now 
as he sat, a lithe, graceful figure on the edge 
of the stage. There were nearly thirty other 
fellows on the floor amusing themselves in 
various ways while they waited for the cap- 
tain to arrive. Several of them Kenneth al- 
ready knew well enough to speak to and 
many others he knew by name. For Joe had 
made himself Kenneth's guide and mentor, 
had shown him all there was to be seen, had 
introduced him to a number of the fellows 
and pointed out others and had initiated him 
into many of the school manners and methods. 
'ITiis morning Kenneth had made his appear- 
ance in various class-rooms and had met 
various teacliers, among them Mr. Whipple, 
who, Kenneth discovered, was instructor in 
English. rhe fellows seemed a friendly lot 
and he was already growing to like Hilltop. 

Naturally enough, Kenneth found himself 
the object of much interest. He was a new 
boy, the only new one in school. At Hilltop 
the athletic rivalry was principally internal, 
between dormitory and dormitory. To be 
sure the base-ball and foot-ball teams played 
other schools, but nevertheless the contests 
which wrought the fellows up to the highest 



>/GoogIc 



tBot] 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



pitch of enthusiasm were those in which the 
CrimsoR of Upper House and the Blue of 
Lower met in battle. Each donnitory had its 
own foot-ball, base-ball, hockey, tennis, track, 
basket-ball, and debating, team, and rivalry 
was always intense. Hence the arrival of a 
new boy in Lower House meant a good deal 
to both camps. And most fellows liked what 
they saw of Kenneth, even while regretting 
that he was n't old enough and big enough 
for foot- ball material. Kenneth bore the 
scrutiny without embarrassment, but neverthe- 
less he was glad when Joe joined him where 
he sat on the edge of the stage. 

"Jim has n't come yet," said Joe, examin- 
ing a big black-and-blue spot on his left knee. 
"I guess there won't be time for much prac- 
tice to-day, because Upper has the floor at 
five. They 're going to have a dandy team 
this year; a whole bunch of big fellows. But 
they had a big heavy team year before last 
and we beat them the first two games." 

"Don't you play any outside schools?" 

" No, the faculty won't let us. Perfect rot, 
is n't it? They let us play outsiders at foot- 
ball and base-ball and all that, but they won't 
let us take on even the grammar school for 
basket-ball. Randy says the game is too 
rough and we might get injured. Rough I 
I 'd like to know what he calls foot-ball !" 

"I don't understand about the classes 
here," said Kenneth. "I heard that big chap 
over there say he could n't play because he 
was 'advanced' or something. What 's that?" 



139 

"Advanced senior," answered Joe. "You 
see, there 's the preparatory class, the junior 
class, the middle class and the senior class. 
Then if a fellow wants to fit for college, he 
does another year in the senior class and in 
order to distinguish him from the fourth year 
fellows they call him an advanced senior. 
See? There are five in school this year. 
Faculty won't let them play basket-ball or 
foot-ball because they 're supposed to be too 
big and might hurt some of us little chaps. 
Huh! Hello, there 's Jim. I 've got to see 
him a minute." 

And Joe slipped off the stage and scurried 
across to where a boy of about sixteen, a tall, 
athletic- looking youth with reddish-brown 
hair was crossing the floor with a ball under 
each arm. Joe stopped him and said a few 
words and presently they both walked over 
to where Kenneth sat. Joe introduced the 
captain and the new candidate. 

"Joe says you 've played the game," said 
Jim inquiringly in a pleasant voice as he 
shook hands. Kenneth was somewhat awed 
by him and replied quite modestly: 

"Yes, but I don't suppose I can play with 
you fellows. Still, I 'd like to try." 

"That 's right." 

"How are you on throwing baskets?" 

"Well, 1 used to be pretty fair last year." 

"Good enough. If you can throw goals 
well, you'll stand a good show of making the 
team as a substitute. You 'd better get out 
there with the others and warm up." 



{Te it ttnlinmtiL) 



d by Google 



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d by Google 



Pinkey Perkins: Just a Boy 

By Captain Harold Hammond, U. S. A. 

niunnted by George Varian 
HOW THE COASTING PARTY ENDED 



One day after winter had set in and there 
was enough snow on the ground to make good 
sleighing, Putty Black and Eddie were stand- 
ing on the court-house comer, sleds in hand, 
waiting for a chance to "hitch on" to some 
big sled, or sleigh, when the sound of merri- 
ment broke upon their ears from behind. 
Turning around to see what all the hilarity 
was about, they saw what to Eddie at least, 
was anything but an agreeable sight. 

Pinkey had hitched the old family mare 
to his new hand sled, which was larger than 
most sleds of its kind and a product of 
Liberty Jim's most faithful efforts, and be- 
hind him was a long line of sleds, two behind 
the other, on each of which rode one or more 
boys or girls. Behind Pinkey, sharing the 
new sled, was Harriet Warren, while with 
Bunny Morris, whose sled occupied the very 
desirable position at the end of the line, rode 
Bess Knapp. 

As the jolly party turned the comer, the 
sleigh-bells jingling merrily, and went gaily 
on their way, Eddie said to his companion 
in a tone that bore evidences of envy : 

"They think they 're having a lot o' fun, 
don't they, Putty? I wish they 'd upset in 
a snow-drift somewhere." Then to change 
the subject as though he did not feel at all 
envious, he continued : 

"Say, let 's hook on that bob-sled coming up 
the road and ride out to Homey 's hill where 
there 's a crowd, and have a coast ; that man 
driving lives out beyond there." 

Homey's hill was over two mites away, too 
long a distance to walk on a cold winter's 
day unless it were impossible to ride, but 
there of all places could be Found the best 
coasting anywhere in the vicinity of Enter- 
prise. 

Putty agreed instantly with Eddie's sug- 
gestion, and together they ran out into the 
road and slipped the rope of Eddie's sled 
under the iron rod which ran across the 
end of the wagon bed, in such a way that 



they could part company with the big sled at 
any time merely by letting go the end of the 
rope. Then both jumped on the one sled, 
Eddie retaining hold of the rope, while 
Putty pulled his empty sled behind. 

"I 'd rather do this any day than ride 
around behind an old plug like the one Pinkey 
Perkins is driving," said Eddie, gaily, but 
he knew and Putty knew that he would have 
given a good deal to be in Pinkey's party. 

As they crossed the railroad tracks and 
neared the limits of the town, Putty looked 
back down the long snow-lined street. 

"Here they come now, Eddie," said he, 
"I '11 bet they 're heading for Homey's hill 
too." 

Eddie looked back and sure enough, not 
very far behind them came "Old Polly," 
trotting contentedly along, and behind her, 
almost hidden from view, trailed the long 
line of sleds she was pulling. 

" Hoo-e-e-e," yelled Putty, by way of salu- 
tation, waving his cap. Putty wanted to be 
friendly with both Pinkey and Eddie, and 
now being with one, he wished to let the 
other know that as far as he himself was con- 
cemed, there was no cause for ill-feeling. 

Putty's shout gave the farmer his first 
intimation that he had passengers, and not 
being in sympathy with granting free rides 
to town boys he proceeded at once to rid him- 
self of them. Whipping up his horses 
quickly, he turned out into the deep snow at 
the side of the road and before the boys 
realized what was happening they were 
ploughing through the deep drifts at a ter- 
rific rate. 

"Let go the rope, Eddie I Let her go!" 
shouted Putty, as the sled took a sharp plunge 
into a ditch and nearly capsized. 

"It won't let go," replied Eddie in dis- 
may, his eyes and mouth full of snow, "it 's 
caught," and again came a deluge which 
found its way up their sleeves and down their 
necks in most uncomfortable fashion. 



Google 



Captain Harold Hammond 



143 

Putty had let go his sled as soon as the enormous snow-drift, into which be sank 
fanner had turned out from the main tratik almost entirely from view, 
and now he suffered additional loss by his Luckily, the bump against the stump broke 
cap falling off in the whirling mass behind the rope and the sled stopped short, upside 
Ihem. Realizing that there was nothing to down, where it landed a few feet beyond 
be gained by remaining longer where he was, Eddie. 

he released his grip and as the sled careened Needless to say, all this caused considerable 

excitement and amuse- 
ment among those 
who were riding be- 
hind Old Polly, and 
Pinkey urged her to a 
still faster pace in or- 
der to be of assistance 
in case either Putty or 
laddie had been in- 
jured in any way. 

But the snow was 
soft, and beyond the 
discomfort caused by 
their being thus vio- 
lently hurled into it, 
neither was any the 
worse for his experi- 
ence. 

By the time Eddie, 
much resembling a 
snow man, had extri- 
cated himself from his 
undignified position in 
the snow-drift and 
had partially brushed 
himself off. Putty 
joined him and as 
Pinkey and his party 
drew near, the two 
stood shivering at the 
side of the road, the 
picture of despair. 
Both were angry and 
in no mood to accept 
sympathy, for they 
realized what an amus- 
ing sight it must 
!ojECTiLE." have been for the 

others to see them on 
their wild ride, and how ludicrous they must 
have looked plunging helplessly into the 
snow-drifts. Furthermore, Eddie felt it all 
the more keenly that Pinkey and Harriet 
should have been among those who had wit- 
nessed their undoing. 

Pinkey, however, bore no malice toward 
Eddie now, for it was impossible for him to 
cherish such feelings long toward anyone 
and since the night of the church fair he had 
studiously refrained from doing anything or 



"Eddie Shot into the Air like a P 

over on one runner again, threw himself into 
the deep snow at the side of the road. 

Eddie still held on, not willing to lose his 
sled in this inglorious fashion, but only for 
a minute longer, Putty had no more than 
picked himself up and was brushing the 
snow from his clothes when the sled struck 
a stump which was buried beneath the snow, 
and turned completely over. Eddie shot into 
the air like a projectile, executing a partial 
somersault, and landed head first in an 



./Google 



144 

saying anything that might make it appear 
that he was gloating over his victory. 

As Old Polly came opposite Eddie and 
Putty, Pinkey drew rain on her and said : 

"If you fellows are going out to Horney's 
hill, hook on behind and I 'U give you a 
ride." 

Putty was evidently most willing to ac- 
cept the invitation and started with his sled 
for the middle of the road, but not so Eddie. 
He jerked the rope from Putty's hand, for 
fear he would join Pinkey's party, and said 
savagely : 

"When I want a ride, I 'II say so. I 'd 
rather walk than ride behind that old plug." 

"It does look as if you 'd rather ride faster 
than we go," answered Pinkey, angered that 
his offer should be so flatly refused, "and 
besides you like to take a dive into the snow- 
drifts now and then; so dive ahead, I don't 
care. Get up, Polly," and in another minute 
the merry party was gliding smoothly down 
the road toward the old mill which stood at 
the cross-roads. Here they turned and were 
soon lost to view. 

"Gee, I 'd like to snowball 'em, would n't 
you. Putty," said Eddie, with a decided tone 
of jealousy in his voice. "Pinkey Perkins 
thinks he 's the whole show, riding around 
with that new sled of his." 

"'T would be fun to hide somewhere and 
pelt 'em well," agreed Putty, rather weakly. 
He regretted that F.ddie had refused to ride 
and his tone lacked enthusiasm. 

" Let 's cut through the fields and beat 'em 
to the hill, anyway," said Eddie, and with 
Putty's assistance he lifted his own large sled 
and Putty's lighter one over the fence and 
the pair started through the snow for the hill. 

When Pinkey and those with him reached 
the hill, they found a large crowd there en- 
joying the coasting on the weil-packed hill- 
side. Eddie and Putty had arrived before 
them, but neither came anywhere near those 
with whom they had declined to ride. They 
kept to a different part of the hill and gave 
no sign of any ill feeling toward tfiose who 
had come with Pinkey. 

Pinkey's new sled proved to be a wonder as 
a coaster, 

"I tell you what, Bunny," he said, "if any- 
body can beat Liberty Jim at making sleds 
I 'd like to see 'em do it. Did you see us 
break the record just now ?" 

"Yes, and I saw Ed and Putty and some 
others breaking records just now, too," re- 
plied Bunny, "makin' for the road as fast as 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



IDk 



they could go. We 'd better go and see if 
they took Old Polly away and left us to walk 
home." 

"I 'd just like to see 'em take her away," 
said Pinkey, much disturbed at the thought 
even ; "it would be the last time any of them 
would ever take anything of mine," 

Pinkey and Bunny ran to a point whence 
they could see the gate where they had tied 
Old Polly, They were gratified to see that 
she was standing there just as they had left 
her, and that Eddie and Putty and "Shiner" 
Brayley, whose father owned the old mill, 
and three other boys were already some dis- 
tance away, bound in the direction of the 

"I guess it 's time we were skipping, too," 
said Pinkey regretfully, after all had enjoyed 
a few more rides down the enticing slope, 
"because I 've got my Sunday wood to get in 
before dark." 

The others agreed with Pinkey, though all 
were loth to depart from the pleasure they 
were enjoying. They pulled their sleds out 
to the gate, attached them to the harness on 
Old Polly and set out for Enterprise. It 
had begun to grow dusk by the time they got 
well started and Pinkey urged the old mare 
into a faster pace than usual, so they went 
gliding down the road at a rate that insured 
their reaching home in good time. 

Meanwhile, Eddie and those who had so 
suddenly left the hill with him, instead of 
going home as they had pretended, were in- 
tent on a deeply laid scheme to carry out 
Eddie's idea of snowballing Pinkey's party. 
and to do it on their way home. Shiner 
had been persuaded into getting the key to 
the old mill, without permission of course, 
and it was from there that the attack was to 
be made. 

The mill, being operated by water power, 
could not run during the winter months as 
the stream which furnished the power was 
frozen up, and Shiner's father was always 
most careful to board up the doors and win- 
dows on the first floor until Spring should 
come and he could set the machinery in mo- 
tion again. The mill represented all his 
worldly possessions and he took no chances 
agaitist intrusion by anyone, 

"Let 'em come on now, we '11 give 'em 
plenty of fun," said Eddie, when, after the 
door had been unlocked, he and the others had 
succeeded in making and bringing inside a 
huge quantity of snowballs and arranging 
them handily in rows in the upper windows. 



Google 



I906.J 



Captain Harold Hammond 



145 



" I 'd laugh if the old mare ran off and fore Pinkey whips up and they get away from 
took 'em through the deep snow, just to let us." 

'em see how it goes," said Putty, trying to "Ed and I will soak it to Pinkey and the 

work up an air of enthusiasm that he did not old mare," decreed Putty, "and the rest of 

feel, you look out for the others. Don'r hit any 

"We '11 even up a little for that snipe- of the girls though, if you can help it." 

Although Bess Knapp 
was riding with Bunny, 
Putty still held her in 
high regard. 

By this time the 
long line of sleds, with 
Pinkey's in the lead, 
had almost reached the 
mill and before any- 
one dreamed of any 
danger a volley of 
well-made and accu- 
rately aimed snowballs 
came pelting down 
upon them, followed 
immediately by a sec- 
ond. 

Eddie's aim was ac- 
curate, his first shot 
striking Old Polly on 
the hip and his sec- 
ond passing between 
Pinkey and Harriet, 
just barely grazing 
Pinkey's cap. Bunny 
fared worse than any- 
one else, receiving the 
full effect of a care- 
fully rounded, well 
packed, snowball which 
struck him fairly in 
the cheek and sent 
him sprawling in the 
snow at the side of 
the road. Some of the 
others were struck, 
while a few, like 
Pinkey. escaped unin- 
jured by the first two 
volleys. 
"P,NKEV WASSTKVGCUNC ro CI.O.KT..K LARCi: OakUooh.- '^ ^'■^'^'^ cxpectyd 

Pinkey to whip up his 
horse and run away from the fight, he was 
much mistaken. No sooner had he taken in 
the situation than he drew rein on Old Polly, 
who had not acted as wildly as Putty had 
hoped, and after stopping her completely, 
turned to Harriet. 

"Vou hold tlie lines, please," he said, pass- 
ing her the reins, "while we tackle those fel- 
lows," and with that he jumped from thpn|(;^ 



hunting trick down in the river bottom, too," 
chimed in Shiner, who still had to suffer the 
taunts of everyone about how he and the 
others had been fooled on that occasion. 

'"Here they come!" cried Eddie, gleefully, 
without taking his eye from the knot hole 
through which he was watching the road 
without being seen. "Now everybody get 
ready and let 'em have it good and hard be- 

VoL. XXXIV.— 19. 



146 



sled lust in time to receive a stinging blow 
on the elbow which made him hop around for 
a moment, 

"Come on, fellows," he shouted, taking off 
his mittens, "don't sit there and make targets 
of yourselves. Bunny, you come over here 
with me and we '11 keep 'em away from the 
windows as well as we can while Joe and 
"Shorty" and the others make up a lot of 
snowballs, and then we '11 charge 'em." 

VVhen a goodly number of snowballs had 
been made and Pinkey was about ready to 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



[Die 



"■MK. BBAYLEV; SAIO PiNKEV, ■ HeBB IS TEIE 1 

order an .advance, with the intention of 
rushing into the mill and engaging the enemy 
at close quarters, he noticed the big key in the 
door and another idea at once struck him as 
being a surer way to victory and one entailing 
much less danger. 

"Here, you fellers," he shouted eagerly, 
"take these snow-balls and keep it up hot and 
heavy while I lock 'cm in," and lie rushed 
madly for the heavy door which stood par- 
tially open. 

Those in the mill heard Pinkey's remark 
and at once directed a vigorous boml»ardment 
toward him alone, endeavoring to check his 



advance. Shiner, who realized more than the 
others that to be locked up in the mill meant 
no chance of escape, save by a dangerous 
Jump from an upper window, left his place 
as soon as Pinkey started, intending if pos- 
sible to reach the door before Pinkey should. 
It was an exciting time. Bunny, Joe and 
Shorty in the road pelting those upstairs with 
snowballs, Pinkey struggling to close the 
large oak door, all the time being showered 
with projectiles by those above, who now 
turned all their attention to him, and Shiner 
racing madly down 
the stairs three steps 
at a time and through 
the mill, trying to de- 
feat Pinkey's endeav- 
or to make prisoners 
of all of them. 

Just as Pinkey 
turned the key in the 
rusty lock and the 
bolt shot into place, 
Shiner threw his 
whole weight against 
the door on the in- 
side, but he was too 
late. 

Those above looked 
on in dumb surprise. 
Their ammunition 
was exhausted now 
and it was no longer 
necessary to keep 
them from the win- 
dows. They realized, 
too, that as the sides 
of the mill were one 
glare of ice from a 
recent sleet storm, it 
would be impossible 
Lev OF vouB M:i.L.' ■■ to "shin" down the 

posts to the ground. 
Their anxious faces became the pictures 
of dismay as they realised that they 
were beaten and they saw Pinkey running 
proudly back to his sled, swinging the key 
over his head in high glee over tlie success of 
his strategy. 

"Let me out!" shrieked Shiner, beating 
against the door with his fists, "bring that 
key back here and let me out I We can't get 
out unless we have that key," and again he 
set uj) a vigorous shaking on the door. 

"That 's the reason I took it," taunted 
Pinkey. "Stay in there and snow-ball every- 
body that goes by. They can't get at you." 



.906.] 



Captain Harold Hammond 



"We 've got to get home," shouted Putty 
from the upper window. 

"So have we," answered Pinkey, preparing 
to resume his seat on the sled. 

"You started home long before we did," 
chimed in Bunny, eager to have a say in the 
matter. "Why did n't you go?" 

"Aw, come on now, let us out! We won't 
snowball you any more," promised Putty. 

"Good reason why," answered Joe. "It 
is n't very snowy up there, is it?" 

"Come on fellers," said Pinkey with a sat- 
isfied air, taking the reins from Harriet. 
"We 've got to be going; it 's getting darker 
every minute." 

"Just you wait till I catch you out!" 
shouted Eddie, as the party drove ofl, "and 
you '11 pay for this." 

"All right," shouted Pinkey, without turn- 
ing his head, " I '11 wait. / 'm out now, 
but it will be some time before anybody 

"Hook on behind and we 'II give you a 
ride!" shouted Bunny, but they were too far 
away now for their remarks to be heard. 

"You won't keep them there all night will 
you, Pinkey?" inquired Harriet when they 
had left the mill far behind. "They 'U be 
terribly cold pretty soon and nobody will 
know where they are." 

"No, I '11 send the key back by somebody 
and they can let 'em out. But I '11 give 'em 
a good scare and teach 'em a lesson first." 

Pinkey knew that they would soon meet 
some farmer and then he would give him the 
key and ask him to liberate the prisoners. 

Not until they had reached the edge of 
town, however, did they meet anyone at all 
and then in the growing darkness Pinkey 
recognized Shiner's father driving slowly 
homeward in a large bob-sled. 

Pinkey did not wish to appear in the role 
of an informer, yet he realized that this 
might be his only chance to liberate his 
enemies, so he stopped and got off his sled. 



147 



"Mr. Brayley," he said, when the farmer 
had noticed him and stopped his team. 
"Here 's the key to your mill. There are 
some boys in there who want to get out." 

"Humph! What?" exclaimed Mr. Brayley, 
excitedly, unable to understand Pinkey's mean- 
ing. " Boys in niy mill ? Have you been 
in my mill? Why, I '11 tan every last one of 
you. What 've you l>een doing in my mill?" 

"H'f have n't been in your mill," replied 
Pinkey. "You '11 find all that have been 
there are in there yet." 

Mr. Brayley was too excited to inquire 
further into the matter and reached for the 
key with one hand while he started up his 
horses with the other. As he drove off, Pin- 
key could hear him saying to himself in a tone 
that boded ill for somebody : 

"Boys in my mill! I '11 teach 'em. Why, 
the idea! Boys in my mill! ! " 

Mr, Brayley lost no time in reaching the 
mill and unlocking the door. There he found 
si.x of the most penitent and thoroughly 
frightened boys it would have been possible to 
find. Only by making all kinds of threats 
had Shiner been able to prevent his com- 
panions from breaking off one of the wooden 
shutters that barred the windows, in order to 
make their escape. He knew that his father 
would miss the key when he got home and th^t 
Jie would come to the mill at once, so he did 
not wish that his anger should be increased 
by finding anything broken. He saw trouble 
enough ahead as it was. 

And he was right. Mr. Brayley dispensed 
justice a-s he saw it from his point of view and 
spared no one, though it seemed to Shiner that 
he got more than his share, considering that 
he did not originate the idea. 

Pinkey and his friends reached Enterprise 
without further interruption but it was not 
until darkness had long settled upon the town 
that the other little band crossed the railroad 
tracks on foot and dispersed, dejected over 
the sad failure of their afternoon's adventure. 



d by Google 



Why? 



By John Kendrick Bangs 



A PiSTOLET 's a little pistol ; 

An armlet is a little arm ; 
A fortlet is a little fortress 

To keep the people safe from harm. 

A rivulet 's a little river ; 

A rillet is a little rill ; 
If there were such a word as pillet 

'T would doubtless mean a little pill. 

But here comes in a vexing problem 

And gives our English tongue a rub- 
Why are not triplets little journeys, 
A doublet just a little dub? 

If there were such a word as soblets 
'T would mean of course just little sobs ; 



Which, being so, will some one tell me 
Why are not goblets little gobs? 

Why are not little walls called wallets, 
And bullets little pigmy bulls ? 

And why are pullets little chickens 
Instead of tiny little pulls? 

These are the points I find vexatious 
In this old tongue our fathers vaunt. 

I 've bothered so I 'm getting gauntlet- 
That is to say, a little gaunt. 

To older heads It may be easy, 
But as for me it makes me ill, 

At least until I get a skillet— 
If skillet means a little skill. 



\Y 



Smai.i. Boy.— ■■Want yoL 



iclcd uff, liidy ? Me an' me btuddet '11 do il for 



;e6ogle 



A Cousin-Hunt 

By E. Vinton Blake 

With Illuttrationi by J. A. Cahill 



A BAREFOOTED boy ran down the farm-slope, 
calling vociferously to Colonel Brent, riding 
by with his New York friend behind his 
gray pacer. The colonel pulled up. 

"Hallo, Jimmy, — what do you want?" 

"Want to sa; good-by, colonel, — we 're 
going!" 

"You are n't now? Really ! sold the farm, 
have you?" 

"No, but it 's advertised, and father 's got 
an opening, , an' we 're goin' tomorrow! 
Everything 's packed an' sent." 

"And you 're glad?" 

" Yes, sir. — all of us ! Farm 's too dead ; 
we want to get where we can see folks! 
1 'm goin' to eani money, an' rise in the 
world !" 

"After you get your learning," laughed 
the colonel. "Well, my opinion is, you 'II 
be sick enough of the crowded city before the 
summer 's out. I Ml run in coming back, — 
got to catch the train now." 

He drove rapidly on. 

" Those folks don't know how well off 
they are," he remarked to his New York 
friend. "They hanker for what they have n't 
got. They 're going to the city to leave all 
that," — he waved his whip back at the 
rambling brown farm-house nestled in the 
trees that crowned the knoll. "There 's 
thirty acres and they raise fruit and vege- 
tables, and sell 'em right in town. They 're 
smart, — maybe they '11 do well, — but / think 
they miss it !" 

"It 's hard to tell," thoughtfully said the 
New York man. "Now / hanker for what 
I have n't got, I 've been in the drive all 
my life and I 'm tired of it, I can tell you. 
I 'd like some sort of a home-place, where 
1 could go every year for peace and rest." 

"You might change with these folks here," 
laughed the colonel, "then you 'd both be 
suited. Seriously, though, — why could n't 
you buy it? I should see more of you, and 
we 'd go shooting together in the fall. Come 
on!" 

The city man sat silent some minutes, then 
he turned to his companion, laughing. 



"I was thinking of that Christmas at 
Asher Damon's," he remarked The colonel 
ha-ha-ed aloud. He knew tne whole story 
of his friend's curious adventure of two years 
before. 

"The cheek of you!" he exclaimed. 
"Country air certainly inspired that prank. 
But what has this farm to do with that?" 

"Nothing, — it only put me in mind of a 
resolution I made at Asher Damon,'s to look 
up those unknown cousins of mine in Hart- 
ford. I 'm a lonely sort of man," he hesi- 
tated, not being given to confidences. "I 
shall never be nearer to them than now. — 
When does the Hartford train leave?" 

"Why— that 's the other way," said the 
colonel, puzzled. "Then you won't go to 
New York after all?" 

"No." 

The colonel looked at his watch. "Great 
Scott, we 've just five minutes to make it! 
It comes before the New York train." He 
slapped the reins on the gray pacer's back, 
and next minute they were flying. 

"Good horse!" .said the city man, holding 
his hat. 

"Yes," said the colonel. "But — well, your 
changes of mind are lightning changes! 
Wish you 'd give me some warning of your 
next one, so that I can keep up with you !" 

"Here 't is," answered the city man, "if 
I want that farm, I '11 telephone, and you 
can buy it for me. Thank goodness we 're 
in time — good-by!" 

He seized his bag and ran as his friend 
called, "Sav, — you 're not in earnest?" and 
the train came thundering in. The next min- 
ute the colonel, rather dazed, sat alone in the 
buggy, and the train slid smoothly away, 
down the long perspective of rails. 

"Well, of all the sudden men!" he re- 
marked to the gray pacer, "I think John 
James Alston lakes the cake." And he 
slowly turned his horse toward home, 

John James Alston, in the train, arranged 
his ideas. " Let 's see— he 's a Harbush ; 
don't know his iirst name. Second cousin on 
mother's side. Wish I could get *C^M?\oIp 



150 A Cousin-Hunt ^''"^■ 

them without being known myself, but it 's seventies, disapproving of the shabby tene- 
not likely. They 're city people, and won't ment section, and feeling as if Fate had balked 
take in a stranger as the Damons did." He him. 

smiled. At this moment some object shot down 

It was about ten o'clock when John James from an open upper window nearly above 

Alston walked into a Hartford drug store him; there was a splashing crash on the 

and consulted a directory. This informed sidewalk at his feet. Lo! the fragments of 

a saucer, and a pool 
of milk. John James 
made an involuntary 
halt. Alas and alas 
for his immaculate 
gray coal I Also came 
a voice from on 
high: 

" There now.Merry 
Harhush, see what 
your old cat 's done! 
Oh, goodness!" 

The .last ejacula- 
tion sounded in 
plainer, yet subdued 
accents. as the speaker 
put out her head, 
and took in the 
whole situation. John 
James glanced at the 
number : it was 89. 

Directly came feet 
running down-stairs, 
and a young girl 
with a pleasant face 
and trim figure hur- 
ried out uptm the 
walk. 

"Oh. I do beg your 
pardon 1" she began, 
and her speech was 
gentle and refined. " I 
"am so very sorry 1 
My brother was feed- 
ing his cat on the 
window-sili, and — 
won't you please 
come up-stairs, and 
let mother see if she 
"'I no HKii voLH P.iHDoN.' SHE Btu.vs." cau't cleaH that off 

your coat?" 
him that a certain Andrew Harliush lived at "Cerlainly," said John James, with in- 

number 41 Oiive street. ternnl exultation that took no thought of 

At the Olive street house John James his coat. "But don't take too much trouble, 
learned that the elusive Harbushes had moved, — it was an accident." 

a month before, to si\ty-something-or-other He noticed that the bare stairway was very 

Levine street. And on Levine street, no Har- clean. Things in the family living-rootn were 
bush had ever been heard of, through the worn and faded, but well kept. Several 
whole range' of si.vties ! cheap reproductions of famous pictures decor- 

He loitered along the sidewalk past the ated the walls; the big mahogany table. 



1906.1 



E. Vinton Blake 



evidently an heirloom, held books and papers. 
All seemed neat and tidy, notably the pale 
woman who moved forward from the kitchen 
doorway to greet them with an anxious face. 

"This is the gen- 
tleman, mother," said 
the girl. 

"My name is 
James," said the in- 
truder, taking off his 
hat. 

"I 'm Mrs. Har- 
bush," she answered, 
"and I hope the milk 
lias n't spoiled your 

"I think not," he 
replied, looking down. 

"If you could let 
me take it," she hesi- 
tated, "and slip on 
my husband's best 
loat, — he 's about 
your size, I think, — 
1 could clean this so 
much better." 

This was as good 
as a play to John 
James, who retired 

to the bedroom, com- "Merr 

ing out in borrowed 

attire to sit with the family, while Mrs. Har- 
hush attacked the stains. 

Then he critically observed the frightened 
l>oy, who sat defiantly hugging an old,, long- 
haired cat with a white frilled black head in 
the sofa-comer, and repulsed all his friendly 
advances. Howe\'er, the boy's manner changed 
at his sister's quick reproof ; evidently he 
clung to her with passionate affection. 

"Judy said maybe father 'd take her away 
after this, — she 's always getting into 
scrapes," he vouchsafed at last, his voice 
breaking distressfully. "She was given to 
me, and she 's all I 've got; and I 'm like — 
Ihis'" He flung out one hand bitterly at 
his crutch, and his lame leg which had an 
iron frame on it. John James watched him 
with serious compassion. 

"Merry is fond of pets," softly said the 
i;irl, Judith; "and there 's no place for them 
here, — everything 's so crowded. Sometimes 
the cat troubles the neighbors. Father has 
l)cen so vexed:" 

And John James with genuine sympathy, 
paid, "It 's too badl" 

The clock struck twelve. Judith hastily 



151 

passed to the kitchen, whence came the rattle 
of dishes and odor of food. John James looked 
oddly satisfied as he glanced at his coat, which 
quarreled violently with the rest of his suit. 



■ IS Fond of Pets,' a.wd Judith." 

Presently masculine voices and footsteps 
in the kitchen announced newcomers. John 
James was dreadfully curious, but talked on 
with the hoy, who, flushed and eager now, 
confided to the kindly gentleman the sad fate 
of his many pets. Only Vixen remained to 
him, and now, — his face changed as his 
father stood in the doorway. 

John James Alston, rising, looked critically 
at his new-found cousin. Andrew Harbush 
was tall, thin, gray of hair and mustache, 
with a gentle discouragement of speech and 
manner that hinted at misfortune or hard 
times. 

"I am sorry your clothing has suffered, 
Mr. James," he began, "and I think we shall 
have to do away with our mischievous cat,"— 
Merry gave a short, sharp cry, and crowded 
the cat hurriedly into the sofa-corner for pro- 
tection ; and John James earnestly interceded, 
representing Coats as of infinitely small con- 
sequence compared with Cats! 

But Andrew Harbush's expression did not 
reassure his anxious boy. 

Then the New York man said he ,^as a 
stranger, and begged the favor, pC-^JS'QQIc 



152 A Cousin-Hunt '°«- 

and a couple of nights' lodging. "My home in sight. If he could only make matters fit 

is in a New York hotel," he added, "and in, all would yet be well. 

sometimes I am very tired of it." "Would n't you like to go to a place where 

When John James unbent, he was irresist- you could have cats, puppies, hens, ducks, 
ibie. I think, too, since the Christmas episode and wide green fields to roam about in?" 
of two years back, something warmer, more asked John James smiling at Merry. 
genial and human 
had got into his man- 
ner. Perhaps lie had , 
drawn nearer his fel- 
low men, 

Mr. Harbush and 
his wife glanced at 
each other at this un- 
usual request, and 
John James, pene- 
trating thei 
distrust, laid 
dollar bill in Andrew 
Harbush's hand. 

"This for guaran- 
tee of my good 
faith," lie said pleas- 
antly. 

"But this is too 
much, sir," remon- 
strated his host. 

"Well, at the end 
of my stay, if there 's 
any change you can 
hand it to me," said 
John James. "I want 
to taste, real home 
cooking once more." 
"Ohdear,— andl've 
only a parsnip stew 
and hasty pudding 
for dinner !" cried 
Mrs. Harbusli in rea! 
dismay. 

"I shall enjoy it," 
remarked John James 
with a bow: "my 
grandmother used to 
make them." 

.At table in the 
kitchen, he was intro- 
duced to the fiCteen- 
vear-old son Robert, 

a thin, pale lad, with an exjiression of chronic "Would n't 1 like to go — to heaven!" 

discontent. answered the boy sharply; and there were 

"We 're crowded here," said Mr. Har- tears in his eyes, 
bush as they sat down, "our rooms arc very "We 're not really tut out for city folks." 

small, and I 'm afraid you '11 be sorry said Andrew Harbush, "I was born in Lang- 
you stayed." dale, Vermont. Theolderchildrencanbarelyre- 

Things were "coming" to John James, member the country. We lived, too, in a l>etter 
The problem was here, and the solution was house, but we 've had sickness and hard luck." 



■■John Jamks Uknt Home to His Kisskolk L.\st Christmas." (See page 155.) 



E. Vtaton Blake 



15a 



"Would n't you get back if you could? 
Do you know anything of farming?" asked 
John James. 

"Oh yes, — I used to be ^ood at it. Some- 
times I think I 'U make a break for the 
country. This crowded place is not for 
children." And the father cast a thoughtful 
eye on his son Robert. 

"The countiy 's a blessed relief after New 
York," said John James. "Do you know 
anybody down there?" 

"No," slowly said Andrew Harbush. "A 
distant cou!iin of mother's is possibly some- 
where there. His name is Alston. But i 
never knew him." 

John James scrutinized Robert attentively. 
The discontented lad might prove an impor- 
tant factor in the problem he was trying to 
solve. He was pretty sure his cousin would 
welcome the idea of country living on 
Robert's account. The plan began to develop 
in his mind. 

That afternoon Colonel Brent at the tele- 
phone heard a still small voice from Hart- 
ford. It said : 

"Buy that farm for me!" 

"That you, Alston? You 're in earnest?" 

"Sure. Pay what 's right. Any assets 
with the place?" 

"Stock, do you mean? Yes, one cow, two 
pigs and some hens. But they 're extra." 

"Buy 'em. Also a good farm horse. Get 
plenty of feed, and oh, yes — have the house 
made ready for people to live in it." 

"You don't mean furnished?" 

"No, but curtain it, and carpet the front 
room. Oh — and get a good puppy — any 
breed." 

"Great Scott I" mused Colonel Brent, 
hanging up the receiver, "he *11 have a 
menagerie on his hands." 

And he went out to see the ag^it. 

That evening after supper, as they all sat 
round the front room lamp, Robert grew un- 
easy. John James understood that sundry 
whistles and cat -calls from without were 
meant for this young gentleman, and there- 
fore directed to him much of his conversation. 

It appeared that Robert was employed in 
the bundle department of a dry-goods store, 
and disliked his job. 

"I 'd rather it was a grocery," said Rob. 
"The work 's harder, but I should get about 
and see more. I do up bundles all day till 
I 'm almost crazy." 

"You 'd like more out-of-doors — and out- 
door life, perhaps?" suggested John James. 

Vol, XXXIV.— 20. 



"Yes, I would — indeed I would!" said 
Robert with emphasis. 

" You see," remarked the guest to Andrew 
Harbush, "all things work toward the 'break' 
you spoke of. The children will be your 
best helpers; cats, dogs and flowers are all 
thrown in," — he smiled at Merry and Judith, 
then broke off. Robert had risen in response 
to an insistent whistle from without, and the 
faces of the father and mother at that 
moment showed where one of their worries 
lay. "I '11 be back in a few minutes," said 
Robert to liis mother, and avoided her eyes. 

John James understood, and made a bold 
stroke. 

"If you 're not particularly engaged," he 
said to Rob, " I wish you would stay. I 
have a proposal to make that you '11 like to 
hear." His own perfect courtesy compelled 
that of the lad, who hesitated, flattered and 
curious. "Oh,— all right," he said at last, 
and uttered a brief refusal from the window. 
As he shut it, there came up laughter and rude 
references to "mother's apron string." Rob- 
ert sat down, flushed and uncomfortable, and 
there was a pause. 

"I also came from Langdale, Vermont," 
observed John James to Andrew Harbush. 
He stopped; the other looked an inquiry. 

"James— James. Let me see. In what 
part — " 

" My family moved away when I was very 
young,— and that is not my whole name," 
added the New York man smiling. "I am 
John James Alston, and my mother, Marian 
Harbush, was second cousin to you. Shake 
hands again. Cousin Andrew 1" 

He tossed his card on the table, and An- 
drew Harbush rising up, shook his hand 
across it, a smile of welcome struggling 
through the utter astonishment on his face. 

"Well, well, well I This beats the story 
books!" he said after a minute. "And how 
in the world did you find me?" ■ 

"Directory — people at the other house — 
and the cat!" humorously said John James. 
Merry gave a shout. 

"The cat! There, you see, father, she 's 
some good! Are you my cousin? Your 
name 's Alston? What shall / call you?" 
eagerly to John James. 

"I shall be glad if you '11 all call me just 
Cousin John," answered the gentleman. 
"And now this brings me right to the cause 
of my coming to see you." 

He told the story of his Christmas visit 
to Asher Damon, and they listen«l. with , 

i.,.i -. i./Cooglc 



154 

laughter and sympathetic interest. "I think 
since then I have wanted my own people," 
concluded John James simply. "I too should 
like truly to 'come home for Christmas' to 
my kinsfolk. And now that I iiave come to 
know you, I want to make a proposal. It 's 
a very odd and sudden one, no doubt ; but 
you can take time to think it over. I came 
here to-day from Shadwell, forty miles away, 
where I visited an old friend. I have there 
a farm of thirty acres, at present unoccupied." 

What Colonel Brent had told him, he now 
told his cousins, describing the farm as he 
saw it. He offered it to them for a year, 
rent free, while they "made a beginning"; 
and thereafter at a merely nominal rent, 
promising to come and spend Christmas, and 
board with them in summer. As he finished, 
the boy Merry, who, fascinated, had drawn 
nearer, clutched him by the shoulder and 
whispered brokenly, "Cousin John, I shall 
pray for it. — I shall pray hard, every time 
I wake up to-night." 

The light of eager desire lit Judith's eyes, 
and Robert, with a face stirred to interest, 
sat silent, thinking. 

After the first astonishment, they asked 
questions. As Andrew said, a whole family 
could n't decide to pull up stakes and move 
in a minute; but at John James' proposal to 
take them to see for themselves, they buzzed 
like a hive of bees with excited expectation. 
Pleasure- starved for years, now opened be- 
fore them a jaunt of forty miles to Shadwell, 
in the blooming weather of early June ! 

They went on Saturday morning: John 
James, Colonel Brent and the telephone ar- 
ranging matters. That none of the family 
should be left behind, Judith carried the cat 
in a basket. 

Robert, unknowing, stood where two roads 
meet ; one led through the byways of a great 
city to th^ shadows of wrongdoing and un- 
happiness ; the other through clear country 
sunlight to healthy labor and true manhood. 
But he only realized that he was pulled both 
ways by half -understood desires; that he 
liked his cousin John, felt great interest in 
the unknown farm and looked forward 
eagerly to the outing. 

Tliat trip was like a letting out of prison 
for them all. Oh. the green fields — the clear 
brown streams— the cowslips in the meadows! 
Mrs. Harbush in her worn black dress sat, 
happily silent, by her husband; Judith and 
Merry held each other's hands ; Robert's 
face was aglow with eagerness and expectancy. 



A Cousin-Hunt 



[Dm., 



Colonel Brent met them at the station with 
his buggy and the carryall, and they rode 
away, — as it seemfd, through sweet airs cf 
Paradise, over green hill and vales, toward 
the home of their desire. 

The farmhouse was only partially dis- 
mantled ; — the colonel had met John James' 
instructions half-way. The windows were 
all curtained ; pale yellow roses trailed lightly 
all over the parlor carpet. There was a 



-^. 



■'}vi 



good range, a table and chairs in the kitchen 
(where a kindly caretaker waited to get them 
a good dinner), a couple of beds in the gar- 
ret; and the bare rooms shone with cleanli- 
ness and sunlight. 

But the out-of-doors, — the beautiful, far- 
reaching out-of-doors ! How the hearts of 
these people, cramped, like their bodies, be- 
tween dull walls of brick and mortar, ex- 
panded, exulting, in this fresh green freedom. 

There was an old-fashioned garden. 
Judith cried, "Oh, the flowers!" and went to 
her knees trying to embrace the sweet pinks, 
the Canterbury bells, crimson phlox and 
white day-lilies. Tears actually dropped on 
the nodding blossoms as she kissed them with 
an aching delight at her heart. The child's 
inborn love of beauty had been unsatisfied 
all her life. Watching her, tears also stood 
in her mother's eyes. 

The cow, the horse, pigs, hens and chicks, 
and — climax of all — the fat spaniel pup, — 



E. Vinton Blake 



155 



never were commonplace farm animals so 
much admired ! 

Merry sat down, hugged the dog, and de- 
sired no more on earth. The others walked 
on through raspberry and blackberry rows to 
the strawberry acre, slowly reddening with 
the ripening fruit, Robert's face was full of 
strong interest, — he was evidently thinking 
hard. After dinner he and the colonel 
strayed away toward the woodland and dis- 
appeared. When they came back the boy's 
cheeks were flushed and his eyes eager. 

"Father," he said, "colonel says there 's 
good shooting here in the fall, — and — he 's 
got a gun 1 can take,— and there 's a big 
creek, father, that bounds one corner of our 
woods," — Merry punched Judy at the posses- 
sive pronoun,— "and he. says there 's trout 
in it!" 

A smile broke through the seriousness of 
Andrew Harbush's face. 

"There 's also lots of work, son, all over 
this farm," he said soberly, waving his hand 
abroad. "If we come here, we shall tumble 
neck and crop into the hardest kind of a 
hustle,— with all this fruit coming on, ready 
for picking. And you never did a stroke of 
farm-work in your life." 

"It 's out-doors instead of in," said Rob 
after a pause, "I must work anyway, — and 1 
like it better here. Colonel says his boy 
works too." 

"Sure he does," assented the colonel. 
"Work 's good for boys: and we '11 give you 
a new complexion in a fortnight, or I 'm 
mistaken. I guess you '11 cast in your lot 
with us, neighbor, after all 's said." 

Indoors, Judith and her mother wandered 
again through the pleasant old rooms. 
"They could n't have left this carpet," 
mused Mrs. Harbush in the parlor. "It 's 
perfectly new. I suspect—" 

"It 's sure to be Cousin John," said Judith. 
"We never had a brand-new carpet before, 
that I remember. Is n't this lovely ! Mother, 



we shall come, sha'n't we? Oh mother, it 's 
just like heaven here I" 

Mrs. Harbush put her arm about her 
daughter, and they stood silently looking 
from the window, A golden oriole swung 
suddenly from the jasmine trellis, trilling to 
his mate. Judith's face was illumined. 

"See!" she said softly. "He 's a living 
flame I Alt these things are separate pieces of 
a great — big — beautiful — Joy ! I can't tell you, 
mother, how I felt when I saw those flowers !" 

They found a box of bedclothes under the 
eaves, — very singular ! — and they "camped 
down" that night in the old house, all save 
Rob and John James, who went home with 
the colonel. Father and mother talked softly 
nearly all night, doubly anxious, for the 
children's sake, to do what was wisest and 
best. And for the children's sake, they chose 
the life nearest to God and Nature. 

Back to the city on Monday morning went 
only Andrew Harbush and his wife ; the 
children, in charge of the friendly caretaker, 
remaining for their first taste of country life. 
And John James employed himself in getting 
a very lively hustle on some men who were 
putting up a windmill and a water-tank: a 
little convenience that had hitherto escaped him, 

John James' cousin-hunt ended— to the 
vast satisfaction of the colonel and himself, 
—on the day of the family's final establish- 
ment at the farm. The colonel anticipated 
"great fun" in playing guardian angel to 
these helpless city folk, just returned to their 
original heritage, the soil ; and he was aston- 
ished to find how much Andrew Harbush 
really knew about farming. Also, that with 
Merry's pups and coon-cats, Judy's fancy 
chicks and flowers, Robert's live-stock and 
cranberry bog, the young people contributed 
not a little toward making the whole venture 
a success. 

And one thing is certain, — John James 
Alston went home to his kinfolk last 
Christmas, — and maybe he did n't enjoy it I 



dbyGoot^Ic 





The Rubber Doll. This night is very long 
and weary, 

Excuse me if I stretch and yawn,— 
The Rag Doll. I must confess i 'm tired 

And it is still some hours till dawn. 
The Bisque Doll. I 'm rather glad of rest 
' quiet, 

The i)ighCs are better than the days. 
The Paper Doll. Yes, for the nursery 's in 
a riot. 
And Polly tears me when she plays. 
The Rubber Doll. Don't say a word 
agamst our Polly, 
I won't allow it ! Do you hear ? 
The Paper Doll. I did n't ! i 'm her fa- 
vorite dolly. 
The Rag Doll. (To herself.) She called me 

that! How very queer! 

The Bisque Doll, What utter nonsense you 

are talking. 

Of course dear Polly loves me best, 

She takes mewhen she goes out walking, — 

The China Doll. Oh, that's because you 're 

finely dressed. 
The Rubber Doll. Yes, wait till you 're a 

little older,— 
The Paper Doll. Till Polly gets you 
torn and soiled ! 



Carolyn Wells 



The Rubber Doll. (Sighing.) That child ! 
The Bisque Doll. I think some one should 

scold her, 
There 's danger of her being spoiled. 
The Rubber Doll. She does n't mean to 

be so careless. 
The Rag Doll. I don't mind how she 

batters tne. 
The Bisque Doll. I should say not! Your 

head is hairless. 
And you 're as ragged as can De. 
The Wax Doll. My hand is smashed! 
The China Doll. My foot is broken ! 
The Worsted Doll. I have n't seen my 

cap for days! 
The Paper Doll. Perhaps a word in kind- 
ness spoken 
Would make our Polly mend her ways. 
The Rubber Doll. Or mend her rfc//r. 
The Paper Doll. (Laughing.) That wouid 

be better. 
The Wax Doll. I 'd like my arm put in a 

sling. 
The Rubber Doll. Let 's send her a Round 

Robin letter. 
The Bisque Doll. A good idea! 
The Rag Doll. The very thingi 
The Wax Doll. But who will write it ? 
The Rag Doll. I 'm not able. 
The Brownie Doll. I think I am. I 'm 

pretty smart. 
The Rubber Doll. Well, sit right down at 

this small table, 
Here is a pencil. Now let 's start. 
The Wax Doll. What shall we say ? 
The Bisque Doll. Don't write too grtUBy, 

I 've no wish to offend the child. 
The Rubber Doll. Oh, no, we must n't 

wqrd it roughly. 
The Brownie Doll, All right, I '11 make it 

kind and mild. 
The Bisque Doll. Tell her we love her 

very dearly, 
And we regret to make a fuss— 
The Wax Doll. But we 'd be grateful,— state 
this ■ ■ 

Ifshe'dtal 



157 

The Brownie Doll. (Writing.) " Oh Polly 
dear, we love you madly, 
But you are naughty, without doubt,—" 
The Bisque Doll. No, that won't do,— it 

sounds so badly. 
The Rubber Doll, Here, take my head and 

rub it out. 
The Brownie Doll. Thank you. 
The Bisque Doll. Now try a new beginning. 
The Brownie Doll, (Writing again.} "Our 
Polly dear, we love you much, 
Yoiu'smileis sweet, your ways are winning, 
But, oh, destruction is your touch! " 
The Rag Doll." Tell her we love to have 
her pet us, 
We don't mind thumps and bumps and 
cracks. 
The Wax Doll. Speak for yourself! She 
should not set us 
Too near the fire if we 're of wax. 
The Worsted Doll, She must n't give us 

to the kitten. 
The China Doll. Nor step on us. 
The Paper Doll. Nor get us wet. 
The Brownie Doll. Everything that you 've 
said, I 've written, 
And there 's room on the paper yet. 
The Bisque Doll. Well, fill it up with greet- 
ings tender, 
Tell her our love is strong and true. 
The Worsted Doll. And any loving mes- 
sage send her 
That as you write, occm^ to you. 
The Rag Doll. Tell her we 're glad that 

we 're her dollies. — 
The Rubber Doll. Of all small girlies 

she 's our choice. — 
The Bisque Doll. No smile is half so 

sweet as Polly's, — 
The Paper Doll. No voice so merry as 

her voice. 
The Brownie Doll. There, now it 's done ! 
The Bisque Doll. We '11 light this taper, 

And sign and seal it. 
The Rag Doll, Come, be brisk! 

" ■ " " 'lext! 

ber." 






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The Every-day Franklin 

By Rebecca Harding Davis 



All kinds of pJeans have been sung in Frank- 
lin's honor during the last few months. 
Authors, scientific and newspaper men have 
grown hoarse in telling us why this old-time 
statesman and thinker and editor stood fore- 
most in their ranks. But it seems to me that 
he had some human traits whose importance 
have escaped notice. Traits that make him 
very real to the Philadelphian, who, for a 
lifetime, has tramped every day the very 
pavements along which he trundled his 
wheel-barrow ; who has read his worn old 
books, has used his stoves, his lightning rods, 
his laws and his countless other devices to 
make common daily life safe, clean, high — 
more worth the living of any man. 

These little homely deeds of Franklin 
ought to be noted, because it was by virtue 
of them — not by his wise statesmanship or 
philosophy — that be took rank as one of the 
greatest of Americans. Consider for a minute. 

This young man finds himself on the streets 
of a new village, of which almost every citi- 
zen, white, Indian or negro had been born 
somewhere else. There never, perhaps, was 
a community where affairs were so "mixed" 
as was Penn's City of Brotherly Ixive. The 
English Church folk were at odds with the 
Quakers, and both secretly regarded every 
new-comer as a person to be shunned. Frank- 
lin lived in the town through its period of 
cutting loose from the govenunent which had 
ruled its citizens and their forefathers for 
centuries, and through the building up of a 
brand new government. Every citizen that 
he met out of doors had, as a rule, bis own 
quarrel with his king — with the people of the 
other colonies and with most of the pien on 
the streets. The laws of these old-time set- 
tlers, their standards of right and wrong in 
great matters and in small, varied from day 
to day. 

You often hear loud praise of Franklin's 
statecraft; how he cleared the political hori- 
zon of the new country and gave it a steady 
footing among the older nations. 

I beg yott now to look at his work for his 
own town and for his neighbors. He was not 
loud nor anarchistic as the young radical 



reformer Ls apt to be just now. He went 
about, sane, quiet, tactful, merely "setting 
things to rights"- — big things and little. If 
he thought the people of this village — the 
people of this country — the people of the 
world, to whom the gates of the continent 
were now open— were to find peace and a full 
life here, big things and little must be set to 
rights at once. l"here was a homely every- 
day quality in the man that matched every- . 
day needs. He had been, for some time, for 
example, secretly grappling with the light- 
ning. He braced himself, conquered it, 
yoked it, and then, without a word of tri- 
umph, quietly explained to his neighbors how 
to put pointed rods on their roofs to save 
their houses from burning down. That was 
all. He never asked for gratitude or ap- 
plause. One old historian tells us that 
"Benj. Franklin has put a chime of little 
bells on the walls of his house so that they 
catch the lightning and ring during a storm." 
So he had sometimes during the night from 
the heavens above him an echo of the ap- 
plause which his neighbors begrudged! 

Every day he was busy going about, putting 
germs of comfort and strength into the new 
community. One day he goes into a poor 
woman's house half of which is ice-cold be- 
cause she is able to keep up but one fire. 
He promptly invents a stove which has a 
front on two sides and shows double glowing 
faces to cold rooms above one burning 'heart — 
the familiar "Franklin Stove." It is used 
all over the continent to-day. 

Or, he strolls along Dock Street wharf one 
morning, and stumbles over a heap of filthy 
remnants of baskets in which roots had been 
brought from Amsterdam. No eye but 
Franklin's would have seen the single 
green sprout on one of the wythes. But 
he sees it, carefully cuts it away and carry- 
ing it to his neighbor, Mrs. Norris, asks 
leave to plant it in her garden, where the 
good lady herself tends and watches it. 
From that bit of live stalk have grown all 
the basket willows in this country, and an 
enormous industry. 

Another day, it is an o)d^^oc^i|^|rj[)ich 



it is an old^bnxsa^irI)icli 



™Google 



160 



shows to him a hint of life — a single green 
seed among its dusty straws. He plants the 
seed, after a year or two succeeds in 
growing a crop of com, and the old chroni- 
cler Watson boasted, even in his day, that 
"there are twelve millions of brooms now 
made in this country from that one seed!" 
— How many hundred millions in our day? 

The other apprentices and clerks who 
were this young printer's comrades were 
hungry for education, but had only two or 
three books apiece. "Let us," he proposed, 
"put them all together on the mantle shelf 
in Rob Grace's room in Pewter Platter Alley, 
and use them in common." A month or two 
later, the idea having grown in his busy 
brain, he called on thirty-eight prominent men 
of the town to subscribe forty shillings each 
for the purchase of books for this collection. 

This was the first circulating library in 
the world, and the origin of all the others. 

No need of his neighbors was too small 
to escape his keen eye and eager help. Fires 
in those days were common in the town; he 
introduced leathern buckets and it was he 
who invented the system of arranging double 
lines of men and women, — the men passing 
the full buckets and the women the empty 
ones. A simple matter I But so many sim- 
ple matters like this, — good for the salvation 
of bodies and souls, have waited as long as 
that egg did on Columbus for the breaking! 

Franklin organized bands of firemen later, 
and brought engines injo regular use. 

The great Pennsylvania hospital on Pine 
street was founded by Franklin. It was the 
first public hospital in the United States. 

But while this pioneer American gave such 
actual good to his people, the principles 
that he taught them with which to face the 
problems of life could well be revived and 
used for our betterment to-day. 

For instance — he was chosen for the office 
of Judge of the Court of Common Pleas in 
Philadelphia. The position gave him in- 
fluence and respect. The salary was a com- 



The Every-day Franklin 



fortable addition to the income of a poor 
man. He suddenly resigned the office, 
quietly stating that he "had not sufficient 
knowledge of common law to hold it." 

He was a still poorer man when he first 
began to edit a newspaper. In it he soon 
began to censure sharply several men of in- 
fluence and high position in the town. His 
friends came to urge caution on him, assur- 
ing him that "no man could succeed without 
the backing of wealthy patrons." Franklin 
listened in silence, and then, without answer- 
ing his friends asked them cordially to stay 
to supper. They accepted. When they 
went into the room they found nothing on 
the table but cold water and corn-meal por- 
ridge. The young editor made no apologies 
but served the food, and ate of it himself. 

"That is all, gentlemen," he said when he 
had finished. "I only wished to convince 
you that when a man can live, as I have 
long done, on cold water and porridge, he 
does not need any man's patronage. He can 



do withoi 



it." 



il the end of the world a 
military patriot will continue to be the idol of 
every people. Washington will remain the 
"Father of his country." But our boys and 
girls should know more of the genius and 
sanity of the quiet old ftian who sleeps in an 
obscure comer of the old churchyard in Phila- 
delphia, and of the impetus upward given to 
the new republic by his hand. At least, in 
recognition of his work, let us, when we build 
new hospitals or libraries in our towns and 
villages, sometimes give to them the name 
of the man who first made both known to 
the American people. 

And could we not, too, with force and 
truth apply to the Republic itself the motto 
written by Franklin over the door of that 
first hospital in our country? 

"Piously erected 
For the relief at tlie poor and miserable. 
May IheGod of Mercies 
Bless ihe UnderlakiDg." 




Franklin's Autogkafr. 



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By Kendrick Ferris 

lIluBtraled by Floreace E. Slorer 



It had begun way back in November— the 
Sunday after Thanksgiving when SalUe Car- 
ter came in late to church with a gray as- 
trakhan muff. The sermon was too "deep" 
for Vida, who had her hand at her face and 
was almost asleep, when a flash of gray in 
the next pew caused her to turn her head 
ever so slightly, and peep through her chubby 
fingers. There it stood on the velvet cushion 
beside Sallie, trim, warm, and lined with 
pearly gray satin, exactly like Mrs. Carter's 
own beautiful big one, but smaller by half. 
A great longing began to grow in Vida's 
heart, and she peeped again, this time at 
Sallie. Sallie's golden curls had fallen 
riotously over her shoulders, hiding much of 
her face, but Vida could see enough. And 
just then the sermon came to an end. 

But from that day on till the 17th of 
December, Vida thought of nothing but a 
gray muff — how she would look carrying it, 
how it would feel, and how every Sunday 
afternoon she would let poor Dorothy Haines 
carry it for a whole block, just as she had 
seen generous Sallie lend hers to the little 
lame girl in their Sunday School class. 

f)n the 17th of December a great snow 
fell, and all the earth was white. At night 
the stars came out and the moon was full. 
It was the first snow storm of the winter, 
and Vida, by the light of the blazing logs 
in the nursery fireplace, wrote her annual 
letter to Santa Glaus, posting it in the win- 
dowsill. In the morning, sure enough, it 
was gone, and Vida's heart was light. She 
smiled at Sallie from her pew, feeling that 
still another bond was soon to be established 
between them, and. 

Vol. XXXIV.— 21 



and praised new beauties in the gray astra- 
khan muff. And so amidst greater good fel- 
lowship and happy expectations, the anxiously- 
awaited Christmas drew on apace. 



The 25th fell on Sunday that year, and 
Saturday morning dawned bright and clear. 
The long, fat icicles, hanging above the 



the way home, found nursery window, glistened in the sunlight. I 

OglL 



162 

and the hemlock boughs swept the ground 
under their weight of snow. Vida and her 
mother were standing together at the nur- 
sery window as, with a jingle of merry bells, 
the Carters' sleigh drove bv. Vida sighed 
contentedly. 

"To-morrow," she said, "/ shall be carry- 
ing a gray astrakhan muff." 



Vida's Gray Muff 



nothing but count on it ever since Santa 
Claus had found her note. Not count on 
it! Why, Christmas would be nothing with- 
out it ! 

But her mother was right — he might for- 
get it among so many things! Why had n't 
she asked for only that one present? She 
did n't want those other things anyway. 



'■ ' Oh, Papa, Papa,' She Cried Excitedly, ' Se 

Her mother looked at her quest ioningly. 

"Santa Claus will bring it to me," Vida 
said in answer to the look. 

Her mother laughed merrily. "Why, 
Vida dear," she said. "You asked Santa 
Claus for seven other things — you said so 
only this morning. You could n't expect 
him to remember them ail, and he 's as likely 
to forget the muff as the French doll, or the 
tea set. It 's foolish to count on any one 
thing when you made so long a list. I told 
you to be moderate." And her busy mother 
hurried off in answer to a call from Aunt 
Jane. 

Not count on it ! Why, she had done 



and this was the day before Christmas — 
no word could reach Santa now. 

The day passed feverishly for Vida. Up- 
stairs and down she wandered from window 
to window, from person to person — anxious, 
unhappy, impatient. Would the long hours 
never go! 

At last twilight came, and the darkness 
fell. And in the corner of the great hall 
sofa, facing the clock on the stairs, Vida, a 
disconsolate little body, fell asleep. 

Her mother wakened her when it was time 
to hang up her stocking, and then, in spite 
of her warning, and in spite of her long 
hours of worry, hope was born again, and 



Kendrick Ferris 



163 



when Vida kissed her mother good-night, vis- 
ions of gray astrakhan muffs danced in her 
head. 

"Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas!" 

It seemed to Vida she had but closed her 
eyes, and there stood mother and Aunt Jane 
beside her bed, one with her little worsted 
shoes and the other with her red eiderdown 
wrapper to hurry her over to the nursery 
where her father stood waiting at the door. 

" Merry Cristmas ! Merry Christmas ! Oh, 
papa, I said it first!" she cried laughingly 
as her father caught her in his arms. 

But what had Santa Claus done to the 
nursery? He had decorated the four walls 
and the chandelier with greens; and in the 
corner opposite the fireplace, he had stood 
a giant Christmas tree, bedecked with glitter- 
ing knickknacks of every description. It was 
wonderful ! 

Vida drew a quiet breath, and gave a little 
happy exclamation. Then she flew straight 
to the fireplace — the muff should be there. 

Of the seven presents six were not forgot- 
ten, and there were others she had not asked 
for: a pearl-handled knife in the toe of her 
stocking (she had remembered how much she 
needed a knife only yesterday morning) ; an 
album for her postal cards — why had n't 
she thought of that? She had over a hundred 
postals that Uncle Jack had sent her— of 
course she wanted an album. A cuckoo 
clock, that even as she looked, flung open its 
little carved doors, and shot out the cuckoo. 
It was seven o'clock. Surely no little girl 
«ver had a more beautiful Christmas! 

But Vida's lips were quivering, and a great 
lump swelled in her throat. The muff — the 
beautiful gray astrakhan muff, was not there ! 
Santa Claus had forgotten it ! 

But Vida was brave. And she would not 
let those who loved her see her cry, or 
suspect her disappointment. She turned away 
from them and went over to the north win- 
dow, fighting with her tears. 

The kitchen roof stretched out under this 
window, and for days now even the print of 
a bird's claw had not broken its mantle of 
white. But now Vida looked at it in wonder- 
ment, for the beautiful crust was sadly 
broken, and a line of tracks ran from the 
edge of the roof, and back to 

"Oh, papa, papa," she cried excitedly, 
"come here, come here right away. See, 
there is something out on the roof I" 



Her father opened the window quickly, 
and climbed out. Vida's heart beat so wildly 
she could scarcely speak. Her father was 
picking up a box — it was about the size of 
Aunt Jane's cooky jar, and it was round." 

"Well," her father said, as he climbed 
back laughing into the nursery. "Here 's 
something Old St. Nick dropped, and from 
Its size I guess it 's meant for you." 

Vida's hands trembled so she could scarcely^ 
tug off the round top of the box. Just as it 
was about to yield, a sudden fear fell upon 
her heart. 

"Papa, perhaps — perhaps he did n't mean 
it for me. Perhaps he dropped it and it be- 
longs to some other little girl." 

Her father's eyes twinkled. 

"Look at the bottom of the box. Little 
One," he said. 

Vida turned the box upside down. There 
was her name — Vida Sumner I.ane, as plain 
as plain could be, and while she was staring 
at it open mouthed, out dropped — not a 
little gray astrakhan muff, but a beautiful 
soft chinchilla one and a little collar to 
match! And Sallie Carter peeped through 
her fingers that Christmas morning at the 
happiest little girl in all Christendom. 



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Mother Goose Continued 

By Anna Marion Smith 



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FOR. VERY LITTLE FOLK 



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FOR. VERY LITTLE FOLK 



What wonders he showed them, And when they had seen 
Such beautiful toys! All the wonderful things 

Such dolls for the girls, Which each winter, at Christmas, 
And such drums for the boys ! Dear Santa Claus brings, 

Such farms and such stables. He gave them, to make 

Such monkeys and bears, Their enchantment complete, 

Such dishes and tables Just all of the candy 



1 the next day? 



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What Rosemary Says 

By Emily Lennox 



I HATE those- horrid little bears — 
They do put on so many airs ! 

She has n 't kissed me once for weeks — 

She hugs him till he fairly squeaks ! 
1 am not jealous — not at all ! 
I always act like a well-bred doll ! 

But when he bites her — you will see 

She '11 be glad enough to play with me. 
vou xxxrv.— 21-23. ■«? ^^ 

UigtizcdbyGoOgk 



DihcT omsmenis. Hpecially ihe f«stonns of popcorn itring, on Ibc Chriil. 
■TpiJt in Ibe fluffy muses of snow and glistening bits of ice un ths oul- 



In December especial attention is given to 
decorations. The interior of stores and their 



home include not only the shelves and center 
tables, but extend to holly and other Christ- 
mas greens in the windows. 

So in nature this month c 
draperies and decorations 
not used since last winter. Perhaps you 
insist that nature is more beautiful in the 



; the special 



show windows are then attractively orna- 
mented and festooned. The stores in the 
Holiday season are well-known centers of in- 
terest for their attractively -displayed and 
tempting exhibits. Even the sidewalks in 
front of many of these places are fenced in 
with a green display of Christmas trees from 
Maine. The churches have elaborate deco- 
rations in the shape of arches, crosses, loops 
and wreaths of green, and in many instances 
with the addition of suspended bells and 
swinging doves. We even add strings of 
sleighbells and plumes to the horses. 

Seasonable decorations and draperies of the 



A Fringed "Table Sphead" in the Bkook. 
Snow-tovering of rock* wilb delicitie ice fonnuioMon edces. 

months of flowers and foliage. Perhaps she is. 
That is a matter of taste. Some would insist 



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Nature and Science for Young Folks I7i 

that nature in all her general aspects is more seemingly infinite in the variety of the beauti- 

beautiful in the warm than in the cold months, ful forms it presents. 

Yet there are some lovers of the winter that Christmas trees within doors are not the 

would dispute this point. But among the 

commoner things of nature, we may find 

beauties that may well be compared to 

wall and ceiling ornaments of home or 

church. 

As a shelf is often draped and the brie- 
J -brae especially arranged for the Holi- 
days, so nature has her special decorations. 
This shelf decoration was first impressed upon 



A Htct dccontion of twin and brencho at ibc vnmnce 
ID m liild. 

only trees decorated and draped for a short 
time in gHttering tinsel, graceful festoons and 
garlands in beautiful variety. In almost any 
walks in the woods in winter, one may see 
equally beautiful and transient tree decora- 



' Decoration [ 



me by studying the forms taken by the ice 
and frost on the eaves of houses and along 
the brook side. What a wonderful decorator 
is Jack Frost and how freciuently he makes 
changes! He almost never repeats. Even 
among snowflakes there are seldom, if ever, 
two alike. The slow unfolding and growth 
of summer are truly beautiful, but there is 
nothing in summer that can equal winter in 
its sudden and complete pictorial changes. 
The fascinating beauty of even one section 
of the bank of a rivulet that I frequently 



rhe snow-laden, twining stems of vines 

tain trees remind one of festoons of 

The glistening of the snowflakes on 



visit in the winter, would delight 
is like a kaleidoscope, never twii 

Notb:— The illulraliont on ihis mil 



n artist. It an early, bright morning when the "cold 
e ahke and snap" has suddenly followed foggy weather 

ihe prtceding page were drawn dir«tly from naiun or from pholoffraphst^^ 



vCooglc 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



172 

makes every tree a glittering gem. A 
similar morning following a rain, or " ice 
storm " as we sometimes call it, and what won- 
derful spheres, what fantastic forms in every 
direction in gold, silver, even in crystal 
sheaths reflecting all the colors of the rainbow ! 



PBLLBT8 OP UUD. 

Armour, South Dakota. 
BAR St. Nicholas: Will you please tell me what 
e these liule balls of mud which 1 send? They are 



[Die, 



A BLUE HERONS' NESTING PLACE. 
A PLACK of rare interest to bird-lovers in 
Michigan is a great blue herons' nesting place 
ten miles west of Battle Creek on the north 
bank of the Kalamazoo river. It is notable 
because there are now only a few nesting 
places of this handsome and majestic bird 
left in that state. It is still more notable from 



The Pellets of Mud. 

very hard and I found them in llie mud at Ihe edge of 
a small pond. I should like to know what ihey are 
made of and what makes (hem. 

Your in teres led reader, 



The pellets of mud are pellets of ■' gumbo " which 
bakes very hard, as you know, in the sun. They are 
made by (he common crayfish which lives in the muddy 
ponds and streams. As the crayfish digs down into the 
mud near (he water's e<Ige he throws back the mud in the 
shape of these little pellets. Just how he rolls them I 
do not know and have never been able to see one at work. 
I imagine of course it is done with the maiillipeds and 
the legs. The crayfish builds a wall of these around 
the hole sometimes several inches high and oftentimes 
covers the opening so as to give the place the appear- 
ance of a little mound of mud pellets. — Shirley P. Sliller, 
Zoologist, South Dakota Agricultural College. 

The habits of crayfish vary in different 
places, but many of these "chimney" or 
mound-building forms make pellets of mud. 
See article "Warrior Mound- builders," page 
651 of Nature and Science for May, 1904. 
I'ellets of mud dropped or discarded by the 
builders are often found lying around in the 
vicinity of such mounds. 



The Great Blue Herons' Nesting Place. 
(Photographed by Guy Mannering.) 

the fact that the few others are in inaccessible 
swamps, while this one is on dry ground, only 
a short distance from an interurban electric 
line, and can be reached without difRctdty by 
ornithologists— as easily by the women as by 
the men. It is visited annually by hundreds 
of bird-students from all sections of the state. 

Great blue herons are home lovers, and be- 
come so attached to the place of their birth 
that they always return to the same nesting 
place and even the same tree. They have 
been known to nest in one place for fifty 
years. This colony has nested on the Kala- 
mazoo river for twenty-two years. 

A sycamore tree is always selected as the 
first home tree, because the color of the bark 
harmonizes perfectly with the color of their 
plumage, thus affording protection for both 
birds and nests. In this gigantic sycamore 



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Nature and Science (or Young Folks 



HOW MANY LEAVES HAS SHE ? 

Here is a nature student, right from the 
woods. To the St. Nicholas boyorgirl who 



were originally thirteen nests. The tree is 
thirteen feet in circumference and 100 feet 
high up to the first branches. From this tree 
the colony has spread out to several ehn trees. 
The nests are a most interesting sight and are 
so large that they can be seen from a distance 
of one mile. They are huge, rude structures, 
built of good-sized twigs and sticks, loosely 
placed together, forming a sort of lattice work, 
upon which the eggs are laid. The birds use 
the same nest every season, adding more sticks 
to shape it up when they retiuTi the following 
season. The eggs number from three to four, 
of a bluish green color, and are a little larger 
than hens' eggs. 

The herons during the nesting season are of 
great benefit to the farmers, as they destroy all 
the snakes and field mice for miles around. 

When feeding the young, the noise and 
comrootion made by the fledgelings can be 
heard at a great distance. The blue heron is a 
majestic appearing and most beautiful bird. 
It is frequently erroneously called the sand hill 
crane. It is a solitary bird except when nest- 
ing, and is wild and shy. 

Charles Emmett Barnes. 

photoaraphino spitz puppies. 

The little fellows were very restless, and 
numberless snap-shots were tried, all with the 
invariable result— one or more of the puppies 
would always be blurred. Especial trouble 
was caused by their tails, which seemed in 
perpetual motion . 

Finally, a large piece of black cloth was se- 
cured, aodstretchedlikeascreen. Six holes were 
then cut in the cloth, and the head of a puppy 
inserted in each, the photographer meantime 
having his instrument focussed, and in readi- writes the best letter {received by me before 
ness. At this juncture, a large and steam- January 1st) regarding the leaves she has, and 
ing dish of food was placed on the ground interesting particulars regarding them, I will 
in front of the screen. Behold ! the result ! send a book on nature study. Direct reply to 
Andrew P. Hill. Edward F. Bigelow, Stamford, Conn. 



How Many Leaves Has She? 



The Result of the Photogsapbbk's Trick. 

Coprright, Andnw P. Hill, Su Joh, Cdifoniia. 



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Nature and Science for Young Folks 



'^''BECAUSE WE 
[WANT TD KNOW 




a larqb holixiw pebble. 

Eaci.e Pass, Texas. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I found this queer rock undci 
1 plum-bush. 1 have been wondering how it goi 
there, because there is ni 
water around i 



I'le 



iiany 



3ther 
e (ell n 









Thk Hoi 



From your loving 

Trov B. Anderson. 

Your specimen 

would be described 
by most young folks, 
I think, as a bubble- 
n^g like pebble. The 
scientist would use 
longer words but mean much the same thing. 
He would say that it is composed of chalced- 
ony (a variety of quartz) — a concretion of the 
material that was probably never filled, 

a lunar rainbow. 

Spring Brook, Williams Countv, N. D. 
Dear St. Nicholas: — Several nighis ago I saw 
a funny eload. It was of all colors like a rainbow. 
It was right beneath the moon. Can you tell me llie rea- 
son of the colored cloud? One of my little sisters said 
that on Saturday, December glh, she saw the moon go 
under a colored cloud. 



This is the Morchella 
escuknla or " honeycomb 
morel," one of the most 
highly- esteemed edible 
mushrooms. The head 
has been called " a weather- 
beaten honey-comb " in 
appearance. It is found 
in wet weather in the early 
part of the year. It is of 
interesting appearance, but 

pie not to attempt to eat it. 
Leave that to the special- 
ists who will make no mis- 
take as to the particular 
species that is good to eat. 
In this country it is " quite 



Eva: 



Vol 



rely, 



1 We: 



irgini 



Pennsylvania and New Jersey, in orchards on 

ashes and cinders, under walnut, pine and oak 
trees." (McIlvaine.) 

HBRUAIDS AND UBRUEN. 







Halifax, N 


S., 


Canada. 




1-. NlCHC 


las; a friend oI 




e said that 


her father. 


who was 








a rock in the Mediterranean 


Sefi 


Are there 


really such 


things? 
You 












Hele 


N L 


Stairs. 



Mermaids— and less frequently mentioned 
mermen— are mythical or fanciful beings that 



s (age 1 1 years). 



You saw a lunar rainbow, and a beautiful 
thing it always is, too. The clouds high up in 
the air acted on the moonbeams, as the rain- 
drops act on the sunbeams to make a solar or 
sun rainbow. A lunar rainbow is so interesting, 
that the Government Weather Observer always 
records its occurrence in his monthly reports. 



Deab 



FUNGUS. 

The Red Hocse, Stocksfield-o 
■. NIC 



-Tyn: 



the 



ask Ihe name of another fungus which 
found in a field. It has a buff cnlorei 
combed all over and meeting the stalk at 
honey-comb becoming smaller at the (op of the cap. 
lis stalk is biscuit -coloured white, widening at l' 
bottom, with deep creases and recesses in it. T 
lungus is hollow throughout. 

Your interested reader, 

Ruth Adams. 



are supposed to live within and under the sea. 
They are usually pictured with the form of a 
human being above the waist and that of a 
fish below. The typical mermaid is supposed 
to be of exceeding loveliness. Her hair is long 
and beautiful and she is often represented as 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



combing it with one hand, while in the other 
she holds a looking glass. 

Who would be 
A mermaid rair. 
Singing alone, 
Combing her hair 
Under Ihe sea? 

Tennvson— "The Mermaid." 



however interesting they may be, but to ex- 
plain their natural history origin and basis. 

Sir James Emerson Tennent, writing of the 
dugong, says: 

" hs head has a rude approach 10 ihe human outline, 
and the motlier hoMs her infant in one flipper, arm-lilie 
as does a human mother. If disturbed it suddenly 
dives under the water, and tosses up its hsh-like tail 
It is this creature which has probably given rise to the 
tales about mermaids." 

It seems probable that this author was 
partly right, but the whole " responsibility " 
should not be put upon the dugong. Many 
other marine animals have human resem- 



Nearly all nations have folk-lore and fairy 
tale accounts of mermaids, and sometimes of 
mermen. Even the American Indians had 
their "woman-fish" and '" man-fish." The 
Chinese^ell stories about their sea-women of 
the southern seas. Sometimes mermaids and 
mermen are represented as leaving the water 
and living with human beings, but more fre- 



blance, especially in attitude and when seen 
from a distance. Ernest Ingersoll writes : 

'■Various seals . , . have a way of lifting their 
round heads and shoulders from the water, with a 
queer human intelligent took upon their faces, and 
hugging their young to their bosoms with motherly 
affection. Impressed with this resemblance, easily 
turned into a story to beguile a long winter evening or to 
amuse a child, and growing with imaginative repetitions, 
the northern people were qoick to believe the similar 
and more elaborate stories brought to them by early 
voyagers, and so the tales grew and changed into the 
rich folk-lore." 

So, more directly to answer your question, 
there are in fancy, fairy tales, folk lore and 



The Sea Elephant. 



quently they are pictured as being so attractive 
that they sometimes will lure human be- 
ings to destruction in the depths of the sea. 
These myths have been utilized by many poets, 
and have even been used for stories " with a 
moral." Most encyclopedias and Baring 
Gould's "Myths of the Middle .Ages" give 
interesting histories of the myths and the ex- 
tent to which they have been held by various The Bearded Seal. 

It is not within the scope of " Nature and legends, plenty of mermaids and fewer mer- 
Science " to go into details of these myths, men, but alas ! not ene in rtality. 



IV Google 



ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE 



FOR DECEMBER 



THE JOY OF GIVING. 

GLADYS H. ADAMS (aOE i6). 
{Cash Prizt.-) 

I SHARED my crust wiih a poorer oi 
And the crust — which had seeir 
but a bit of bread 
When oxf would cat-was a glork 

When shared with another, instei 

I shared my bed with a poorer one 
So poor a bed. hul aboard ortwc 

But 't was soft as feathers to me, a 
I sle,,l 
With a peace that I rarefy knew. 

I shared my joy with a poorer one. 
And 1o1 '( was increased to a \ 

For another was cheered by I 
kindly thoughl, 
When they (ell thai joy of mine. 



My gifts ' 






I had given myself when I gave my food. 
But the joy (hat came transfigured all. 
And I tell ihal God was good. 

For a selfish joy is an empty thing. 

Since it fades away as the passing dreams, 
But the joy of giving is sweet and free, 



So share your best, though it l» bat poor, 
With a willing heart and a spirit brave ; 

For ft joji will come that will far oulweigh 
The trifle (hat you gave. 



And sang tht song of i^Hnstmas-timt. 

In the seven years thai have slipped by us since that 
first ChrisKnas, more (han Iwo (housaod young people 
have won gold and silver, and cash prizes, in the 5(. 
Nicholas League. Not one of (hese prizes has been 
awarded without a good reason — Ihat reason being thai 
(he poem, or story, or picture, or whatever it happened 
to be, awakened the editor's interest and admiration. 
Often it did more than Ihat. Often when (he contribu- 
tion was so good as to warrant one of the higher prizes, 
there came (he strong desire to see how the boy or girl 
looked who could produce such work as Ihat, and some, 
times we have been tempted to ask for a photograph of 
the contributor. Now, a( lasi, we are going (o do jus( 
thai thing. We are going lo ask every gold.hadge 
winner for a picture. Not only do we want pictures of 
those who are winning now, but of those, also, who 
have won any time during the seven years, and we 
would prefer a picture taken about the time when the 
badge was won. Of course, in that seven years a good 
many of our members have grown inio men and women, 
and some of (hem are still following (heir old League 
work in the world's wider fields. Of these we want 
(wo pictures^ne taken during (heir League days, 
and one taken now, with a brief letter telling just 
what has been done— how much progress has been made 
along the chosen path. And some of these, from lime 
lo time, we would like (o print in the magazine, for we 



will ir 






veil n 



But (here are some (perhaps many) who failed to win 
first honors in (he League, yel who have persevered 
and striven on, and who are winning triumphs all the 
more deserved because they refused to confess discour- 
agement when the longed-for badge failed lo come. Of 
(hese especially do we want pictares, for (o these go 
our deepest admiration and heartiest God'Speed. Le( 



St. Nicholas League 



PKIZB-WUraSRS, AD6DST COHPETITIOR. 



Vene. Cash prize. Gladys H. Adams (age i6j, 36 

Emery Si., MecKori), Mass. 

Gold badges, Eleanor C. HuniU (age 16), 2637 
Prairie Ave., Chicago, III., and Eleanor Johnson (age 

8), in care of E. I. Johnson. Office U. S. .A.tl'y, N. V. (old The King, who 
City. 

Silver badges, AimeeLoizeauz 
(age 16), loiD 3d St., Des 
Moines, lo.. and Aline Chowen 
(age IS), Great Falls, Mont. 

Prose. Gold badges, Ellon 
Ellxabeth Patten (age 



177 

iree. know that the very first one was decorated a long 
time ago for the Princess Mary, who was afterwards so 
sadly known as '■ Bloody Mary "? 

Her father lold the master of ceremonies that he 
must think of something very wonderfal, that had 
never been heard of before, for his gift 10 the Princess 
thai Christmas-tide. King Henry was very strict and 
apt to cut olT the persons' heads who did not do as he 
wished, so the master of ceremonies ihooght and 
thought. Finally he decided upon the very thing, and 



ally pleased and told all the 
ambassajlors from the countries 
of Europe, and the English 
lords and ladies to give their 
gifts for Mary to the master of 
lid he also invited 



then 



I Chris 



s ball I. 



Han 



Me. 






babel A. Oldham (age 
Kearney, Neb, 

Silver badges, Eathiyn Had- 
dock (age 13), 940 Sherman 
Ave.. Evansion, III., and Gar- 
ntt Matdngly (age 6), 1819 
First St,, N. W. Washington, 
D. C. 

Drawing. Gold badges, Al- 
pbonse De Carre (age 13), 3512 
ijlh St., Washington, IJ. C, 
and Boland Coate (age 1$). 35 
S. iJlh St., Richmond. Ind. 

Silver badges, Peggie Gny, 
Fulford Vicarage, York, Eng., 
and Haiiy Giifflth, 923 Superior 
St., Toledo, 0. 

Pbotography. Gold badge, 
ICarion Dnuy (age 15), 66 

Paradise Kd.. Northampton, "a hot dav." bv 

Mass. *°« 9' (SI" 

Silver badges, Kuth Duncan 
(age 13), Gadsden, Ala,, and Haode J. Hayden (age 
9), Si. Davids. Pa. 

Wild-Craatnre Photography. First priie. '• Moose," 
by Margaret Seui (age 14). 30 Greystone Park, Lynn, 
Mass. Second prize, » Possum," by Louise Chapman 
(age 14), Lake Geneva, Wis. Third pri;c. "Horned 
Toad," by F. W. Foster (age 17), 994 Dorchester St., 
Montreal, Can, 

Poisle-llaking. Gold badges, Hina Sommf (age 
14), 1831 North 4th St., Columbus, Ohio, and 
Thomas DeWind (age 16), 203 Coade Ave., Grand 
Rapids, Mich. 

Silver badges, Albeitlna L.Pitkin (age i;). 194 
Riverside Drive, New York City, and Clarina Hanks 
(age 14). 44 Circuit Road, Chestnut Hill, Mass. 

Pnzile Answers. Gold badges, Jessie Hetcalf (age 
13). 19^9 N, Penn. St.. Indianapolis, Ind., and Eliia- 
betbC. Beale (age it). 29 Chauncy St.. Cambridge, 
Mass. 

Silver badges, Arthur P. Caldwell, Jr., 309 Union 
Ave., Cranford. N. J., and BUrie Rnebel (age i6j. 
4649 Cottage Ave., St. Louis. Mo. 

THE FIRST CHR1STMAS.TREE. 



the palace. 
Finally Christmas night came. 
Just at twilight a flood of light 
poured from the palace win- 
dows. Carriages, magnificent 
but clumsy, bowled up to the 
entrance. Bejeweled ladies and 
gentlemen stepped forth and 
were escorted by armed guards 
to the doors. 

Outside of the palace a great 
crowd of London's poor stood, 
for it was the custom of Eng- 
land's kings to give bountifully 
on Christ's birthday. 

Inside— I shall not attempt lo 
describe the magnificence of the 
jewels, satins, laces, cloths of 
gold, silver and velvet, but noth- 
ing more gorgeous can be imag- 
ined, not even in the days of 

LDi J. HAYDSN. Aladdin. 

""Ce-) Opposite the drawing-room 

were King Henry, Queen Kath- 

ine and Princess Mary. 

When the last guest' was sealed, the drawing.room 

lors were opened, and what do you think the King 



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and his guesls saw 7 Not a pine-tree decorated by 
candles, wilh dolls, lea-sets and pop-corn balls upon it, 
but a small rosemary bush bedecked wilh diamond 
necklaces and bracelets and many other valuable jewels- 
I and I would not like a Chrislmas tree withoul 



dolls, 



t Mar 



: than 



Ed. She kissed her father, and thanked the 
master of ceremonies, and every one dapped and was 
pleased ; and I hope, in their happiness, they did nol 
forget the crowd o( poor. 

And now we all have seen a Christmas tree and do 
not think it half as wonderful as did the little Princess 
hundreds of years ago in 
her father's kingdom of 
Old Englaod. 

THE JOY OF GIVING. 



{field Badgt.) 
Blooming all day in 



Clasped light by the little maiden. 
It nodded its happy head. 

Till placed by the little sister 
Beside a sick child's bed. 

For many days it stayed there. 
Cheering the little child, 

Who kisseil each morning its petals. 
Then lay back gentle and mild. 

The child at last grew stronger. 
And all his long life through. 

He rememliered the liltle flower 
And loved ils brothers too- . 

A HISTORIC CHRISTMAS. 

{,Gi,Id badgi.) 
"TuesDAV, December 15, we were 
awakened before day by a discharge of 
three platoons from the party. We had 
told the Indians not to visit us as ii was 
one of our great medicine days; so ihat the men re- 
mained at home and amused themselves in various ways, 
particularly with dancing, in which they lake great 
pleasure- The American flag was hoisted for the first 
time in the port ; the best provisions we had were 
brought out, and this, with a liitle brandy, enabled 
Ihem to pass the day in great festivity." — From the 
Journal of Lewis and Clark- 

When Christmas eve came, the men had tinishefl the 
stockade and the gate had been shirt. By the protec- 
tion of forty-five men and a blunderbuss. Fort Mandan 
was safe from savages from the north. Nol that 
they were hostile. Many 
thronged here, partly for 
trade, partly from curi- 
osity; but on this evening 
Captain Lewis sent out 
word that they should not 
visit him and his men the 
neat day. He told them 
it was the great medicine 
day of the white man. 

Before daybreak, both 
the Indians and the while 
party were " awakened 
discharge of three 



plat, 



A flag 



sprmglime, 
After the frost and the 
cold. 



The way I 've been trying 
to blossom ? " 
It said to the humble-bee. 



"Oh, here is 
She cried with a 



floating above the palisade, 
an<l the first Dakota 
Christmas had begun. 

Instead of the usnal 
" Christmas stocking," 

certain amount of dried 
apples, pepper and flour- 
To complete the Christ- 
mas feast were sqnash, 
com. beans, and Buffain 
meal. Dinner was ai one 

At two, the signal for 
dancing was given. The 
orchestra consisted of 
Cruzatle and Gihson- 
WillUm Clark called the 
changes. A number of 
wondering squaws watched 



St. Nicholas League 



ihcm, — the wives of their inlerpreteis. 
Among them was the wife of Charboneau, 
(he cook, Sacajawea, the Shoshone "bird- 
woman," who allerward became tbeir 
faithful guide through the Rockies. 
Without her, they would have been lost 
and helpless. 

And so Ihe first Christmas ever cele- 
l>rate<1 in Dakota passed away among the 
fair- haired, blue-eyed Man dans. A cen- 
tury has passed since the wonderfo! ex- 
pedition, but it will be long before the 
story of it will be forgotten by Ami 



THE JOV OF GIVING. 

BY ELEANOR JOHNSON (AGE S). 

(Geld Badgt.) 

The painter, who gives to the world his art; 
The singer, whose voice thrills Ihe very heart ; 
The poet, whose soul is in his thought ; 
The soldier, who for his country fought; 
All know the Joy of Giving. 

The rich, who give with a lavish hand : 
TTie farmer, whose labor tills the land; 
The mother, who gives her loving care ; 
The miniiiter, bent on daily 

All know the -Joy of 



From all who give with a 

loving heart, 
The Joy of Giving will 

ne'er depart- 
And all over the world. 

both far and near, 
TTie joy we welcome with 

Is (he Joy of Christmas 
A HISTORIC CHRISTMAS. 



e for several days but the king with 
a few attendants left on (he day after Christmas. 

On arriving at London John was greeted by a 
pageant so brilliant with the glittering arms of the 
nobles as to startle as well as surprise him. This pa- 
rade was composed of the barons and their followers, 
and all were dressed in full armor. Magnificent horses 
in gay trappings helped to make the scene more attrac- 
tive and here and there large banners wrought in beau- 
tiful silks were displayed. The 
procession was the outcome of 
two indignant meetings of the 
barons. In the first, held at St. 
Albans, their grievances had 
been discussed, and during the 
second at Bury St. Edmund's 
they had resolved to come before 
the king at ChriMmas and force 
him to sign a charter giving the 
linglish people their long neg- 
lected rights. 

When John saw the nobles' 
array of military force he 
quavered, and when the docu- 



sented t 



(AUE 13.) (SBCOHD 

{Silv/r Badgt.) 
gJohx was celebrating Christmas at Winches 



up, the tapers burnt and the wassail bowl pasi 

'round. The Yule tog was burning brightly and je 

■ind songs were heard on every 

hand. John was moody not. 

H'iihsianding all this: it was the 

year III4 and his reign had 

hardly Iwen what might be 

C4lled a success. Most ol it so 

far had been taken up by 



V 



rels. He 



lost 



his 



European possessions through 
a dispute with Philip of France, 
and a quarrel with the Pope had 
ended disaslronaly for the king. 



asked to be allowed to consider 

il till Easier. The barons were 

[sa CHAPMAN AC! 14. ^ngry at having the purpose of 

I, WILD ANiHAL thclr visit thus deflected, but 

cKAiTi.) (fijy withdrew and waited till 

Easter. However little they 

accomplished at Christmas it was the first attempt 

toward gaining the king's signature for that important 

paper, the Magna Charts. 

At Easter John refused to sign it, hut seeing the de- 
termination of Ihe nobles he set June fifteenth as ilic 
final date, and after much parley- 
ing the Charter was signed in 
Ihe meadow of Runnymede in 
June. This important step in 
Knglish history was the direct 
result of the efforts of the 
barons at Christmas. 

THE JOY OF GIVING 

BVAMNECItOttEN (ACE IS). 

I^Silver Badgi.) 



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St. Nicholas League 



an old man in Orwigsburg, PcDDSylvuiia, he slill Ircas- 
ured the drum wilh its one drumstick. 

On his de>lh-bed he asked for his drum, and, propped 
ap in bed, beat (he last tatloo. 

A descendant of Fred Hesser siiU preserves the old 
dram, and all of his descendants are ptond of Fred 
Hesser, a drummer boy of Washington's army. 

THK JOY OF GIVING 

BV AIM^B LOIZEAII.'C (ACE |6). 
(.f/Avr BaJge.) 

" Not he who lakes," spake the knowing sage. 
Bent wilh the wisdom of bygone age, 
" But he who (jives for the Joy of Giving, 
Who bedecks with kindness each day's white page, 
'T is he who enjoys the gift of living," 

Then came a child with gay and tripping feel. 
With tatlered dress, but eyes so grave and sweel. 

She looked at sage and flashed n living smile. 
Said he, ■• 'T is all she gives me when we meet. 



A HISTORIC CHRISTMAS. 



U(A< 



14). 



The touch of ihe wind as il passes by, 
The ihin cload of smoke and the lire's red glou 
By the miner's dark huts in the coulee below, 
The first cold drops of ihe eoroing rain 
Make poetry rush into my brain. 

But suddenly sounils the accordion gay 
And two miners in joyous Iwo-step sway, 
First a gray shirt, then pne of white 
Gleams as they turn in the faint firelight. 
And I on the ridge laugh loud.^cause 
I know now the joy of giving applause. 

A HISTORIC CHRISTMAS. 

BY OARRBTT MATTINCLY <AGE 6). 
(Sihitr Badge.) 
I WANT to tell yoQ about an historic Christmas in 
which an ancestor of mine look part. When only 
twelve years old, Frederick Hesser ran away, joine<i 
his brother John and enlisted as a drummer boy in (he 
drum corps in which John played a fife. 

He served with Washington's army all through that 
cold and bitter winter at Valley Forge, where Washing- 
ton, seeing him so young, half-starved and sick, placeil 
his hand on Fred's head and kindly commanded him to 
go home. " Were all my soldiers as brave and patri- 
otic as you, my lad, Kngland could never conquer us," 
said Washington. 

Fred went home on furlough, but returned as soon 
as he was well, and w:is with Washington that historic 
Christmas when Ihe brave general crossed the Delaware 
and alUcked Ihe Hessians at Trenton. During (his 
battle Fred's drumstick was shot from his hand- A 
soldier, seeing his plight, seized Ihe gun from a dead 
comrade's hand, saying, " Here, my little man, ihis 
poor fellow does not need his gun. Take it and light." 

Years and years afterward, when Fred Hesser was 



It was in the reign of good King Edward whom the 
people called Edward the Confessor. Edward thought 
thai he could leave the (hrone o( England (o any one he 
chose. He was very fond of a young French Duke 
named William- He promised William thai he should 
rule after him. The only one who had any claim to (he 
throne was Harold, who was the son of Earl Godwin. 
One day Harold was wrecked on (he coast of France 
r4id fell into (he hands of William, who made him prom- 
ise (o help him secure the (hrone of England when 
Edward should die ; but when in Ihe year to66 Edward 
died, Harold broke his promise and became King him- 
self. 



the battle of Hastings, in which Harold was killed and 
William became possessor of England. 

William wisely decided (o let the people elect him 
King. He held a meeting in which he nskcd (he 
people (o choose him for (heir King. As he was so 
strong they dared not refuse. 

On Christmas Day, 1066, he was proclaimed King of 
England. The corona(ion took place in Westminster 



St. Nicholas League 



Abbey (which Edward (he Confessor had built). As 
(he crowD was placed on William's head ihe people 
shouted "Yea, yea, yea! " 

This historic Christmas is both old and important, for 
it was the beginning of more civilized life in England 
DDder William the Norman. 

THE JOV OF GIVING. 

BV MARCAHET EWINt! (AGE I3). 

{Uanor Memitr.) 
Great driflinE. pillowy mass of clouds, 
Tha( float across (he sky, 
[uUanlly and high. 



Whi 



slhin 



To give to (he parched earth again, 
Quick, rushing coolness of the rain. 
And onward fly. 

O'er hill and dale in majesty divine. 
Scattering with a mighty hand. 
Thy bounty over sea and land — 
O'er wheal-ticUls pale. 

Where ragged pine woods darken hill and dale, 
And where (he mountain streams leap wild and free. 
Given (heir very life by meed of (hce. 
And giving in (heir turn. 

Oh, where the sunbeams on earth's meadows burn. 
And flowers lift Iheir heads to welcome coy. 
The wooing of the rain- 
There, when (he showers palter down again. 
Dost feel the giving-jov, 
O clouds? 

A HISTORIC CHRISTMAS. 



S(A< 



15)- 



Ttiere mnsl have been much excitement in the old town 
of Wells on Christmas Eve, 133*, for the young king 
Edward III had come to spend Christmas (here. The 
Bishop bad gone to slay a( Ins Manor House at Wookey, 
two miles off. for the following week, as there was not 
room for both (he king and himself at the palace, ow- 
ing to the northwest wing not yet being built. But he 
must have re(umed to say mass in (he Cathedral on 



Christmas Day. The Banqueting Hall which to-day 
is a ruin and one of the chief sights of the Palace was 
only thirty years old: Ibe battlemented walls were not 
yet in existence, neither was the Bishop's Eye built, so 
that the palace was seen from (he Market Place. It is 
also difficolt to realise (hat there was no moat and that 
(he grass plot with the elms which to.day is near the 
drawbridge was then a pool of water. King Edward 
may quite possibly have been attracted to Wells by the 
fame of the new Chapter House and Lady Chapel 
which had just been built ; bu( (hough the townspeople 
must have felt what an honor was done to them by 
(he king's visiting Wells, yet one cannot help thinking 
what an expensive honor it must have been (o Ibe 
Bishop. Ralph of Shrewsbury, whose (omb is to be 
seen to-day in the north choir aisle in (he Cathedral wa» 
Bishop in those days. 

NOT ON THE JOY OF GIVING. 

BY MIRIAM ALLEN DE FORD (age I7). 
{I/oBor memUr.) 
Alas! But selfish strains my muse indhes. 
And this is all the sort of thing she wri(es ; — 

Ah! Fare thee well, sweet Bcauly, 

ThOD dear delight of unforgotten days, 

And get (hee hence, (liou Duty, 

Who wouldst to household use devote my lays ! 

I 'II none of ei(her ; here, great Jove, defend roe! 

These damsels both in thy name I '11 defy, 

And (hine own sky-bolls, gracious father, lend me. 

Wherewith to hurl my angered minstrelsy. 

For artful Beauty ted me where she lis(ed. 

With dreams of drowsy magic shut my eyes. 

With poppy-buds my pale brow she entwisled, 



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And lulled me w[lh her diiiy melwlies. 
Then ere I could ihe slumbVous bonds dissi 
Wiih poisM flight she lied my grasp forever 
By sterner wilclicratt cold-eyed Duty led me 
She yoked me b5 a plowmale to dull Care, 
The bitter bread of lost Ambition fed me, 
And housed me in tlie tle^ert of Despair. 
Then nhiUt I raged in impotent endnvor, 
Klected to remain with me forever! 



o fare thee well, s 



loty. 



Thou dear delight of dead, forbidden days. 

And prithee hence, cruel Duly 

Who dost to basest use compel my laysl 



A HISTORIC CHRISTMAS; 

OSE of the most beneficial Clirislmuses that ever 
happened on the earth was the birth of Sir Isaac New- 
Ion, on Christmas Hay. 1642, at Woolsthorpe, a hamlet 
in Lincolnshire, England. 

Once when there was a windmill lieing built on a new 
plan near his house, he used 10 go and spend houis 



Baby showed her dimples — 
She was just and fair— 

" I 'II be very gen'wous. 
Yon may bite lo — titr/.' " 

Bobbie's teeth were tiny-- 
Sharp I hey must hnvi^ 

Exit— all the apple -. 
Enter— such a din ! 

Baby, blue eyes flashi.ig. 

Raced across the floor, 

Caughl the wicked robber 

Caught his small, brown 
fingers- 
Caught with all her 
might- 
■alliful justice. 



A HISTORICAL CHRISTMAS. 

BV HENRY RESCH (ACE I5). 

When" looking op the various Christmas events ool- 
is struck by the great number of deaths wMch have oc- 
curred on that memorable day. One of the most im- 
portant of these events was the death of Marcus Aure. 
lius Cams, a Roman Emperor, who was killed by 
lightning in the year a.d. 283. Below is given a 
short history of his life. 

Marcus Aurelius Cams was born at Narlionne in 
Gaul, Milan or Illyria in the year A.D. 222. Hi, 
father was of African descent and his mother was a 
noble Roman lady. Marcus was educated in Rome for 
the highest military and civil offices. He held the office 
of privtorian prefect before he became Emperor. On 
the assassination of Probus in A.D. 28i he was pro- 
claimed Emperor of Rome by the legions. His reign. 
Chough short was prosperous. One of the first of his 
acts of justice was (o mete out punishment lo the assas- 



ig It. 



In a fen 



s he u 






usually busy with bi« tools. It was not long before 
the whole neighborhood knew what he had been doing. 
He had maile a inoilel of the windmill ; though probably 
not more than a foot high, il was complete in every 
part. Once, when Newton was older, he had a Utile 
dog called Diamond; one day he got up and went oul 
of the room, leaving on the table some manuscripts con- 
tainiiig all the discoveries he had made about light, 
and little dog Diamond by the Rre. No sooner had he 
gone than up jumps Diamond on the table, upsets the 
candle and burns the papers. lust as the destruction 
was completed Newton came in. Seeing what little 
dog had done he only patted him on the head and said, 
"O Diamond! thou little knowcst the mischief thou 
hast wrought." 

THE JOV OF GIVING. 



Babv held an apple — 
A delicious sights 
Bobbie thought so, liegging, 
"Please give me a bile ? " 



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St. Nicholas League 



sinaiora o( Probns. He gained a victory over tlie Ser- 
nialians and prosecuted war with the Persians. In 
miau-inter he led his army through Thrace in Asia 
Minor, ravaged Mesopotamia, mastered SeleucJa and 
lul his army beyond the Tigris. 

Here on Christmas Day, in the arore men tinned year, 
U'js struck by lightning une of the bravei.1 and best of 
ihc Itoinans. History does not tell us the circum- 
stances which surrounded him as he lay dying. We 
can only guess — that is all. 

THE JOY OF GIVING. 

1 WAS curled up in the corner by my little reading 

When the door was ojiened gently and there stood 

my sister Mabel. 
"Edith, dear," she whispered softly, "I 've a poem 

to show toj'ca. 
May n't I send it to the League for competition 

eighty-two ? " 

■Well, Miss Poetess," I answered, as I smiled into 

her face, 
"■will summon alj^ the jury to discuss this serious 

Then she showed a scrap of paper. "This is it," 
she gravely said. 
" Read it lo me," I commanded, and this is the verse 



FRIENDS IN THE FOREST. 

II V BERNARD F. TROTTER (ACE 1 6). 
GtVE me no crowded city, 

When my heart Is lone and sad. 
With its countless thronging thousands — 

The tumult woald drive nie mad. 

In the throbbing life of the city 
Who cares for another's moan? — 

Tho' around me the crowd was sarging, 
I would stand by myself, alone. 



But, dear Si. Nicholas! I hope 

Before I 'm really very old. 
You 'II feel the joy of giving 

When I win my badge of gold." 

A HISTORIC CHRISTMAS. 

When Harold the Second was killed at Hastings, 
the English people became disheartened, and made little 
resistance against the invasions of William, the Duke 
of Normondy. They soon submitted to him, and he 
was crowned at Westminster Abbey, London, on Christ- 
mas Day, 1066. 

^Therc were many people at the coronation. When 
fjcoffry, Bishop of Coutances, rose and said in French 
to the 'Normans: "Will ye that William, your Duke, 
\>e crowned King of the English ? " They all shouted 
"Yea!" Then Ealdred, the Archbishop of York, said 
in English : " Will ye that William, Duke of the Nor- 
mans, be crowned King of the English ? " And the 
people cried "Yea, yea!" so loudly thai the Norman 
Snards outside thought the English were offering re- 
'.iiiancc, and began setting fire to the nearby buildings. 
Tlie people rushed from the church, some to eilinguisli 
the flames, and others, taking advantage of the confu- 
-ion, to plunder. 

William wras left in the charch with the Bishops, and 
a few others who had remained, and in the presence of 
these he look the oath of the old kings, vowing to do 
mercy and justice, and to rule as well i« any king before 
him had ever ruled. Then Archbishop Ealdred anointed 
and crowDcd him, and William the Conqueror was 



Give me no wind-swept plain j 
For there— is but time for brooding. 
Nothing lo heal the pain. 

Hut give me ihe wide-spread forest. 
With its hemlock, and lieach and pine; 

With its ash, and its oak and its maple; 
And its ferns, and its mosses line. 

With its rocky glens and streamlets; 

And the music of waterfalls : 
With its birds, and beasts and flowers; 

And its dreamy wild-wood calls.— 

Tho' I wander, alone, through the forest. 
There are friends upon every hand. 

Tried friends, who comfort and soothe me, 
As they whisper "Weundeintand." 



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St. Nicholas League 



IN THE FOREST. 

S STURDEK (age 12 
(^Honcr Mtmbir.) 
The whisp'ring booghs of giant pines bend o'er 
And from its nesl ihe limid bird looks down, 
md clinging ivy txt before m 



The silv, 



birch bends o 



r Ihe: 



n ofbi 



From out the mossy, tvooded bank beside me 
A crystal streamlet runs with pleasant snnnd ; 

None are about to see me or lo chide me. 
And peaceful rustic stillness reigns around. 



Through the gate at the fool of the hill. 

Up on Ihe mountain side,- 
Over the brook to the maple-tree. 

Where the shepherd dog lies asleep, 
I call the wandering flocks to me. 

And gather the truant sheep. 



THE JOY OF GIVING. 



Why is it when we give 
Unto our friends oar time, assistance, cash, 
We feel so good, so happy, and so glad? 
Why is it when we give to other folks 
The self-same things, we grudge them e'en I 
That 's spent in giving ? The answer 's bar 
Bui after thought and meditation I 've deddi 
The answer is— the folks. 



The sound of far-off bells comes faintly blowing, 
They ring again, and yet again, then cease; 

From distant fields I hear Ihe cattle lowing. 
And over all there reigns a perfect peace. 



THE FOREST PASTURE. 

BY MASON GARFIELD (ACE I3). 
(Silver Badge IVinner.) 
Over the fields and meadows wide. 

Over the old stone mill. 
Over the brook that runs by its side, 

And Ihe road by the distant hill, 
Over Ihe pasture where mooly cow stays. 

Up on the hill asleep 
In the green woodland, amid the birds' lays. 

Are lying the laiy sheep. 

Over the meadows at dn^e of day, 

Wanders Ihe bare-foot boy. 
Singing merrily on his way. 

The song of the shepherd's 



;r ihe meadows wide. 






SOHE FRIENDLY LETTERS. 

West Cornwall, Conn. 
Dear St. Nicholas; You have always come to 
us as far back as 1 can remember and I enjoy reading 
you very much. 

I was in the great San Francisco Earthquake and I 
ihoDght.I would cry lo lell youalittleof my experience. 
I was awakened in ihe morning by nn unearthly noise 
and the house shaking as a cat shakes a mouse. 1 jumpeil 
np as soon as I could, thinking that the end of the 
world had surely come. I tried to rnn downstairs but 
they were shaking so 1 coold not. When the earth- 

Suake ceased we aU ran out in the street in our night- 
othes where our neighbors were, in ihe same apnarel. 
All day long false reports kepi coming in from down- 
town and dense clouds of smoke covered np the sun- 
Thai night we went up on Twin Peaks, where we 
stayed three iiighCs. The first night the ashes fell all 
over us The nesl two nights we were not bothered 
by Ihem as we hod secured an old shed, in which ten 
of us slept. 

We look five of our chickens with us and tied strings 
around their legs, the ends of which were lied to a 
slake. We look these for food as we expected a famine. 
Most of our blankets, food and olher things, we tied on 
to an old bicycle and a coaster. Each one of us girls 
had one blanket pinned around us and some of us bad 
more. At the last moment my sister rushed inlo the 
house and brought oul Iwo iin cups tied around her 

On the hill we met a Frenchwoman who had walked 
about three miles wheeling a baby buggy filled with 
dothes. The only food she had was a iev scraps tied 
up in her dress-skirt. She could nol speak any English 
which made it all the harder for her. She would look 
at the fire, clasp her hands and say, " Ter-ri-b!e ! Ter- 
ri.ble! La! La! Lai La! La! Oo ! Oo! " As we 
look back upon it now it seems very funny. 

One of my friends put on her three best dresses, one 
over another, as she>expecled her house to bum. The 
wild birds sang all night long on the hills because it 
was so tight. Vi'e also took our dog and two canary 
birds with us. Saturday we went home as our hoase 
did not burn, the fire stopping four blocks away. 

My mother who was vitiling in Connecticut at the 
time sent for us, but we all hope lo be back some da^ 
as we think there is no place like San Fiandsco, even if 
we do get shaken up sometimes. 

Your devoted reader, 

Caroline E. Gibson (tge 13). 



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St. Nicholas League 



leaf (he mm pn>]iUble 



loppia, Seen 



Lawrencbburg, Ind. 
DtAK St. Nicholas: I have never written to j'ou 
before, though I have belonged to the League for two 
yeui now. My ■unt hai given you to my brother ever 
since he was a little boy, aod as be will be twenty-two in 
November, we have had yoa quite a long time. I have 
been sending my little verses to the League pretty regu. 
larly ever since yon published one of them. I was only 
ten then, but I am tu elve now. I am interested in all 
the members, but especially in the English ones. I 
think if 1 were not an American I should tove England 
belier than nay cxher country. I have nevrr ceased to 
pity those members of the League who live In a city. I 
llavc such fine rimes out here in the country. I have 
five sisters and one brother, two of my sisters and my 
brother belong to the League. 

I live up on a big hill, one of those that surround the 
Ohio Valley. From one window in our house one can 
see three Slates. Mv brother and a friend of his, 
assisted by my father, built a house high up in a big tree, 
■nd they used to camp out in it for weeks at a time, for 
it was big enoagb to eat and sleep in, and it had a good- 
sized porch. 1 remain your devoted reader, 

Elizabeth Pace Jaues. 



NEW CHAPTERS. 
No. 909. Fnak N. SdiU, Prcudeni ;_Anliur E. H< 

No. 010, "The All 
Aimte VanneiKjui, Seci 
Miuiun, Tibiii. Ptisig. 

No. 911. "Columbu 

N. ^.""ore. "■ 

No. oil. "Nuciuu 
Divi*, SecreOry ; Gtc i 
Joseph. M^ 

No. SM. "rit" Bedftml Cluplir." Beisie Lee, Secrelary: 
twelve nembcn, Addieis. 15B Suamtt Si., New Bedford, Ma><. 

No. Die. "Idora Chapter." Cliriue ManiSetd. Piuideni; 
Uoyd O'Connell, Vice-Pmideut ; Charies E. Muilield, Secretary 1 
ten luemben. Addresi, 541 Bulier St, S.11 Fnindboo, 6d. 

No. qi6. '■Tolly HulT^loieil." Mjijnde Teeplea, Pre>idenl{ 
Cl*n WHght.Secreuiy; tix membcn (Addreu wanud.) 

No. 91;. "I. T." Jlnel MUiec. Pnident; Miirgiret Howard, 
Secreury; five meoibcn, Addreu, 316 W. jth SL, Dayton. 



bridge, Mau. 

N^ 910, "Uule 
Pischel. Secietiiy: & 



AX apprboiatite; letteb. 

GUNDEVON, DaVOHSHIH PLACE, EASTBO D RH B. EhCI 

Dear St. Nicholas:, I do not know how u> ihaslc y 

Not only has it siven ^^reai pleasure to my frtendi, but it kai 
encouraged me ao mucb, and hai made me liope thai, with 

KlLcnce and courage, I m.iy lome day luccced in the world HI I 
ve succeeded in St. Nicholas. 

Then 1 have received so many kind leiun froa League 
memben. and 1 bare found so many unknown friends over Ihe aea, 
Ihal I fed I must thank jva for thai, 100. 



' By- 



Co RT LAND. New Vork. 
t bad such a lovtly trip 
ligan to my g> and mother^ 
in Ccnt'ral New York. My mother, my litlle sister and I 
went by rail to Detroit, and then took a lai^e boat, 
■•Tbc Eastern Stales," ftCioss Lake Erie to Bufjalo. It 
WIS * perfectly beautiful night and the lake was as 
smooth as a sea of glass. 

Near Rochester on the New York Central my little 
sister lost her hat oat of the car window. Mother hail 
to stop in Syracuse to buy a new one. 

I enjoy the stories "From Sionx to Susan," and 
** llie Life of Abraham Lincoln " very much. 
Your faithful reader, 
Margaret A. Ewing (cge 10). 



CHAPTERS. 



If all League mmiben knew 



eranTrucTife'Lul 



belong to the •' Si. N. I 

icoungement, for ibe two li 
every one ham shown me 
, with iHal wishe^ youra □ 



- Stuait Booiriia. 



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St Nicholas League 



E BOLL OF HONOB. 



frork CDIiltei them u 



Mu^aiJe Ciabbe 
Virginia Arthibold 



CnccF. Sluk 



KuihCi 

LUL_. 

Kathai 



EDcn Hilitnd 



E. Babtuc DeuDch 



HcEiro* 

Helen Juet'Smrti 
HaigiKt Eliubet 
Alkfi 

Adolph NEnunc 



AHiOred n fsori 
MinE*i« B. Quick 
JamsHuvey 
Joyce CUric 
tteWca Edjth Hitlii 



Bestnce B. Hood 
Eliabelh C. Peck 
Uatt McCuidf ScstI 



DoTothy^. 



I CruckncH 

Lucy KyLc BuTfaon 

- John F. Hiiucoin 
Minki HohenlDhe 
ElaooT T. Bak« 

luUi Wriebi ° 

HDrtniKBTyliwiki 
Mary Putier 
EKiabeih Curtit 
Marion Bulkr 

Repnild C. FoUer 
Kliubelh Aadmn 

;hibild Cimpbca 






Shane J. Culhticrt Long 
Alan F. Maiy AngDod 

BicrhoaEnidTIatrly 
MxTgaret Theabald FcnuH 

MacLam Flonnce Lawenhaiipt 
Cladyi E. Cbirid H. Hotchku 
Cbunbeilain IVimlhy Eddy 
Hekn SlelU E. JicoU 

Pcabody Bcuie Ganiivn 
Haiy Mirpret A. Dole 

Geraldinc Haui Gunmn( 
Cabal Francs WhitDer 
H. Ennt Bdl LouUe HoUberi 

Mary M. P Shipley Donilhy Fo. 
Sam M. Dillard Frank WilkioBn 

Lonine Powen Edith Younghem 

Minni. y. Kuberine E. Spear 

George 1, Mackky 

^u>. ^..- -™.— ,_™™ iTf-^ 

Maiiiet 

Mary W. Kcbkr 

Susu J. AppleUB PUZZLES ■. 

Boben Slorer 

Ellen Hickun Alice R. Bnn 

Eliubelh 5an(6nl Charlotte E. Benedict 

Warner Helen A. Rou 

John E. Burkt Eunice B. Siebbini 

Beaincc Veml Charley Stanton 

Juliiu Colder Ruth Weeka 

loii Donavis LeopoU Wellbos 

Arthur T, Brice Thonui McGec 

Elinor L, P. Lyon Button C Stinuos 



Eugene I- Waller 

Hare^F. W^ton 
Chatlcj W, Hon 

te!t L. Shonu 
hel Wyie 
Ida F. Parfiu 



LEAGUE ROTES AHS LETTERS. 

BETTER ADDRESSES WANTED. 

•.s of applicanti for membaahip who bjted to (iix 

tch. Hdeml Ws 
letiE, CknaiB 1 

i bad^ have been letuned by Ac 



Ruth Stone 
Euhet Hopkini 
Buford Biice 
Gladya C Edgerly 
Doria F. Hatmn 
Adelaide Ntcholi 
Margaret Barrette 
Franco Hyland 
Marian Chace 
Marion Sanford 

PROSE I. 

Ruth A. Spalding 
Helen Lolir 
Follan^bee 

Freda M. Harriion 
Eleanor HcCandlcB 

iSdelline f" H° 

Jeiaie Freeman Fi 

EUiabeih Black William 

Mary Peinbcnod Evcrard 

Noune Belh Ma 

Catharine H. Straker Raymoni 



IdKauli 



I.ucy Pedder 

Emily W. Brc 

Alwyn C. B. Nicolaon 
BtDwnie Matlhewi 
A. Reynold! E<:kel 
Murief E. Halilcad 
W. R. Loh« 
Alice Shirley Willi. 

Vera Mine DeoKni 



Ptiscilla A, Wuiian 
UDdred Allen 



PHOTOGRAPHS 






heraddra 



e, ^, Edwin. G. Cram. 









Jennie -Fei^e 
Helen F. PH 
Mary Klaudi 



Marnrrt Dobion 

Gladys M Gaw 

nMaijarieR. Peck 



eceived St. Nicm- 
:old Badge" Ob, 

ha»e given me. I am ture that through your League I liie 

A1.WVK C' B. NiCOLSON. 

<Silret Medal, Gold Medal through dear St. Nichous.) 



er ciarent^amble 
Eliie S. Church 
Ro>e Peabody 
Helen Whiull 
Leonie Hane ran 

Tecklenbutg 
Josephine M- 



PHOTOCRAPHS >. 




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1»»«.] 



St. Nicholas League 



A cnckct or aa II BDCidg m jonder 

ltd duE Aae waidafiiL liEiLe iuccD 
Ihu dkBOKlva Add Bore (hui bifdy 



jonder wiUow-tTK uid u paiudg Edwi 



Emnuiji 



:hsty, E«h« Hopkbu 
-ickMn, juina P. Ca 

c'lII, Helm L FoUnnibe^HoiVy MTfta^ 
nthal, HBiy FowcU, Hibdlc Meyer, Ruth Avery 



=, Gmrnde Petri. 



PfiIZE COMPETITIOH Ha. 80. 






m Now VoA. 

' ' lUtURlS 

Vow fa 



tmuj. 



A» OLD HEMDER'S COOD-BY. 

Saw , . _ 

Ut Dbas St. NiCHOiAi : li » with nDcere iwct that t un 
writiDK foa mj lot kWrr ■ &nwclt to iba Lencoe. I I 
Aucd wah II ay )ajn ud umnn— bt delnn ud m; nic- 
case*. Hid balivn na whm 1 Hf that each have itmiathsiad and 
■air banci the nentd eqiapaeni widi vbidi - - ■ - ■ 
haul* o( Life. I hax ksown no disppaintineni 

it ado (BCBa, dBD Bf goM badga and caih jaiie. 

Am bbm tbicanM wtsfciiw, mondi 1^ month, ilowly gi 
<um the «al it wachcd, a* m the LeatuC' 1 have four 
Lcuoa n be A neaAachwd. whoae diploma of gnduati 






1 ahJii fi^l ti>^ 




Laneapdki El 

*"'' "m!;^ C StAHC (il). 

ANOTHER GOOI>-BY. 

Pn 
DuiSt. t<K3nii.u: T(Hd(fat fat the lait linii 



n fecial 



•Ma 



da*, u be , — -, 

le Kubkoa: now I muB eanlmue Iheeipedii 

Bto Ital;. I BB ^ad tluU I bane wm aiy ipun in Spain, at any 
nie— «Dd above bO 1 Ibank yDu, I thuit you orer and ovn BEiia 

ferlbe flu J riliiiaii inil ii iiaiia]|lj bopeleo wok, na awta 

aad BO leia than fcc my tUmi Tiaorr. 
Goad.br, dew, dm Uafoe. For the kit tine 1 npi aiT>d( 
Your devoted member. 

Hiumi AixkkDcFord. 




The St. Nicholas Lengae awards gold ai 
badges each month for the best (?n|fi«a/ poems . 
diawmgs, photographs, puiiles, and puzzle aoswert. 
Also cash prizes of five dollars each to gold-badge win- 
ners who Ehail again win Rrst place. "Wild Animal 
and Bird Photograph " prize-wiimets winning ihe ouh 
prize will not receive a second badge. 

CompetitioQ Ho. 86 will dose December ao ((or 
foreign members December as). The awards will be 
announced and prize contributioiu published in St. 
Nicholas for April. 

Vene. To contain not more than twenty-fonr line*. 
Title, " The Heart of Youth." 

Prose. Story or article of not more than four hun- 
dred words. Subject, " My Favorite Poem, and Why." 
Must be true. 

Phcrtognph. Any size, interior or exterior, mounted 
or unmonuted ; no blue prints or negatives. Subject, 
"Children." 

Drawiag. India inli, very black writing-inli, or wash 
(not color). Two subjects, "A Child Study" (from 
life), and an April Heading or Tailpiece for the Loague, 
Books and Reading, or any St, Nicholas department. 

Puille. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the 
aniwer in full, and must be indorsed. 

Piuile AsfweTB. Best, neatest, and most complete 
set of answers to puzzles in this issaeofST. Nicholas. 
Must be indorsed. 

Wild AnimAl or Bird Photograpb. To encourage 
the pursuing of game with a camera instead of a gun. 
For the best photograph of * wild animal or bird t^en 
Iff ilt natuml home: First Frite, five dollars and 
League gold badge. Sttemd Pritt, three dollari Hid 
League gold badge. Third Pritt, Leagne gold badge. 

SULIS. 
Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a lubsciiber 
or not, i> entitled to League membership, and a League 
badge and leaflet, which will be sent free. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, mui/ bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed 
as "original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, mAff 
mujl it coitviHced btyatd doubt that Ihe eantritutiffH i> 
not copied but wholly the work and idea of the sender. 
If prose, the number of words should also be added. 
These things must not be on a separate sheet, 
but an the cortlributiim itself— M a manuscript, 
on the upper margin ; if a picture, en Ikt margin 
or iaci. Write or draw on ene tide of the paper- 
only. A contributor may send but one contri- 
bution a month — not one of each kind, but one 
only. 

Address: Tke St. HlcholM Leapie, 
Union Square, New York. 



LoBt or damued Leapi* bttdffo 
wQI be replaced free of cnarge upon 



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AND 



REfiDlHC. 



The Misdetoe 

^VHO knows the old Irish name for Christmas ? 
It is said to be " Nuadhvllig," the meaning of 
which is " new all-heal"— a name that arose 
when the mistletoe was thought to heal all ills 
and when it was customary to gather it anew 
at Christmas. We already have Noel, Yule- 
tide, and Christmas, and here is a new word, 
if some Celtic scholar will kindly pronounce it 
forus. Mistletoe should be gathered, for it 
. huns the oak-trees if not taken off. 

Coleridge on Christmas 

In the days of the poet Coleridge, the cele- 
bration of the Christmas season, as we know 
it, was not so common in England, for he 
wrote from a German town describing how 
they have the custom of making each other 
presents, and saying; "What the present is, is 
cautiously kept secret, and the girls have a 
world of contrivances to conceal it." He 
then tells of the " yew-bough," or Christmas 
tree, which then was prepared by the children 
for their parents— an idea that would probably 
not be so popular with our children to-day as 
the custom they and their parents are used to. 

Who is " Pelsnichol " ? 

You may have to study your German books a 
little to find out an old friend under the title 
disguise of this odd name. But we don't mind 
■ giving you the hint that the odd word means 
in English " Fur Nicholas." Surely with that 
suggestion readers of St. Nicholas will 
quickly recognize a kindly old soul whose 
\Tsits are welcomed everywhere. 

A Good Book on American History 

"American Hero Stories" by Eva March 
Tappan (Harpers') is a little book robed in 
Quaker gray, and ornamented by a Conti- 
nental Trumpeter in blue and buff, as well as 



bearing the Liberty Bell on its back. It tells 
the stories of the great men who have made 
America what it is to-day— beginning with old 
Christopher Columbus and ending with Abra- 
ham Lincoln. It will help to make the study 
of American History as interesting as it ought 
CO be, and is written in simple style, so as to 
be understood by small children. The book 
is brought out by Houghton MifBin & Co. 
this season. 

The Meaning or " Yute-tide " 

We have spoken of the word "Yule." Per- 
haps you do not all know its origin. If any 
of you do know, please write out the expla- 
nation as soon as possible, for the wise men 
who make dictionaries are all at sea about 
this old word that comes from ages before 
King Alfred let those cakes burn. Look in 
the dictionary, and you will see how very little 
is known about this old, old word in spite of 
the fact that it has never ceased to be used 
to name the Christmas season. The guess is 
that it comes from an old Scandinavian word 
meaning to " yell " and cry aloud with joy, 
which may be quoted if you are accused of 
making too much noise at "Yule tide" or 
" Yell time " ; but, somehow, this derivation 
does not seem at all likely. 

Names of the " Three Wise Men *' 
How many small children have sung the 
words, " We three Kings of Orient are," with 
the idea that the writer of this paragraph used 
to have— namely that the words ran, " We 
three Kings of Orienta"— and wondered 
where " Orienta " was situated ? The tradi- 
tion commonly received says their names 
were Melchior, Balthaiar, and Jasper; but 
other traditions give them as Apellius, Amerus, 
and Damascus; as Magalath, Galgalath, and 
Sarasin ; and as Ator, Sator, and Peratonis. 



Google 



Books and Reading 



189 



It would be hard to explain how there 
came to be so many variations ; but " Sarasin" 

looks like Saracen, and " Damascus " suggests 
the city, so some descriptive words may have 
been taken for names. What more beautiful 
story is there than the coming of the Magi ! 
It is not surprising that artists have loved to 
paint the scene, and poets to write about it. 

"Occasional" Verse 
Of course you all know that occasional used 
as in the title does not mean " now and then," 
but verse meant for a special occasion— as a 
birthday or coronation ode, or a song about a 
victory. Occasional verse is often very good, 
and becomes permanent— as some of Oliver 
Wendell Holmes's verses about his old college 
classmates and their meetings, or Kipling's 
" Recessional." If there be amOng you any 
amateur poets, they can add greatly to the 
joy of Christmas morning by writing little 
couplets or quatrains about the presents. Do 
not write more than three or four lines, and 
let them be kindly and pleasant, with a touch 
of Christmas merriment, little jingles, in fact. 
Suppose your little sister Mary is to have a 
toy dromedary, for example, and you write : 

" This is a one-humped dromedary 
For oar much belovSd Mary. 
If il had been a Iwo-humped camel 
For a rhyme my verse 't would tmmniel." 

That is "occasional verse" — even though not 
worthy of immortality! 

Three New Books 
There have been sent to this department by 
the publishers three new books for young 
people. One is " Merrylips," by Beulah Marie 
Dix (Macmillan), the story of a young girl's 
adventures in the days of the Roundheads and 
Cavaliers. It is a book meant for older 
young readers, rather exciting in its incidents, 
being a war story. A young critic says she 
" likes the heroine, but that she is a very un- 
likely," but the same young critic kept busily 
at it until she knew how the story ended. 

Another is for younger children— "A 
Borrowed Sister," by Eliza Ome White, with 
pictures by Kadierine Pyle. It is just the 
thing to read aloud to an audience of ten-year- 
olds who like a quiet home story. 

The third is " The Railway Children." The 
same young critic says of this, " A rather 
pretty story of three funny children, exciling 
and keeps you laughing. Makes you want to 
fini^ it quickly. Bright and harmless, fit for 



children of nine, ten, eleven, and along 
there." The author is £. Nesbit, well known 
for her fanciful stories, and the publishers are 
the Macmillans. 

A Present for a Little Gardener 

It is every day becoming more important 
to group your books according to their sub- 
jects. So many are now written addressed to 
readers with special tastes that you'may have 
a sort of little " special " library of your own 
upon subjects that interest you — whether it be 
photography, literature, games, history, or 
gardening. In the latter section, especially, 
there are plenty of books that tell not only of 
gardening, but of the poetry and literature 
that makes work in a garden something more 
than blind grubbing and guessing at results. Of 
such " The Garden, You and 1 " published by 
Macmillan is a worthy example. It will be 
well to read it in winter, so as to begin to 
apply its advice early in the spring. For a 
youthful gardener it will make a welcome 
Christmas present. 

Learning to Write 

A REASON for reading not often given is that 
it teaches one to write. Dr. Henry van Dyke 
said recently, " In my opinion, the best way 
to learn to write good English is to read good 

English. Books of grammar and rhetoric are 
of comparatively little value," This, from the 
author of dozens of books, and Professor of 
English Literatiu-e at Princeton University, 
Writing may be a gift, but it is a gift given most 
frequently to those who have loved good books 
enough to read them often. 

A Little "Paradox" 

Though you had read all your life about the 
ocean, you would know it better after a day 
on the shore than from all your reading. 
Though you had lived all your life at the sea's 
edge, you might learn more of its grandeur 
from a noble poem than your unaided soul 
had known. These statements together form 
what is called a paradox i but the moral of it 
is, neither life nor reading i-s at its best with- 
out the other's interpretation. 

The Right Place for a Good Book 

The very best place for a thoroughly good 
book is in your head and yoiu" heart. If it is 
not worthy of being kept there, it is of little 
importance where it is kept, or how soon you 

get rid of it. ^ 

Uigtizorib/GoOt^IC 



The Letter-Box 



Eaoi-e Grove, Iowa. 
My Dear St. Nicholas : My father, mother and I 
loured ihenestem stales one winter not loDgago. When 
we were visiting in San Diego, Cal., we had a day's trip 
ta Old Mexico, and I want to tell yon about it. 

We look an early morning start for Tia Joana in the 
northern part of Old Me^iico, We went part way by streel 
car, then for two hoars and a h^f on the narrow E>Dge 
R. R., and then were transferred by stage one mile and 
' ■"■ ' This was 

■ but 

little of interest, the cacti, dirty-looking Indians, grease- 
wood, and sand sremed about all. 

In the town there were but a few hou^ies, a little 
chnrch and two curio stores. We went into one of 
these curio stores and had our handkerchiefs stamped 
with the Mexican stamp. We also boaght a few cunos. 

Dividing the two CDuntrie<i, U. S. from Mexico, stands 
a large marble monamenl. 

What interested me [be most, was a fDnny-iooking 
Mexican, one hundred and four years old. This old 



never worn shoes and that he had never been out of Tia 
Jnana. We gave him a nickel to let us take his picture, 
when we gave him this nickel he thought he was rich. 
He had a red bandanna handkerchief that he carried his 
personal belongings in, and every house he went to, he 
always took this handkerchief. 

On our way back to San Diego our train switched off 
the main road and went up to a place called Sweetwater 
Dam. We aJI got out and looked at the dam. There 
was a sommer-house where people were asked to regis- 
ter iheir names. Tlie reason that it is called Sweet- 



it was free from alk&li and goad to drink, and that 
is the way it got the name Sweetwater. 

After lookmg at the dam a while we took (he train 
back to San Diego. 

We had our supper and went to bed very tired bnt 
after a very pleasant lime. 
Voars sincerely, 

Melbourne SuALLFACE (age ii.) 



North Pomona, California. 
Dear St. Nichoi.as: Several months ago my father 
bought a number of roosters, intending (o blten them 
for eating. As we have no chicken -house they roosted 
in the orange trees ; and one night a coyote caught all 
bnt one. After that the solitary rooster slept m the 
straw-shed with my young greyhoand and they became 



Lt friends. 



All d 






ej eat out of the 
>f the window I 

lund asleep. Like some 
ys agree. Sometimes the 
1 play when " Dandy " would rather 
sleep, so he runs up and pecks Dandy's toes or hops 
on to his back. 

Then, as " turn about is fair play " Dandy takes the 
rooster by the neck and turns him round and round, 
sometimes pulling out a bunch of feathers. 

The rooster is so conceited and stmts around in such 
a fanny way that we named him the Governor. He is 



quite tame, and we often pick him up and take h 
around the garden with us. Sometimes when he find 
bit of food lie calls, as if to a hen, and Dandy coin 
bounding from wherever he may be, and the rcxisi 
gives up ihe choice morsel to the dog. They are be 
vegetarians, living entirety npon milk, bread and ve| 

Wc have taken yoa for several years, and I have Jt 

With good wishes for your prosperity in Ihe Aidlre, 
I remain your loving reader, 

Gertkude Palmer. 



Fort Monkob, Va. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Perhaps some of your readers 
would like 10 know how I amused myself last summer 
when the whole post was quarantined on accontit of 
yellow fever. We had a pair of guinea pigi and a lot 
of baby ones. Myself and my sister (who was 13 years 
old and I was 8} took turns getting clover for them and 
they were so tame they would eat out of our hands. 
Then we rented a pianola and we had our favorite pieces - 
to play, and Baker the market-man went to the library 
and got a book apiece for ns to read that da^. We had 
a goat and he was great fun for I used to nde in a little 
caiL There was a bio ball for the soldiers and mamma 
and papa led Ihe grand march. I was half glad to come 
here for it was rather slupid doing the same thing every 
day although we did have new books to re*d. 1 hope 
yon wilt have room for this, for I never wrote to tbe 
letter box before. 

Your loving reader, 

Merrv Alden Bailey. 
P. S. I enjoy you very much. M. A. B. 



Bala, Pa. 
My Dear St. Nicholas r This is the first time I have 
ever written a tetter to yon and I hope you will put it 
in the Letter-Box. I love to read your stories and I 
especially like " From Sionx to Susan " and '" Pinkey 
Perkins." I am going to try very hard to earn a. 

I live in a beautiful country place a few miles oat of 
Philadelphia, and I have many friends. We have 
bicycles and ride them to school. I would like very 
much to have the receipt of fudge, and I thought one 
of the League members might be able to tell me 
through the Letter-Box. With best wishes, I remain. 
Your interested reader, 

Sibyl H. Wright (age 11). 



Bridgeport, Ohio. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We have taken you for 14 
years end we think ■ lot of you. I enjoy reading about 
the league, I have been reading "Pinkey Perkins" 
and I named my pet rat after him, I am going to send a 
picture with my next letter. We have 10 little chickens 
and 3 ducks. We have a nice big shepherd dog, hit 
name is Bob, and we have two cats. 
Well that ii all I have to say. 

I am your faithrul reader, 

Aghxs McGough (age 9). 



1., Google 




NovBL AciOTTic. Piimidi, Kami 
Stuc I. Haunt 1. Annul. 3. 
6. OUm. 7. NuaL S. Rcdy. 9. Inn^E. lu. nuiu;. n. umi 

CHAUtx. Whip-poor-mll. 

DoUBLt Bbhiadihgi ahd CuoTArtiKCs. RogR Shemun. 
Pi-rap-el. a. Uo'Oini'Cd. 3- Lc-ffvm^*. 4- tS-cTa-le. 5. F 
nt-lc 6. Re-Dd-H. 7. Ua-bip-pr, S. Pe-in-tc 9. C^-nm-i 



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE NOVEMBER NUMBER 
; Hiird row. Unilnl Dou BLR ACROSTIC. Pnnuls, 



Urcwiler. Croewordi: i. Marine. 7. lubel. 1. Lefeod. 
Empm. ]. Seniot. 6. Subuib. 7. TEDiper. 8. Advice. 9. Ni 
nw. Id. bebrii, II. tnlaiil, 13. Secure, i). HecUr. 



JpTJ 






;. Latrict 6. AlhleK. 



f. Amman. 5. Signsl 



itiili, Sibu Man 
.. SwiTnoic. 
il. i. MooeoK 



J. Athen. 6. St-out. j. J.-ncu 8. Ol 
: Annren In be Kknovledied in the maew 



OWNRCTMD 

Menlh. 4. At 
S.S. III. . 
R. a. Tea. 
Sumac. 4- Ni 
J. N. VII. 
1. S. 3. Din. 



: tv" 



I. C. 1. Eat }. Cabin. 4 
]. Needa. 4. Add. j. S. 



ceivcd not later tbnn 



Uacker— Dorii Lon(. 



P. Shaw. s-E. Be 
Bmwn, I— B. Zudui 
Vou^l, I— G, CuTI 



d b. Week!,': 



—Mabel StrachaD, a— E. B. SlebUns, 



„ ::!Lyiiiaii. I— M.'^lungi 1 ,.., , „ 

;-M. V. Waid, i-M. Walker, i-I. F. Lyoo5, i-H. Paiu , , .. 

' -"Sl Cahfiel't Chapier, 7— Carolyn E. HuIloDi 6— EUu F. Stern, 7 



— Edsa Meyte, s— R' Sjchel. i- 



tembly-room in a dwelling of the Pueblo IndUns. 6. 
Cargo. J. A (ropicsl frail. 8. Al a aislince but within 
view. 9. A small pill. 10. I^menL 

From t to z and from 3 to 4 each name a well known 
book by a famous American author. 

JOHN PARK SIMONS (IIotioT Member). 



CB08B 

(Silvlr Badtt, St. 

Myfii 



D ENIGMA. 

as League Compc 



Bt beginning at the ri^l letter, and then taking everj 
third letter, some familiar words ma; be spelled. 



iraOBLK ZIOZAG. 



«.j ...^L i= ... ....t./y but not in prune; 

My second, in dish but not in spoon; 
My Ihird is in rain bat not in snow ; 
My fourth is in friend, but not in foe; 
My fifth is in stone but not in rock ; 
My sixth is in sloddng, not in sock ; 
My seventh, in mist, but not 
My eight is in swamp, but m 
My last is in sparrow,bnt ~~ 
My whole is a day of joy 



in fog; 



I 



NTTKEBtCAI. GNTOMA 

4 composed of thirty-seven letters and form fl 



quotation from Shakespeare. 

My ta-j6-ar-j4 is to regard with care. Mr 1-6-30-8- 
Z4 is to uii«r a sudden and lond onicry. My 10-19-^- 
19-9 is 10 sink into a fainting fit My 37-18-32-3-36 is 
lirst in excellence. My 16-25- 13- 14-33 are sinews. ^'^ 

17-7-4-31-13-28 is one -.- ^ ■ 

other. My 5-ao-3S-i, 



who transacts business for a 
;.ii-I7-i3 is an edifice in which 
are exhibited. V. D. 



./Google 



JIXfSTRATEO KttHERICAI. ENIOHA. 

Tins differs from the ordinary numerical enigma in 
that the words forming it are pictured instead of de- 
scribed. When tlie nine objects have been rightly 
guessed, and the letters sec (town in the order given, 
the forly-two letters will form a quotalion from Owen 
Meredith. 

BOYAI. ACROSTICS. 

ICfMSaJgr, Si. NichollI League Coinpeuiiali,) 



. rascal. 6. .A sleeping 

iking. 

V[. I. A Scotch garment, a. Mournful music. 3. 
The capital of Alaska. 4. An anEestheiic ;. A tund 
of carriage. 6. A missile n-eapon. Central, a mythical 
king of Britain. 

VII. I. An Arabian seaport. 3. Bobnhite. 3. 
Pertaining to an order of architectare. 4. Course. J. 
Barbarians who overran Europe. 6. A female monatcli. 
Centrals, the conqueror of Norway in I018. 

VIII. I. A diadem, z. A planet. 3. A part in 
music. 4. The head of an Arab family. Centrals, a 
daughter of James 11. 

IX. I. A man of great wealth, a. Slug^h. 3. 
The nine goddesses. 4. A product of the pine tree. 
CcDtrob, the nickname ofa famous queen. 



WOItI>-8glTABE;S. 

. A story, a. Old. 3. A meial. 4. A whirl- 
D Spain. 3. A 

E. FILLING AND V> DAVIDSON. 

TKIPLK ACBOSTIC. 

Ckoss-WORDS (of equal length) : I. To burn slighlly. ' 
a. A person having while hair and pink eyes, 3. 
An Arctic cetacean. 4. A Sne. 5. The name of a sea- 
side park in New Jersey. 

My initials and the nent row following spell a &miliar 
name; my finals, a familiar decortition. 

^ (Honor Member}. 



I. Reading Across : i. An army officer, a. A 
black wood. 3. A title of respect used in India. 4. 

Pertaining to the ancient Carlhnginians. Centrals, 
downward, a cruel king of England. 



DOUBLE DEAOOMAtS. 

tSilotr Badp, Sl Nicfaolu League Competition.) 



a queen who was beheaded. 

III. I. A fine game. 2. An ancient empire whose 
capital was Rhagae. 3. To overtop other objects. 4. 
The goddess of the cliase. J- The foundation of an 
Btoll. 6. A great country. Centrals, a son of Alfred 
the Great. 

IV. I. A kind of quartz, a. Pertaining to the 

roles. 3. Proposal. 4. A month. 5. A question. 
, Coarse grass. Centrals, the youngest son of Ethel- 
ttulf. 

V. I. A shield, z. Dismal. 3. To submerge. 4. 



Cross-worDs: I. To wander, a. To empiy. 3. 
Boastful behavior. 4- To give notice. 5. Distin- 
guished. 6. Eternal. 7. Brave. 

From I to 3, expensive; from 3 to 5, quiet; from i 
to 5, most precious; from a to3,adistingaished persODl 
from 3 to 4, a circle ; from a to 4, looking fixedly. 



d by Google 



JANUARY, 1907 

ST IICHOLAS 

ILLUSTRATED AVAGAZINE 

FOR BOVS AND GIRLS 



e FREDERICK WARNE & CD ■ BEDFORD ST • STRAND • LONDON fi 

THE-CENTURY-CO-UNIONSQUARE-NEW-YORK 



d by Google 



d by Google 



ON NKW-YEAK-S DAY. 



V Google 



ST. NICHOLAS 



Vol. XXXIV 



JANUARY, 1907 



Racketty-Packetty House 

Ai told by Queen Croupatch 

By Frances Hodgson Burnett 

Author of '■ Lillle Lord Faunlleroy," ■■ Sara Creive." " Edkha's Burglar,'" etc. 



Part II— Conclusion 

" pROM her window," Peter Piper said. 
" " Lady Patsy can see Racketty-Pack- 
etty House and I 'U tell you something. 
She's always looking at it. She watches 
US as much as we watch her, and I have 
seen her giggling and giggling when we 
were having fun. Yesterday when I chased 
Lady Meg and Lady Peg and Lady Kilmans- 
keg round and round the front of the house 
and turned somersaults every five steps, she 
laughed until she had to stuff her handker- 
chief into her mouth. When we joined hands 
and danced and laughed until we fell in heaps 
I thought she was going to have a kind of 
rosy-dimpled, lovely little fit, she giggled so. 
If I run down the side of the house on this 
rope ladder it will attract her attention and 
then I shall begin to do things." 

He ran down the ladder and that very 
minute they saw Lady Patsy at her window 
give a start and leap forward to look. They 
all crowded round their window and chuckled 
and chuckled as they watched him. 

He turned three stalely somersaults and 
stood on his feet and made a cheerful bow. 
The Racketty-Packettys saw Lady Patsy be- 
gin to giggle that minute. Then he took an 
r out of his pocket and fastened 

Copyright, 190*, by The Ca 



it round the edge of his torn trousers leg, as 
if it were lace trimming, and began to walk 
about like a Duke — with his arms folded on 
his chest and hia ragged old hat cocked on 
one side over his ear. Then the Racketty- 
Packettys saw Lady Patsy begin to laugh. 
Then Peter Piper stood on his head and 
kissed his hand and Lady Patsy covered her 
face and rocked backwards and forwards in 
her chair laughing and laughing. 

Then he struck an attitude with his tattered 
leg put forward gracefully and he pretended 
he had a guitar and he sang — right up at her 
window. 

From Rackcliy-Packelty House I come, 
ft standx, iL-ar Lady, in a slum, 
A low, low slum behind the door 
The slout arm-chair is placed before, 
(Just take a look at it, my Lady). 

The house itself is a perfect sight. 

And everybody 's dressed like a perfect fright, 

But HO one cares a single Jot 

And each one giggles over his let, 

(And as for me, I 'm in love with you). 



I can't make tip another Vc 
And if I did it would be v. 



I /Google 



196 



Bui I could stand and sing all day. 
If I could think of things to say, 
(But the fact is I just wanted to make you 
look at me). 

And then he danced such a lively jig that 
his rags and tags fiew about him, and then he 
made another bow and kissed his hand again 



Racketty-Packetty House 



[!»», 



up their noses and snilTed aloud, and several 
limes the Duchess said she would remove be- 
cause the neighborhood was absolutely low. 
They all scorned the Racketty-Packettys — 
they just scorned them. 

One moonlight night Lady Patsy was sit- 
ting at her window and she heard a whistle in 
the garden. When she peeped out carefully, 
there stood Peter Piper waving his ragged cap 
at her, and he had his rope ladder under his 
arm. 

"Hello," he whispered as loud as he could. 
"Could you catch a bit of rope if I threw it 
up to you?" 

" Yes," she whispered back. 

"Then catch this," he whispered again and 
he threw up the end of a string and she caught 
it the first throw. It was fastened to the rope 
ladder. 

"Now pull," he said. 

She pulled and pulled until the rope ladder 
reached her window and then she fastened 
that to a hook under the sill and the first 



and ran up the ladder like a flash and jumped 
into the attic. 

After that Lady Patsy sat at her window 
all the time and would not let the trained 
nurse put her to bed at all ; and Lady Gwen- 
dolen and Lady Muriel and Lady Doris could 
not understand it. Once Lady Gwendolen 
said haughtily and disdainfully and scorn- 
fully and scathingly : 

"If you sit there so much, those low Rack- 
etty-Packetty House people will think you are 
looking at them." 

"I am," said Lady Patsy, showing all her » 

dimples at once. "They are such fun!" 

And Lady Gwendolen swooned haughtily 
away, and the trained nurse could scarcely re- "■Th 
store her. 

When the castle dolls drove out or walked thing that happened — just like lightning — 
in their garden, the instant they caught sight was that Peter Piper ran up the ladder and 
of one of the Racketty-Packettys thev turned leaned over her window ledge^ -. i 



.s Sits Reading 




i»07.] 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



"Will you marry me?" he said, "I have n't 
anything to give you to cat and I am as ragged 
as a scarecrow, but will you?" 

She clapped her little hands. 

"I eat very little," she said. "And I would 
do without anything at all, if I could live in 
your funny old shabby house." 

" It is a ridiculous, 
tumble-down old - 

barn, is n't it?" he /„_ 

said. " But every one 
of us is as nice as we 
can be. We are per- 
fect Turkish Delights. 
It 's laughing that 
does it. Would you 
like to come down 
the ladder and see 
what a jolly, shabby 
old hole the place is ?" 

"Oh! do take me," 
said Lady Patsy, 

So he helped her 
down the ladder and 
took her under the 
arm-chair and in- 
to Racketty-Pactetty 
House and Meg and 
Peg and Kilraanskeg 
and Kidiklis and 
Gustibus all crowded 
round her and gave 
little screams of joy 
at the sight of her. 

They were afraid 
to kiss her at first, 
even though she was 
engaged to Peter Pi- 
per, She was so pretty 
and her frock had so 
much lace on it that 
they were afraid their 
old rags might spoil 
her. But she did not 
care about her lace "' ''-■'■ -^ i^ '■- 

and flew at them and 

kissed and hugged peter Pir^n Shows i 

them every one. 

"I have so wanted to come here," she said. 
"It 's so dull at the Castle I had to break my 
leg just to get a change. The Duchess sits 
reading near the fire with her gold eye-glasses 
on her nose and Lady Gwendolen plays 
haughtily on the harp and Lady Muriel coldly 
listens to her, and Lady Doris is always 
laughing mockingly, and Lord Hubert reads 
the newspaper with a high-bred air, and Lord 



197 



Francis writes letters to noblemen of his ac- 
quaintance, and Lord Rupert glances over his 
love letters from ladies of title, in an aristo- 
cratic manner— until I could scream. Just to 
see you dears dancing about in your rags and 
tags and laughing and inventing games as if 
you did n't mind anything, is such a relief." 



/^^ 



jiDV Patsv over Racketty-Packetty Hovse, 

She nearly laughed her little curly head off 
when they all went round the house with her, 
and Peter Piper showed her the holes in the 
carpet and the stuffing coming out of the 
sofas, and the feathers out of the beds, and 
the legs tumbling off the chairs. She had 
never seen anything like it before, 

"At the Castle, nothing is funny at all," 
she said, "And nothing ever sticks out 9^1^ 



Racketty-Packetty House 



hangs down or tumbles ofE. It is so plain 
and new." 

"But I think we ought to tell her, Duke," 
Ridiklis said. "We may have our house 
burned over our heads any day," She really 
stopped laughing for a, whole minute when 
she heard that, but s>he was rather like Peter 



Piper in disposition and she said almost im- 
mediately : 

"Oh I they '11 never do it. They 've for- 
gotten you." And Peter Piper said: 

"Don't let 's think of it. Let 's all join 
hands and dance round and round and kick 
up our heels and laugh as hard as ever we 

And they did — and Lady Patsy laughed 
harder than any one else. After that she was 
always stealing away from Tidy Castle and 
coining in and having fun. Sometimes she 
stayed all night and slept with Meg and Peg 
and everybody invented new games and stories 
and they really never went to bed until day- 
light. But the Castle dolls grew more and 
more scornful every day, and tossed their 
heads higher and higher and sniffed louder 
and louder until it sounded as if they all had 



influenza, 'i'hey never lost an opportunity of 
saying disdainful things and once the Duchess 
wrote a letter to Cynthia, saying that she in- 
sisted on removing to a decent neighborhood. 
She laid the letter in her desk but the gentle- 
man mouse came in the night and carried it 
away. So CiTithia never saw it and 1 don't 
believe she could have read it if she had seen 
it because the Duchess wrote very badly — 
even for a doll. 

And then what do you suppose happened? 
One morning Cynthia began to play that all 
the Tidy Castle dolls had scarlet fever. She 
said it had broken out in the night and she 
undressed them all and put them into bed and 
gave them medicine. She could not find Lady 
Patsy, so she escaped the contagion. The 
truth was that Lady Patsy had stayed all 
night at Racketty-Packetty House, where they 
were giving an imitation Court Ball with 
Peter Piper in a tin crown, and shavings for 
supper — because they had nothing else, and 
in fact the gentleman mouse had brought the 
shavings from his nest as a present. 

Cynthia played nearly all day and the 
Duchess and Lady Gwendolen and Lady 
Muriel and Lady Doris and Lord Hubert 
and Lord Francis and Lord Rupert got worse 
and worse. 

By evening they were all raging in delir- 
ium and Lord Francis and Lady Gwendolen 
had strong mustard plasters on their chests. 
And right in the middle of their agony Cyn- 
thia suddenly got up and went away and left 
them to their fate — just as if it did n't niatter 
in the least. Well in the middle of the night 
Meg and Peg and Lady Patsy wakened all 
at once. 

"Do you hear a noise?" said Meg, lifting 
her head from her ragged old pillow. 

"Yes, I do," said Peg, sitting up and hold- 
ing her ragged old blanket up to her chin. 

Lady Patsy jumped up with feathers stick- 
ing up all over her hair, because they had 
come out of the holes in the ragged old bed. 
She ran to the window and listened. 

"Oh! Meg and Peg!" she cried out. "It 
comes from the Castle. Cynthia has left 
them all raving in delirium and they are all 
shouting and groaning and screaming." 

Meg and Peg jumped up too. 

"Let 's go and call Kilmanskeg and Ridi- 
klis and Gustibus and Peter Piper," they said. 
and they rushed to the staircase and met Kil- 
manskeg and Ridiklis and Gustibus and Peter 
Piper coming scrambling up panting because 
the noise had wakened them as well. 



•907l 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



They were all over at Tidy Castle in a min- 
ute. They just tumbled over each other to 
gel there — the kind-hearted things. The ser- 
vants were every one fast asleep, though the 
noise was awful. The loudest groans came 
from Lady Gwendolen and Lord Francis be- 
cause their mustard plasters were blistering 
them frightfully. 

Ridiklis took charge, because she was the 
one who knew most about illness. She sent 
Gustibus to waken the servants and then or- 
dered hot water and cold water, and ice, and 
brandy, and poultices, and shook the trained 
Xurse for not attending to her business — and 
took off the mustard plasters and gave gruel 
and broth and cough syrup and castor oil and 
ipecacuanha, and every one of the Racketty- 
Packettys massaged, and soothed, and patted, 
and put wet cloths on heads, until the fever 
was gone and the Castle dolls all lay back 
on their pillows pale and weak, but smiling 
faintly at every Racketty- Packet ty they saw. 



"Oh! you dear, shabby, disrespect able, 
darling thingsl" she said. "Never, never 
will I scorn you again. Never, never!" 




■) You Hl^AR A 



,E?' Said Mto, Lin 



"That 's right!" said Peter Piper in his 
cheerful, rather slangy way. "You take my 
tip — never you scorn any one again. It 's a 
mistake. Just you watch me stand on my 
head. It '11 cheer you up." 

And he turned six somersaults — just like 
lightning — and stood on his head and wig- 
gled his ragged legs at them until suddenly 
they heard a snort from one of the beds and 
it was Lord Hubert beginning to laugh and 
then Lord Francis laughed and then Lord 
Hubert- shouted, and then I.ady Doris 
squealed, and Lady Muriel screamed, and 
Lady Gwendolen and the Duchess rolled over 
and over in their beds, laughing as if they 
would have fits. 

"Oh! you delightful, funny, shabby old 
loves!" Lady Gwendolen kept saying. "To 



instead of turning up their noses and tossing think that we scorned you." 



their heads and sniffing loudly, and just 
scorning them. 

Lady Gwendolen spoke first and instead t 
being haughty and disdainful, she was ; 
humble as a new-bom kitten. 



"They 'U be all right after this," said 
Peter Piper. "There 's nothing cures scarlet 
fever like cheering up. Let 's all join hands 
and dance round and round once for them 
before we go back to bed. It 'II throw them , 

i.M -. 1 vV_700glC 



200 

into a nice light perspiration and they 'II drop 
off and sleep like tops." And they did it, 
and before they had finished, the whole lot of 
them were perspiring gently and snoring as 
softly as lambs. 

When they went back to Racketty-Packetty 
House they talked a good deal about Cynthia 
and wondered and wondered why she had left 
her scarlet fever patients so suddenly. And 
at last Ridiklis made up her mind to tell them 
something she had heard. 

"The Duchess told me," she said, rather 



Racketty-Packetty House 



slowly because it was bad news — " The 
Duchess said that Cynthia went away because 
her Mama had sent for her — and her Mama 
had sent for her to tell her tJiat a little girl 
Princess is coming to see her to-morrow. 
Cynthia's Mama used to be a maid of honor 
to the Queen and that 's why the little girl 
Princess is coming. The Duchess said — " 
and here Ridiklis spoke very slowly indeed, — 
"that the Nurse was so excited she said she 
did not know whether she stood on her head 
or her heels, and she must tidy up the nursery 
and have that Racketty-Packetty old dolls' 



house carried down stairs and burned, early 
to-morrow morning. That 's what the 
Duchess said — " 

Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg clutched at 
their iiearts and gasped and Gustibus groaned 
and Lady Patsy caught Peter Piper by the 
arm to keep from falling. Peter Piper gulped 
— and then he had a sudden cheerful thought. 

"Perhaps she was raving in delirium," he 
said. 

"No, she was n't," said Ridiklis, shaking 
her head, "I had just given her hot water and 
cold, and gruel, and broth, and castor oil, and 
ipecacuanha and put ice almost all over her. 
She was as sensible as any of us. To-morrow 
morning we shall not have a house over our 
heads," and she put her ragged old apron 
over her face and cried. 

"If she was n't raving in delirium," said 
Peter Piper, "we shall not have any heads. 
Vou had better go back to the Castle to-night. 
Patsy. Racketty-Packetty House is no place 
for you." 

Then I.ady Patsy drew herself up so 
straight that she nearly fell over backwards. 

"I — will — ntwr— leave you!" she said, 
and Peter Piper could n't make her. 

You can just imagine what a doleful night 
it was. They went all over the house to- 
gether and looked at every hole in the carpet 
and every piece of stuffing sticking out of the 
dear old shabby sofas, and every broken win- 
dow and chair-leg and table and ragged 
blanket — and the tears ran down their faces 
for the first time in their lives. About six 
o'clock in the morning Peter Piper made a 
last effort. 

"Let 's all join hands in a circle," he said 
quite faintly, "and dance round and round 
once more." 

But it was no use. \Vhen they joined 
hands they could not dance, and when they 
found they could not dance they all tumbled 
down in a heap and cried instead of laughing 
and Lady Patsy lay with her arms round 
Peter Piper's neck. 

Now here is where I come in again — Queen 
Crosspatch, who is telling you this story. I 
always come in just at the nick of time when 
people like the Racketty- Packet tys are in 
trouble, I walked in at seven o'clock. 

"Get up off the floor," I said to them all 
and they got up and stared at me. They ac- 
tually thought I did not know what had hap- 
pened. 

"A little girl Princess is coming this morn- 
ing," said Peter Piper, "and our house is 



■»•'' Frances Hodgson Burnett 201 

going to be burned over our heads. This is soon as she made one corner tidy, they ran 
the end of Racketty- Packet ty House." after ber and made it untidy. They held her 

"No, it is n't !" I said. "You leave this to back by her dress and hung and swung on her 
me. I told the Princess to come here, though apron until she could scarcely move and kept 
she does n't know it in the least." wondering why she was so slow. She could 

not make the Nursery 
tidy and she was so 
flurried she forgot all 
about R acketty- Pack- 
et ty House again — 
especially asmy Work- 
ing Fairies pushed 
the arm-chair close 
up to it so that it 
was quite hidden. 
And there it was 
when the little girl 
Princess came with 
her Ladies in Wait- 
ing. My fairies had 
^ only just allowed the 

Nurse to finish the 
Nursery. 

Meg and Peg and 
Kilmanskeg and Kid- 
iklis and Gustibus 
and Peter Piper and 
Lady Patsy were hud- , 
died up together 
looking out of one 
window. Tliey could 
not bear to be parted. 
I sat on the arm of 
the big chair and 
ordered my Working 
Fairies to stand ready 
to obey me the in- 
stant I spoke. 

The Princess was 
a nice child and was 
very polite to Cyn- 
thia when she showed 
her all her dolls, and 
last but not least, 
TidyCastleitself. She 
lookedatall the rooms 
'■- ' ^ " "" ■' '''i ^ - :' and the furniture and 

■■The Little Girl Prtncess Picked up Meg and Peg and Kilmanskeg ^^''^ polite and admir- 

AND Gustibus and Peter Piper as if Thev Had Been Really ing things about each 

a Qi!EEN-s Dolls.- of ^-^^^^^ ■Q^^^ Cynthia 

realized that she was 
A whole army of my Working Fairies be- not so much interested in it as she had thought 
gan to swarm in at the Nursery window. The she would be. The fact was that the Princess 
Nm^e was working very hard to put things in bad so many grand dolls' houses in her palace 
order and she had not sense enough to see that Tidy Castle did not surprise her at all. 
Fairies at all. So she did not see mine, It was just when Cynthia was finding this out 
though there were hundreds of them. As that I gave the order to my Working Fairies. 

le 



rkinz Fairies. 

./Google 



202 

"Push the arm-chair away," I commanded; 
"very slowly, so that no one will know it is 
being moved." 

So they moved it away — very, very slowly 
— and no one saw that it had stirred. But 
the nest minute the little girl Princess gave a 
delightful start. 

"OhI what is that!" she cried out, hurry- 
ing towards the unfashionable neighborhood 
behind the door. 

Cynthia blushed all over and the Nurse 
actually turned pale. The Racketty-Packettys 
tumbled down in a heap lieneath their window 
and began to tremble and quake. 

"It is only a shabby old dolls' house, your 
Highness," Cynthia stammered out. "It be- 
longed to my Grandmamma, and it ought not 
to be in the Nursery. I thought you had had 
it burned, Nurse!" 

"Burned!" the little girl Princess cried 
out in the most shocked way. 

"Why if it was mine, I would n't hav.e it 
burned for worlds ! Oh ! plea.se push the 
chair away and let me look at it. There are 
no dolls' houses like it anywhere in these 
days." And when the arm-chair was pushed 
aside she scrambled down on to her knees just 
as if she was not a little girl Princess at all. 

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she said. "How funny 
and dear! What a darling old dolls' house. 
It is shabby and wants mending, of course. 
but it is almost exactly like one my Grand- 
mamma had — she kept it among her treasures 
and only let me look at it as a great, great 

Cynthia gave a gasp, for the little girl 
Princess's Grandmamma had been the Queen 
and people had knelt down and kissed her 
hand and had been obliged to go out of the 
room backwards before her. 

The little girl Princess was simply filled 
with joy. She picked up Meg and Peg and 
Kilmanskeg and (}ustibus and Peter Piper as 
if they had been really a Queen's dolls. 

"Oh! the darling dears," she said. "Look 
at their nice, queer faces and their funny 
clothes. Just — just like Grandmamma's dol- 
lies' clothes. Only these poor things do so 
want new ones. Oh ! how I should like to 
dress them again I'ust as they used to be 
dressed, and have the house all made just as 
it used to he when it was new." 

"That old Racketty-Packetty House." said 
Cynthia, losing her breath. 

" If it were mine I should make it just like 
Grandmamma's and I should love it more 
than anv dolls' house I have. I never — never 



Racketty-Packetty House 



— never — saw anything as nice and laughing 
and good-natured as these dolls' faces. They 
look as if they had been having fun ever since 
they were born. Oh! if you were to burn 
them and their home I — 1 could never for- 



"I 



will, — your Highness," 



stammered Cynthia, quite overwhelmed. Sud- 
denly she started forward. 

"Why, there is the lost doll!" she cried 
out. "There is Lady Patsy. How did she 
get into Racketty-Packetty House?" 

" Perhaps she went there to see them be- 
cause they were so poor and shabby," said the 
little girl Princess. "Perhaps she likes this 
one," and she pointed to Peter Piper. "Do 
you know when I picked him up their arms 
were about each other. Please let her stay 
with him. Oh!" she cried out the next in- 
stant and jiunped a little. "I felt as if the 
boy one kicked his leg." 

And it was actually true, because Peter 
Piper could not help it and he had kicked out 
his ragged leg for joy. He had to be very 
careful not to kick any more when he heard 
what happened next. 

As tlie Princess liked Racketty-Packetty 
House so much, Cynthia gave it, to her for a 



»»07-l 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



present — and the Princess was really happy — 
and before she went away she made a little 
speech to the whole Racketty-Packetty fam- 
ily, whom she had set all in a row in the 
ragged old, dear old, shabby old drawing- 
room where they had had so much fun. 

"You are going to come and live with me, 
funny, good-natured loves," she said, "And 
you shall all be dressed beautifully again and 
your house shall be mended and papered and 
painted and made as lovely as ever it was. 
And I am going to like you better than all my 
other dolls' houses — just as Grandmamma 
said she liked hers." 

And then she was gone. 
And every bit of it came true. Racketty- 
Packetty House was carried to a splendid 
Nursery in a Palace, and Meg and Peg and 
Kilmanskeg and Ridiklis and Gustibus and 
Peter Piper were made so gorgeous that if 
they had not been so nice they would have 
grown proud. But they did n't. They only 
grew jollier and jollier and Peter Piper mar- 
ried Lady Patsy, and Ridiklis's left leg was 



mended and she was painted into a beauty 
again — but she always remained the useful 
one. And the dolls in the other dolls' houses 
use4 to make deep curtsies when a Racketty- 
Packetty House doll passed them, and Peter 
Piper could scarcely stand it because it always 
made him want to stand on his head and laugh 
— and so when they were curtsied at — because 
they were related to the Royal Dolls' House 
— they used to run into their drawing-room 
and fall into fits of giggles, and they could 
only stop them by all joining hands together 
in a ring and dancing round and round and 
kicking up their heels and laughing until they 
tumbled down in a heap, 

■\\'hat do you think of that for a story ! And 
does n't it prove to you what a valuable Friend 
a Fairy is — particularly a Queen one? 

i'is, a Fairy Queen can work -wonders in- 
deed .' She can eren lame the crassest lion that 
—~r roared, as you ivill see by the next story I 

'■going to tell you— the story- about " The Coiy 
Queen Crosspatch. 






V/HO 'o WHO'. 

V/heu I took Hector 
for a walk it used 
to tc great fun ; 

Plcv/aaaliltle puppy 
then, and close to 
me he 'd run. 

But when v;e go 
out walking now 
it 's different as 
can be — 

I don't knowwhellier 
I take him, or 
whether ho lakes 



tizcd by Google 



RUBliNSS TORTRAIT OF HIS 'JWO SONS. 

"* UigtizcdbyGoOglc 



The Two Sons of Peter Paul Rubens 

By N. Hudson Moore 




OTJLD any girl or 
boy look at the 
picture on the op- 
posite page and 
not be curious to 
know who these 
boysare? Theyare 
the sons of Peter 
Paul Rubens, who 
painted the picture. 
Before we speak 



children. Perhaps that is why it is so pleas- 
ing. He loved them so much that he saw 
them at their best, and he painted them as 
he saw them. They look very differently 
from the boys I see to-day, and the other day 
I asked a boy I know how he would like to be 
dressed as they were. 

"Not on your life!" he slangily replied, 
"Think of hurrying to get ready for school 
and catching your fingers in all those bows!" 
thought it was even worse when I told 



about the picture him those bows were used for tying the dif- 

I am going to tell you just a few things about ferent parts of the clothes together and that 

Peter Paul Rubens, the artist who painted it. the rows of buttons down the sides of the 

His father died when he was ten years old, and trousers, on the jacket-fronts and sleeves, 

ilia mother, with Peter Paul and the rest of were for show only. He said he felt sorry 

the children, moved from Cologne to Antwerp for those boys all "togged" out in that way 

in Belgium. It was the custom in those days and thought they could not have had much 

for people who were not very rich, and some- fun. Finally I asked him: "What do you 

times even for those who were, to put their like best of the things those boys have, and 

children in the families of nobles or great would like to have for your own?" 

lords so that they should be trained as pages What do you think. He chose the gloves, 

if they were boys, or bower maidens if they "That fur would keep your wrists jolly 

were girls. warm in winter, and they don't look tight 

A page was taught to ride, to hunt, to fly enough to pinch, as gloves do to-day," was 

) hawk, to dance a measure, to use a sword what he said. 



and to play on the lute and sing if he was 
able. He could saddle and tend his horse, 
keep armor bright and follow his master to 
the wars and wait on him. Sometimes a page 
was taught to write and read, but he had few 
lessons beyond this. 

The girl would be taught to embroider, to 
sow and mend, to spin and knit, to dye 
clothes and weave them. She too must dance, 
and learn to read and perhaps to w: 
tiame, though even royal ladies could not al- 
ways do this and often had to make a cross 
when they had to sign a letter. 

The young Peter Paul, in accordance with 
this custom, served as a page for a time in 
the household of the Countess Lalaing in 
Brussels. But what he loved most was draw- 
ing and painting and soon his mother learned 
of his talent and after that he was carefully 
trained, and became not only one of the great- 
est artists of bis time, but of all time. 

Now our picture of the two boys was 
painted by this same Peter Paul Rubens when 
he had grown to be a man, and they were his 



" Yes, that is true, and gloves were very 
important parts of a man's dress. Perhaps 
this is his first pair, and that is why he 
wanted them put in his picture." 

Then there came into my head that line 
from Shakspere's play of "Romeo and Juliet." 



"O, would I n 



e apon that hand," 



and I wondered what kind of a glove the 
her beautiful Juliet wore. Then I remembered 
al- that she was an Italian, so that made me sure 
ross that the gloves were delicate, of fine kid, em- 
broidered and scented. In Italy they called 
such gloves " Frangipanni" gloves. They 
were very different from the first gloves made, 
which were_ only used in battle and were 
weighted with iron or lead and sometimes had 
spikes and knobs on them so that they made 
regular weapons in hand-to-hand fighting. 

No doubt you wonder where the embroi- 
dery was put on these gloves,— the choice ones 
worn in times of peace and by ladies. It was 
on the gauntlets or "tops" as they were 
railed. Silver and gold thread, ^colored 



, ^coiorea i 

. Lioogic 



206 



The Two Sons of Peter Paul Rubens 



silks, spangles, jewels, lace, and fur, — as you 
see in the picture, were all used on the tops. 
There is a single glove still to be seen in Eng- 
land which belonged to poor Mary Queen of 
Scots. Embroidered on it is a flying bird. 
Sad and lonely Queen, how do you think she 
felt when she was in prison and looked upon 
this flyhig bird upon her glove? 

Although very perishable things, many 
gloves which belonged to famous persons are 
still in existence. For instance, when you go 
to England 1 am sure you will visit Canter- 
bury Cathedral, Vou will see there the 
gloves of Edward the Black Prince, the lad 
who won his spurs at the battle of Crecy, 
August 26, 1346. Think of gloves as old 
as that' 

Queen Man s glo\e of which I have spoken 
is m the Museum of Saffron Walden. She 
gave it on the mornmg she was to be be- 
headed, to a member of the Dayrell family. 
They have a1wa\s kept it 

Queen Elizabeth was fond of handsome 
gloves too, and had many pairs, some of which 
are still preserved in England, 

A pair of gloves which belonged to the poet 
Shakspere is in the Furness Collection in 
Philadelphia. Is it not wonderful to think 
that they should be in this country? There 
is a pair of gloves which belonged to Gov- 
ernor Bradford of Plymouth, which is to 
be seen in the Essex Institute at Salem, Mass. 
You would laugh if you saw them, for they 
are tiny things made of lace, which he wore 
when he was a baby. 

The Highlanders of Scotland had curious 
customs with gloves. They used them to chal- 
lenge each other to battle, and as a sign of a 
quarrel they used to bite a finger of their 
glove. In the "Lay of the Last Minstrel" 
are these two lines ; 



and they had a "pretty fight" the next 
day. 

Now you might"" not ■ think" that the Pil- 
grims, a few years after they landed in this 
country, would have had much time to give 
to either the making or wearing of gloves. 
Yet they did, and they, too, wore them em- 
broidered and fringed, and in 1645, which 
was only a few years later than when this 
picture was painted, the (Jlovers made a pe- 
tition to the Council that no goatskins should 
be sent away from the colony. 

What a long distance this pair of gloves 
in the picture has made us travel ! Let us 
look at the Rubens boys again. You will 
notice that their clothes have slits in them. 
These were called "slashes," and doublets 
(coats) were "jagged" or cut in points or 
stjuares around the bottom. 'I'he number of 
the slashes was settled by law, as were also 
the color and material which each class of 
persons could wear. At one time only royalty 
could wear red. No one of lower rank than 
the wife of a knight could wear velvet, and 
not even she, if her husband could not pro- 
vide a certain number of retainers, armed and 
with horses, to go to battle when wanted. 
Certain kinds of fur were permitted only to 
persons of high rank. I 've been wondering 
what kind of fur young Rubens has on his 
gloves. Perhaps it is fox. 

There is only one thing which I do not like 
about the picture, and that is the poor little 
bird tied to a string which is fastened to that 
perch with silver bells. It seems to me to be 

The elder boy has a book, he must know 
how to read. It does not look like a Ies.son- 
liook, perhaps it is a story-book and he reads 
from it to his brother who has not got so far 
along yet. Both boys have pleasant faces 
and seem fond of each other, a thing which 
is always good to see. 



d by Google 



hfff "■'■; 

' ■■■,[ \l 

' !L!J.i) 






, 1 1 f ? f 1 

JliJlJ 

.' ' r .' ' * 

fill: 



By Nancy Byrd Turner 

The little common people— they come in shining 



But we lake them and we scatter them around 

with careless hands 
Till some live on the bureau and some live on 

the shelf. 
And now and then one lives alone in a comer 

by himself ; 
And some stay in the work-box, {they 're most 

contented there). 
And some the children use for play, and /Jie_y live 

anywhere. 
O, it is n't nice to think of, and it is n't good to 

tell— 

The way we treat the little folk who work for 

us so well! 

They help the buttons hold us in oui 

pinafores, 
They keep our dollies' dresses on, an 

toys by scores ; 
They 're hinges for our boxes and fi! 

oiu' strings. 
They make potatoes animals, and do 

things. 
And we lose them and abuse then 

them into cracks. 
We find them lying all around and lei 
their backs ; 
them and we ben' 
[ am ashamed to U 
treat the little co 
10 work for us so v 






m. 



jt 



'I 



till 
;llti 



") 



d by Google 




Keeping "Open House" for the Birds 

By Ernest Harold Baynes 




Fa fairy had ever of- 
"] fered to grant me three 
I wishes, '■ the full con- 
fidence of wild ani- 
I mals " would surely 
lave been one of them, 
ind probably the first. 
f we seek opportuni- 
ies to befriend wild 
creatures, and take ad- 
vantage of them, we shall often find, as I have 
done, that there is no lack of response on the 
part of the animals. I once walked up to 
a pine siskin, as he was feeding on the 
ground, and picked him up in my hand. He 
did not seem a bit alarmed, and when, a few 
minutes later, I set him down, he continued his 
search for food within a few inches of my feet. 
On another occasion a yellow- throated vireo 
allowed me to lift her from her nest when 1 
wished to count her eggs, and nestled down 
comfortably on her treasures the moment I put 



her back. \Vith a forefinger I once stroked the 
back of a red-breasted nuthatch as he was 
busy feeding on a tree. 

Of all times, winter is perhaps the best in 
which to seek the confidence of birds. They 
are at that time in need of food, we can then 
offer them friendly assistance, and hunger 
makes them respond to our advances. Just 
fancy, for instance, having chickadees come 
ill through the open windows in httle flocks, to 
hop about the rooms.and examine all your be- 
longings, with their bright, black eyes, or to 
take breakfast at the same table with you in 
the morning ! Yet this is exactly the experience 
we have had during the last two winters, one 
in Massachusetts and the other in New Hamp- 
shire, and it is an experience which anyone 
who lives in the country may have, with little 
trouble and less expense. 

It is well to begin to make preparations for 
bird guests at least as early as the middle of 
November. In the first place it takes some 



Keeping " Open House " for the Birds 



dme for the news of one's hospitality to spread 
among the feathered folk, and the sooner it 
starts the better. Then, most people prefer to 
work out-doors in November rather than in 
December. But January is not too late. It 
is very desirable that some of the birds should 
be induced to feed where they may be ob- 
served by their hosts. 

Generally speaking, there are two kinds of 
birds to prepare for— those which eat seed or 
grain and those which prefer animal food of 
some kind. There is another class, well repre- 
sented by the blue jays, which will eal almost 
anything, but no special preparations need be 
made for the birds belonging to it, since ihey 
will fare riotously on the food set out for the 
others. First of all we will consider the 
insectivorous birds. Their natural fare is 
rarely attainable in winter, but beef suet will 
be found a very good and convenient substitute 
for it. All things considered, suet is the best 
thing I have tried for this purpose. 

If there happen to be trees near the house, 
the problem of the bird-feeder is simple ; all he 
has to do is to tie the suet securely to the trunks 
and prominent branches and await the arrival 
of his guests. It there are no trees, he should 
go out into the woods and cut down as large a 
dead one as he can handle, and set it in the 
ground exactly where he wants it. A sapling 
will answer, but a larger tree is more interesting. 



"The Chickadees Klv to Our Hands." 

the neighborhood, the best place to scatter the 
.seed is on the ground, where seed-eating birds 
usually get their food. First of all however, 
the snow should be cleared away ; otherwise 
the food is liable to sink in out of sight ; and 
besides, it is very difficult for small birds to gel 
about on foot in soft, deep snow. If there are 
cats about, the food may be placed on shallow 
Irays or tin pans, which may be set on posts or 
fastened to the trunks and branches of trees. 
The host must not be discouraged if guests 



A Cedar Waxwinc. 


A Chickadee. 


A BLUE Jay. 



A TRIO OF FRIENDLY BIRDS, 



For the seed-eating birds it is well to have a do not arrive immediately, or if only a very few 

variety of food. Mixed bird seed is excellent arrive at first. As the good news spreads, the 

for the smaller birds, but to it should be added number and variety of birds will increase from 

such things as oats, wheat, buckwheat, corn, week to week. We have had as many as 

and stm-fiower seeds. If there are no cats in eighteen different kinds of birds patronize 

Voi. XXXIV—a?. 13, 1 ^ , GOOQ Ic 



Keeping " Open House " for the Birds 



210 

our feeding stations in a single winter, and they 
included quail, ring-necked pheasants, haiiy and 
downy woodpeckers, blue jays, crows, purple 
finches, house sparrows, goldfinches, snow 
buntings, tree sparrows, juncos, song sparrows, 
white- breasted and red -breasted nuthatches, 
brown creepers and chickadees, besides a 
northern shrike, which was attracted by the 
presence of so many smaller birds. 

Of all these guests, the chickadees have been 
the tamest and the source of the greatest 
pleasure. Every winter they come to us; and 
their confidence seems to be unlimited. They 
fly to the window sills, and standing on the lips 
of their toes, and stretching their necks upward, 



[Jui» 



in to breakfast. So we moved the breakfast 
table close to a window, which we opened, 
scattering broken nuts on the cloth for our 
guests. They came in fast enough, but instead 
of staying with us, they picked up the fragments 
of the nuts and flew out again to eat them in the 
trees in the garden. This not being in accord- 
ance with our plan, we took some more broken 
nuts, and with a needle and thread, tacked them 
hghlly to the table cloth. Then when the 
chickadees returned, they were unable to cany 
the food away, so remained and took breakfast 
with us. They never forgot this meal, I think, 
for whenever the window was opened at break- 
fast time, they were sure to come in with an air of 




peer in the room, first with one eye and then 
with the other. If someone does not attend to 
their. wants at once, they peck at the glass with 
their bills and call in a tone which certainly seems 
to have a shade of impatience in it. We open 
a door or window, and in tliey come, by ones 
and twos and sometimes in a little flock. They 
hop about the floor, pick up scraps of paper 
under my desk, fly to the backs of chairs and 
to the pictures hanging on the walls, examining 
everything with the brightest of black eyes, and 
occasionally testing with their bills, some object 
which seems to interest them. Sometimes they 
mistake the way out, and fly straight into a 
closed window. But even such an accident 
does not alarm them ; they pick themselves up 
and try again. 

One frosty morning, when the chickadees 
seemed even more persistent than usual, we 
thought it might be a good idea to invite them 






expectancy to see if we had anything for them. 
Later in the winter, Mrs. Baynes had a birthday 
party, and a table with a cake upon it happened 
to be standing near a window. For some 
reason this window was open for a short time 
during the afternoon, and once, on hearing a 
slight tapping sound I turned and discovered a 
chickadee perched on the top of the cake and 
hammering at the nuts which were set in 
the icing. 

If we go outside in the winter, we are usually 
"mobbed" at once by a flock of chickadees, 
who literally " hold us up " for nuts. They fly 
to our hands it we hold them out and to our 
shoulders and faces if we don't. The smallest 
fragment of nut catches the eye of one of the 
chickadees instanUy, and he does not hesitate 
to claim it no matter where it may be— on our 
hats, in our hands or even between our lips. If 
I hold a bit of kernel between my thumb and 



Uigtizorlb/ 



Google 



Keeping " Open House " for the Birds 



211 



forefinger, a chickadee will sit there until it is all 
gone, even if it takes five minutes. Sometimes 
he will get positively tired eating, but will s 
guard until his appetite comes back. Hi 
r allow another chickadee to sarapl 



ders at the point of the bill. Sometimes, when 

one of my guests has been perched on my hand, 
I have suddenly feh one of his feel tighten on 
my finger and the next moment he would delib- 
erately raise the other foot and scratch his head. 
Last winter these birds were tamer than I 
have ever seen them before, not only coming to 
us on the piazza and in the garden, but follow- 
ing us on long walks in the woods and fields. 
On one occasion, when I was practising with a 
rifle, they would alight on the weapon, and 
even lean over the muzzle and peer 
down the barrel as though to see what Uiere 
was in that. One day, while I was eating my 
lunch in the woods, a little band of chickadees 
came up and insisted on taking lunch with me. 
They alighted on my knees and hands and on 
my snow-shoes which were sticking up in the 
snow. One of them, more persistent Uian the 
rest, flew to the edge of a sandwich I was just 
beginning to eat, and from his attitude, as 
shown in the photograph, I should judge that 
he was not only astonished at the size of the 
bite I was taking, but greatly alarmed that he 
was not going to get his share. 

Toward the end of the winter, a northern 

shrike made his appearance, and although I 

on frequently drove him away, I fancy that he 

vill frequently dined on my friendly little chick- 

the adees. I saw him capture one, which I would 



food jc the meantime, but will drive off all intru- gladly have saved if I could. 



^ Taking Lunch v 



tizcd by Google 



The Snow Brigade 



"FoHHAHDl March 1' 



i Rovkh's Help They Did 



UigtizcdbyGoOglc 



Abbie Ann 

By George Madden Martin 

Author of [tie "Emmy Lou" Stories 
llluBtrated by C. M. Relyea 



Chapter V 

Miss Owsley, whom Abbie's father, after the 
first greeting called Miss Henrietta, was of 
medium height and plump, and shook com- 
fortably when she laughed. She had white 
hair under a square of lace and her silk dress 
rustled when she moved. 

Abbie Ann felt smaller, yet nobody had 
done a thing. 

"And this is Abbie," said the lady, hold- 
ing out a hand, a plump, well kept hand, 
with good, old fashioned rings on it, a capa- 
ble, resolute old hand, with a movement of 
decision about it that suggested sway and 
authority. Not that the small girl read this 
in it. She merely stood up and came and took 
it. She was very miserable. 

Then they all sat down. 

"Do you know," said the lady, "she is very 
like her mother? And while we are on the 
subject, — Abbie, child, see if you can find a 
book on the table there — " 

Abbie Ann got down and went to the table, 
on which were books neatly placed. She took 
one because she was told to. Within its red 
and gold cover, which was somewhat faded, 
were colored pictures of little boys in queer 
short jackets and long trousers. The name 
on the book was "Sanford and Merton." It 
had been on that table many years, for things 
did not change at Miss Owsley's school until 
that lady was convinced it was for the better. 

Although Abbie began dutifully to read at 
the book, she never after asked for it that she 
might finish it; also, though she did not 
mean to listen, the conversation, now and 
then, reached her. 

"No place for a child," she heard her 
father say. What was no place for a child, 
Abbie wondered? 

" — could not leave then, nor can I now," 
father was saying, "my duly to the miners 
who have stood by me and to Abbie as well, 
is to stick it out until it pays." 

She also heard "Miss Abbie," used several 



times on Miss Henrietta's lips. Did it mean 
herself? It was very awing to hear her- 
self called "Miss." 

Then her father spoke again. His voice 
was decided. "Well, Miss Owsley, it is your 
plan; I have no right, I suppose, to object; 
indeed, I suppose I ought to hope you may 
succeed, though I may as well confess, it was 
because of this very thing, and the thought 
that such a construction of my motive might 
be put upon it, that I have not brought her 
to you sooner. I had no right to oppose 
Evelyn's efforts, but I naturally have made 
none since she, — " He broke oS, then added 
as he rose, "it was her dearest wish it might 
be so, though myself, I see no especial good 
to come from it now." 

Evelyn was the name of Abbie's mother. 
She wondered what it all meant. 

Then her father, leaning down, kissed 
her abruptly and went away ; went the quicker 
that he felt uncertain what she was going to 
do. He was to remain in the city a week, so 
this was not good-by, but still, he went in a 

She stood where he had left her, plucking at 
the fingers of the little cotton gloves she had 
put on so proudly. Mr. McEwan had said 
they wore gloves in cities. Then she began 
to swallow hard. 

When Miss Owsley returned from seeing 
Mr. Richardson to the door, she bade Abbie 
Ann come with her. She was very cheery and 
chatty, and talked briskly of many things. 
If she saw the tears she gave no sign. 

They went out into the hall, and up the 
stairs which were painted white with a dark 
red bannister and had a strip of red carpet 
on them, held down by brass rails that shone. 
So did the room upstairs shine, into which 
Miss Owsley led the new pupil. There were 
two white beds, two chests of drawers, one 
bureau, and a washstand behind a blue screen. 
It looked straight and precise and lonesome. 
At home Abbie had fashion-plate ladies and 
pictures cut from the papers pasted over her 



Google 



Abbie Ann 



walls, and the drawers of her bureau sat in a 
comer so that she might have the bureau for a 
three-storied play-house. It was when the 
strange lady had looked in at that room, that 
she had said, "poor child !" in accents of keen- 
est suffering. 

Miss Owsley was speaking with business- 
like briskness. "This is to be your room, 
near mine, as your father asked. Vou will 
share it with one other girl. Neither pupils 



hand and gazed at the new pupil. Abbie 
Ann was plump like a young robin, and her 
red curls were abundant. Her little zouave 
jacket, which she had removed before going 
up-stairs, gorgeous in its gilt braid, seemed 
rather to have burst to allow her healthy little 
waist to obtrude between it and the skirt, than 
to have been curtailed by intention, and little 
Abbie's brand-new hat blossomed like a flower 
and seed catalogue. 



nor teachers have returned yet. School opens 
on Wednesday of next week. In the mean- 
time your father wishes me to look over your 
clothes to see if anything is wanting." 

Abbie Ann standing forlornly in the center 
of the lonesome room began to sob. She tried 
to stop but could not. 

"Dear, dear, dearie me," said Miss Owsley. 
Truth to tell she was nonplussed. This was 
not generally her department of the school. 
It was in executive ability that Miss Owsley 
was strong. She rubbed her handsome nose 
debatingly with a finger tip of her fine old 



Abbie Ann, planted there in the middle of 
the floor, sobbed on. 

"Dear, dear me," said the embarrassed Miss 
Owsley. The new pupil was younger by a 
year than any boarder ever received before. 
Miss Owsley was quite perplexed, but she led 
her by the hand out to the hall and into 
another room. Perhaps she felt the bare 
lonesomeness of the first one too. A canary 
was singing here, and a fire burned in the 
grate. 

Miss Owsley was reflecting. What had she 
seen the primary teacher do under such c' 



, Google 



George Madden Martin 



cumstances? Pupils were brought to Miss 
Owsley, as a rule, when in need of sterner 
methods than comforting. 

In the mean season she took off Abbie 
Ann's hat. The new pupil, as if interpret- 
ing the attention as kindly, groped about for 
some part of this comforter's person to hold 
to. Her hand closed on a fold of Miss Ows- 

.\tiss Owsley, forgetting about the possible 
method of the primary teacher, sat down and 
took her in her lap. Abbie Ann sobbed 
against her shoulder. 

"Dear me, dear me," said Miss Henrietta, 
and patted the little shoulder and rocked. 
Abbie cried on, but the sobs were not so wild. 
Now and then they began to check themselves. 
The canary sang. Abbie stopped to listen. 
Then she sat up and felt better. 

Miss Owsley laughed comfortably. ' To find 
herself in this position was amusing. Abbie, 
feeling better, laughed too, and suddenly did 
not feel strange any more, and sat up and be- 
gan to talk. She showed Miss Henrietta her 
ring, and after that told her about Mr. Mo- 
Ewan, and about Fabe, and about Coal City. 

Miss Owsley asked her if she had ever 
been to school. 

Abbie told her about the teachers. It is 
doubtful if Miss Henrietta, for all her years 
at schooling, ever got so much of the pupil's 
point of view before. Her plump shoulders 
shook, while, one would say, she somewhat 
adroitly "drew the new pupil on" about the 
teachers. 

One, it seemed, who had come to Coal City, 
had been named Miss Jane Livermore. There 
has been an advertisement put in the Church 
paper, Abbie related, and it said, "Wanted, 
an elderly teacher to take entire charge of a 
little girl." Father and Mr. McEwan chose 
Miss Jane Livermore from among the answers, 
on account of her name which they thought 
sounded elderly and experienced. When she 
came she was seventeen and she cried so they 
had to let her go right back. She said she 
had thought it would be romantic, whereas 
it was only lonesome. And her name was not 
Jane at all, they had read her writing wrong, 
it was Jean. 

Miss Henrietta gathered even more about 
the last teacher of all; Miss Sallie Briscom, 
Abbie said was her name. She kept a row of 
medicine bottles on the sideboard, and a row 
of pill boxes on the mantel. She said she 
could n't stand Fabe's cooking, that there 
was no sense in roasting a whole quarter of a 



21S 

beast at once, and then eating on it until it 
was gone. She said too, so Abbie told Miss 
Henrietta, that the look of the house was 
scandalous, that Abbie Ann ought to be made 
to pick her things up, and her father and Mr. 
McEwan to wipe their feet before they came 
in. She said too, tliat Abbie Ann's posses- 
sions, overflowing the house, were trash. 

" 'Concentrate,' was what she said," re- 
lated Abbie Ann, repeating it with great care, 
"concentrate and get rid of." 

"And Fabe did," explained Abbie; "he 
poured all the bottles into one, when he was 
cleaning the dining-room, and he put all the 
pills into one box, and she got mad. She said 
he might have killed her. So she went." 

And Miss Henrietta Owsley laughed and 
laughed. She had had Miss Sallie Briscoms 
for teachers in her day too, and even Miss 
Jean Livermores. And the canary sang, and 
the fire crackled, and Abbie Ann laughed too, 
with no very clear idea why, but feeling com- 
fortable within herself. 

Chapter VI 

Miss Owslev came into the new pupil's 
room that afternoon to assist the maid in 
unpacking, and to show Abbie Ann how to 
put her clothes away. This relationship with 
a pupil was a new one for Miss Owsley, and 
it grew out of the unexpectedness of the situa- 
tion. For small Abbie it was beautifully 
ordered ; else how would slie have known 
Miss Henrietta? Neither teachers nor other 
pupils had arrived yet, and Miss Owsley and 
the little girl had eaten dinner in the dining- 
room, together, waited on by the square and 
silent maid, whose name was Martha Lunn. 
Later Abbie Ann found the girls all called 
her Sally. 

There was something on the new pupil's 
mind beside the unpacking when Miss Owsley 
and Martha arrived. 

"Will she be little or big, Miss Henrietta?" 
finally she inquired. 

"Who?" replied Miss Owsley, contemplat- 
ing the array of dresses made by ihe Junction 
lady, and now laid out by Martha on the 
bed. There was a plaid silk among them ; 
a Scotch costume; a "fancy dress," the fash- 
ion paper had called it, Abbie explained ; 
which, indeed, was exactly why she had 
chosen it. There were others equally gay, 
if '.2SS elaborate, but this, it could be seen, was 
her favorite. 

Miss Henrietta was smiling to herself over 



Google 



216 Abbie Ann ""- 

something; Abbie Ann wondered what, but it of a man, peddling at Coal City, and she 

repeated her question. considered it very beautiful. So evidently 

"Will who be little or big?" returned Miss did Martha Lunn. She lifted it carefully and 

Owsley, rousing from her own thoughts, viewed it admiringly from all sides. 



■'Abbie .A.vn Helped Maria Unpack." (See page aiB.f 

"The other girl in this room?" "Queer now, how they come to make such 

Martha Lunn was lifting a hat from the things of feathers," observed Martha, examin- 

tray. It was the new pupil's best, that was ing; "my cousin's mother-in-law keeps hers 

plain to be seen, and it bore a wreath of like it under glass." 

many-colored flowers made of feathers. Abbie Miss Henrietta was indulging in her kindly 

Ann had persuaded her father to let her buy smile again, and it was such a comfortable 



George Madden Martin 



217 



smile, that Abbie Ann smiled too, wondeilngly 
but sociably. 

Martha Limn smiled grimly. She was 
still rubbing a forefinger investigatingly 
along a feathered edge. One would say all 
three'were enjoying themselves, each in her 
own way. 

"The room-mate?" then said Miss Ows- 
ley, "To be sure. I will tell you the names 
of the ones I had thought of, and suppose I 
let you choose for yourself?" 

Miss Henrietta Owsley grown playful ! 
Martha Lunn chuckled grimly as she bent 
over into the depths of the trunk. 

"There are three girls to come back who 
have lost their room-mates," Miss Owsley 
was saying, "any one of whom I had thought 
of for you." 

The new pupil approached close and looked 
at her. 

"One," said Miss Owsley, "is named Mary 
Dressel." 

Mary Dressel, pale, neat, eminently proper. 
Abbie Ann had an instantaneous vision of 
her. Her mind was made up. "No," 
she said, "she 's good, I would n't like her." 

Miss Owsley smiled. "Katherine Van 
Antwerp," 

Abbie's face showed equally quick preju- 
dice.' "She would n't like me, she 's fine," 
she declared. 

" Maria Mason.'' 

"Oh, Maria," decided Abbie Ann, for 
Maria did not sound too fine, nor yet too 
good, "I want it to be Maria." 

Miss Owsley seeming well satisfied, laughed 
some more, then turned back to the now 
emptied trrmk and then to the bed. "Noth- 
ing is marked, I see. Did you bring a. wdrk 
basket? No? Nor thimble? Nor darn- 
ing materials ?" 

Abbie Ann, feeling crestfallen, said no: 

Miss Owsley seemed to make a mental 
note of it, then added, "Have you rubbers? 
Nor raincoat? Napkin ring? Nor warmer 
flannels than these? Nor any school dresses?" 

"Those," said Abbie Ann, doubtfully, 
looking to the bed, "and this," proudly rais- 
ing the hem of the dress she was then wear- 
ing. She had thought Mr. McEwan had been 
joking when he said her clothes lacked 
trimming. 

Miss Owsley said nothing further, but be- 
fore school began, a week later, to the be- 
wilderment of the new pupil, the Coal City 
outfit was laid away, and in the closet were 
hung two new dresses fresh from the hands 
Vol- XXXlV.-rf. 



of Martha Lunn's seamstress cousin. One 
was a dark blue for every day, the other a 
brown, for Sunday, and with these came a 
supply of white aprons, fine, long, full, with 
ruffles over the shoulders. There was a blue 
hat, and a brown one, with ribbons but not 
a feather. Perhaps Miss Henrietta was more 
fond of plain things than was Abbie Ann. 

Abbie Ann cried, and in her room stamped 
her foot. It was the first time she had 
done so since leaving home. Martha, who - 
had brought the new clothes home from her 
cousin's, witnessed it. 

She gazed as if a little fascinated. "I 
thought you did n't have that red hair for 
nothing," finally she said. 

Abbie stopped suddenly. 
■ But she told her father about it that after- 
noon in the park, for he came and took her 
some place every day. They were sitting 
under a big tree supposedly watching the 
ducks and swans on the lake; but she, con- 
cerned with her own troubles, was telling 
about the dresses. 

Her father laughed. "What 's bred in the 
bone, PoUykins, — " he began. Then he 
laughed again. Abbie Ann had no idea what 
about. 

Later his voice changed. "I had a letter 
from home to-day," he said, "I go back to- 
night instead of to-morrow." 

His little daughter held on to the bench. It 
was as if samething had stopped inside her. 
She could not see the lake, nor the ducks, nor 
the swans for a moment, only a blur of them 
all. As the blur cleared away, the sun was 
slanting long, in under the trees, and touch- 
ing the grass. Children's laughter, from afar, 
reached them faintly. 

Why should it hurt? Why should there 
rush on little Abbie, because the sun slanted 
long and golden, the picture of a valley, 
misty like a silver sea, with a white shaft be- 
yond and a young, young moon above? Is 
it because all beautiful things hurt? 

She put her hand in Father's, and she 
wmked the rebellious tears back somewhere. 
It was an uncertain little attempt, yet still 
it was an attempt. 

But we like to have our efforts appreciated. 
Abbie was afraid he had n't understood. 
" I 'm being good, you know," she explained, 
looking up to be sure he comprehended it. 
"I could have, — " with a general implica- 
tion he understood fully, "but I would n't." 

Her father looked a little queer, perhaps 
a little sheepish too. Then he laughal. The 

./Google 



218 



Abbie Ann 



D"- 



truth was, when it came to having her cry 
because he was going back, that was another 
thing. He was a little chagrined perhaps 
that she did n't. 

But they held each other's hand on the car 
all the way back to the school. 

Chapter VIT 

By Monday the teachers had come, and on 
Tuesday the pupils began returning. All 
day there were arrivals, and trunks being 
carried in, and laughter and greetings in the 
halls. 

These days Miss Henrietta had time but 
for passing notice, and that of the briefest, 
for Abbie Ann, now become but one little 
girl in a girls' school of many, and Abbie, 
so quick to note, and so quick also to resent, 
hung around gloomily and watched the ar- 
rivals. She regarded these new-comers fur- 
tively. Their laughter made her feel left 
out, and the old intimacies and companion- 
ships everywhere in evidence, made her jeal- 
ous. For comfort, she began to coax up 
embers of self-pity. Miss Henrietta liked 
the others better, Miss Henrietta greeted them 
pleasantly and never noticed her standing 
there! She would go up to her room, she 
would write to her father and tell him to 
come and take her home, she would, she 
would so, yet, — 

Abbie Ann lingered on in the ]ja11. 

She told herself it was because another girl 
was just arriving; but she lingered on even 
after the several girls standing around rushed 
to greet the new-comer. She was a dark- 
haired girl, and her cheeks were rich with 
crimson; she kissed everybody rapturously, 
then seeing Miss Owsley coming through the 
hall, she dropped satchel and umbrella 
and flew to greet her. The new-comer made 
one think of breeziness and laughter and ex- 
citement. Miss Owsley, shaking hands with 
her, called her Mary, — Mary Dressel. Abbie 
Ann felt as if Mary Dressel had purposely 
deceived her. 

At the one o'clock dinner hour she heard 
another girl called Katherine Van Antwerp. 
She was a tall, thin girl who wore eye-glasses, 
and whose aunt, it seemed, was a teacher in 
the school. 

Abbie Ann felt queerer ; what would Maria 
be? 

She was still hanging around in the hall, 
full of interest and not honest enough to ad- 
mit it, when Maria Mason came. Miss Ows- 



ley called to Abbie at once, who went self- 
consciously to greet her. Maria was small, 
almost as small as Abbie herself, and her 
hair was smooth and tied in looped-up plaits 
behind her ears. Her cheeks were pink and 
grew pinker when she was spoken to. When 
she took off her jacket, she was as neat 
and straight as though she had not just come 
that afternoon from Washington. It turned 
out that Maria's father was an army oificer, 
who had gone too far away for her to 
be taken, though her mother had gone 
too. She spent her vacations, so Abbie 
learned in time, with her aunt and her grand- 
mother in Washington, and this was her 
second year at the school. She was eleven, 
whereas Mary Dressel and Katherine were 
older. Abbie Ann was glad. 

She helped Maria unpack, taking the 
things from her as she lifted them out of 
her trunk, and carrying them to the bed. 
Maria's petticoats and little undergarments 
were fine as fine and the scallops on them were 
done by hand. Abbie had never thought 
about undergarments needing to be fine be- 
fore. And Maria's aprons seemed as if they 
were for parties. She said her grandma 
and her auntie made them, and her mamma 
sent the scalloped mfflings in ber letters by 
mail. Maria had a work-box, and a' bag 
for her laundry, and bags to hang for her 
shoes. When she had unpacked her pin- 
cushion and sofa pillow and her photographs, 
and she and Abbie Ann bad put them around, 
the room looked all dressed up. 

Then Abbie said, "Let 's rest." 

But Maria could n't. "I 've got to finish. 
Auntie told me to." 

She laughed and her cheeks grew pink, 
but she did it; that was Maria's way, she 
always did it; perhaps being a soldier's 
daughter had something to do with it. 

Soon Abbie Ann wondered what she would 
have done without Maria, who told her what 
was expected of her, and the names of the 
teachers, and of the girls, and what she must 
do and must not do. The bedrooms were all 
in the big house, together with the reception 
rooms and parlor and dining-room, but the 
school -rooms were in a frame building in the 
yard behind. 

In a week it was as if she might always 
have known Maria, who even showed Ab- 
bie her letters from her mother and her 
father. The latter sent her a beautiful silk 
Amercian flag on his birthday, and they put it 
above his picture over the table. 



db/ 



Google 



'VT-l 



George Madden Martin 



And Abbie showed Maria the letters 
which came from her father and Mr. Mc- 
Ewan. One from Mr, McEwan had a verse 
in it. Maria memorized it and when she 
tried to say it would get to laughing. Abbie 
Ann would giggle too, for when Maria 
laughed she could not stop, and Miss Ingram, 
the primary teacher whose room was next, 
would rap on the wall and they would have 
to put their faces in the pillows to hush. 
Abbie, ip her letter to Mr. McEwan, had 
written about the school and Miss Henrietta 
and Martha Lunn. 

"The girls call her Sally," she had 
written about Martha, "she fell down the 
other day, she was Heavy, the Ladder broak, 
she could not get up." 



219 



It was to this letter tliat Mr. McEwan was 
replying. In his answer were, "Lines to 
Miss Sally Lunn Upon Her Fall From a 
Ladder." The verses read: — 

"O Sa]l]t Lnmi, how s*d 10 tell 
That yOD, who (honldbe tight, 
Did prove lo he>v]t that you [ell 
Ftom sach ■ riien beighit 

"They tell me that yon could not rise 
Atler yoD fell, and yet 
Should yon not rise in lighter gaise 
For having thus been aei ? 



That yon should fi 

But lest yon shonld be worse i 

Don't let it make yon ladl" 



(Tt h eenlfmrnd.) 



The Light o 



E Christuas Windows. 



d by Google 



The Mystery 



By Johnson Morton 

When I was six, my father said : 
" Nell, you are twice as old as Ned. 
Now think awhile, and then tell mc 
How old your brother Ned must be." 
That was an easy sum to do ! 
" Six is exactly three times two ; 
So, if I 'm twice as old as he, 
Why, little Ned must then be three." 

TTie other day my father said : 
" Nell, do you know how old is Ned ? " 
„ ■' Yes, sir, he 'b four, because, you see, 
I I am just /wke as old as he! " 

Then father laughed, " Nell, that 'snot so! 

He 'sfive if you are eight you know. 

When you were six, why, he was three. 

And three and two xtzfive, you see!" 

But how these things can both be true 
I don't quite understand, do you 7 
Some droe I shall, because I know 
That what my father says is to! 



'1>IK IvOHT^rOP 



I Inst iiiv fop; oli,\rluit 

tipi^'! 
But no^r its f tvfo I kuoKT 
Im »ure twns tnEaUcnced 

■ lynyldlK^, 
C/WMe \Hiai 1 lwtea,;k]k 
^Andpufn^'eur dovit 

cloite tokei' , 

I keai' it bumming, — 

"''KTBlV^te-j-wlnM"!'' 



Captain June 



By Alice Hegan Rice 

Author of " Mm. Wiggs of Ihe Cabbage Patch," ■■ Lovey Maiy,"' 
With Pietun* by C. D. Weldon 



^UT when June 
' picked himself up 
kand turned about, 
"he found a very 
curious looking 
man sitting up glaring at him. He had a 
long pointed nose, and fierce little eyes that 
glowed like red hot cinders, and a drooping 
white mustache so long that it almost touched 
the lapels of his shabby French uniform. 

"What do you mean by falling over me 
like that?" he demanded indignantly. 

"I — I — thought you were somebody else," 
Jane faltered lamely. 

The man glared more fiercely than ever: 
"You were looking for someone I You were 
sent here to watch someone! Who did you 
think I was? Answer me this moment." 

He had caught June by the arm and was 
glaring at him so savagely that June blurted 
out in terror : 

"I thought you was the Sleeping Beauty." 

For a moment, suspicion lingered in the 
man's face, then his eyes went to and his 
mouth went open, and he laughed until June 
thought he would never get the wrinkles 
smoothed out of his face again. 

"The Sleeping Beauty, eh?" he said. 
"Well, who do you think I am now?" 

June smiled in embarrassment. "I know 
who you look like," he said, half doubtfully. 

"Who?" 

"The White Kni^t," said Jtme. 

"Who b he?" 

"In 'Alice in Wonderland,'" explained 
Jane. Then when he saw the man's look of 
perplexity, he added incredulously, "Did n't 
yoa never hear of 'Alice in Wonderland'?" 

The man shook his head. 

Jane was astounded ; he did n't know that 
such ignorance existed in the world. 

"Did n't you never go to school?" he asked 
sympathetically. 

"Ob yes.a little," said the man with a funny 
smile, "but tell me about this White Knight." 

Jane sat down quite close to him and began 
confidentially : 



"He was the one that met Alice in the 
wood. Don't you remember just before she 
was going to be queen? He kept falling off 
his horse first on one side and then on the 
other, and he would have to climb up again 
by the mouse traps." 

"The mouse traps, on horse-back?" 

"Yes, the Knight was afraid the mice 
might come and he did n't want them to run 
over him. Besides he invented the mouse 
traps and course, you know, somebody had to 
use them." 

"Of course," said the man taking June's 
hand and looking at it as a person looks at 
something that he has not seen for a very long 
time. 

"He invented lots of things," went on Jjne 
earnestly, "bracelets for the horse's feet to 
keep off shark-bites, and something else to 
keep your hair from falling out." 

"£hl what 's that?" said his companion 
rubbing his hand over his own bald head. 

June's eyes twinkled. "You ought to train 
it up on a stick," he said, "like a vine. That 
was what the White Knight said, that hair 
fell off because it hung down. It could n't 
fall up, could it?" 

At this they both had a great laugh and the 
man said: 

"So I am the White Knight, am I?" 

"Just your muetache," said June; "it was 
when you was mad that you looked like him 
most. You, 're lots gooder looking than the 
picture. What 's your real name?" 

"Monsieur Gamier, — no Carr^," he cor- 
rected himself quickly. "What is your 

"June," then he added formally, " Robert 
Rogers Royston, Junior 's the rest of it." 

"How did you come here?" asked Mon- 
sieur. 

June told him at length; it was delightful 
to find someone beside Seki San who under- 
stood English, and it was good fun to be tell- 
ing all about himself just as if he were some 
other little boy. 

"So your father is a soldier!" said Mon- 
sieur, and June noticed that a curious wild 
look came into his eyes and that his 



""^gle 



222 



Captain June 



which had knots on them, plucked excitedly 
at his collar. "Ah ! Yes, I, too, was a soldier, 
a soldier of France, one time attach^ of the 
French Legation, at Tokyo, later civil engi- 
neer in the employ of the Japanese Govern- 
ment, now !" he shrugged his shoul- 
ders and his nostrils quivered with anger. 
"Now a cast-off garment, a thing useless, un- 
desired." He tried to rise and June saw- that 
he used crutches and that it was very difficult 
for him to walk. 

"Do you want me to help you?" he asked. 

The man waved him aside. His eyes had 
changed into red hot cinders again, and he 
seemed to have forgotten that June was there. 
"I ask help from nobody," he muttered 
fiercely, "I live my own life. The beggarly 
Japanese I would never accept from, and my 
own country does not see fit to help me." 
His chest heaved with wrath, and he twisted 
his mustache indignantly. 

"Why don't you go home?" asked June. 

Monsieur turned on him fiercely: "Go 
home? Mon Dieu, do you suppose there is a 
waking hour that I am not thinking, longing, 
praying to be back in France? Do you sup- 
pose I have left any stone unturned? Any 
plan unmade that might take me away from 
this hateful place? It has been fourteen, 
fifteen years since I came away. It was a 
Japanese that had me dismissed from the 
service ; he bore tales to the minister, he told 
what was not true. Oh, then I had honor, I 
was too proud to explain, but now !" he 
lifted a pair of crippled hands to Heaven, 
and shook them violently at the trees above, 
"now I know that honor does not pay, it is 
not worth while. I will give anything to get 
back to France!" 

June sat still and watched him. He had 
never seen anyone behave so queerly, and he 
was very much mixed up as to what it was all 
about. 

"I guess I have to go now," he said, 
"ToTo's waiting." 

Monsieur's eyes flashed suspiciously. 
"Who 's waiting?" he asked. 

"Toro, he is Seki's brother, he knows how 
to build awful nice houses and blockades too." 

"Blockades?" repeated Monsieur, "what 
kind of blockades?" 

"Like the soldiers make, we watch them all 
the time; come on, I will show you." 

The two made their way down the steps 
slowly, for Monsieur could go only a little 
way at a time. Toro looked mildly surprised 
when June came back with a companion, but 



he did not give a second glance at Monsieur 
who was evidently a familiar figure about the 
town. 

For a long time the two children played 
in the sand, and Monsieur sat beside them 
and acted as interpreter, speaking first to one 
in Japanese, and then to the other in English, 
giving directions and suggestions and proving 
a first-rate play-fellow. 

"Why you know a lot about forts and 
mines and blockades and things, don't you?" 
asked June. 

Monsieur looked absently across the lake. 
"Alas!" he said grimly, half to himself, "I 
know too much for their good and for mine." 

When the temple bell from the hillside 
boomed the supper hour, the boys gathered 
up their things and started home. 

"Good-by," said June to Monsieur, "I 
hope you '11 come back and play with us an- 
other day." 

Monsieur bowed very politely but he did 
not answer, his half-closed eyes still rested 
on the little forts that the boys had been 
making in the sand, and his thoughts seemed 
to be far away. 

When June reached the street, he turned to 
wave a good-by, but Monsieur was hobbling 
down the hill, his figure, in spite of the 
crutches, looking very straight and stiff 
against the evening sky. 

Chapter V 

It was a long time before June saw Monsieur 
again for there were picnics up the river, 
with lunches cooked on the bank, there were 
jolly little excursions in sampans, and trips 
to the tea-houses, and flower shows, and an 
endless round of good times. Seki San kept 
June out of doors all day, and watched with 
glee the color return to his cheeks, and the 
angles of his slender body turn into soft 
curves. 

At night she and June and Toro, with 
Tomi frisking and sneezing at their heels, 
would join the happy clattering crowd that 
thronged the streets, and would make their 
way to the flower market where tall flaming 
torches lit up the long stalls of flowers, and 
where merchants squatting on their heels 
spread their wares on the ground before them, 
—curious toys, old swords, and tea-pots with 
ridiculous long noses. And in front of every 
door was a great shining paper lantern with 
queer signs painted on it, aiKl other gay lan- 
terns of all shapes and sizes and colors went 



Google 



Alice Hegan Rice 



223 



dancing and bobbing up and down the streets 
like a host of giant fire-flies. 

It was no wonder that June hated to go to 
bed when so much was happening outside. 
Only the promise of a story moved him when 
Seki gave the final word. But for the sake 
of a story he would have gone to the moon 
I believe, and stayed there too. 

When at last he was bathed and cuddled 
down in his nest on the floor with a 
huge kimono, four times as big as the ones 
Seki wore, spread over him, Seki would sit 
on her heels beside him, sewing with an end- 
less thread which she only cut off from the 
reel when the seam was finished. And June 
would watch her pretty plump little hands, 
and the shadows of her moving fingers as he 
listened to queer tales of the sea gods and 
their palace under the waves. Sometimes she 
would tell of the old samurai and their dark 
deeds of revenge, of attacks on castles, and 
fights in the moats, and the imaginary clash- 
ing of swords and shouts of men would get 
so real to June, that he would say: 

"I don't want any more scareful ones to- 
night. Please tell me about the little mos- 
quito boy." 

Then Saki would begin : "Very long times 
ago, lived very good little boy, who never 
want to do anything but reverence his mother 
and his father, and his grandfathers and 
grandmothers. All time he think it over to 
himself how he can serve his parents. One 
night the wind blow up from the south and 
bring a thousand hundred ka, mosquito you 
call him, and they bite very much. So good 
little boy takes off all his clothes and lies at 
the door of his house so mosquitoes bite him 
and get so full of boy that they have not 
room more for father and mother." At 
which point June would never fail to laugh 
with delight, and Seki would look hurt and 
puzzled and say, "Not funny, June, very fine, 
kind, and noble of good little boy." 

After Seki had put out the light and 
joined the rest of the family in the garden, 
June would lie very still and the thoughts 
that had been crowded down in the bottom 
of his heart all day would come creeping up 
and whisper to him. " Mother is a long way 
off; suppose she has gotten lost and never 
comes back again. Perhaps I have n't got a 
father any more, maybe the soldiers have put 
him in the ground as they did Teddy's papa. 
Suppose I have to live here always and grow 
up to be a Japanese man, and never see the 
ranch in California nor my pony any more?" 



And a big sob would rise in his throat and he 
was glad of the dark for the tears would 
come no matter how hard he tried to keep 
them back. But he never called Seki, nor 
let anyone know. Sometimes he got up and 
got his little gun and took it back to bed with 
him; it was so much easier to be a soldier if 
you had a gun in your hand. 

But one morning when he awoke, two de- 
lightful things happened. First he saw up 
in the air, apparently swimming about over 
the house-tops, an enormous red fish as large 
as he was, and when he ran to the door there 
were others as far as he could see waving and 
floating about tall poles that were placed out- 
side nearly every house. 

Without waiting to be dressed he rushed 
out in the garden to ask Seki San what it all 
meant. When she saw him, she dropped the 
letter she was reading and came toward him 
as fast as her little pigeon toes would carry 
her. 

"It 's from your mother," she cried, her 
face beaming with joy, "She did never get 
losted at all. She is with your father now, 
and he will have the strength again, and they 
will come back so sooner as he can journey. 
Oh! I could die for the happiness I" 

June jumped up and down, and Seki San 
giggled, and Tomi barked until the family 
came out to see what was the matter. 

"And what did she say? Tell me I" de- 
manded June. 

"All this, and this, and this," said Seki 
spreading out the closely written sheets. 
Then with many pauses and much knitting 
of brows and pointing of fingers, she read the 
letter aloud. There was very little about the 
sad journey, or the dreadful fever, or the life 
at the hospital. It was mostly about June, 
whether he was well, whether he was very 
unhappy, if he coughed at night, if he missed 
her very much. 

"And these at the end I sink I can not 
read," concluded Seki, pointing to a long 
row of circles and dots. 

June looked over her shoulder. "Why 
Seki!" he exclaimed, "that 's the only parf I 
can read I They are kisses and hugs, I 
showed her how to make them. That long 
one is a pink kiss, and this starry one is silver 
with golden spangles," he laughed with de- 
light, then his eye catching sight of the fish 
over head, he said : 

"Say Seki, why did they put out tfie fish? 
Is it because my father is getting well?" 

Seki San smilingly shook her bead. 

1,1 1. /Google 



Captain June 



234 

"It 's a matsuri, a festival," she explained; 
"this is the boys' day and wherever a boy 
live, they put out a big paper fish with round 

mouth open so , and when the wind flow 

in, the fish grow big and fat and make like 
swim in the air." 

"But why do they put out fishes?" per- 
sisted June. 

" 'T is the carp fish," said Seki San, "be- 
cause the carp very strong and biave, he 
swim against the current, fight his way up 
the waterfall, not afraid of the very bad dis- 
couragings, like good boy should be." 

June was much more interested in the fish 
than in the moral, and when Toro brought 
a big red one for him and a paper cap and 
banner, he hastened away to be dressed so 
that he could be ready for the festivities. 

Taking it all in all, it was about the hap- 
piest day he had ever spent in his life. When 
he and Toro started forth the streets were 
already full of people, men and women in 
holiday attire, little girls in bright red pet- 
ticoats and fancy pins in their hair, every boy 
with a fish on a stick, small children with 
bald-headed babies tied on their backs, all 
trotting merrily along to the matsuri. 

Everywhere June went a crowd went be- 
hind him, for a little foreign boy with gray 
eyes and fair hair, and strange foreign clothes 
was one of the greatest sights of the day. 
Sometimes a woman would stop him and look 
at his hat or his shoes, and a circle would 
close in and Toro would be bombarded with 
questions. But the people were always so 
polite, and their admiration was so evident, 
that June was rather pleased, and when he 
smiled and spoke to them in English, they 
bowed again and again, and he bowed back, 
then they all laughed. 

It was a terrible trial to June not to be 
able to ask questions. He was brimful of 
curiosity and everything he saw and heard 
had a dozen questions hanging to it. Usually 
Seki San supplied the answers but to-day 
Toro was in command, and while he was a 
very careful little guide, keeping tight hold 
of June's hand, pointing out all the interest- 
ing sights, and trying to explain by sign and 
gesture, still he did not know a single word 
of English. 

After passing through many gay streets 
they came to a tall red gate which June had 
come to recognize as the entrance to sacred 
ground. But inside it was not in the least 
like any churchyard he had ever seen. It 
was more like the outside of a circus where 



a«. 



everything delightful was happening at once. 
On one side was a sandman making wonder- 
ful pictures on the ground with colored sand. 
First he made a background of fine white 
sand, then out of papers folded like cornu- 
copias he formed small streams of black and 
red sand, skilfully tracing the line of a 
mountain, using a feather to make the waves 
of the sea, and a piece of silver money to 
form the great round moon, and before you 
knew it there was the very picture you had 
seen on fans and screens and tea-pots ever 
since you could remember, even down to the 
birds that were flying across the moon. 

Then there were jugglers and tight rope 
walkers, and sacred pigeons that lit on your 
head and shoulders and ate com out of your 
hand. June thought he had never seen such 
greedy pigeons before. Two or three perched 
on his hand at once, and scolded and pushed 
each other, and even tried to eat the buttons 
off his blouse ! 

Up the mountain side, flanked by rows of 
stone lanterns, ran a wide flight of steps and 
at the top was the gate-way to the temple 
itself. On either side were sort of huge cages, 
and in them the most hideous figures June 
had ever iteenl They were fierce looking 
giants with terrible glass eyes and snarling 
mouths with all the teeth showing, just as the 
Ogre's did in the fairy tale. One was painted 
all over green, and the other was red, and 
they held out clutching fingers as if ready to 
pounce upon the passer-by. While June was 
looking at them, and feeling rather glad that 
they were inside the cages, he saw two old 
men dressed in white, climb slowly up the 
steps and kneel before the statues. Bowing 
their heads to the earth and muttering 
prayers, they took from their belts some slips 
of paper, and after chewing them into wads 
began gravely to throw them at the fierce 
green demon behind the bars, 

June giggled with joy, this was something 
he could quite understand. Taking advan- 
tage of Toro's attention being distracted, he 
promptly began to make wads too, and before 
Toro could stop him he was vigorously pelt- 
ing the scowling image. In an instant diere 
was angry remonstrance and a group of in- 
dignant worshipers gathered around. For- 
tunately Seki San appeared on the scene in 
time to prevent trouble. 

"But I was only doing what the others 
did!" explained June indignantly. 

"It is no harm done," said Seki, reassur- 
ingly after a few words to those about her. 



'^■^ Alice Hegan Rice 22s 

"you not understand onr strange ways, from the old man at the gate, and 
'niese are oui Nio or temple guardians that throw them through the grating. If the 
frighten away the evil bad spirits," prayer sticks, it is ansvered, if it falls 



■■•Do Vou WANT Me to Help Vol?' June asked.' 

"What makes the pilgrims throw at them down it is not answered. Come, I will show 

then?" asked June. you!" 

"They throw prayers," answered Seki They went very close, and looked through 

San very seriously, "they buy paper prayers the bars; there on the grating, on the floor , 

V0L.XXXIV.— 39. >qIc 



226 Captain June ^"'■• 

and even on the ceiling above them were "It 's tiffin time," said Seld San, "and 
masses of tiny paper wads, the unanswered after that will be the fire-work," 
prayers of departed thousands. "In the day-time?" asked June. 

"Well, three of mine stuck!" said June with "Oh yes, very fine nice fire-work," said 

satisfaction. " Do you suppose it 's too late to Seki. 

make a prayer on them now?" They left the temple grounds, and made 

'here everybody 
nder the trees. 
for them and 
e rice out of a 
A fluffy yellow 
id the sunshine 
le dainty, wav- 
ody was laugl)- 
!very side carae 
shoes, and the 
music of fail- 
le's sleeve and 
-way. Coming 
, looking very 



■' ' It 's A Matsuri— A Festival,' Seki Explained." 

Seki thought after considering the matter pale and thin and with both arms in ban- 
that it was not. dages, sat Monsieur. 

"But I have n't got anything left to pray June broke away from Seki and raced after 

for!" said June, regretting the lost opportu- the jinrikisha, "Oh! Mister," he cried, "Mr. 

nity. "Father 's getting well, and he and Frenchman." 

■ Mother are coming home, and I have got Monsieur, hearing the English words, 

pretty near everything I want. I believe stopped his man and turned around. When 

I 'd like another fish though, and oh ! yes, I he saw a very flushed little hoy in blouse suit 

want a little pug dog, jes' 'zactly like Tomi." and a wide brimmed hat, he smiled. 



rib/ 



Google 



"9»rl 



Alice Hegan Rice 



"Ahl" he cried, "my friend of the garden! 
My prince who found the Sleeping Beauty." 
Then he began to laugh so hard that it 
started up all his rheumatic pains, and he had 
to sink back and rest quiet before he could 
speak again. " I am very bad since I saw you 
last," he said; "these dogs of Japanese will 
let me die here. One day in France would 
make me well. I may have it yet— 1 must get 
back some way — some way!" His eyes 
looked excitedly over June's head out into 
space as if trying to span the miles that lay 
between him and his beloved country. 

"My papa will take you home when he 
comes," said June; "he 's a soldier." 

Monsieur shrugged his shoulders: "Your 
papa would not care that," he said, snapping 
his fingers; then seeing June's disappointment 
he added kindly, "But you — will you not 



227 



come to see me? I will make you more forts, 
I will show you my gold fish." 

"Yes, I '11 come," said June. "When?" 

But before Monsieur could answer, Seki 
had called June and the jinrikisha had 
started on its way. 

Late in the afternoon, as the revelers 
straggled home tired but happy, June slipped 
his hand into Seki's. The merry noises of the 
day had given place to the quiet chirp of the 
crickets and the drowsy croaking of the frogs, 
and the little breezes that stirred overhead 
sounded sleepy and far away. 

"Seki," said June, "I did n't make any 
prayer on that paper that stuck on the old 
giant's nose, do you think it too late?" 

"No,"said Seki San, willing to humor him. 

"Well," said June sleepily, "I pray that 
the French gentleman will get back home." 



A Japanese Candy Shop 



so tiny and look where to go whenever they wish sweets of any 
^ so much alike that it is difficult to tell at a sort. The sign in this picture is on top of the 
^^ glance just what kind of a shop each one pole. Underneath it hangs a banner bearing 
s. But all Japanese boys and girls know the the name of the shop-keeper in Japanese 
ronfectioners' sign — the spiked ball— and just characters. 

Uigtizcdb/GoOt^IC 



Some eve I'd like to plant myself 
By boyhood's long- neglected shelf, 
Once more to ope those volumes worn 
Which modem pages make forlorn ; 



Once more to let the moments speed 

With Optic, Castlemon, Mayne Reid ! 

The " Boat-Club " set, " The White Chief " 

there— 
Ah, these were books, I do declare ! 

"Jack Hazard !" Joy ! Again we meet 
By grace of Trowbridge lines replete ! 
And 'pon my word, here 's " Cudjo's Cave ! " 
(Was Cudjo not a ' dandy ' slave ?) 

The " Scottish Chiefs " is this, I guess, 
With "Thaddeus of Warsaw "—yes ! 
And this (I loaned it o'er and o'er) 
Is Stephens' " Left on Labrador ! " 

Pass by that dog-eared treasure ? No ! 
'T is Scott's entrancing " Ivanhoe ! " 
(How often, of its glamour taught, 
Have Tom and I in toiuiiey fought ! ) 

And here, imploring boyhood's eyes, 
The " Last of the Mohicans " lies I 
Hail ! Hawkeye, Uncas, Chingachgook ! 
{ " Deerslayer" is that next old book.) 



Come " Crusoe " ; pretty ragged, you— 

A hundred times read through and through ! 

Your woodcuts blurred. While this one— 

The fai-marooned " Swiss Family ! " 



And look ! Their lonesomeness confessed, 
" Aladdin," " Sinbad," and the rest 
Peer forth from covers stained and dim, 
Awaiting— cheek by jowl with Grimm ! 

Upon this faded back discern 
The tempting, wizard name of Verne ! 
The title ? Must be " Field of Ice "— 
Or, no ; some " trip," of strange device. 

Munchausen, here; that, Gulliver; 
This, Coffin— truthful chronicler. 
(The other three of course are bricks, 
But can't beat " Boys of '76 I ") 

And you, oh gift of gentler pen : 
Louisa Alcott's " Little Men ! " 
And you, whom kindred soul creates : 
" Hans Brinker ; or. The Silver Skates ! " 

But Duty warns— like mother's dread: 
" Stop, my son ; time to go to bed." 
In vain I 'd beg; " One chapter more !" 
Farewell, dear shelf of boyhood's lore. 



,/ Google 



The New Boy at Hilltop 

By Ralph Henry Barbour 

Author of " The Crimson Sweater." etc. 




SUBSCRIBES 

iiENNETH'S first 
' week at Hilltop 
, passed busily and 
happily. There 
had been no more 
' talk on Joe's part 
> about getting rid 

I The two had be- 
I come fast friends. 
; Kenneth grew to 
like Joe better each day; and it had n't 
taken him long to discover that it was be- 
cause of Joe's ability to squirm out of scrapes 
or to avoid detection altogether rather than 
to irreproachable conduct that Doctor Ran- 
dall looked upon him as a model student. 

Basket-ball practice for both the Upper 
and Lower House teams took place every 
week-day afternoon. Kenneth had erred, if 
at all, on the side of modesty when speaking 
of his basket-ball ability. To be sure, he was 
light in weight for a team where the members' 
ages averaged almost sixteen years, but he 
made up for that in speed, while his prowess 
at shooting baskets from the floor or from 
fouls was so remarkable that after a few 
practice games had been played all Lower 
I^louse was discussing him with eager amaze- 
ment and Upper House was sitting up and 
taking notice. At the end of the first week 
Kenneth secured a place on the second team 
at right guard, and Grafton Hyde, whose 
place in a similar position on the first team 
was his more by reason of his size and weight 
than because of real ability, began to work 
his hardest. 

The closer Kenneth pressed him for his 
place the more Grafton's dislike of the 
younger boy became evident. As there was 
, the length of the floor between their positions 
in the practice games the two had few op- 
portunities to "mix it up," but once or twice 
they got into a scrimmage together and on 
those occasions the fur flew. Grafton was a 
hard, rough player and he did n't handle Ken- 
neth with gloves. On the other hand, Ken- 



neth asked no favors nor gave any. Natur- 
ally Grafton's superior size and strength gave 
him the advantage, and after the second of 
these "mix-ups," during which the other play- 
ers and the few spectators looked on glee- 
fully and the referee blew his whistle until 
he was purple in the face, Kenneth limped 
down to the dressing-room with a badly 
bruised knee, a factor which kept him out of 
the game for tlie next two days and caused 
Grafton to throw sarcastic asides in the direc- 
tion of the bench against which Kenneth's 
heels beat a disconsolate tattoo. 

Four days before the first game with Up- 
per House — the Championship Shield went 
to the team winning two games out of three — 
Lower House held an enthusiastic meeting 
at which songs and cheers were practised and 
at which the forty-odd fellows in attendance 
pledged themselves for various sums of 
money to defray the cost of new suits and 
paraphernalia for both the basket-ball and 
hockey teams. 

"How much do you give?" whispered 
Kenneth. 

"Five dollars," answered Joe, his pencil 
poised above the little slip of paper. Ken- 
neth stared. 

"But — is n't that a good bit?" he asked in- 
credulously. 

"It seems so when you only get twenty 
dollars a month allowance," answered Joe 
ruefully. "But every fellow gives what he 
thinks he ought to, you know; Graft usually 
gives ten dollars, but lots of the fellows can 
only give fifty cents." 

"I see," murmured Kenneth. " 'What 
he thinks he ought to give,' eh? That 's 
easy." 

The following afternoon Upper and Lower 
Houses turned out en masse to see the first ol 
the hockey series and stood ankle -deep in the 
new snow while Upper proceeded to adminis- 
ter a generous trouncing to her rival. 

"Eat 'em up, Upper! Eat 'em up. Up- 
per!" gleefully shouted the supporters of the 
crimson-stockinged players along the opposite 
barrier. 

"Oh, forget it!" growled Joe, pulling the 
collar of his blue sweater higher about his 

.,.] -..I .Google 



230 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



neck and turning a disgusted back to the 
rink. "That 's 14 to 3, is n't it? Well, it 
must be pretty near over, that 's one comfort ! 
Hello, here comes Whipple. Gee, but he 
makes me tired ! Alwaj's trying to mix with 
the fellows. I wonder if he was born with that 
ugly smile of his. He 's coming this way." 
Joe groaned. "He thinks I 'm such a nice 
little boy and says he hopes my heart is of 
gold to match my hair ! Would n't that peev 
you ?" 

"Ah, Brewster," greeted Mr. Whipple, lay- 
ing a hand on the boy's shoulder, "how goes it 
to-day?" He accorded Kenneth a curt nod. 

"Going bad," growled Joe. 

"Well, well, we must take the bad with the 
good," said the instructor sweetly. "Even 
defeat has its lesson, you know. Now — " 

But Kenneth did n't hear the rest. Graf- 
ton Hyde was beside him with a slip of 
paper in his hand. 

"Say, Garwood," said Grafton loudly 
enough to be heard by the audience near-by, 
" I wish you 'd tell me about this. It 's your 
subscription slip. These iigures look like a 
one and two naughts, but I guess you meant 
ten dollars instead of one, did n't you?" 

"No," answered Kenneth calmly. 

"Oh ! But — only a dollar?" inquired 
Grafton incredulously. 

The fellows nearest at hand who had been 
either watching the game or delighting in 
Joe's discomforture turned their attention to 
Grafton and the new junior. 

"Exactly," answered Kenneth, "The 
figures are perfectly plain, are n't they?" 

Grafton shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 

"Oh, all right," he said. "Only a dollar 
seemed rather little, and I wanted to be 
sure — " 

"Did n't anyone else give a dollar?" de- 
manded Kenneth. 

"We don't make public the amounts re- 
ceived," answered Grafton with much dig- 
nity. Kenneth smiled sarcastically. 

"What are you doing now?" he asked. 

"I merely asked — " 

"And I answered. That 's enough, is n't 
it?" 

"Yes, but let me tell you that we don't 
take to stingy fellows in Lower House, 
You 'd better get moved to Upper, Garwood ; 
that 's where you belong. You 're a fresh 
kid, and I guess we don't have to have your 
subscription anyway." He tore the slip up 
contemptuously and tossed the pieces to the 
snow, Kenneth colored. 



"Just as you like," he answered. "I sub- 
scribed what I thought proper and you 've 
refused to accept it. You have n't worried 
me." 

But a glance over the faces of the little 
throng showed that public sentiment was 
against him. Well, that could n't be helped 
now. He turned his back and gave his atten- 
tion to the game. But the incident was not 
yet ,cIosed. Mr. Whipple's smooth voice 
sounded in its most conciliatory tones: 

"We all know your generosity, Hyde. Let 
us hope that by next year Garwood will have 
learned from you the spirit of giving." 

Kenneth swung around and faced the in- 
structor. 

"May I ask, sir, how much you gave?" 

"Me? Why — ah — I think the teachers are 
not required — I should say expected to — ah — 
contribute," answered Mr. Whipple agitat- 

"I guess they are n't forbidden to," an- 
swered Kenneth. "And I don't belie^■e 
you 've got any right to criticize the size of 
my subscription until you 've given some- 
thing yourself." 

Mr. Whipple's smile grew tremulous and 
almost flickered out. 

"I 'm sure that the boys of the Lower 
House know that I am always ready and 
eager to aid in any way," he replied with 
angry dignity. "If they will allow me to 
contribute — " He paused and viewed the 
circle smilingly. 

The idea tickled all hands hugely. 

"Yes, sir!" 

"Thank you, sir!" 

"About five dollars, Mr. Whipple!" 

Mr. Whipple's smile grew strained and un- 
easy. He had not expected acceptance of his 
offer. 

"Yes, yes, perhaps it is best to keep tlie 
donations confined to the student body," he 
said. "Perhaps at another time you '11 al- 

"Right now, sir!" cried Joe. "Give us a 
couple of dollars, sir !" 

The demand could not be disregarded. 
Shouts of approval arose on every hand. On 
the ice, Wason of the Upper House team 
had hurt his knee and time had been called ; 
and the waiting players flocked to the barrier 
to see what was up. Mr. Whipple looked ques- 
tioningly at Grafton and found that youth 
regarding him expectantly. With a sigh 
which was quickly stifled he drew forth his 
pocket book and selected a two dollar note 



"°" Ralph Henry Barbour 231 

from the little roll it contained. He handed turned in all its serenity. "And now. Gar- 
it to Grafton who accepted it carelessly. wood," he said, "as I have complied with 

your requirements, al- 
low me to say that 
your conduct has not 
' / / been — ah — ^up to Hill- 

top standards. Let me 
suggest that you culti- 
vate generosity." 

Kenneth, wHo had 
kept his back turned 
since his last words, 
swung around with an 
angry retort on his 
lips. But Joe's hand 
pulled him back. 

"Shut up, chiun!" 
whispered Joe. "Let 
him go." 

Kenneth swallowed 
his anger and Mr. 
Whipple, with a smil- 
ing nod, followed by a 
quickmalevolent glance 
at Joe, turned away 
from the group of 
grinning faces. 

Chuckles and quiet 
snickers followed him. 

There was Joy in 
the ranks of the enemy. 
Only Kenneth showed 
no satisfaction over 
the instructor's dis- 
comfiture for he re- 
alized that the lat- 
ter would hold him 
partly accountable for 
it. 

Presently, the game 
having come to an end 
with the score 18 
to 7 in Upper's favor, 
he and Joe went back 
together up the hill. 

"I wish," said Joe, 

with a frown, "you 

■• _ had n't made that fuss 

about the subscription. 

Fellows will think 

■•■May I Ask, StH. How Much You Gave?' said Kenneth." you 're stingy, I 'm 

afraid." 

"Thanks," said Grafton. "I '11 send you "Well, they 'II have to think so then," re- 

a receipt, sir." sponded Kenneth defiantly. "Anyhow, Hyde 

"Oh, that is not necessary," replied Mr. had no business pitching into me about it like 

Whipple. Now that the thing was past mend- that in public." 

ing he made the best of it. His smile had re- "No, that 's so," Joe acknowled«4i "He 

i3„rz.,i.:/C700glC 



232 



had n't. I guess he 's got it in for you good 
and hard. But don't you be worried." 

"I 'm not," answered Kenneth. And he 
did n't look to be. 

"I 'm going to see Jim Marble before 
Graft gets at him with a lot of yarns about 
you," Joe continued. 

"Thanks," said Kenneth. "I wish you 
would. I don't want 
to lose all show for the 
team." 

"You bet you don't ! 
You 're getting on 
finely, too, are n't 
you? I don't see how 
you work those long 
throws of yours. Graft 
says it 's just your fool 
luck." Joe chuckled. 
"I asked him why he 
did n't cultivate a lit- 
tle luck himself ! He's 
been playing like a 
baby so far; sloppy 's 
no name for it!" 

"Think Marble no- 
tices it?" 

"Of course he no- 
tices it! Jim don't 
miss a thing. Why?" 

"Nothing, only — 
well, I 've made up my 
mind to beat Grafton 
out ; and I 'm going to 
do it!" 

Two days later there 
was deeper gloom than 
ever in Lower House. 
Upper had won the 
first basket-ball game! 
And the score, 14 to 6, 
did n't offer ground 
for comfort. There 

was no good reason •■■! never Saw the 

to suppose that the 

ncM game, coming a week later, would result 
very differently. Individually three at least 
of the five players had done brilliant work, 
Marble at center. Joe at left forward and 
Collier at left guard having won applause 
time and again. But Upper had far e.vcelled 
in team-work, especially on offense, and Low- 
er's much-heralded speed had n't shown up. 
On the defense, all things considered. Lower 
had done fairly well, although most of the 
honor belonged to Collier at left guard, Graf- 
ton Hyde having played a slow, blundering 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



game in which he had apparently sought to 
substitute roughness fof science. More than 
half of the fouls called on the Blue had been 
made by Grafton. And, even though Upper 
had no very certain basket -thrower, still she 
could n't have helped making a fair share of 
those goals from fouls. 

Kenneth had n't gone on until the last 



d Before.' He Said Simply." (See page 234,) 

minute of play, and he had not distinguished 
himself. In fact his one play had been a 
failure. He had taken Grafton's place at right 
guard. Carl Jones, Upper's big center, stole 
the ball in the middle of the floor and suc- 
ceeded in getting quite away from the field. 
Kenneth saw the danger and gave chase, but 
his lack of weight was against him. Jones 
brushed him aside, almost under the basket, 
and, while Kenneth went rolling over out of 
bounds, tossed the easiest sort of a goal. 
But Kenneth's lack of success on that oc- 



Googlc 



■g»70 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



casion caused him to work harder than ever 
in practice, and, on the following Thursday 
the long-expected happened. Grafton Hyde 
went to the second team and Kenneth took his 
place at right guard on the first. 

Chapter IV 

SUSPENDED 

Grafton could scarcely believe it at first. 
When he discovered that Jim Marble really 
meant that he was to go to the second team 
his anger almost got the better of him, and 
the glance he turned from Jim to Kenneth 
held nothing of affection. But he took his 
place at right guard on the second and, al- 
though with ill grace, played the position 
while practice lasted. Kenneth took pains to 
keep away from him since there was no tell- 
ing what tricks he might be up to. The first 
team put it all over the second tliat day and 
Jim Marble was smiling when time was 
called and the pauting players tumbled down- 
stairs to the showers. On Friday practice 
was short. After it was over Kenneth 
stopped at the library on his way back to 
Lower House. When he opened the door of 
Number 12 he found Joe with his books 
spread out, studying. 

"Hello, where have you been?" asked Joe. 
"Graft was in here a minute ago looking for 
you. Said if you came in before dinner to 
ask you to go up to his room a minute. Of 
course," said Joe, grinning, "he may intend 
to throw you out of the window or give you 
poison, but he talked sweetly enough. Still, 
maybe you 'd better stay away; perhaps he 's 
just looking for a chance to quarrel." 

Kenneth thought a minute. Then he 
turned toward the door. 

"Going?" asked Joe. 

"Ves." 

"Well, if you 're not back by six I '11 head 
a rescue party." 

Grafton Hyde roomed by himself on the 
third floor. His two rooms, on the corner of 
the building, were somewhat elaborately fur- 
nished, as befitted the apartments of "the 
richest fellow in school." He had chosen 
the third floor because he was under surveil- 
lance less strict than were the first and second 
floor boys. The teacher on the third floor was 
Mr. Whipple and, as his rooms were at the 
other end of the hall and as he paid little 
attention at best to his charges, Grafton did 
about as he pleased. To-night there was no 
light shining through the transom when Ken- 

VoL. XXXIV.— 3a 



233 



neth reached Number 21 and he decided that 
Grafton was out. But he would make sure 
and so knocked at the door. To his surprise 
he was told to come in. As he opened the 
door a chill draft swept by him, a draft at 
once redolent of snow and of cigarette smoke. 
The room was in complete darkness, but a 
form was outlined against one of the win- 
dows, the lower sash of which was fully 
raised, and a tiny red spark glowed there. 

"Who is it?" asked Grafton's voice. 

"Garwood," was the reply. "Joe said you 
wanted me to look you up." 

The spark suddenly dropped out of sight, 
evidently tossed through the open window. 

"Oh," said Grafton with a trace of embar- 
rassment. "Er — wait a moment and I 'II 
light up." 

"Don't bother," said Kenneth. "I can't 
stay but a minute. I just thought I 'd see 
what you wanted." 

"Well, you '11 find a chair there by the , 
table," said Grafton, sinking back on the 
window-seat. "Much obligel to you for com- 
ing up." 

There was a silence during which Kenneth 
found the chair and Grafton pulled down the 
window. Then, 

"Look here, Garwood," said Grafton, 
"you 've got my place on the team. I don't 
say you did n't get it fair and square, because 
you did. But I want it. You know me 
pretty well and 1 guess you know I generally 
get what I want. Vou 're a pretty good sort, 
and you 're a friend of Joe's, and I like Joe, 
but I might make it mighty uncomfortable 
for you if I wanted to, which I don't. I '11 
tell you what I '11 do, Garwood. You get 
yourself back on the second team and I '11 
make it right with you. If you need a little 
money — " 

"Is that all?" asked Kenneth, rising. 

"Hold onl Don't get waxy I Wait till I 
explain. I '11 give you twenty-five dollars, 
Garwood. You can do a whole lot with 
twenty-five dollars. And that 's a mighty 
generous offer. All you 've got to do is to 
play off for a couple of days. To-morrow 
you could be kind of sick and not able to 
play. No one would think anything about it, 
and you can bet I would n't breathe a word 
of it. What do you say?" 

"I say you 're a confounded cadi" cried 
Kenneth hotly. 

"Oh, you do, eh? I have n't offered 
enough, I suppose!" sneered Grafton. "I 
might have known that a fellow who would 



Google 



234 



only give a dollar to the teams would be a 
haid bargainer! Well, I 'm not stingy; I '11 
call it thirty.- Now, what do you say?" 

"When you get your place back it '11 be by 
some other means than buying it," said Ken- 
neth contemptuously. He turned toward the 
door. "You have n't got enough money to 
buy everything, you see ; and — " 

There was a sharp knock on the door. 

"If you say anything about this," whis- 
pered Grafton hoarsely, "I '11 — I '11 — Come 
in I" 

"Who is here?" asked Mr. Whipple's voice 
as the door swung open. 

"I, sir, and Garwood," answered Grafton. 

"Ah! Garwood! And which one of you, 
may I ask, has been smoking cigarettes?" 

There was a moment's silence. Then, 

"Nobody in here, sir," answered Grafton. 

"That will do, Hyde. Don't attempt to 
shield him," said Mr. Whipple coldly. "Light 
the gas, please." 

Grafton slid ofE the window-seat and 
groped toward where Kenneth was standing. 

"Yes, sir," he said, "as soon as I can find 
a match." He brushed heavily against Ken- 
neth. "I beg your pardon, Garwood. I 'm 
all turned around. Where — ? Oh, here 
they are." A match flared and Grafton 
lighted the drop-light. Mr. Whipple turned 
to Kenneth, a triumphant smile on his thin 
features. 

"Well, what have you to say?" he asked. 

"About what, sir?" inquired Kenneth. 

"About smoking. You deny it then." 

"Yes." 

"Ah! And what about this?" Mr, Whip- 
ple opened his hand and displayed a portion 
of a cigarette with charred end. " You should 
be more careful where you throw them, Gar- 
wood. This came from the window just as I 
was passing below." 

"It 's not mine," was the answer. 

"Oh, then it was you, Hyde?" 

Grafton smiled and shrugged his shoulders. 

"If you can find any cigarettes in my room, 
sir, you — " 

"Pshaw! What 's the use in pretending?" 
interrupted the instructor, viewing Kenneth 
balefully. "I fancy I know where to look 
for cigarettes, eh, Garwood? You have no 
objection to emptying your pockets for me?" 

"None at all, Mr. Whipple." 

"Then, may I suggest that you do so?" 

Kenneth dove into one pocket and brought 
out a handkerchief and a small piece of 
pencil, into the other and — 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



[JA«, 



"Ah I" said Mr. Whipple triumphantly. 

In Kenneth's hand lay a piece of folded 
paper, a skate strap and — a box of cigarettes ! 
He stared at the latter bewilderedly for a 
moment. Then he glanced sharply at Graf- 
ton. That youth regarded him commiserat- 
ingly and slowly shook his head. 

"I '11 take those, if you please," said Mr. 
Whipple, Kenneth handed them over. 

"I never saw them before," he said simply. 

"Oh, of course not," Jeered the instructor. 
"And the room rank with cigarette smoke! 
That 's a pretty tall story, I think, Garwood. 
You told me once that I would never catch 
you smoking cigarettes. You see you were a 
trifle mistaken. You may go to your room." 

"I was n't smoking cigarettes," protested 
Kenneth. "I never saw that box before in 
my life. If Hyde won't tell I will. I came up 
here and found him — " 

He stopped. What was the use? Telling 
on another fellow was mean work, and, be- 
sides, Mr. Whipple would n't believe him. 
He had no proof to offer and all the evidence 
was against him. He turned to the door. 
On the threshold he looked back at Grafton. 

"You sneaki" he said softly. 

Then, with the angry tears blinding his 
eyes, he hurried down to his room to unbur- 
den his heart to Joe Brewster. 

Joe was wildly indignant and was all for 
dashing upstairs and "knocking the spots out 
of Graft!" But Kenneth refused his con- 
sent to such a procedure. 

"I '11 tell them the truth when they call 
me up," he said. "If they don't believe me 
they need n't." 

Well, they did n't. Kenneth refused to in- 
criminate Grafton and as all the evidence was 
strongly against him he was held guilty. The 
verdict was "suspension" as soon as Ken- 
neth's parents could be communicated with. 
Grafton denied having smoked with Kenneth 
and got oti with a lecture for permitting an 
infraction of the rules in his study. Joe 
stormed and sputtered, but as Kenneth had 
bound him to secrecy he could do no more. 

That night Upper and Lower met in the 
second basket-ball game and Grafton Hyde 
played right guard on the Lower House team. 
Fate was kind to the Blues. Knox, Upper's 
crack right forward, was out of the game 
with a twisted ankle and when the last whis- 
tle blew the score board declared Lower House 
the winner by a score of 12 to 9, And Lower 
House tramped through the uiow, around and 
around the campus, and made night hideous 

Google 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



with songs and cheers until threatened by the 
faculty with dire punishment if they did not 
at once retire to their rooms. And up in 
Nmnber 12 Kenneth,, feeling terribly out of 
it all, heard and was glad of the victory. 

Sunday afternoon he spent in packing his 
trunk, for, in spite of Joe's pleadings, he was 
determined not to return to Hilltop when 
his term of suspension was over. He ex- 
pected to hear from his father in the morn- 
ing, in which case he would take the noon 
train to New York on the first stage of his 
journey. 

That night they sat up tate, since it was to 
be their last evening together, and Joe was 
very miserable. He begged Kenneth to go 
to Doctor Randall and tell just what had oc- 
curred. But Kenneth shook his head. 

"He would n't believe me if I did," he 
said, "And, anyhow, what 's the use of stay- 



235 



ing while Whipple 's here? He 'd get me 
fired sooner or later. No, the best way to do 
is to quit now. I 'm sorry, Joe; you and I 
were getting on together pretty well, were n't 
we?" 

"Yes," answered Joe sadly. And then he 
became reminiscent and asked whether Ken- 
neth remembered the way they kicked the 
furniture around that first evening and how 
Kenneth had joshed Grafton Hyde. 

When they at last went to bed Kenneth 
found himself unable to sleep. Eleven o'clock 
struck on the town clock. From across the 
room came Joe's regular breathing and Ken- 
neth, punching his pillow into a new shape, 
envied him. For a half-hour longer he tossed 
and turned, and then slumber came to him, 
yet so fitfully that he was wide awake and 
out of bed the instant that that first shrill 
cry of "Fire!" sounded in the corridor. 



A Little Red Ridihc-hooh of To-dav. 



d by Google 



An Af fa.ir ^ Honor 

In Jungleville 




Drawn by I. W. T«ber 



ASpinontWl^oni). 



Ti,.c^i4=.' H'\i'^ 



DigtizodbyGoOl^le 




Gooqie 



Pinkey Perkins: Just a Boy 

By Captain Harold Hammond, U. S. A. 

IHiMtrated by George Varian 
THE BATTLE OF THE SNOW FORTS 



When school convened after the holidays, 
the school-house yard naturally became the 
center of activity for winter games of all 
kinds. Anunusually great amount of snow had 
fallen and lay undisturbed on the ground, with 
the exception of the enormous piles border- 
ing the newly-cleared walks leading from the 
gates to the school-house. Everybody had 
studiously avoided the enclosure during the 
holidays, preferrinj to spend their midwin- 
ter playtime at places farther away from the 
daily grind of study. 

At recess time everything was in full blast 
and all felt that the reopening of school was 
not such a regrettable occasion after all. Be- 
fore school was called the boys had tramped 
down a large circle in the snow, with intersect- 
ing lines like the spokes of a wheel, designed 
for playing "Fox and Geese." Everybody 
played and played hard and when it was time 
to go in again the surface of the school yard 
had entirely lost its untrampled appearance. 

That afternoon before school began, as 
the boys were rushing around the well-beaten 
paths, Pinkey noticed some of the girls, Har- 
riet Warren among them, standing on the 
walk watching them. He imagined that he 
detected traces of regret on the faces of 
some, caused no doubt by there being no 
chance for them to enjoy the game as the 
boys were doing. They could not make a 
ring for themselves, had there been avail- 
able space, for the snow was too deep for 
them to wade in. 

"Say, fellows," he exclaimed on reaching 
"home"^ — the "hub" of the wheel — after 
a lively chase around the rim of the circle, 
"we 've had enough of this for a while; 
what do you say to quitting and building a 
couple of snow forts and letting the girls 
come over here and play?" 

"That 's what !" shouted Joe Cooper, 
"I 've had enough of this. Let 's build a 
couple of forts that '11 be dandies and then 
have a regular war and battles, and sieges." 



"We won't have to build but one to have 
a war," spoke up Bunny Morris, who had 
come up just in time to hear the last two re- 
marks; "Shiner Brayley and Ed Lewis and 
a lot more o' the 'South-Enders' are over there 
now, rolling snowballs for a fort. They said 
that they were going to build one and run 
us out of our fox and geese game." 

"Oh, that 's it, is it?" said Pinkey eagerly. 
"Well, all right, if they want to run us out 
of something, we 'II build a fort too and let 
'em run us out of that." Then turning to 
the girls he added: "Come on, girls, and play 
here if you want to, we 're going to build 
a fort." 

Instantly all was activity of a different 
sort. As usual, Pinkey took command and 
organized his forces so as to get the best 
results in the quickest time. 

"Bunny," he said, "you and Joe start over 
there by that big tree and begin rolling a 
big snowball. Roll it this way so that by 
the time it 's big enough, it 'II be where we 
want it. Shorty, you and Billy start at the 
fence and roll another in this direction. By 
this plan, you see we won't have to handle 
them any after they get big enough to use." 

Thus directing the work and lending a 
helping hand here and there wherever he 
could be of most assistance, Pinkey began the 
erection of what he was determined should be 
the largest snow fort Enterprise had ever 
seen. 

Eddie and Shiner saw what the North- 
Enders were doing and accepted the silent 
challenge with great glee. Nothing was 
said by either side and no attempt was made 
to hinder the progress of either party. 

It was impossible to make much of a show- 
ing on either fort during the remainder of 
the noon hour, but at recess the boys took 
up the work with reneVwed vigor, rolling the 
large snowballs into rows and filling in the 
spaces between with smaller balls and large 
handfuls of snow. Both forts were large 



1., Google 



Captain Harold Hammond 



239 



and roomy inside, and at each end of the 
main wall shorter walls were built extend- 
ing to the rear as a defense against attack 
from the sides. 

The forts faced each other squarely, each 
extending from the heaps of snow which 
bordered the broad main walk some dis- 
tance out into the yard, and with but fair 
snowball range between them. 

"Let 's elect somebody captain," suggested 



Building the Fort. 

Bunny, as they started into the school-house 
after recess, "then we '11 know who 's boss 
on our side." He and all the others knew 
that Pinkey was the real leader but there 
had been some comments about " Pinkey Per- 
kins running everything" and Bunny de- 
sired a formal acknowledgment of Pin- 
key's authority. The matter was put to vote 
and sure enough Pinkey was elected cap- 
tain. 

When school was dismissed for the day, 
and the Nortb-Enders crowded around their 



partly-constructed fort, Pinkey expressed his 
views on the need for haste. 

"Now, fellows," said he, "let 's go right 
ahead with this fort as fast as we can, be- 
cause the sooner we get it done the sooner we 
can defend ourselves. The South-Enders are 
ahead of us now and there 's no telling how 
soon they 'II pitch in and want to fight.". 

This appeal met with instant response and 
all set to work immediately, strengthening 
their defenses at all 
points. Eddie and 
his crowd worked 
after school too and 
many a boasting as- 
sertion and good- 
natured threat was 
hurled back and forth 
as the work went 
on. SnowbalUng,how- 
ever, was studiously 
avoided by both sides. 
By the time it had 
begun to grow dark, 
both forts were quite 
near completion, but 
to Pinkey they seemed 
to lack something. 
After a moment's 
thought he said: 

"Say, fellows, we 've 
got to have a flag on 
our fort ; every fort 
you ever heard of had 
a flag on it." 

"That 's what," 
spoke up Shorty ea- 
gerly, "and I 've got 
a flag too. I 'II bring 
it to school in the 
morning. Let 's build 
up a place for it in 
the middle of the 
front wall." 

After a few min- 
utes' work at rolling three good-sized snow- 
balls and placing them one on top of the 
other on the middle of the main parapet, 
the boys took a few farewell admiring glances 
at their fort and started homeward. 

In some way, Pinkey's idea to have a flag 
on the fort found its way to the ears of some 
of the South-Enders, and next morning im- 
agine Pinkey's surprise when, on approaching 
the school yard with several of his little ariny, 
he could see a flag proudly waving from the 
parapet of the South-Enders' fort. ^ 

iM -.1. /Google 



240 



Shorty was carrying the North-Enders' flag 
and it relieved Pinkey's disappointment 
greatly to see that the staff to which he had 
tacked it was fully twice as long as that of 
the others and that the flag was much 

No sooner had they entered the school- 
yard than the South-Enders opened fire on 
them with a store of snowballs which they 
had made while awaiting the enemy's ar- 
rival. The North-Enders, with Pinkey in 
the lead, made a dash for their fort, keeping 
up a running fire all the time, and soon gained 
their shelter without suffejing severe loss. 
While dodging one snowball, however, Bunny 
had received the full effect of another 
squarely in the eye, which caused him in- 
stantly to lose "interest in the war for some 
minutes and to sit well under the cover of 
the fortification and nurse his injured optic. 

"Make up a lot of snowballs now, every- 
body," ordered Pinkey, once all were inside, 
" so you can keep 'em down while Shorty 
and I plant the flag." Pinkey and all those 
of his age in school were deep in the study 
of history just at this time and all were de- 
sirous that things should be done strictly in 
accordance with their ideas of the rules 
governing war. 

The fort had been so constructed that a 
wide, well -packed ledge of snow ran all 
around the inside, upon which the defend- 
ers could stand while throwing snowballs, 
Pinkey arranged his fellows along this ledge, 
which was about a foot in height, and at 
the word from him all rose into view, ready 
to engage the enemy, while he and Shorty 
flag in hand, sprang upon the parapet. 

"Let 'em have it, fellows !" shouted Pinkey, 
as the missiles began to shower upon him and 
Shorty, "keep them interested. Don't let up!" 

So strong were his defenders in their sup- 
ply of ammunition and so accurate was their 
aim that he and Shorty succeeded in sinking 
the sharp end of the flagstaff deep into the 
pile of snow built up for the purpose, and 
in jumping down again without suffering 
more serious damage than a few glancing 
blows from the other side. 

As soon as the flag was firmly planted on 
the parapet, the North-Enders set up a cheer 
and threw up their caps in proud salute to 
their starrv emiilem. 

Both sides seemed to use their ammunition 
cautiously, throwing only when some one 
in the enemy's fort raised his head well into 
view above his protecting wall of snow. 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



tjMr- 



"Stop throwing, fellows," exclaimed Pin- 
key suddenly, after a hasty glance over the 
parapet toward the other fort, "here comes 
a flag o' truce." 

Instantly all heads appeared above the 
wall to look. Sure enough, there was Shiner 
Brayley bearing high above his head a white 
handkerchief tied to a small stick and march- 
ing straight toward the North-Endeis' fort. 

"Go and see what he wants. Bunny," said 
Pinkey, making no sign of going himself. 



"Why don't you go, Pinkey?" inquired 
Joe, "you 're captain." 

"Have n't you studied enough history to 
know that they never do that way?" Pinkey 
replied. "One commander always sends 
somebody with a flag o' truce and the other 
commander sends somebody out to see what 
the message is. Go ahead, Bunny." 

Bunny strutted proudly out of the fort 
and met Shiner about midway between the 
lines. After a few moments' whispered con- 
versation, Bunny returned to report to Pin- 
key the message Shiner had brought. 

"Shiner says that Ed Lewis thinks that 
neither side can ever drive the other out of 



hvGoogle 



Captain Harold Hammond 



241 



its fort and wants to make a bargain that 
whichever side can capture the other's flag 
wins the war and gets both forts." 

"Tell Shiner to tell Ed Lewis that I agree 
to his terms," replied Pinkey in his most 
official tone, while the others stood by and 
uttered mingled approvals of Pinkey's action 
and threats toward the South-Enders. 

When Bunny had delivered Pinkey's re- 
ply and had returned once more to the fort, 
hostilities were renewed with increased vigor 
by both sides. 

All that day, during playtime, the battle 
waged fast and furious and the events of the 
morning proved to Pinkey that to capture 
the flag of either side with the force at hand 
and without outwitting the other was scarcely 
possible, so after school he called his warriors 
alxtut him and proposed a plan he had made 
during the afternoon. 

"I 've been thinking about this business," 
he said, "and have decided that to capture 
the South-Enders' flag, we 've got to catch 
'em nappin'. Now I 've got a scheme that 
means a lot o' work, but if we carry it out we 
can capture their flag as easy as pie." 

"What is it?" "Let 's do it." "What 
do we care for work?" were a few of the 
many expressions of approval which greeted 
the proposal from alt sides. There seemed 
to be no objections whatever, though none 
knew what the scheme was. 

"Let 's dig a tunnel from our fort, length- 
wise through that long pile o' snow that was 
shovelled off the walk, clear up to the South- 
Enders' fort and leave just a thin wall o' 
snow so if we can coax 'em outside and keep 
'em engaged somebody can slip through the 
tunnel, break into their fort and capture the 
flag and the war will be won for our side." 

It will be remembered that one end of 
each fort rested against this long pile of 
snow, which in places was nearly as high as 
a boy's head. 

"Just the scheme, course we 'II do it," 
exclaimed Shorty, fairly jumping up and 
down, "let 's begin." 

"No," warned Pinkey, "not now. We 've 
got to get shovels and do it late this evening 
by moonlight when no one 's around. Every- 
\tody must be here right after supper, sure." 

All consented to this arrangement and the 
band of braves departed for home, with a 
parting injunction from Pinkey to keep quiet 
and not to let any one know where they were 
going even after supper. 

Promptly after supper, every North-Ender 

Vou XXXIV.— 31. 



returned to the school yard and about half 
of them had shovels, a few being thoughtful 
enough to bring stove shovels to be used where 
the others would be too large. 

It was a long and tedious job that they 
undertook, for at no place could they stand 
erect in the tunnel and here and there they 
had to crouch down at their work to keep 
from breaking through above. 

"Let 's work from both ends," suggested 
Bunny, "and get done twice as quick. There 
are enough of us. ^Ve can start inside the 
other fort and then cover up the hole when 
we get through." 

This was a happy thought and it was at 
once carried into effect, one party starting 
from the interior of each fort and working 
toward the other. This hastened the work 
wonderfully and in less time than Pinkey had 
dared hope, after seeing what a task they 
had undertaken, the two parties met about 
half-way between the two forts. The snow 
which had been dug from their own end of 
the tunnel was stored in their fort, but that 
which came from the other end had to be 
scattered to avoid suspicion. 

"Everything 's all ready now," said Pin- 
key gleefully, "just as soon as we plug up 
the place where we started to digging in the 
South-Enders' fort. I wooder how they 'd 
like it if they knew we had been in there 
ourselves !" 

It was but the task of a few minutes to 
cover up all traces of their having been in 
the enemy's works and when the crowd gath- 
ered up their shovels and departed there was 
no indication of all they had accomplished, 
save the piles of snow in the North-Enders' 
fort. They had even closed up the entrance 
to the tunnel from their own fort as a matter 
of precaution against some one seeing it. 

Strictly according to instructions nearly 
all the North-Enders were assembled in their 
fort early the ne.vt morning and had their 
flag flying before the South-Enders arrived. 
As a part of Pinkey's scheme, he and Bunny 
kept themselves hidden from view, so that the 
enemy might not miss them when they ab- 
sented themselves during the fight. 

Soon Eddie appeared, coming around the 
comer, with Shiner as flag-bearer inunedi- 
ately behind him. Following them as closely 
as possible came the South-End warriors, 
stronger in numbers than on the previous 
day. Eddie had enlisted a number of the 
younger boys on his side without regard to 
what part of town they came from. They 

, Google 



242 Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy "*■- 

had been envious spectators of the war and was awaiting them, Pinkey made preparations 

now were elated at Eddie's invitation to take to begin his attack, 

part. "All ready, fellows," he said in an under- 

"They 've got nearly twice as many as we tone, "everybody but Bunny and me move 

have, Pinkey," complained Bunny, with some out now, slowly and carefully as though you 



His Kk 

concern, "and they '11 make a rush for us as were afraid, but l>e careful that they don't 

soon as they get their flag up." get closer to our fort than you are, for that 's 

"I don't care how many they 've got," what they '11 be looking for. Bunny and I 

said Pinkey, bravely, still keeping under will go through the tunnel and as soon as you 

cover, "the more the better, 'cause the more see we 've got their flag, hurry back here as 

they have, the further they '11 get away from fast as you can." 
their fort and that 's what we want." Out they went, as Pinkey had directed, 

As soon as the South-Enders had planted throwing and dodging, advancing and re- 

their flag, amid the storm of snowballs that treating, endeavoring to draw the enemy from 



Google 



»»«7.3 



Captain Harold Hammond 



behind his breastworks. There was a large 
crowd of spectators watching the battle, for 
by now the war between the two sides had 
gained considerable attention from the older 
pupils as well as the younger ones. 

Some of the spectators cheered for one 
side and some for the other and, as the iight 
waxed hot, words of encouragement could be 
heard for both from all aides. 

As Pinkey had hoped, the South-Enders 
left their shelter with a rush and a yell and 
endeavored to drive his side back into their 
fort where, with their superior force, they 
might win added glory by capturing the flag 
in hand to hand conflict. 

"Pinkey Perkins is n't with them," shouted 
Shiner, "we '11 get them on the run now, all 
right." 

"Bet he stayed away on purpose so as not 
to be here when we captured his flag," re- 
plied Eddie. "Is n't that just like him?" 

Meantime Pinkey and Bunny had crept 
through their tunnel until they had reached 
the end. Pinkey listened with beating heart 
to see if the occupants were gone and he 
could tell by the noise coming from outside 
the fort that the way was clear for his haz- 
ardous venture, 

"Now, Bunny!" he said, "Come on; we've 
no time to lose." 

Bursting through the thin wall of snow 
that separated them from the interior of the 
South-Enders' fort, Pinkey, crouching low 
and followed closely by Bunny, rushed to the 
center of the enclosure and started to scramble 
upon the parapet. 

"Gimme a boost. Bunny," he whispered 
hoarsely, "quick!" 

Bunny did as he was bid and in another 
second, even before any of the enemy had seen 
his clever move, Pinkey had seized the flag- 
staff, pulled it from its position and was wav- 
ing it around his head in high glee over his 
victory. 

But he dare not tarry long. The South- 
Enders had discovered how they had been 
tricked, and here they came pell-mell, shout- 
ing at the tops of their voices, on a mad rush 
to catch Pinkey before he could escape. 

"Catch him ! catch him ! Donft let 'im get 
away!" shouted Eddie, who had been leading 
the fight in the opposite direction and was 
now among those farthest off from the fort. 

But they were too late. Pinkey and Bunny 
were into the tmmel again before any of their 



243 

pursuers could get to the fort and were hur- 
rying back to their own defenses as fast 
as they could go. Pinkey clutched the flag- 
staff tightly in his hand and, as he went, 
drapffwi it behind him through the tunnel. 

"Push up here and there, Bunny, and 
loosen the snow so the roof '11 cave in," said 
Pinkey, as soon as they got well started back. 

Bunny did as he was ordered and thus 
effectually put a stop to pursuit by that ave- 
nue, had such action been intended. 

"We 've got her!" shouted Pinkey, as he 
emerged from the tunnel into his own fort 
just as the others were returning. "Now let 's 
get up on the fort and give three cheers for 
the South-Enders." 

With a will did everybody join him in 
carrying out his suggestion, for none desired 
to humiliate those whom they had defeated. 
When the spectators heard the cheers and 
learned whom they were for, everybody, 
South-Enders, spectators and all, returned the 
cheer with generous interest. 

Then, to the surprise of all, Pinkey, with- 
out a word to any one jumped from the par- 
apet down upon the ground in front, and 
marching straight up to Eddie, held forth the 
captured flag with his left hand and extended 
his right toward his astonished foe. 

Eddie could not refuse such an open- 
hearted and generous offer for peace, and with 
a face flushing red at the thought of Pin- 
key's thus removing the sting of defeat, he ac- 
cepted the proffered flag with one hand and, 
amid the renewed cheers of everybody, grasped 
Pinkey's outstretched hand with the other, 
thus ending the war with good feelings on all 
sides. 

As the pupils were entering the school - 
house half an hour afterward, Harriet Warren, 
whose silence until now had been as deep as 
her interest in the outcome of the struggle, 
said to Pinkey: 

"It was fine, Pinkey — the way you captured 
the flag, and I 'm glad your side won, but 
it was finer still the way you gave it back to 
Eddie. How did you come to think of 
either plan?" 

"Well," said Pinkey, trying to hide the 
feeling of exultation which swept over him, 
"we were trying to make it like real war and 
capturing the flag was what they call strategy 
in the history we 're studying. Their taking 
the flag back was what they call 'accepting 
defeat with the honors of war,' I suppose." 



d by Google 



uia jiriun s wire gave mm a dox, 
to hold his many " cuffs " ; 

Miss Centipede, whose feet wer 
cold, had a hundred warm fool 
muffs. 



f^A.; ■■ 



d by Google 



d by Google 



FIRST PAPER-" CLOTHES-PIN TOYS "-BY LINA BEARD 



How to amuse the children and keep them 
quiet for hours together can often be solved 
by giving them a lot of nice, clean, wooden 
clothes-pins to play with. 

No manufactured building- blocks or kin- 
dergarten toys can equal them in this respect. 




The following are the directions for mak- 
ing the farm -yard and church shown on 
page 248. 

Use ordinary 5-inch wooden clothes-pins for 
most of the work. To erect the log-house 




come toward your left hand and to lie directly 
over the heads of the first two clothes-pins, 
(Fig. 3) A and A. Continue building in this 



way, always alternating the ends of the 
clothes-pins, first the heads, next the open 
ends, then the heads, and so on. 

You will need twenty-eight clothes-pins for 
one section of the saddle-bag log-house, seven 
pairs of pins extending from side to side and 
seven pairs from front to back. A short dis- 
tance from and parallel to this little structure 
build another like it, always being careful to 
place the clothes-pins with the open side 



place two clothes-pins on the floor or table a 
few inches apart, have them parallel with 
heads toward your left hand ( Fig. 1 ) . Across 
and on top of these lay two more with both 
heads facing you (Fig. 2). Then build on 
two over the last, allowing the open ends to 




downward that they may lie flat and steady, — 
if placed on the rounded side the pins may 
turn and slip and the structure will fall down. 

' vGooglc 



Glothes-Pin Toys 



247 

For the roof of the house fold half a sheet for the buck-saw, slip the two open ends of 
of ordinary newspaper lengthwise through two pins through each other, do the same 
the center into a long, double strip, fold and with two more clothes-pins, then stand the 
two X's, you have made, near each other and 
lay a clothes-pin across the space, resting one 




crease the strip crosswise through the center; 
then as the folded strip lies before you bend 
back one end about 5j^ inches (Fig. 5), turn 
the paper over and bend back the other end 
(Fig. 6). Open out the strip and you will 
have a peaked roof of two thicknesses of 
newspaper (Fig. 7). Lift the paper with 
both hands, one hand at each end, and, push- 
ing the centra! bend slightly together, lay 
the paper across both buildings so that the 
center will come over the middle of the open 
way between the two little log structures; you 
will then have a miniature saddle-bag log- 
cabin, as shown in the lower picture on the 
next page. 

Begin the fence at the right hand side of 
the grounds and build toward the left, lay the 
open end of one clothes-pin on the head of an- 




other and when the first layer of rails extends 
as far as desired, commence again at the right 
hand and build on a second layer of clothes- 
pin rails (Fig. 8). 

Make a gateway-post by running the open 
end of one clothes-pin through the open side 
of a second clothes-pin, push the second pin 
up a little and slide the end of the first pin 
through the side of a third pin, bringing the 
upright pin on the outside of one horizontal 
pin and on the inside of the other (Fig. 9). 
Make a second post in the same manner and 
attach each post to one end of the front open- 
ing of the fence by sliding one fence rail be- 
tween the horizontal pins of the post (Fig 9 
6 and S). Then build another pin on top as 
shown in the photograph on the next page. 

If you have shorter clothes-pins use them 



end on each of the X supports (Fig. 4 on 
the preceding page). 

The woodpile is simply a pile of clothes-pins 
alternating head and open end. On each 
end of the pile is an upright clothes-pin stuck 
far enough through a horizontal pin to hold 
it firm, as shown in Fig. 16. 



Tear a strip crosswise from half a sheet of 
newspaper, tear the strip into fine fringe, 
roll the untorn edge into a wad and push the 
wad into the open end of a clothes-pin, stand 
the pin on its head and lol there is a little 
tree (Fig. 10). 

Select a short clothes-pin for the little 
mountain lady, fashion her dress skirt of a 
strip of newspaper, gather the paper along 
one edge with your fingers and tie the gath- 
ered edge around the clothespin a short dis- 



tance beneath the head (Fig, 12). Cut a 
three-cornered piece of red tissue paper or of 
newspaper for her shawl (Fig. !3) and make 
a sunbonnet of a folded strip of white tissue 
paper or a single strip of newspaper, bring 

Google 



248 



the two ends of the paper together forming a 
loop and pin the top back edges of the loop 
together, put it on the little clothes-pin head 
and tie a string around the neck over the 
bonnet (Fig. 14). 

When the pioneer home is finished build 
the log-church. For this you must have long 
logs; form them of two clothes-pins with the 
open ends slid firmly in together (Fig. II), 
then erect the main portion of the structure 
by building it up in log-cabin style to a suf- 
ficient height; on the top lay a flat roof of 
the long logs, and on the center front of the 
roof build a little log-house of single clothes- 
pins as you build the one half of the pioneer 
cabin. The little log-house on the roof fornis 
part of the steeple ; make its roof of a layer 
of single clothes-pins running across from side 
to side. Build a sawbuck (Fig, 4) on top of 
this little roof to form the peak of the steeple. 
Make the sawbuck upside down with the 
heads of the pins resting on the roof and one 
of the X ends facing the front of the church. 
This will make the peak of the roof. 

Now stand two clothes-pins in the open side 
of one pin to form one side of the church 
entrance ; make the other side in the same 
way; then lay a clothes-pin along the top of 
each side with head facing you. Over the 



CloChes-Pin Toys 



The Log Church. 



the children but at the same time give them 
an idea of how the pioneers had to build their 
homes with the jnaterigl at hand. The cost 



Showing, Completed, t 



; Preceding Pages 



last pins build on a roof by laying clothes- of these home-made toys is almost nothing, as 

pins across from side to side. Fig. 15 shows only clothes-pins and a newspaper are re- 

the log-church completed. quired, both of which are common enough 

These interesting little toys not only amuse in almost every household. 

.,.] -.1. /Google 



Sentimental Sunny 

By Stella George Stern 



Sentimental Sunny _ But his love, the Lady Rabbit, 

Was a very funny bunny, ' Did n't like the daisy habit. 

Tearing daisy petals off to try his So she turned her back on him and 

fate ; went and ate. 



Arctic Advantages 

By Mary Catherine Callan 

" It 's bedtime, dear," they always say But, when the breakfast bell I hear, 

Just when I 'm at my nicest play ; My bed does seem so snug and dear. 

And then I wish for Arctic climes, I yawn and long with all my might 

Where day is six months long, at times. For six good months of Arctic night. 

v„. xxx,v-3. ™ Google 



An Indian Letter 

By T. R. Porter 



The Painted Signs o 






Some time ago Running Buffalo, a big chief of 
the Sioux tribe, wished to write a letter to Oo- 
Nuzhe-Cuda, of the Omaha Indian tribe ; he 
wished to tell his friend how his farm and his 
herds were getting along, and to assure the 
Oniaha that the Sioux was now limg like a 
white man and would continue to do so all 
the rest of his life. 

But Running Buffalo did not know a word 
of the Omaha language, and Oo-Nuzhe-Cuda 
did rot know a word of the Sioux tongue. 

Now when an American wants to write to 
a Spaniard, and neither understands the lan- 
guage of the other, the American gets an in- 
terpreter to change the English words into 
Spanish, and the Spaniard gets his letter in 
words he can understand. 

But there was no interpreter between the 
Sioux and the Omaha, and then Running Buf- 
falo, being a brave of the old school, did not 
know a single ore of the " signs " which a 
white man can write on paper, and another 
white man can " read," or, by looking at them, 
can tell what the maker of the signs meant. 
Running Buffalo had always steadfastly refused 
to ieam a single word of the white man's lan- 
guage. He wanted to remain a Sioux Indian. 



uNNiHG Buffalo's Letteu to Oo-Nuihe-Cuda, 

But while Running Buffalo could not write 
English, he could make the " pictures " that 
any Indian of any tribe on the great North 
American continent could understand. If a 
Moqui Indian from Arizona, a Seminole from 
Florida, and a Crow Indian from Montana 
should meet and wish to tell each other where 
the best camping ground is, they would have 
a difficult time talking each other's language, 
for all three are different. But these three 
Indians from three different tribes would sim- 
ply begin making signs, and then each Indian 
would soon understand just what the other 
two were saying. 

So Running Buffalo got a piece of leather 
a sharp stick, and some black mineral paint 
which he himself made out of the material 
which the Sioux have used to make war paint 
of for many centuries. Then he began to 
make signs on the piece of leather. And here 
is a photograph of it, showing the signs which 
Running Buffalo sent to his friend, Oo-Nuihe- 
Cuda. 

Running Buffalo lives over on the great 
Sioux Indian reservation, in South Dakota. 
And Oo'Nuzhe-Cuda, being an Omaha, li"es 
over in Nebraska where the Oma}ia tribe has 



1., Google 



An Indian L^ter 



its reservadon. Running Buffalo took his 
letter to the Indian Agent and got the Agent 
to address it to Oo-Nuzhe-Cuda, over on the 
Omaha reservation. And when Oo-Nuzhe- 
Cuda received the piece of painted leather, 
this is the way he read die signs which 
Running Buffalo had made for him. 

"The way to the old Indian life (signified 
by the tepee or wigwam) is barred, and I can 
no more return thereto (the bars are before the 
tepee). I am now living in the white, man's 
way and I have a horse (shown by the picture 
of the horse), seven head of cattle (seven dots 
under the horns) and a fann (the square sur- 
mounted by a plow). 

" My squaw (the circle inclosing a dot), my- 
self (the triangle) and my son (the dot follow- 
ing the other sign) have come a long and 
crooked (eventful) path (the crooked sign fol- 
lowing the sign for the boy). We have lived 
many years and our lives have been full of 
adventure. But I am now getting old and 
feeble ; the fires of life are almost extinguished 
(the small fire sign on the ground within the 
circle represents the fire burning low in an 
Indian tepee) ; my energies are almost spent ; 
I am an old man. Even the last warpath 
(the flying arrow) upon which I traveled (the 
last war in which I took part) lasted onlytwo 
half moons (one month, signified by the two 
dots in a half moon). 

" But my squaw, myself and my son are 
now living in peace. I have smoked the pipe 
of peace (the ornaments on the pipe show it 
to be a ' peace pipe ') and I have abandoned 
the warpath forever. I can never again go 
on the warpath ; ihere is a barrier in the way 
(the bars separate the flying arrow from the 
pipe of peace) ; and I will live in peace forever, 
my squaw, myself and my son. 

"Running Buffalo." 

(In the w'gnature the " horns " are intended 
to stand for buffalo; the snaky line means 
"mnning-") 

And so, after reading tiiis queer " letter," Oo- 
Nuzhe-Cuda knew that his friend, Running 
Buffalo, was living in peace, had a farm and a 
herd of cattle, and was an old man. 

But while Oo-Nuzhc-Cuda cannot read 
Souz, he knows English as well as any other 
every-day American. Although he is a mem- 
ber of the Omaha Indian tribe, he is a white 
man and is not an Indian at all. 

The first time he went among the Indians, 
long, long ago, he wore a suit of gray clothes. 



251 

and the Indians immediately named him Oo- 
Nuzhe-Cuda, which means "The Man Who 
Wears Gray Clothes," and they have called 
him by that name for more than 40 years. 
But the white men call him Thomas H. Tib- 
bies, and in 1904 Mr. Tibbies was the candi- 
date of the Populists for Vice-President of the 
United States. 

Years ago, Mr. Tibbies came west and 
settled in Nebraska. He was out on the 
plains scouting and hunting a great deal, and 
soon became well known to the Indians. At 
that time the Omaha tribe lived in eastern 
Nebraska and Mr. Tibbies spent much of 
his time with them. After a while they 
adopted him into their tribe, and gave him 
the full rights of an Indian warrior. 

While out hunting one cold winter day 
years and years ago, Mr. Tibbies and a party 
of Omahas were camped on the banks of the 
Niobrara river in northern Nebraska. The 
river was frozen over. After awhile, there ap- 
peared a single Indian on the opposite bank 
of the river. He signaled that he was hungry. 
Mr. Tibbies answered and beckoned him to 
" come on," and turned the palms of his hands 
toward the strange Indian. That meant that 
he would be received as a friend. 

The Indian started across the ice. Suddenly 
the ice wavered and broke and down went the 
redskin into the " Swift Running Water " (that 
is the meaning of " Niobrara "). The water 
was shallow, but was filled with quicksands. 

Tying a lariat around his waist, Mr. Tibbies, 
at the risk of his own life, rescued the strange 
Indian, brought him to the shore, and gave 
him warm, dry clothing, fed him and kept him 
for several days. 

The stranger was Running Buffalo, a .sub- 
chief of the Siotuc. He had been wounded by 
a buffalo in the hunt and had strayed from 
the tents of his people. 

When Running Buffalo was well, he started 
for the Sioux country, after vowing eternal 
friendship to Mr. Tibbies, whom he claimed as 
his "brother." The entire conversation was 
carried on in the sign language, because 
neither could talk the language of the other. 
These two men. Running Buffalo, the Sioux, 
and Mr. Tibbies, Oo- Nuzhe-Cuda, the White- 
Omaha, have corresponded for nearly forty 
years. Their letters are always written in 
" picture " writing, and are sent at intervals of 
two or three years. The two men have met 
half a dozen times only since Running Buffalo 
was rescued from the quicksands. But each 
prizes highly the picture-letters of the other. 



Google 



Mother Goose Continued 

By Anna Marion Smith 



dby Google 



Mother Goose Continued 



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Mother Goose Continued 



" All are not fitted to sit on a 

wall, 
Some have no balance, and some 

are too small ; 
Many have tried it and found, as I 

guess. 
They 've ended, like me, in a terrible 

mess. 




Hear it, and never forget it I 
again! |[_ 

'T is those who are patient in seats 
that are low. 

Who some day get up in high places 
and crow," Ml 



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A Twelfth-Night Story 

By Mary Bradley 

" Frau Precht," in & Germui legend of Twelfih-Xighl, i 
the cradles of neglecled children, and sings tbem (o sleep, 
nurses retam, she irightcDs them by appearing a 



T WAS the blessed eve of Epiphany, 
All frosty and keen and bright ; 

The moon sailed up in a silver sea, 
The snow underfoot was as white. 

And Rika, the pert little nursery-maid. 

Was hurrying down the street. 
With a ribbon tied in her flaxen braid. 

And dancing-shoes on her feet. 

She had tucked the children into their 
beds. 
And left them shaking with fear; 
' For if you so much as lift your heads, 
The bat will certainly hear." 

The little ones huddled as mute as mice 

All under their beds of down, 
And Rika laughed at her own device 

As she fastened her Sunday gown, 

"They *11 drop asleep and forget it all. 
And for once I '11 take the chance. 
While the gracious mistress goes to a ball, 
To go myself to a dance." 

So off she skipped, the gay little maid. 
In her buckled shoes so smart, 

And the children shook in their beds, afraid 
At the beat of each little heart. 

The moon was low in the frosty sky 

When gay little Rika came ; 
She climbed the stair with a footstep shy. 

For she knew she had been to blame. 



Through the long, dark corridor she crept. 

With a guilty fear at her soul ; 
And she thanked her stars that her nurslings 
slept. 

As into the room she stole. 

But oh !— but oh ! what creature was that 
Which lurked in the shadow there. 

With wings like a bat, and claws like a cat, 
To catch herself by the hair ? 

Down, down she fell in a sudden swoon, 

And lay in a woeful pUght 
Till the stars had set, and the waning moon 

Was dim in the dawn's gray light. 

The children were waking with smiling looks 
From a dream of the loveliest things. 

And their tongues ran faster than running 
brooks 
With the tale of its happenings: 

A lady as beautiful as a queen, 

A dove on a lily spray, 
And a wonderful tree in whose boughs so 
green 

Hung dolls that could talk and play! 

They had never dreamed such a dream before. 
And the pale little nursery-maid 

The more ^e Ustened, she wondered more, 
And the more she was afraid. 

But she learned a lesson that was not lost ; 

For never, never since then. 
With a tale of witch, or goblin, or ghost. 

Has she frightened the children again. 



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^fuyng B®g« 



By Charles F. Holder 

Illu*irai«d by I. W. Taber 



Whether it is from long association with tish 
and iishing I cannot say, but Santa Catalina 
is famous for its fishing dogs. During various 
seasons spent on this island I have made the 
acquaintance of several of these dogs, all more 
or less remarkable. 

One evening I was sitting on the beach, 
watching the flying fish, when I noticed one of 
these little dogs, a black spaniel-like fellow, 
who answered to the name of Dandy on week- 
days, but on Sunday is known as Dude by his 
fisherman owner. He was standing at the edge 
of the water, where the waves gently washed 
■his feet, gazing earnestly out to sea. In a 
moment a big flying-fish came soaring in, strik- 
ing the water several feet from the shore. 
Dandy, for it was a week day, dashed at it and 
seemed very much disappointed at its dis- 
appearance. Soon another fish came in, chased 
by an albicore, and struck the pebbles, and be- 
fore it could flutter back into the water Dandy 
had seized and carried it proudly up the 
beach to his master. 

Dandy with his companion. Prince, an old 
long-haired poodle, shaved on a portion of his 
body, invariably went out with the boatman 
and apparently understood everything he said. 
When fishing one day, a huge black sea bass 
took a line and made so desperate an eflort to 
escape that the anchor had to be taken up and 
the fish allowed to tow the boat about and tire 
itself out. The moment the fish was hooked. 



the dogs displayed the greatest excitement, 
barking and rushing from one end of the boat 
to the other ; gazing anxiously down into the 
water, then at the fisherman who was toiling 
with the big fish, until finally, after half an hour 
of pulling and being pulled the fish, which was 
over six feet in length and weighed over four 
hundred pounds, was brought to the surface, 
where it lashed the water into foam deluging 
the occupants of the boat with spray. As soon 
as the glistening brown back of the big fish 
appeared, flashing in the sunlight. Dandy 
steadied himself for a second, then boldly leaped 
upon its back, snapping at its fins and endeav- 
oring to seize it. Never before, I venture to 
say, was a dog seen upon a fish's back and this 
was only for a moment, as the big fish resented 
the presence of the rider and with a desperate 
plunge threw him off. But the little dog swam 
bravely at it and despite the blows from its tail 
and the waves of foam that were thrown about, 
attempted to seize the fish until it was forcibly 
taken into the boat. Dandy, I was told, 
attacked a shark once in the same way. 

This remarkable dog would go to any part 
of the boat at his master's commands and was 
a most intelligent creature. One day we had 
been out for a sail and were being rowed ashore 
by the boatman, when laying down theoaishe 
suddenly announced that the oars had given 
out and there was no way of getting in. At 
this the dogs became much excited, springing 



rib/ 



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The Fishing Dogs of Catalina 257 

lo their feet and barking their loudest. The somersault or attempt any feat his master 
poodle took his place in the bow as pilot, with called for. Upon only one occasion was Dick 
fore paws resting in the gunwale ; while Dandy, baffled. He was once swimming along the 
seizing the painter of the boat, sprang over- shore, following his master, who was walk- 
board and began swimming toward the beach, ing on the beach, when directly in front of 
actually towing the boat in to the shore. him rose a big pointed head with a fierce be- 

Not far away lived a large St. Bernard whiskered face, black eyes and sharp teeth. 
equally well known 
on the island. His 
point of vantage was 
the wharf and every 
steamer that came 
in was assisted by 
this giant longshore 
dog that insisted 
upon seizing the 
rope that was thrown 
to the dock and aid- 
ing in hauling it in 
amid much barking 
and excitement. 

Another dog, a 
grim, ferocious- look- 
ing bull terrier, also 
lived on the island 
for several years— 
ferocious only in ap- 
pearance, as he was 
a good-natured fel- 
low in every respect. 
He was famous for 
his diving powers 
which were very re- 
markable. If a fish 
was thrown over he 
would swim out to 
the spot, eye the 
object carefully, then 
dive and reach the 
bottom in five or sis 
feet of water, and 
bring up the fish 
with the greatest 
ease. Long practice 
at this had made 

the dog very skill- "Dandy'' vpo.s the Fish's Hack. 

ful at it ; he would 

walk along the edge of the wharf and when a fish The stranger gave a loud snort or bark and 
was seen in the depths below he would plunge disappeared, while Dick beat a hasty retreat lo 
over and swim down while the fi.sh would dart the beach and for a long time could not be 
away, leaving the little dog to struggle to the induced to swim out from shore. The strange 
surface again. head belonged to a sea lion that was making its 

This dog was also famous for his tricks, daily tour along the shore of the island in search 
He would leap into the air and try to turn a of food— an unusual sight to poor Dick. 



Vol. XXXIV. -33. 



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Christmas Without the Christmas Tree 

By May Snyder 

Au^fT Mandy's face beamed with satisfac- trees out'n umberells in my time," said Aunt 
tion as she put (he finishing touches to her Mandy, "but them chillun's boun' to hab 
Christmas tree. She laughed softly. Never sumpin' to hang dey praisents on, an dat sho 

am jes' a hifalutin 
tree!" She stood with 
her hands on her hips 
and surveyed the tree 
intently. 

The frame of the 
old umbrella spread 
its bare ribs above an 
empty soap box lo 
which the handle had 
been rudely fastened. 
Strings of popcorn and 
cranberries afforded 
the principal decora- 
tions, while cookies, 
apples and sticks of 
candy were suspended 
by strings of various 
kinds and colors. The 
presents consisted of 
mysterious looking bun- 
dles of many shapes 
and sizes. 

Aunt Mandy had 
worked long and pa- 
tiently, and now she 
turned away, saying as 
she closed the door be- 
hind her; "Clar' to 
goodness, hit do look 
mighty scrumptious — 
'deed hit do !" 

Only a few hours 
more, and the tree in 
all its grandeur would 
be displayed. Never 
had there been such 
excitement in Aunt 
Mandy's cabin. The 
pickaninnies, dressed in 
their Sunday-best, in- 
dulged in low whispers 
and smothered giggles. 
Even the perky bows 
in all her experience had she trimmed such on 'Liza's and Maria's pigtails seemed to stir 
a tree as this. And she had trimmed many- with life and quiver with eagerness. 

"Well, sah! no one iicliber made Christmas Supper over, Uncle Mose led the way to 



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Christmas Without the Christmas Tree 



the best room. As he threw open the door, 
a shout went up from the delighted picka- 
ninnies. 

"Chillun," said Uncle Mose, with a low 
bow and a flourish of the hand, "on dis mos' 
'spicuous 'casion, yo' suttinly hab a lubbly 
tree to celebrate yo' Krismus day. An' I 
will now recede to constribute yo' praisents. 

" Fust, foahmos', an' to begin wid, I 
puhsent yo', George Washington Lincoln 
Harrison Grant, wid a pair o' skates, from 
yo' lubbin mammy. 

"An yo', 'Rastus Robinson Carter Keller, 
gits a football from yo' 'fectionate daddy. 

"Liza Jane Arabella Helen, git right up 
on yo' feet an' make yo' bow. I puhsent 
yo' wid a bran' new dress from yo' lubbin 
mammy. 

"Maria Nfelissa Wallace Winifred, what 
yo' gwine to say to yo' mammy when yo' 
'cepts dis bonnet, de work ob her lubbin 
ban's? Now, chillun, yo' can walk up an' 
he'p yo'se'fs. De 'freshments am free an' ma- 
licious." 

With a wild howl the youngsters made a 
rush for the spreading tree. "Dey's mo' 
praisents!" "Golly, what 's dis?" "Hue- 
come dis heah?" "De tree 's ben'in' over!" 
"Hoi' on!" were the e.xclamations that came 
crowding one upon another. Then the up- 



roar became deafening, and the Christmas 
frolic was on. 

Uncle Mose stood for a moment in happy 
contemplation, then his eyes fell on Aunt 
Mandy's smiling face. "Mandy Mehitable 
Sonora Frances Somers," he said, "yo' 's a 
'ficient woman. I nebah 'preciated yo' 
'strabagance an' he'plcssness befo', an' I 's 
glad, 'deed I is, honey — 'case I nevah 
'spected hit," Uncle Mose bowed, waved 
his hands airily and took his seat. The per- 
spiration stood in beads on his forehead, but 
his smile did not vanish. Christmas cheer 
was stirring in his heart, and Christmas angels 
were hovering over the little cabin. 

When the clock on the mantel struck the 
midnight hour, doors were locked, lights 
snuiTed out and silence fell upon the happy 
home. Little black faces smiled up from 
soft, white pillows, for their dreams were 
sweet that Christmas night. Aunt Mandy 
felt well repaid for all her extra care and 
trouble, and Uncle Mose, wearied with his 
speech -making, soon fell asleep. 

The old umbrella, bare and forlorn, Stood 
in the darkened corner, stretching its bent 
ribs into vacancy. It had fulfilled its mis- 
sion. Christmas without a tree and Christ- 
mas with an umbrella was a success in Aunt 
Mandy's cabin. 



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I 
To Mill and Bade 

Her* a. M of wheat 

I lift it. 
-Such a bea/y load '. 

ril shift it.' 
Miller bereib ray wheal; 

Pkise (jriixl it 
ni coroe back ajain 

To find it. 



Here's a W of f loun 

1 lift it. 
-5ucb a t)eis.yy loadl 

ril shift it.' 

WJKrcS a bandy place 

lb drop it? 
-Into mother's lap 

I'll pop it! 



1 SHRUCGINC THE 3MO0LDfRa. O 



n 
Ibe Fiddler. 

fly peddlers ]xA 
nbrowoDDyback. 
And fasten the strap! 
Up ti^ht; 
Aw^ then I io, 
W 3kp5 tet are sUi 
But hurry bscic boroc 
Af night. 



>• ABt ADJUSreO TO KEEP THE F 



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nm VKHY ijrrrirmnr\ 
m 

Shakes rjy load 

As I go Imd^in^ 

Along (be road. 

Flippejy-flop, 
Wi bblety-wobblefy 
■nil "Mop. 

Ibc Jar irfHoDgr 

ApiJyiApijy! 

Goodfolkdfccity! 

Hereb IwDey-ajafM- 

Ail going (o vaslc. 

No money, no roone>; 

Wli bijyjrauto hoogf? 

Bui itjrai love BiW, 

WSivej/oualasfe. 

"Vfe love biiiilWe lovt kirn! " 

The/ all qy id W? 

TicB-svafest of boney- 

Hi3 kisse tbjy fask. 



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FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK 



LIT 



GRAY 



KITTEN 



By Mary Laurence TurnbuU 

Once upon a time there was a little gray kitten, who had wandered far 
away from home. At 6rst she liked all the strange sights she saw, but by 
and by she began to feel very homesick, and wished she was once more 
cuddled up with her brothers and sisters. 

Now the only word this little gray kitten knew was " Mew, mew ! " So 
when she was lonely she would say " Mew," when she was hungry, " Mew;" 
when she was cold or tired, glad or sad, it was always " Mew." At home 
they knew what she meant when she said " Mew," but out in the wide, wide 
world, nobody seemed to know. 

Wandering along the street, she came upon a tittle squirming earthworm. 
" Mew," said she, meaning, "Where is my home?" 

The earthworm, however, did not notice little gray kitten, but crawled 
away across the street. 

Next, the little gray kitten met a butterfly on the top of a dandelion. 
" Mew," said the little gray kitten, meaning, "Can you tell me where my 
home is?" But the butterfly did not say anything, and flew away. 




Digitized by Google 



FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK 





The little gray kitten walked on, arid then she spied a robin on a stone 
wall near-by. " Mew," said the little gray kitten, " Where is my home ? " 
But the robin, cocking his head on one side, answered, " Chirp, chirp," 

and then spreading his wings, 
flew away. 

She felt very sad indeed, but 
running along she came up to a 
big black dog. " Mew, mew !" 
said the little gray kitten, "Oh, 
can you not tell me where my 
home is ? " 

But the big black dog shook 
his tail, and barked "Bow-wow, 
bow-wow-wow-wow!" so loudly 
that the little gray kitten ran away from him as fast as she could go. 

The little gray kitten was very tired, but she still ran on, and soon met a 
big red cow. " Mew, mew-ew," said the little gray 
kitten, "Can you not tell me where my home is?" 

The big red cow, however, hardly looking at the 
Httle kitten, stretched out her big head, and shouted, 
" Moo, moo-oo ! " which so frightened the little gray 
kitten that she jumped over a fence and landed 
right in the midle of a flower-bed. 

There she caught sight of a little girl running up 
to her, and with such a sweet smile on her face that 
the little gray kitten ran toward her and said once 
more, " Mew, do you know where my home is ?" 

" Oh, you dear fluffy gray ball ! " said the smiling 
little girl, catching the kitten up in her arms. 
"I'm going to take you right home to live with ■oh, voir i>f.,\h kcuffyGbav 

„ " ^ / & Ball: Said t«e Little Cibl.'' 

me. 

The little girl was the only one who had understood, and the litde gray 
kitten purred softly. She was happy for she had found a home. 



./Google 



often, however, the trees a 



«parale sapling! vrhcn pbnicd. 



TREES AT WAR AND IN PEACE. 

Many of us have seen a neglected garden 

overrun with weeds and all its delicate flowers 

choked by the stronger, lustier growth which 

has sprung up among them. The forest in 

like manner is a great theater of contest and 

struggle, where each tree is striving for its 

share of light, air and root-space. Here, too, 

the stronger survive, and only when they are 

full-grown do the trees live at peace with their 

fellows and their surroundings. The boughs 

are so delicate in their adjustments to each 

other when the trees are at peace, and the roots 

and twisted branches are so slow and cautious 

in their movements when the trees are engaged of opposition toward each other, and the ele- 

in conflict, that only at rare intervals, when ments, as well as man, force them to adopt 



wABFEii Apple Th[ 

igb Bnij ■ foot or two bie 



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Nature and Science for Young Folks 



defensive methods. On mountain tops and by 
the sea, where they have to contend with frost 
and strong winds, they develop a more com- 
pact body and a more twisted and tortuous 
character. Apple-trees which spring up in pas- 
ture lands are browsed upon by cattle and in 
time defend themselves by a growth of thorny 
and extremely stout twigs. Like a chpped 
hedge, they put out tougher and more gnarled 
branches till they have spread a wide and 
dense barrier over the ground; then from the 
center, where the cattle cannot reach, a strong 
shoot pushes upward and grows in (ime into 
a stuniy tree. In a woodland of limited ex- 
tent I once found five separate trees which 
were growing upon the summits of large boul- 
ders. Very impressive was the living energy 
of the great roots which wound over the rock 
surface like cables and anchored the great 



TllK Um 



£[> Bka; 



trees firmly to the earth. Kqually interesting 
were the olher more twisted strands which had 
'sought and found some cranny or fissure in 
the rock and there thrust themselves. 

None of these situations, however, could 
compare in dramatic interest with a certain 
ancietit birch tree which has forced its way 
upward through a great rock. The tree evi- 
dently started life in some fissure deep down 
in the great stone's body and, by the slowly 
increasing girth of its trunk and roots, has 
forced the rockapart. Its great bole now fills 
a gap of several feet in the midst of the stone, 
while its branches spread far and wide above 
it. The picture shows this appearance ; but 
only from the other side can we appreciate 
this tree's hfe-long struggle, the tremendous 
efforts it has made to free itself, and see traces 
of its gradual escape from the boulder prison. 
One great root, reaching outward unsuccess- 
fully, has risen upward, doubled back and 
again pushed itself down ; the large boughs 

Vol.. XXX IV. -34-35. 



swell and reach abroad with a wild unrestraint 
as they rise above the cramping rock, until the 
whole tree, like a giant fast in a trap, seems 
contorting itself with down-thrust arms and 
braced thighs as it struggles to lift its body free. 
Another remarkable struggle I have called 
" The Wrestlers." Upon a rock overhangin'g 
the sea, two hemlocks grew up together and 
found sufficient foothold until they grew too 
big for their support. Then the larger one, 
nearest the land, gradually spread its roots and 
boughs wider and wider, as if to push the other 
tree over the cliff. The worsted one then put 
all its energy into one great root which reached 
round behind the larger tree and was thrust 
into the soil there. Like two wrestlers they 



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Nature and Science for Young Folks 



266 



seemed struggling for a foothold on the bare 
rock, and the weaker one, apparently over- 
come, yet holds the victor in a death grip, as 
much as to say, as he hangs on the rock's edge 
over the sea. " If I fall, you will go with me." 



Uan., 



A TREE THAT KILLS OTHER TREES. 

Visitors to Mexico and other tropical coun- 
tries often have their attention called to " the 
strangling fig"— a tree that commences its 
growth as an epiphyte (that is, one form of 
plant life that grows perched on another) far 
up on the trunk or among the branches of an- 
other tree, usually on a palmetto or some of 
the kinds of palms. The roots of the stran- 
ghng tree extend downward around ihe host 
tree to the ground, gradually joining together, 
making a tube-like mass of roots sometimes as 
much as six feet or more in diameter. 

When the attacked tree is a palm, death to 
it is caused not so much by the binding around 
the trunk as by shading out its branches by 
the attacking tree. 

When the attacked tree is an exogen (thai 
is, one with wood and bark) the attacking roots 
bind so tightly as to cause a stoppage of the 
How of the sap. As the sap of a tree is really 
its food (changed by the leaves so that it can 
be used) and the flow of the food is thus 
stopped, the attacked tree is really " starved " 
to death. So death to the attacked tree is. 
caused either by smothering or by starvation 
or by both. 

The peculiar manner in which the flattened 
roots extend down and around the tree, give 
them the appearance of some thick, slow- 
flowing material running down the tree. 



ground, from which it Ihcn gel* food. 

The phologmph i< fT„m ProfeHuI WilUum TrclniK, Missouri 
Bolanical Ciardenj. 

In such Striking ways do the trees sometimes 
reveal themselves ; but the less dramatic lives 
are equally impressive, as they grow to a 
peaceful maturity. In continual but less in- 
tense struggle have they grown above their 
forest brethren until now they wave serene and 
secure in high air and full sunshine. 

Howard J. Shannon. 



This unusually fine specimen of American 
mistletoe' was cut from a water-oak growing 
in a Florida swamp. Absorbing branches of ' 
this thief-like plant penetrated the oak tree 
for food material and eventually caused this 
abnormal growth of tissue. The small size of 
the dead oak tree above the mistletoe com- 
pared with its size below shows how slowly 
and surely this queer growth sapped the life of 
its host. 

Since the mistletoe bears green leaves, the 
plant is not wholly dependent upon its host 
for support. The peculiar forked branches 
enable the mistletoe to expose its leaves to 
the light and to ripen its pale fruit which is 
so suggestive of the twilight woods. 

The fruit is extremely interesting. The one- 
seeded berry is glutinous and adheres to any 
surface, like a bit of wax, which it closely re- 
sembles. The fruit-eating birds are especially 
fond of these berries and when they wipe 
their sticky bills on the bark of the trees the 



■ Google 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



257 

;t;ds lodge. The first absorbing branchlet evergreen parasite grows on the apple trees, 
om the seed always turns toward the tree to the missel thrush has acquired its name from 
its fondness for the waxen fruit. 

W. C. Knowles. 
POXES HUNTING ON THE ICE. 
Last winter, near Hogansburg, N. Y.. I had 
a belter chance to observe a red fox than if 
I had met him face to face. I was staying 
with friends in a small farm-house not more 
than a stone's throw from a swamp. Several 
acres in the middle of the bog were covered 
with a dense growth of alders and willows, the 
rest being flooded and of course at that time 
frozen. As my hostess was preparing supper. 
she happened to look out of the window just 
as a fox trotted by on the ice. In a moment 
more everybody in the house was looking out 
of the window. We were upstairs and so had 
a good view. The fox had evidently come 
from the centra! thicket, and, without alarm 
or undue haste, was trotting across the ice 
just opposite the house, and only a short dis- 
tance away. Imagine our delight when 
another suddenly appeared, coming from the 
same thicket, and trotted toward fox number 
one, which now slackened his pace to a walk. 
and advanced cautiously. 
When the second fox had 
come to a distance of fifty , i. 



which the seed is clinging and soon the tiny 
plant is firmly attached. In this way the 
trees in our southern woods are sown each 



year with mistletoe. In England, where this feet from i 



It sat 




" The SecoNo Fox Sat Down in a Tuft of Maksh { 



(Google 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



268 



down in a tuft of marsh grass, where it 
seemed to act as guard, while the other 
walked and trotted onward, sometimes ex- 
amining the grass as if hunting for mice, and 
at times walking with its nose close to the ice. 
like a dog trying to find the trail. How wary 
and alert they both were! Every movement 
was full of caution. There was no careless 
roaming nor thoughtless play. 

For a minute or more at a time one would 
stop, look about and ahead, then put his nose 
to the ice and walk a little farther onward. 
Finally the one in the lead came near the 
outer edge of the ice, and stood there for sev- 
eral minutes. What a picture he made ! The 
sun was just sinking beneath the horizon, when 
he tiUTied slowly around, and his bright sides 
reflected the light in a blaze. Soon he was 
nmningback toward the alders; then he broke 
into a gallop. The second fox was still sitting 
in the tuft of grass, but it followed close after 
the first, and the two were only a few feet 
apart when they entered the thicket and van- 

KiiMLND J. Sawyer. 



Ua«, 



hatched, most of these abnormal fishes do not 
survive longer than the period of ten or fifteen 
days necessary to absorb the food of the egg- 
sac, and it is unlikely that they would live any 
longer in natural conditions. 

A. H. Bai,uwi.n. 

A WOLVERINE IN NEW YORK CITY. 

Thf, New York Zoological Park has obtained 
another wolverine, (The first, several months 



QUEER MTTL.E PISHES. 
Babv fishes sometimes appear in as strange 
forms as the famous Siamese twins. Our 
illustration shows a few of these little fishes 
selected from a collection of fifty thousand 
newly-hatched rainbow trout, at the Central 
Station of the U. S. Bureau of Fisheries. 

Among the many millions of trout and 
salmon trom the Government hatcheries these 
odd forms are sometimes found. Usually the 



twins are attached on opposite sides of the same 
eggsac and are otherwise normal in form, like 
the fish shown in the sketch by a. Two-headed 
and very rarely, three-headed forms occur, and 
curiously twisted specimens, with cork-screw 
tails. Although lively enough when first 



ago, Hved only a short time.) This second 
wolverine was captured in Alaska. From 
"The American Natural History" by W. T. 
Hornaday, Director of the Park, the following 
is quoted : 

The Wolverine, or Caicajou (Cu/o /ulcus), is one 
oi ihe most remarkable animnU in Xorlh America. Il 
is about tlie ihf of a fuU-grown bull-dog, has a raven- 
ous apptlite. great strength, a tierce lempi^r, and ihe 
combmed cunning of many generations oi criminals. 
It is tlie greatest thief amongst animals, and is such a 
greedy feeder iliat it is known to many as the Glaltoii. 
ll will follow a trapper's "line"' of marten traps fur 
miles, destroy every animal it finds in ihcni, demur 
baits, and sometimes steal ifie traps also. 

Il breaks open caches, raids cabins, and systemati- 
cally dcsiroys everything it encounters. It is the only 
animal living which maliciously and deliberately ilc- 
stroys property. It steals articles wliich it cannot 
possibly use, and more than once has been known to 
strip a. cabin of nearly its entire contents. 

In form this animal resembles a cross between a 
badger and a bear. In NVyoming it is called the 
Skunk Bear, and in Washington the Indians call it the 
Mountain Devil. It inhabits the norlbern Cascades 
and the Rocky Mountain region of the United States as 
far south as Great Salt Lake, and the whole of arctic 
and subarctic America to the northern limit of trees. 
It is esjjecially abundant on the Kuskokwim River, 
Alaska. Its length is ji inches by lo inches wide. 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



<0-BECAUSE WE 
I WANT "TO KNOW 




AN INTERB8T1N0 CATBRP1L.LAR AND ITS MOTH. 

Upper Montci.air, N. J. 
Deak St. Nicholas; While in Virginia \au summer 
t found, on a Japanese walnul, a caterpillar frnni which 
I macle the accompanying skelcli. 

The negroes promptly named it the " Persimmon 
Bnir'or "Hickory Buck." Some said Ihat il could 
jump several feet, and all agreed (hat it was poisonous. 
So poisonous was it supposed lo be that it was credited 
with the power to kill a person wilhm fifteen minutes. 
When captured it rose on its hind feet and ^hook its 
head so vigorously as lo shake the branch. It used its 
horns much as a cross steer would, butting them and 
shaking them against the boi. We ted it persimmon 
and walnut leaves, but it shnwed a decided preference 
for the Japanese walnut and finally refused to eat unless 
on the tree. We often left it " grazing," but one day 
it escaped and was found buried in the earth. We 
took it up. dirt and all, and put It in a box where it 
finally buried. We looked it up in the "Nature Li- 
brary " and found that it is called the "hickory horn 
devil "and turns into the royal walnut moth {Cilhirenia 
regalii). No mention of its ability to jump and poison 
bciug there, we decided " to write to St. Nicholas 
about it." Will you tell me if it can poison or if its 
looks protect it, also whether il can jump. It does not 
look as if it was able to jump and I have not seen it 
try to. In life il was nearly six inches long, had ten 
horns, the longest being an inch in length. Others of 
its species have been found, and are said by negroes to be 
as large around as a rake handle and proportionately 
long, but I think il frightened them into thinking that. 
Yours trulv. 

.Anna'I'krrott Rose. 

You are quite right in thinking that the 
poisonous quaUty, jumping- ability and size 
have been greatly exaggerated. These errore 
are due to careless observation or to a desire to 



" Caterpillars and Their Moths," published by 
The Century Company. See also the follow- 
ing letter. 

is known a.s the -regal walnut-lree 
the ■■honied hickory 

The horns are perfectly harmless, and cannot sting 
or hurt any kind of enemy, yet tliey doubtless frighten 
any bird which may he tempted by so large a morsel, 
and cerlainly frighten many human beings, as visitors 
to the Crawlery could testify. We gained a most un- 
merited reputation tor heroic courage while we were 
rearing rigalh — unmerited because we knew the cater- 
pillars to be harmless. 

A HUGE MOTH. 

CKCILTON, MARVlANn. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I send by this mail an insect of 



D It Rose on Its Hisd Fekt an 

D It L'ski) Its Horns 

A Cross Steer Wini.n.'' 



tell "a big storj'." There is an extended ac- 
count of this caterpillar and its molh in 



The kovAi, Walnut Moth. 

The illuimtion is reduced about ort-haK nmural site. The malh 

is five 4nd one-half inches from tip lo tip — jual the width 

of the t/pe matter of a St, Njckoias page, 

some kind found on a linden iree in Kent County, 
Maryland. Will you please inform us of what species 

Yoi 



Wii.1 



A P. A.VC 



This is the moth of the Ctthsronia regalis. 
The ugly caterpillar shown in the first column 
of this page turns into this beautiful moth. 
See preceding letter for particulars of the 
caterpillar. 

BLUEBIRDS AND ROBINS IN WINTER. 

KiDLEV Park, Pennsylvania, 
Dear St. Nichoj.as; — In spite of the storms of ice 
and snow, three little bluebirds and a robin have been 
flying round in our back yard for some weeks past. 
The bluebirds are very shy and fly awny when wc throw 
out crumbs. They have a bright blue back and a rus- 
set breast. Don't you think that it is strange for them 
o be here at this time of year (Ihat is, in winter}? 






csted r. 



. M. Kellogg (age 9 years). 

The bluebird is a regular winter resident 
from Southern New York lo Southern Illinois 
southward. A few pass the winter farther nortlL 

Some robins also have the courage to spend 
the winter in the North The two birds are 
much ahke in many respects. The bluebird 
is sometimes called blue robin. Both are 
members of the Thrush family. ^~, . 

i./Coogle 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



POLISHING ONYX. 

Camp Vebde, Arizowa. 

Will yoa please lell me how to 
1 very (me piece of unpolished 



The red coral that is used for necklaces is a 
homy axis which supports a number of soft- 
bodied, coral-like animals, or polyps, the entire 
structure bearing a strong resemblance to a 
small shrub. The fishermen, after Ihey have 
brought this shrub-like colony to the surface, 
clean the soft animal matter away, preserving 
the red core, or axis, which is sold as jewelry. 
Although red coral contains some lime, it is 
largely composed of a substance akin to horn, 
and, like horn, it takes a tine polish. Horn, 
woo!, and other animal substances of this na- 
ture almost invariably change their color when 
brought into intense heat. H. C. B. 



onyx and I waul to polish it. I have it groand down 
smooth but do not know how to polish it. 
Yours very truly, 

Ralph Bell. 

To polish the cut and ground onyx or agate, 
use a rotating wheel, iron or wood, and polish 
the desired surface by holding it on the rapidly 
revolving wheel, with carborundum paste; fin- 
ish with fine tripoli (a polishing powder). A 
hard wooden wheel is much to be preferred. 
If the wheel is unattainable, then fix the speci- 
men, and rub it down to a polished finish with 
carborundum and tripoli, using a flat hard 
wood block, pressing down on it with the re- 
quisite pressure. The finer tripoli will com- 
plete the work, giving gloss and lustre. 

Milton G. Smith. 



a decorated robin's nest. 

Pine Hills, Albanv, N. Y, 
Dear St. Nickoias; This peculiar robin's nest 
was found in the crotch of a young elm tree, fifteen 
feel from the sidewalk, by a member of the Pine Hills 
Audubon Society of Albany, New York. His attention 
was attracted by the white ribbons pendani from the 
nest, and as the young had left it, he secured it foT the 
class. The most interesting features of this nest are a 
coil of coarse lace with a four inch feather neatly woven 
through it and two white satin badges fastened with 
mud and sticks on either side bearing the seat of New 
York and the words, "New York,— N. E. A., at 
Boston, igo3." Besides (hose, the nest is decorated 
with several long pieces of string, a bit of while salin 
ribbon and the hem of a handkerchief. As you will see 
by turning the inverted illustration upside down, the nest 



THAT EATS ITS YOUNG. 






Iiatched the mother 
and oblige, 
iAN J. Appleton. 



This is not uncommon among all birds bred 
in captivity, probably due to an abnormal crav- 
ing for animal food ; or as in case of lions, the 
mother's anxiety for the safety of her young 
when interfered with by keepers, etc. 

C. W. Beebe. 



CORAL CHANGES COLOR WHEN HEATED. 

ToMAU, \V]S, 

Dear St. Necholas: I have a coral necklace. 
When one of the branches of coral is heated over the 
flame of a match or candle it turns cream-color. ^Vill 
you please lell me why? What is coral made of? 
Your faithful reader. 

Hazel Elwell (age iz). 



strmga 



and decorated with a 



K. S. Parsons, Setrelary. 



Nature and Science for Young Fqlks 



the moi3y cocoon. 

Jefferson, Wisconsin. 




The Noisv Cocoon (Luna). 



•norm, on a linden tree. It was a (al green worm and 

aboDt three and one.half inches long. I took il into 

Ihc Iioose and put it in a fruit can and fed it leaves. 

Soon I noticed that il was throwing a silky fluid aboQl Statement 

itself and in a few hours it whs completely hidden. 

Over night the cocoon hardened and in the morning it 



271 

started in again seemed to be in the part of 
the partition to which I had moved my case. 
Again I moved the case and again the direction 
of the gnawing changed. Then it flashed on me 
that that rat or whatever it was must be in that 
case. I lighted a lamp, put the pile of pack- 
ages and letters on my desk, and listened. 
The gnawing was in your package! I 
opened and found the cocoon and at once 
saw or rather heard .that it was the pupa in 
the cocoon. Next day I took a photograph 
of the cocoon which is that of the /.una moth, 
but the moth did not emerge. The occasional 
gnawing ceased in a few days. I opened the 
cocoon and found the pupa dead. It seemed 
to me that the cocoon was too dry and too 
hard for the transforming moth to work its 
way out. 

In "Caterpillars and Their Moths" (pub- 
lished by The Century Company) is this 



e the D 



it we have ever had, for 
One will stirt squirming 
lo start all the rest, with 



Late in the evening I brought home, from 
the New York office of the St. Nicholas 
Magazine, your letter 
and package with a 
large number of others, 
all nearly filling a dress 
suit case. I left the 
case on the floor in my 
bedroom, for conven- 
ience in taking the con- 
tenis to my laboratory 
for examination the 
next day. Soon after 
retiring I was aroused 
by what I supposed 
was a rat vigorously 
gnawing a board in a 
partition just beyond 
the case. I got up 
and pounded on the 
partition to frighten 
away the rat. I did 
this three times. Inci- 
dentally in moving a 
chair on the third in- 
vestigation I moved 
the case to another 
part of the room. As 
before the gnawing 
stopped for a time, 
and then, to my as- 
tonishment, when it 



n, and that 
the result that they can lie tieard across a large room. 
One of us has risen and gone 10 see if a moose could pos- 
sibly have got into their box, and this more than once, 
thoagh mice are less common than /unai in the hoose. 



The Luna Moth. 



d by Google 



1 

9 



J 

A 
N 
U 
A 

^ 7 

Y ' 



Hoard or Education, 

Keokuk, Iowa. 

Eiiiter St. Nicholas l-fagiie : I find th( pages ef your departmttit l/ie mfst disicuraging reaifing, and I read 
Ihem with despairing /ascinalien e^'ery mmith. I cannot help lirmving a paralUl ef my tniril TBOrt K-ith that ef 
your young people, who are sucaitively getting eii the rolls ef honor, gelling their ■wrilingi printed and vinning 
the silver and the gold badge and the cask priiu. 

I sympathise Tvilh them, for / remember when my first stery teas nrrepted by a first-class magazine, andvhtn Ike 
editor asked fer and accepted mere of tktm — my mim silver and geld badge ■winnings ; the publishing of my noi'el 
jvas my cash prize in real-life literary competition. Ifhen my name was included in " It'&o 's H'he in America," 
and a London publisher brought eui my novel, vas 1 net an honor member of the literary craft? 

Bat I was nearly forty years old lohen my train sih-er badge teas won ; and /leai forly-fk-e years of age before 
I became an hotter member in the literary world. After all the long drudgery and hard work implied in this, 1 set 
boys and girls — and chiefly girls, mind you I — aged fourteen or sixteen, doing literary work in your league pages 
which I can never hope to equal I If yen continue miirh longer to educate and train writers of suck tender years 
and suck greal ability, what is la become of my generation of literary woriers ? When these young people win 
excel ns older folk have kad a few years' more training, they will outrank us completely, and our occupation will be 
gone. So I am discouraged to the depths of despair ; but I am glad in my heart, because I eannei help rejoicing at 
Ike wonderful achievement of youth in Ike SI. Nickolas League. After all, I am glad, although I may be reduced 
by this neza competition to ivriting only, " Entirely original and age correct,^' on the manuscript of my child. 

The above lelier does not require explanation. It re<i!< llian thecomparative sludy afForrled by the I.eague. 

simply echoes and adds testimony to what we have said The yuung person who compares hi:> work, whether 

and repeated now and again ; that the League has be- successful or otherwise, with the work of a cimipetitor 

come a great school in the world of letters and art, and of his own age is certain to discuss, in his own mind 

that the standards have surely and steadily aiivanced. at least, the merits and shortcomings of each poeni, or 

No metliod of study is more certain to result in prog- story, or picture, and is equally certain to learn in the 



,,,Google 



St. Nicholas League 



process. Of course this advantage is to be found mort 
or less in ail scliooi work, bui when it is remembered 
that the League contributions pub1i:<!ied each month 
■re examples selected from the very best ilial our 
younger English speaking generation througjiout llie 
world lias to offer, ihen il must be owned that the ad- 
vantages of comparative slody afforded by the League 
are bound to exceed those of any other school; nor is 
il surprising ihal among ihe contributions ench month 
are many that nny parent, however talented, might l>e 
proud to sign, as well as (o endorse. 

THE D.AYS OF OLD. 



Laiis from alF the conntrysK 
Any peasant who could ride, 
Country clown and 



e Terrace, Plymouth, Devo 



Ptoae. Gold badges, Alfred P. Heiryman (age 
'(>)' 537 W- 149th St., N. Y. City; Grace H. Wolf 
(age 14), Milford, Pa., and Ida C. Kline face 12). 
Bovina, Mi.'.s. 

Silver tsidges, Marjory Kerr <age 15), Spring Valley, 
N. Y. ; RnthL. CUrk (age 13). 77 Johnson Park, 
Buffalo, K. Y., and Dorothy Dewhurst (age 13), 
Piltstield, Mass. 

Drawing. Gold badges, Donald V. Hewball (nge 
16). 46-47 Threadneedle St., London, Eng., and W. 
8. LollB« (age 16). 291 Jefferson St., Hrookiyn, N. V. 

Silver badges, Harzaret Erskine (age 10), Delagoa, 
St. George's R(l., The Avenue, Si. Margaret's on 
Thames, Richmond, Surrey, Eng., and A. C. Gardiner 
(age 15), "The Pines," Burgess Park, Finchley Rd., 
Hampstead. London. N. \V., Eng. 

Fbbtoeraphy. Gold badge. Walter {.etnlce (age 



lTn.ler 






■s old, 

.And the priie for 
which they 
fought — 
Knighlhooil, and the 

Spurs of Gold. 

John ihe Carver was 

a lad- 
Like a. second Gala- 
had, 

He was bolder [hun 
them all. 

Strongly made and 
tall; 

One by one he threw 
them down, 

Fought the others 
one by one. 

.Anil Ihe people of Che 

Cheered and called 
him " brave Sir 

John." "CLOUBS." B1 

So at last he won the light, 
John would be an armoured knight, 
And the governor, the lord. 
Dubbed him with his sword. 
Then Ihe people saw him reel 
(Blood was flowing from his side), 
With the Spurs upon his heel 
John Ihe Carver died. 

PRIZE wnflfBKS, SEPTEHBEK COHFETITIOH. 

In malting ihe awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

Verae. Cash prize, Stella Benson (age 14), "The 
licacon" Fleet, Hants, Eng- 

Gold badges, Martha G. Schreyer (age 17), 747 
Second Ave., N. Y. Cily. and Katharine L. Caning- 
ton (age 14), The Baldwin School, Bryn Mawr, I'a. 

Silver badges, Mary Talt Atwater (age 14), 1419 
N. 33d St., Phila., Pa,; and Grace J. Conner (age 
14), m6 Turner St., Auburn, Me., and B. K. Webber 



Ij), SoS Jefferson St., ^Yausau, Wis., and launcelot 

J. Gamble (age 14). 

Silver badges, Dorothy Gibson (age 15), 400 4th 
Ave., Great Falls, Mom., and Agne* Sajiger Clafiin 
(age iz), IS Washinglon Sq. X., N. V. City. 

Wild Creature Photography. First prize, "Wild 
Ducks," by Fisher Wood (age 17), 33 W. 47th St., 

N. v. Cily. Second prize, " Pelicans," by Euth C. 
Duncan (uge 14). too; Dana Ave., Avondale, Cin- 
cinnati, O. Third piiie, "Gulls," by Dorothea Jones 

(age It), 49 North Ave., Elizabeth, N, j. 

Pnzzle-Making. Gold badges, Marjory Stoneman 

(age 16), 14 Harrison Si., Taunton, Mass., and Ed- 
mund P. Shaw (age 16), 10 East \Va5liington Si., 
Uiitland. Vt. ■ 

Silver badges, Arthur Hinot Reed (age 12), 3^4 
Clinton koad. Itrooklinc, Mast., and Louise W. 
Goodwin (age 10), >forganlnn, N. C. 

Puzzle Answers. Gold badges, Adeline A. Briggs 
(age 9). 348 Parsons Ave, Webster Grove, Mo.; 
Florence G. Mackey (age 13), 1204 Columbus Ave., 

COOQ 



le 



St. Nicholas League 



Which, as ambrosia, feed the mind and sod). 
When Rome, Elernal City, rose and fell. 
She followed in the foot.prinls Greece had made. 
And carried on the torch of living Light. 
" Excelsior ! " adown the ages rings ; 
It is Ihe message from the days of old. 
The message to (he Present from Ihe Past. 



MV FAVORITE KNIGHT. 



{Cald Badgr.) 
One of Ihe knights that is most loved and respected 



Sandusky, O.. and Eathiyn I. WeUman (age ii), 
Friendship. N. Y. 

Silver badges. Blaia Natluo (age 15), S17W. ijoih 
Si., N. Y. Ciiy; Doris Long (age 17), " Parksidc 
Manse " 42 Lenoi Road, Brooklyn. N. Y., and Butll 
B. Abel (age 14), Terra Ceia, Fla. 

IN DAYS OF OLD. 

BY MARTHA C. SCHHEVER C*CE 17). 
{ColdBadgt.-) 
In days of old, long ere the mighty world 
Which lay beyon<l (he sea was known lo man, 
Great nations and proud 

Each lived, in lurn, ils 

little day,— and fell. 
In days of old, in 

History's dim dawn. 
Proud F.gypt built her 



great coarlier. 

A( an early age he showed a natural taste for learning. 
and when he was ten years old he was seni lo Shrews- 
bury 10 school. From there he was sent to Christ- 
church. Oxford, and then he went to Cambridge, where 
he won a high reputation as a scholar. 

After iini:Jiing liii schooling, he wen( abroad for a 
few years, as was the cnslom of young men of rank at 
that time. Soon after he relumed he entered the coari. 

After having been there several years. Queen Eliza- 
beth appointed him Governor of Finshing where he 
went to take part in (he war between England and 
Spain. He was severely wonnded in the battle ol 
Zutphen, and died b few days after receiving the wound. 
An incident that occurred while they were carrying him 
from (he field is worth mentioning, as it shows some- 
thing of his character. He was very thirsty and had 
been calling for water. It was soon brought to him. 
As he lifted it to his lips he saw another soldier, who 
had been severely wounded, fix his eyes eagerly upon ii. 
Instantly he took il from his lips unlasted, and handed 
it (0 the soldier saying : " Thy necessity is greater than 
mine." This shows thai he was, in every sense of the 
word, a true gentleman. 

Ac his death there was great grief among all whc 
knew him. or had heard of hin ' ■ ■ ■ 



d admi 



he 



During hi 
wrote several t^nebook.^ 
and poems, "Arcadia" 
and "The Defense of 
Poesie " being his chief 

In 



We 



very 



For that same cultui 
and enlighleoment. 

And much we ou 
Chald3.'a. BabylonI: 

And all the empire 
the Orient, 

While Greece, true 
lover of the beautiful, 

Bequeathed to us im- 
mortal legacies. 



of 



Scarce other than m; 

own ideal knight. 

' Who reverenced hi; 



Whose glory was, 
redressing human 

Who spake no slander, 
DO, DOT liiten'd 

tizcdbyGSK^Ie 



St. Nicholas League 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 



U). 



(AC 



{Gold Badgt.) 
This U the song of the Vikings, 

The s^a of Eric (he Bold, 
The song of (he sons of the open sea. 

In the slirring days of old : 

•' We are the kings of the ocean, 

O'er the wild waves we hold sway, 

From the mighty hands of the sea-god 

We have wrested (he right of way. 

" Onr ships are as swift as the grey- 
hounds 
As we leap lhroug:h the tlyingspray 
And swoop on the barks of our 
cowering foes 
As an eagle upon its prey. 

" Our blue-eyed m«ids are brave and true, 
Full worthy a Viking's bride, 
When we snatch them away from the parent n 
To roam the ocean wide. 



Grim death we face undaunted, 
For we go to join the throng 

In the glorious halls of Valhalla, 
With wassail and shoot and song." 



This is the song of the Vikings, 
The saga of Eric the Bold, 

The song of the sons ot the open s 
In the stirring days of old. 



(AC 



16). 



(Gold Badgf.') 
This phrase, in even the 
least imaginative mind, 
will instanlljF aroase a 
viiiioD of old-iime chivalry ; 
d( a tournament perhaps, 
where Itnighls charge to 
and fro in the lists, be- 
tween galleries crowded 
with gay coartiers and 
brightly -dressed ladies, 
each in a tremor of eidte- 
nient, hoping (hat her 
knight might win (he 
of the (ourney and 
at her feel, and no 
leis fearful, lest in the 
shock of (he charge or (he 



C 



- of the mel£e he should 
meet disaster. Meanwhile the object of 
her hope and fear tights to honor his lady 
and win himself renown with all the 
strength he possesses, amid the wild tur- 
moil of shining armor, prancing steeds, 
swords rising, falling, Ihrasting, parrying, 
all with the speed ot lightning. Or one 
thinks of those sterner and more unselfish 
duties, when knights -errant, leaving 
home, friends, and the gayelics and 
pleasures of (he court, rode about the 
world righting wrongs, 
helping the weak, and 
freeing the oppressed from 
the tyrants who hadsubja- 
gated them. 

In our modern scheme 
of civilization, with feu- 
dalism an almost eitiuct 

orders of knighthood 
mere names, ihe glories of 
chivalry have no place. 
A man of our time who. 
like the well-meaning 
though misguided Don 
Quixote, attempted to 
right the wrongs of his 

responsibility, would find 
himself promptly clapped 
into cither a prison or an 
insane asylum. But who 



exponents of ^^nch bigh 



if /nch high I 

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St. Nicholas League 



Tlie present means loo much (o nir. 
If il were olden limes, 1 would,— 
Now, 't is old-fashioned (o be good 

IN 1>AVS OF OI.ll. 



principles of lienor and justice as (he anuienl 
knights espoused? It cannot lie lie who, like ihe 
knights in the tournament, seeks success merely 
for Che admiration iC excites or for liis own ad- 
vancement. It is rather the man who, like llie pure 
and earnest Sir Galahad of King Arllinr's famous 
company of knights, with those roost esteemed of 
knightly virtues, courtesy and gentleness, does all in 
his power to better the condition and alleviate the mis- 
fortune!, of his fcllowmen ; who subordinates his own 
sellisli desires to the welfare of others ; and who strives 
for pecuniary success only as a means of improving the 
condition of those less fortunate than himself. 

This is the man, who in our day most nearly resembles 
those heroes of ancient and medieval times, and it is he 
who is my favorite knight. 

"IN DAYS OK OLD-" 

I.V MARV TAF.T ATVVATER {A.;,-: I4). 

Mv Crandmama, in days of old, 
Wore just the qu/ritst clothes, I 'm told ; 
And then, when she was only nine, 
.She made a quilt with stitches fine. 
Ironginc, now, the girl who would, — 
My sister would n't, if she could. 

My Grandpapa, in days of old, 
Would never make his parents scold; 
And then, with smiles tliis little lad 
Would answer, if tliey called him bad. 
Imagine, now, the boy who would, — 
My brother is n't half as gi>od. 



The woodlands ring with (lie songs they 

sine 
Of the warriors who lie below. 

Down from tlie hills to the sunnv vale 
The river runs in its long, worn 'trail. 
And its waters deep hold some who sleep. 
And its song is a sullen wail- 
Wild roses still bloom beside the way. 
Where footsteps many in deep dust lay, 
While feet that first trod ihe grassy sod 
Lie low, 'neath the dust so gray. 

Low, low is laid the Indian's tent 

And the pipe of peace is broken or bent. 

And the mand'ring breeie midst tlie 

<Mi)i!R.) Gives voice 10 a sad lament. 

The sorrow is heard in the river's flow. 
In the wild flower's sigh and the wind's sad woe, 
Uul God hath willed it and He hath fullillcd il — 
.^nd the dusky race lies low. 



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St. Nicholas League 



And who shall ask for those warriors liolil, 
Back from iheir graves of dust snd mold ? 
None shall condemn, bat honor Ihem, 
The warriors who lived in (he davs of olil. 



MV FAVORITE KMGHT. 



E(*C 



la). 



a little boy of twrcb 



Graham, and t 



Shew 



a Reti C 



{CM h'liJgr.) 

my home resides an old lady 

, while wailing on a 
er icg, which could 



wounded soldier, fell ami broke 
not be mended. 

While out (or a stroll. I discovered the Kltle house, 
and became acquainted with the occupants. They ate 
very poor, and Fred supports his mother by carrying 
wood and coal for the people of the village and by 
hoeing gardens, milking, and many other odd jobs, for 
all of which he receives a goodly sum. 

The mother and boy are very independent, and will 
not receive any help whatever. Mrs. Graham sits in 
her chair and reads, knits, and sews nil day, and Fred 
prepares the meals, which are very simple. 

In the cool of the evening, he takes his mother for a 
ride in her rolling-chair, pushing her himself. In front 
of their ham hie little collage is a green stretch of mead- 
owland, bordered by daisy-fringed hills, which seem to 
look lovingly down on Fred and his mother as they 
pass, he with a smile on his face, and she with a peace- 
ful, contented countenance. 

Fred Graham is my favorite knight, because— he 
roves his dear old mother above everything else, de- 
lights in working for her, and obeying her slighlesl 
injunction, depriving himself of many pleasures that 
she may have ihem. But they 
are just passing now, and I must 



stop writing tn wave 
them. 


nd smile at 




I.V DAVS OF 


OLD. 


BY 


B. K. WKBBKR ( 


\c;e II). 




I^.Sih-er Ba,igf.) 


In days of old (so 

told). 
The fairies dwelt i 

wold. 
Brave knights rod 

armor drest. 
To rescue damsels so 
And dragons lurked \ 


've been 


vale and 

forth in 

c distrest : 
ithin their 



To slay and plunder harmless 

Pale mermaids sang beside Ihe 

And sprites danced nightly on 

Ihe lea. 
A mystery wrapt all around. 
The blue mist rising from the 



lan used to pen. 
witches work 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 



In days of old when dolly Belle 
Was just as new as gold 

Before she broke her leg and 
fell. 
In happy days of old — 

In tiays of old when doily Belle 
Was clad in silk and lace 

Before she was knocked near the 
well 
And cracked her pretty face, — 

I loved her then, my dolty 

Belle : 

When she were fair and new. 

1 love you slill, dfar dolly 

Belle, 

Spite of your lookSjJ^dol 



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St. Nicholas League 



Covered with morning dew. 

Looking up at (he deep blue sky, 
They see the angels looking down ; 
And the flowers wish that ihcy 

could fly 
Up where the angels ate. 



MY FAVORITE KNIGHT. 



I 1 



(Silver Bads^.) 

wilhout a doubl a s^nsX 



MV FAVORITE KNIGHT. 

RV MARJORIB KERR (AGE IJ), 
{Silver liadg,.) 

Mv favorite knight is not, as one 
might suppose, some daring youth 
of olden times, such as one reads 
about in fairy tales, but a chubby 
boy of six years. His ktiighlhood 
is not speni in doing splendid deeds 
and brave acts for some fair lady, as 
those oi past centuries sometimes 
were, but as each day comes round 
he does little acts of bravery in such 
an unconscious way (hat wc all love 
him for it. 

He is a thoughtful lad and full of 
care for his mother, whom he loves 
dearly. Many a time he has hurt 
himself quite badly in playing, but 
instead of crying, his lirf^t thought 
is that his mother may not be 
worried. 

Once as I entered the yard I Wiis 
greeted by a small voice saying. 
" Never mind, mama, it does n'l 
hurt very much," and hastening in 
to find out the trouble, 1 saw the 
little fellow bravely holding his 
finger which bad been crusheil. 
while playing, between the wheels of a bicycle. 

Such are my knight's acts of bravery and those that 

THE FLOWERS. 



winy children will join 
and admiration of Sir Galahad. 
Never before has there been such a 
beautiful picture of Sir Galahad as 
(hat by Watts. It shows the knight 
in perfect repose, by the side of his 
horse, with helmet off. The noble 
bearing i& that of a knight ; a single 
glance would tell you that. His 
face is full of strength and charac- 
ter; along with this it is beautiful- 
beauty (hat shows honesty, sincerity, 
and trust, from the proud curl of the 
ca ivi^NBK I upper lip to the eiquislle shape of his 

head. His whole tace seems (o (ell 

Nobody knows exacUy how Sir Galahad came to 
Arthur's Court. At the "Round Table" where the 
King, Queen, and knights ate, (heir chairs each had 
the name of its owner in gold letters on (he back; but 



at (he King's right the chair had " Siige Periloos." 
Now Merlin, the great magician who served Uther 
PendragoQ, Arthur's father, made the table, and said 
thai only (he most holy knight Conid sit (here. bu( alt 
others that took this privilege were in danger of iheii 
lives. When they were all seated for the banquet of 
the " Feast of Pen(ecos(." an old man entered, clothed 
in whi(e, followed by a young knight in red armor. 
After the knight had saluted the King, the old maD 



St. Nicholas League 



went to the vacant se«t, drew ihe sElken cover off, and 
on the tuck was written, "This is the siege of the 
noble prince, Galahad." All the knights said, " Surely 
he mast be the one to see the Holy Grail." 

His life afterward was very beaudfnl. Those who 
have read his history know how he and his fellow- 
knights went in quest of the Holy Grail— how weeks 
at a time he was at a chapel praying. One morning. 
Sir Bors, Sir Percivale, anil Sir Galahad entered the 
chapel and began lo pray, and jusi then the Holy Grail 
appeared. When the other knights had recovered from 
the brightness tney went to Sir Galahad, who knell 
ilill in prayer, and found him dead. 

He had seen the vision and his soul went back lo Go<l. 



"When I was young," she whispei 
Ah, strange — how very strange! 

Do Golden Locks and Grandma 
Long for the power to change? 

BADCB wiNNBR.) Two deep soft chairs of velvet, 

A fire burning bright— 
And Age and Youth smile, dieaniin 
IN DAYS OF OLD AMD DAYS TO COME. And— 't is a pleasant sight. 



A deep soft chair of velvet, 

A fire baming bright — 
A child with eyes most pensive 

And head of golden light. 

The glowing embers crackle, 

The clock ticks, over there, 
A sudden inspiration 

Has she of golden hair. 

"When I 'm grown up," she whispers- 
Then on and on she dreams, 

While still the firelight flickers 
And casts its darting beams. 



Between the fire and nindow 

A woman sits to sew. 
And imile at thoughtful Golden Locks 

By Ihe lire's ruddy glow. 



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IN DAYS OF OLD. 



Grani 


)HA dear docs si 


Dinctiines 




ilitllc bi. 


upsel 




Brood i 


ng on the 


awful 


way 


Childn 




ughl. 





St. Nicholas League 



Once I asked her, JQsi to see 
WUal her bcsl ideiils migiit be. 
Asked her what hir children did. 
She said " Did as they were bid." 

" Id days of old lillle girls 
Always had the sweeiest curls. 
Never said a • yes ' or ' no ' 
Till their mama told them so," 

"In days of old Utile boys 
.\Vrrr played with noisv toys. 
Children did as ihcy were lold 
In the good old days of old." 

■■ cLi.una." »v LKwis P, WAK^, .(« .6. <..ov<.« HKMUBk.) MV FAVORITE KNIGHT. 

MY FAVORITE KNIGHT. "^ "'^'"* ^^'^'^^ Bi,m-A.\D (age 12). 

I liu not know as I have any favoriie knight and \\r 
BV DOROTHV ttEWHt^RST (agj- 13). s,„j, ^^^^^a J am about to tell you is of a little boy wiiu 

(Silvtr Biili-f 1 became a knight. Many years ago a little boy called 

^ ■* ■' Cedric, who lived on a high hill just across from the 

He was jiisl convalescing from a sickness that had caslle of Sir Rollin, was romping with his kitten aiiJ 
broDght him to ihe Hospital when I discovered his had laid down to rest in the middle of the road, »htn 
tlory. He had been working all 
his life on Ihe little bit of a farm 
in Florida, and when he came to 
the Hospital lo recover what little 
strength he once had, his poor 
litlle frame was all l>ent over, and 
weakened, and he was about half 
the size a boy of his ai^e should 
have been, from want of nourish- 
ment; bui still he had a bright and 
active min;], though he was unable 
to use il Ihe way he wished to by 
learning Co read and wriie, for he 
was so far out in the country, away 
from schools, so he had grown up 
all his life in utter ignorance. 1 
felt so sorry for him that I decided 
to keep htm at the Hospital during 
vacation and teach him, and then 
to send him lo school thai winter. 
He earned bis living at the Hos- 
pital by working in Ihe gariien. 
so by the time winter had come 

he was ready lo go to school. I " thb gates of rAtL." by akkh oirvia, ack ii. (5U.veb kadck winnei.) 

got him a suit of clothes and every 

morning he would trudge barefooted to school, he looked and saw five knighls coming along the roatl 
Me was very bright and he loved his lessons He jumped up and ran and got the kitten just in linit 
so much that he would sit up late at night study- to S]ive it from being run over by the horses. As yhtr 
ing. After a while his sister was taken ill, and she passeil. Sir Rollin told Cedric that he was as brave as a 
had lo be brought to the Hospital. Then, when knighl. That night Cedric asked his molher if ^he 
she was recovering, Tomy taught her. Everything ihoaghl he would ever become a knight, but shesaiJ 
went well for a while, then Tomy had word from his no. One day Ce<lric's father said that Sir Rollin needfJ 
home lo come Irock and work. So he gave up school a boy in bis caslle. Cedric and his father went lo Sir 
and all thai made him happy and went back. Now, at Kollin, who al once employed Cedric. 
eighteen, this Florida cracker is supporting all his At la^it, after many years of labor, Cedric was ordet^^ 

brother!! and sisters, by peddling wood over town and to ihc king, who sent him out on difUcnlt exploralioni 
■t the same lime trying to keep up his Icswns with his and lo figbt battles. Then, at last, one day the kinj 
sister. That is myidea of a hero and a knighl. knighted him " Sir Cedric of Alhotstane." 



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St Nicholas League 



IN DAYS OF OLD. 



FUCKBI, oh candle, for in thj flune 
I see > tcene of the world's greit fame, 
or conntlesa deeds in thoie days of old — 
That 'i what I see in yoar flame of gold. 

Flicker, oh omdle, for in thy flune 
I see emblazoned many a name. 



Flicker, oh candle, and then die down. 
For the heroei ot the world's renown 
Have passed away into years of gold. 
Have passed away into days of old. 

MY FAVORITE KNIGHT. 

BY UILLICENT POND (AGE 17). 
My farorite kniEJit is braver and more bold 
Lancelot or Sir Bors; as wise, all-seeing ani 
lest M King Arthur; u gentle as the most gentle of 
all knights. He holds woman as sacred as did Sir 
Tristram, and according to his mighty vow he goes 
aboDt the world righting th« wrong, and easing the 
bardens of thep«or and the distressed. 

Above alt, be is purer than Sir Fercivale, "Whom 
Arthur and his knighthood call'd The Pare,"— as tin- 
lew, indeed, as h« who spake and said. 



" But 1, Sir Arthur, saw the Holy Grail, 
I saw the Holy Grail, and heard a cry— 
■ O Galahad, and O Galahad, follow me,' " 

even he who was strengthened by the constant presence 
of the Holy Thing, to whom it was never covered. 

My favorite knight is not a mortal man, but an im- 
monal ideal, an ideal which grows as I grow, expands 




VOL. XXXIV.-36. 



It ittmut nautTKi, am 13. 



ipand. He is made np oi 
from anything that is in itself good. 

I have never before pnt my thoughts about him into 
words, and I cannot do him justice now. Even about 
this attempt to express myself some may say, " It is the 
fancy of a child— the day-dreani of a girl who knows 
not of what she writes,'' but I believe 1 will always 
hold my ideals, although as 1 grow older they may also 
change. 

I have heard it said, in excuse of some 
fault, that we all make mistakes, and that 
no one would love us if we did not. 1 
believe (hat there will be a life in which we 
shall reach our own ideals ; should we not 
make them as high as possible now? 
More than this. I believe thai by the 
time we have reached the ideals of this life 
we will have found still better ones. 
I believe that onr ideals will be as 
elnsive as the wandering tires of the 
quagmire, but that we will be strength- 
en ed in peace, and upheld in battle 
until our effort* are crowned, as were 
Galahad's, "far in the spiritiial city." 



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St. Nicholas League 



Lauiic Thcobaid 
, Mucy 

Bculah G. Kdoi 
George J. Openh^ 

I Sarah Scud<kr 
I DRAWINGS I. 

if Muniiret Oiip«nter 

Manen L. TuthiU 
BeuM B. Slyton 



ucu E. Halilead 



Wood 
Genevieve Beitolicc 
Rota K. Una 
Virginia Hoit 
George S. Dulch 
EUie Gtedinnet 
RoDmund Simpson 
Mu Rolnik 
Eihd C. I [win 
Helen L. Siockin 



THE EtOI.1. O 



Kathleen Huchanni 
Mary V. Frank 
Thcodara Tioeadk 
Hcnnann Louil 

-. J Sdueffer 

i[i3!^ KKhmntL. Han 
■■ *■"■'■ HatS CKknft""" 



VERSE .. 

Louiia F. Spear 
Mary Eliiabcth Mi 
Cathahnc Emma 

Kupah BrilK 



FiancHl M. Bammt 
LUlic G. Mcnary 
Fnuicei M. GonU 
r Theo. Hulll 
Olivia S. Erdmana 



_ Goff 

n Maddock 



DRAWINGS I 



InM.l 



Maud Dudley 
Sh«ikdfo[d 
Emmelioe Biadihaw 
Efhel Bm Younn 
Franca Lubbe Ron 
Nannie Clark Bair 
Cunl 8. Wiiliami 
Angiu M. Bory 
Gladyt Nelton 
Joseph R. Goiuha 
Kaihiyn Spngue De 



France Lucille 



RulhGarvnr 
Helen BradlW 
faul R, Warwti 



Flon 



e HanaMll 



it F. W_. 

Sarah WaiAcId Parker E 
Ctni Hiompaon C 

Edna AnderioD B 

Helen Lalhrnp B 

Elkn Low Mill] F 

Archibald Cary Gnu J 

Madeleine F. H. 

DorDihy Elitabeth 

He^^. ReKh 
J«nL.ui«,Holcoa>l 



Inn 



i"w^S!k^; 



. Wrighl El 

(ushlon Ei 

Bnufley H 

ce M. Hallock M 



Jerome Brockman 
EdwanlG. Gay, Jr. 
Marx Louite Holmn 



Randolph Parne 
Dorothy E. Kobinii 
3d John Emien Bullock 
Maigaret Colgate 
Harvey T. Stevenac 
Mary Whitney 

Adolph Newmann 

; PHOTOGRAPHS a. 



PUZZLES I- 
Frank L. While 



PHOTOGRAPHS >. Kmhaiio 



LyrelG. Teagarden 
Alice R. Brign 
E. Adelaide Ibbn 
Eliaabeth C Beale 

"'joh?Fm Simon. 
Herbert M. David^n 
Charlotte E. Beuedici 
Carl H. Wealon 



DoiMhv K Babet 



~ thy E 

JC J. . 
Helen P. Kerr 
'" ibelleSuiE 



aa.! 



ni^nieiTBeil 

Elliwonh F. Dud< 

Aofia LouiK AlbeTgcr 
Gardiner H. F«l<e 
Katharine C. Miller 
Helen L. K. Porter 

'' Earle (I. b3i^™ 



hVilhan K. Bnaach Dorothy Seli 



te Walworth Man 



G. Ric^atdi 



Evelyn Sconeman 
Chariea WilKHd 
Canie Loiuae Child) 
Tmrtvp . Jcne Loui» Taylor 

PROSE .. ^^j^ p_^_^^ 






I. HAtSTIAD, AC! I]. 



:hanged,^mtoU, 

"DajriofOld," 



Cakolvh Bulut (t 



NOTICE. 



HEW CHAPTERS. 



Edoard Canington 
Eleanor Sbelden 
Katharine Thompson 



^O. MI. 

Hei«. Set- 
t, White Pli 



1, N. V. 
Elkalc«,Pre^deni; Ber 
■ ■■ ., ijB Mon Ave, 



No. 91J. Delia L. Rou. Piaideul; Helen A. 
four meiBben. Addiew, Caopenton, N. " 



>, Boa 46t R. F. D. No. 
(I Gutviltiiig. Secmary : 



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IL 






lie Boyt, Fn»deiit', Uiv Duon, Seen- 

reo, 714 Thbd Sl, Da Moines, low*. 

niu run. Pauliiu Buall, PreiidcDIi Cathuina 

Kntary ; six mcmtKn. Addnu, logo ArliiiEIOD Place, 

Hdabtt, MuUwn, Wi>. 



St. Nicholas League 



A CHAPTER LETTER. 




PRIZE COHFETITIOH Ko. 87. 

The St. Nicholas League awards gold and silver 
badges each moolh for the beet eriginai poems, stories, 
drawings, photographs, puzzles, and puzzle answers. 
Also cash ptizes of Rve dollars each to gold-badge win- 
ners who shall again win first place. "Wild Animal 
and Bird Photograph " prize winners winning the cash 
prize will not receive a second badge. 
Compatlilon Ro. 87 will close Jannaiy 20 (for 
foreign members Jannuy 
29). The awards will be 
announced and prize con- 
tributions published it) 
St. Nicholas for Hay. 

Vene. To contain not 
more than twenty-four 
lines. A humorous poem, 
writer may choose the 






Story or article 



: than 






hundred words, 
hamoroos sketch or story, 

FltotOKraptl. Any 



the 



•o\u&p 



LEAODE NOTES AITD I.ETTEB8. 

A TRIP TO WATKINS. 
OuK St. NiCHoUks: Lui WcdnwUr I went to Waikiu with 
"V^tinl'hiul Bun on Saeci Lakein n.nwboat ThevUs. 
■ " Ai» ""^ °" ' "'"" """ " ' " """" 






Whcdwehi 



ikini GloD. Whno wo Mnted to 
ng aul of ( rock. The plaice 
lOW w much watET could llDW out. 



in Baldwin in h\^av 



Noi 



bukcL ThEihip udled 
"vaaAPaica'rgc'sl." 
ITH PumnKLD, N. J. 



*'KaX}'n 



faj cninpjinson with that 
vuquiihal yex. Fucwe! 

Other wdccmelei len ho 
nceiTed from M( * " 
TbercK R. Li™ 
Arehibokl, Alice 
WeUmm, lubel 

cca Boonem, Naiinn ijEumteii, 
EH^xih Moore, Giace Loweo. 
baopt. Lc&i Y. Renidti, Charla 
F. MbngB. EuESK Houston, 
AbntuB JOKph Gieeaben, 
Louiie E Grant, Frances ShU. 
laber, CeciKnBrewitor, Either " 
BcKh, Johnnie Whilehoiii 
Pomthy Gibson, Florence" t— 
Ward, Josephine ^^it, Lois 



I cloKd, » I wm u 







mounted or nnmounledi 
no blue prints or nega- 
tives. Subject, humorous. 
Drawing. India ink, 
very blacic writing-ink, or 
wash (not color). Two subjects, " A Humorous Draw- 
ing " and a Hay Heading or Tailpiece for the League, 
Books and Reading, or any St. N1CM0I.AS department. 
Pnille. Any sort, but mnsl be accompanied by the 
answer in full, and must be indorsed. 

Puiile uiaweiB. Best, neatest, and most complete 
set of answers to puzzles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 
Must be indorsed. 

Wild Animi] or Bird Photograph. To encourage 
the pursuing of game with a camera instead of a gnn. 
For the best photograph of a wild animal or bird tuten 
in Us natural home : FirsfPritt, five dollars and League 
gold badge. Snand Prize, three dollars and League 
gold badge. Third Priit, League gold badge. 

BDLES. 
Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber 
or no), is entitled to League membership, and a League 
badge and leaflet, which will be sent free. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the 
name, age, and address of [lie sender, and be indorsed 
as "original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, isho 
must St convinced beyond doubt that the eontributum is 
not copied but wholly the work and idea of the sender. 
IF prose, the number of 
words should also be added. 
These things must not be 
on a separate sheet, but on 
the eenlribulion itiilf—'^ a 
~ ipt, on the upper 



margin ar back. Write 

draw on one aide o/lht paper 
only. A conlribulor may 
send but one contribution 
a month. Address : 

The St. Nicholaa Leagiw, 
Union Square, New York, 



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BOORS &I 



[ 



READING! 



KNOWLEDGE, ff 
15 PO-W£R.>«^ 



A New School Story 

Jaues M. Barrie, author of 
a number of things besides 
" Peter Pan," recommends 
highly the work of Charles 
Turley, whom he calls "the 
Trollope of boyhood." The 
name of the most recent of 
Mr. Turley's books is " Mait- 
land Major and Minor." "The 
boys described in the book,'" 
says Mr. Barrie, "are the real 
thing i they run daily into it 
and out of it, never sitting 
down to be photographed ; 
they are quite unaware that 
the field with them, or that 



Atran^ng Your Books 

We asked in this dep irtment 
that some of you would tell 
of a method for grouping 
your books on your shelves. 
From Fargo, North Dakota, 
comes a letter describing a 
young girl's arrangement of 
her little library. First she 
puts Nature books, about ten 
volumes ; then Biographies, 
twenty volumes ; History, 
eleven volumes; Travel, six. 
Next come the Information 
books, includinff those that "«*o««; d«awk bit w. ■. nam, aoi i( 

,, , °,. ... tT. NICHOLAS LIACVI COLD BADGE. 

tell about ways of living in for- 
eign lands (native customs, food, amusements Mr. Turley i: 
and so-forth), regular Natural History, and you are looking in at the dormitory window." 
cook-books,andotherrefcrencevolumes, fifteen m v i 
in number. Following these are seven books A Suggestion for New Year S 
of Poetry, and then twenty-three Story-books. Instead of making impossible resolutions in 
nr J c • regard to reading a long list of books, why is 
Wonder Mones ^ jj not a good idea to write down a list of the 
Those who like stories of strange and marvel- twelve months and put opposite each the 
ous matters will find plenty to wonder about name of a single good book that you might 
in a book called " Prehistoric Animals," by read to advantage ? Then resolve to go 
Ray Lancaster, for you should know that the through at least six of these, leaving the other 
wildest creations of fairy-lore are far less won- six to be abandoned if they do not prove what 
derful than the truth about the creatures that you expect. If your list is really well chosen, 
once lived in this land of ours some millions and you do read six good books by the end 
of years ago. Even the immortal Jabberwock of the year, you will have done much for the 
and Snark would seem quite ordinary beings cultivation of a taste for good reading — a taste 
compared to these swimming, creeping, flying unlike many others, that one wiU hardly ever 
riddles of the past. And those who love giants be able to satisfy — nor wish to. 
can hardly ask for anything larger than the 

Dinosaur- Brontosauius which was described Reading Aloud 

in the March St. Nicholas, in which number a young girl who is fond of this department 

there was also shown a photograph of the complains that reading aloud is often spoiled by 

actual skeleton of the animal. being too rapid, or else too low in tone. She 

r» Rnnl- **y* '^' '^ people think they read well, and 

(Jueer t5ooks f^^d loud enough, they often fall into the fault 

Have you any idea what books have been of acting out what they read, which taVes 

made of? In the British Museum collection attention of the listeners from the book an'i 

are said to be books written on " oyster-shells, makes them observe the reader rather than 

bricks, tiles, bones, ivory, lead, iron, copper, follow the story. 

sheep-skin, wood and palm leaves, to say We believe, with her, that reading and act- 
nothing of other materials." Somedmes the ing are different, and that the attempt to act, 
"books"— or pages of books— were in the often spoils reading aloud. We think it is a 
form of cylinders of baked clay or stone on the mistake even to vary the voice to represent 
siuface of which the inscriptions were cut. different characters. /-^ i 

^ Liooglc 



Books and Reading 



Hie Most Humorous Book 

A BOY &iend writes that he thinks it would be 
interestiiig if readers of this department would 
name what they consider " the most humorous 
book," and he shows his willingness to begin 
by naming the " Pickwick Papeis." 

When to Begin Poetry 

A vouNG girl nearly old enough to be called 
a young woman, on hearing her little sister 
say that she did not like poetry, persuaded the 
cluld to listen to a reading of Scotfs "Lady 
of the Lake," and found that the little girl, 
who was about eleven years old, enjoyed it as 
much as a fairy tale. 

What a Librarian Believes 

A children's librarian, in one of our larger 
cities, in writing of the advantages of reading, 
names first "the further enrichment of life." 
We think she means by this that through read- 
ing, one learns to think more deeply and more 
widely about all that happens, and thus makes 
even a very commonplace life much richer 
than it would otherwise be. It seemed to us 
on reading her phrase that this is a side of the 
subject about which young people might 
think more. It is a little different, you see, 
from reading for fun or for knowledge, and 
perhaps children might well read books that . 
will enrich their lives in this way. Suggestions 
on such books will be gladly welcomed. Who 
will name some ? Is not Ruskin's essay on 
" Kings' Treasuries " the sort of reading the 
librarian means 7 It is usually bound in the 
same volume with " Sesame and Lilies," which 
we hope you all know. 

No Remarks 
In the same article is told the story of a mother 
who was trying to explain a poem she was 
reading to her little girl. She was interrupted 
by the child, who said gently, " Mother, dear, 
I could understand so much better if you 
would please not explain." 

One more good suggestion from the same 
article is the motto of the children's room in 
the library : " The right book to the right 
child at the right time"— which seems to 
cover the subject very briefly but thoroughly. 

Reading Too Fast. 

A CORRESPONDENT from Faribault, Minnesota, 
after praising the " Rebecca Mary " stories, 
and tdHng how much she has enjoyed that 
old favorite "The Scottish Chiefs," tells of 



285 

keeping a list of the books she read in three 
weeks, and of having read ten in that time- 
ten "middle-sized" books, she says. Then 
she asks whether she reads too fast to " take it 
in well." She might nearly as well ask how 
many pieces of coal make a pound. Some 
books one finishes forever in an hour; others 
one can never finish, though they may be read 
through in a half -hour. If she reads ten really 
good books in three months, she will do well. 
Reading merely as a pastime is another 
matter, and ts harmless if one has nothing else 
to do, and one reads sensibly. 

An Answer to a Question. 
In an answer to our question about the 
"Rebecca Mary" stories, we have received 
this very satisfactory letter : 

Man OK Faru, Blewbukv, 
Nk. DiDCOT, 'Berkshire, 

Dear St. Nicholas : I tin always so lDter«sled in 
the Bookl and Reading departmeDt. It haa taught me 
a great deal about ihe care and reading of my books. 

I noticed in the September Doinbcr (1906) yoD ask, 
"Who has read it?" (Rebecca Mary , by Annie 
Hamilton Dannell.) 

I have read tome of her itorici in " Harper's Maga. 
line," among (hem were four about Rebecca Mary. I 
enjoyed reading them very much indeed, and 1 should 
so like to know if they are published in book fonn. In 
, the magaiine they were called "The Return of Re- 
becca Mary," "Article Seyen " (a story), "The 
ThousandQnilt"(aslory), and "The Feel Doll." The 
other two short stories I read of hers were 
called "The Child." "The Promise" (a story), both 
of which I liked rery much indeed. My mother 
and father also have Tery mnch enjoyed reading tbem. 

I am your very faithful reader and admirer, 

Hester Marcetson. 

A Book Recommended. 

Here is a suggestion from one of yourselves ; 

Dear St. Nicholas: I think that other boys and 
girli would be iocereated in a book called " Glimpses 
of China and Chinese Homes," by Edward S. Morse 
(Little, Brown & Co.) It is beanlifolly illustrated 
with sketchea by the author and is very interesting. 
YoDTs sincerely, 

M1U.1A Davenport. 

But would it not have been better if our 
correspondent had given us some brief state- 
ment of what she found especially worth 
reading in the book ? The author she names 
is well-known for his writings on Oriental sub- 
jects, and his knowledge may be depended 
on. He is connected with the Boston Museum, 
and was a student under Louis Agassis— the 
best of teachers for an observer. 

1,1 i./CiOogle 



The Letter-Box 



EDITORIAL NOTE.-TO PARENTa 



hope will prove of real 

■- the little folk 

■nd impalieol ■! Iheir enforced 
'.tiaj Day Amasements for the 
iractical responie In repeated re- 
oo stormy for them to go ont of 



Oh page 346 of this number, St. Nicholas begiai a aeries of articles v 
service to the tired mother or nurse, who is often at her wits' end to pro' 
whom bad weather keeps in the house, where thej ofien grow resiles) 
imptisonment. The general title "Hints and Helps for 'Mother'—] 
Nursery " sets forth the object of the series, which is intended to be a ] 

2uests for snggesiions as to ways of amasing the little folk when it is ' 
oors, and when toys and books and pictures seem state from repealed t 
To " save the da;," al such limes, a form of work or play has to be provided which not only must be 
novel, bat roust be something that the childreo themselves can enjoy in the doing. And it must be 
based upon materia] that is always to be foaoi! in every home and not upon things which one has to go 

The paper on page 346 deals with " Clothes-pin Toys " and shows how much can be accomplished in 
the way of making interesting playthings from these homely, every-day objects. The next paper will 
show the odd and entertaining toys that can be made out of pasteboard or paper boxes, and this will be 
followed by other articles of a similar sort. 

We commend the series to the careful alteDtion of mothers, nurses and the older sisleii of the family, 
and we should be very glad to receive from grown-up readers who are interested in the subject any sng- 
gcstions for amnscroents and toys which they have invented or have found useful in their own experience. 
The point to l>e always borne id mind, however, is that these home-made playthings should be only soch 
as can be easily made out of rvtry-day articles that are te be fsund it% every heme. 



Gadsden, Ala. 
Dear. St. Nicholas : Will you accept a note Irom a 

little girl way doivnin Alabama? 

I spent last wioter in New York, but am glad to be 
back in my Sunny Sonth again. 

Yon were given me as a present last Christmas, and I 
often think St. Nicholas is a gift any little girl ought 
to be prond of. 

I live in a beautiful little town on the Coosa River. 

I want to thank yon for the prize you sent me for mv 
ffob-^link* ^' — ^ — '"'' — '' 



1 'm afraid my letter is getting too long so will close, 
with best wishes for long coittinued sncoess. 
I am your much interested reader, 

Edith H. Ross (age 14). 

Flushing, L. I. 

Dear St. Nicholas : — This is the first time 1 have 
written to you. I am twelve yean old and have laken 
yon Tor a year and a half. I like the stoiy df -The 
Crimson Sweater " best. In (he summer I go to a boys' 
camp in the Southern Catskills. The camp's name is 
Wake Robin. 

Last snmmer we took a tramp of 36 miles, carrying 
from 17 10 22 pounds on our back. The camp lasts to 
weeks. Your &iend, John Blakiston. 



because they keep o 

I am now up in the coantry spending my vacation on 
a large farm. There are many pleasant pastimes here, 
snch as playing croquet, going boating and fishing on the 
Delaware River, hunting e^gs, and— eating apples. 

I lamed some little white leghorn chickens so that 
when I call they fly upon my hand and shoulder. These 
chickens look very pretty, their fcalhers being ptire 
while, their combs a bright red and their legs yellow. 

I suppose many readers of St. Nicholas have never 
seen bees making honey. The neit farm from here 
keeps bcc-hives and I have watched them making it, 
never in the daytime however, aa they are apt to sling if 
molested when at work, but at dusk they do not mind it. 

Now is Ihe bee's busiest time, for the buckwheat is in 
fill bloom. This little white flower affords a great deal 
of honey for the bees. If yon have ever passed a field 
of bnckwkeal in fall bloom you may have beard a low 
continDODt droning which is made by itie bees. 



When I » 

summer, I n 



in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, last 

It with my grandfather to visit the navy 
la on an island, and we had to cross the 



This w 

A new dock had just been built that large ships could 
come in, and il was all made of stone. For the door 
there was a ship about half as large as the dock. 

A new prison was being built which would be very 
large when it was (inisbeo. Prisoners were kept in a 
ship while the prison was being made. 

There were two men that worked under water and 
were all covered with rubber except their eyes that they 
pal glass eyes over. They went down under water to 
work, and air was pumped down, so they could breathe. 
They stayed under waler for two hours. 

A building was there that a tug ship bad been boilt in. 

All kinds of ships were lying around at the wharves. 

The Russian and Japanese treaty was signed al 
Portsmouth, and I was glad T had visited the navy 
yard there. Yours truly, 

Majloaket R. Knowlton (age 11 fcais). 



Google 



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER. 

Begin u Centnli. Alfred. 



__ __ _ .. -_„_ -. Drear, 3. DrawD. 4. F(jn_ 

J. RoiH. 6. Drsm. Cenlnli, Cajrie. VI. i. Pkud 
Diiin. 3. Silki. 4. Elher. j. Cnupt. 6. Airoir. CCntll 
ArtRur. VII. t. Mocha. 3. QuaiL 1. Ionic. 4. Roule- 
Goilu. 6.Qu«n. Cenmlfc JCanute. _VHI. _^i. TLm.^ 




Merle, y-Cu\ Gl 



NUMEBICAI. ENIOBIA. 

letters and form the sleeping 

byncopat< 
pie. Mjr 17-6-8 



I Aki composed of twenty-ti 
ume of a thirty -eight sided figv 
My 3-y-9-,"S ■ 



and leave an eiclamation ofsnrrow. lo. SynCDpate a 

a, and leave a fraclion of bd oance. ti. 

ed with dosl, and leave 1 



„ .-..-a-.j - - .^,. K". ".7 -z-™ " - . . syncopated letters mil spell a word often heard 

.verine for the head. My S-4-3-2i-l6 is a drink. My dnnng the Christmas hohdays. 



I formed by a volcano. My 19-20-13-14-7 
a lazy person. 

PRUE K. JAUIESON (Honor Member). 

TRIPLE BEHEADIMOS. 



CHASADE. 



night; 
lead. D 



leave part of the head. 3. Triply behead a 

leave a snare. 4. Triply behead a common Ilaiian iiiie, 

and leave ■ negative- 5. Triply behead higb-pitched, 

and leave sick. 6. Triply behead motive, and leave a 

child. 

The initials of the remaining words will spell a popu- 
lar game. 

HELEN WHITMAN. (Leagne Member). 



a bird, and 



ExaMFLe: Syncopate uproar, and leave part of the 
I. Syncopate to delay, and leave y 
afcindofi 



My third ii 1 part of the head. Do my vikalt. 
And read me this riddle aright. 

BALE (Honor Member). 



. "7 ■ 



'6 . 



d'^'av 



in ecclesiastical beaddrea! . 
Syncopate a pigment, and leave to gasp. 6. Syn 
to separate, and leave a prophet. 7. Syncopat) 
ma*t, and leave a French cook. 8. Syncopate part of a 
flower, and leave to resonnd. 9. Syncopate otherwise, 






My primal ligzag (indicated by stars) and my final 
zigzag each name a Slate; from I to 10 and from II to 
17, name the capitals of these two States. 

Cross-words: i. Forbidding with authority, i- De- 
served. 3- llie projection of a figare. 4. Imaginary 
phantasms. ;. Unclosing. 6. Pertaining to angds. 7. 
A kind of crisp, lusiroas silk. 

■■ 'x>ViNii ( Honor Member). 



Google 



The Riddle-Box 



TKAVBLBBS* ACBOBTIC. 

ISHpf BaJtt.Si. NichcilMLaigueCoinpeiiiiDB.) 

When the five conveyances pictured above have been 

righily gucBsed, the ioilial tellers will, when properly 

arruiged, spell the name of a coaatry that has recently 

attracted rrnch attention. 

Designed by LOUISb w. goodwih (age lo). 



Cross-words: i. A wooden harainer. I. Totease. 
3. Usage. 4. Sudden. 5. To coai. 6. To bear wit- 
ness. 7. A famoos play. 

From I to 3 and trom 3 to 4 each luune a funoas 
play. 

ARTHUR MI NOT RIED. 
CONOBAUD WOHb-gQDABB. 

One word is concealed in each coaplet. 

t. Max owned, wilhont a thought of shame, 



a(id make ■ light blov 



. Behcftd and ^rtail stays, 

" ■ id and curtail 
ange, and make 
!, Arctic Bnimil, 



like the edge 
tidy. 10. Behead and curtail a large, ■ 
rearrange, and make to eat. II. Behead i 
one of the United States, rearrange, and make a feminine 
name. 13. Behead and curtail marks by foldiaCi re- 
arrange, and make.B large body of water. 13. L'eheid 
and cattail not any thing, rearrange, and make to strike. 
When the thirteen new words nave been mitten one 
below the other, their initials will spell the nameoCa 
man who was famous in the early history of New 
England. 



COIXEOE ACBO8TI0. 

iGaiJ Bajfr, Si Nicbolu Lnfue CamiictiliaB.) 
All the words deicnbed conuin the same number of 

letters. When rightlj guessed and written one below 

another, the initials will spell the name of a college, ard 

the finals, the college color. 
Cross-words; i. Wide and genei*! destruction. 

a. Detest. 3. A Jewish title of respecL 4. Poison. 

5. Otherwise called. 6. A mascoline name. 7. An 

evil spirit. 



'. SBAW. 



WOBD-BQDASE. 



, A collection of ma^ 3. In that place. 3. To 
□ knowledge. 4. A ndi figured fabric 5. Discern, 
m. HiLDRBD HOOD (Leagne Member). 



AMFUTATZOirg. 



IGeU Badtt, El Nicholu League Ccmpetilion.) 

Example: Donbly behead aod curtail walked, re- 
arrange the remaining letters, and make a chart. 
Answer Tr-amp-ed, map. 

I. Behead and curtail a European country, rearrange, 
and make a biped. 3. Behead and curtail modung, 
rearrange, and make B flower , associated with France. 
3. Beh^ and curtail in a feudal manner, rearranee, and 
make to praise. 4. Behead ana curtail in parlicniar, 
rearrange and make an heroic poem. 5. Behead and 
curtail 10 holi^ back, rearrange, and make a heavenly 
body. 6. Behead and curtail gilts, rearrange, and make 
observed. 7. Behead and curtail a leader, rearrange. 



I. Donbly behead and donbly cnrtail pangs, and bate 
a pronoun. 3. Donbly behead and donbly corlail up- 
roar, and leave a verb. 3. Doubly behead and doubly 
d, and leavi ' ' ' " ■-■ i .. . - 1 

bly cnrtail narron 
Doubly behead and doubly cnrtail disagreeable to look 
at, and leave a spectacle. 6. Doubly behead and doubly 
curtail to desert, and leave a ' "' " '■--"- 

behead and doubly curtail re 
8. Doubly behead and doubly curtail bnmt v 
Iron, and leave a conjunction. 9. Doubly behead and 
doubly curtail gave new life to, and leave modem, to. 
Doubly behead and doubly curtail not found Out, and 
leave to disclose. II. Donbly behead and doubly car- 
tail puckers, and leave a common Uttle article. 13. 
Donbly behead and doubly curtail unfortnnately, and 
leave meter. 13. Donbly behead and doubly cnrtail 
calumny, and leave a conjunction. 14. Doubly behead 
and donbly cnrtail that which caasc* solution, and leave 
to guess. 15. Doubly behead and doubly curtail an 
amusing drama, and leave a pronoun. iG. Donbly be- 
head and doubly cnrtail taken lo pieces, and leave to 
achieve. ADDIB S. COLLOM. 



>/GoogIc 



FEBRUARY, 1907 

ST NICHOLAS 

ILLUSTRATED AVAGAZINE 

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 




* FREDERICK WARNE & CO ■ BEDFORD ST • STRAND • LONDON • 

THE- CENTURY-CO -UNION- SQUARE -NEW- YORK 



Ham 

Ham is a food that builds healthy bodies — because it 
contains the vital elements needed to tnalce bone and 
muscle. Ham furnishes both heat and energy — 
stimulates every function of the body. 

And Ham is deUcious I The very smell of it 
sizzling in the pan makes your mouth water. 
But to have the sweet, juicy, tender kind, you 
must remember the Brand- — Swift's " Premium." 

Yes, "Premium" in fact as well as name. 
There's a "Premium" on the beat Ham — Swift's ^ 

"Premium." And its Premium in quality and 
ilavor as it steams on the platter at Breakfast time. 

Be insistent — when you ask for Ham be sure you get 

Swifts "Premium' 



For Febroirr Breakfasts 

Everything depends on how you 
begin the day, A wholesome, 
easily digested breakfast helps to 
make a, day successfuL Tiy — 






■Fpiar BB a rUBrantce-B tcslimony Df quBl- IISHSnO.EST.3 
■ t SwlflV Prei ■ 



IP fKEMIUM 

>B1- IISHSnO.EST.3 

Hama and Bacon art uniformly .weet.tend^ anil juicy- whole- 
HOmc. When you buy ham or bBccn ask for '^wf ft-« Piemluai." 

I & Company, U. S. A. 



>/Goot^le 



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■■Ul'T HE GOT AWAY!" 

Uigtizcdb/ 



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ST. NICHOLAS 



Vol. XXXIV 



FEBRUARY, 1907 



The Cozy Lion 

Ai lold by Queen Cro*t(Hiich 

By Frances Hodgson Burnett 

Author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy." "Sara Crewe," " Edilha's Burglar," etc., i 



I AM very fond of this story of the Cozy 
LiOQ because I consider it a great credit to 
me- I reformed that Lion and taught him 
how to behave himself. The grown-up per- 
son who reads this story aloud to children must 
know how to Roar. 

I shall never forget the scolding I gave 
him to begin with. One of the advantages of 
being a Fairy — even quite a common one — is 
that Lions can't bite you. A Fairy is too little 
and too light. If they snap at you it 's easy 
to fly through their mouths, and even if they 
catch you, if you just getbehind their teeth you 
can make them so uncomfortable that they will 
beg you to get out and leave them in peace. 

Of course it was all the Lion's fault that I 
scolded him. Lions ought to live far away 
from people. Nobody hkes Lions roaming 
at)out — |}articularly where there are children. 
But this Lion said he wanted to get into Society, 
and that he was very fond of children — little 
fat ones between three and four. So instead of 
living on a desert, or in a deep forest or a jungle, 
he took the large Cave on the Huge Green 
Hill, only a few miles from a village full of the 
fattest, rosiest little children you ever saw. 

He had only been living in the Cave a few 
days, but even in that short time the mothers 
and fathers had found out he was there, and 
everybody who could afford it had bought a 
gun and snatched it up even if they saw a 

Copyrighl. .507. by Thb Cbs 



donkey coming down the road, because they 
were afraid it might turn out to be a Lion. As 
for the mothers, they were nearly crazy with 

fright and dare not let their children go out to 
play and had to shut them up in top rooms and 
cupboards and cellars, they were so afraid the 
Lion might be hiding behind trees to jump out at 
them. So everything was beginning to be quite 
spoiled because nobody could have any fun. 

Of course if they had had any sense and be- 
lieved in Fairies and had just gone out some 
moonlight night and all joined hands and 
danced slowly around in a circle and sung : 

Fairies pink and Fairies rose. 
Fairies dancing on pearly toes. 

We want roil. Oh.' we want you .' 
Fairy Queens and Fairy slaves 
If'lio are not a/raid 0/ Lions' Caves 

JVease to come to help us, 

then it would have been all right, because we 
should have come in millions. Especially if 
they had finished with this verse ; 



Our troubles we ean nc^'ei 


■ tell. ■ 


But if vou would come it 


would all be well. 


Par-tie-u-hir-ly Silve 


r-Bell. 



But they had n't sense enough for that — ot 
course they hadn't — of course they hadn't/ 
Which shows what loonies some people are. 

■ukyCo. All rifihls Kwtyed. /-"^ I 

>, .Coogle 



292 

But you see I am much nicer than w«-fairy 
persons, even if I have lost my nice little, pink 
little, sweet little Temper and ii I am cross. So 
when 1 saw the children fretting and growing 
pale because they had to be shut up, and the 
mothers crying into their washtubs when they 
were washinj;, uniil the water slopped over, I 



The Cozy Lion 



made 



ind I ■ 



'ould go and talk to 

■ay he would n't soon 



that Lion myself 
forget. 

It was a beautiful morning, and the Huge 
Green Hill looked lovely. ,\ shepherd who 
saw me thought I was a gold and purple butter- 
fly and threw his hat at me — the idiot! Of 
course he fell down on hif nose — and very right 
and proper loo. 



When I got to the Cave, the Lion was sitting 
outside his door and he was crying. He was 
one of those nasty -tempered, discontented 
Lions who are always thinking themselves in- 
jured; large round tears were rolling down his 
nose and he was sniffling. But I must say he 
was handsome. He was big and smooth and 
had the most splendid 
mane and tail I ever 
saw. He would have 
been like a King if he 
had had a nicer ex- 
pression. But there 
lie sat sniffling. 

"1 'm so lonely," 
he said. '■ Nobody 
calls. Nobody pays 
me any attention. 
And I came here for 
the Society. No one 
is fonder of Society 
than I am." 

I sat down on a 
flowering branch near 
him and shouted at 
him, " What 's the 
use of Society when 
you eat it up?" I 
said. 

He jumped up and 
lashed his tail and 
growled, but at first he 
could not see me. 

" What 's it for 6ui 
to be eaten up ? " he 
roared. " First I want 
it to entertain me and 
then I want it for des- 
sert. Where are you ? 
Who are you ? " 

" I 'm Queen Cross- 
patch — Queen Silver- 
Bell as was," I said. 
" I suppose you have 
heard of me ? " 

" I 've heard noth- 
ing good," he growled. 
" A good chewing is 

THEV WEKF AFRAID what JW( want ! " 

LcN," ' He Ai/rfheard some- 

thing about me, but 
not enough. The truth was he did n't really 
believe in Fairies — which was what brought 
him into trouble. 

By this time he had seen me and he was 
ignorant enough to think that he could catch 
me, so he lay down flat in the thick green grass 
and stretched his big paws out and rested his 
nose on them thinking I would be taken in and 
imagine he was going to sleep. 1 burst out 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 393 

laughing at him and swung to and fro on my and hammered and hammered until he began 



flowery branch. 

" Do you want lo eat me ? " I said. " You 'd 



jumping toothache that he r. 
leaping and roaring down the Huge Green 
Hiil and leaping and roaring down the village 
street to the dentist's to get some toothache 

You can just imagine how all the people 
rushed into their houses, and how the mothers 
screamed and clutched their children and hid 
under beds and tables and in coal bins, and 
how the fathers fumbled about for guns. As 
for the dentist, he locked his door anil bohed 
it and barred it, and when he found liis gim he 
poked it out of the window and fired it off as 
fast as ever he could until he had fired fifty 
times, only he was too frightened to hit any- 
thing. Hut the village street was so full of 
flashes and smoke anil bullets that Mr. Lion 
tumctl with ten big roars and galloped down 
the street, with guns fired out of e\ery window 
where the family could afford to keep a gun. 

When he got to his home in the Huge Green 
Hill, he just laid down and cried aloud and 
screamed and kicked his hind legs until he 
scratched a hole in the floor of his cave. 



need two or three quarts of me with sugar and 
cream — like strawberries." 

That made him so angry that he sprang roar- 
ing at my tree and snapped and shook it and 
tore it with his claws. But I flew up into the air 
and buzzed all about him and he got furious — 
just furious. Hejumpedupin the air and lashed 
his tail and /Aruj^«/ his tail and crashed his 
tail, and he turned round and round and tore 
up the grass. 

" Don't be a silly," I said. " It "s a nice big 
tufty sort of tail and you will only wear it 

So then he opened his mouth and roared and 
roared. And what do you suppose /did? I 
flew right into his mouth. First I flew into his 
throat and buzzed about like a bee and made 
him cough and cough and cough — but he 
could n't cough me up. He coughed and he 
houghed and he woughcd ; he tried to catch 
me with his tongue and he tried to catch me 
with his teeth but I simply made myself tinier 
and tinier and got between two big fierce white 
double ones and took one of my Fairy Work- 
ers' hammers out of my pocket and hammeted 



E jl;5 



fust because I 'm a Lion," he sobbed, "just 
use I 'm a poor, sensitive, helpless orphan 
1 nobody has one panicle of manners. They 
'teven sell me a bottle of toothache drops. 



% The Cozy Lion 



294 



And I was n't going to touch that dentist— until 
he had cured me and wrapped up the bottle 
nicety in paper. Not a touch was I going to 
touch him until he had done that." 

He opened his mouth so wide to roar with 
grief that I flew out of it. 1 had meant to give 
him a lesson and I 'd given him one. When I 
flew out of his mouth of course his beautiful 



[Fii.. 



double teeth stopped aching. It was such a 
relief to him that it made <]uite a change in his 
nature and he sat up and began to smile. It 
was a slow .smile which spread into a grin 
even while the teardrops hung on his whiskers. 

"My word! How nice," he said. "It's 
stopped." 

I had flown to the top of his ear and I 
shouted down it. 

"I slopped it," I said. "And 1 began it. 
And if you don't behave yourself, I 'II give you 
earache and that will be worse." 

Before I had given him his lesson he would 
have jumped at me but now he knew better. 
He tried to touch my feelings and make me 
sorry for him. He put one paw before his eyes 
and began to sniff again. 

" I am a poor sensitive, lonely orphan Lion," 
he said. 

" You are nothing of the sort," I answered 



very sharply. " You are not poor, and goodness 
knows you are not sensitive, and you need n't 
be lonely. 1 don't know whether you are an 
orphan or not — and I don't care. You are a 
nasty, ill-tempered, selfish, biting, chewing 
thing." 

"There's a prejudice against Lions," he 
wepL " People don't like them. They never 
invite them to children's parties — nice little fat, 
tender, children's parties — where they would 
enjoy themselves so much — and the refresh- 
ments would be just what they like best. They 
don't even invite them to grown-up parties. 
What I want to ask you is this : has one of those 
villagers called on me since I came here — even 
a tough one ?" 

" Nice stupids they would be if they did," I 
answered. 

He lifted up his right paw and shook his 
head from side to side in the most mournful 
way. 

" There," he said, " you are just as sellish 
as the rest. Everybody is selfish. There is no 
brotherly love or consideration in the world. 
Sometimes 1 can scaicelybear it. I am going 
to ask you another question, and it is almost 
like a riddle. Who did you ever see try to give 
pleasure to a Lion ? " 

I got into his ear then and shouted down it 
as loud as ever I could. 

" Who did you ever see a Lion try to give 
pleasure to ? " I said. " You just think over 
that. And when you find the answer, tell it to 

I don't know whether it was the newness of 
the idea, or the suddenness of it, but he turned 
pale. Did you ever see a lion turn pale? I 
never did before and it was funny. You know 
people's skins turn pale but a Lion's skin is 
eovered with hair and you can't see it, so his 
hair has to turn pale or else you would never 
know he was turning pale at all. This Lion's 
hair was a beautiful tawny golden color to begin 
with and first his whiskers turned white and 
then his big mane and then his paws and then 
his body, and last his long, splendid tail with 
the huge fluffy tuft on the end of it. Then he 
stood up and his tail hung down and he said 
weakly : 

" I do not know the answer to that riddle. 
I will go and lie down in my Cave. I do not 
believe I have one friend in this world." And 
he walked into his Cave and lay down and 
sobbed bitterly. 

He forgot I was inside his ear and that he 
carried me with him. But 1 can tell you I Aad 
given him something to think of and that was 
iihat he needed. This way of feehng that 
nothing in the World but a Lion has a right to 

Uigtizcdb/GoOt^IC 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



be comfortable — ^just because you happen to be 



o silly for anything, 
ir and boxed it a little. 

" Crying won't do you 
X really lonely — really — 
It it gives you a hollow 



a Lion yourself- 

I flew outside his e 

" Come ! " I said. 
any good. Are yo 
really — really — so th 
feeling ? " 

He sat up and shook his tears away so they 
splashed all about — something like rain. 

" Yes," he answered, " to tell the truth I am 
— I do like Society. I want friends and neigh- 
- bors — and I don't only want them for dessert. 
I am a sociable Lion and I am affectionate in 
my nature — and clinging. And people run as 
fast as they can the moment they hear my voice." 
And he quite choked with the lump in his 
throat. 

" Well," I snapped, " what else do you ex- 
pect ? " That overcame him and he broke 
into another sob. " I expect kindness." he 
said, " and invitations to afternoon teas — and 
g-g-garden parties " — 

"Well you won't get them," I interrupted, 
" if you don't change your ways. If you eat 
afternoon teas and garden parties as though 
they were lettuce sandwiches, you can't expect 



" But ever since I was a little tiny Lion — a 
tiny, liny one — I have wanted to get into 
Society. I will change — I will t Just tell me 



%' 



sJ 



what to do. And do sit on my. ear and talk 
down it and stroke it. It feels so comfortable 
and friendly." 

You see he had forgotten that he had meant 
to chew me up. So 1 began to give him ad- 

" The first things you will have to do will be 
CO change your temper and.your heart and your 
diet, and stop growling and roaring when you 
are not pleased." 

" I '11 do that, I 'II do that," he said ever so 
quickly. " You don't want me to cut my mane 
and tail off, do you ? " 

" No. You are a handsome Lion and beauty 

is much admired." Then I snuggled quite 

close up lo his ear and said down it, "Did 

you ever think how nice a Lion would be if — if 

"■■•"■■ ■■■; he were much nicer? " 

" N-no," he faltered. 

" Did you ever think how like a great big 

■" I AM A pooK^sEssmv^^.^^oNELv ORPHAN j-Q^y lovcly dog you are ? And how nice your 

big fluffy mane would be for little girls and 

lo be invited to them. So you may as well go boys to cuddle in, and how they could play 

back to the desert or the jungle and live with with you and pat you and hug you and go to 

Lions and give up Society altogether." sleep with their heads on your shoulder and 



/Google 



296 The Cozy Lion ^'"^■ 

love you and adore you — if you only lived on " Could he ! Could he ! Could he ? " be 

breakfast foods and things — and had a really shouted out, "Oh ! let me be a Cozy Lion! Let 

sweet disposition ? " me be a Cozy Lion ! Hooray I Hooray 1 Hoo- 

He must have been rather a nice Lion because ray '. I would like it better than being inviled 

that minute he began to look " kind of smiley to Buckingham Palace ! " 



round the mouth ami teary round the lashes " — " Little children would just^&r-t to see you 

which is part of a piece of poetry I once read. and play with you," I said. ■' And then if they 

'■Oh! Aunt Maria!" he exclaimed a little came, their mothers and fathers couldn't be 

slangily. " I never thought of that : it li/ould kept away. They would tlock too." 

be nice," The smile of joy that spread over his face 

" A Lion could be the cosiest thing in the actually reached his ears and almost shook me 

world — if he would," I went on. off. 

He jumped up in the air and danced and "That ?£w</i/ be Society !" he grinned, 

kicked his hind legs for joy. ■' The very best ! " I answered. " Children 

vGoogIc 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



Oh / Tira-iira-iira-la 

Ami Ttra-lira-laiii. 
A Lion learning to be gooii 
Xi'fds Everybody's Brenkfast Food. 

You workers bring it~Tira-la 

And 'JlriiJira-ladi. 

Then the Fairy Workers came flying id 
clouds. In three minutes and three quarters 
they wereswarming ail over the Huge Green Hill 
and into the Lion's Cave, every one of them 
with a little sack on his green back. They 
swarmed here and they swarmed there. Some 
were cooks and brought tiny pots and kettles and 
stoves and they began to cook Breakfast Foods 
as fast as lightning. The Lion sat uj). (I for- 
got to say that he had turned «//.pale long be- 
fore this and was the right color again.) And 
his mouth fell wide open, Just with surprise and 
amazement. What amazed him most was that 
not one out of all these thousands of tittle 
Workers in their green caps and smocks was 
the least bit afraid of him. Why, what do 
you think 1 My little Skip just jumped up and 
stood on the end of the Lion's nose while he 
asked me a question. You never saw anything 



X flock r 



who are real daxlings and not imitations come 
first, and then mothers and fathers — the rest just 
straggle along anywhere." 

" When could it begin ? When could it 
begin ? " he panted out. 

■' Not," I said very firmly, " until yon have 
tried some Breakfast Food ! " 

•■ Where shall 1 get it ? Oh ! Where ? Oh ! 
Where ? " 

" I will get it, of course," was my answer. 

Then I stood up on the very tip of his ear 
and put my tiny golden trumpet to my lips. 
(And Oh! how that Lion did roll up his eyes 
to try to catch a glimpse of mel) And 1 
played this tune to call my Fairy \Vorkers. 

/ 'm calling /rom the Huge Green JM 

Tira-lira-lira , 
The Lion's Cave is cool and still, 

Ttra-lira-lira, 
The Lion wishes to improve 
And show he 's Jilted with tender love 

And NOT ii'ith Next Door Xeighbor. 
The LioH wishes to be good. 
To fill him I'Ui.L of Breakfast Food 

Will aid him in his labor. 
Bring Breakfast Food from far and near 
- He 'II eat a dreadful lot, '/far. 



s funny as that Lion looking down (he bridge 
■f his nose at him until he squinted awfully, 
ie was so interested in him. 



d by Google 



298 

" Does he take it with sugar and cream, your 
Royal Silver-cross-bell-ness ? " Skip asked me, 
taking off his green cap and bowing low. 

"Try him with it in both ways," I said. 



The Cozy Lion 



When the Workers had made a whole lot of 
all the kinds together they poured it into a 
hollow stone and covered it with sugar and 
cream. 

"Ready, your Highnesses!" they all called 
out in chorus. 



"Is that it?" said the Lion, 
very nice. How docs one eat i 



It looks 
Must I 

bite it 

" Dear me, no," I answered. " Lap it." 
So he began. If you '11 believe me, he 
simply reveled in it. He ate and ate and ate, 
and lapped and lapped and lapped and he did 
not stop until the hollow stone was quite clean 
and empty and his sides were quite swelled and 
pufTeii oui. And he looked as pleased as 
I'unch. 

" I never ate anything nicer in my life," he 
said. " There was a Sunday School picnic I 

" A Sunday School picnic ! " 1 shouted so 
fiercely that he blushed all over. The very 
tuft on his lail was deep rose color. " Who 
invited you?" 

He hung his head and stammered, 

" I was n't exactly invite,/," he said, " and 
did n't go with the school to the picnic grounds 
— but I should have come back with it — at 
least some of it — but for some men with 
guns!" 

I stamped on his ear as hard as ever I 
could. 

" Never let me hear you mention such a sub- 
ject again," I said. " Nobody in Society would 
speak to yo\i if they knew of it ! " 

He quite shook in his shoes — only he had n't 
any shoes. 

" I 'tl never even think of it again," he said. 
" I see my mistake. I apologize. I do in- 
deed ! " 

Now what do you suppose happened at that 
very minute? If I hadn't been a Fairy I 
should have been frightened to death. At 
that very minute I heard little children's voices 
singing like skylarks farther down on the Huge 
Crcen Hill — actually little children — a whole 
lot of them ! 



The Unhappy Fiddler 

By John Kendrick Bangs 

.TE in the eighteenth century 

A fiddler wept all day. 
Why do you weep?" in sympathy 

They asked. " Why this dismay ?" 
Because, good folk. I have," said he, 

"To work, whene'er I play." 



d by Google 



The Poetry of Motion 

By Eloise Sharon 

The " Poetry of Motion," I 've heard grown-ups talt about; 

Its meaning puzzled me at first, but now I 've made it out! 

It means a bright, cold winter day, on old Longmeadow Hill, 

With dazzling snow, and sparkling sky, and crisp air, keen and still ; 

A jolly, laughing crowd of us on Uilly's old bob-sled ; 

A parting whoop,— a gliding start,— a long, clear stretch ahead] 



d by Google 



"BETSY CURTSIKD, 



THEi PKIiTTY, OLD lASHlOX." 



hvGooglc 



Betsy Brandon's Guest 

(A True Siory) 

By Caroline Mays Brevard 

Illustrated by H. S. Potter 



It was a bright spring morning in 1791 and 
the sun shone as bright over the Brandon 
plantation as it did in the county town of 
Salisbury. Vet little Miss Betsy Brandon, 
sitting lonely and disconsolate on the piazza 
of the great plantation house, did not think 
of the sunshine, did not notice the gay tulips 
nodding good morning, did not listen to the 
merry songs of the birds; for her thoughts 
were in Salisbury, and she longed to be there. 

For not more than an hour ago all the 
family had driven to the town to see (ieneral 
Washington, who was to be received there 
with great honor, and with as handsome a 
demonstration as the brave, patriotic folk of 
the town and county could make for him. 

It was a wonderful thing, this southern 
tour of the (General — now President of the 
United States. He had traveled in his family 
carriage alt the way down from Virginia, 
through the Carolinas and Georgia near the 
coast to Savannah, and was now returning 
through the "up-country," stopping at Au- 
gusta, Camden, Charlotte, and other towns. 
All along the route people united to do him 
honor, and war-worn veterans who had fol- 
lowed his standard, pressed near to grasp his 
hand. 

And now that he was coming to Salisbury 
such grand things were to be done ! Captain 
John Beard in command of the "Rowan Light 
Horse Company" had gone (o meet him at 
Charlotte and escort him to Salisbury. A 
company of boys — one of whom was Betsy's 
brother — were to meet him half a mile from 
town and march as his escort with the men. 
And the boys were to be in uniform and were 
to wear buck tails in their hats. And Betsy's 
si>ter was to be one of the little girls, all 
dressed in white, to scatter flowers before the 
General when he entered the town. Oh. it 
would all be beautiful ! ^'et Betsy must stay 
at home. 

Was it not a little hard? And was it alto, 
gether strange that twelve-year-old Betsy, in 
spite of the self-control taught by the strict 
old-time discipline, must, from time to lime, 
wipe away the gathering tears? 



Yet not every one had gone to Salisbury, 
for, after a while. Betsy was surprised to see 
two gentlemen riding up the avenue. On 
reaching the house, they dismounted, and one 
— a gentleman of very grand and handsome 
appearance — bowed low to the little maid and 
asked if she would be kind enough to give 
breakfast to two tired wayfarers. 

Betsy curtsied, in the pretty, old fashion, 
and said that as all the grown people had 
gone to town to see (ieneral Washington, she 
was afraid the breakfast might not be very 
nice, but she would have something ready in 
a little while, and would they please be seated 
on the piazza. 

"I am a plain old man," said the gentle- 
man who had spoken, "and only want a cup 
of milk and piece of cornbread." The "plain 
old man" was very dignified and courteous, 
and there was something in his bearing so 
noble that somehow his little hostess felt that 
here was a man fit to stand with the greatest. 
"I promise you," he continued, "that you 
shall see General Washington before any of 
your people do." 

How that might be Betsy did not know, 
nor did she question. For there was some- 
thing aliout this unexpected guest that won 
her trust from the beginning. So she hurried 
away to the kitchen to interview old Dinah. 
Then, while Dinah was making ready the hoe- 
cake, and Cindy was setting the table, Betsy 
herself ran down the hill to the spring house 
for the milk and butter. In a little while the 
simple repast was ready, and the guests were 
bidden to partake of it. 

Betsy was pleased, as any hostess would 
have been, to see how the breakfast was en- 
joyed. Encouraged by the kindness of the 
gentleman who had promised that she should 
see General Washington, she talked freely 
of the great doings in town that day. There 
was to be a grand reception in the afternoon 
and a hal! at night. Her mother had the 
most beautiful gown for the ball, and no 
doubt ail the other ladies had beautiful 
gowns. But her father would wear his old 
uniform. And tiien she told of hew her ■ 

,i i./CiOoglc 



302 



father honored and loved General Washing- 
ton, and of how he said that he was the 
greatest man and the best in all the world. 

But now the guests rose and he who had 
asked for the breakfast thanked Betsy for it. 
"The milk you gave me," he said, "is the 
best I have drunk for many a day, and the 
hoe-cake is delicious, I thank you for your 
kindness. I must now bid you farewell and 
go on my journey." 

"Farewell, Sir," said Betsy, curtsying. 
"But when — " for now the question would 
come — "when do I see General Washington?" 

She raised her eager eyes to meet those of 



Betsy Brandon's Guest 



the stranger who had given her the promise. 
With a kind smile he answered simply; "I 
am General Washington." 

Like other wonderful things it had all 
come about very naturally. The General was 
fatigued by his journey, and knowing that he 
would have little opportunity of rest during 
the day, left his party for a while, and, with 
one attendant, rode on horseback to the Bran- 
don house for some refreshment before go- 
ing on to Salisbury, six miles further. And 
so it came to pass that the little girl in the 
North Carolina farm-house not only saw the 
great man but entertained him at breakfast. 



Concerning Eyes 

By Carolyn Wells 




Ik you gaze and gaze at the blue, blue sky, your eyes grow blue, they say ; 

But they say your eyes will grow dark, dark brown if you look at the ground all day. 

Now I don't kiio-.v if this is so. —perhaps it ispi't true ; 
But Rosy's trying to make hers brown, and I'm trying to make mine blue. 



,/ Google 



Little Eski and the Polar Bear 

An Arctic Story in Four Chapten 




Coogle 



Captain June 



By Alice Hegan Rice 

Author of " Mrs. Wiggs of Ihe Cabbage Palch," " Lovey Marj," e(c. 
With Pictures by C. D. Weldon 



Chapter VI 

One morning several weeks later, June was 
lying on his back in the garden wishing he 
had someone to play with. Toro was away 
at school and Seki San was having her hair 
dressed. He had watched the latter per- 
formance so many times that it had ceased 
to interest him. Seki would sit for hours 
on a white mat before the old hair-dresser 
who combed, and looped and twisted the 
long oily strands into butterflv bows of shining 
black. 

The only person on the premises who was 
at leisure was Tomi, but that was just the 
trouble, he was so much at leisure that he re- 
fused to stir from his warm spot on the sunny 
steps no matter how much June coaxed. To 
be sure there was a yellow cat ne.\t door, but 
she did not understand English as Tomi did, 
and when June called her, she humped her 
back and would have ruffled her tail if she had 
had one, but Japanese cats do not have tails, 
so when they get angry ihcy always look dis- 
appointed. 

Just as June was getting a bit lonesome the 
post boy came trotting in with a letter for 
Seki San and June ran in to take it to her. 

"For me?" said Seki San looking very 
comical with one loop of black hair hang- 
ing over her eye, "from Meester Carre? I 
sink it is a mistake, I do not know Meester 
Carre. " 

"Read it." demanded June impatiently. 

"It say," went on Seki San slowly, "that 
Meester CarVe is not able to write hisself but 
he desire the writer to ask me will I permit 
the little American boy to come to sec him 
to-day. He is sick on the bed, and have the 
low spirit. He will keep safe care of the 
little boy and send him home what time I 
desire." 

"Oh, let me go Seki! Please let me gol" 
cried June. 

"But who is Meester Carre?" 

"He is the Frenchman." said June. "He 
is a soldier and has got the rheumatism. Hi- 
has goldfish too, and a sword. Oh Seki, 
please let me go ! Oh, do let me go '." 



"Ah yes," said Seki, "one leg is shorter 
than the other leg and he walks with sticks, 
and he has long white whiskers on his lip, 
ah! yes I know." 

"Can I go?" begged June, 

Seki San took a long while to think about 
- it. She coasulted her mother and the old 
man ne.xt door, and the doctor who lived at 
the corner, but by and by she came back and 
said he could go. 

" I will send you in good Tanaka's 'rikisha, 
he will take good care of you and bring you 
back at tifhn time." 

June was greatly excited over the prospect 
and stood unusually still while Seki San but- 
toned him into a starchy white blouse and 
pinned a scarlet flower in his buttonhole. 

"Can't 1 pin my flag on too?" he begged. 
and Seki who could not bear to refuse him 
anything, fastened the bit of red, white and 
blue silk on the other side. 

"Now keep your body still," cautioned 
Seki San as she put him in the jinrikisha and 
gave final instructions to Tanaka who was 
bowing and grinning and bowing again, 
"Tanaka will wail for you, and you must 
come when he calls you. Be good little boy ! 

June had never felt so important in his 
life. To be going out all by himself in a 
jinrikisha was quite like being grown up. 
The only thing lacking to make him quite 
happy was a pair of real reins that he might 
imagine he was driving a horse instead of 
a little brown man with fat bare legs and a 
big mushroom hat who looked around every 
few moments to see if he was falling out. 

They trotted along the sunny streets, pass- 
ing the temple grounds where the green and 
red Nio made ugly faces all the day, and 
where the greedy pigeons were waiting for 
more corn. They passed over the long bridge, 
skirted the parade ground, then went winding 
in and out of narrow streets until they came 
to a stretch of country road that ran beside 
a moat. 

Here there was less to see and June amused 
himself hy repeating the few Japanese words 
he had learned. "Ohayo" meant "good- 

, Google 



Alice Hegan Rice 



305 



moming," and it was great fun to call it out 
to the children they passed and see them bow 
and call back "Ohayo" in friendly greeting. 
He knew another word too, it was "Arigato," 
and it meant "thank you." He used it on 
Tanaka every time he stopped by the wayside 
to pluck a flpwer for him. Once when they 
rested June saw a queer old tree, with a very 
short body and very long arms that seemed to 
be seeing how far they could reach. June 
thought the tree must have the rheumatism 
for it was standing on crutches, and had knots 
on its limbs just like Monsieur had on his 
fingers. But the strange part of it was that 
from nearly every branch fluttered a small 
strip of paper with something written on it. 
June had seen this before on other trees, and 
he remembered that Seki San had told him 
that these little papers were poems hung 
there when the tree was covered with cherry 
blossoms. 

Now June always wanted to do everything 
anybody else did, so when they started off 
again, he decided that he would make up a 
poem to hang on the tree as they came back. 
He knew one that he had learned from a big 
boy coming over on ihe steamer, and he said 
it over softly to himself: 

" King Solomon was Iho wisest man ; 
He had some ready cash. 
The Queen of Sheeny came along 
And Solly made a mash." 

To be sure he did n't understand at all 
what it meant, but it sounded nice and funny 
and always made him laugh. 

"I 'd like to make up one out of my own 
head though," he thought, and he sat so still 
that Tanaka glanced back uneasily. 

It was a very hard matter indeed, for when 
you write a poem you have to get two words 
that sound alike, and then find something to 
write about them. It took him so long that 
by Ihe time he finished, the shaft of the jin- 
rikisha came down with a jerk and he looked 
up to find that they had stopped in front of 
a house all smothered in vines, with two in- 
quisitive little windows peering out like eyes 
behind a tangle of hair. Everything about the 
place looked poor and neglected. 

As June and Tanaka made their way up 
the path, June gave an exclamation of delight. 
There about the door were bowls and jars and 
ttasins of goldfish. Every available recep- 
tacle had been pressed into service, and big 
fish and tiny ones in every shade of radiant 
gold swam gaily about in the sunshine. 

Vol. XXXIV.-39. 



It was such an engrossing sight that June 
almost forgot to go in and speak to Monsieur 
who lay in a bed, near the door. 

"Ah, at last," cried the sick man, "My 
little friend is welcome. There, sit in the 
chair. Though I am poor, I live like a gentle- 
man. See, I have a bed and chairs and a 
table!" 

June looked about the shabby crowded 
room, at the dusty flag of France that was 
draped over the window, at the map of France 
that was pinned on the wall beside the bed, 
at the cheap pictures and ornaments and the 
soiled curtains, then he remembered Seki 
San's room, clean and sweet and airy with 
nothing in it but a vase of flowers. 

"I 'd rather sit on the floor," he said 
as he took his seat beside the bed, adding 
immediately, "I can stay until twelve 
o'clock!" 

Tanaka had gone to take a bath after his 
warm run and to drink tea at the little tea- 
house across the road. 

Monsieur lay propped up in bed with his 
bandaged hands lying helpless on the cover- 
lid. But his eyes -were soft and kind, and he 
had so many interesting things to talk about 
that June found him a most entertaining host. 
After he had shown June his sword and told 
a wonderful story about it, he returned to the 
goldfish. 

"Alas, there are but twenty-one now," he 
sighed. "Napoleon Bonaparte died on Sun- 
day, Have you seen the Grand Monarch? 
He is the great shining fellow in the crystal 
bowl. Those smaller ones are his gentlemen- 
in-waiting. Here is Marie Antoinette, is she 
not most beautiful?" 

June was introduced to every one in turn 
and had endless questions to ask in regard to 
the story of each. Monsieur was the only 
person he had ever met who always had 
another story on hand. Everything suggested 
a story, a story was hidden in every nook and 
corner of Monsieur's brain, they fairly bub- 
bled over in their eagerness to be told, and 
June was as greedy for more as the pigeons 
were greedy for corn, and he thought up new 
questions while the old ones were getting an- 

Once Monsieur recited something in verse 
to him, and that reminded June of his own 

"I made up one coming." he announced, 
"do you want to hear it?" 

Monsieur did. Monsieur was ver-y fond of 
verse, so June recited it with evident pride: 

Google 



Captain June 



[Fra. 



" Oh Gee !" said ihe tree 
That under my branches 



"Bravo!" said Monsieur, "you will be a 
poet and a soldier too!" 

■'I 'd like to write it down," said June, 
"so I can hang it on the tree." 



When the materials were collected, June 
stretched himself at full length on the floor 
and began the difficult task. 

"I never did write with a pen and ink 
afore," he confided to Monsieur, "you will 
have to tell me how to spell the big words." 

The room grew very silent and nothing was 
heard but the scratch, scratch of June's clumsy 



"To be sure, to be sure," said Monsieur, 
" you will find pen and ink in the table drawer. 
Not that!" be cried sharply as June took out 
a long sealed envelope. "Give that to me!" 

June banded the packet to Monsieur in 
some wonder and then continued his search. 

"Here 's a cork-screw," he said, "and some 
neckties, and a pipe. Here 's the pen! And 
may I use this fat tablet?" 



pen, and the occasional question which he 
asked. A strange change had come over Mon- 
sieur, his face which had been so kind and 
friendly, grew hard and scheming. He had 
drawn himself painfully up on his elbow and 
was intently watching June's small fingers as 
they formed the letters. Presently he drew the 
long envelope from under his pillow and held 
it in his hand. It was a very fat envelope 

Google 



»9»7-l 



Alice Hegan Rice 



with a long row of stamps in one comer but 
there was no address on it. Twice he put it 
back and shook his head, and twice he looked 
longingly at the map of France, and at the 
flag over the window, then he took it out again. 

" Will you write something for me now, at 
once?" he demanded in such a hard, quick 
voice that June looked up in surprise. 

"Another poem?" asked June. 

" No, a name and address on this envelope. 
Begin here and make the letters that I tell 
you. Capital M." 

"Do you like wiggles on your M'sl" asked 
June Battered by the request and anxious to 
please. 

"No matter," said Monsieur impatiently, 
"we must finish before twelve o'clock. Now 
— small o — " 

June put his tongue out, and hunching up 
his shoulders and breathing hard proceeded 
with his laborious work. It was hard enough 
to keep the lines from running uphill and the 
letters from growing bigger and bigger, but 
those difficulties were small compared to the 
task of guiding a sputtering, leaking pen. 
Once or twice he forgot and tried to rub out 
with the other end of it and the result was 
discouraging. When a period very large and 
black was placed after the final word, he 
handed the letter dubiously to Monsieur. 

"Does it spell anything?" he asked. Mon- 
sieur eagerly read the scrawling address. 
"Ves, yes," he answered, "now put it inside 
your blouse, so. When you get home wait 
until nobody is looking, then put it in the mail- 
box. Do you understand? When nobody is 
looking! Nobody must know, nobody must 
suspect, do you understand?" 

"Oh, I know, it 's a secret!" cried June in 
delight, "i had a secret with mother for a 
whole week once. I would n't tell anything 
if I said I would n't, would you?" 

June was looking very straight at Monsieur, 
his round eyes shining with honesty, but Mon- 
sieur's eyes shifted uneasily. 

"I would never betray a trust," he said 
slowly, "if I were trusted. But they be- 
lieved lies, they listened to tales that the beg- 
garly Japanese carried. They have made me 
what I am." 

June was puzzled, "Who did?" he asked. 

But ifonsieur did not heed him; he was 
breathing quickly and the perspiration stood 
out on his forehead. 

"And you will be very careful and let no 
one see you mail it," he asked eagerly, "and 
never, never speak of it to anybody?" 



307 

"Course not," said June stoutly, "that 
would n't be like a soldier, would it? I am 
going to be a soldier, like you and Father, 
when I grow up." 

Monsieur shuddered: "No, not like me. I 
am no longer a soldier. I am a miserable 
wretch. I — I am not fit to live." His voice 
broke and he threw his arm across his eyes. 

June looked off into the farthest corner of 
the room and pretended not to see. He felt 
very sorry for Monsieur but he could think of 
nothing to say. When he did speak, he asked 
if goldfish had ears. 

When the noon gun sounded from the pa- 
rade grounds, Tanaka came trotting to the 
door with his jinrikisha, smiling and bowing 
and calling softly; "Juna San! Juna San!" 

June gathered his treasures together, a new 
lead pencil, an old sword hilt, some brass but- 
tons and best of all a tiny goldfish in a glass 
jar. 

"Good-bye," he said as he stood by the bed 
with his hands full, "I am coming back to- 
morrow if Seki will let me;" then a second 
thought struck him and he added, "I think 
you look like a soldier anyhow." 

And Monsieur smiled, and stiffening his 
back lifted a bandaged hand in feeble salute. 

Ctr AFTER VII 

"Seki San, have you got a big enderlope?" 
June asked the question from the door-step 
where he was sitting with his chin in his hand 
and a very worried look in his face. 

It was two days after his visit to Monsieur 
and the big letter was still buttoned in his 
blouse. He had started to mail it as soon as 
he reached home, but just as he was ready to 
drop it in the box, he discovered that every 
"s" turned the wrong way! It was a dread- 
ful blow to his pride, for the rest of the 
address was quite imposing with big flourish- 
ing capitals that stood like generals over the 
small letters, and dots that would have surely 
put out all the "i's" had they fallen on them. 
He never could send Monsieur's letter with 
the "s's" looking backward, he must try to 
set them straight again. 

So, very carelessly, in order not to excite 
suspicion, he asked Seki for pen and ink. He 
had written many letters to his mother and 
father, but always in pencil, and Seki hesi- 
tated about giving him ink. 

She said: "Our ink not like your American 
ink, live and quick as water, it hard like paint. 
We not use pen, but brush like which you 

V Google 



Captain June 



308 



write pictures. I sink it more better you use 
pencil." 

But June insisted and when he gained his 
point, he carried the small box into the garden 
and took out his letter. The jar containing 
his goldfish was close by. so he dipped bi-i 
stick of paint into the water and rubbed it 
vigorously on the paint box. At the last mo- 
ment just as his brush was poised in the air. 
he bad a moment of misgiving, "maybe 's's' 
do turn that way !" he said, but the brush full 
of paint was a temptation not to be resisted so 
he took each little "s" by its tail and turned 
it inside out. The paper was soft and thin 
and took the ink like blotting paper. June 
watched with dismay as the lines spread into 
ugly blots, and when he tried to make the 
letters plainer he only made the blots bigger 
until they all seemed to join hands and go 
dancing over the envelope in fiendish glee at 
his discomfort. 

For two days he had tried to think of a 
way out of the difficulty but before he could 
find one he would get inieresled in something 
else and forget about the letter. It was only 
when it felt stiff inside of his blouse that he 
remembered and then he would stop playing 
and try again to solve the problem. At last 
in desperation he appealed to Seki San for an 
envelope. 

"It is not so much big." she said, bringing 
out a long narrow envelope and a roll <if 
paper. "Why you want to write such big 
letter to your mother? She coming home 

"It is n't big enough," said June fretfully, 
then an idea struck him. "Seki, 1 want to go 
see Monsieur to-day." 

Seki San sat down on the step beside him 
and shook her head positively: 

"No, no," she said, "not to-day. nor to- 
morrow, nor any day. He is not a good man, 
I made mistakes in letting you go." 

"He (V a good man!" cried June indig- 
nantly, "he told me stories, and gave me lots 
of things." 

"1 tell you 'bout him June," said Seki San. 
"One time Monsieur very skilful smart man 
in Tokyo. He write pictures of the forts 
and show the Japanese how to find coast in 
time of war. He know more plenty than any- 
body about the coast and the mines. Then he 
is not behave right, and get sent out of the 
seri'ice, and he get sick in the hands so he 
can make no more maps, and he come down 
here and live all alone by himself. That was 
long time ago. but yesterday a high up mes- 



senger come from Tokyo, and asked for Mon- 
sieur Carre. The Kmperor have desire to 
buy his old maps and reports, and get his 
help in making new plans. When the mes- 
senger come, they say Monsieur fall back on 
the bed very white and afraid, and sav he will 
not give up the papers. Then messenger say 
maybe he has sold his papers to a foreign 
country and he get very much angry, and say 



if Monsieur Carre do not give the papers 
in twenty-four hours, he will have him ar- 
rested and take him to Tokyo. Still Monsieur 
keep the tight lips, and a guard is wailing 
outside his house." 

With troubled eyes, June listened to ever\" 
word. "Did he sell the papers, Seki?" he 
asked anxiously, 

" He will not say," said Seki, "they say he 
will not say, but it was a bad, wicked act if 
he sold our secrets, and he may die for it I" 



•9orl 



Alice Hegan Rice 



June stirred restlessly, and the packet in his 
blouse caught in his belt. He put up his hand 
to straighten it, and as he did so, a startled 
look of inquiry passed over his face. Could 
those papers in the long envelope have any- 
thing to do with Monsieur's present trouble? 
Why had Monsieur not wanted him to tell? 
Had his mistake about the "s's" had anything 
to do with it all? The secret which at first 
bad seemed such a mysterious and delightful 
possession suddenly grew into a great and ter- 
rible burden that he longed to cast at Seki's 
feet and ask her to share. 

But the thought of telling what he knew, 
nei'er crossed his mind. He had given his 
word, and he felt that to break it would be 
to forfeit forever his chance of becoming a 
soldier. But something must be done, he 
must go to Monsieur and tell him the truth 



"Seki," he said persuasively, 
sick in bed, don't you think it would be nice 
for me to take him a little cake?" 

" \'ou can not ever go there any more," re- 
peated Seki San positively. " I did a mis- 
takes in letting you go." 

In vain June pleaded, every argument that 
he could think of he brought to bear, but Seki 
was firm. By and by he began to cry, at first 
softly, begging Ix-tween the sobs, then when 
he got angry he cried very loud and declared 
over and over that he would go. 

Seki San was amazed at his naughtiness. 
It was the first time since his mother left that 



she bad known him to be disobedient. ^V■hen 
persuasion and coaxing proved in vain, she 
carried him into the house and carefully clos- 
ing the paper screens left bim alone. Here 
he lay on the floor and cried louder than ever. 
Seki San and her mother and the old man 
next door stood on the outside and peeped 
through the cracks, gravely discussing the sit- 
uation. Even Tomi sniffed uneasily, and gave 
sharp unhappy barks. 

After ever and ever so long the cries grew 
fainter and gradually ceased, and Seki peep- 
ing around the screen whispered to the others 
to be very still as he was going to sleep. 

June lay quiet on his face, but he was not 
asleep. Once in a while he opened his eyes 
a very little and peeped out, then he closed 
them quickly and listened. By and by he 
heard Seki go back to her work, and the old 
man ne.vt door hobble across the garden. 
Inch by inch June crawled over the mats until 
he reached the screen which he carefully slid 
back. After waiting for a few breathless 
minutes, he reached out and got his shoes 
from the door-step and put them on. Back of 
the house he could hear Seki singing at her 
work, and not six feet away Tomi lay snooz- 
ing in the sun. Softly and cautiously he 
slipped out of the house, across the strip of 
a garden where all the leaves seemed to be 
shaking their heads at him, through a narrow 
passageway, then out of the gate that divided 
the little world he knew from the vast un- 
known world that lay beyond. 



The Pet Bear 

By U. Francis Duff 



Behold our pet cinnamon bear 
In his dress-suit of long, tawny hair. 
He was captured when small. 
But has now grown quite tall — 
Don't you think we 're a most friendly pair ? 



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Longfellow's "Ebon Throne" 

By J. L. Harbour 



The one hundredth anniversary of the birth 
of Longfellow, which occurs on the twenty- 
seventh of this month, will remind many men 
and women of a delightful event in the poet's 
life,— an event in which these men and women 
had a part when they were children in Cam- 
bridge. The great poet's love for children was 
one of the fine and beautiful traits in his charac- 
ter. He was never known to be unkind to a 
child. He often inconvenienced himself that he 
might oblige children and give them pleasure. 
He was wonderfully kind and patient to all the 
boys and girls who brought him their auto- 
graph books in which to write his name. The 
last visitors he received in his home a short 
time before he died, were two boys from Boston 
who came to have him write in their books ; and 
one of the last letters he ever wrote was to a 
little girl who had sent him a poem she had 
composed about him on his last birthday. 

Many of Longfellow's most popular poems 
are founded on real events, real places, real 
people and real things. His " village black- 
smith " was a real man in Cambridge, and the 
"spreading chestnut tree" under which his 
smithy stood was a very fine and old one that 
Longfellow loved, for he was a great lover of 
trees. When the street in Cambridge in which 
the " spreading chestnut tree " stood was about 
to be widened by the city, Longfellow pro- 
tested to the utmost against its being cut down. 
His protest, however, did not keep it from 
being felled, much to the regret of Long- 
fellow. Then some good friends of his had a 
"happy thought." It occurred to them that 
it would be a pleasant thing if the children 
would have a chair made of some of the wood 
of the old chestnut tree and make a present 
of it to Mr. Longfellow on his approaching 
, seventy -second birthday. The children of 
Cambridge fell in very heartily with the idea 
and nearly one thousand of them gave ten 
cents each to pay for having the chair made, 
and it is a very handsome chair indeed. It 
was designed by the poet's nephew. The 
wood was ebonized so that it was a dead black. 
The presenting of the chair was what children 
always enjoy, a "surprise present." Mr. 
Longfellow did not know anything about it 
until he found the gift in his study on the 
morning of the 27th of February, in the year 
1879, and as that was twenty-eight years ago 



the boys and girls who gave their dimes for 
the chair are now men and women. 

Mr. Longfellow was very much touched by 
this proof of the affection of the children for 
him, and he conveyed his thanks to them in a 
poem entitled " From My Arm Chair." Here 
are several stanzas of the poem : 

Am I a king, that I shoald call my own 

This splendid ebon throne ? 
Or by what reason, or what right divine 

Can I proclaim it mine 7 
Only, perhaps, by right divine of song 

II may to me belong : 
Only because the spreading chestnut tree 

Of old was sung by roe. 

And then, dear children, have ye made tar me 

This day a jubilee. 
And to my more than threescore years and ten 

Brought back my youth again. 
The heart hath its own memory, like the mind. 



Only your love and your remembrance could 

Give life to this dead wood. 
And make these branches, leafless now so long. 

Blossom again in song. 

The chair is beautifully carved in designs of 
horse-chestnut leaves and blossoms and burrs. 
Around the seat in carved letters is this verse 
from " The Village Blacksmith : " 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

Under the dark green leather cushion of 
the chair is a polished brass plate on which 
are engraved these words : 



The Author 
The Village Blacksmith 

This chair, made from the wood of the spreading 

An expression of grateful regard and veneration by 

THE CHILDREN OP" CAMBRIDGE, 

Who with their friends join in best wishes and 

CODgratalatioDs 



tizcd by Google 



Longfellow's *' Ebon Throne '* 3ii 

Mr. Longfellow gave orders that every " I went one day with papa and mamma to 
child who came to his house to see the chair call on the poet Longfellow, to pay our re- 
should be allowed to do so, and for days his spects to him, you know, at his beautiful 
house was overrun with boys and girls, all of home in Cambridge. He took us into his 

study and entertained 
us most delightfully. 
He asked me to sit 
in the big arm-chair 
givenhimbytheCam- 
bridge school chil- 
dren. HetalVedtome 
about the tree, and 
the chair, and the 
school children, and 
young girls, and his 
own daughters, and 
then he told me I 
must sit straight. 
Just to think of that! 
after I had been 
told the very same 
thing scores of times 
by those who love 
me and have my good 
at heart, that I must 
hear it from (he great 
poet Longfellow be- 
fore I paid the least 
heed. I said to my- 
self then and there, 
' I will sit straight 
now. No one shall 
ever speak to me for 
stooping again,' and 
I have done as I told 
myself 1 would." 

Mr. Longfellow 
died on the afternoon 
of March 24, in the 
year 1882 and one 
maysee his grave with 
the simple monument 
above it in the beau- 
tiful cemetery of 
Mount Auburn, not 
very far from his 
whom wished to sit in the chair for a moment, own home, Craigie House, in Cambridge. 
The poet had printed copies of his poem Here he hes with Lowell and Holmes and 
about the \-illage blacksmith, and each child Agassiz and Phillips Brooks and Charles Sum- 
was given a copy of the poem. One little ner and all that is mortal of many other great 
girl wrote this account of her visit : men, who in life were his neighbors or friends. 



d by Google 



The Coasting Season Opens in Rabbitboro' 



Drawn by Harriton Cady 



d by Google 



THE AAACE 

BY THOMAS W. LLOYD 



At the right of the Speaker's deslc 
hall of the House of Representatives 
Capitol at Washington stands a large cyli 
drical pedestal, made of highly-polished 
green marble. When the House is called 
to order each day, the sergeant-at-arms, or 
one of his deputies, places upon this ped- 
estal the mace, which is the symbol of 
aathority in the House. When the body 
adjourns he removes it, and Iceeps it in 
safety until the House meets again. 

This mace is of very ancient and honor- 
able origin. Under the old Roman repub- 
lic, the magistrates passed on foot from 
one place to another. In each stopping- 
place they set up a little court, where they 
administered justice, tried public offenders, 
and imposed pendties and punishment. 
Each of these magistrates was attended by 
a small body of men known as lUtors, whose 
duty it was to make way for the officers of 
the law, preserve order, make arrests, and 
inflict punishment on condemned citizens. 
Each of these lictors carried with him a 
bunch of rods tied together with thongs 
and having an ax bound to the outside of 




i immediately accepted by all. It was, 
1 effect, his badge of office. The English 
form of the y^<-» was slightly changed, in 
that the ax was placed inside of the bundle 
of rods, with the blade protruding from 
the top. 

The great councils of the early Saxons 
gradually developed into one general body 
which in the fourteenth century became 
known as the House of Commons. In all 
these earlier councils, the use of the fasces 
was continued, but it then came to be 
known as the Mace, which has remained 
as the emblem of legislative authority in 
that body down to the present day. 

The House of Representatives of the 
United States was modeled closely after 
the House of Commons by the framers of 
our Constitution, and the usage of the mace 
was borrowed from the English custom. 
The first mace adopted by the House was 
destroyed by fire when the British burned 
the Capitol in 1814. From 1814 until 1842 
a mace of painted wood did service, but in 
the latter year the present mace was made, 
after the model of the original one. It is 



it. The thongs were used for scourging and about three feet in height, and consists of a 

the ax for beheading. Sentences imposed by bundle of ebony rods, bound together with a 

the magistrates were at once carried out. band of silver, after the fashion of the fasces. 

These bundles of rods were known as fasces, From the center of this bundle of rods protrudes 

and in time came to^e symbols of authority a silver stem, on which is a silver globe four or 



which every citizen bad to respect. When 
the magistrates passed along the thorough- 
fares the lictois preceded them, bearing the 
fasces aloft, and the assembled citizens i 
mediately made way for them. When any 
disorder arose near-by, the lictors appeared 
with the fasces, upon the sight of which 
quiet was instantly restored. No Roman 
citizen ever ventured to question the au- 
thority of this emblem. 

When the Romans conquered Britain, the 



five inches in diameter. On this globe is an 
eagle of solid silver with outspread wings. 
This mace is the emblem of authority in 
the House ; and when, as sometimes hap- 
pens, that body becomes unruly and seems 
I be quite beyond the Speaker's control, 
the sergeant-at-arms appears, and lifting 
the mace from its pedestal, bears it up and 
down the aisles of the hall. Instantly 
every member sinks into his seat, order is 
restored at once, and absolute silence pre- 



use of the fasces as a symbol was brought original vails. Such is the respect in which the 
with them, and, like many other Roman cus- f°^^ maceisheldl Any member who disregards 
toins, remained with the British people. the mace is in "contempt," and is liable 

While it was no longer used for inflicting pun- to censure, or even expulsion. Thus the mem- 
ishment, it continu^ to be used as a symbol bers of the House, being themselves lawmakers, 
by the early English magistrates, and when an very properly give to the whole country the 
officer appeared carrying tht fasces his authority example of respect for law and auth^y. 



Vol- XXXIV.- 



./ Google 



^Ik)(3 JLjDQCyjttQDiiainlfi S 




By Kent Packard 

[Nonsense Verse) 
HILE off British North America, a-cniising 
on the Flame, 
Lieutenant Gadzooks Peters-Brown, in search of noble game, 
Was landed on the beach, where he could shoot until he 

tired. 
For hopes of killing grizzly bears had oft his soul inspired. 
And so, equipped, he started out, to slaughter all in sight ; 
But as his martial form appeared, the birds flew ofl? in fright. 

Poor Gadzooks started after them ('t was warm as warm could be), 
Alas, his legs were of the kind that 's classified as " sea." % 

And soon he paused and sat him down (the sun was very hot), 
" JJ~-'-- - fl— '- -' •-■-J a.^ .,j. jjjg gpjjj 




Lieut. Gadzooks raised his gun, and 

fired off every shell, 
The birds, unheeding, flew along, — 
the tale is sad to tell— 
For not a shot had injured them, they 

went their way at ease, 
But all around the earth was green 
with leaves from near-by trees. 
Upon this instant came a roar, the 

beach began to shake, 
Amonster beast came charging down, 
Gadzooks' brave heart did quake ; 
For not a shot was in his gun, he had 

no time to load. 
And so he sprinted for his life upon that 
sea-girt road. 

vGoogIc 



ij,,r„',i„,Google 



flit ^|»-to-date pussy-cat. 



Digitized by Google 



Abbie Ann 

By George Madden M ardn 

Author of (he "Enaay Lou" Sloiiei 



lUaitrated by C. M. Relrea 



Chapter VIII 



The youngest pupil began to like school well 
enough — that is, all but the weekly attend- 
ance at church. Now ministers came seldom 
indeed to Coal City, and even on these oc- 
casions Abbie's father let her go home be- 
fore sermon time, and even carried pepper- 
mint drops in his vest pocket for her during 
the time she was there. But there is no one 
at boarding-school to remember you are such 
a very, very little girl — how would there be? 

Every Sunday the girls were taken, in pro- 
cession, two by two, to Miss Owsley's own 
church, where they occupied a number of 
pews reserved for them. 

One very warm Sunday morning in late 
October, Abbie Ann took her place in the 
rear of the procession unwillingly enough ; she 
walked with Maria, they being the smallest. 

The sun was hot and the youngest pupil 
followed the line in with a sigh of relief. 
Being the last, she and Maria sat in the rear 
row of the school pews. 

It all seemed long to the youngest pupil. 
She yawned, she stretched her small legs, 
which dangled wearily between seat and 
floor, she thought of the mountains, and of 
father and Mr. McEwan, and of ihe merry 
day they might be having together. 

Wriggling she twisted her handkerchief in 
her hands, which brought to mind a game she 
and Mr. McBwan sometimes played. In a 
moment she had knotted one of the comers 
of the handkerchief, then thrusting her small 
finger into the knot and adjusting the skirts 
of the handkerchief around about her little 
fist, forthwith her miniature puppet began to 
nod and dance. 

Abbie Ann looked at Maria, who follow- 
ing Abbie's glance down to her hand, shook 
her head and looked shocked. The solemn 
puppet nodded to Maria wickedly. Maria 
gave a giggle. 

Suddenly Abbie Ann's puppet was a ghost 
and came stalking stiffly toward Maria, who 
gave a little shriek, hastily muffled, it is 
true, but not before whack! came something 
on Abbie Ann's head, and both looked up 



hastily into the faces of two old ladies, two 
pompous and line old ladies, two very well- 
dressed old ladies, whose heads had been bent 
forward in solemnity. They were now eyeing 
Abbie Ann severely, and the one who had 
tapped her on the head with a fan, shook that 
article in a threatening manner. 

Abbie Ann looked up. Now Abbie Ann 
with her glowing cheeks, her wealth of hair, 
her flashes of smile and storm and frown, her 
inquiring brown eyes, was much more than 
pretty even though she did not know it her- 
self. Had any one ever seen the little girl, 
that person would be apt to remember about it. 

Abbie looked around. The old lady with 
the fan sat up suddenly and looked at the 
youngest of Miss Owsley's pupils wonderingly. 

Abbie Ann felt the gaze go all through 
her, as it were; she knew she had been 
naughty, she knew she had been reprimanded, 
and in church, and by strangers. Maria's 
face was crimson, and she looked as though 
she might be going to cry. 

Abbie felt a sudden hatred of every one 
arotmd her, of school and of everything con- 
nected with it, for Abbie could not stand to be 
in the wrong. She buried her face in the 
cushioned seat and began to sob. 

Maria pulled her. "Miss Walsh is looking," 
she whispered. 

Everybody seemed to be looking at her, the 
girls in front turned around. 

Abbie hated to be looked at, she hated to 
be pitied, and she gave a sudden sob of rage. 

Miss Walsh, turning too, looked at little 
Miss Ingram, and little Miss Ingram, on 
whom all unpleasant tasks seemed to fall, per- 
haps because she let them, rose and beckoned 
to the youngest pupil. 

Eyed by her neighbors, that small person 
stood up, and Maria, tearful herself, handed 
her her prayer-book, and disgraced and over- 
whelmed, small Abbie Ann crept out of the 
pew, and was led down the long aisle and out 
of the church, 

It is something of an ordeal to walk down 
an aisle like that. When they got out, little 
Miss Ingram's face was scarlet, and her lips 
were pressed tightly, and she turned the young-VQip 



318 



Abbie Ann 



[Fu.. 



est pupil in the right direction by rather a 
sharp grasp on her shoulder. The youngest 
pupil looked up, startled, but Miss Ingram 
made no remarks and the walk home was in 
silence. 

Miss Henrietta, who had remained at home 
because of a cold, looked grave when Abbie 
Ann was led in. It was at times such as 
this that Miss Owsley generally came in 
touch with her pupils. 

Miss Ingram tried to explain; she had 
guessed at what had happened from the little 
she had seen, which was Maria whispering in 
a frightened way to Abbie Ann. 

"Abbie Ann," she reported, "had mis- 
treated Maria Mason in church." 

Abbie Ann could n't believe her ears; she 
turned on little Miss Ingram like a fury. She 
stamped her foot, she tore her hat off and 
flung it across the room; that the elastic 
snapped and stung her chin did not help 
things either. "I did n'tl" she raved, "I 
did n't I I hate school ! I 'm going home to 
my father — " And Abbie Ann, brought to 
a finish only because she choked, flung her- 
self on the floor and burst into tears. 

Miss Henrietta motioned the horrified Miss 
Ingram out, and waited until she was gone. 
Then she spoke, and her voice was changed so 
that it made Abbie, even in her rage, look up. 
Miss Henrietta's face, too, was as changed as 
her voice. 

"I shall not try to talk to you until you 
can act like a human being. Does rage con- 
vert you into something lower than human 
that you should grovel? Get up and go to 
your room." And she turned about to the 
window while Abbie Ann crept out. 

Only that sad little soul knew what the 
next hours in her room meant. Miss Hen- 
rietta had shown Abbie Ann to herself. All 
the rest was forgotten in the memory of that 
question : " Does rage convert you into some- 
thing lower than a human, that you should 
grovel ?" 

The youngest pupil had never heard the 
word grovel before, but somehow she knew 
what it meant. Abbie Ann had been blessed 
with a large and comfortable opinion of her- 
self, and this view was upsetting. Nor do 
Abbie Anns have to be older than nine to 
know when a thing is true. Perhaps the 
statements made by the lady visitor to Coal 
City were true too, which was what made 
them also unpleasant. 

The day passed; no one came near the 
youngest pupil except Martha, who put a tray 



on the table silently, took a look around, and 
went out. 

What of Maria? Abbie Ann's heart 
yearned for Maria, the comforter, the coun- 
selor, the steady-going Maria. The last she 
had seen of Maria, her pink little cheeks were 
wet with tears for Abbie. 

Abbie, remembering, wept less violently, 
and even got up and investigated the tray. 
There was turkey and cranberries, and — yes, 
chocolate pudding. Abbie Ann's heart soft- 
ened to the bigness of Miss Henrietta in the 
matter and she wept some more. Not that 
she meant to touch it! Abbie was resolved 
that Martha Lunn should carry that tray out 
untouched, as it came in. 

Abbie Ann looked a little shamefaced when 
Martha Lunn came for the tray; we hate to 
acknowledge to ourselves that we are not built 
for the bigger r61es in life. 

But Martha, having met some Abbie Anns 
in her time before, smiled grimly, which hard- 
ened that little person's heart again, so that 
she felt she hated them all, even — yes, even 
Maria. 

But late in the afternoon the sun streamed 
in, low and level, a moment before setting, 
and oddly enough it made the youngest pupil 
cry some more, but with no rage in the tears 
now. 

A moment later there came a tap, and the 
door opened to Maria's touch. Now Maria 
might have had her own cause for grievance, 
having been shut out of her room for no 
shortcomings of her own. But she only 
looked anxious. 

"Abbie," said Maria, and the very tones 
of her anxious little voice brought cranfort, 
"Miss Owsley says you are to come out, — 
it 's supper." 

A disheveled little figure arose from the 
bed, and flung itself upon Maria. "Oh," 
said Abbie Ann, steeped in repentance, as it 
were, "I '11 never take more than my share 
of the pegs, Maria, never any more." 

Then before Maria could reply Abbie Ann 
was gone. 

Miss Henrietta was reading. Now it is to 
be noted that the stout, portly lady capped 
with the lace square upon her white hair was 
"Miss Henrietta" to but one person in her 
school, and to the rest she represented Miss 
Owsley. 

There came a tap at her door, and a pant- 
ing Abbie Ann burst in and flun^ herself 
upon the portly bosom of Miss Henrietta. 
"I 'm sorrv, I 'm sorry," sobbed Abbie Ann. 



I9<^-1 



George Madden Marda 



319 



Now doubtless Miss Owsley should have 
reprimanded such impulsiveness ; but she 
did n't. She lifted the plump little person 
up to her lap and let her cry there. Who 
knows but secretly it was dear to her to com- 
fort the repentant youngest pupil? 

When Martha Lunn came in a moment 
later. Miss Owsley put the youngest pupil 
down a little hastily and suggested that ^e 
owed something to Miss Ingram. Abbie went 
slowly out; she would go to Miss Ingram be- 
cause Miss Henrietta said so, but she did n't 
love Miss Ingram. 

But Martha Lunn made pretence of brush- 
ing up the already very clean hearth. 

"They 've got a tempestuous, stormy road 
to travel, I 've al'ays noticed — ted-heads 
have," remarked Martha, incidentally. 

Chapter IX 

On the following Friday, Miss Owsley sent 
for Abbie Ann. 

"Instead of walking with the school this 
afternoon," she said to the inquiring kittle 
girl who appeared, "I wish you to go with 
me to call upon some ladies who knew your 
mother." 

"Ves 'm," said Abbie, politely, ■ for the re- 
pentant uplift was still upon her. She won- 
dered who the ladies might be, but it was not 
hers, this proper little girl's part, to ask. 
One almost might have looked to see her little 
hands folded, so chastened was the deport- 
ment of the youngest pupil. 

Miss Henrietta, noticing the air of virtuous 
attention, turned suddenly away; was it be- 
cause of sudden laughter that her shoulders 
shook? 

And Abbie Ann, departing, put on her best 
cashmere, with the aid of Martha Lunn, but 
not without a sigh, chastened though she was, 
for the glories of a banished wardrobe that 
she knew of. This done, and hat and cloak 
on, she went and knocked at Miss Henri- 
etta's door. 

That lady viewed her critically, "Tell 
Martha to bring your brush," she said. And 
when Martha came, she had her brush Abbie's 
hair all over again. Now Martha had an ar- 
tist's pride in her handiwork. She did n't 
see anything wanting as it was, but good- 
naturedly she plied the brush with vigorous 
hand again, then slipped a forefinger in a 
curl and displayed it. "Ekal to a good brass 
polish, that shine is," she conmiented. 

At last Miss Henrietta seemed satisfied 



and they went down the steps together, but 
she seemed quite nervous and unlike herself, 
all the way. It was not far, half a dozen 
squares perhaps, into the older part of the 
city, but Miss Owsley had settled Abbie's 
hat, and retouched her curls several times, 
perhaps because of the freakish wind of the 
bleak November day, before they stopped at 
a red brick house with white trimmings and 
heavy white shutters. 

"Now, Abbie," she said, "try to be a little 
lady." 

This remark was disconcerting, it put Abbie 
Ann out of conceit with her recent efforts and 
made her a little sulky. They went up the 
steps together, the stout old lady and the 
plump little girl. 

An elderly woman in cap and apron opened 
the door. 

"Well, Eliza," said Miss Owsley. 

"How do you do, ma'am," said Eliza, 
but it was at the little girl with the burnished 
curls she was looking. Eliza seemed ner- 
vous too. "In the library, please," she said, 

"Very well, Eliza. Now my dear," this 
to Abbie Ann, "try to behave prettily," which 
was again an unfortunate way of putting it. 

Miss Henrietta led the way. 

Vaguely wondering what was expected of 
her, Abbie Ann followed down the hall, and 
through a curtained doorway- 
Two tall figures arose in the half gloom 
and the first greetings over, Miss Henrietta 
Owsley drew a little girl, with burnished 
curls, from behind her with the remark, "I ■ 
have brought her, you see." 

Tall, imposing, bewilderingly bedecked, 
there stood the two old ladies who had 
frowned on Abbie Ann and had witnessed her 
disgrace in church. 

If there was room for any thought in that 
overwhelmed little sinner's heart, it was that 
she might not be remembered. 

The tallest and straightest of the old ladies 
spoke. "So it is the child I was obliged to 
correct in church last Sunday." 

The three elderly dames gazed down on 
the one little girl. 

"Of all disappointing things — " the little 
girl heard Miss Owsley say. Then that per- 
son turned to the other, the more kindly-look- 
ing lady. "Well, Ann, and have you no word 
of welcome for Evelyn's child, either?" 

That lady rustled forward. She had been 
standing in the shadow of the other. Her 
fineries rustled like the wind through the dry- 
leafed boughs at end of autumn. C^^OOoIc 



Abbie Ann 



(Ft... 



She took the little girl's hand. "What is 
your name, my dear?" she asked, somewhat 
timidly. 

"Abbie Ann Richardson," said the owner 
of the name, faintly, and in a voice she cer- 
tainly never had heard before. 

At that the lady dropped her hand sud- 
denly, and the other old lady said, quite 
fiercely, "Where did you get your name?" 

"My sponsors," actually trembled on the 
dazed youngest pupil's lips, she having newly 
reached that point in a recently introduced 
thing called catechism, but Miss Owsley's 
hand upon her shoulder recalled her in time 
and she said she did not know. 

"Do you not know for whom you are 
named?" persisted the old lady, eyeing the 
plump little girl keenly. 

"No, ma'am," said Abbie Ann, swallow- 
ing hard. 

"I told you that the child knows nothing," 
said Miss Owsley, tartly. 

The lady frowned. "You are named for 
me," she announced abruptly, "for me and 
for this iady," and she brought the other old 
lady, who had melted away behind her again, 
forward by a tap with her fan. "We are 
your great-aunts. I am your great-aunt, Abbie 
Norris, and this is your great-aunt, Ann 
Norria." 

She paused and seemed to wait for the ef- 
fect of her words. She could not have been 
disappointed. The little girl gasped and 
turned toward Miss Owsley helplessly. She 
remembered afterward wondering why great- 
aunts should be so tall and so terrifying. 

Miss Owsley looked flushed and annoyed. 
"What is the use — " she began. 

"Exactly," interrupted Aunt Abbie Norris. 
"What is the use of all this mystery?" 

"Oh, sister [" said Aunt Ann Norris. Then 
she turned to Miss Owsley. She looked 
frightened and flustered. "Sit down, dear 
Henrietta," she begged, for everybody had 
been standing. 

"I knew who she was when she looked up 
in church," announced Aunt Abbie Norris. 
"She has every Norris feature. It is of no 
use to lay plots for me, Henrietta. I did not 
know she was in the city, but the moment she 
looked up, I knew her." 

"Sister!" cried Aunt Ann. "And you did 
not say a word when Henrietta came to ask 
if she might bring her!" 

Aunt Abbie looked a trifle disturbed. " I 
did not want to spoil Henrietta's plans," she 
said, and turned on her little niece suddenly. 



The small person was sitting uneasily on 
the edge of her chair and at Aunt Abbie's 
sudden movement she almost fell off. 

'.'How did you happen to come here to 
school?" Aunt Abbie demanded, and she 
said it with the air of one who announces, "I 
have you now." 

Abbie Ann caught her breath. Miss Hen- 
rietta gave her a little touch. "It was on ac- 
count of the flat-car," said Abbie Ann in a 
high voice, desperately. 

"What?" demanded Aunt Abbie. 

"The flat-car," said Abbie Ann, trying 
not to cry. 

The door opened and Eliza came in with a 
tray on which were glasses and a plate of 
cakes. 

"You may take a cake, Abbie Ann," said 
Miss Henrietta, when the tray was passed. 
The small person took one and held to it 
miserably. 

"Now what was that about a flat-car?" de- 
manded Aunt Abbie. 

But Aunt Ann, at that moment, timidly 
called the little niece to her. One almost 
would have said the, too, was afraid of Aunt 
Abbie. 

Little Abbie went to Aunt Ann's side. She 
even looked up after Aunt Abbie turned and 
went on talking to Miss Henrietta. This 
great-aunt's hair was soft gray, where Aunt 
Abbie's was hard gray, though both wore it 
alike, much waved and crimped. 

It was at this point that Aunt Ann turned 
and took off Abbie Ann's hat, and drew her 
against her knee, "Now, my dear," she said, 
with a sudden gentleness, "tell me what it 
was about a flat-car." 

Thus encouraged, Abbie Ann told of her 
adventures on that object, and of Jim and the 
girl at the hotel, and of the ring, and of how 
she and father had agreed to do their duty, 
and so she had come to Miss Henrietta to 
school. And forgetting the terrifying Aunt 
Abbie, fortunately behind her, Abbie Ann 
told it to Aunt Ann quite naturally and at 
the end began to eat her cake. 

But here Miss Henrietta, who had been 
with Miss Abbie talking, arose. "Tell your 
aunts good-by," she said. 

Abbie Ann knowing but one meaning of 
the command, put her plump little face up to 
Aunt Ann willingly enough, but went over 
to Aunt Abbie hesitatingly. 

Aunt Abbie stooped and touched the little 
forehead with a hasty, "There, there." 

Eliza saw them to the door, but as they 



I907.1 



George Madden Martin 



321 



nas Aunt Ann. 
looking flurried and unhappy. One would n't 
have thought one old lady could have had on 
so many chains and chatelaines and pins and 
rings and trinkets. Abbie Ann loved chains 



: halK 



s Miss Ann went in hastily, 
and the little girl with (he 
burnished curls went down the steps. It 
would seem as if all that burnishing had been 
for naught. 

Miss Henrietta seemed most decidedly put 



and rings and trinkets herself, and 
upward at Aunt Ann's. 

" Vou must not mind, dear 
Aunt .\nn was saying in a hurried way; "you 
know how much she thinks of you behind it 



all.' 



H'm," said Miss Henrietta. Perhaps she 
as wondering now why she had done it. 
" H'm'm," said Miss Henrietta. 
" Humph," said a. voice grimly, from within 
Vol. XXXIV.-41. 



out over something. Abbie Ann had too 
guilty a fear it was connected with her be- 
havior at church to gather courage to open 
her mouth. They trudged along in silence. 

After a long time Abbie Ann spoke. Much 
as there was she wanted to know, one thing 
lay nearest. "What is it," she asked, "a 
feafiire/" 

"Feature?" repeated Miss Henrietta, a lit- 
tle sharply perhaps — "feature? Whatdp you 



vCoogle 



mean? Oh — to be sure, — it 's some part of a great -aunt when she gets old?" Abbie Ann 
your face, a person's nose perhaps, — mouth, wondered. 



forehead, hair,— 

Abbie Ann seemed to draw a relieved 
breath. "Aunt Abbie's hair is gray," she 
said. 

"It used to be red," said Miss Henrietta. 



I hope not," said Maria decidedly, for 
Maria had an auntie of her own. 

"What made her so cross do you suppose?" 
queried the wondering Abbie Ann, si ill 
dwelling on Great-aunt Abbie. 



The rest of the way was in silence, heavy 

As they reached their own door. Miss Hen- 
rietta spoke again. " I prefer your father 
should explain why you have not known your 
aunts before. You may tell him of this 
visit when you write." 

Then they went in. 

Abbie Ann hurried to Maria, who listened 
to it alt with eager interest. "Is an aunt 

{To tin 



Maria had n 

"But so 's 

"some are and 



' idea. 

.liss Ingram," she reasoned; 

ome ain't; 't ain't a reason- 



But Abbie was studying her nose closely 
and critically in the glass of the bureau. "1 
don't care if she did say I had every Norris 
feature, I have n't ; say it, Maria, say I 
have n't got a nose like Great- airnl 
Abbie's." 



d by Google 



Jack's Valentine 



Jack, he bought a valentine Then, he bought a comic one 
As fine as it could be ; As funny as you'd find ; 

That was for his teacher dear, When he bought this, you could see. 
As any one might see. He had his chum in mind. 

Next, he bought a dainty one The teacher and the little maid 
AH made of paper lace; Were happy, but alack! 

That was for the little girl The " chum " not knowing whence it came 
Who had the sweetest face. Mailed his, right off, to— Jack ! 

Blanche Eli%abeth Wade. 



FATHER RABBIT—' 



d by Google 



Good-By "3876"! 

By Charles Barnard 



s it true ? Must she go ? " 
W/ I ■ ■'■ 1 "^^ engineer stood beside his 
(•■■l-,, /I great locomotive at the very end 
" ^ of the platform in the big railroad 
yard at 42d Street. Behind the 
engine and tender the fast Albany train, mail, 
baggage, smoker, diner, drawing-room car and 
day -coach stretched in a long string back into 
the sheds of the dilapidated, old Grand Cen- 
tral Station. 

■'Yes. She must go. This is her last 
trip out. Seems to me, by the way the loco- 
motives are going, that any boy in New York 
City who wants to see a locomotive must soon 
go thirty miles or more into the country to 
see a first-class passenger express engine, like 
Number Thirty-eight-seven-six." 

A man on the plalform, back in the gloomy 
station, waved his hand. 

"Good-by. This is Thirty-eight-seven- 
six's last trip out." 

The engineer climbed up into the cab and 
disappeared. The fireman looked out of his 
window and smiled in a dark and grimv 
way as if glad this was her last run out of 
New York. There was a slow, loud blast 
from the exhaust at the top of the stumpy 
stack. Then another and another ; the great 
drivers turned slowly over and with tremen- 
dous effort the huge engine slowly set the 
long heavy train in motion and car after car 
slid slowly by. As the last car goes by we see 
that the passengers are already closing the 
windows to shut out the smoke, cinders, dust 
and choking gas that fills the long tunnel just 
beyond the railroad yard. 

"Oh! We forgot to ask the engineer why 



3876 must go. Then, too, why did the fire- 
man smile such a sooty smile?" 

These are very good questions indeed and 
to find the answers to them we must look at 
a numlier of different and very curious things. 
First, there is the locomotive. It is, indeed, 
a grand machine, and has performed a master 
service,but with all that, it has several serious 
defects. To understand these defects lei us 
see just what a locomotive is and how and 
why it works. A locomotive is a self-moving 
motor or power-maker. It must carry a boiler 
filled with water and have a fire-box in which 
to bum coal that the fire may boil the water 
and make steam. It must drag about, wher- 
ever it goes, a heavy tender, loaded with coal 
and water. Under the boiler is the double 
engine, having two cylinders, one on each 
side. The fresh, live steam from the boiler 
enters these cylinders and by its pressure 
causes the pistons inside to beat forward and 
hack, and this to and fro motion is. by 
means of (he piston-rod and connecting-rod, 
transferred to the driving-wheels, and as these 
wheels find it much easier to roll over and 
over than to stand still and merely turn 
round, the engine, naturally, is pulled along 
the track. 

The steam, after it has spent a part of ii> 
heat and pressure in moving the pistons, is 
called exhaust-steam, and this exhaust -steam, 
while still very hot, is turned into the smoke- 
stack and escapes at the lop in a series of 
great puffs. The effect of this uprush of e:i- 
hausi -steam in the stack is to create a tremen- 
dous suction or blast in the tubes of the 
boiler and to cause the fire in the fire-box to 



Good-By "3876"! 



325 

burn furiously. This is essential, because so and the bteam. Let us try to remember these 
much steam is needed to keep the engine sup- things while we examine another, new, and 
plied with live sieam under great pressure, better, way of creating steam-power as shown 
thai the fire must be 
forced to burn very 
fast, with great 
heat, in order lo 
make steam quickly 
and in great quanti- 
ties. This means 
that fresh coal must 
be put on the fire | 
every few moments 
and that the fire in 
burning rapidly must i 
waste the coal and 
send out great clouds 
of black smoke filled i 
with cinders and | 
half-burned bits of I 
coal. I 

Plainly.thisisavery ^h^ poher-holse at vonkers. 

wasteful method of 

making and using steam. Not only is a in the power-house of the New York, New 
large part of the heat of the fire wasted by Haven and Hartford Railroad. This de- 
being thrown away in that fierce blast of scription will answer, in a general way, also 
steam, but the steam itself, that costs so much for the New York Central Railroad's power- 
houses at Port Morris and Vonkers, New 
York. 

Miles away from New York, on the shore 
of a beautiful bay near a little town called 
Cos Cob stands a handsome new building built 
of gray blocks of concrete. There are houses 
and farms on each side of the bay, and looking 
south down the bay we can see Long Island 
Sound and the distant hills of Long Island, 
Close beside the great building is a four-track 
railroad bridge over the bay. We wonder why 
the building is placed there close beside salt- 
water and so close to the Sound. There is a 
long pier extending out from the shore where 
the building stands and at the end a landing- 




pb. 



for vessels 



fuel and labor is, with all its unspent heal 
thrown away. Then the whole great machine 
is whirled through rain, snow and stormy 
wind, and this, too, wastes the heat of the fire 



is a tugboat now, just coming up 
the hay from the Sound, and towing two 
big. black barges. She seems to be steering 
straight for the long pier that extends out to 
the channel in the middle of the bay. Even 
while we look at the tow, we see the captain 
of the tug-boat skilfully lay one of the barges 
along the head of the pier, and place the 
other just aft of it. Then a singular thing 
happens. Several men appear and tie up the 
barges and a moment or two later, strange 
hoisting-machines are busy hoisting coal out 
of one of the barges and dumping the coal 
into a building on the pier. It takes us only a 

vGoogIc 



326 



few moments to walk down to the pier, and 
then we leani that the coal, that is so rapidly 
hoisted out of the barge, is sent through the 
small building on the pier, where it is 
ground and crushed in heavy crushing-ma- 
chines to a uniform size. From this crusher 
house the coal, now fine like coarse gravel, 
pours in a stream into a trough and is 
swept away up a long incline to the 
top of the building on the bluff. This 
trough is called a conveyor, because 
it carries or conveys the coal. Within 
the building the conveyor delivers the coal 
to another conveyor in the garret, and this 
conveyor delivers the coal wherever it is 
needed. We glance up at the roof of the' 
building and see the smokestack rising above 
the center of the roof. Now we begin to 
understand. This is a steam-making plant or 
power-house. 

We go to the door and the engineer in 
charge invites us in to see his giant steam- 
boilers. We enter a large and lofty room 
and find twelve great steam-boilers, facing 
each other, six on each side, each one capable 
of producing steam equal to the power of five 
hundred horses. The long and narrow space 
between the boilers is called the fire-room. 
Everything is warm, clean and light. No 
fiery doors, no heaps of coal or dusty ashes — 
not a fireman in sight, not a gleam of light 
from the great fires burning brightly behind 
the fire doors. The engineer explains that 
all the coal slides down through pipes from 
the conveyor overhead and is delivered to each 
roaring furnace by a machine called a me- 
chanical stoker. Down below, in a tunnel run- 
ning under the boilers, a man with a wheel- 
barrow gathers up the ashes that fall from 
the grate bars and wheels it away to a con- 
veyor that carries it up to a spout where it 
shoots down again into a flat car on a railroad 
track where, once a day, it is carried away. 

These great boilers rest firmly on the 
ground and are sheltered from rain and snow. 
The fire doors are seldom opened to waste the 
heat of the fire, and the mechanical stoker 
delivers just enough coal to each fire to keep 
it burning steadily and brightly and without 
wasteful black smoke. Clearly, this is a 
better method of making steam than on a 
locomotive racing through a snow-storm in 
the bitter icy wind. And how much cheaper 
it is. First, the coal arrives by water, and it 
is cheaper to transport coal by sea than by 
land. Secondly, all the coal is handled by 
machinery at a great saving of time, labor 



Good-By *'3876"! 



tK» 



and money. Lastly, the boilers are protected 
from the weather at a great saving of heat. 
Nor is this all. The engineer takes us round 
back of the boilers and shows us great brick 
and iron chambers and explains that in these 
chambers are many hundreds of small iron 
pipes through which constantly flow streams 
of fresh, cold water. All the smoke and hot 
gas from the twelve furnaces is led through 
these chambers, flowing round and over the 
water-pipes and then upward toward the 
great smokestack on the roof. The smoke 
and gas heat the pipes and the water inside 
the pipes absorbs and carries away a large 
part of all the waste heat from the fires. 
These curious heat-stealing chambers are 
called economizers, because they save or econ- 
omize the heat of the fires. The hot water 
from the economizers is again made useful by 
being. returned to the boilers to be again made 
into s I earn. 

We come back to the firing-room and the 
engineer explains that the conveyors bring the 
coal from the barges to the mechanical stokers 
that deliver it to the fires and that the con- 
veyors also deliver coal to great storage coal 
bins to furnish a supply of coal when the 
barges are on the voyage or are delayed by 
storms. He also tells us why the great stack 
is so very short. A tall stack produces what 
is called a natural draft. Here powerful 
steam-engines up under the roof drive great 
fans or blowers that make an artificial draft 
called an induced draft, and with such blow- 
ing-fans a short stack answers Just as well as 
a tall stack. 

The engineer leads us through a small door 
at the end of the firing-room and we enter 
the light and handsome great engine-room. 
Here we see three new and strange engines, 
wholly unlike the engines of a locomotive. 
We can hardly believe they are engines and 
the engineer tells us they are steam turbines 
and that. each one has a steam-power equal 
to the power of four thousand horses, TTiey 
have no cylinders, no piston-rods beating to 
and fro. In fact, they are more like the re- 
volving water-wheels called turbines than 
engines and, as they use steam instead of 
water, they are called steam turbines. Like 
an engine they use live steam fresh from the 
boilers, and also have exhaust-steam, though 
we see no puffs of steam, and hear no roaring 
and puffing exhaust as on a locomotive. Wc 
ask where the exhaust escapes and what be- 
comes of it all. 

The engineer tells us thatL^the cxiuiust- 



^ .... -.^lUIUSt' 

CTOOgIc 



ijor-J 



Good-By "3876 "I 



steam is led through pipes to the basement be- 
low. He explains that under the long pier 
where the great conveyor brings the coal into 
the building are two flumes that connect the 
cold sea- water directly with the basement. 
Here steam-pumps, called circulating pumps. 



327 



turned with its heat to the boilers. How 
much better to lose a part of the heat and 
save the water, than to throw the steam away, 
heat, water and all. A locomotive throws its 
exhaust-steam away and we call it a non-con- 
densing engine. These great engines, like 
the engine on a steam- 
ship, use condensers to 
turn the exhaust into 
water that can be re- 
turned still hot to the 
boilers and we call them 
condensing engines. We 
see that here in 
lis great power-house 
I'ery effort is made to 
labor, save heat and 
time and money. 
The aim is to produce 
great power at the low- 
The locomo- 
tive is a wasteful and 
costly power maker. The 
power-house is a heat 
and labor saver and 




draw from one flume the 
cold salt- water into 
hundreds of small pipes 
enclosed in iron cham- 
bers, forcing the water 
through every pipe and 
keeping them all cold, 
er, escaping from 
the pipes, flowing back 
through the second 
flume to the bay. These 
chambers enclosing the 
cold pipes are called 
condensers, and the ex- 
haust-steam, still very 
hot, is led into the con- 
densers. Here the steam 

meets the cold pipes and is chilled and con- 
denses and turns back into water. The sea- 
waler circulating through the condensers 
takes up a part of the heat and carries it 
away into the bay, but we cannot call this 
waste heat, for the cold water in becoming 
hot absorbs enough heat to change the steam 
back into fresh hot water ready to be re- 



cheap power maker, and economy of opera- 
tion is the great thing to be desired. 

We look once more at the giant steam tur- 
bines and see that each one is driving a great 
dynamo or generator of electricity. Here is 
one key to the question — why are the loco- 
disappearing from the yard of 
Grand Central Station? Electricity . 



lOogle 



328 Good-By "3876"! i"^ 

is nol of itself really used as power; it chanical transmission of power. Electricity 

is useful in quite another wav. A stearn- iu another and very different way conveys 

engine in a factory or mill may give or transmits power. The four thousand 

power to a great wheel and cause it to re- horse-power of one of these turbines is trans- 



volve swiftly. A rope wound round the rim formed through the dynamo into a powerful 

of the wheel may be carried to a distant wheel, current of electricity that flows out of the 

turn round this wheel and extend back to the power-house through great cables for miles 

first wheel and, if the ends are fastened to- up and down the line, all the way from Wood- 



gether and the rope stretched tight, the rope lawn in the Bronx to Stamford, Connecticut. 

will convey the power of the first wheel to Over each of the four tracks is a wire 

the distant wheel and it too will revolve. We and from this wire the electricity flows down 

say that such a rope conveys power from one to every locomotive flying along the tracks. 

wheel to the other. 'Ihis we call the me- In each locomotive the electric current. 



nv-i 



Good-By "3876"! 



through the motors, reproduces power and 
this power moves the train. The steam lo- 
comotive creates power and uses it to drag 
the train. The electric locomotive receives, 
wherever it goes, electricity from the power- 
house and transforming it into power, uses 
the power to move its train without fire, 
steam or smoke. So we call this the electrical 
transmission of power from the power-house 
along the trolley wire to the locomotive. 

We come back to the Grand Central Sta- 
tion with one of our questions answered. The 
locomotives are leaving the city because it is . 
cheaper to make steam at one place and in a 
building protected from the weather than to 
make steam in fifty locomotives traveling on 
a railroad. 

Then there is still another answer. 

Tile long tunnel on Park Avenue is filled 
with smoke, dust, cinders and choking gas from 
the engines that pass through it. The smoke 
makes the place so dark that the trains must 
run slowly or there may be terrible accidents. 
Then, too, the smoke from the locomotives is 
an annoyance to all the people in the towns 
along the lines. Furthermore a locomotive 
starts very slowly and it usually has to travel a 
mile or more before it can get up to its full 
Speed. 

So it happens that the three great lines 
that extend from the Grand Central Station 
West, North and East arc changing their 
steam locomotives for electric locomotives 
and motor-cars. On the Hudson River Divi- 
sion of the New York Central Road the elec- 
tric locomotives will run as far out as South 
Croton on the Hudson River; on the Harlem 
Division they will run to White Plains and 
on the New York, New Haven and Hartford 
Road as f arasStamf ord in Connecticut. At each 
place steam locomotives will stand ready to 
take each train farther on its journey. The 
electric locomotives will slip into a siding, 
the steam locomotive back down, couple up 
and go on, and so quickly will it all he done 
that the passengers will hardly know that 
they have changed engines. To supply power 



339 



to these roads there are three great power- 
houses, each one on the edge of the salt- 
water, where coal can be brought on barges 
and where cold sea-water can be used in the 
condensers. The power-house at Cos Cob 
we have seen. There is also one at Port 
Morris in the Bronx on the banks of the 
East River and one on the Hudson at Yon- 
kers. The picture on page 325 shows how 
the Yonkers power-house looks, but, of 
course, each of these power-houses differs in 
some details from the others according as the 
requirements are different. 

There is one more answer to our question. 
The steam locomotives are disappearing be- 
cause the electric locomotive starts more easily 
than the steam locomotive and reaches its 
full speed in less time and in a shorter dis- 
tance. By using motor-cars for the local 
trains more passengers can be carried and 
more trains run in a day. Electric trains are 
fast, clean and quiet. They are free from 
smoke and cinders and this attracts more pas- 
sengers. Few people travel for pleasure be- 
hind a dusty, smoky locomotive. Make it 
pleasant to travel and more and more people 
wish to travel. More trains and better time- 
tables' attract people and more passengers 
wish to ride. In fact, up to this last summer, 
the railroad -yards were so crowded with lo- 
comotives that no more trains could run and 
every train was crowded and travel was de- 
layed. With motor-cars and electric locomo- 
tives many more passengers than was formerly 
possible, can be carried in a day. 

The power-houses give cheap power and 
this in turn makes it cost less to carry a pas- 
senger and ultimately will make travel cheaper, 
cleaner, faster and pleasanter. 

And then, too, the fireman is released from 
his hard and dangerous work and finds a 
better, cleaner and safer job as motorman on 
the electric locomotives; while the engineer 
can use all his skill, courage and training in 
the cab of the new locomotive and carry us 
as swiftly and safely as he did on "oM 
Thirty-eight-seven-six. " 



Vol. XXXIV.-4a. 



d by Google 



When the Camera was Unknown 

By Morris Wade 



The making of silhouettes can hardly be 
classed among the lost arts, since there is so 
little art about them. The best of them repre- 
sent the human profile in a crude way, and 
they were regarded as rather a cheap kind of 
pictures even in the days when they were 
most popular. Indeed, the very word sil- 
houette means something poor and cheap and 



it had its origin in a spirit of ridicule. It is 
taken from Etienne de Silhouette who was a 
French Cabinet Minister in the year 1759 
when the treasury of France was very low 
because of costly wars with Britain and Prus- 
sia and by the extravagances of the govern- 
ment. When Etienne de Silhouette became 
minister of finance he set about making great 
reforms in the public expenditures. He was, 
by nature, a very "close" man, and he went 
to such extremes in keeping down the public 
expenses that he brought great ridicule upon 
himself, and finally anything that was cheap 
and poor was referred lo as A la Silhouette. 
A very crude picture was popular at that 



time. It was made by tracing the shadow or 
profile of a face projected by the light of a 
candle on a sheet of white paper and the out- 
line defined with a pencil. This was such a 
very poor and cheap sort of a picture that it 
was at once called a silhouette in further de- 
rision of the very saving French minister and 
the name has "stuck." It is an instance 
of the curious derivation of some words in 
common use, and this unkind slur on a man 
who was really trying to introduce needed re- 
forms in the spending of the public money 
has long been accepted as a good and proper 
word. Indeed, there is no other word used 
for pictures of this kind, although there were 
such pictures long before Monsieur Etienne 
de Silhouette had his name attached to theoi 
in so embarrassing a way. 

Madame Pompadour brought the silhouette 
into popularity by showing a great liking for 
it, and the pictures made by casting a shadow 
with a lamp were called profiles h la Pompa- 
dour. They were to be seen all over France. 

Then the silhouette became popular in 
America a great many years ago, and a man 
named Charles Wilson Peale, who had a mu- 
seum in Philadelphia, became famous for his 
cleverness in executing them. He invented 
a kind of a ntachine which traced the profile 
with extreme accuracy. Even George Wash- 
ington sat to Peale for a silhouette, and all 
the most prominent gentlemen and ladies of 
the day felt that they must have silhouettes 
of themselves. 

Then there was a boy of seventeen named 
James Hubard who came to this country 
from England and went from place to place 
setting up "Hubard Galleries" to which the 
people flocked to have silhouettes of them- 
selves made by the clever "artist." He had 
many samples of his work on exhibition and 
the people paid fifty cents for admission to 
the gallery. This also paid for a silhouette 
which young Hubard cut out in a very few 
seconds with a pair of scissors. He was 
looked upon as a great genius, and he ex- 
hibited with pride a silver palette presented 
to him by the Philosophical Society of Glas- 
gow in appreciation of his unusual talent. 
On the palette were the words: "Presented 
to Master James Hubard by admirers of his 



Google 



When the Camera was Unknown 



fenius is the city of Glasgow, Scotland, 
ebruary 14, 1824." 

Young Hubard exhibited his silhouettes at 
the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts and 
in New York and Boston. He became am- 
bitious to do better work than any mere 
maker of silhouettes could do, and he finally 
made quite a reputation as a painter of por- 
traits. He remained in our country and died 
in Richmond, Virginia in 1862, his death hav- 
ing been caused by the explosion of a shell 
he was filling with a compound he had manu- 
factui'ed for the use of the Confederate Army. 

Another noted silhouettist coming to this 
country from foreign lands was Monsieur 
Edouart who arrived on our shores in 1838, 
and for nine or ten years he was kept busy 
making" siihrniettas. of people who admired 
this kind of art. Edouart kept a copy of each 
silhouette he made and he valued his collec- 
tion so highly that it quite broke his heart 
when the entire collection went to the bottom 
of the sea while Edouart was returning to his 
native land from America in 1847. 

America produced a silhouettist thought by 
many to be as clever as any who had come 
to our country from foreign lands. This was 
William Henry Brown who was but sixteen 
years old when he cut a very fine silhouette 
of General Lafayette who was then on a visit 
to this country. In some respects Brown was 
even cleverer than any of his predecessors 
had been. He was a kind of a "snap shot" 
silhouettist for he could make silhouettes of 
men and women on the street without the 
subjects of his pictures being aware of the 
fact that they were having their "likenesses" 
taken. Indeed, he had such remarkable skill 
in memorizing faces and forms that he could 
look at a person on the street and cut a won- 
derfully good silhouette of the person after 
returning to his studio. He went farther 
than other silhouettists had done, for he made 
cuttings of ships and railroad trains and pro- 
cessions in which the figures were readily 
recognized. He made one cutting twenty-five 
feet long with sixty-five persons in it, and so 
clever was the execution that it was easy to 
recognize every figure in it. 

One may see in one of the public school 
buildings in Boston, two silhouettes of un- 
usual interest, for they are of George and 
Martha Washington. Possibly they are the 
work of Peale, but there is nothing to indi- 



cate the name of the silhouettist. Under- 
neath the frame in which the profiles are, is 
this information in regard to them: 

"The within ire prolilei o( Geoeral and Mri. 
Wuhiogton taken from their shadows on a wall. Thej' 
are as perfect tikeoesses as profiles can pre. Presented 
to me by my friend, Mrs. Eleanor P. Lewit at Wood- 
lawn, July 183a. 

" EUIABETH BORDLEY GiBSON." 



The Mrs. Eleanor P. Lewis referred to was a 

great-granddaughter of Martha Washington. 

The silhouettes were presented to the school 

by Mr. Edward Shippen of Philadelphia. 
They are the original profiles, and not copies. 
The invention of the daguerreotype by M. 
Daguerre in 1839 put the nose of the silhou- 
ettist quite hopelessly "out of joint." No 
one wanted a silhouette after having seen the 
daguerreotype. Then the daguerreotype lost 
favor because of the perfection of the art of 
the photographer. This art of the photog- 
rapher has now reached a degree of perfection 
that was undreamed of by those who first 
practised it. 



d by Google 




Uigiizcd by VjOOQIC 



d by Google 



The New Boy at Hilltop 

By Ralph Henry Barbour 

Author of " The Crimiaa Sweater," etc. 



THE RESCUE 

Kenneth's first act after hearing the alarm 
was to awake Joe. This he did by the simple 
expedient of yanlcing the bedclothes away 
from him and yelling "Fire!" at the top of 
his lungs. Then, stumbling over the chairs, 
he groped his way to the hall door and opened 
it. The corridor was already filled with ex- 
citement and confusion. Of the eighteen boys 
who roomed on that floor fully half were in 
evidence, standing dazedly about in pajamas 
or night-shirts and shouting useless questions 
and absurd answers. Simms, who lived at 
the far end of the corridor, emerged from his 
room dragging a steamer trunk after him. 
Instantly the scantily-clad youths dashed into 
their rooms intent on rescuing their belong- 
ings. Joe joined Kenneth at the door. 

"Where 's the fire?" he gasped. 

"I don't know," answered Kenneth, "but 
I can smell it. Get something on ; I 'm going 
to. Has anyone given the alarm?" he asked, 
as Simms hurried back toward his study. 

"Yes! No I I don't know! Everything *s 
on fire upstairs! You 'd better get your 
things out!" 

"Somebody ought to give the alarm," said 
Kenneth. "Who 's seen Mr. Bronson?" 

But none had time to answer him. Ken- 
neth scooted down the hall and thumped 
at the instructor's door. There was no an- 
swer and Kenneth unceremoniously shoved it 
open, The study was in darkness. 

"Mr. Bronson!" he cried. "Mr. Bron- 

There was no reply, and Kenneth recol- 
lected that very frequently Mr. Bronson spent 
Sunday night at his home. He hurried back 
to his own room and found Joe throwing 
their belongings out of the windows. At that 
moment the bell on School Hall began to 
clang wildly and a second afterward the 
alarm was taken up by the fire-bell in the 
village, a mile away. 

Kenneth pulled on his trousers and shoes, 
looked for a coat only to find that Joe had 
thrown all the coats out of the windows, and 



went back to the corridor. All up and down 
it boys were staggering along with trunks and 
bags, while from the western end tbe smoke 
was volleying forth from Number 19 in great 
billowy clouds. From the floor above raced 
fellows with suit-cases and small trunks, 
shouting and laughing in the excitement of 
the moment. 

One of the older boys, Harris by name, 
came galloping upstairs with a fire extin- 
guisher, followed by a crowd of partly- dressed 
fellows from Upper House. But the smoke 
which filled the end of the corridor drove 
them back and the stream from the extin- 
guisher wasted itself against the fast-yellow- 
ing plaster of the wall. The building was 
rapidly becoming uninhabitable and, calling 
Joe from the study, where he was vainly try- 
ing to get the study table through the case- 
ment, Kenneth made for the stairs. The 
light at the far end of the corridor shone red 
and murky through the dense clouds of 
smoke. 

"All out of the building!" cried a voice 
from below, and the half-dozen adventurous 
spirits remaining in the second floor corridor 
started down the stairs. 

"Do you know how it began?" asked Joe 
of a boy beside him. 

"Yes," was the reply. "King, in 19, was 
reading in bed with a lamp he has, and he 
went to sleep and upset it somehow. He got 
burned, they say." 

"Serves him right," muttered someone. 
Kenneth glanced around and found Grafton 
Hyde beside him. 

"Hello," said Kenneth. 

"Hello," aiwwered Grafton. "Did you 
save anything?" 

"Yes, I guess so," Kenneth replied. "Did 
you ?" 

For the moment animosities were forgot- 
ten, wiped out of existence by the calamity. 

"Not much," said Grafton, "But I don't 
care. I tried to get my trunk down but the 
smoke was fierce and the end of the building 
was all in flames. So I lit out." 

The lower hall was crowded with boys. 
Doctor Randall, tall and gaunt in a red flow- 
ered dressing gown, and several of the iostruc- 






by Google 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



33S 



tors were doing their best to clear the build- 
ing- 

"All out, boysl" called the Doctor. "It 
is n't safe here now! The firemen will be 
here in a minute and you '11 only be in the 
way! I want you all to go over to Upper 
House !" 

"Hello!" said Kenneth. "What 's the 
matter with you, Jasper?" 

Jasper Hendricks, the youngest boy in 
school, was crouched in a dim comer of the 
hall, sobbing and shaking as though his heart 
was broken. 

"What 's up?" asked Grafton. 

"Don't know. Here 's young Jasper cry- 
ing like a good one. What *s the trouble, 
Jasper? Did you get hurt?" 

But the boy apparently did n't even hear 
them. 

"Lost his things, probably," suggested 
Grafton, "and feels it. Never mind, kid, 
you '11 get some more." 

"I want every boy out of the building!" 
cried the Doctor. But his voice was almost 
downed in the babel of cries and shouts and 
laughter. 

"Come on, Jasper," said Kenneth, trying to 
raise him to his feet. "We 've got to get 
out." 

For the first time he caught a glimpse of 
the boy's face. It was white and drawn and 
horror-stricken. 

"What 's the matter?" cried Kenneth in 
alarm. Young Hecdrick's lips moved but 
Kenneth could not distinguish the whispered 
words. 

"Eh? What 's that? Speak louder! 
You 're all right now! Don't be scared! 
■What is it?" And Kenneth bent his head as 
the younger boy clung to him convulsively. 

"Mister Whipple.'" 

Kenneth barely caught the whispered 
words. 

"Mr. Whipple," he muttered. "What does 
he mean?" He pulled the lad's body around 
so that he could see his face in the smoke- 
dimmed light. "What about him, Jasper? 
He 's safe, is n't he?" 

The white face shook from side to side. 

"What does he say?" cried Grafton. 
"Whipple? Is n't he down? Where is he?" 

"He must be — I" 

Kenneth paused, his own face paling, and 
looked fearsomely toward the stairs down 
which the gray-brown smoke was floating 
wraith-like. TTien his eyes met Grafton's 
and he read his own horror reflected there. 



"Jasper's room is next to Mr. Whipple's," 
said Grafton hoarsely. " He must have seen 
something I Jasper, is Mr. Whipple up there 
now}" 

The lad's head nodded weakly. Then he 
broke again into great dry sobs that shook 
him from head to foot. Kenneth seized him 
beneath the shoulders and dragged him a few 
yards nearer the door. There he put him 
down. 

"Don't cry, Jasper," he whispered kindly. 
"It 's all right; we 'II save him I" 

For an instant he looked about him. 
Through the doors the boys were pushing 
their way outward, protesting, laughing, ex- 
citedly. 

Of the faculty Doctor Randall alone was 
in sight. One other instant Kenneth hesi- 
tated. Then with a bound he was half-way 
up the first flight. 

"Who 's that going up there?" cried the 
Doctor. "Here, come back instantly!" 

But Kenneth did not hear, or, hearing, 
paid no heed. He was at the second floor, 
the evil-smelling smoke thick about him, 
blinding his eyes and smarting his throat. 
Above him was a strange lurid glare and the 
roaring of the flames. For a moment his heart 
failed him and he leaned weak and panting 
against the banister. Then a voice sounded in 
his ears. 

"It 's no use, Garwood," cried Grafton. 
"We can't get up there." 

"We '11 try," was the answer. 

Bending low, his sleeve over his mouth, 
Kenneth rushed the next flight. Grafton was 
at his heets. At the top Kenneth crouched 
against the last step and squinted painfully 
down the corridor in the direction of Mr. 
Whipple's room and the flames. The heat 
was stifling and the smoke rolled toward them 
in great red waves. Grafton, choking, cough- 
ing, crouched at Kenneth's side. 

"We can't reach him," he muttered. "The 
fire has cut him off." 

It seemed true. Mr, Whipple's room was 
at the far end and between his door and the 
stairway the flames were rioting wildly, lick- 
ing up the woodwork and playing over the 
lathes from which the plaster was crumbling 
away. Kenneth's heart sank and for an in- 
stant he thought he was going to faint. 
Everything grew black before him and his 
head settled down on his outstretched arm. 
Then Grafton was shaking him by the shoul- 
der and his senses returned. 

"Come on I" cried Grafton. "Let 's get 

Google 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



336 



oat of this while we can I We '11 be burned 
alive in a minute!" There was panic in his 
voice and he tugged nervously at Kenneth's 
arm. 

At that moment k great expanse of plaster 
fell from the ceiling some thirty feet away 
and the flames glared luridly through the cor- 
ridor, making everything for a brief moment 
as light as day. From below came calls, but 
Kenneth did not hear them. 

"Look!" he cried, seizing Grafton's arm. 
"On the floor! Do you seeV 

"Yes," shouted Grafton. "It 's Mr. 
Whipple! Can we get him?" 

"I 'm going to try," was the calm reply. 
"Will you come with me?" 

For a moment the two boys looked into 
each other's eyes, squinting painfully in the 
acrid smoke. The flames crackled and roared 
in their ears. The strained, terror-stricken 
look passed from Grafton's face. His eyes 
lighted and he even smiled a little. 

"Come on," he said simply. 

"Wait I" Kenneth leaned down so that his 
face was against the spindles and took a deep 
breath. There was a current of clearer air 
arising from the well and, although it smarted 
in his lungs, it gave him relief. Grafton fol- 
lowed his example. Then, for they realized 
that there was no time to lose, with one ac- 
cord they rushed, stooping, down the corridor 
into the face of the flames. 

Mr. Whipple lay stretched face downward 
on the floor where he had fallen when over- 
come by the smoke and, as is more than likely, 
his terror. He was in his night-clothes and 
' one hand grasped a small satchel. Behind him 
the floor was afire scarcely a yard away. The 
thirty feet from the stairs to where he lay 
seemed as many yards to the rescuers, and the 
heat grew fiercer at every step. But they 
gained the goal, fighting for breath, bending 
their heads against the savage onslaughts of 
the flames, and seized the instructor's arms. 
Whether he was alive there was no time to 
ascertain. There was time for nothing save 
to strive to drag him toward the stairway. 
With tightly- closed eyes, from which the 
smarting tears rolled down their faces, and 
sobbing breaths, they struggled back. 

But if it had been hard going it was trebly 
hard returning. The instructor was not a 
large man nor a heavy one, but now he 
seemed to weigh tons. Their feet slipped on 
the plaster-sprinkled boards and their hearts 
hammered in their throats. Ten feet they 
made; and then, as though angry at being 



(Fm., 



deprived of their prey, the flames burst with 
a sudden roar through the melting partition 
a few feet behind them and strove to conquer 
them with a scorching breath. Kenneth stag- 
gered to his knees under its fury and Grafton 
gave a cry of anguish and despair. But 'the 
fiery wave receded and they struggled des- 
perately on, fighting now for their oWn lives 
as well as for that of the instructor. 

Ten feet more and the worst was passed. 
A frenzied rush for the stairway and safety 
was in sight. Half falling, half stumbling, 
they went down the first few steps to the land- 
ing at the turn, Mr. Whipple's inert body 
thumping along between them. There, with 
faces held close to the boards, they lay drink- 
ing in grateful breaths of the smoke-poisoned 
air, which, after what they had been inhaling, 
was fresh and sweet. 

Then, above tfie booming of the fire, voices 
reached them, hoarse, anxious voices, and 
white faces peered up at them through the 
smoke from the corridor below. 

"All right!" called Kenneth, but, to his 
surprise, his words were only hoarse whispers. 
Struggling to his knees, he seized Mr. Whip- 
ples's arm and strove to go on. But Grafton 
oSered no assistance. He lay motionless 
where he had thrown himself on the landing. 

"Come on!" croaked Kenneth impatiently, 
and tugged at his double burden. Then the 
crimson light went suddenly out and he sub- 
sided limply against the blisters just as the 
rescuers dashed up to them. 

When Kenneth came to a few minutes later 
he was being carried across the campus. Near 
at hand a fire-engine throbbed and roared, 
sending showers of sparks into the winter 
darkness. Behind him a red glare threw long- 
moving shadows across the grass. In his ears 
were shouts and commands and a shrill whist- 
ling. Then he lost consciousness again. 

Chapter VI 
"all 's well that ends well" 

Kenneth lay in bed in Doctor Randall's 
spare chamber. His left hand was bandaged 
and a wet cloth lay across his closed eyes. A 
window was open and the lowered shade bil- 
lowed softly up and down, letting into the 
darkened room quick splashes of sunlight. 
From without came the cheerful patter of 
melting snow upon the sill. 

Kenneth had had his breakfast — how long 
ago he could not say, since he had slept since 
then — and had learned all the exciting news ; 



,/ Google 



""'■^ Ralph Henry Barbour 337 

that Lower House was so badly burned that doctor, who had also imparted the infonna- 

there was no question of repairing it; that tioti that Kenneth's injuries were trifling, a 

Mr. Whipple had been sent to the hospital at couple of scorched fingers and a pair of badly 

Lynnminster, seriously but not dangerously inflamed eyes, but that nevertheless he would 

hurt; that Grafton Hyde had received no kindly spend the day in bed, "as heroes are 



damage and was about this forenoon wearing scarce these days and must be well looked 

a strangely blank expression due to the loss after when found." 

of his eyebrows; and that King, to whose There came a soft tapping at the door and 
disregard of the rules the fire had been due, Kenneth peeked eagerly out from under the 
had, previous rumors to the contrary, escaped bandage as (Jrafton Hyde entered and tiptoed 
unharmed. across the floor. Kenneth looked for a mo- 
Kenneth's informant had been the school nient and grinned; then he chuckled; then 
Vol- XXXIV.-43. 



Digitized 



by Google 



338 

he threw an arm across his face and gave way 
to laughter unrestrained. Grafton laughed 
too, though somewhat ruefully, 

"Don't I look like a fool?" he asked. 

Kenneth regained his composure with a 
gasp. 

"I — I did n't mean to be rude," he said 
contritely, "but — " 

"Oh, I don't mind," answered Grafton. 
"Besides, I '11 bet you "re the same way." 

"Me?" Kenneth looked startled and 
passed a finger questioningly across his eye- 
brows. "There 's nothing here!" he gasped. 
Off came the bandage. "How do I look?" 

A smile started at Grafton's lips and slowly 
overspread his face. Kenneth smiled back. 

"We must be a pair of freaks," he said, 
chuckling. "Do they ever grow back again?" 

"Yes, in no time," answered Grafton. "Be- 
sides, Joe says that all you have to do is to 
take a pencil and rub it over and no one can 
tell. I 'm going to try it." He sat down 
cautiously on the edge of the bed. "How 
are you feeling?" he asked. 

"All right. Kind of tired, though. How 
about you?" 

"Fine." There was a silence during which 
he played nervously with a shoe strap. At 
last: 

"I say, Garwood," he blurted, "it 's — it 's 
all right about — about that, you know. I 
told President Randall." 

"You need n't have," muttered Kenneth. 

"I wanted to! And I 'm sorry. It was a 
sneaky thing that I did to you. I — I don't 
know why I cared so much about staying on 
the team; I don't now." 

"Did he — was he mad about it?" 

"Was n't he! I am to be suspended for a 
month." 

"I 'm sorry," said Kenneth honestly. "It 
— it was decent of you to tell." 

"Decent nothing I It was decent of you 
not to blow on me the other day. Why 
did n't you?" he asked curiously. 

"Oh, I don't know," answered Kenneth 
embarrassedly. "I — I did n't like to, I sup- 
pose. When are you going?" 

"This afternoon. That 's why I came to 
see you now. I wanted to — to tell you that 
I was sorry about it and see if you would n't 
be friends." 

"That 's all right," said Kenneth. "I — 
I 'm glad you came." 

Had they been older they would have 
shaken hands. As it was they merely avoided 
looking at each other and maintained an em- 



The New Boy at Hilltop 



[Fo.. 



barrassed silence for a moment. It amounted 

to the same thing. 

The silence was broken by a knock on the 
door. 

"Come!" called Kenneth. 

" Look at the heroes having a convention." 
said Joe gayly as he crossed the floor. "The 
Society of the Singed Catsl Well, how are 
you feeling, chum?" 

"Fine and dandy," answered Kenneth. 

" Good ! Say, we had lots of fun last 
night ! They bunked us in with the Upper 
House fellows, and maybe there was n't a 
circus ! Every time we see King we ask him 
if it 's hot enough for him! I would n't be 
surprised if he folded his pajamas like the 
Arabs — that 's all he saved, you know — and 
as silently stole away. We 've sure got him 
worried!" He paused and looked inquir- 
ingly from Kenneth to Grafton. "Did Graft 
tell you?" he asked. 

Kenneth nodded. 

" I always told you he was n't a bad sort, 
did n't I? Don't you care. Graft; we '11 
keep a place warm for you, and a month is 
just a nice vacation. Would n't mind it my- 
self! Say, are you going to be fit to play in 
Saturday's game, Kenneth?" 

"I don't know. Will they let me?" 

"Why not? They have n't anything 
against you now, have they? How about 
your blessed eyes?" 

"Oh, they 'II be all right, I guess. But I 
wish — Graft was going to play." 

"Oh, I don't care," declared that youth 
stoutly. "Go in and give 'em fits, Kenneth. 
And — one of you fellows might write me 
about the game," he added wistfully. 

"We 'II do it," said Joe. "We 'II write 
a full account and send diagrams of the 
broken heads of the Uppers. Only thing 
I 'm afraid of," he added soberly, "is that 
now that Kenneth has n't any eyebrows they 
may take his head for the ball !" 

Kenneth was up the next day feeling as 
fit as ever, but when the subject of returning 
to basketball practice was broached to the 
doctor, Kenneth met with disappointment. 

"I can't allow it," said the doctor kindly 
but firmly. " I 'm sorrv. but you know we 're 
responsible for you while you 're here, my 
boy, and I think you 'd better keep away 
from violent exercise for a week or two. No, 
no more basketball this year." 

The verdict brought gloom to Lower 
House, or, as Upper facetiously called them 
now, the Homeless Ones. For with Grafton 



d by Google 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



gone and Kenneth oul of the game the team's 
plight was desperate. But there was no help 
for it, and so Jim Marble went to work to 
patch up the team as best he might, putting 
Simms back at guard and placing Niles, a 
substitute, at right forward. 

The Homeless Ones were quartered wher- 
ever space could be found for them. Joe and 
Kenneth were so fortunate as to get together 
again in an improvised bedroom, which had 
previously been a disused recitation room, at 
the top of School Hall. Most of the Lower 
House residents had saved their principal 
effects and those who had lost their clothing 
were reimbursed by the school. 

Friday morning two announcements of 
much interest were made. 

"On Monday next," said the Doctor, "we 
receive a new member into the Faculty, Mr. 
George Howell Fair. Mr. Fair, who is a 
graduate of Princeton, will take the place 
left vacant hy the resignation of Mr. Whip- 
ple, who was so unfortunately injured in the 
recent disaster. Mr. Fair will take up Mr. 
Whipple's work where that gentleman left off." 

There was a stir throughout chapel, and 
murmurs of satisfaction. The Doctor picked 
up another slip of paper, cast his eyes over it 
and cleared his throat. 

"You will also be pleased to learn," he 
said, "that in our time of tribulation gen- 
erous friends have come to our assistance. 
We have lost one of our buildings but money 
has already been provided for the erection 
of a new and far more suitable one, I 
have received from Mr. John Garwood, of 
Cleveland, and Mr. Peler L. Hyde, of Chi- 
cago, a draft for the sum of one hundred 
thousand dollars for the erection of a large 
dormitory capable of housing the entire stu- 
dent body. The generous gift seems to me 
especially, singularly, appropriate, coming as 
it does from the fathers of those two students 
who recently so bravely distinguished them- 
selves. With this thought in mind the Fac- 
ulty has already decided that the new dormi- 
tory when completed shall be known as Gar- 
wood-Hyde Hall." 

Well. Kenneth's secret was out! I hope 
and believe that his fellows held him in no 
higher esteem because they found out that he 
was the son of one of the country's wealthiest 
men. But true it is that for the next few 
days he was the object of violent interest not 
altogether unmixed with awe. 

But Joe had to have everything explained, 
and as the shortest means to that result Ken- 



339 

neth produced a letter which he had received 
from his father the day before and gave it to 
Joe to read. Only portions of it interest us, 
however. 

"The newspaper account (ran the letter) 
says that neither of you sustained serious 
injuries. I trust that it is so. But I think I 
had better satisfy myself on that point, and 
so you may look for me at the school on Satur- 
day next. Your mother is anxious to have 
you come home, but I tell her that a little 
thing like pulling a professor out of the fire 
is n't likely to feaze a Garwood! 

"Now, another thing. You recollect that 
when you decided to go to Hilltop we talked 
it over and thought it best to keep dark the 
fact that you were my son. You wanted to 
stand on your own merits, and I wanted you 
to. Then, too, we feared that Hyde's boy, 
because of the misunderstanding between 
Peter Hyde and myself, might try to make it 
uncomfortable for you. That alarm seems 
now to have been groundless, since surely a 
boy who could do what he did — and join you 
in doing it — would n't be likely to pick on 
another. But that 's of no consequence now, 
as it happens. 

"Quite by accident I met Peter here the 
day after the papers published the story of 
your little stunt. Well, he was so tickled 
about it that we shook hands and had a ' touch- 
ing reconciliation,' quite like what you see in 
the plays. We talked about ' those worthless 
kids' of ours and it ended up with his coming 
home to dinner with me. So you see you did 
more than save a professor's life ; you brought 
about a renewal of an old friendship. After 
dinner we got to talking it over and decided 
the least we could do was to replace that 
building. So I 've sent your Principal a draft 
by this mail which will cover the cost of a 
good new hall. I 'm giving half and Peter 's 
giving half. I hope you and young Hyde 
will be good friends, just as his father and I 
are going to be hereafter. You may expect 
me Saturday." 

"Now," cried Joe triumphantly when he 
had finished reading, "now I understand 
about those brushes!" 

"What brushes?" asked Kenneth. 

"Why, the night of the fire I threw your 
suit-case out of the window, and when I went 
down to get it it had bust open and was full 
of swell silver-backed things. I thought at 
first I "d got someone else's bag, but I found I 
had n't. And I wondered why you had n't 
had those brushes out." 



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The New Boy at Hilltop "''^ 

"Oh," laughed Kenneth. "I thought they nothing to prevent his wearing his unifonn 



looked a bit too giddy!" 



It was Saturday night and the gyi 

was crowded. The Faculty was there to a 

man. and with them, the honored guest of 



once more and sitting with the substitutes. 
But the fellows with him were not all subs. 
One was Simms, weary and panting, nursing 
a twisted ankle which a moment before had 
put him out of the game. And Upper House 




the evening, sat Mr. John Garwood, tryini^ 
hard to make out what all the fuss was about 
and looking more often toward a bench at 
the side of the hall than toward the strug- 
gliiig players. 0\i the bench, one of several 
blue-shirted players, sat Kenneth. He was 
forbidden to enter the game but there was 



had suffered too, for across the floor Carl 
Jones was viewing the last of the contest 
from the inglorious vantage of the side-hnc. 
Upper and Lower were slill shouting hoarsely 
and singing doggedly. On the scoreboard 
the legend ran; 

Upper House ll — Lowet House II 



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1907.] 



Ralph Henry Barbour 



No wonder every fellow's heart was in his 
throat! It had been a contest to stir the 
most sluggish blood. In spite of the absence 
of Grafton and Kenneth, Lower had played a 
hard, fast game, and had she made a decent 
per cent, of her tries at goal would have been 
the winner at this moment. But Jim Marhle 
had missed almost every goal from foul, and 
Collier who had tried his hand, had been 
scarcely more successful. And now the score 
was tied and it seemed ages agone since the 
timekeepers had announced one minute to 
play. 

The ball hovered in the middle of the floor, 
passed from side to side. Then Hurd of 
Upper secured it and, with a shout to Knox, 
sped, dribbling, down the side-line. But a 
btue-shirted youth sprang in front of him 
and the two went to the floor together while 
the ball bounded into the ready hands of Jim 
Marble. 

"Oh, good work, Joe!" shouted Kenneth 
as Joe sprang to his feet and dived again into 
the play. 

Jim, taking long and desperate chances, 
tried for a basket from near the center of 
the floor and missed by a bare six inches. 
A groan went up from the supporters of the 
Blue, while Upper House sighed its relief. 
Then there was a mix-up under Upper's goal 
and the whistle shrilled. 

"Double foul l" called the referee. 

A sudden stillness fell over the hall. Not 
a few of the players sank to the floor where 
they stood, while Knox picked up the ball 
and advanced to the line. Kenneth, watch- 
ing with his heart in his throat, had a vague 
impression of Jim Marble bending across the 
rail in consultation with one of the Faculty. 



Then the ball rose gently from Knox's hands, 
arched in its flight and came down square on 
the rim of the basket. For a moment it 
poised there while hearts stood still. Then 
it toppled gently over the side to the Boor. 
Knox had missed ! 

Lower House set up a frantic chorus of 
triumph. If only Marble or Collier could 
succeed where Knox had failed ! But neither 
Jim nor the left guard was going to try, it 
seemed. For over at the Blue's bench a lithe 
form was peeling off his sweater and in a 
moment the cry swept the hall: 

"Garwood's going to throw I Garwood! 
Garwood I" 

"It 's all right," Jim had whispered. "I 
asked the Doc. Do your best. If you make 
it we win, Garwood!" 

Kenneth, his pulses far from calm, walked 
out on the floor and picked up the ball. The 
shouting died away and the sudden stillness 
seemed appalling. He toed the black streak 
across the boards and measured the distance 
to the basket. Then, his legs astraddle, his 
knees slightly bent, he swung the ball once — 
twice — 

There was a moment of suspense, and 
then- 
Then pandemonium broke loose ! The ball 
dropped to the floor unheeded, but above it 
the tattered meshes of the netting swayed 
where it had struck them going through I It 
was the cleanest kind of a basket, and it won 
the game and the series and the Shield for 
Lower House ! 

Kenneth, fighting off the howling fellows 
who would have perched him on their shoul- 
ders, caught a glimpse of his father's amused 
face, and broke for the stairway. 



A Disconcerted Scholar 

By Pauline Frances Camp 

When little Arabella Knipp first started in to school. 

She found it very difficult to follow every rule. 

Of course, she tried her very best that teacher should not frown. 

And swift obedience she gave, when teacher said. " Sit down ! " 

But the next thing that she said to her was, " Little girl, sit upJ " 

Which greatly disconcerted little Arabella Krupp ! 



by Google 



My sister 's Louisa Maria, 

And I am Maria Louise, 
And you could n't tell one from the other— 

We 're as like as a couple of peas ! 
Our eyes are the same, and our dimples 

And so are our noses and hair; 
Exactly alike are our dresses 

And e\-erything else that we wear. 
I 'm dreadfully fond of Louisa, 

And it 's nice for a doll to be twins 
If your girl-mother knows you from sister — 

But there 's where the trouble begins ! 
Why, only just yesterday morning 

Louisa was naughty and cried, 
And mother said shf must be punished, 

And / should go out for a ride; 
But just as the carriage ivas ready 

She bundled me into my bed. 



And read me a lecture on manners, 

And carried Louisa instead ! 
It was / had the blister the doctor 

Prescribed when Louisa was ill. 
And they smothered me, nearly, in blankets 

To keep her from having a chill! 
I sha'n't know myself, I am certain 

If things keep on longer this way, 
And my temper is getting quite ruined — 

(I scolded Louisa to-day). 
There 's only one plan I can think of 

To help it, and so I suppose 
Though court-plaster 's not at all pretty 

I 'd best put a patch on my nose. 
It 's hard, but I guess I sha'n't mind it 

If only my dear Mamma sees 
Which twin is Louisa Maria, 

And which is Maria Louise! 



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SECOND PAPER-TOYS FROM PASTEBOARD BOXES- 
BY LINA BEARD 



Save all of your boxes; large boxes, small 
boxes, medium- sized, round, square, and 
oblong boxes, for there are any number of 
delightful toys the children can make of them. 
It does not take long to put the boxes and 
pieces of boxes together either, and the whole 
process is so very simple, one is surprised at 
the really wonderful results of perhaps only a 
few moments' work. 

The photographs, on the next page, of the 
grocery store complete, with shelves, counter 
and scales, the shopkeeper and customer, and 
the automobile delivery wagon, on this page, 
being loaded by 
ihe shopkeeper and 
a chauffeur, cannot 
really convey a true 
idea of the appear- 
ance of these fasci- 
natingly realistic lit- 
tle toys. If directed 
in the work the chil- 
dren themselves will 
lake great delight in 
making them. 

You will need one 
large box for the 
store, one box lid 
cut in half for the 
wings on each side 

of the store, a box and cover for the two 
sets of shelves, a small baking powder box 



to use as a barrel tilled with spinach (pars- 
ley) and a square box to stand at one side 
for additional vegetables. Of course you 
must have another box of suitable size for 
the automobile, with part of a box as a cover 
on the vehicle, two round boxes with their 
lids for wheels, and still another smaller one 
for the steering apparatus in front. 

Select a box about 19 inches long, 10-inches 
deep, and 8 inches wide, for the grocery , re- 
move the lid and one of the long sides and 
you have the foundation for the store (Fig. 4). 
On the front edge of the two side walls, A 



and B, fit ihe lengthwise halves of a bo.t lid 
with the turned-down edge on the short ends 



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Toys from Pasteboard Boxes 



taken off. Use glue or strong paste to fasten 
these box halves so' that they extend out like 
wings from the walls (C and C, Fig. 5). 



two sets of shelves and allow for extending up 
into an arch. The entire length will probably 
be 20 inches. Bend the two ends of the arch 



Find a letter-paper box with a deep lid clos- 
ing down over the entire box. Open the box 
and glue shelves in both lid and box {Fig. 6). 
Make the shelvesof strips cut from another box 
and bent down on the short ends to fit the letter- 
paper box (Fig. 7), Cover the bent ends with 
glue and fasten them in the box, holding them 
in place for a moment until they adhere. 
Glue these sets of shelves on the floor of the 



out flat and paste one end on the top of each 
set of shelves {Fig. 2). 

Hunt up a box about 6 inches long, 2.',i 
inches deep, and 2yi inches wide as a counter 
for the store; leave the lid on, turn the box 
upside down and glue it to the floor at the 
center near the front of the store ; then cut a 
narrow strip 20 inches long from another box. 
bend the strip 7 inches from each end, making 



store {Fig. 2) against the back wall at each end it into a square arch {Fig. 8,). Slide the i»o 

of the room (Fig. 2). Connect the two sets of ends of the arch down into the box lid on the 

shelvesbyanarchmadeof a strip of pasteboard bottom of the counter {Fig. 8). This makes 

cut as wide as the shelves are deep and of suf- the framework from which to hang the scales, 

ficient length to span the distance between the Fashion the scales of an ordinary round 



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■swJ Toys from Pasteboard Boxes 345 

pasteboard pill box. Open the box, break scale where it will not be seen, and the balance 
away the high inside layer around its sides (D, will be even (Fig. 10). Gather up a lot of 
Fig. 9), making the height of the box almost little boxes for the Selves, stand the small 
exactly that of the lid. Puncture three holes 
in each scale at equal distances apart (see £ in 
Fig. 9). Do this by first measuring the exact 




^ 



distance around the rim of the box with a strip 
of paper; then folding the paper into three 
equal lengths ( see F, Fig. 9 ) and again 
placing the strip around the box, marking 
where the folds come on the rim and where 
the ends of the paper meet, then piercing the 
three spots with a very large, coarse darning 
needle. Thread strings with knots on their 
ends through the holes in each scale ; have all 
the strings of equal length and tie the ends 
of the three strings into one knot as shown at 
G, Fig. 9. Cut a notch on the two sides of the 
ends of a narrow strip of pasteboard 3j4 inches 
long taken from a box (Fig. 10). Tie the 
scales in place on the strip. Make two notches 
on each edge of the center of the same strip, 
and two on each edge of the center of 
the square arch (Figs. 8 and 10). Suspend 
the scales by a string tied around the center 
of the crosspiece of the scales and carried up 
and tied over and around the center of the 
square arch (Fig. 10). 

If one scale is found to be lighter in weight 
than the other, cut a small bit of pasteboard 



^ 



=^ 



from a box, place it in the light-weight scale ; 
if it makes the scale too heavy, trim the bit 
of pasteboard off again and again until both 
scales swing the same distance above the 
counter ; then take the weight and paste it on 
the center of the bottom of the light-weight 
Vol. XXXIV.- 44, 



baking powder box barrel at one side near the 
front of the store, and the square box on the 
other side. Pile three squares of white sugar 
on the top shelf, dried beans on the bottom 



shelf, coffee in a round box, cloves in another, 
and so on. Place three nutmegs on the coun- 
ter for brown loaves of bread, cut round paste- 
board disks of various sizes to use as dilferent 
weights on the scales, 
for you know these 
little scales will ac- 
tually move up and 
down like real ones, 
and this fact wilt be 
appreciated by the 
chfldren. Bring the 
clothes-pin doll you 
made last month, for 
one of the buyers, 
and dress up another 
clothes-pin for the 
storekeeper. As the 
heads of wooden 




>/GoogIc 



Toys from Pasteboard Boxes 



346 

clothes-pins are rather flat, paste a little black wheels. Peel off the rims of both boxes and 

paper bow high up on the brown paper hair covers, leaving four flat pasteboard disks; 

to add to the height of the head as in Fig. 3. make a hole in the center of each, adjust them 

Now for the ddivery automobile belonging to the automobile and mark where the center 

of the wheels comes; then make holes in the 

automobile and run a slender wooden stick or 

an old paint-brush handle through wheels and 

vehicle. Cut off the ends of the sticks if too 

long, and mold beeswax on the points to pre- 

the wheels from dropping off, i 




to the grocery. Use a box about 63^ inches 
long, 3J4 inches wide, and 1)4 inches deep 
as the body of the automobile. Make the 
covered top of a piece of stiff pasteboard cut 
from another box. The strip must be 13J^ 
inches long and 6 inches wide. Measure 5 
inches from each end of the strip and draw a 
line across the strip at the two points. The 
dotted lines in Fig. 1 1 show where your lines 
should be made; score both lines; then cut 
off a one inch wide strip from each of the side 
portions running along the same edge, which 
will leave a projection of one inch at the 
center to form the front extension of the roof 
of the automobile (Fig. 11). Bend down the 
sides of the covered top and stand them in 
the automobile ; fit them fiat against the sides 
of the vehicle, bringing them close to the back 
and leaving a space in front of the body of 
the vehicle ; then glue this covered top in place. 
Make the steering wheel of the cover of a 
small pill box, run a large, heavy darning 
needle through the center of the box cover 
and stick the needle point slantingly through 
the center of the front of the bottom of the 
automobile. To avoid pricks from the point 
of the needle, run it into a small cork which 
will never be noticed under the bottom of the 
automobile. Fig, ] shows how the steering. 
wheel should stand in the front of the vehicle. 
Select two round boxes alike in size for 



in the photograph, where you will also see the 
storekeeper helping load up the automobile 
while the clothes-pin chauffeur stands at the 
head of his machine (Fig 1). 

All the material used for making both the 
store and the automobile was merely such as 
is common to any household. I used only 
the boxes, etc., that happened to be in the 
house and with perfect results. Where boxes 




of the right size can not be found, larger boxes 
or cardboard strips may be cut up and bent 
to the required size and shape. 

V Google 



Mother Goose Continued 

By Anna Marion Smith 

And tvMAtM WK «mMy. 
tW 1^ W H«Ht) <p1Wd for 11m « 

>^bMt_4W Kiiav* fwH «m«. 
Ow l^id^ AT Hmii4i bravf M Wck tk 

Tliis noble queen, with mind serene, 
Then made a mammoth cake. 

The naughty knave for cake did crave, 
And off with it did make. 

The haughty king, for punishing, 
Would have him eat it all. 

Which made the knave— unhappy slave- 
Too sick to speak or crawL 



Since then, at ease, their majesties 

Eat pastries every day. 
The knave affirms his stomach sauirnis. 



ttOMC i^S TY /\Ol«TY MORMiNaii ?1 

misty, mois^ mornlnj ^*' 

I doudy \foi 'Oie -Mvolhrr 

b nwct an old man dollied all ^, _ 

inlfcriher. ' (%. 

I complinient , ond I bc^an to 4ri 
u do , and hovf da you do 
Jtd hovrdo you do o^in? , 

This morning as I wandered 
To enjoy the charming weather, 
aet a man in goggles and a modern 

suit of leather. 
; began to toot a horn and I began 

to run ; 

He knocked me flat nor cared for that ; 
And down the road he spun. 




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Pinkey Perkins: Just a Boy 

By Captain Harold Hammond, U. S. A. 

lUnairated br Georje Varian 
HOW PINKEY COLLECTED A BAD DEBT 



One day during the early Spring, as Pinkey drawn overland by four horses. The proprie- 



and Bunny were on their w^y to school, they 
saw coming up a side street something which 
immediately aroused their curiosity and in- 
terest. 

"What is it? Let 's go see," said Pinkey; 



and without further argument the pair 
dashed off up the street, unmindful that it 
was almost time for the last bell. 

The object which had so stirred their curi- 
osity was nothing more nor less than a port- 
able photograph gallery, a small house 
mounted on a large, low-wheeled wagon and 



tor was seated on a high wooden stool, on 
what might be tenned the front porch of the 
house, driving. 

Pinkey and Bunny had seen the traveling 
house before it had proceeded far inside the 
town limits and in con- 
sequence were the first 
to reach it. However, 
as they neared the pub- 
lic square they were 
joined by others in 
goodly numbers, until 
the queer structure 
was nearly surrounded 
by the curious crowd 
which accompanied it. 
This crowd increased 
still more as the owner 
guided his strange 
craft across the square 
and stopped to inquire 
concerning a location 
suitable for the open- 
ing of his gallery for 
business. 

Arrangements were 
soon completed with 
the owner of a vacant 
lot not far from the 
court-house and thither 
the crowd accompa- 
nied the "house on 
wheels," as Pinkey had 
called it. 

"Now clear out o' 
this, you kids," said 
the proprietor, flourish- 
vEs OF HIS LEGS." ing his whip danger- 

ously near the boys' 
legs as he started to unhitch his horses, 
"you 've got no business around here." 

"Come on, fellows," said Pinkey in a tone 
of disgust, as he neared the house. "We 
would be wasting time fooling around this old 
thing. I know what it is. It 's nothing but 
an old picture gallery that travels round the 



Google 



Captain Harold Hammond 



country. It 's going to stop here a. while, 
you 'II And ; and we can see it any time." 

Just as he turned toward the sidewalk he 
felt a stinging sensation on the calves of his 
legs, which caused him to jump quickly to 
one side. 

"When I want you climbin' around on the 
porch of this car, young man, I '11 say so," 
said the photographer, savagely, "and the 
next time I catch you or any other kid around 
that window there 'II be trouble for some- 
body." 

"I was just walking by," said Pinkey, 
sadly, as he limped along, nibbing his leg. 
"I was n't even thinking of looking into his 
old house and he might have said something 
before jumping on a fellow with a whip." 

The ringing of the school bell put a stop 
to further comments on the subject and all 
hurried off. 

On the way home from school that noon 
most of the boys made it a point to go by the 
vacant lot where the new "Art Car," as the 
photographer chose to call his establishment, 
was located. On approaching the place, 
Pinkey was surprised to see "Liberty Jim" 
busily engaged about the miniature house, 
digging holes in which the wheels might set 
in order to bring the house nearer to the 
ground. The space about the car had been 
cleared off, the weeds and grass closely cut 
and taken away, and in general things had 
begun to look much improved. 

As was his custom, Jim hailed Pinkey with 
the assurance that he was glad to see him and 
as Pinkey drew nearer Jim confided to him 
that he had secured permanent employment 
with the proprietor, doing odd jobs about the . 
gallery, 

" 'T won't take but a little o' my time, 
either," said Jim, proudly, "I can keep all 
my other jobs and do this work too. All 
I 've got to do is to sweep out and dust, carry 
water to fill the big tank, and keep the grass 
and weeds mowed around the car and out to 
the street." 

"Bunny," said Pinkey, after Jim was out 
of hearing, "if that fellow treats Jim right 
and pays him for the work he does, I '11 take 
the blame for his hitting me with that whip 
this morning, and say nothing more about it, 
and do nothing more, 'cause if I did, it might 
make a difference to Jim, but if he don't treat 
Jim square, he 'II be sorry of the day he ever 
came to this town, and hit me with his whip 
when I was n't doing a thing." 

The weeks went by and, as the Art Car be- 



349 

came an established institution in Enterprise, 
it ceased to be a source of much interest. 
People patronized it freely and all were well 
pleased that it had come to town. Jim was 
proud of his situation and soon began to feel a 
sort of part ownership in the establishment. He 
spent a large part of his time there and took 
great pride in keeping things looking their 
best. But nothing seemed to give him so 
much pleasure as the kind words and compli- 
ments of the patrons who, as they came ^nd 
went, never failed to notice the little Sower 
beds he had made and the many attractive sur- 
roundings he had arranged for the house. 

For a time, Pinkey refrained from question- 
ing Jim about the financial returns he received 
for his work, but after two weeks had gone by 
he asked him one day if he had received his 
pay yet, and Jim replied rather vaguely that 
it was "all right" and for Pinkey not to 
"worry about that part of it " 

But Pinkey had his suspicions and after 
four weeks had passed by he again went to 
Jim one morning and insisted on knowing 
how the matter of wages stood between him 
and the photographer. 

"Well yoii see, Pinkey, I 'm not workin' 
for him any more," admitted Jim, visibly con- 
fused, "I quit last Saturday." 

"Did he pay you all he owed you when 
you quit?" persisted Pinkey. 

"I have n't got all of it yet," Jim replied 
and then added hopefully: "but I expect to 
before long." 

"How much did he give you altogether?" 

"Well, you see, people are kind of slow 
payin' him, so he says, and he has n't paid mc 
anything yet. He says I '11 have to wait on 
him a little while longer." 

"Did you quit of your own accord, or did 
he turn you off?" inquired Pinkey, conviction 
as to the true state of affairs becoming settled 
in his mind. 

"He said he could get along with a boy 
now, there not being any more heavy work 
to do." 

"Jim," said Pinkey, now fully convinced, 
"he 's just beaten you out of your money, as I 
thought he would on the start, that 's what 
he 's done." 

"Well, I guess you 're right about it, 
Pinkey," said Jim, rather hopelessly, as he 
turned away, "but it would take all he owes 
me to get a lawyer to collect it, so I suppose 
I '11 have to let it go." 

'You may be willing to let it go," mut- 
tered Pinkey to himself, "but I 'm,not." 

|.,.| -..I . CiOOglC 



350 

Pinkey immediately hunted up Bimny and 
told him the news about Jim losing his job 
and not getting any pay for the four weeks he 
had worked. 

"What 're you going to do to him, Pinkey?" 
inquired Bunny, much interested as to what 
Pinkey 's line of action might be. 

"I 'm not going to do anything to him," 
answered Pinkey, "that is, not much. I 'm 
just going to collect what he owes Jim, if I 
can, and at the same time square up with him 
myself. You come down to my house this 
evening after supper and help me." 

Before he went home that afternoon, 
Pinkey sought out Jim, who was lying on the 
grass over in the park, as the shady enclosure 
in the center of the public square was called, 
his hat over his eyes and his violin by his 
side. As Pinkey approached, Jim sat up and 
looked at him sadly, 

"Now don't scold me any more, Pinkey," 
he said when he saw the serious look on his 
friend's face, "I 've been thinkin' it over 
and I 'vc just decided that he has beat me and 
that 's all there is to it." 

"I did n't come over to scold you, Jim," 
said Pinkey, "I just came to tell you that if 
you 'II do as I tell you we can collect every 
cent of that money before we go to bed to- 
night." 

Jim sat upright instantly. He had faith 
in Pinkey's ability to do almost anything he 
tried. 

"I 've got to go to supper now," Pinkey 
continued, "and have n't time to explain 
things, but you come up-town to-night after 
supper and wait on the court-house comer 
until I come." 

Now it happened that one of Jim's many 
peculiarities was an unusual love for animaU 
of all kinds and conditions. No stray dog or 
homeless kitten was too forlorn to be attrac- 
tive in his eyes and many an ownerless out- 
cast had found food and shelter, through 
Jim's generosity in sharing what he had with 
them. As a consequence, Jim's back yard 
often resembled a feline and canine almshouse 
with the inmates out for an airing. 

During the hunting season some months 
previous, Jim had accompanied several sports- 
men on a trip to the river bottom, acting as 
cook for the party, and had brought home a 
coon which had been wounded by one of the 
men and which he had rescued before the dogs 
had killed it. This coon Jim had begged to 
be given him in part return for his services, 
but really to save it from the cruel fate which 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



awaited it were it turned loose as sport for the 
dogs. 

On this coon, Pinkey depended for his suc- 
cess in the scheme he had evolved for the col- 
lection of the photographer's debt to, Jim. 
He had often played with the animal, which 
had rapidly become tame under Jim's care, 
and it had grown to know him and Bunny. 

As soon as supper was over, Bunny put in 
appearance at Pinkey's house. He found 
Pinkey upstairs in his workshop. 

His first words were an inquiry as to what 
the plan was. 

"Listen and I 'II tell you," replied Pinkey, 
deliberately, leaning against his work bench. 
" First thing we do, as soon as it 's good and 
dark, we '11 go down and gel that tame coon 
o' Jim's. Jim keeps him tied to a tree out in the 
yard now. If we can once get him into that 
Art Car, and let him get all excited, there 's 
nobody on earth except Jim that can get him 
out. See now what I 'm after?" 

"Going to put the coon in there," ex- 
claimed Bunny, gleefully, "and then have 
Jim come and offer to take 'im out, but not 
till he gets the money that 's coming to him?" 

"That 's it exactly. The coon '11 be in the 
dark in a strange place and if I 'm not mis- 
taken that man won't care to be shut up in 
that little house with a strange animal charg- 
ing around like mad and he 'II be glad to get 
rid of him at any price because he won't know 
what kind of an animal it is." 

In order that no difficulty might arise in 
transporting the coon, Pinkey went to the 
barn and got a large gunny sack, in which he 
intended to put the animal and cany him un- 
til he liberated him in the photograph gallery, 
and an old piece of clothes line to tie around 
it, if the coon became too bothersome. 

"That 'II be all the better," said Bunny, 
when they were discussing the advisability of 
the scheme, "because being shut up in that 
sack '11 make him all the madder and liveliar 
when he 's turned loose." 

"Our man 's in his house," said Pinkey 
with delight, as the pair drew near the Art 
Car, their squirming and madly excited cap- 
tive all the while keeping up a frantic en- 
deavor to liberate himself. "Let 's get rid 
of this coon as soon as ever we can. He '11 
be clawing a hole in this sack first thing you 
know and then he '11 go for us." The boys 
had not taken time to tie the rope around the 
sack as they had at first intended, and the 
coon was becoming very lively. 



,/ Google 



*»»7] 



Captain Harold Hammond 



351 



"Better fix the door so the man can't get 
out, had n't we, Pinkey?" suggested Bunny. 
"Because the first thing he '11 do when he 
hears this coon tearing around '11 be to 
drop everything and run. I would if I 
was him." 

"That 's a good idea. Bunny," agreed 
Pinkey, jubilantly, handing Bunny the piece 
of clothes line. "Vou fix the door tight and 
then I '11 put the coon in the little window 



LIBEBTV Jtll SAT UP A1 

I was looking in that day when he hit me with 
the whip." 

"Yes, he said the next time he caught any 
kids around that window, there 'd be trouble 
for somebody," said Bunny mockingly; "well 
I just expect there will be trouble for some- 
body, without his catching any kidsl" 

While Pinkey held the sack, keeping one 
comer on the ground with his foot and the 
upper end at arm's length from him, to pro- 
tect his legs from being scratched or bitten. 
Bunny tied the door knob to one of the short 
iron hooks which supported a tin sign beside 
the door. He wound the line from the door 
knob to the hook and back again until he had 



used it all up and then fastened the end se- 
curely. 

"There," he said proudly, as he returned to 
where Pinkey was still uneasily retaining 
custody of the coon, "if he gets out of that 
house, 't won't be through the door, that 's 
certain." 

" Well, I should think not," returned 
Pinkey. "You were long enoiigh to tie a 
dozen doors. You must think I like to stand 
here wrestling with 
this coon all by myself 
for a half an hour. 
Come on now, we have 
n't any time to lose." 
Quietly, and without 
a word. Bunny picked 
up his end of the sack 
and the pair crept up 
to the side of the house. 
To their delight they 
saw that the little win- 
dow was open. Pinkey 
cautiously climbed up 
on the porch, just be- 
neath the window, after 
which Bunny, who had 
held the coon until 
Pinkey was ready to 
receive it, gladly passed 
his burden up to -his 
companion. 

Inside, the photogra- 
pher was working away, 
developing plates and 
whistling absent-mind- 
edly, with no idea of 
what was going on out- 
side. He had returned 
from supper but a few 
n LOOKED AT HIM. " mlnutcs before and was 

just starting to work. 
There was no time to lose now. The man 
might hear them any minute and look out of 
the little window. Pinkey, with great effort 
and not without a sense of timidity as he 
thought of the possible results of his escapade, 
hastily raised the sack, and its now thoroughly 
aroused and irate contents, to the height of his 
head, placed the mouth of the sack in the 
open window, released his hold on the open- 
ing and pushed the whole burden inside. The 
coon seemed to hesitate for a moment on the 
window sill and then pitched forward out of 
sight. 

Instantly there was a sound of rushing feet, 
accompanied by shouts of mingled rage and 

ogle 



352 



fear. The words were not plain to the boys, 
who had instantly retreated to a safe distance, 
but they must have been most expressive, 
judging by their inflection and emphasis. The 
first commotion was followed by the noise of 
a falling chair, which the photographer had 
attempted to mount and which had fallen in 
his attempt to gain a footing. The little 
room in which the coon had been liberated 
was scarcely large enough for the enraged 
animal and the man whose unwelcome guest 
he was and in another moment the boys heard 
a door crash open as the photographer sought 
more space in the larger one adjoining. 

The excited animal pursued the fleeing 
artist. This room was totally dark and as the 
now frantic man was fumbling blindly for the 
knob to the outer door the coon in its mad 
rush around and around, each moment up- 
setting something which sent him on his 
way at a still wilder pace, collided with his 
quaking legs and sent him sprawling on the 
floor. 

"Vou stay here, Bunny, and watch," ordered 
Pinkey, as soon as he saw how satisfactorily 
everything was progressing, " I 'm goin' after 
Jim." He had succeeded admirably so far 
and now he had but one more move to nuike 
and the scheme he had planned would be- 
come a complete victory. 

Pinkey found Jim at the appointed place 
on the court-house steps and without any ex- 
planation he ordered his friend to follow him 
as fast as he could. 

"Hustle, Jim," panted Pinkey, rushing 
back to see why his companion was so slow, 
"get to moving as fast as you know how." 

"That 's what I 'm doin' already," replied 
Jim, between short breaths. "WTiat 's the 
■matter, have you set fire to somethin' ?" 

"No, but I '11 bet that photographer thinks 
it 's next thing to it." 

At the mention of the word photographer, 
Jim urged his legs to a still faster pace, fear- 
ing lest Pinkey had gotten himself into 
trouble. On arriving at the Art Car, Pinkey 
briefly explained the situation to Jim and 
added: 

"Now you get up to that window and say 
just what I tell you." 

Jim did as he was bid. 

"Ask him what 's the matter," said Pinkey 
in an undertone. 

Jim repeated the question to the infuriated 
man inside. 

" Matter !" shrieked the tin-type artist, 
choking with rage and fear, though now at- 



Pinkey Perkins : Just a Boy 



tFta^ 



tempting to make a show of bravado. "If 
somebody don't get this wildcat out o' here, 
I '11 kill it. Outside there! Do you hear 
me? Somebody take this wildcat out of 
here!" cried the excited photographer. 

"Tell him to pay you what he owes you 
and you '11 get it out," prompted Pinkey. 

"Pay me the eight dollars you owe me and 
I '11 take 'im out," said Jim, his voice taking 
on a tone of confidence, hitherto lacking. 

"Is that you, Jim?" cried the photographer, 
recognizing Jim's voice for the first time. 
"How 'd you get here? My, but I 'm glad to 
see you. I '11 pay you the eight dollars if 
you 'II get this varmint out o' here before he 
breaks up everything 1 've got." 

On his way to the car he had seen Jim at 
the court-house, and Jim had made no effort 
to avoid him, so he had no suspicion of his 
being implicated in putting the animal in the 
car. 

"Hand it over," demanded Jim promptly, 
without any urging from Pinkey. 

"Want it right now?" inquired the photo- 
grapher. 

"Right now," replied Jim. He saw his 
advantage and did not propose to be beaten 
again. 

By the dim light of a bracket lamp, which 
still burned in the small room, the chagrined 
and thoroughly cowed photographer fumbled 
in his wallet for a few moments and finally 
extracted eight dollars ,in bills and reluctantly 
passed it up to Jim as the price of his deliver- 
ance. The coon, which, had the photographer 
known it, was as badly scared as he, had 
ceased its wild rush about the house and only 
when frightened afresh did it create any more 
disturbance. At present it was shivering in 
a comer, having learned by investigation that 
escape was impossible. 

After Jim had the bills secure in his fingers 
and had made sure of the amount, he stepped 
down to the ground and with Pinkey and 
Bunny went around to the door. The boys 
retired some distance into the darkness while 
Jim untied the rope and went inside. Pres- 
ently he emerged from the car, bearing in his 
arms the coon. 

"What 'd he have to say, Jim," inquired 
Pinkey, anxiously, "when he saw what his 
'wildcat' looked like?" 

"Did n't have much of anything to say, ex- 
cept that it acted like a wildcat, anyway," 
replied Jim, "and from the way the place 
looks I guess he 's right about it. I 'm glad 
he don't suspect me or know that the coon 



""'^ Captain Harold Hammond 353 

lielongs to me. And say, Piokey, that was a if you 'U find out who put the beast in here." 

great scheme of yours and it worked well. I It was too dark for him to see anything but 

won't forget it either, for nobody was ever as he evidently hoped that Jim was still within 

good to me as you are." hearing. 



"Oh, that 's all right," said Pinkey, trying Jim made no reply, but to Pinkey and 

ui make light of the service he had done Jim. Bunny he chuckled contentedly and said : 

"1 owed him a little debt and he owed you "^iy! but he 's gettin' liberal all of a sud- 

one, so we 're square all around. I guess it 's den, but it would take more tlian that to buy 

time to go home now. so come on. Bunny." what I know about all this. I guyss I '11 take 

Just then the door of the Art Car opened Mr. Coon home and give him a good supper, 

and the photographer called out : for he 's certainly earned it. He 's paid me 

"Say, Jim, 1 '11 make that ten dollars more my wages, in fact. Good-night," 



Vol, XXXIV.— 45. 



d by Google 



The Nursery Zoo 



By Charles F. Junkin 



That Funnychuckle over there 
Is worth a mint of money, 

The Keeper says it 's " good as pie," 
And sweeter far than honey. 

It is not such a pretty bird, 
Or gaudy, lite the Parrot. 
Its feathers may be black or brown 



It is not always big or strong. 

Or even very clever, 
And yet, the Keeper still insists 

It is the "nicest ever." 

Just see those merry little eyes, 
Brim full of shiny twinkles. 

And see the comers of its mouth. 
All doubled up in crinkles! 

They say it has a funny-bone 
That keeps it always laughing, 

And BO it never minds at all 

Or cares for bumps or chaffing. 




One day it bumped its little head 
Against a great big rafter, 

You 'd think it would begin to cry — 
But lo! a burst of laughter! 

And once a Gobbleup came in 

And ate up all the candy. 
And yet the Funnychuckle sang 

Like Yankee Doodle Dandy— 

"Ha-ha, he-he, ho-ho," it sang, 
" Oh ! what 's the use in crying ? 
I 'd rather chuckle any day. 

Than boo-hoo-hoo a-sighing! " 

The Keeper says he 'd give his hands* 
Ten fingers and the knuckles, 

If he could fill the Nursery Zoo 
Just///// of Funnychuckles. 

He says that you can lend a hand. 

If you '11 be busy trying, 
lust give your funny-bone a chance, 

And laugh instead of crying. 



Funryehuckle ',{ 



>/GoogIc 



The Nursery Zoo 



The Scrapperfight 's an ugly beast, 
And yet, (the more 's the pity,) 

It gets in every Nursery Zoo, 
In every town and city. 

The Keepers try to drive it out, 
Because it 's such a worry, 

But often it comes sneaking back. 
And sometimes in a hurry. 



Just see it, standing over there, 
So happy and so smiling, 

It looks so innocent and sweet, 
Bewitching 'and beguiling. 

You 'd never think its gentle face 
Would turn as red as fire. 

Just like a Gobbler in a rage, 
And flush with foolish ire. 

If you should see those shiny eyes 
With spite and anger gleaming, 

If you could hear that rosy mouth 
When once it starts to screaming ! 



You 'd scarce believe those chubby hands 
Would ever take to snatching, 

Or push, and thump, and slap so hard, 
Or even do some scratching. 

You see those little pearly teeth? 

One day it bit its brother 1 
And once, it did an awful thing, 

It really kicked its mother! 

And so. you see, the Scrapperfight 

Is truly very ugly. 
There 's nothing quite so bad as this 

Except the Fibberwugly. 

And so the Keepers drive it out. 

As well as they are able. 
They try the switch, or coax or talk. 

Or lock it in the stable. 

But after all, the boys and girls, 

(If each one only knew it). 
The boyi and girh can keep it out. 

And they 're the ones to do it! 




Google 



The Nursery Zoo 



This noisy little talking bird 
Is called the Chatterwatter, 

(Or if you like the other name 
It really does tiot matter.) 

It looks quite like a boy, or girl, 

In fact it is a cousin, 
Each Nursery Zoo has one or two, 

And sometimes there 's a dozen. 



Its eyes are sharp and big and bright. 

And always in a twinkle; 
Its cheeks are soft and round and smooth. 

Without a crease or wrinkle ; 

Its feathers sometimes long and straight 

And sometimes very curly, 
(The curly ones eat all the crusts 

And go to bed quite early !) 

The only thing that 's really odd 

About the Chatterwatter 
Is just the funny little tongue 

That raises such a clatter. 



You see, its tongue is really hung 

Just like a sort of jiggle, 
Both ends are free, and so, you see. 

It wags just like a Wiggle. 

It talks, and talks, and talks, .4.ND talks, 

Whatever it is doing. 
It says "what-what?" "where-where?" 

"why-why? " 
And then begins " who-whoing." 

You 'd almost think it could n't stop. 
That something was the matter. 

But after all. the litde bird 
Is just a Chatterwatter.* 

And so, it longs to sing and talk, 
Like birds and bees in summer, 

When every bird must chirp and peep. 
And every bee 's a hummer! 

And if you do not like the noise. 

The rumpus and the riot, 
Just leave it in the Nursery Zoo, 

And you go where it 's quiet! 




CK«>.ttervi>ttep"'jfJl^ 

UigtizcdbyGoOglc 



FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK 



The Kitten That Forgot How to Mew 

By Stella George Stern 

Last month you were told the story of "The Little Gray Kitten." This 
month we will tell you about quite another kitten belonging to a little girl 
named Peggy. 

Peggy had two brothers, and three cousins — all boys — and every boy 
had a little dog. At first the dogs would tease the kitten, but they soon 
learned better. The dogs and the kitten played together. All day long, 
out in the yard, you could hear them going, " Bow-wow ! " and " Mew ! " 



d by Google 



358 FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK 

But, you see, there was only one little " Mew " and ever so many "Bow- 
wows," and after a while the kitten hardly ever spoke at all. 

But one day the kitten wanted to mew, and — what do you suppose ? — 
she had forgotten how to do it ! She tried and tried, and all she could 
say was " M-m-m-bow ! " — just as much like a dog as a kitten. She was so 
sad. She ran out into the yard and cried. 

The Big White Hen passed by and asked what was the matter. 

■' Oh, Big White Hen," sobbed the kitten, "I have forgotten how to talk 
kitten-talk. I try and 1 try, and all I can say is, M-m-m-bow ! " 

"Never mind, Kitty Cat," said the Hen; "I will teach you to talk. 
Listen to this: M-m-m-cut, cut, cut, cut, cut-ca-rfti-cut ! " 

" No," said the kitten; "that 's not the way to talk kitten-talk." And 
she cried again. 

Then along came the Sheep and asked, "What is the matter?" 



" Oh, Sheep," sobbed the kitten, " I have forgotten how to talk kitten- 
talk. I try and I try, and all I can say is, M-m-m*bow ! " 

"Never mind, Kitty Cat," said the Sheep; "I will teach you to talk. 
Listen : M-m-m-baa! " 

"No." said the kitten; "that's not the way to talk kitten-talk." And 
she cried again. 

Then along came the Horse and asked what was the matter. 

" Oh, Horse," sobbed the kitten, " I have forgotten how to talk kitten- 
talk. I try and 1 try, and all I can say is, M-m-m-bow! " 

"Never mind, Kitty Cat," said the Horse; " I will teach you to talk. 
Listen to this: M-m-m-neigh! " 

"No," said the kitten; "that's not the way to talk kitten-talk." And 
she cried again. 

Then along came the Cow and asked what was the matter. 

" Oh, Cow," sobbed the kitten, " I have forgotten how to talk kitten-talk. 
I try and 1 try, as hard as I ever can. and all I can sav is, M-m?in-bow L" 

,V_700gle 



FOR VERY LITTLE FOLK 



"Never mind, Kitty Cat," said the Cow; "I will teach you to talk. 
Listen to this : M-m-m-moo ! " 

"No," said the kitten; "that is more like it, but that 's not the way to 
talk kitten-talk." And she cried again. 

The New Baby was sitting in her high chair at the kitchen door. 

" Baby dear," sighed the kitten, " 1 am in trouble. I have forgotten how 
to talk kitten-talk. I try and I try, and all 1 can say is, M-m-m-bow! 
Can't you teach me ? " 

The Baby nodded her head and began, " M-m-m-google-google-goo ! " 

'• No," said the kitten ; " that 's not the way to talk kitten-lalk." And 
she sat on the kitchen step and cried again. 

" What is the matter ? " asked a soft voice behind her. 

"Oh! "sobbed the kitten, without looking up, " I have forgotten how to talk 
kitten-talk. I try and I try, and nothing can help me. All I can say is, 
M-m-m-bow t " 

" Look at me," said the soft voice. 

The little kitten looked. And there stood a beautiful big gray cat ! 

" 1 can teach you to talk," said the Cat. And she did. She taught her 
so well that the little kitten never again forgot how to mew, though she 
played out on the soft, green grass with the dogs every day. 



d by Google 



I think tlie old fellow has hitherto had scanl justice 
done him in the main. We make hitn the symbol of 
old age or death, and.think we have settled the matter. 
. . . For my own pari, I think Winter a pretty wide- 
BwaVe old boy, and his bluff sincerity and hearty ways 
are more congenial lo my mood, and more wholesome 
for me, than any charms of which his rivals are 
capable. 

Naturalists, too, stoutly maintain that in 
winter all is not dead, nor sleeping, nor even 
dull. We may have fewer activities among the 



; four-footed animals, 
lone the less joyous. 



The well-known liking for play that wild 
creatures have, in common with our young 
folks, does not cease even m the midwinter 
days of February, 

None of our spring and summer birds are 
jollier than snow buntings, or snowflakes, and 
their playfulness seems to be most conspicu- 
ous in the most blustering weather. 

Ernest Thompson Seton thus describes these 
frolicsome little birds: 

Throughout Canada and the northern tier of slates 
this h the familiar little while bird of wintei. As soon 
as the chill season comes on in icy rigors, ihe merry 
Snowflakes appear in great flocks, and come foraging 
about Ihe barnyards when there is no bare ground left 
in the adjacent fields. Apparently ihcy get but little 
to eat, but in reality tiiey always find enough to keep 
ihem in health and spirits, and arc as fat as butter balls. 
In midwinter, in the far north, when Ihe thermomcier 
showed thirty degrees below icro, and the chill bliz- 
zard was blowing on the plains, I have seen this brave 
liltle bird gleefully chasing his fellows, and pouring 
out, as he flew, bis sweet, voluble song with as mucji 
spirit as ever Skylark has in the sunniest days of 

Buffeting the severest w 
(o be as exhilarating I 



ids of winter seems 
them as wading 

V Google 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



through snowdrifts, coasting down hill and 
gliding on skates over smooth ice are to the 
young folk. 

That four*footed animals have their play, 
and apparently their time for such recreation, 
is well-known. There are many instances on 
record. John Burroughs says that he has seen 
two squirrels playing tag. and from his descrip- 
tion, they did it as actively, and with as much 
enjoyment and merriment, as two children. 

These games of tag are often as vigorously 
played in the winter, as in the warm seasons. 
Mice have been seen chasing one another in the 
snow in a sort of play that reminded the ob- 
ser\-er of "Puss in the Comer" or sometimes 
" Fox and Geese," an old-time game some- 
times played nowadays by the young folk in 
a diagram of paths made in the snow. The 
mice played their game, not in regular paths, 
but on a series of stumps and in a clump of 
bushes where hiding-places were many and 

But perhaps the most amazing of all the 
sports of the lower animals, is the sliding 
dnwn hill by the otter. This has been fre- 
quently described. The otters usually make a 
roundabout path to the top of a bank with a 
smooth slope, and down this incline they 
slide into the water. It is play ; it is amuse- 
ment and nothing else. They are then ob- 
livious to everythmg except that sloping bank, 
and the ride down it into the cool water. 
There is generally a playground at ihe top of 
the slope, where it is said that the grass and 
the turf are upturned and trampled by the 
pressure of the otters' hurrying feet, and 



weather they always slide down any sloping 
place to which they may come in their wan- 
derings, thus enlivening their journey with 



I have known a boy to do when, 
having been sent on an errand, he comes un- 
expectedly to an enticing spot on the icy side- 
walk. To slide, and to slide again, is an 
irresistible temptation. 

Our common rabbit is a timid little creature, 
but he is as fond of play, especially when the 
snow is on the ground, as are other animals. 
He likes especially the early evening, and the 
gray dawn of the morning, when he leaps 
and frisks and races in the soft snow. 

The bear, as well as the otter, is known to 
amuse himself by sliding down hill, and those 
who have read Uncle R emus' s inimitable 
stories will remember "Why Brother Bear 
Has No Tail." The author claimed, half in 
truth and half in fancy, that the bear lost it 
by sliding down a slippery rock. 



Vol. XXXIV.-46-47. 



d by Google 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



Have you never seen your pet dog at play 
in the first snow of the winter? He jumps 
and barks with glee, as his paws plunge deep, 
scattering a whirling little cloud behind liim. 
Even a pet cat does not hesitate to have a 
frolic in the first snow of the year. 
. There is no doubt about it. Animals /Ay — 
in the summer and in the winter ; in the house 
and out of it ; in the trees, and in the fields. 
Human beings need relaxation and recreation. 
So do the birds, and so do our four-footed 
friends of the wood, the thicket and the 
burrow. If we have failed to see them at 



visit those regions, and when we do we fail 
to see many interesting things that lie directly 
in our path. 

FERRETS LAYING TELEPHONE WIRES. 

In response to an inquiry, Mr. Cline, Superin- 
tendent of Construction of the Central Union 
Telephone Company of Indianapolis, Indiana, 
writes as follows regarding the use of ferrets 
in laying telephone wires: 

"I beg to acknowledge receipt of your in- 
quiry concerning the use of a ferret in con- 
nection with rodding our underground ducts, 
as we call it, and in reply thereto you may be 
advised that we have used the little animals 
very successfully at Indianapolis, Terre Haute. 
Lafayette and Huntington, Indiana. 

" When we first began to use them we baited 
them or enticed them through the duct by 
hanging a piece of raw meat at the opposite 
end, but our latest experiments have been by 
the use of a live rat, started through the duct 
ahead of the ferret, which entices the ferret to 
follow the rat through the section of duct to 
the next manhole, where the rat is caged and 
used for another section. 

" Before starting the ferret through the duct, 
he is harnessed up with a collar and girth, to 



their sports, even in midwinter, in the wild which is attached the end of a ball of lacing 
places of nature, it is not because they twine. As the ferret goes through the duct he 
do not play there, but because we so rarely pulls the lacing twine after him and when he 



./Google 



■'"''■' Nature and Science for Young Folks 

reaches the other end we have a string through The reverse side is of a mild gray ci 
the section of duct, by means of which we shghtly corrugated. The stem appears ti 
pull a small wire throufih and with this wire 



one -quarter inch manila or a five-eighths 
inch flexible wire. 

" We also keep the ferrets well fed until 
within about twenty-four hours before they are 
used, as the tendency of a ferret is to do 
better work when he is hungry." 

THE SEA PANSY. 

Notwithstanding the name, Pansy, would 
indicate a flower, the Sea Pansy is not a 
plant, but a low form of animal life. The 
Sea Pansies belong to the same general 
family as the coral builders, but "are called 
'■ free coral " as a means of distinction from 
the real coral polyp, for their habitation is not 
built of stone, nor is their architecture of so 
many different styles as that of the real corat ; 
always clinging to their old first plan, they 
build a flexible, soft, fleshy home suitable for 
their use in the soft sand. 

Pansy is the popular name from their re- 
semblance to the flower called by that name. 
It is of a thin, flat kidney or leaf shape, rang- 
ing from one half to two inches in diameter, 
from which hangs a short pliable stem. 

The obverse or face side is of a purple color 
and covered with round spots, mouths or cells, 
called, in zoology, polyps. These cells are of 
the utmost importance, being the seat of the 
animal life, each one a separate existence, mak- 
ing quite a colony or family on the one leaf. 



the only connection with the sand, a sort of 
anchorage to hold the frail tenement from 
being worked to and fro by the waves. When 
first examined, the mouths or cells open and 
contract, as if breathing, and, if covered from 
the light, they are highly phosphorescent. 
Beautiful flashes of red, yellow and pale green 
dart from one cell to another as if a wireless 
telegraph were in operation, asking why their 
quiet life is interrupted, and what, if anything, 
can be done to help them make their escape. 
When you ha\'e succeeded in capturing your 



Pansies, if you wish the correct scientific name, 
it is Pennatulaceous Alcyonarian polyp of 
the genus Renilla. W. J. Handy, 



>/GoogIc 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



364 



RECORDING EARTH SHAKINGS. 

The seismograph is an instrument which re- 
cords the motion of the earth's crust when it 
is made to vibrate under the action of an 
earthquake. Kven the minute vibrations due 
to the motion of passing railway trains, etc., 
can be recorded, but the real earthquake vi- 
brations are, as a rule, much greater and can 
be recorded at very great distances from the 
origin of the disturbance. In fact, it is shown 
by such great earthquakes as occurred at San 
Francisco, and more recently at Valparaiso, 
that the whole crust of the earth was set into 



This drum, in fact, is covered with a piece of 
paper which is coated with a thin layer of 
soot from a smoky flame, and when the record 
is written, the paper can be removed and the 
record preserved. 

C. F. Marvin. 

"WE f EL WHITE TO ST. NICHOUS ABOUT IT." 

swinqinq the key. 

Charleston, South Carolina. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I read rccemly that if yon 
altach a key to the end of a siring about four feci 
long, and hold Ihe other end in your right hand, al- 
lowing tiic key lo hang within four inches of the 
ground, it will soon begin to swing with the motion oi 
pendulum. Lei some one hold your lefi hand a ' 



the key will irai 

tion. Then if 

right shoulder i 

I tried this ai 



ledialely begin I 

ome one else puts his hand ( 



:alar r 






vibration, and these vibrations have been 
measured throughout the civilized world by 
seismographs similar to the one shown in the 
illustration. 

The large mass, C, of the seismograph, weigh- 
ing about thirty or forty pounds, is suspended 
in such a manner that it remains practically 
at rest while the earth is caused to vibrate 
by the earthquake. A long lever, connecting 
with the earth at one point and the mass 
which remains at rest at another point, oscil- 
lates in such a manner that a delicate needle 
at the extreme end of the lever scratches a 
record of the motion of the ground on the 
sooted surface of the wheel-like recording 
drum, shown at the right of the photograph. 



We have just described the delicate in- 
strument used to detect very slight earth- 
quakes, which is so very sensitive that it re- 
cords in Washington, or even in Germany, an 
earthqua.ke occurring in San Francisco. Vou 
may not remember the long name, seismo- 
graph, by which this instrument is called, but 
you now know that what it does is to show 
tremors of the ground. The key, hung on a 
string and held in the hand might be called 
an instrument for detecting slight tremors of 
the hand. It is impossible to hold the hand 
perfectly steady ; do your best and it will still 
sway slightly back and forth. With every 
breath the body sways, and the hand with it ; 
even the pulse causes little tremors; and the 
muscles of the arm are sure to act a little 
now and then and so add to the total trcrn- 
bling. One of these small movements of the 
hand, by itself, would not be large enough to 
set the key in motion; or rather, it would 
only make it swing a very small distance. 
But as the hand keeps on swinging, the key 
swings further and further. It is like the old- 
fashioned swing. If a person is sitting in the 
swing and you give him one push, he does 
not swing far. But if you keep giving him 
one push after another, you finally get him to 
swinging high. In Ihe same way, the hand 
gives the string one push after another, till 
finally the key gets up a good swing. If you 
are looking at the key, you are almost siu^e 
to help out the natiu-al swing by little un- 
conscious pushes, for it is almost impossible 



■ Google 



17 1 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



to watch a thing liie that without helping it 
along. 

But now, why does the swing change from 
the back and forth molion to the circular mo- 
tion, when some one takes hold of your left 
hand ? The same thing happens if you grasp 
something with the left hand, or even if you 
simply turn your head and eyes to the left. 
The motion of your right hand changes, St 
sways in a direction different from the former 
one ; and this is enough to make the key 
swing in a curve. A little experiment will 
help to show this. It you take your string 
and key, and I inieniionally move your hand 
from right to left and back a number of times, 
so as to get the key to swinging in that di- 
rection, and then, without letting it stop this 
right-to-left swing, begin to move your hand 
forward and backward, you will find the key 
swinging in a circle. What you are really 
doing is to make it swing in two directions at 
once, and the only way for it to do this is 
to swing in a circle. In this experiment you 
do consciously what you do unconsciously 
when the hand simply trembles. 

Stopping the swing by having some one 
put his hand on your shoulder does not always 
work. When it does work, it probably does 
so by steadying the arm. 

Prof. R. S. Woodworth, 

Columbia University. 

} CORK GROWTH. 



Mobile, Alabama. 
Dear St, Nicholas; While going Ihrough the 
woods last week we loand some qneer objects clinging 
(0 a dead tree. In the accompanying package we send 
two of these objects. Will you kindly tell ns what 
they Hie and how they came there ? 

Vour interested readers. 



The cork spines probably come from the 
prickly ash (Xanthoxylum Carolinianum, or as 



365 

the new naming has it, Fagara). All bark 
is largely cork cells. In some plants, like 
the cork oak, the cork elm, the sweet gum and 
many others the deposit of cork is found in 
ridges and wings. It is therefore not surpris- 
ing to find the cork developed around the 
spines which occur naturally on this species. 
WiLLARD N. Clute. 
These spines are often found on Fagara cla- 
va-herculis, a species common in the region 
Mobile, Alabama. 

E. Mead Wilcox Ph. D. 



of 



things I don't know what they a 



the yellow one (at left) but the white one I found. I 
hope you may find out what they are. 
Yours truly, 

Charles E. Lane, 

Your darker specimen, at the left in ihe ac- 
companying illustration, is a mass of the ir- 
regular worm-like shells of a salt water mol- 
!usk known as Vermetus. This mollusk shell 
strikingly resembles the case or tubes 
of some of the salt water worms such 
as the serpula, which was shown in 
the upper part of (he second column 
of page 937 of Nature and Science 
for August, 1905, Also see article 
" They Live in Tubes," page 1 133 of 
Nature and Science for October, 
1905. But in looking up these ref- 
erences of worm tubes, do not forget 
that the Vermetus shell that you 
send is not a worm tube but the ^ 
shell of a mollusk' that is very simi- tl'bk"of 
lar to worm tubes. When theVer- *oi-"<^ 
metus is young its spiral tube is 
regular, but later it becomes twisted and con- 
torted like a worm tube. ^ 

Your other specimen (shown at the ^^V^V)q1c 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 



366 

the illustration} is a very interesting animal-iike 
plant. Seaweeds sometimes become covered 
with a lime deposit making an under-t he- water 
garden of beautiful branching forms of every 
shape and color. Scientists call these nulli- 
pores— that is, a lime-covereil seaweed. Your 
specimen has in addition spme moss-like ani- 
mals known as Bryozoa. These have a tree 
or plant-like shape, and spread over stones, 
shells and hme-covered seaweeds (nullipores) 
as in your specimen. So that in the main 
your specimen is a seaweed (plant) that has 
taken on an animal-like (Bryozoa) appearance. 
The coral (see illustration in Nature and 
Science for September, page 1035) is just xhe 
reverse— that is, an animal with plant-like ap- 
pearance. 

THE SNOWBALL 



Dear St. Nicnol 



VERY LAROS AND QUEER FRESH-WATER PISH. 

OiTAWA Beach, Michigan. 



Ihe l>ea 


ch. I 


found 


a fish 


wl,ich d 


In' 


a fresh 




fish. 


It was 


very bloated 


along 


slenH 


crfish 


wilh a 


sword. 





that Nature and Science would Icll U5 what it 
Vours very .raly. 

The fungus you send grows on standing 
and fallen timber from June to September. 
At the time you found it (in the early part of 
September) it was at its best. 



I am sending yau a few sketches lo show where the 
fins were. The fish was two feet and four inches long 
from the end of its sword to tlie lip of its tail. The 
upper part of the sword was seven inches long. The 
lower pari was five and one half inches long. 1 am also 
sendiuB you pieces of ihe sword. The shotler piece is 
the upper ]>icce. 1 found Ihis fish washed up on the 
shore of Lake Michigan near here. 1 have looked in k 
number of books, but could not find any fish which even 
resembled ihis one. I wish thai you could tell me 
something about (his fish. 

Voar faithful reader, 

Mabjobie Nino. 

The fish referred to by this correspondent is 
the long-nosed gar (Lepisosleus osseus), which is 
found from the Great Lakes to Mexico, and 
attains a length of five feet. Inhabiting the 
same waters is the short-nosed gar (Z. p^tos- 
lomus), a smaller fish ; while in the Southern 
States, Mexico and Cuba is the alligator gar 
(i. Iristaxhus), a powerful species, eight to ten 
feet long, with huge jaws armed with long 
teeth. The gars, or gar-pikes, are encased in 
a coat of mail, formed of closely arranged 
stone-like scales or plates. They have little 
economic ^'alue, and are very destructive to 
other fishes. 

NATURAL LEAF-LACE. 



Dear St. Nicho. 



3 Road, South Orangb, N. J. 
s : The enclosed I found beneath 
on my aunl's place. Will yoa 



parsed unseen. One <l>ics not expect lo find .snoivballs 
stuck against trees in August. M a distance it re- 
sembles one. (Mcllvaine.) 

The scientific name, n>hponis cliimeiis, 
is pecuharly fitting. Foiyporus means many 
holes. These holes are very small and 
are seen best with the aid of a reading-glass or 
pocket -microscope. The last part of the Latin 
name, of this fungus, chieneus, means snow. 



•^{-(Sowle 



please tell me whcthei 
Your 



Nature and Science for Young Folks 

t is leal-lace made by nature 



You are right in your supposition that the 
leaf-lace you send was probably produced by 
nature. Of course it is possible that the 
'■ lace-work " was produced artificially and 
the mass of leaves thrown where you found 
them; but, finding them as you did, they are 
without doubt the result of nature's taking out 
the pulp portion of the leaves. On page 553 
of Natuke and Science for April, 19U0, you 
will find an interesting illustrated article en- 
titled "Making Leaf-skeletons." That article 
tells of the popularity of leaf-lace for various 
ornaments about half a century ago. The 
directions for making are as follows ; 

Soak the leaves for about six weeks. liU the soft 
pari is somewhat decayed. Then place in boihng 
soapy water for a very short time. To prevent tearing, 
float out on stiff paper or a piece of glass. Wash in 
clear water and brush carefully with a very soft looth- 
brash. Buy a little chloride of lime at the drag store, 
dissolve in water, and hold the leaf in it a short time, 
ll wdl then be bleached white Wash in clear water 
and dry on a piece of glass. The beautiful skeletons 
can then be used for ornamental purposes, or arranged 
in a blank-book or on cards so as to show to best ad- 
vantage the different patterns of the little veins, or the 
venation, as the botanists call ii. 

Natural leaf-lace is not uncommon, espe- 
cially in a very wet season when the leaves on 
the ground are kept soaked (similar to the 
artificial process) for a long time. 

In my back yard I have several plants of 
ground cherry {Physalis). The fruit falls to 
the ground enclosed within a thin, leaf-like 
bag (an inflated calyx). It has been very 
interesting to note that most of the bags, 
especially those in the dampest places under 



(EnlKged.) 

the plant, soon become lace-like. The bag 
then shrivels and lets the fruit into the earth. 
Thus the seeds are put underground, and from 
them grow the next year's plants. 

BUBBLES IN ICE. 

Dear St. Nicholas: It is because "I want to 
know "thai I am writing to you. What could have 
caused the singular position of a bunch of air bubbles 
just under the surface of [he ice in a pond near our 
home? If it had been just an ordinary group of bubbles 
there would have been nothing strange about it, but 



that 



d the I 



e 1 iriei 



t for it 



seemed. It was very hard t 
down in under the ice but I managed it by getting 
down OQ my knees and twisting my head first one way 
and then the other. I am jour devoted reader. 

El.li!AHKTll Ci.AEKE (age IZ years). 

Are you sure that the bubbles were under 
the ice, and not in it? If they were in it, they 
may have been caught by the sudden freezing 
of the water, and have been flattened out by 
the expan.sion of the new ice. Water expands 
wonderfully at the moment of freezing. If the 
bubbles were under the ice, it is likely that at 
the moment of freezing, the water was ruffled 
and the lower ice surface consequently corru- 
gated, or in little hills and hollows, in which 
the bubbles were held and flattened. But it is 
more probable that they were caught "by the 
sudden forming of the ice. 



,/ Google 



ST. 

NICHOLAS 

LEAGUE 



come the royal guesl. and 
))erhap!i, even on that day, 
his lady moilier dreamei) of 
a time wlicn lier boy, her 
own liny boy, should lead 
his fellow-men. But what 
of the mother who a life 
time later was to welco 



E of n 



1 that 



humble hut of logs wher 



the 



sifted i 



1 the 



wind beat fiercely at the 
door ? Did she. too, look 
down at the tiny face hud- 
dled into the hollow of her 



BV 



THE STAR. 



t(A, 



and dre 



1 of s 



(CaiA Prixi.) 
I SHINE at dusk in the turquoise sky, 

Likeadiamond, 1 sparkle against the blue; 
1 Bash and gleam like a fairy eye. 

Brilliant in beauty the whole nighl through. 

Astronomers many, have studied my history ; 

Lovers have sworn by me, night after night ; 
Children have wished, with their innocent mystery, 

When in (he evening they liisl saw my light. 

What does it mailer what name I may bear, 

Venus, or Jupiter, Saturn, or Mars! 
So long as I faithfully do my share. 

And fill my place in the realm of stars 

For a little month, February has been well honored in 
America, containing as it does the birthdays of our two 
greatest presidents, Washington and Lincoln. It is 
a bleak midwinter month and seems a cheerless time 
for the reception of a tiny baby, even tor an infant 
king, arriving in a house of luxury. And then, in 
America, nobody knows who is going lo be a king. It 
is our boast that we are all born free and equal, and 
while it is not true that we are all horn free of some 
mental or physical handicap, or equal in position, or 
strength, or understanding, it is true in the larger, 
national sense which we may belter express, perhaps, 
by saying: "We are all Ixirn tree lo enter any 

stance b:is this been more clearly shown than in the 
first birth<Iays, and in the life achievements ot George 
Washington and Abraham Lincoln. 

All of us have read the stories of the coming of these 
two little lads— the one in the midst of the generous 
comforts of an old-time \' irginia plantation house ; 
the other amid the meager and cheerless surroundings 
of a Kentucky log cabin. Whatever the season, the old 
Virginia home could be made warm and radiant to wel- 



when a tide of men should rise in marchi 
lows at his call, when multitudes should shout 
very mention ol his name? Who knows-a moth. 



bil- 



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St. Nicholas League 



has sirange dreams, and in America there 
is always a chance thai they may come 

And 50 i[ is we say [hm we are created 
free and equal— free to enter that field of 
labor tor which we were created ; free to 
conquer in thai field, whetlier it be high 
or humble— on ilie moonlain lop or in Ihe 
voles of otKcurity below. And this makes 
easier for us the solving of the secret of 
happiness, of conlent, of life itself, which 

I'o learn by earnest striving thai place 
in life for which wc arc filled ; to excel by 
earnest striving in thai particular lielJ. 



In making the awards, 



S. Atty., New York City. 
Gold badge, Florence Ewing Wilkin- 

■on (age .7), Kirkwood, Mo. 

Silver badges. Btliel B. Yonnga (age 
i;), St. Gabriel's school, Peehskilt, N. V., and Loniw 
F. HodEBS (age 10), Lee, Mass. 

Piose. Gold badges, Gladys Alison (age 17). E. 934 
Nora Ave., Spokane, Wash., and Gladys Louise Coi 
(age 14), 427 E. Main St., Madison, Ind. 

Silver badges, Alice Needhsffi Very (age 12), Wast, 
wood, Mass.; Robert Wolf (age 11), 85 Bellflower 
Ave., Cleveland, 0., and Hildied Hoiden (age S), S09 
W. Park Ave., Anaconda, Mont. 

Drawins. Gold badges, Irene G. Famham (age 
14). Boi nit, I.aurium, Mich., and Harold A. Bre^- 
apraak (age 15), S64 Fullon St.. Chfcago, 111. 

Silver badges, Dora Guy (age 12), Fulford Vicarage, 
York, Eng. : Helen Ehrman [age 13), J14 Washing, 
ton Boul., Oak Park, 111., and LuCia E. Halstead, 
Hotel Zeiger, El Paso, Texas. 

Photography. Cash prize, Josephine Holloway 
(age 15). Kenihvorih. III. 

Gold badge, Sam H. DiUaid 

(age 14), Huntsville, Ala, 

Silver badges, Walter Byrne 
(age 14), 316 King St., Santa 
Crui, Cal., and Bertha Dickey, 
15 Rue Levrier, Geneva, Swilier- 
land. 

Wild Creature PbotOETapky. 

First prize, " Rocky Mounlain 
Goats," by Huth Greenbanm (age 
15). 606 Sixth St., Laramie, Wyo. 
Second prize, "Bears," by Edmund 
Baniiim(age 14), 204 S. 6th Ave,, 
LaGrange, III. Two third prizes, 
■' Young Kingfishers— On Guard," 
by Valentine C. Bartlett (age 14). 
JO liellevne PI., Chicago, III., and 
"Yoong Kingfishers — Company 
Atieniion!" by Edwin C. Brown 
(age IS). 1918 Q""" Ave., S., 
Minneapolis, Minn. Special fourth 
priic (silver badge) "Swans," by 

Dorothy Lawrence Greene (age 9). 

Hotel Bon Fori, Monlreaui, Switz- 
Pnille Making. Gold badges, illus-thation for ' 



Caroline C. Johnson (age 13), 87 High St., Yank- 
ers, N. v., and Eleanor Haight (age 11), 94 High, 
land Ave., Fall River, Massachusetts. 

Silver badges, Lois Donovan (age 13), New Canaan, 
Conn., and Edith M. Younghem (age 13), 623 WesI 
End Ave., New York City. 

Puzzle Answers. Gold badges, Bbbel Alvarez, 
(age 14), 1632 Regent St.. Berkeley, Cal., and Mil- 
dred D. Yenawine (age 17), "The Parkside,"4oih and 
GirardAve., Philaiielphia, Pa. 

Silver badges, Marjorie Anderson (age 14.), 603 
Wavne St., Sandusky, O., and Emily Smith (age 1$), 
1208 Parkwood Ave., Toledo, O. 

THE STABGARDEN. 



(Go/,/ ffadgi.) 

The great sky is a garden (air. 
And in the velvet gloom, 

A I night, among the meadi 
there. 
The starry flowers bloom. 



The forge i-me-i 

Are stars so < 

That often one 1 



iolet 



rhe red moon is the gardener 
Who lends Ihe starry lawn, 

4nd smiles benignly o'er it all 
Until the break of dawn. 



through, 

rhese myriads of flowe 
In the garden of the 



blossom all night 



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St. Nicholas League 



THE STARS. 




When the dawn h breaking 
Soft they Blcal away. 

And Lhc sun comes up again 
To light us through tlie 



THE STORY OF THE STARS. 



{CM Badge.) 

e regarded with a great 
( was thought thai they 
isiderable influence over the destiny of 
man. Many imeresiing myths have come down lo us 
from the Greeks, and, ihough we cannot help feeling 
glad that the world is more enlightened now, still, many 



o( the bcauliful beliefs, ihough not true, appeal to as 
because Ihey aie uot so inappropriaie after all. 

The lone shepherd on the hillside had no other 
means of reckoning lime than by (he stars. The 
sailor, out oij the wide ocean, could never have reached 
port without (heir help. 

I wonder how many of us have ever slopped to con- 
sider thai our sun, that wc think so large and grand, is 
only a star after all? If ire stood on another planet 
and looked al the sun i( would not appear so large and 
brilliant as many olher suns near il. 

Ever since the world began, man has been Irying (o 
find out the story of the stars, and every year he i> 
learning more. Perhaps Ihe generations to come will 
discover man f interesting things about the stars (hat 
are as beautiful as the ancient beliefs with (he added 
value of llieir truth. 

For coanlless ages have the stars looked down upon 
the ear(h, serene, undisturbed by all the strife and tur 
moil of life; and for ages lo come ihey will continue to 
shine, long after we are dust. 

STARS. 



{Silver Badge.) 

Wii.LlE could nol get the apples 
Hanging on the gnarled old tree, 
Sticks and stones availed liim nothing, 
Willie frowned despondently. 
Mother had forbidden climbing; — 
"Uul I shall!"— (rehellioQsly.) 
Up he went and got ihose apples. 
Ate till he could no more eat; 
Then lie heard his mother coming. 
Thought (hat he would best relreat. 
Hasty climbed he downward, downward, 
Till he 'd almost reached the ground; 
Then he fell, and — mercy! mercy! 
What a shfiek did then resound! 
Talk about your heavenly planets: 
Venus, Saturn, Jove or Mars! 
These had names loo long for Willie; 
All he knew was—he jmi' stars! 



St. Nicholas League 



371 



Merope saw ihe camp »ll aslir when 
the chiefs daughter was missed, —she saw 
many armed warriors go in pursuit. The 
night was dark and fearing the lovers 
might not escape, Merope leaned (ar over 
the bar of heaven and her hand slipped 
irom Alcyone's and she went down, down, 
into apace right into the stream where Ihe 
lovers had passed. As her torch touched 
the water it hroke into a thousand pieces 
and each one became a water-lily bearing 

The lilies grew so fast that the pursuers 
were unable to push iheir canoes among 

So this is how there remain but six 
sisters ia ihe Pleiadea. 



THE STORY OF THE STARS, 



C (AC 



M). 



(Gold Badge.) 
For a long time there have been but six 
stars visible in the group called the Seven 
Sisters and the Indians tell this legend 

One day while trimming her torch so 
that it would shine that night, Merope, 
brightest of the seven sisters sat wondermg 
what lay beyond the border of heaven. 
That night she look hold of her sister 
Alcyone's hand and leaned far over the bar. 
She saw the world and many strange sights. 
The next nighl she leaned still farther. 
She saw a young Indian girl step forth 
from her lepee (o meet an Indian warrior. 
They were planning to run away together 
as one tribe did not allow the marriage of 
members of their tribe to other tribes, and 
this warrior was from the south. He called 
her "I.iltle Rosebud" and led her to a 
walling canoe. 



THE STAR. 

TINGLV (ACE 6). 

{Silver Badge (Viriner.) 
.OOK out of my window in the dark of night, 
ee above in Ihe heavens a little twinkling light. 
Is my friend, the star, and when I have been good 
's glad to shine on me, it would say if it could: 



-iendly 



" Dear liltle boy, I love you ; I '11 show r 
light 
To you every evening, to make your dark room 

And so I 'II be your friend, although up here so high, 
So many miles above you, shining in the sky." 

THE STORV OF THE STARS. 



From appearat 

very smalt, but in reality they 

being much larger than our • 



■r Badge.) 
ould judge tlia 



the s 



1, and doubtless 
■ur own. There may be 
seen with the naked eye on a good night about two 
thousand stars, while twenty th jusand times as many 
may be seen with the largest telescopes. 

Stars visible lo Ihe naked eye are divided into six 
magnitudes, while seventeen magnitudes are visible 
with the aid of the finest telescopes, and still fainter 



St. Nicholas League 



called Slar 



The niglit was dark, and (he wind blew chill, 
As B shepherd bojr guarded his sheqj, 

And gazed oft afar at a. bright, bright star. 
Too thoughtful and anxious for sieep. 

For deep in the night, an Angel had come. 
And beckoned llie shepherds Bway, 

And bade them afar, to follow the star. 
Where a babe in a manger lay. 

"Guard Ihou the flock," to the boy they had 

Taking presents of incense and myrrh. 
They had followed the star, whicli led them 

Where Mary and Jesus were. 

He stood on the hill in the silence of night. 
And seemed to hear once again, 

As he gaied off afar at the Bethlehem star, 
The chorus, ■• Good-will udio men." 



A STORY OF (A PART OF) A STAR. 



stars can be photographed. Of the stars of the first 
magnitude, there are twenty, fourteeo of which are visi- 
ble in the United States. 

The ancients grouped the brighter stars into imagi- 
nary shapes called lanstt/laligns and gave them mytho- 
logical names. Of those visible in the United .States. 
Cassiopea, Cygnus, Leo, Lyra and Urso Major are 

The Milky Way or Galaxy is 
"leof themost remarkable sights 



{Sth-cr Badg-^.) 
one of the " Hundred Thousand Is- 
nBay, to which we go. 



li the I 



II! 



sky of a white 
clouddike appearance. It is in 
reality composed of myriads ol 
stars, a large part of them being 
white in color. 

Speaking of colors, Sirins. 
which is (be brightest star on 
winter evenings, is white; Vega, 
atiolhcr star of the hrst magpii- 
tude which is almost overhead 
on summer nights, is ol a bluish 
tinge, while A returns, also of the 
first magnitude, is a reddish 

An Jnslrumenl called the ifiec- 
trescope, for dividing and ana- 
lyzing the color of the stars, has 
been of great use in determining 
the composition of the stars. "vooHO kihcfishebs, ' 

One may sometimes see in the ''^ ^thibu^iriie*! 

sky, stars which when observed i-hotoc 

through a telescoiie prove to be 

two or even more stars very close to each other. One 
of the most heautiftil of these is Kpsilon Lyrn.-, a group 
of four stars in the constellation Lyra. 

There are in the sky large collections of stars, the 
members of which appear to lie closely packed together 
and are very numerous. These stars are surrounded 
by nebula which is a substance looking much like 



Mv uncle o' 

One evening, last year, about half-past nine o'clock, ^ 
were out rowing in front of the island. Snddenly my 
unclestartled us all by eidaiming, "Look! " al the 
same time pointing toward the 
heavens. We looked, and saw a 
meteor shoot across the sky, 
pass the Great Dipper, and lose 
itself in the IHilky Way. Then, 
while we all strained oar eyei 
for another glimpse of it, it sud- 
denly appeared again, directly 
over us. but lar. far above. It 
neaied us very rapidly, however, 
and it soon looked as big as the 
moon, while its tail seemed miles 



day by this strange second sun; 

burnt the oxygen ol the air! 

Then, while we children crouched 

in abject terror at the bottom ot 

our cockte-shell, (for to all the 

meteor appeared to be headed 

directly for us), uncle seiied the 

jFjutv attkntion! ' ■' oars and sent the skiff flying out of 

"ch'jStl'be^'^'*'^ danger. Then came a tremendous 

,Hv.t report and a prolonged hiss as 

the fiery rock struck the water. 

" Swish-ka-ehunk." and a big wave almost upset us, 

n the midst of a delightful spark bath from the nion- 

Icr's tail. Another wave, and another and soon we 

lere in a whirlpoul caused by the explosion, so by the 



what w 



e the m 



jnger 



of the ■ 



thought was the placi 






We rowed 
r, but there 



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was only a pile of rocks each of wh 
looked like the other ; eonseqoently 1 
not know which one once belonged to i 
of our sislet planets. 

THE STARS. 



The moon is shining brightly. 

And the stars begin lo peep. 
And iny sweet little baby 

Is going off to sleep. 

And baby dresms of candles 

Alighted in the sky, 
But these are really star lights 

That God halh placed on high. 

THE STORY OF THE STARS. 

The hoi and dusty day is slowly drawing 
to a close. The last shift-car has glided 
away down the valley, laden with its "* busy 

load of men ready for work on the Hill, 
where the great smelters are running night and day. 
The sun slowly sinks to rest behind our beloved Mount 
Haggin, its last rays lighting up the snow-capped peak 
so thai it can be seen for many miles ; turning the little 
fleecy clouds that go drifting by, to crimson and gold — 
and making the great column of pure white smoke that 
soars heavenward from the big stack on the Hill, look 
like the streams of molten copper in the smelters below. 
Gradually all turn dark. 

Now above the snow crest peat of Moant Haggin ap- 
pears ihc first bright star. All alone it shines and 
twinkles, looking for all the world 
as if, ii you could stand on the 
peak of the mountain, you could 
reach out and clasp it in your hand. 
One by one the other stars begin 
to dot the sky and looking up the 
canyon, just over the lops of the 
mountains the Big Dipper shines 
clear and bright. Down on Ihe 
Hill, the thousands of electric lights 
blink and wink and seem to be a 
retleclion of the stars. 

More and more quiet grows the 
busy Utile cily. Now a gentle lillle 
breeze comes down from the 
mountain.side bringing with it a 
btealh of the everlasting snows. 
From the distance comes the 
hoarse barking of a dog, and down 
the street strolls a gay party of 
Austrians, their arms entwined, 
chanting one of their weird native 
songs. One by one the lights go 
out and all Is silent and peaceful ; — 
and the stars keep their long watch 
over all. 



TO THE STAR. 



I won<ler if you catch your light 
To shine for little ones at night ; 
And if the sun hath hid away 
That it may never tire by day! 

little star, so bright and clear, 
That shineth with your golden sphere; 

1 wish that I your wisdom knew 
That I might shine at night with you. 

THE STORY OF ORION. 

BV RUTH B. ABEL (AGE I4). 
{Sik^r Badgi.) 



a club, I 
which s 



his left 1 



shield- He 
■die from which hangs 
sword. The girdle is some- 
ies called the Yard because it is 
ee degrees in length and is used 
measure the distance from o 



The ! 






; the 



called the Ell b 
old name for five quarters, and the 
sword is one and one quarter times 
as long as the girdle- 

The Greeks had many legends 
almul Orion, differing most in the 
manner of his death. 

He was the son of Euryale, ft 
great huntress, and Neptune. In- 
heriting the disposition of his 
mother, he became the most famous 
hunter in the world. 

He fell in love with the goddess 
Diana, who spent her time in hunt- 
ing. Securing a place as one of 
her attendants, his fearlessness and 
strength attracted her i 



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She determined lo marry him al all costs, bul her 
brother was greatly ofFeniled. tor Orion was only 
mortal. What persu^ion cuuld not <Io her brother 
resolved to effect by stralagem. 

Neptune had given Orion the power of walking on 
the water. One day Diana's brother watched Orion 
getting farther and farther from the shore until he ap- 
peared just a black spoc. Then he challenged I>iana, 
as a (est of her skill, (o hit that object oat upon the 
water. With unerring aim she unsuspiciously drew 
her bow, and they watched the object as it was brought 
in by the waves. When Diana saw what she had really 
killed she was inconsolable. She had Orion placed 
among Ihe stars and Sent his dogs, Sirius and Procyon, 
lo follow him. 

There is still another story. I( has come to me from 

Orion (O'Rion) is said to be really an Irish hero! ! 
When St. Patrick drove the snakes out o( Ireland 
he drove oul some other things. O'Kion lieing a great 
hunter, was displeased at this, so he went lo talk with 
St. Patrick about it. He asked O'Rion how he would 
like lo shine in the sky. " For," he said, 
" There 's the Great and Little Bear, 
The Lion and the Can-Cer, 
In faith, the sportin's rare." 

" Bedad! then I 'm your man, sir." 
O'Rion took np his abode in Ihe sky and now 
brightens the world with his beauty. 



THE STAR. 



<o}. 



O Veni'S! star of early twilight hours, 

Peering above Ihe golden sunset bars. 
And ihroned amid the cloudlet's rosy bowers. 

Thou art a goddess fair, and queen of stars. 
Venus! attendant of the crescent moon, 

Diana's silver bow beyond the west. 
Which pendant hangs before Iby path, and soon 

Shall gently le.td ihec to thy nighlly rest. 

When thou art gone, the stars shine brighter yet, 
Like fairy lanterns twinkling in the shy. 

Or jewels rare in night's dark iKisom set, 
Aglow because thou art no longer nigh. 



[F«. 

THE STAR. 

I'LE Star that shines so bright 

a great, great deal of light. 

's all night but not all day, 



For God lie calls Iheni 



THE STORY OF THE STARS. 

DV FLOBENCK M. MOOTF. (AGE I3). 

The Indian smoked on in silence for 
a tew moments, looked around him at 
the little setllemeni, then said : 

" All is different now. Once big 
trees grew here, before (he white man 
came. But little by little the while 
man has crowded out the Indian, 
and changed his native land. Brave 
Eagle was my ancestor. Did you 
' - r of him ? J/e lived in the 



gO0( 



old ti 



lied that, for somemonev, 

he would tell US aboui this India^. 

As we were all anxious to hear a real Indian story 

from a real Indian, father gave him some money. 

Then he proceeded as follows : 

"Long, long ago, when ihe sun and moon were 
young, and the stars had never been heard of, there 
lived a young chief called Brave Eagle. He lived, 
with his tribe, near a lake, surrounded by large trees. 
Even in his boyhood days Drave Eagle showed signs 
of becoming a brave and wise man, and was pointed 
out as an example for other boys lo follow. 

" When he became chief he conquered all the tribes 
with which they had been at waf before, and hence- 
forth was respected by all. Many were the tales told 
of him by all the Indians for miles around, of how he 
had saveil White Lily, the good and virtuous daughter 
of Black Feather, from being devoured in the forest by 
a lion, how he had afterward married While Lily and 
presented her with the shin of the lion for a rug, and 
many other interesting events of his life. The good 
spirits favored Brave Eagle, and so good was he that 
evil spirits could not harm him, 

" But one day, after a long and prosperous life. 
Brave Eagle was taken by the good spirits lo live with 
them in the happy hunting grounds. Then all the 
people mourned his death for many days, and [he story 
goes that the grass in ihe fields dried up, and the birds 
stopped their singing. So the good spirils placed 
Brave Eagle's eyes in the sky, where at niglii they 
could guide his people safely, and they were the first 



" His friends told this story to their children with 
pride, and so it was passed down from generation to 
generation until I heard it." 



i.F. star in'the heavens, so twinkling and bright, 
e watch for your glimmer as down goes Ibe son ; 
when, with your brethren, you waken at night, 
e know there is rest, for the day then is done. 

n. with peace and contentment, we all fall asleep, 
ir thoughts and our dreams are of you, little star : 
we know the Good Shepherd is watching His 



watching, with Him, from afar. 



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THE TWO STARS. 



{Honor MtmUr.) 
OllSlarof Morn! thou Slar o£ Prom 
! so brightly c 



\g Earth, 



Like an thou to the fickle Star o( Fame 

That smil'd upon us, in thai golden age. 

Before the long years and the wasted days, 

On our bent shoulders bound the yoke of shame. 

Oh, then with all the arrogance of youth, 

Would we have thought to scale the frowning peak. 

And dutch thee! 

Star of Hope! 

Oh Star of Eve! thou Star of Solaces! 

Who shin'st so gently on the fainting world, 

Like art thou to the quiet restful night, 

For bruised souls, and weary aching hearts. 

That like the foolish moths around a flame. 

Have singed their wings in pleasure's garish liglil. 

Then creeping from the glare into the dusk 

Are now content to raise tir'd eyes to thee. 



THE STORY OK THE STARS. 



THE STORY OF THE STARS. 

BY DOROTHY E. BATES (AGE I4). 

Go out one clear evening and look around you ; above 
you, on every side of you, you will see bright spots of 
light, some more brilliant than others. How lovely 
they are, how awesome! Many, many years ago some- 
one else stood on the very same spot of ground as yon. 
Were the stars different (hen? No, they were always 
the same. Now stand in the same place the next morn, 
tng and look at the sun. Why, you cannot took ac tl 
for blinking ; yel that too is a star, though much nearer 
than those you saw last night. 

Light from (he sun takes nine minute.i to reach os. 
light from Sirius, one of the nearest of the stars, takes 
nine years. We know very little about (he slars, but 
we do know that they are luminous bodies, masses of 
glowing gas. That wonderful instrument, the spectro- 
scope, shows us what metals and gases are found in 
that glowing mass. In Sirius are found hydrogen gas 
and the metals, sodium and magnesium. Now, as to 
the position of the stars, you know (hey are called fixed, 
but that is not true; in reality (hey are whirling round 
and round and at the same time moving along, some 
toward us, some away from us. 



In the last one hundred or one hundred and fifty 

Jcars great advance has been made in astronomy, 
n ancient times very little was known about the 
although, s 



tell hov 



eof 



ere formed no on< 
e 'nebulmmost as 
w the work of for. 



them weigh, yet we do not know the act 
in miles of any of them. 

.\% to just how (he s 
knows. That they we 
tronomers agree, but j 
mation was carried on we cannot leii. 

The distance of the stars is enormous. In- 
stead of using miles to tell of their distance, a 
uni[ called the " light year" or the distance light 
travels in one year is used. It lakes the light 
from the nearest star that we know of. three 
years, eight months to reach us, and when we re- 
member that light travels 186,330 miles a second 
you can begin to realize how far away they are. .i^ 

In looking at a star, the North star for exam- 
ple, you do not see it as it is now, but as it was when 
the light now reaching you left it, which in (his case 
was flf[y years. If it should suddenly go out you 
would not know it till 19S6. 

As everybody knows, our sun is nothing but a star. 

Other stars may have planets or workls like ours cir- 
cling around lliem, they being so small as to be l)eyond 
the reach of our telescopes. As one astronomer has 
said, "There may be as many dark slars as tight ones." 
Indeed we know of several instances in which it has 
been proved there are dark slars near other bright ones. 

excepted. Some move very swiftly, others more slowly. 
In an old philosophy I saw once, it said that in all 
probability all heavenly bodies, except comets, uere 
inhabited by beings adapted for their surroundings. 
Some of them would have to be made of something 
harder than our hardest steel to stand the awful heat. 



The way by wliieh to tell a star from a planet with 
the naked eye, is, that slars twinlle, planets do not. 
The real 'difference is that planets glow with borrowed 
light, stars shine by inward heat. 

It is nice to think of those great giant planets as ac- 
companied by other, also, perhaps, inhabited planets; 
but oh, how small you feel yourself, when you ponder 
over them, and think also that our great, glorious sun 
is but one among muny, and one of the smallest. 

THE LOST STAR- 

1.Y FT,KANOk STINCIICOMI. (A.IF. IO). 

{.'i.lrir Bads: iyinn^r.) 
In the evening, ever wand'ring. 

Shines lost Pleiad, lovely star- 
Searching, searching, ever calling 

" Sisters, sisters, O! where are you ? 
Searching, searching, ever calling. 



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IN DAYS OF OLD. 



" Venos, Venusl queen of beauly, 

Help me, help me," cries Ihe si 

Searching, aeBrching, ever calling 

To her sisters from afar. 
Down the sky the call comes Hngi 



MV FAVORITE KNIGHT. 

i^Honer Member-.) 
No other knight, seems to me equal, in 
chivalry, lo that prini ' " ' ' 
errant — Richard Cteur (le Lion, tiis vk 
^s and his faults, alike, were great. Loi 



roubaclours and knights- 



for n 



.mbili< 






rdessn 



warred with his 
people. 

But such faults as he had are alt forgo 
ten when we read of his deeds and of h 
trials. Unloved by his father, haied b 
his brother, he soon became an unlovin 
son and a harsh brother. Impulsive, \ 
was quick to lake offense and as quick 1 
forgive. Bold and fearless, loo, he ivi 
always in the thick of the fray^alike tV 
terror of his foes and the hope 
and strength of his own forces. 
A great nature, led astray by faults 
and weaknesses— such was the 
nature of Richard I. 

The greatest of all his undertak- 
ings — the third Crusade — showed „^ hkadikc " nv 
clearly the mettle of the man. His (silver 
love of fighting had more to do 

with it, perhaps, than his love for the church, but it 
was, neverlhctess, a noble purpose. None but Richard 
could have carried the war as far as he did against the 
heaviest of odds. Not only did he have to face Ihe 
Saracens. It was his own so-called allies and his 
private enemies which were most to be feared. Still 
he stroggled on, unmindful o( himself, until bis handful 
of men were gone, and he was forced to find his way 
back home in disguise. 

Was il not the essence oi royalty and romance-lhc 
way in which he faced his accusers at Spires, when by 
his own eloquence he won to himself many, who a short 
time before were eager for his death ? His secret re- 
turn lo England and his adventures before he made 
himself known were characteristic of the finest knighl 
of all England. But his nobility of nature was mo^t 
clearly shown when he forgave his brolher John, who 
had plotted against his throne and even agninst his life. 

In his death, again, he proved himself most chiv- 
alrous. Shot by an arrow at a time when he least 
expected it, he yet forgave the murderer who had cut 
him oR in the full ghiry of his manhood, and bade his 
men see th.it the vouth receive no harm. 

Such was RichKrd C.eur de l.ion, the 
of kings and the noblest of all the knight 



Do you remember, dear, those days— 
Those dear old days of old? 

We played within the willow's shade 
With happiness untold. 

If we now owned Aladdin's lamp. 

We could not richer be; 
I was content with only you — 



We read and dreamed of gallant knights. 

Of maids with golden hair. 
I said I was a warrior bold. 

You were my lady fair. 

Sometimes bv giants you were caught 

And held m dreary thrall ; 
For long, long days I 'd search in vain 

To find you in his hall. 

»"- 'd meet and fight. I 'd win and t 
or many years lived we 
hat proud castle I had buili 
eside the restless sea. 

happy days, locome no more ! 
ou 're better far than gold. 

blessed memory of dreams! 
■'e dreamed in days of old. 



MV F.WORITE KNIGHT. 



(AGE l6). 

A MONO the orders which the 

Prince of Wales wears is one which 
has belonged to the Crown Prince 
of England ever since the batde 
DOK* (iuv AG! II "' Cricy was fought and won. 

uADGE.) ' 650 years ago. In thai battle the 

niaek Prince, Edward, won his 
spurs, and there he adopted for his crest that taken 
from the conquered king of Bohemia. The crest con- 
sists of a crown, surmounted by three while plumes, 
and the German motto, " Ich dien," " I serve." 

But the young prince served a very treacherous nian 
in King Pedro of Castle. When that monarch was 
deposed for his cruelties, il was the Black Prince who, 
knowing nothing of King Pedro's character, put him 
back on his throne again. He won the campaign al 
fearful risks, for Pedro refused lo help his young ally- 
The king did, however, demand the prisoners who had 
been taken- But Edward had learned something of his 
cruel nalure, and would not give them up. Upon this, 
Pedro not only withheld the promised reward, but sent 
the prince home in dishonor, and became his bitteresl 

Poor Prince Edwardl All the soilness of his later 
life, even his early death, is due to this irealment. fie 
has been called cruel, this loo was a result of the bit- 
terness brought on by this disappointment. Many 
stories have been lold of his earlier chivalry and gen. 
erosity, but I will choose one which illustrates Dd 
only his character, but also that of his famous enemy. 
Bcrlrand DuGuesclin, 

Da Guesclin was one of Ihe prisoners taken in this 



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1907.1 



Spuiiihcunpaipi. HewMDOt rel«Med with the others, 
ta the prince wu desiroas of laLiDg home so great a 
prize. This causing Dd Goesclin lo bout, however, 
that the English were afraid lo liberate him, Edward 
defended the honor of England by setting free his cap- 
tive on his own terms. Da Gaesdin, however, named 
m very large inm, and with difficnlly paid it, thus keep- 
ing his own honor cle«r. These two knights both died 
in 13761 Dn Gaesdin in battle, Edward of the melan- 
dhol; bronght on bj the events of that Spanish cam- 
Some m^ contend that it is a king's basineis to 
role. Bnt I think his first datj is lo serve his country 
and his people. And surely there can be no nobler 
motto, for king or sabjeci, than that chosen by the 
jronng Black Prince, " I lerve." 



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IN OLDEN DAYS. 

S(AC 



MY FAVORITE KNIGHT. " 



BV CORINKE BENOIT (AC 



14). 



Bayard was bom in the castle which bears his name 
and was ■ native of Dsuphiny. " Love God and thy 
king and be ever gentle and brave," were his mother's 
last words to him as he left forthebattle-lield. "Madam, 
my mother," Bayard said, " 1 shall try so well to follow 
thy coansels, that, with God's grace, thou wilt ever 
have cause to be proud of me." 

When only nineteen he showed his bravery by cap- 
turing the enemy's flag, and at Milan so ardently did he 
pnrsne the enemy that he entered the dty alone with 
them. He was taken prisoner but his great courage and 
daring won the admiration of the Duke of Milan and he 



16). 

In olden days there ben a knyght, fall well be- 

knownst to tame, 
A knyght of noble hearte and mien, and dubbed 

"Sir What 's-hys-name." 
Thy* knyght he had a comely face (there n'er 

ben such another). 
And best of all hys blessings, ben hys kind and 

' 'IS mother. 



within hyi 
And swore a ladye fair he 'd seek, ye 

in ^ hode. 
Then did he don hys suit of mail, all glistening and 

And gat hyro on hys charger in ye splendid trappings 

digfat. 
Full loud ye tmmpets. sounded forth, — ye knyght he 

bid adien, — 
Then shining helm and stalwart form eftsoon ben lost 



Seven long and goodly years sped by, and yet not < 
Abont ye bolde Sir What 's-hjs-name ye ladye mother 
Within je lonely callle grym, she wept (all passing 
And eke her dainty hands did wring, she feared he ben 



" Behold, my ladye fair," he cried, and bent upon 

•' I once did vow a love I 'd seek, ye 

could be ; 
Foil long I sought — ye ladye fonnd, of 

noble birth and tame. 
And tbon art she, so take thy knyght, 

thy ton. Sir What 'i-hys-name ! " 




Mayhap there ben some folki who say, 

" In oldea days, (orsoothe, 
Knyghts certes ben romantic, so ye tale 

it hath nolrnth." 
Egad! my blood boils bolde 10 hear 

If there hen no Sit What 's-hys-name, 
— i' failhl there tioultli»v« btfa\ 
Vol. XXXIV.— 48 



was given his liberty. And another time, though all 
alone, he held the bridge of Garagliano against two 
hundred Spaniards ontil they fell back, defeated. 

At Mtiiircs, a city situated in the extreme north of 
France, the walls of the fortress were falling to ruins 
when the Spaniards began the attack. But Bayard wu 
there — and the Dons were driven back with heavy loss. 
The brave knight wu wounded while trying lo protect 
the retreat of the French army in Italy and died as he 
had lived — loyal to God, his country and himself. 

IN DAYS OF OLD. 

BV DORIS F. HALMAK (AGE lO). 

(Silvtr Badge Winntr.) 

January now is here. 
The Winter reignelh cold and drear. 
And the merry days of the vanished year. 
Are days of old. 



At the seaside many days 11 
In childish play and merrim 
And the whole world seemed or 
bent. 
In days of old. 




Bnti 



e must try with all our might 
' e the New Year jn« as bright, 



ays of ^. 



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V If JkW & JS^ Katharine Marfanl JotmitDne 

HOLAS "™^r." sSt'- 

^UE 1"" '" 

IRUARXr- 



Myron C. NumDg 
PHOTOGRAPHS 



Margaret Griffidi 
EditE Lucile Snun 
DonHliv Andmn 
Edwin M. Eimtein 
Ely Whiubead 

MatguetA. Dole 
PUZZLES I 
WOtiaB F. K«- 
_ Maiguvt A. White 



nell Ell^lbE. 



RulhdlUKU 



(HOKOK UKMUa.) 



lb E. HaibdoaAgnei R. L«dc 

Rnmond Donald K. Hudun E. Adelilda Hahn 
, &. Cu Alice Nielaen Claiina S. Hulu 

' Marian Sanb S. Morna ' Elinbelh Schwan 



THE BOI.L OF HONOB. 

No, I. A lut of (hoK vhoK work would hare been uaed 
No, 9. A list of those wboaa mdt endtlci tbc 



Nannia Clark Bair 
Dorii P. Halman 
HenriMlk C. Slaier 
Annie Lauri* HiUn 
MaodDiHUev 
ShKkleford 
N«ll C WikoB 

-Connd E. Sooir 
Elitabeih Toof 



Mary Yeula WeKcoi 
Muy Taft Atwatar 
Margaret Richmond 



Mabel J. Ma»n 

Maud Mallall 
Rachd M. Talboll 



loKpbiae Fieond 
Carol Tbompam 
Mary Comitock 
Dorotfaea S. Dan 



Harry Harding 
HdaWalcon 
Mai7 Klauder 

SauMcDonll 
Gay H. Rcbnol 
MuridHalileu] 
laneei Woodworlh Ch^MU Knan> 

renal£ne HiUei 
rtfaur Kramer 



Walter Louiie Mlrkk - 

ii Bradley L. Coley Albena Wynn 

Treadwell Crao Browncll Tack Ruae Hahn 

UaTidDannn Alice Shiriev Wlllii Dorothy Eddv 

Arthur Hunio HorUnK Biylawiki EUiahalh C. Beala 

- ■ ~- - " -ilfOBBTyWaddell, 



Blanche Read 



CariG 



PHOTOGRAPHS i. 



Helen V. Frey 

Gladya Nolan Joaephine Sturteia 

Jacqueline Cunbon Harriett Doier 

Joan Hackeniie Elkmth CoUey 

Helen Km^ip Allan L. l^ngl^ 



Hiiiau Thompaon 
Dorathy M. AngtU 
Beanice HeiaeBann 

Charlotte Stark 



Bemice A. Chapman Henrietta B. Hav 
T. Lanifotd Foiler Hilde ran Thielm 
Margaret S- Budd «' . 



NEW CHAPTERS. 
No. gt6. "G. N." Helen L Slockin, PiaidenI; Eleanor F. 
Macurdy, Stcreury; nine menben. Addrcia, g Cheater St., 

No. ^7. ' " Natliantd Cfaapier." Grace Merritt, Preadeot: 
ijjihSu.V Y, aty, ' " ""^ ' 

No. giS. "The Happy Trio." DiHDtby Butea,' PleaidanI ^ 
HehinM. Booth, Vice-A«deDt. Addreai, tag W. nth St., N. Y. 






Marion L. Huaey Cordon 

Dorothy Rhrin 

Martha G, Scbnyer Margaret E- Boll 

Mildred SeiU Beiiie Little 

EnuneliiK Btadiha* Geneva Andenon 

Gnce H. Wolf Eleanor W. Lewir 

Hela AnUHiKite Muguetite McCoril 

nn Leyfried Alire C. Pdrce 

Helen M. Adanu Helen Wbelpley 

W. Earle ruher FJeanor S. WiUon 

Florence Short Helen D. Flood 

Almeda McGrolura Emily Thomu 

Mwnni L. Bretl Margaret Spahr 
Dorothy B. Almy 
Julia M. Eerie 
lucieCtiflonJono 



Everard MeAvoy 



Florence Hanawait 



■X^ 



No, sji, "Ft 
wSSo. isthSl., iji 



, Preaidcnt; Mary Dickey, Svcrv- 
t 31 Wett St.. Wayneeburg, Pa. 
Charlea Schram, Pmidenl : John 
■ - ■■ ■" I. W- Va. 



The Goldeni _ _ . 
Secretary. AddieM, i]i 14th St., Wheeling. V 
-•--■--■ Clover Oiapter." EllmHUon. r™.. 
m. Secretary; lix memben. Addreia, 



LBAGDB nOTBS AITD LBTTSKS. 

A LiAcui nheober, one of many, writee to know why wc do not 

■- ' ualeichangc ■"' -"-" ■- •- "■ 

re obliged to dii 



Eihelw} 



LeiuWilun 
PROSE 1. 



Ti^T* McDowell Eleanor Me»] 

Phoebe Hunter Francei Boorai— 

Dcnuth^ MiicPhe>»n Hildegarde Nicholai Dorothv Keny 



DoiuthyM 
Mildt^ N'l 
DoiMhy Kerr Flff 
HalenJ. Bryan 



Corinne Benoit 



Emily Howell 
E.'ff, Caldw™" 



BeuUb EUiabeth 
Alice L. Hopion 



Longttrelh _ .. 

LindaW. Baker Doroilir Whitehi 

Fioreoce Nellleihip Smilb 

Lillie Garmany KatheHne B. Bo 




Lucy Pedder 
U Mariorie R. Peck 

Harotd Hamilton 

Grace F. Slack 
ch GlenwayMuon, J 

Marjorie E. Chaie 



Dea> St. Nicholai Lucuai I ai 
Father ii a mitnonary here in India, w 

■ereu milea away from any white people 1 
U>a with UL He and hi> wife and hi 
Mother and myaelf, are aD the white people 

*re, two firla' ac . 

hoTi and gnrb tofether. One of 
the girla' Khooli 11 a lace induatry ichoDi. The Eacc that the ipili 
make ia jatlow tace. UoM of the lace girli aic au|Knr1ing them- 
■elfei with the lace ibey make and th* olher gitfa Ima half d*)r 






St. Nicholas League 



If nm Mod maki laoe >uU ibc dilT. Tbsc mr iwenir-u ciiii in 
■U biuls twolv or man 1k» wddsi, ume of which work m Iheii 
hmo. Mtat of the Ikc made u TorcboB, but the be« woiken, 
■Due of theiA, nuke Maltese And Buda paCtenu, lome more kindl 
of piUa* bee, 

when vou nte u a uhSKI far drawb^ in Fdmiur, 19061 " Mr 
FavoiiK Sludr." I thouEhl, "O, hoirl wid ihiil badjoined the 
Leafua beduae I could ufe dAwo a bee pilloir with bee oa it," 
for BI7 £tvOTile itddy- 

imcht lot* of ybb tbc wbob cmme. 
1 laqt not tire you wilh my bee for 1 know that kubb thinsi that 

YoDBay ihioktbitlBHUbcloBdTOiithenwiSauiuT (iri of 
mj m^ to plMf viih, bvt 1 ua aot becuiiB I can talc tha Mndii 

aatTfo out and pbT natin (aawt with Aa Kbod pib. Seaw. 
' a I (nod DO ibe Httle adlb thai amy voaiaii hat loariDd her 

L .^_ J., :ii. ^ .1 1 ,pj^ „„, 






Koldbedct- I 



gidbidc*. I am thinking about 

ratisf badEe, a> 1 would althe motto: "Try, tiy, agaia," 

ocncDonflod- 

"~ ——r, many thanki for my lilTer priu. and ben wiabe* 



re w«lf an. 1 am y 



Otbar welcome leiten have beetj n 
Alice GiiSn, Gertrudr L. Amonr, Hi 



1, Helen Whitman, Beatie t 



HOUSEHOLD PCrS 4.1' THE EARTHQUAKE. 

A MtaT deal hai baaa wlittm aboat ibc earthquake and the in 

but iheic are alwayt Hub petaonal nrperimeaa that an aew and 

Wfaib lEi tn va* nit<o( ■ !•>>'• K^ •■■ faadliin a khtrn and 
Canada) it. Sh* loijud lent AoupnAd and Moxd dented Id 
tar pet M if il nndia bit tUag in the wocid ibe poaiuaed. We 
CD«u at* aba bad bat bar boiDc ia the fin. and aiopind to aA bar 
._..._. _i_ i^j . gi^ aaiwi hJ, without haiiuliDn, "Tbie 



eati" "Whaldldyanloaat 
I ami Ihn rrrjr. "Thedo|l" 

Bm not an the koute peU had »ch denoted miitraae*. Do£i 
aod cati almost wildfrflai frarniihril nuttnihii Prriiriiriffran-nrinn 
apd to the paik and bcack Many west diuing tbc eanhquake and 
rifbt aftcrwan], kmg before iba fin rcaebed tbcm. Hen they col- 
kcted b tuch numbe* that ibe mHitia bad 10 (hoot hundred! of 
Lbeia ID keep ibcm from narving. 

On Van Neii Arenuc, the bonlanrd odcc Haed with tba rin'i 
it bcauliAil houica, a dirty, white, haKvtarred, bme, and be- 



ttaaatayedwub ibamenr bdcc 

A baantifol boaaa cat bdoannc to a fiiead of mine war » Ughu 
caad at Ibc eanhiliwkrr duit be lay down oa the floor aad looked 
up with a piliAd upraimaa of anieal m hi> eye*. He raaained 
fiifhtencd and eetyOM far acrcial daya. 



t iiixrf O'BiMa, we tan bus l> aai up on die 
lO daring each day aiMl watched the flamca, and ai nigl 
IP and down the Uod with tba men on watch, SiMoi 



famao' 

•kbof'ST 

Tba caRbqaake •and the hocMi. too. A milkman who hai 
hBdhboldboiacforyearahadloliHnpoutof bii wagon during the 
^itakc aad bold the bone to iteapluB from ruDning away. 

PamB and canaiio in ilkeir cagea wen canied, no matter how 
^if^tbe diAcoliy from one pbca to another by their fond ownera, 
who were DBwilfiiw to bnake their feathered ceegpaniaDa, One 
famiij gMtiag loH^ to dewd their bone to the Hamea, found their 
panQt gi tally eiidied, ai healwaya wai when tbay went out any- 
■wbeie. Tbeyhadtolaanaie&rririBgibdiod U lake the parrot, 
bat tlwy had BM the bant Id baic It It kept iqriag, "Honyupl 
Lct'agol Uurryapl HurtyapnowT AieyonnadyV Getyour 
lUBglos!" So Polly waiiawL 

DlA* St. NicHoui: Oh, how pnud I am of ny gold badgn I 
and bow much I thank jou f<» it 1 I iitlend to Iutb my name and 
ibe date cngnred upon it aa I dul on my aHvat badge. But, truly. 
1 an not geug to teat an my laurebt hut I aball work, ofa, to very 
hard, for tba caifa ptiM and when I win it — well, when I wia it 
than will b* time enough to tptak of what I ihaU 
dn then, aad in the maantiBka I will Imly do my 
very bait. Sn. tbaakini you ania and again and 
vara than 1 can lay Ibr nMwB* aad me boaer, 

ClAKA BlICHU SHAMAnLT. 



had anything 

„ __ lilver badge 

b naUy toe much ! The Utd* note 



Emma Murpby, 
ion, Amy Ander. 

WaHon, ^\^lliam Jarboe, Claiioa Hanka, VirDiuLa G. Kennard, 
Mary PemberUm Nour^L Caroline T. Shaw, Melnlle Tucker, 
Petb L. McGrath, Hamelt Deilar, Elliabelh P. Jamea, Monl. 
gomery WaddelLjr,UaryPhelpajBcob. Enuly WT Brown, Ber- 
nard F. TloItEr, Danfoitb Ferguaoo, MarJaHe Stewart, Roulind 
Waile. Sutie Bentley Doan, Catherine Guion, Edith Logan, 
Gladya C Edgerly, Ptiuiila Alden GriSn, Frances J. Shnnr, 
Eliiabeth Ban fiiice, Jcaeph Baldtrin Haiton, Lillia Simlb. 

PRIZB COXPBTinOK Ho. B8. 

The Si. Nicholas League awards gold and silver 
badgei each month for the best ^ginai poetat, tiories, 
drawiogs, photographs, puxzles, and pmzle answert. 
Alto cash prizes of fiye dollars each lo gold-badge win- 
ners who shall agaiti win first place. "Wild AdudbI 
and Bird Photograph " priie-winners winning the cash 
prize will not receive a second badge. 

Compatition Ho. B8 will dose FriinuiT lo (for 
foreign members Febniuj 95). The awards will be 
uoanDced and prize coninbatioiu pablished in St. 
Nicholas for Jmia. 

Van*. To contain not more than twent^'-fonr lines. 
Title, " Friendship." 

ProM. Stoij or article of not more than fonr hnn- 
dred words. Subject, "The Story of • Friend." 

PhotOKIBpll. Any size, interior or exterior, montited 
or nnmonnlcd : no bloc prints or negatives. Sub. 
jeet. "Old Friends." 

Dnwinj. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash 
{□ot color). Two sitbjects, " M; Friend," (must be 
from ■ model) and ■ Jim* Heading or Tailpiece for the 
League, Books and Reading, or any ST. Nicholas de- 
partment. 

Pusile. Any sort, but must be accompanied bj the 
answer in full, and must be indorsed. 

Pmila Anaweit. Beit, neatest, and most complete 
set of answers to pozzies in this issue of St. Nicholas. 
Most be Indorsed. 

Wild Anlniil or Bird Photopvph. To encotirage 
the pursning of game wilh a camera instead of a gati. 
For the best photograph of a wild animal or bird taken 
in its itatural komt: First Prixc, live dollars and 
League gold badge. Stamd Pritt, three dollars and 
Leagae gold badge. Third Pritt, League gold badge. 

SOLES. 
Any reader of St. NICHOLAS, whether a sabscriber 
ot not, is entitled to Leagne membership, and a Leagne 
badge and leaflet, which will be sent free. 

Every cootribotion, of whatever kind, must bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed ai 
" original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, ■ahtmuil it 
cettvinctd beyond deubt that tht lontriiution is not apied, 
but wholly the work and idea of the sender. If prose, 
the number of words should alio be added. 
These things must not be on a separate 
sheet, but on the etnlribuHim itttl/—ii a 
manuscript, on the upper margin ; if a pic- 
ture, DW lit margin or tack. Write or draw 
oaontiidie/thtpaptroHly. Acontribolor 
maysend but one contribution a month— 
Jii/O'CtxX ""^ ""^ °^ "^ kind, bat one only. 



Union Sqoare, New v 



igle 



The Letter-Box 



Los Angeles, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have beea going to write 
yoa liocc I have retitrD«d fcom my suramet vacation. 
" Sioax to Sasao " wus a favorite story of mine because 
I am a minister's daaghlcr, and my name ii the suneaa 
hers. I have taken von seven years, dear St. NICHO- 
LAS, and I toveto look over the back onmbcrs. 

You are always my Christmas present and I hope yon 
always will be. 

This summer has been a lovely one, and a week was 
spent in camping. 

I have told you before about my donkey that my 
sister and 1 have'snch fun with each summer. I have 
two brothers, both smaller than my sister and I. 

I have been in Los Angelel three yean tbil coming 
December and would not leave it for anything. 

I think I have said enough for this time. 
I remain your faithful reader, 

SusA.s M. Talmage (age iz). 



To WAN DA, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have not written yon inalong 
time and thought I would like to do so. It seems to 
me that the St. Nicholas grows better every year. 
My favorite serial stories are " Qoeen Ziii of 1x," 
" The Crimson Sweater," and " From Siomt to Susan," 
and my favorite short stories, "The Home Outing of 
Mrs. Herrick," " The Wars of the Roses, "" Barbara'* 
Sp," and many others. I like the League department 
very much, too. I am a member and try to compete 
every month, though I don't always do it. I have not 
won anything yet, but t hope to before I leave the 
League. I am also a memberof a chapter and we have 
very good times at our meetings. 

I have taken you for six years and I scarcely think I 
could get aiong wiibout you. I used to tatie "Oar 
Little Ones " (or was it " Our Little Folks " ?) and my 
mother used lo take "Onr Young Folks," so you see 
yon have been "in the family" quite a while. 

Well, I think this letter, is long enough, !so I will 
dose. With all good wishes for your welfare, I remain, 
Your sincere reader, 

Jean Louise Holcombe (age 14). 



New Yokk City. 
My Dear St. Nichoi^s : I have a new collection 
which I thought you might be interested in. 1 save all 
the programs of the plays I see and on the advertising 



pages 



iny nod 



mofii 



the play or players. I alsosave and paste in thechecks 
which give the date, etc. I have just started this col- 
lection, but, I think, in years to come, it will be very 
interesting both to myself and friends. 

I am a member of the League, but have never had 
courage enough to send anything in, but I intend to try 
this year. There are a great many members of [he 
League in the Horace Mann School, where I go. We 
all enjoy it very much. 

I remain your sincere reader, 

Margaret Bates. 



Haxrisbubg, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas; 1 think that " Abbie Ann " is 
line and I know I shall like it. I believe St. Nich- 
olas for 1907 will be better than ever. I am glad 
there will be series of biography, fori always like that. 
I have taken St. Nicholas since August, 190$, and I 
get it renewed every year for a birthday present. I 
have a typewriter and every week I publish a paper for 
the neighbors. We do not live in the city, but abont a 
mile out 1 it is a very nice place. 

Jean Allen (age 14). 



' ' Waterford, N. Y- 
Dear St. Nicholas: 1 have taken you for many 
years. When in the Philippines my father took you for 
me and I have taken you ever since. I enjoy " Pinkey 
Perkins," "The Crimson Sweater," and the "League. 
I am spending this summer in Northern N. Y., just 
now al my cousin's, who has some very interesting work 
on hand. He is doing engineering work on the Eric 
canal branch, which is nere. 

Every day I go down to watch the work. It is very 
interesting to see the little engines running abont with 
carloads of material for the canal. 

I had a lovely ride down the Hudson to Albany. 
Yours very truly, 
Duncan G, McGregor (age it years). 



British Eh b assy, Tokio. 
Dear St. Nicholas; 1 have only once written 10 
you before, though I have taken yon for some years. I 
send you a photo of my Japanese chin. We have fiveof 
these, foar blackand white and one white and tan. The 
smallest is two years old and weighs three and one-half 
pounds. The one I send you a photo ofis also two years 
old and weighs five pounds. 

These two cost about $So eaci, and were considered a 
great bargain. They have to be treated like gold-dust, 
and between the months of October andFebrnary, if they 
go out of the house they catch pneumonia, and almost 
mvariably die. We had one almost at death's door, and 
Mamma sat up with it, wrapped it in flannel, and ^ve 
it Bovril at intervals of two hoursduring the night. The 
one I send you a photo of, has been nearly blind twice, 
and be had a white film over his eves. Hoping you 
wiU print this letter from a lover of Sf. Nicholas, 
Dorothv Barclay (age u). 



Brooklyn, New York. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I must tell vou that I am tak- 
ing music lessons in bed '. I have been learning the 
diSerent forms of instrnmental music among other 
things, and one afternWB'iny4«acher had been explain- 
ing to me what ^fugve was. ■■ ' 

My dream that night was, that I had to write a story 
for tne St. Nicholas League in the form of a fnguel 
I wrote pan of the story in my dream and took for my 
theme, " If at first you don't succeed, try, try again." 
My story started thus: "Ifat first you don't succeed 
try, try again," sweetly chimed a voice from the arbor. 



The Letter-Box 



It went on to tell bow Mar^ came i 



mother sat, by the gravel walk in the arbor. Maiv wa 
carrving the last number of St. Nicholas in her hant , 
and her lips were puckered into a very sorrowful little 



Before we came to London we lived in Ramsgate, ii 

Kent, for three years and before that in different sea 
side places up North. So you can guess that I mis: 
the sea, and the sound of the White Horses terribly. 



to go I read the guide books and find them very inter 
Katie E. Samueu. 



pODt. She had been trying some competition for the 
Leagne and had failed, but the sweet voice went on 
chiminE the old and well-known proverb: '• If at first 
JOB don't succeed, try, try again." 

Wishing the St. Nicholas a long and prosperoas 
life. I am sincerely yoari, 

Pauune M. Dakbn. 



Arnprior, Ont. Dear St. Nicholas: I i 
Dear St. Nicholas : The enclosed photo is one which 
I took of Versailles Palace Gardens this sumn 



Des Moines, I a. 



and I knew a boy who had a biUy eoat. Every day 
this boy would come down and bring his goat and cart 



. to some paint and ate some and died. I hope I may 
read yon for a long while. 

Vonr firiend, 

John Owens Dickerman; 



THE PALACE AT VERSAILLES. 

The Americans signed and celebrated their Independ- 



RlCHMOND, Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : It has been a long time since 
I have written for the Leagne. 

I am going to try for the priie this month. 

We live right across the street from the mansion, 
where Miss Van Lew lived. She was a Unionsympa- 
ihiier dnring the Civil War. 

Sbe had a spy in JeRerson Davis's house. This spy 
told her the plans of the Confederate army and she told 
them to Grant thus enabling him to capture Richmond. 

The square on our left is taken up wholly by St. 
John's church and churchyard, This is the church 
where Patrick Henry made his famous " Give me 
liberty or give me death " speech. The sexton will 
recite that speech standing in the same pew if you ask 
him. Gravel have been opened to receive new bodies 
and there is n't a spot uf ground that somebody has n't 
been buried in. 

Do we not live in a historical part of Richmond? 
Your loving reader, 
Donald Murphy (age lo). 



Dear St. Nicholas : I am writing to tell yon how 
much I have enjoyed your magazine dnring the year I 
have taken you in. 

Although we have lived in London for over six years. 



In the December Letter-Boi, Sibyl H. Wright asked 
for a receipt for making "fudge." We print below 
such a receipt sent in by Robert B. Carney : 

Receipt roe. Fudge 

Two cups of sugar, two-thirds of which shonid be 
brown and one-third white ; two-thirds of a cup of thick 
sour cream; one small " pinch " of soda. If chocolate 
fudge is desired use a half cap of Baker's unsweetened 
chocolate. Boil over a slow fire until the mixture is 
like a soft gum when tested in water. A little experi- 
ence will tell when to take it off, for boiling too long 
makes a grainy fudge. My mother does not carry her 
boiling too far. When done, remove carefully and 
set aside lo coot; then add a teaspoonful of vanilla 
and beat briskly. Before It creams add a cup and a 
half of chopped nuts ; (we like peanuts when the choco- 
late is omitted). Spread on paraffin paper. This may 
be more intricate than most fudge formulas, but when 
made properly, is unsurpassed. 

P. S. Some day I will send a receipt for my mother's 
peppermint wafers. 

Dorothy Colby sends the following: 

A half cake of unsweetened chocolate, grated line; 
one cup of milk ; one cup of sugar ; one lump of butter 
the size of an egg. Mix these together and boil until 
the mixMre will spin a thread ; then take off and beat 
for five or ten minutes, and pour into buttered tins. 

Other receipts, differing in some details from the 
foregoing, and which, unfortunately, we have not room 
enough to print, have been received from Cecilia 
McBride, Russell Willa, Evelyn L. Thor^, Aida L. 
Getz, Louise Meredith, Anna H. Chapin, Pauline 
Beckwith, Marian R. Priestley, and Sibyl Walker. 

We regret that lack of space prevents our printing inter- 
esting letters from Jean Gray Allen, Mary T. Starr, 
Sara Elizabeth Fischer, Josephine Pigolt, Hope Ken 



dali, Mary Taft, Mary A. Wilson, Mary Eager Lloyd. 
Gusta Levy, Bertha Goodman, Annie Tishler, Philip 
Drebelle, Fred Hatch, Charles Farniworlh, Raymond 



the place* of interest. 



Palmer, Alice D. Wilkinson, Malcolm B, Carroll, 
Belle Green, Horace B. Davis. Josephine Lewis, 
Nannie M. Sethman, Charles Evans, Elsie Taylor, and 
Hope Saulsbnry. -— . > 

vCoogle 



d by Google 



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE JANUARY NUUBER. 



SVHCOrATIOHl. 1 



J. Shr-ilL 6. Ru-t> 



•r. ». App4w. 
>. Ch-e-mL J. Ra 



OcuueiiiMCflDUhedron. 



'rimiL Zi^uif, Vtnnont; fiiud, Gcornn. 

bt; fnm ii toao^ Adanta, CroM-woitLi : 

3. RdiBTD. 4. Irna^vT. 5. Opening. 



. R»-itr&-ui, ■■ 
. lo-dia-DA, Ida. 



Cr-«M- 



. No- 



noUk'TMnpb^ 



Ahfvtatioh*. 



. Inidali, Huvud; fiulhcriMioD. Cnu- 
>. Abhor. }. R>bbl 4- Vandn. 5. Alia*. 

Ailu 1. Than. j. Leun. 4. An«. 5. 



IHFVTATIOH*. t.' Fa-I'H. 1, O-am-oi. 3. Ad-(llW4d, 4. 
.iD-ks. ]. Uib4l(ht-1r. 6. AtMnd-OD. 7. R^mb-ti. t. 
aDcUcd. 9. Ra-naw-ad- 10. Ur>-dnGi>¥aT-«d- 11. Gft'th*<n. 



). Rs-uln-nt. 






L L. Heller, i— L. T. Frmnk i 



« lo be acknowledged m the mafarimr, m 
LAI Rtddls-boi, ewe of The CsHTuir C 

M3 iH THE NovKKm NUHiEK unraretnTsd, h 
■ NoviHMi NuHBU wera rac«Tad, befon Not 
RarDcr, i— A. E. Geu, 1— G. Scon, i— Donald Ci 
" 'T. Boyce, T— E. M. GUigow, 1— D. ~ 
i— A, R. Edwatdl. I— M! MorrixiD 



M*''Ionn3 



iber 15th. ttata " QtwenacDOTl.' 
Ith, from A. E. VaaNan, 1— H. Ei 

Urqubart , " 

-M, A. Wl 



■— Edna Uarlc, i—Cuotyn Hunon, j— A, R. Edward*. i—U. Mor™on, 1— A. C. Bowdi^ 1— B, Cowan, 1— Maijoria Y. Benon, 3— 
H. Sauulen. i— Eleanor Underirood, i--I>Dnilhea Undarwood, a—Z, K. Bachman, 1— H. Engliih, i— B, Frye. i— " Dulatb," 6— K. 
R«airc. 1— M. U Powtll, I— Sl Gabiial'i Chapter. 7— W, SlronieTer, 1— W. Burr, i— May Whanon, i— "C.," DenTar, 6— R. J. 
™^_L. _ ^ IT i,:.^,,L, _ ,^__..._ «ru:_._ T-fbomai K. Wiboii, ,-E. M. K., 1-F. BeMly, I. 



Wricbi. i-C. F. Ringlake, 1 



rrolhr Whipple, s- 



DIAOONAI^ 

When the following words have been rightljr gneiied, 
and written one below BDOtber in the order here given, 
the dugDDal (beginning at the npper, left-hand letter 
and ending with the lower, right'hsnd letter) will spell 
ihc nune of k funons rnan. 

Choss-wokds: I. A discourse on any sobjeet, a. 
To command. 3. Luiitade. 4. A Greek coin. 5. 
People*. 6. Seriously. 7. A nuitibcr. 

ALBEKTINA I- PITKIN (Leagoe Member). 

WOKD-SgDABES. 

I. I. A wind inttmment. 2. A pink cosmetic 3. 



PassiTe. 4. Energy. 5. To penetrate. 



tablished doctrine. 9. The king of the fairies. 10. 
Women who have lost their husbands. 11. Bowen. 
II. Explanation. 13. Worst. 14. To travetie. 
15. Entreaty. 16. An equal. 17. Slightly colored. 
_ ^ JOHNSOB. 



IWVBLB AOBOSTIO. 

iGMB^t: St N-Bhola, Laagne Cnmp«ition.) In' American. 

All the words described contain the laine nnmberof II. LsFT-HAKD DIAMOND : 1. 

letters. When rightly guessed and written one below A Urge tub. 3. Land belonging 

another, the injliali will spetl the name of a prominent A toy. c. In American. 

nun of to-day; and another row of letters wiU ipell the '" "■ 

name of > second prominent nuui with whom his name 
it frequently coupled. 
Ckoss-words: I. Deserving. 3. Measures of 
A fable. 4. Tropical froits. S- Per- 
6. To soak up. 7. Dis. 
' ■ ■ n opposidoD to the es- 

3»J 



taiiUDK to the rainbow, 
figorco. S. An opinion held ii 



a nobleniAo. 



Right-hand Diamond: i. In American. 
3. To pinch. 3, A large stream of water. 4. A 
mighty weapon, i;. In American. 

IV. Lower Diamond: i. la American, i. 
Soft food. 3. A cnlting instmment. 4. The cap- 
tale of a planL 5. In American. 



>,Google 



The Riddle-Box 



When ihe nine words, correclly describing (h« above 
nine pictures h>ve been written one below mother, the 
tigzag from I to i, as shown in the diagram, will spell 
the name o( a February festival, 

GRACE 1. SMITH. 
CHABAOB. 

tSihf/r SaJge, Sv Nicholaa League CompeiitioD.) 
My/"/ in every kitchen 

You are always sure to find ; 
And it you tiemd my ■aiAolc when hot, 
My last would come to mind. 

LOIS DONOVAN. 

CKKTRAX AGBOBTIO. 

All Ihc words dcicribcd coDUin the lame number of 

letters. When rightlf guessed and written one below 

another, Ihe cenlrid row of letters will spell the name of 

a book beloved by children. 

CROSS-WORDS: I. To loathe. 1. To lessen. 3. 
Dull. 4- To suironnd. 5. Custom. 6. To consent. 
7. Nimble. 8. To add. 9. A roaaofactnrer. 10. 
WBichfnl. II. To adorn. 

ARTHUR MiNOT REBD (League Member). 

COMBINATION AOBOBTIC. 



beheaded, Ihe initials of the remaining words will spell 
the name of a famous, old-lime actor who was born in 
February. 

, DOROTHY CARR (Leaguc Member). 

NinCEKICAI. ENIOMA. 

I All composed of forty-eight letters and form s 
quotation from Benjamin Franklin. 

My 43-33-17 is » number. My 11-13-37-39-19 
is an impost er. My 3-*7-a-47-7 is a narrow 
strip of leather. My 3t-4;-5-l5-l0 is ■ pronoun. 
My 41-36-39-31.8 is quick to discern. My 4-34-15. 36.40 
is acting witbobt deliberation. My 34-14-6-18-3^ tre 
slight depressions. My 16-9-31-43-31 is aspecieiof 
wild goose. Mv 3S-46-1-4S-1S is to burn slightly. Hy 
44-13-11-30-30 u ■ dignitary mentioned in the play n 
" Macbeth." 

VIOLET ROBINSON. 
DIAHONVS CONMBCTBD BT A SQDABK. 

ICtU BaJfi, Si. Nicbolo League CompedliaD.) 



4 . . S . . II 
Frou 1 to s, a large quantity ; from 5 to 9, wise; 
from 1 to 9, a rubbing; from 3 to 6, a lish: from 6 to 
10, fondles ; from 3 to 10, floor coverings ; from 3 to 7, 
a contraction of through ; from 7 to II, a kind of grain ; 
from' 3 to II, noticeable in flamingoes; from 4 to S, 
hypocrisy; from 8 10 13, great weights; from 4 to 13, 

The four letters, from 5 to 8, may be transposed so 
as to form sDmmils, saucepans, to mail and to halt. 

CLARINA s. HANKS (Honor Member). 

BBHBADIN08. 

1. Behead a masculine name, and leave an obitrnc- 
tion to check the flow of water, 1. Behead to venture, 
and leave a verb. 3. Behead disinclined, and leave 
poetry. 4. Behead an elevation, and leave sick. ;. 
Behead a famous garden, and leave a cave. 6. Behead a 



I. Upfbb Left-hand Diamond; t. In dear. 3. 
To snatch. 3. An artificial water.way. 4. An exda. 
maticm of contempt. J. In clear. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diauono: i. In dear. 

3. An insect. 3 To go in. 4. A drink. 5. In clear. 

III. Central Sqi;arb; t. Custom. %. The fe- 
male rhinoceros. 3. An East Indian measnre of wei^l. 

4. One of the United Slates. 5. A game of cards. 

IV. Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. In clear, 
3. To consume. 3. Zealous. 4. A number. 5. In 

V. Lower Right-hand DiAKOHD: 1. In dear. 3. 
Pan of a foot. 3. A great artery. 4. A common ab- 
breviation. ;. In dear. 

EUAHOK HAICRT. 



>/ Google 



MARCH, 1907 

ST IICHOLAS 

ILLUSTRATED AVAGAZINE 

FOR BOYS AND GIRLS 



FREDERICK WARNE & CO • BEDFORD ST ■ STRAND • LciwtifeH^li 

THE- CENTURY-CO ■ UNION ■ SQUARE -NEW- YORK ' 



I am authorized to say to you that this Ad- 
ministration has made and will continue 
to make the Federal stamp upon meats and 
meat-food products stand for something. 

— Extract from address before the New York State Breeders' Associalion^ at 
Syracuse, N. T., December 18, J^6, by 

Hon. George P. McCabe 

Solicitor for United States Department of Agriculture 

[See " U. S. Agricvltvral Dept. Burenit of Artimal Industry Circular No. /o/."^ 

All SwUt's Products are 

T TC Inspected 
U.O.an(ipasse(l 

*" Under the Act of Congress of June 30, 1906." 



It means pure, wholesome products if the tuune "Swift" is bade of them. 
Ask your dealer for these Specialties : 

Swiff s Premium Ham Swift's Silver Leaf Lard 

Swiff s Premium Bacon Jewel Lard Compound 

Swiff 3 Premium Sliced Bacon Swiff s Cotosuet 

Swift's Premium Lard Swiff s Jersey Butterine 

Swiff s Premium Milk-Fed Chickens Swiffs Beef Extract 

Swiff 3 Premium Butterine Swiffs Beef Fluid 
Brookfield Pork Sausage 

Swift & Company, U.S. A. 

Digtizodb/GoOt^le 



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ST. NICHOLAS 



Vol. XXXIV 



MARCH, 1907 



The Cozy Lion 

Ai told by Queen CroB«p«tch 

By Frances Hodgson Burnett 

Author of " Little Lord Faanlleroy," "Sara Crewe," "Edilha's Burglar 



" It — it sounds like the Sunday School pic — " going to be a great, big, nice, soft, cozy thing, 

the Lion began to say — and then he remem- and you could n't eat a picnic if you tried — 

bered he must not mention the subject and and you will never try," 
stopped short. He was all in a flutter with relief when he 

" Has your heart changed ? " I said to him. got up and stood on his feet. 
" Are you sure it has ? " And the laughing liltle voices came nearer 

" I think it has," he said meekly. " but even and nearer and I flew to the Cave door to see 

if it had n't, ma'am, I 'm so full of Breakfast what was happening. 
Food I could n't eat a strawberry." It was really a picnic. And Goodness! how 

It happened that I had my heart glass with dangerous it would have been if it had not been 

me — I can examine hearts with it and see if for me! That's the way I am always saving 

they have properly changed or not. people, you notice. 

" Roll over on your back," I said. " I 'II ex- The little children in the village had grown 

amine your heart now." so tired of being shut up indoors that about 

And the little children on the Huge Green fifty of them who were too little to know any 

Hill side were coming nearer and nearer and better had climbed out of windows, and slipped 

laughing and singing and twittering more like out of doors, and crawled under things, and 

skylarks than ever. hopped over them, and had all run away to- 

He rolled over on his back and I jumped off gether to gather flowers and wild peachstraw- 

his ear on to his big chest, I thumped and berines, and lovely big yellow plumricots which 

listened and looked about until I could see his grew thick on the bushes and in the grass on 

great heart and watch it beating — thub — thub the Huge Green Hiil. The delicious, sweet 

— thub — thub. It actually had changed — al- pink and purple Ice-cream-grape- juice Melons 



most all over except one little corner and as 
the children's voices came nearer and nearer 
and sounded like whole nests full of skylarks 
let loose, even the corner was changing as fast 
as it could. Instead of a big ugly dark red fiery 
heart it was a soft ivory white one with delicate 
pink spots on it. 
" It has changed ! " I cried out. " You are 

CopTrighl, 1407, by The Cem 



hung in clusters on trees too high for them to 
reach, but they thought they would just sit 
down under their branches and look at them 
and sniff and hope one would fall. 

And there they came — little plump girls and 
boys in white frocks and with curly heads — not 
the least bit afraid of anything : tumbling down 
and laughing and picking themselves up and 






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The Cozy Lion 



laughing, and when they got near the Cave, 
one of my Working Fairies, just for fun, flew 
down and alighted on a little girl's fat hand. 



■^N^' 



" Yes, I can." And he began to make a 
beautiful purring which sounded like an im- 
mense velvet cat over a saucer of cream. 

"Come out then," I ordered him. "Smile 
as sweetly as you can and don't stop purring. 
Try to look like a wriggling coaxing dog — 1 
will go first and prevent the children from being 
frightened." 

So out we went. I was riding on his ear and 
peeping out over the top of it. I did not let the 
children see me because I wanted them to look 
at the Lion and at nothing else. 

What I did was to make them remember in 
a minute all the nicest Lions they had ever seen 
in pictures or in the circus. Many of them had 
never seen a Lion at all and the few who had 
been to a circus had only seen them in big 
cages behind iron bars, and with notices written 
up, " Don't go near the Lions ! " 

When my Lion came out he was smiling the 
biggest, sleepiest, curliest, sweetest smile you 
ever beheld and he was purring, and he was 
softly waving his tail. He stood still on the grass 
a moment and then lay down with his big head 



She jumped for joy when she saw him and 

called to the others and they came running and 
tumbling to see what she had found. 

"Oh! look — look !" she called out. "What 
is he ! What is he ! He is n't a bird— and he 
is n't a bee and he is n't a butterfly. He 's a 
little teeny, weeny -weeny- weeny- weeny wee, 
and he has little green shoes on and little green 
stockings, and a little green smock and a 
little green hat and he 's laughing and laughing." 

And then a boy saw another in the grass — 
and another under a leaf, and he shouted out, 
too. 

" Oh ! here 's another — and here 's another ! " 
And then the Workers all began to creep out of 
the grass and from under the leaves and fly up 
in swarms and light on the children's arms and 
hands and hats and play with them and tickle 
them and laugh until every child was dancing 
with fun, because ihey had never seen such 
things before in their lives. 

I flew back to the Lion. He was quite 



" It ii 



a picnic," I said. 
Can you purr P " 



' And r 



on his paws just like a huge, afl'ectionate, coax- 
ing dog waiting and begging somebody to come 
and pet him. And after staring at him for two 
minutes, all the children began to laugh, and 



iVTi 



then one little /iUU girl who had a great mastiff 
for a friend at home, suddenly gave a tiny 
shout and ran to him and tumbled over his 
paws and Tell against his mane and hid her face 
in it, chuckling and chuckling. 

That was the beginning of the most splendid 
fun a picnic ever had. Every one of them ran 
laughing and shouting to the Lion. It was 
such a treat to them to actually have a lion to 
play with. They patted him, they buried their 
hands and faces in his big mane, they stroked 
him, they scrambled up on his back, and sat 
astride there, little boys called out " Hello, 
Lion! Hello, Lion!" and little girls kissed his 
nice tawny back and said " Liony ! Liony ! 
Sweet old Liony ! " The Little Little Girl who 
had run to him first settled down right between 
his huge front paws, resting her back comfort- 
ably against his chest, and sucked her thumb, 
her blue eyes looking very round and big. She 
was comfy. 

I kept whispering down his ear to tell him 
what to do. You see, he had never been in 
Society at all and he had to learn everything at 
once. 

" Now, don't move suddenly," I whispered. 
" And be sure not to make any loud Lion 
noises. They don't understand Lion language 
yet." 

'' But oh ! I am so happy," he whispered 
back, " I want to jump up and roar for joy." 

" Mercy on us ! " I said. " That would spoil 
everything. They 'd be frightened to death 
and run away screaming and crying and never 
come back." 

" But this little one with her head on my 
chest is such a sweetie .' " he said. " May n't 
I just give her a little lick — ^just a little one ? " 

" Your tongue is too rough. Wait a minute," 
I answered. 

My Fairy Workers were swanning all about. 
They were sitting in bunches on the bushes and 
hanging in bunches from branches,and hopping 
about and giggling and laughing and nudging 
each other in the ribs as they looked on ai the 
Lion and the children. They were as amused 
as they had been when they watched Winnie 
sitting on the eggs in the Rook's nest. 1 called 
Nip to come to me. 

" Jump on to the Lion's tongue," I said to 
him, " and smooth it off with your plane until 
it is like satin velvet — not silk velvet, but satin 
velvet." 

The Lion politely put out his tongue. Nip 
leaped up on it and began to work with his 
plane. He worked until he was quite hot, and 
he made the tongue so smooth that it was quite 
like satin velvet. 

" Now you can kiss the baby," I said. 



Frances Hodgson Burnett 



389 



The Little Little Girl had gone to sleep by 
this lime and she had shpped down and lay 
curled up on the Lion's front leg as if it was an 
arm and the Lion bent down and delicately 
licked her soft cheek, and her fat arm, and her 
fat leg, and purred and purred. 

When the other children saw him they 
crowded round and were more delighted than 
ever. 

" He 's kissing her as if he was a mother cat 
and she was his kitten," one called out, and she 



<>. 



M:mi> 






Kiss me, 



held out her hand. 
Liony," she said. 

He lifted his head and licked her little hand 
as she asked and then all the rest wanted him 
to ki.ss them and they laughed so that the Little 
Little Girl woke up and laughed with them and 
scrambled to her feet and hugged and hugged 
as much of the Lion as she could put her 
short arms round. She felt as if he was her 

" 1 love oo^I love oo," she said. " Tome 
and play wiv us." 

He smiled and smiled and got up so care- 
fully that he did not upset three or four Utile 
boys and girls who were silting on his back. 
You can imagine how they shouted-with glea 



390 

when he began to t~ot gently about with them 
and give them a ride. Of course everybody 
wanted to ride. So he trotted softly over the 
grass, first witb one load of them and then with 
another. When each ride was over he lay 
down very careful