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For Young Folks 

Part I. — November, 19 13, to April, 19 14. 



Copyright, 1913, i 9 i + , by The Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 

Library, U«t. ef 

Not Hi f "**r>J«r>» 




Six Months — November, 191 3, to April, 19 14. 




Acrostic, A Christmas. Verse Mabel Livingston Frank . , 169 

Acrostic, An : "Thanksgiving." Verse Mabel Livingston Frank . . 45 

Afternoon Tea. Picture. Drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 341 

Alcott (Louisa M.), Miss, A Letter from. (Illustrated from photographs 

and letter) 222 

Apple- Wood Fire, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) . . . Caroline H of man 340 

"April Fool !" Saved by. Verse Clara J. Denton 489 

Ballad of Belle Brocade, The. Verse. (Illustrated by C. Clyde Squires) . . . Carolyn Wells 244 

Base-Ball: The Game and Its Players. (Illustrated from photographs) . . . Billy Evans 510 

Billy and Mister Turkey. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Katharine M. Daland 68 

Birthday Greeting, A 92 

Birthday Treasure. Verse. (Illustrated by Herbert Paus) Elsie Hill 123 

Black-on-Blue. (Illustrated by W. F. Stecher) Ralph Henry Barbour .... 195 

Blue Sky, Under the. (Illustrated) E. T. Keyser 

Bob-Sledding and Skating. (Illustrated by Norman Price and with dia- 
grams) 325 

The Boy's Fishing Kit 498 

Boys, What They Have Done for the World George Frederic Stratton . 58 

Brains, Two Men with Tudor Jenks 256 

Brownies and the Railroad, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 253 

Brownies Build a Bridge, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Palmer Cox 60 

Bunglers. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Ellen Manly 148 

Chimney, Down the Wrong. Picture. Drawn by E. B. Bird 152 

Christmastide, In Paris at. Verse. (Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay) Esther W. Ayres 170 

Christmas Tree, At the Sign of the. Verse. (Illustrated by Beatrice 

Stevens) Pauline Frances Camp .... 132 

Christmas Tree, The Song of the. Verse Blanche Elizabeth Wade . . 152 

Clock, The Singing. (Illustrated by Thomas M. Bevans) Katherine Dunlap Cather . 47 

Contrasts. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) Caroline Ho f man 233 

Correction, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 109 

Courage, A Question of. (Illustrated by O. F. Schmidt) C. H. Claudy 22 

Cuckoo Clock. See "Clock, The Singing" 47 

Deacon's Little Maid, The. (Illustrated by George Varian) Ruth Hatch 392 

Dim Forest, The. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) D. K. Stevens 163 

Djinnger Djar, The. Verse. (Illustrated) Carolyn Wells 172 

Dutch Doll and Her Eskimo, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Thelma Cudlipp) . Ethel Blair 347 

Eight O'Clock. Verse Margaret Widdemer 298 

Elephant, Mauled by An. (Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull) /. Alden Loring 429 

Face, The Real Story of the Lewis Edwin Theiss 543 

Fairies, Bad. Verse C. H 515 



"Fairy Tales." Picture. Painted by J. J. Shannon 29 8 

Fairy Tea. Verse. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) D. K. Stevens 400 

Fishing Kit, The Boy's. "Under the Blue Sky." (Illustrated by Harriet R. 

Boyd, and with photographs and a diagram) E. T. Keyser 498 

Foot-Ball : 

The Field-Goal Art. (Illustrated from photographs) Parke H. Davis 141 

The Full-Field Run from Kick-off to Touch-down. (Illustrated from 

photographs) ■. Parke H. Davis 13 

"Foot-Balls" against the "Turkeys," The Great Game on Thanksgiving 

Day. Picture. Drawn by E. B. Bird 147 

Fractions. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) Caroline Ho f man 410 

Garden-Making and Some of the Garden's Stories : Who is Who Grace Tabor 539 

Golf: The Game I Love. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea and from photo- 
graphs) Francis Ouimct 395, -484 

Goose-Fair at Warsaw, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Nora Archibald Smith. ... 411 

Grizzlies, My Friends the. (Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull) Enoch J. Mills 294 

Grown-Up Me, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Harriet Repplier Boyd) Margaret Widdemcr 428 

Hallowe'en Meeting, A. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 69 

Hans and the Dancing Shoes. (Illustrated by Herbert Paus) Mary E. Jackson 290 

Housekeeping Adventures of the Junior Blairs, The. (Illustrated by Sarah 

K. Smith) Caroline French Benton. . . 257 

342, 449, 545 
India, Traveling in, Where Nobody is in a Hurry. (Illustrated from photo- 
graphs) Mabel Alberta Spicer 4 

Indians Came, When the. (Illustrated by Frank Murch) H. S. Hall 494 

Jealousy. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Alice Lovett Carson 19 

Jerusalem Artie's Christmas Dinner. (Illustrated by Horace Taylor) .... Julia D arrow Cowles 234 

Jinglejays, Ruth and the. Verse. (Illustrated by Allie Dillon) Charlotte Canty 330 

Jinglejays Write on Spring, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Allie Dillon) .... Charlotte Canty 524 

Johnston, Annie Fellows. (Illustrated from photographs) Margaret W . Vandercook. 127 

Larry Goes to the Ant. ( Illustrated by Bernard J. Rosenmeyer ) Effie Ravenscroft 110 

Leaf-Raking. Verse. (Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay) Melville Chater 20 

Letter, The First. Verse. (Illustrated by Louise Perrett) Nora Bennett 107 

Lucky Stone, The. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Abbie Farwell Brown 215 

315, 413. 502 

Magic Cup, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Arthur Rackham) Arthur Guiterman.- 289 

"Magnolia." Picture. Painted by J. J. Shannon 299 

Matinee, At the Children's. (Illustrated from photographs) Clara Piatt Meadowcroft . 351 

"Melilotte." A Fairy Operetta. (Illustrated by Dugald Stewart Walker) . . . David Stevens 434 

Men Who Do Things, With. (Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha, from photo- 
graphs and diagrams) A. Russell Bond 237 

333, 420, 526 

Men Who Try, The. Verse Whitney Montgomery .... 264 

Miss Santa Claus of the Pullman. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Annie Fellows Johnston. 52, 99 

More Than Conquerors. Biographical Sketches. (Illustrations by Oscar F. 

Schmidt and from photographs) Ariadne Gilbert 

Beloved of Men— and Dogs. (Sir Walter Scott) 27 

The Magic Touch. (Augustus Saint-Gaudens) 205 

Mother Goose, The Nursery Rhymes of. (Illustrated by Arthur Rackham) 
"Bye, Baby Bunting"— "Baa, Baa, Black Sheep"— "I Saw a Ship A-Sail- 

ing"— "How They Ride" l 

"Hark, Hark, the Dogs do Bark"— "Hickory, Dickory, Dock"— "Little 
Jack Horner"— "Diddle-ty-Diddle-ty-Dumpty"— "Three Wise Men of 

Gotham"— "Ride a Cock-Horse to Banbury Cross"— "Little Betty Blue" 97 

"Hot-cross Buns !"— "There was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe"— 
"Girls and Boys Come out to Play"— "Old Mother Hubbard"— "Polly, 

Put the Kettle on"— "Jack Spratt Could Eat no Fat" 193 



Mother's Almanac. Verse. (Illustrated by Beatrice Stevens) C. Leo 542 

Mysterious Disappearance, Another. Picture. Drawn by I. W. Taber 21 

Nature, Back to. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George Butler 131 

"Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen, This is." Picture. Drawn by I. W. Taber 256 

"Not Invited." Picture. Drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 214 

"On Guard !" Picture. Drawn by C. Clyde Squires 402 

Ostrich and the Tortoise, The. Verse. (Illustrated by George O. Butler) . . D. K. Stevens 323 

Peggy's Chicken Deal. (Illustrated by Laetitia Herr) Elizabeth Price 490 

Pipe of Peace, The. Picture. Drawn by H. E. Burdette 357 

Pop ! Pop ! Pop ! Verse Malcolm Douglas 523 

Prinnie, Taking Care of. (Illustrated by Frances E. Ingersoll) Rebecca Denting Moore. . . 64 

Racing Waters Louise De St. Hubert Guyol 349 

Rackham, Arthur: The Wizard at Home. (Illustrated from photographs 

and with sketches by Arthur Rackham) Eleanor Farjeon 385 

Rather Hard. Verse Eunice Ward 203 

Resolve, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) Ethel M. Kelley 108 

Rights and Lefts. Verse Mary Dobbins Prior 508 

Robin, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Margaret Johnson 544 

Rose Alba, Christmas Waits at the. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Eveline Warner Brainerd . 226 

Rose Alba to St. John's, From the. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Eveline Warner Brainerd . 532 

Rose Alba, War and Peace at the. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Eveline Warner Brainerd . 156 

Runaway, The. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Allen French 37 

134, 246, 300, 403, 516 

Saint-Gaudens, Augustus. See "More Than Conquerors" 205 

Schoolmaster, The New. Verse Pauline Frances Camp .... 236 

Scott, Sir Walter. See "More Than Conquerors" 27 

Season's Calendar, The. Verse Harriet Prescott Spofford. 394 

Secrets. Verse. (Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory) Ethel Marjorie Knapp .... 204 

Shakspere's Room, In. Poem. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch, Alfred 

Parsons, and from photographs) Benjamin F. Leggett 481 

Silhouette, The Story of the Walter K. Putney 448 

Singing Clock, The. (Illustrated by Thomas M. Bevans) Kathcrine Dunlap Cather. 47 

Sisters, The. Picture. From painting from Edmund C Tarbell 550 

Sled, Stolen, The Story of the. Pictures. Drawn by Culmer Barnes 332 

"Snowball!, Boo-Hoo! He 's got my." Picture. Drawn by Donald McKee 314 

Snowman, The: The Finishing Touch. Picture. Drawn by John Edwin 

Jackson 322 

Squirrel, The. "His Little Paws are Just as Good as Hands !" Picture. 

Drawn by George T. Tobin 46 

Story Corner, The. (Illustrated from photographs) Sarah Comstock 308 

"Strange, But True !" Verse Charles Lincoln Phifer. . . 314 

Telephone, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Charles M. Relyea) Ethel M. Kelley 307 

"Thanksgiving !, And To-morrow is." Picture. Drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 67 

Tommy's Adventure. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) Caroline Hofman 509 

Tracks in the Snow, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Enos B. Comstock 418 

When Alexander Dances. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Elsie Hill 10 

Wireless Cage, The. Picture. Drawn by Culmer Barnes 155 

Wireless Wizardry. (Illustrated from photographs) Robert G. Skerrett 153 


"Bye, Baby Bunting," painted by Arthur Rackham, facing page 1 — "Hark, Hark, the Dogs do Bark!" 
painted by Arthur Rackham, facing page 97 — -"Mother Goose," painted by Arthur Rackham, facing 
page 193 — "The Magic Cup," painted by Arthur Rackham, facing page 289—" Children in Kensington 
Gardens, London," painted by Arthur Rackham, facing page 385 — "The Gossips," painted by Arthur 
Rackham, facing page 481. 


For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated) 
The Baby Bears' Adventures. . . . 



Nature and Science. (Illustrated) . . 
St. Nicholas League. (Illustrated). 
Books and Reading. (Illustrated) . . 

Editorial Notes 

The Letter-Box. (Illustrated) . 
The Riddle-Box. (Illustrated). 

, Grace G. Drayton 73 

173, 265, 361, 457, 553 

76, 176, 268, 364, 460, 556 

, 84, 182, 276, 372, 468, 564 

. Hilde garde Hawthorne ... 70 
262, 358, 454, 550 

476, 572] 

93, 190, 285, 381, 476, 572J 

95, 191, 287, 383, 479, 575 




he jjfltire contents of this Magazine are covered by the general copyright, and articles must not be reprinted without special permission] 


Frontispiece. "Bye, Baby Bunting." Painted for St. Nicholas by Page 

Arthur Rackham. 

The Nursery Rhymes of Mother Goose: "Bye, Baby Bunting." 
"Baa, Baa, Black Sheep." "I Saw a Ship A-Sailing." "This 
is the Way the Ladies Ride " 1 

Illustrated by Arthur Rackham. 

' Traveling in India, Where Nobody is in a Hurry. Sketch Mabel Alberta Splcer 4 

Illustrated from photographs. 

When Alexander Dances. Verse Elsie mil 10 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Full-Field Run- From Kick-off to Touch-down Parke H. Davis 13 

Illustrated from photographs. 

Jealousy. Verse Alice Lovett Carson 19 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

Leaf-Raking. Verse Melville Chater 20 

Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay. 

Another Mysterious Disappearance. Picture. Drawn by I. w. Taber 21 

A Question of Courage. Story c. H. Claudy 22 

Illustrated by Oscar F. Schmidt. 
More Than Conquerors: "Beloved of Men — and Dogs." Biographi- 
cal Sketch Ariadne Gilbert 27 

Illustrated from a painting by Sir Henry Raeburn, drawings by Oscar F. 
Schmidt, and photographs. 

The Runaway. Serial Story Allen French 37 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

An Acrostic. ' ' Thanksgiving. " Mabel Livingston Frank 45 

"His Little Paws are Just as Good as Hands! " Picture. Drawn 

by George T. Tobin 46 

The Singing Clock. Story Katherine Dunlap Cather 47 

Illustrated by Thomas M. Bevans. 

Miss Santa Claus Of the Pullman. Serial Story Annie Fellows Johnston 52 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

What Boys Have Done for the World. Sketch George Frederic Stratton 58 

The Brownies Build a Bridge. Verse Palmer Cox 60 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Taking Care of Prinnie. Story Rebecca Demlng Moore 64 

Illustrated by Frances E. Ingersoll. 
"And To-morrow is Thanksgiving!" Picture. Drawn by Gertrude 

A. Kay 67 

Billy and Mister Turkey. Verse Katharine M. Daland 68 

Illustrated by the Author. 

A Hallowe'en Meeting. Verse George 0. Butler 69 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Books and Reading HUdegarde Hawthorne 70 

Illustrated from portrait by Sir Peter Lely. 

For Very Little Folk : 

The Baby Bears' First Adventure. Verse Grace G. Drayton 73 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 76 

The St. Nicholas League. With Awards of Prizes for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles 84 


A Birthday Greeting 92 

The Letter-Box 93 

The Riddle-Box 95 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 44 

The Centttry Co. and its editors receive manuscripts and art material, submitted for publication , only on the understanding that they s/iall 
not Be responsible for loss or injury tliereto while in their possession or in transit. Copies of manuscripts should be retained by the authors. 

In the United States and Canada, the price of The St. Nicholas Magazine is $3.00 a year in advance, or 25 cents a 
single copy, without discount or extra inducement of any kind. Foreign postage is 60 cents extra when subscribers abroad wish the 
magazine mailed directly from New York to them. We request that remittance be by money order, bank check, draft, or registered letter. 
The Century Co. reserves the right to suspend any subscription taken contrary to its selling terms, and to refund the unexpired credit. 

The half-yearly parts of ST. NICHOLAS end with the October and April numbers respectively, and the red cloth covers are ready 
with the issue of these numbers ; price 50 cents, by mail, postpaid ; the two covers for the complete volume, $1.00. We bind and furnish 
covers for 75 cents per part, or $1.50 for the complete volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers to us, they should be dis- f 
tinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are not exchanged for numbers. PUBLISHED MONTHLY. " 

r^ A ^iI^ W0RTH ' THE CENTURY CO. ISt^S^S^^^S^ST" 

GEORGE ^NNESS. ji, Uni(m g^^ Iw y^ $ y JOSIAH^. ^BtV^™" 


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the November number will begin what we confi- 
dently believe will be the most important year in 
the history of this magazine. The period through 
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broadly significant and humanly spectacular in our 
forty-three years of existence, and it is our ambition 
to be, as nearly as possible, representative of the 
times in which we live. 

"Recognizing that this is, in a real and vital 
sense, the very age of fiction, we plan that each 
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In order to receive the first quarter of the extraor- 
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forwardest and most substantial of all grown-up 
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and we will send you the October, November, and 
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The Century Co., 

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who sees the miracles intelligent 
labor can bring about. The 
story, with its mixture of infor- 
mation and interest, will stir 
every country boy to emulation ; 
and city youngsters will enjoy 
the descriptions of Southern life 
— the bear, deer, and coon hunts, 
barbecues, shooting, fishing, and 

Illustrated. Post 8vo, 
Cloth, $1.00 net. 

Young Alaskans 
in the Rockies 


In this new story, the third of 
the series, Mr. Hough tells of 
the doings of the young Alaskans 
through Yellowhead Pass and 
down the Fraser, Canoe, and 
Columbia rivers. The first part 
of the camping-trip is by pack- 
horse, and the boys learn how 
to load the animals scientifically, 
to ford rivers, and to protect 
themselves from mosquitoes. 
Later on they descend the rivers 
in rough boats ; and, with the 
aid of two Indians, track and kill 
some splendid grizzlies, as well 
as mountain goats and caribou. 
Illustrated. Post 8vo, 
Cloth, $1.25 net. 


Camping on 
Western Trails 


The same spirit of self-reliant 
boyhood in the out-of-door world 
remote from civilization which 
characterized "Camping in the 
Winter Woods " is present in 
this new volume, with an even 
wider field of interest. The 
characters are the same two boys 
of the earlier volume. They 
spend a summer in the Rocky 
Mountains with a guide, and the 
days are not long enough for all 
the excitement and amusements 
they try to crowd into them. 

Illustrated. Post 8vo, 
Cloth, $1.22 net. 

Camping on the 
Great Lakes 


A story of self-reliance and in- 
dependence as well as an engag- 
ing tale of adventure, which it 
brings home to American boys 
and girls the significance of our 
inland seas, just as the author's 
previous story, "Camping on 
the Great River," showed the 
significance of the Mississippi. 
The various adventures, emer- 
gencies in storms and a variety 
of incidents take the boys into 
the wilder regions of Lake Su- 
perior. There are glimpses of 
the old romantic French and In- 
dian history, and also hints as to 
the significance of the Lakes and 
the Sault Ste. Marie as the high- 
way of a vast commerce. 
Illustrated. Post 8vo, 
Cloth, $1.25 net. 

The Roaring 


This story is by the author of 
"Toby Tyler," and has in it 
much of the charm of that popu- 
lar favorite. Five boys in a 
village organized a club, "The 
Roaring Lions," and their gor- 
geous badges and sashes were 
the envy of all other boys. The 
membership increased, and some 
of the boys were jealous of the 
original officers and laid plans to 
outvote them. But when the 
vice-president was formally im- 
peached, harmony was restored 
and the long-looked-for excur- 
sion proved a great success. 

Frontispiece. 1 21110, 
Cloth, bo cents. 


The Rainy Day 
Railroad War 


The scene of this story is laid in 
the Maine woods. There is an 
exciting contest between the 
lumber barons and the builders 
of a little six-mile railroad. Rod- 
ney Parker, a young engineer not 
long out of college, is given the 
job, and he has need of pluck 
and grit to finish it. He is told 
to do his best and not to bother 
his employers. Col. Gid Ward, 
a local tyrant, a "cross between 
a bull moose and a Bengal tiger," 
insists that Rodney shall not go 
on with the railroad. But Rod- 
ney refuses to be intimidated. 
There is actual violence, but he 
escapes from imprisonment and 
wins the day. 

Post 8vo, $1.00 net. 


The American 

Readby 500,000 Boya 

"Say, fellows, it's a corker!" 

"A real magazine, all for us, full of 
fascinating reading we boys like !" 

Get this month's copy NOW, 

and read "The Gaunt Gray Wolf," a thrilling 
Labrador adventure story, by Dillon Wallace, who 
'knows all about Labrador and tells a bully tale. 
All Boy for all boys, not a child's paper. Clean as a 
whistle, full of pictures, 36 to 52 pages every month. 
Mamy, inspiring stories of travel, adventure, 
athletics, history, school life, written by most popu- 
lar boys' authors. Instructive special articles. 
Fine articles on football and other sports. De- 
partments of Mechanics, Electricity, Photography, 
Popular Science, How to Make Things, Stamp Col- 
lecting, Chickens, Pets, Gardening, Inventions 
and Natural Wonders. 

Send 10c for the November issue. 

$1 for a whole year. Sold by all newBdealers. 


224 American Building, Detroit, Mich. 


Two Little Books of Unusual Fun 


By Ruth McEnery Stuart 

One hundred pages of jingles which have 
the swing and music of the real negro songs. 
Seventy illustrations, end-papers, and 
cover design by G. H. Clements. 

Price $i.oo net, postage io cents. 


By J. R. Shaver 

Seventy-five of this clever artist's most 
popular and appealing pictures, done into 
a book with a '-Little Shaver" on the 
cover. Delightful for its keen humor and 
touches of pathos. 

Price $i ,oo net, postage io cents. 

For sale by 

The young man who wishes 
to propose should select his 

The lady who is a bristling 
little porcupine of negatives 
at one time may be a de- 
lightfully yielding little af- 
firmative at another. 

The merchant who wishes 
to sell goods should know 
that there is everything in 
the buyer's mood. The 
magazine advertiser has 
learned this lesson. 

He realizes that there can 
be no better time to "talk 
up" his wares than the 
very time chosen for mag- 
azine reading. No one 
gives his attention to mag- 
azines when he is absorbed 
in something requiring all 
his energies. It is when 
he is at leisure — at home 
in the evening — on the 
tram or the steamer — in 
camp — or visiting a friend's 
house — at his club — over 
his luncheon — in the library. 

Let your advertisement 
come to your customer 
when he picks up The 
Century or St. Nicholas 
and you will have insured 
the " right time." 



Gifts a Boy 
can make for 
His Mother 

"VTOU like to give mother a nice 

-*- Christmaspresent. Mostboys 

do. And if you are handy with 

tools, you can make a number of 

useful things that will please her more than anything in the 


The Woman's Home Companion for November shows how. Turn to 
page 31 and look over the working drawings and illustrations of the 
"kitchen carpentry gifts." Be a Kitchen carpenter! 

Mothers are not the only people to be pleased : 
aunts and grandmothers and big sisters are 
pretty sure to welcome such presents as these. 

Girls ! Look at page 30 and learn how to make the dearest doll's lamp 
and a reed workbasket lined with flowered chintz. See also pages 52 
and 68. 

Remember, too, that the wonderful 

adventures of Jack and Betty begin in 



The November Number is now on 
the news-stands — price fifteen cents. 



Two Score Years of 

St. Nicholas 

Napoleon inspired his 
soldiers in Egypt by 
reminding them that 
forty centuries looked 
upon them from the 

There is inspiration 
for us all in the thought 
that forty years of St. 
Nicholas look to us to 
carry on the work they 
have so nobly begun. 
In one of the poems 
that came from his warm and youthful heart, 
the great Thackeray advised against hasty 
judgments, saying: 

Wait till you come to forty year ! 

St. Nicholas has rounded out the two score 
years, and may, therefore, safely turn for a 
backward look along the path of progress with- 
out fear of being misled by 
the enthusiasm and inexperi- 
ence of the salad-days. 

What does the retrospec- 
tive glance present? 

It reminds one of a long 
road where lies the new-fallen 
snow upon which the morn- 
ing sun is shining — for one 
sees the unsullied path extend- 
ing as far as the eye can see, 
and wherever the attention is 
directed, there sparkle gleams 
of brightness, the rays of ir- 
idescent gems reflecting the 
white light of truth into pris- 
matic colors: poetry, humor, counsel, know- 
ledge, gaiety— infinite variety, yet combined 
into one unstained straight line of progress. 


Thousands upon thou- 
sands have come with 
the little saint along a 
longer or shorter por- 
tion of his way, and 
must have found the 
journey to their liking; 
for to-day they are keep- 
ing to the same course, 
and leading at their 
sides little companions 
whose small fingers 
hold their hands and 

whose footprints look tiny indeed beside those 
of their parents. 

St. Nicholas could have no friends more 
loving than the busy men and women whose 
own youth coincided with the earlier days of 
the magazine. It asks no better assurance of 
work well done than the confidence with which 
these older friends now bring their little ones 
-2,^-. to the shrine of the patron 

saint of their own youth, and 
intrust those they love best to 
his gentle guidance and joy- 
ous friendship. 

Can St. Nicholas doubt 
that its work has been well 
done, when these graduates 
of the magazine approve it? 
But there are those who 
are less familiar with the 
long row of volumes that 
hold the documents to prove 
what has been accomplished. 
For their sake, it may be well 
to hark back to the begin- 
ning, and there embarking in an imaginary 
aeroplane, skim at a rate of some forty years 
in a quarter of an hour over the fields of the 



saint's career, noting a very few of the more 
striking landmarks only. So let us mentally 
go back to 1873, when Queen Victoria still had 

Whew ! Sawdust ! 

"Here 's just a nice dinner for a baby lion 

twenty-eight years to reign, and the telephone 
was three years in the future. It is a long look 
backward — a longer period, measured by its 
contributions to the world's progress, than any 
previous century. 

We sympathize deeply with the Baker, in 
Lewis Carroll's "Hunting of the Snark," 
when the Bellman severely told him to cut 
short his biography. 

" 'I skip forty years,' said the Bellman, in 
tears," and his weeping might well be heartfelt 
if those were the 
four decades that 
saw the steady build- 
ing-up of almost 
twice forty crimson 
volumes of St. Nich- 
olas, filled from 
cover to cover with 
the wise and witty, 
the bright and seri- 
ous contributions ad- 
dressed by the most 
capable authors and 
artists to the eager 
world of boys and 

To the everlasting 
praise of all these 
distinguished au- 
thors and artists, the poets and humorists of the 
magazine, it must be said that there has never 
been a dearth of material from which to gar- 

"Room for one more." 
From the first volume of St. Nicholas. 

ner the monthly sheaves stored into the great 
granary of St. Nicholas. For from the be- 
ginning to our own day, each has given of 
his or her choicest work. 

It was the first time in all the 
long history of English litera- 
ture that the young received 
their just dues. 

Mary Mapes Dodge, the first 
editor, and the inspirer of the 
magazine's spirit, began and 
continued throughout and be- 
yond her own busy life the pol- 
icy that nothing could be too 
excellent for the pages of St. 
Nicholas. She asked, won, and 
kept the faith of its readers by 
demanding that every author 
and every artist should offer 
his very best work if he would 
be presented to the St. Nicholas public. She 
recognized what was also asserted by Richard 
Watson Gilder — that the editing of a maga- 
zine for the young was more exacting than the 
editing of an adult magazine, since young 
readers took its text upon trust, and without 
reservations or criticism. 

St. Nicholas frankly sought admission into 
the heart of the home. It presented itself as 
one of the family, as the friend of parents and 
children, and recognized that it was admitted 

on honor as one to 
whom the child's 
mind and soul were 
a sacred trust. 

Nothinguntrue, de- 
ceitful, or unwhole- 
some must gain ac- 
cess to the inner 
sanctuary of the 
home by hiding be- 
neath the cloak of the 
little saint who was 
so fully welcomed. 

From the begin- 
ning, as the merest 
bird's-eye survey 
shows, there have 
been the delightful 
serial stories that 
depict wholesome, genial, simple, or inspiring 
life indoors and out, at home or in school; 
pictures to stir the heart, to inform the under- 



standing, or to bewitch the imagination ; verses 
to inspire, to move, to stimulate, or to tickle 
the fancy — to bring smiles to the lips or tears 
to the eyes; articles that interpreted the be- 
wildering changes in a material world that 
was being made over into its modern trans- 
formation. All 
came into be- 
ing, and fell 
into place to 
make the great 
literary mosaic 
that forms St. 
Nicholas, at 
the call of the 
bright, little 
whose cheery 
messages were 
through the 
editorial words 
of MaryMapes 
Dodge and her 
and successor, 
William Fayal 

So, page by 
page, have 
been built up 
the eighty vol- 
umes of which F " urth Reader rlase 
no one fears comparison with their crimson- 
coated comrades, or deigns to be compared 
with any outside of those serried ranks of 
veterans and recruits. 

Generalities these, but generalities must be 
used to summarize so long a record of achieve- 
ment. But it is easy to append proof by exam- 
ple if we care to look here and there at the 
tables of contents. 

Let us pick out a few of the gems that spar- 
kle along the extended white path. 

Here we find serials by Miss Alcott, by Mrs. 
Burnett— you know "Fauntleroy"— by Mrs. 
Dodge herself, whose "Donald and Dorothy" 
lives in every household ; by Edward Eggleston, 
"Susan Coolidge," Mark Twain, Captain 
Mayne Reid, Frank Stockton the inimitable, 
by J. T. Trowbridge, Kate Douglas Wiggin, 
Mrs. Jamison, Kipling, Stoddard, John Ben- 
nett, Ralph Henry Barbour, Cleveland Moffett, 

Amelia E. Barr, Rupert Hughes, Lawrence 
Hutton, Rossiter Johnson, Thomas Janvier, 
Howard Pyle— but there, there ! It is hope- 
less—for once you open the lid, and the names 
come boiling out of the box in a flood that 
threatens to burst all barriers and to sweep 

away these 
pages into a 
mere confu- 
sion of cata- 
loguing. It is 
a case of "they 
were all there 
— the Jobalil- 
lies, the Picka- 
lillies and all"; 
and there is 
no doubt that a 
careful search 
would bring to 
light a contri- 
bution by the 
Great Pan- 
jandrum him- 
self, as well as 
a speaking por- 
trait of this 
great unknown 
showing even 
the little round 
button on the 
tiptop of his 
The Hoosier school-boy." mandarin cap. 

We must put the matter in a nutshell by say- 
ing that almost every notable writer or illus- 
trator has been proud to appear before the St. 
Nicholas audience, and that none ever wished 
to do less than his Sunday best when privi- 
leged to perform on this stage. 

Then there should be another long list of the 
practical men and women who take up pen or 
pencil only to record things done. These have 
been called upon from month to month, and 
summoned to make clear to our young people 
those mighty agencies by which the old world 
has been made over since St. Nicholas first 
appeared upon its surface. 

The telephone and all its electrical relatives; 
the arts of war, as dealing with small-bore 
rifle, twelve-inch gun, with submarine midget, 
or dreadnaught giant; the arts of peace, from 
automobile to aeroplane— every mechanical 
triumph has been taken apart and exhibited in 



the great St. Nicholas exposition to show 
young readers just how the wheels go round. 
And it is only sober truth to say that not a few 
scientific workers were first led to their suc- 
cessful careers by articles read in the pages of 
our magazine. 

The same statement applies also to the af- 
fairs of Dame Nature herself— to the world 
outside of workshop and factory. Living 
things, from miscroscopic plants to the great 
beasts that roam the jungles, have been truth- 

" The reformed pirate." Illustrating a Stockton story. 

fully described and depicted; while explorers, 
travelers, globe-trotters have personally con- 
ducted St. Nicholas readers into the remote 
regions of this great round world. 

From whimsical Jack-in-the-Pulpit to the ac- 
curate and painstaking notables of the scien- 
tific world, all have delighted to tell our Doro- 
thy and Christopher by the evening lamp the 
marvels and wonders that need not fear 
comparison with fairy-tales and imaginative 

How great has been the*, advance in this 
study of nature can best be appreciated by one 
who will compare the current pages of the 
"Nature and Science Department" with some 
antiquated copy of "Evenings at Home," "Book 

of Knowledge for the Young," or even with 
the delightful absurdities of "Sandford and 
Merton," or the well-meant pedantry of "Swiss 
Family Robinson." 

The differences are as much in manner as in 
matter; the old patronizing, "my-dearish," 
irritatingly ultra-moralistic (dare we say hypo- 
critical?) style is gone forever — and a good 
riddance. The reader of St. Nicholas is 
made to feel that all of us— men, women, girls, 
and boys— are students together at the knee of 
Mother Nature, striving to read a few helpful 
lines in her wonderful book of infinite wis- 
dom ; that some know a little more than others, 
and each must be helpful to each in decipher- 
ing the text that is so hard for the wisest. 

Who can resent advice and aid coming from 
such a spirit? 

The same cooperative attitude can be felt 
throughout the other departments. The "Books 
and Reading" pages have never taken the pose 
of prohibiting and dictating. They have sum- 
moned all young readers to the great feast of 
literature, giving such counsel as is desirable, 
but always with the belief that an appetite for 
the wholesome will not relish the forbidden 
fruits of inferior flavor, and that one who has 
found advice good will trust the adviser. 

Wherever St. Nicholas offers counsel to 
the young — and many a wise lay sermon has 
found place in its pages — it has been couched 
in terms implying comradeship — has been de- 
livered "on the level" rather than from the 
high chair of assumed authority. Of such ar- 
ticles the words of advice delivered by Theo- 
dore Roosevelt to Young America, through St. 
Nicholas, is a most notable example ; for the 
few pages contain the gist and essence of what 
was afterward spoken by the same lips to the 
world's most distinguishd hearers. 

And we have hardly mentioned the greatest 
teachers of all — the poets: Tennyson, Whittier, 
Longfellow, Aldrich, Gilder, Riley, Christina 
Rossetti, Stedman, Celia Thaxter, Edith 
Thomas, and so many more— who have given 
jewels to set here and there, and to shine with 
the light that never was on sea or land. The 
names quoted are the better known, but many 
a poem of notable inspiration has gone to 
make up the St. Nicholas anthology, and to 
form the ideals of Young America. 

But— think of it ! There are four hundred 
and eighty numbers of the magazine to choose 



from ! Truly an enormous pudding from 

which to Jack Hornerize the bigger plums. 

What can poor Jack do, save to wave one 

now and then in air, as he despairingly calls 

"Just lean on me; 1 '11 walk very slowly." 
From Mrs. Frances Hodgson Burnett's "Little Lord Fauntleroy" 

attention to the superb plumminess of the en- 
tire pudding? Every particular slice is studded 
thick with the savory bits of fruit— and the 
pastry itself is so good that every little Oliver 
Twist never ceases to stretch forth his plate 
for another helping. 

The trimmings of the pudding and the 
icing of the cake, as it were, are also worthy 
of attention. 

Consider what the St. Nicholas League 
has been to its 50,000 members. Imagine some 
infant phenomenon whose head has become 
swollen by home or village adulation. Reflect 
upon how wholesome for such a young writer 

or artist has been the comparison of his work 
with that of the brightest among the other 
49,999 members of the League. Writing, in 
prose and verse, drawing and photography— 
here may be seen the high-water mark of 
youthful achievement, under healthy emula- 
tion and impartial valuation. Such aids to 
proper self-valuing spell — Education. 

Briefly— St. Nicholas is a liberal education. 

Its horizon is the rim of the world. No 
reader of the magazine can long think within 
a circle "no wider than his father's shield," 
nor have the homely wits of Shakspere's 
"home-keeping youths." And with breadth 
there is also depth. The magazine recognizes 
no bounds that narrow. It is a harp of a thou- 
sand strings, for it is the harmony rising from 
the chorus of its contributors, and each sounds 
the note that comes truest from his heart. 

If the poet sings the dreams that delight him 
and his child listeners, the man of science 
joins in with the harmonious accompaniment 
of the bass notes on which life is founded. 
The story-teller and the humorist must here 
sing in unison. 

The best part of any school comes from the 
personality of its teachers ; and through St. 
Nicholas the young reader is brought into 

" Nagaina, the snake, is chased 

by Rikki-Tikki." 
From Kipling's Jungle Stories 

fellowship and understanding with the bright- 
est persons of the time — fellowship both in 
learning and also on the playground where 
sports and good fun abound. 



Before the days of the genial St. Nicholas 
was there any genuine fun-making for the 
young? Such fun, for example, as the gro- 
tesque Brownies, or the doings of "Phaeton 
Rogers," or Frank Stockton's "Jolly Fellow- 
ship" and his long list of quaint and quizzical 
stories about Reformed Pirates, Griffins, 
Minor Canons, and other such creations? 
Where before their day shall we parallel Mrs. 
Dodge's delightful "Jingles," the verse of 
Laura E. Richards, of Carolyn Wells, Mal- 

,-- i-X.-J'S ■?'■ 

• *T V 

"Tommy mates a home run." Drawn by 

colm Douglas, C. F. Lester, John Kendrick 
Bangs, the stories and verses of Gelett Bur- 
gess (maker of Goops), Tudor Jenks, of 
Charles E. Carryl, Oliver Herford, and of— 
see the magazine, any number ! 

And a special paragraph should be here built 
for niches to hold the votive images to Regi- 
nald Birch for his drawings embodying what- 
ever brain can conceive of the romantic, hu- 
morous, grotesque, or decorative ; to Fanny Y. 
Cory, who must have her place ; for Kemble, 
Peter Newell, for Palmer Cox, J. G. Francis, 
and their fellow-magicians of brush and pencil. 

If St. Nicholas had never served any other 
good purpose, it would deserve its repute for 
its clean, pure, genuine humor, its irrespon- 
sible fun, its gay bearing. It has always re- 
fused to sit like a grandsire carved in ala- 
baster, and this alone should win it welcome 
to every home in the land. The car of life 
needs humor as a shock-absorber, and the 

springless Dry-as-Dust Four-Cylinder Racer 
soon racks itself to ruin and the scrap-heap. 

Is it too much to claim for St. Nicholas 
that it has had a large share in making "Young 
America" something better than before the 
magazine existed? 

There was a time when those words were 
said to stand for smartiness, for lack of rever- 
ence, for presumption, bumptious assurance — 
as well as for pluck, ingenuity, and versatility. 
The magazine's influence has reached more 

than a half-mil- 
lion readers every 
year for forty 
years ; has held 
before them for 
admiration a type 
of boyhood and 
girlhood worthy 
ofimitation. That 
the modern Young 
American has not 
lost his good qual- 
ities while gain- 
ing in modesty 
and in respect to 
his elders is ad- 
mitted by all who 
have opportunity 
to judge. 
It is a pity that spiritual things are not as 
evident to the senses as the material. Suppose, 
for example, that we could view the issue of 
the St. Nicholas magazine as a geyser, like 
the "Old Faithful" of the Yellowstone Park. 
Then, on a regular day every month, there 
would arise from De Vinne's printing-house a 
veritable giant fountain of magazines, shoot- 
ing upward into the sky, thence diverging to 
the four quarters of the globe, and descending 
into the very bosom of thousands of family cir- 
cles, to meet the myriad outstretched hands. 

But after all, why talk in metaphors, tropes, 
and figures when all you need do is to ask 
your boys and girls what they think of it. 
They will tell you, and they will put it in plain 
English without waste of words. Summed up, 
the opinion will probably be— "I just love it!" 
After all, what more can any one say? 
When a magazine is loved — it has fulfilled 
the law. 




St. Nicholas for 1914 

Publishers' Preliminary 

With the October number, St. Nicholas has 
proudly added the fortieth volume to its long 
array of similar annual issues ; and these forty 
volumes, in the familiar red-and-gold binding 
that has been fondly cherished by three gener- 
ations of American young folk, form the 
greatest treasure-house of good reading for 
boys and girls that any land can show. The 
magazine was not only the pioneer in its own 
field, but it has always led the van in the do- 
main of juvenile periodical literature — both 
for America and the world. 

It is a happy omen for the future, too, that 
the magazine was never more prosperous than 
now, and never more in touch with the vital 
needs and interests of its readers. American 
boys and girls know a good thing when they 
see it, and the lads and lassies of to-day love 
their St. Nicholas as loyally as did their fa- 
thers and mothers before them. They 
know that it will not fail them in the 
constant endeavor to provide entertain- 
ment, inspiration, practical knowledge, 
real literature and real art, sympathetic 
comradeship, rich stores of fun and 
of jollity, — in short, everything in the 
line of choice reading that makes for 
their highest good and their truest hap- 

How well it has succeeded is a fa- 
miliar story throughout the length and 
breadth of our own and other lands, for 
there is hardly a corner of the earth 
where English-speaking families can 
wander but St. Nicholas goes with 
them, or is already there to meet them. 
But it is, of course, the peculiar pride 
and property of American youngsters, 
and is issued primarily for their especial 

In the preceding pages, an interesting 
glance at the history of the magazine has been 
presented, and many of its most notable 
achievements brought freshly to mind. And 
on this fortieth anniversary, St. Nicholas 


sets out to make the next ten years the most 
fruitful and successful of all, so that it may 
round out its half-century in due time, with a 
still higher record of honor and fulfilment. Its 
ambition now, as always, is to make each year 
richer than its predecessor in the literary and 
artistic argosies offered to the eager and alert 
minds of Young Americans. 

To begin with, the issues for next year will 

More pictures by Arthur Rackham. (C) A. R. 

bring them an unusually varied list of serials 
— treasures of text and picture — in which 
every reader, from eight to eighteen, will find 
something exactly fitted to his or her especial 
taste. First of all, there will be: 


More Pictures 
by Arthur Rackham 

During the year just closed, the magazine 
has had the good fortune to publish the series 
of fascinating color-drawings illustrating 
"Mother Goose," by the distinguished artist, 
Arthur Rackham. This series will be contin- 
ued well into the new volume, which will con- 
tain several of the finest drawings of the en- 
tire set, and also more liberal instalments of 

From "Miss Santa Claus of the Pullman." 

black-and-white Mother Goose pictures. These 
black-and-white drawings are hardly less won- 
derful than the color-scenes. They are, in 
themselves, an art-education for young folk, 
displaying, as each does, Mr. Rackham's mar- 
velous power of presenting an entire figure, 
with perfection of pose and expression, in only 
a few lines. It illustrates once more the truth 
that, for the highest skill in any art, it is just 
as important to know what to leave out as 
what to put in ! Mr. Rackham draws a hut or 
a palace, a frolicking child or a wrinkled old 
crone, with equal ease and perfection, and 
seemingly almost without taking his pen from 
the paper ! And then his color-pictures ! 
What exquisite delicacy of form and tint in 

the fairies and princesses, the mothers and the 
children, and what a wealth and strength of 
imagination in his grotesque giants and ogres, 
and the weird trees of his landscapes ! St. 
Nicholas and its readers love his drawings, 
and propose to revel in them next year, for, in 
addition to the Mother Goose feature, there 
will be a whole series of entrancing scenes in 
color from the "Arthur Rackham Picture 
Book," which is to be brought out in the 
autumn of 1914. St. Nicholas young folk will 
thus have the privilege of seeing 
many of these masterpieces in 
advance, and it is safe to say 
that no finer pictures will be 
found in any magazine than 
these by England's foremost 

One of the most welcome an- 
nouncements that could possibly 
be made to the younger boys 
and girls who. take St. Nich- 
olas is that of the serial story 
begun in the October number, 

Miss Santa Claus of 
the Pullman 

by Annie Fellows Johnston 

Mrs. Johnston's readers are 
numbered literally by scores of 
thousands through the popular- 
ity of her "Little Colonel" books 
and other stories. And of this 
host of admirers by whom she 
is so well beloved, a goodly portion are sub- 
scribers to this magazine. Every reader, old 
and young, will welcome the advent to its 
pages of that delightful pair, "Libby" and 
"Will'm," while "Miss Santa Claus" herself 
will take all hearts by storm. Mrs. Johnston 
knows the child-nature perfectly, and portrays 
it in this story with the human touch, and with 
rare skill and charm. It is illustrated by Birch. 
Of other serials, one of the most important is 

The Runaway 
by Allen French 

author of "The Junior Cup," "Pelham and His 
Friend Tim," etc., and an instructor in English 
at Harvard University. 



Mr. French wrote for St. Nicholas, years 
ago, "The Junior Cup," one of the best stories 
for boys that the magazine has ever published. 
When brought out in book form later, it 
promptly attained, and still enjoys, great popu- 
larity. In "The Runaway," he has created an 
even more interesting and a far more powerful 
narrative, with a very exciting plot, three 
strongly contrasted boy-characters, a "mys- 
tery" element, a seemingly impossible rescue 

Three of the leading characters in " The Runaway." 

by a man in an automobile, a thrilling climax, 
and a girl-character who will undoubtedly prove 
the most popular of all the story-folk. She 
has to face a difficult problem, quite by herself, 
and keep a level head, and she — but we must 
not reveal too much ! This serial is really a 
story for the whole family. It ought to be read 
aloud by the evening lamp, and parents will 
enjoy it almost as much as the boys and girls 
for whom it was written. Beginning in the 
November issue, it will continue through the 
twelve numbers of the volume. Don't miss 
reading it ! 

Still another serial is entitled 

The Lucky Stone 
by Abbie Farwell Brown 

author of "The Flower Princess," "The Star 
Jewels," "The Lonesomest Doll," etc. 

The story seems, at first sight, to be intended 
for younger girls, and it will, in truth, delight 
them ; but it has the poetic charm of "Peter 
Pan" and other idyllic tales that appeal to 
young and old alike, a sort of fairy-tale of 
American life to-day, but with just enough 
realism in the opening chapters to bring out, 
in fine contrast, the wonderful way in which 
the wearied young lady of a great estate plays 
"fairy godmother" to an imaginative child of 
the tenements, and finds her own reward in a 
surprising way before the curtain drops. 

St. Nicholas, however, aims not merely to 
entertain its young folk, but, at the same time, 
to guide, to help, to inspire its young readers, 
to make them acquainted with the best that is 
being written, and the best that is being done 
in the world. It addresses an audience that is 
beginning to learn how to think. The maga- 
zine wishes to help them to think for them- 
selves and to think purposefully. So it holds 
up to them, not only literary and artistic ideals, 
but achievements of the world's greatest men 
and women, and frequent pictures of the great 
things that are being accomplished in this 
great age. The serial 

With Men Who Do Things 
by A. Russell Bond 

author of "The Scientific American Boy" and 
"Handyman's Workshop and Laboratory," was 
one of the most popular features of the last 
volume, describing, as it did, the actual work 
of the vast engineering enterprises in and 
around New York. Mr. Bond's account of the 
building of a sky-scraper and of a subway— 
"Five hundred feet above Broadway" and "One 
hundred feet below Broadway"— of "A Drive 
through the River-Bed" and "Spinning a Web 
across the River," of "Quenching a City's 
Thirst," and of "Cars that Travel Skyward," 
will not soon be forgotten by boys and girls 
or their parents. These articles formed one 
of the features that drew from President 
Marion Burton, of Smith College, a hearty 
word of praise for St. Nicholas in his bacca- 
laureate address last summer. 

All readers will welcome the announcement, 



therefore, that this unique series is to be con- 
tinued in 1914, with the same boys as charac- 
ters, but with a wider range of subjects. For 
it will deal with even greater wonders, — with 

Fifty stories above ground. 
From "With Men Who Do Things." 

some of the greatest engineering feats in the 
whole country, — and will reveal many amazing 
secrets of the skill and power of man in over- 
coming the obstacles of nature. And, as sepa- 
rate incidents in the chapters, such novelties 
as "A Hanging Building," "Freezing Quick- 
sand," "A Pneumatic Breakwater," and "A 
Chimney Built' about a Man," will add dra- 
matic interest to the accounts of the most fa- 
mous constructive enterprises that our country 
can boast. 

A second series of a very practical kind, 
but limited to -a boy's own powers and possi- 
bilities, will deal with most, if not all, of 

100 things that a boy can do or 
make indoors or out 

and is written by 

Francis Arnold Collins 

author of "The Boys' Book of Model Aero- 
planes," "The Wireless Man," etc. 

Every boy, no matter what his tastes, will 
fmd in this series something that will prove 
exactly what he wants. The entire collection 
treats entertainingly of more than one hun- 
dred subjects of up-to-date interest in the lives 
of boys both in and out of doors. There are, 
besides, some very practical chapters giving 
detailed instruction for making and operating 
scores of novel scientific toys. 

One section is devoted to model aeroplanes, 
the subject of two earlier books by Mr. Collins 
which have met with much success. The sub- 
ject is brought up to date, and the development 
of this fascinating branch of aeronautics both 
in America and Europe is described and illus- 
trated. Directions are given for building a 
model aeroplane which will fly more than half 
a mile. The story of the newest achievements 
in wireless electricity, which fill several chap- 
ters, will be welcomed by the readers of the 
author's recent work, "The Wireless Man." 

Other readable chapters treat of such widely 
different subjects as forestry, intensive gar- 
dening, the training of pet animals, bookbind- 
ing, and concrete construction. There are 
helpful papers giving instruction for the build- 
ing of hydro-aeroplanes, model motor-boats, 
ice-yachts, dirigible balloons, and the like. A 
number of fascinating toys run by hydraulic 
power are illustrated and described, as well as 
scientific kites, gyroscopes, windmills, and 
scores of other scientific toys. And the strong 
reading interest of the pages will prove inter- 
esting to grown-ups as well as to boys. 

Nor are the girls forgotten, in the practical 
matters, for 

The Housekeeping Adventures of 

the Blair Family 

by Caroline Benton French 

author of "Saturday Mornings," "A Little 
Cook-Book for a Little Girl," etc., 

will describe, in story form, the household 
emergencies which Mildred (fourteen), Jack 
(twelve), and Brownie (nine) have to meet. 
These children are real and interesting, and 
the account of how they assisted in getting 
ready for Christmas — in preparing luncheons 
for school ; in making dishes for the sick ; in 
helping at an afternoon tea and a lunch-party 
— will tempt other young folk to go and do 
likewise. They find out that there is no drudg- 




*m|"^ ^qralfo 




ery about it, but genuine fun 
and the gain of genuine 
knowledge that will always 
be useful to them. Even the 
boys are "in on" these good 
times, for Jack gets some 
fine lessons in camp-cookery, 
which all boys should know 
in these days when the out- 
door months and experiences 
play so large a part in their 

The biographical articles 
which have presented to the 
readers of St. Nicholas dur- 
ing the past year new and uplifting glimpses 
of the lives of Lincoln, Phillips Brooks, Emer- 
son, Agassiz, and other great, men, will be 
continued in 1914 under the title of 

More than Conquerors 
by Ariadne Gilbert 

Each article reviews its subject from the 
standpoint of the obstacles or handicaps which 
the man described had to overcome. Young 
readers cannot fail to find their courage 
quickened, their ambitions exalted, and their 
appreciation of good literature doubled, by 
these inspiring and beautifully written pa- 
pers. The series 
will be contin- 
ued well into 
the new vol- 
ume. The arti- 
cle on Sir Wal- 
ter Scott, in the 
present num- 
ber, is a faii- 
example, and 
further papers 
will tell of the 
lives of Beetho- 
ven, Pasteur, 
Augustus Saint- 
Gaudens, and 
other famous 

I^gfl From " Black-on-Blne.' 

And in addition, St. Nicholas has in store 
a second series of briefer biographical 
sketches, but no less fascinating, dealing with 
romantic incidents in the boyhood of Titian, 
"the Boy of Cadore," Stradivarius, "The Whit- 
tler of Cremona," and other great characters 

of the older times. They are written by Mrs. 
Katharine D. Cather. 

Even the Very Little Folk are to have a 
"serial" of their own thie year, for Mrs. Grace 
G. Drayton, whose delightful comic drawings 
are known the country over, has written, for 
youngest readers, a quaint set of rhymes about 
"The Two Little Bears," and illustrated them 
in her own inimitable way. 

So much for some of the serials, though it 
does not exhaust the list. But it is enough to 
show that young folk who crave continued 
stories are sure of a feast in the new volume. 
And when it comes to short stories and 
sketches, poems and pictures, the list of good 
things is far too long for anything more than 
a passing mention. We must not overlook, 
however, one exceptional story that ought to 
be read in every household in the land — 

Larry Goes to the Ant 
by Effie Ravenscroft 

a true "father and son" story— dealing with a 
very vital problem in almost every home — the 
boy's choice of a profession or occupation. This 
story is a strong, eloquent, heart-warming pre- 
sentation of an American boy's struggle be- 
tween his love for his profession and his love 
for his father, and of the amazing "stunt" by 

which the ques- 
tion was set- 

Then there is 
the fine, short 






author of "The 
Crimson Sweat- 
er," "Kingsford, 
Quarter," "Tom, 
Dick, and Har- 

by Ralph Henry Barbour. l'iet," etc. 

Boys and girls familiar with Mr. Barbour's 
St. Nicholas stories might think, at first, that 
this title should be "black and blue" and take 
it for a foot-ball story. But such is not the 
case. There is a surprise awaiting the young 
reader, both in the kind of story and its final 



incident. It is told in Mr. Barbour's brisk and 
lively style. 

In the way of sports and athletics, however, 
the new volume will supply plenty of interest 
and "action" — always of a timely sort. The 
present number, for instance, contains a new 
and valuable article for foot-ball enthusiasts: 

"The Full-field Run 

from Kick-off to Touch-down" 

by Parke H. Davis 

author of "Foot-ball, the Intercollegiate 
Game," and Representative of Princeton on 
the Rules Committee. 

This paper will interest every lover of the 
game, as it presents the record of every player 
in the big games who has achieved this great- 
est exploit on the field. 

Then, too, there is a novel set of 

"Rose Alba" Stories 
by Eveline W. Brainerd 

each complete in itself, and yet connected 
with the others by the same characters, though 
in an entirely different series of incidents. 
These stories have to do with a hitherto- 
neglected side of child-life, namely, that of the 
boy-and-girl dwellers in New York City's 
apartment-houses. Much has been written 
about the sons and daughters of the very 
wealthy, and about the child of the tenements, 
but here is a new and striking picture of the 
"ventures, adventures, and misadventures" of 
the young folk in apartments like the "Rose 
Alba." Very interesting they are, too, for, as 
the author truly says, "Six children on the top 
floor of a New York apartment-house can 
have an amazing number of happenings in' a 
very small space." 


The NATURE AND SCIENCE pages will 
be crammed each month with interesting items 
that pique the curiosity or rouse the wonder 
of youngsters by their apt illustration of the 
myriad miracles of every day; and they con- 
stantly present, also, sketches of animal-life, 
bird-life, plant-life, with drawings by the best 
artists — which delight the youthful nature- 

lover. The department has received the high- 
est commendation from schools and teachers 
all over the country. As for 

The St. Nicholas League 

its pages teem with amazing work by the 
young folk themselves, with whom it grows 
more popular year by year. A good part of 
the prose and verse printed month by month 
is so astonishing in its excellence that new 
readers and many grown-ups declare it could 
not have been written by boys and girls of the 
ages mentioned. 

But to constant readers of the magazine 
these remarkable productions in prose and 
verse, in photography and in drawing, have 
ceased to be more than "the regular thing," 
"all in the day's work," and quite to be ex- 
pected. This department has been of incalcu- 
lable benefit in stimulating youthful ambition 
and endeavor, and bringing latent gifts to light. 
Several graduates of the St. Nicholas League 
have already made their mark in the magazines 
for grown-ups, both among the writers and 
artists, and they all ascribe warm praise to the 
League as the beginning of their success. 
Howard Pyle was so impressed by the quality 
of the young artists' work that he once offered 
a course of instruction, free, to one of the 
League's boy-illustrators. 

The BOOKS AND READING pages, con- 
ducted by Hildegarde Hawthorne, are of great 
benefit to young and old in acquainting them, 
just now, with the best books of fiction deal- 
ing with successive periods of English history, 
and, when this is completed, will lead its army 
of young readers into other equally interesting 
paths of literature. 

In the RIDDLE-BOX each month, those 
who love enigmas, rebuses, and other puzzles 
find plentiful enjoyment in grappling with the 
twisters of varied sort that are spread before 
them. It is seldom, however, that these prove 
to be too difficult or involved for their keen 
wits ; and many of these young wiseacres have 
contributed to the League some twisters of 
their own that would keep many a grown-up 
"guessing" for a weary while. 

The regular price of St. Nicholas is $3.00 a year, 25 cents a copy. There is an extra charge of 60 cents for 
postage to points outside the United States and Canada. Why not subscribe for St. Nicholas right now? 




Par Excellence, 
the Soap for the 
Complexion. Indeed 
a veritable Soap de Luxe. 
So long ago as 1789 PEARS 
was supreme, and to-day, after 124 
years of trial, the public still regard it as 



l* z g $£w£nglzsh r .r^mmm soap 

'All rights secured' 1 '' 






Vol. XLI 



Copyright, 1913, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

S J V ©A.R. 


Bye, baby bunting, 
Daddy 's gone a-hunting, 
To get a little rabbit's skin 
To wrap the baby bunting in. 

No. 1 


Baa, baa, black sheep, 
Have you any wool ? 

Yes, sir, yes, sir, 
Three bags full : 

One for my master, 
And one for my dame, 

And one for the little boy 
Who lives in our lane. 

Vol. XLI.— 1 




I saw a ship a-sailing, 

A-sailing on the sea ; 
And, oh ! it was all laden 
With pretty things for thee. 

There were comfits in the cabin, 

And apples in the hold ; 
The sails were all of silk, 

And the masts were made of gold. 

The four-and-twenty sailors 

That stood between the decks, 

Were four-and-twenty white mice 

With chains about their necks. 

The captain was a duck, 

With a packet on his back; 
And when the ship began to move, 
The captain said, "Quack ! Quack!" 


Library, Univ. «t 

North <~*roli*># 




This is the way the ladies ride, 

Tri, tre, tre, tree, 

Tri, tre, tre, tree ! 
This is the way the ladies ride, 

Tri, tre, tre, tre, tri-tre-tre-tree ! 

This is the way the gentlemen ride, 


Gallop-a-trot ! 
This is the way the gentlemen ride, 

Gallop-a-gallop-a-trot ! 

This is the way the farmers ride, 


Hobbledy-hoy ! 
This is the way the farmers ride, 

Hobbledy hobbledy-hoy! 



Here in the Western world, where everything is 
hustle and bustle, where express-trains, automo- 
biles, telephones, telegraphs, pneumatic tubes, 
and, most recently, aeroplanes save us hours of 
time, it is difficult to realize that on the other side 
of the world things are moying along at the 
same slow pace at which they did centuries ago. 
Also, here in America, where everybody is say- 
ing, "I have no time, I have no time !" it seems 
strange to think that there are countries where 
time has no value whatsoever, where people be- 
lieve they have to live thousands and thousands 
of lives before they reach their heaven, and, con- 
sequently, have no regard for time. 

Imagine spending the whole night in the train 
to go one or two hundred miles ! Imagine, also, 


everybody's surprise if some traveler should at- 
tempt to take" with him into an American sleep- 
ing-car a roll of bedding, a box of ice, sawdust, 
and bottles of soda-water, a huge lunch-basket, 
spirit-lamps, umbrella-cases, hat-boxes, suitcases 
and bags without number, a talkative parrot, and 
a folding chair or two ! He would be thought 

quite mad, of course, and would not be allowed 
to enter the car. Yet this is how people travel 
in the trains of India. Sometimes, to be sure, the 
chairs and noisy parrot are left at home, but 
quite as often golf-sticks and a folding cot are 
substituted. Native travelers often carry their 
cooking utensils and stoves with them. No one 
is in a hurry, and the train often waits quite 
long enough at stations for them to install their 
stoves on the platform, and cook a good dish of 

Most trains have first-, second-, and third-class 
carriages. Europeans and Americans usually 
travel first-class, for the best in India is bad 
enough when compared with the luxuries of 
travel in Western countries. Most of the car- 
riages are about half as long as those in Amer- 
ica, and divided into two compartments without 
a corridor, each having a lavatory at one end. 
Running along each side of the compartment, 
just under the windows, is a long, leather-cov- 
ered bench, which serves as a seat during the 
day, and a berth at night. It is equally uncom- 
fortable in both capacities. Above this, folded 
up against the side of the car, is a leather-cov- 
ered shelf that lets down to form the upper berth. 

My first experience in Indian trains was at 
night. My turbaned servant arranged my bed- 
ding on a bench in a compartment reserved for 
ladies, switched on an electric fan, salaamed, 
and went off to find his place in a servants' com- 
partment adjoining. Most trains have special 
compartments for servants. It is impossible to 
travel comfortably in India without native ser- 

While I was in the dressing-room, preparing 
for the night, I heard a noise outside, and, look- 
ing out, saw an old man with a lantern, down on 
his knees looking under the berths. He said that 
he was looking for me, that he was afraid I had 
missed the train. 

Finally, after a great ringing of bells, tooting 
of whistles, waving of lanterns, and chattering 



of natives, we pulled out into the darkness and 
heat. The electric fan burred, mosquitos 
hummed and bit, the train rocked wildly from 
side to side. 

I was just dozing off, when lights were flashed 
in my eyes. More bells, whistles, and chattering 
natives ! The door burst open, and an English- 
man ordered his man to put his luggage in the 
compartment. I called out that it was reserved 
for ladies, and he disappeared with a "Sorry !" 

Out into the darkness again, only to be aroused 
at the next station by the guard, who shouted, 
"Tickets, please !" The night was one prolonged 
nightmare of heat, noise, jolting, and mosquitos. 
By five, I was beginning to sleep, when I was 
startled by a cry of "Chota Hazree !" I sat up 
in alarm, wondering what those dreadful-sound- 
ing words could mean, when the shutters by my 
head were suddenly lowered, and a tray of toast 
and tea thrust in at me. I accepted it, and gave 
up all idea of sleep. The dreadful-sounding 
words, I found, meant "little breakfast." 

Sometimes we had our meals from a tiffin 
basket which we carried with us, sometimes from 

a restaurant car, or again at the station cafe while 
the train waited, and sometimes, when all of these 
failed us, not at all. During the winter, traveling 
was more comfortable. It was so cold that we 
needed heavy rugs over us. Some of the express- 
trains go from twenty to thirty miles an hour. 

Each time that the train stops, there is great 
confusion. The natives arrive at the station 
hours ahead of time. Here they squat patiently 
until the train arrives, when they quite lose their 
heads. In an attempt to find places in the 
crowded carriages, they run excitedly up and 
down the platform, clinging to one another, 
clutching at their clumsy luggage, and screaming 
at their servants and the trainmen. Equally agi- 
tated groups pour out of the cars and scurry off 
to find bullock carts or ekkas to drive them to 
the town, which is usually some distance from 
the station. Boys and women with sweets, fruit, 
drinking-water, toys, cheap jewelry, and various 
articles of native production cry their wares at 
the car windows. Others sell newspapers, which 
are apt to be weeks old, if the purchaser does 
not insist upon seeing the date. The platform 



presents a riot of strange costumes, bright colors, 
quick-moving figures with jingling bangles and 
anklets, unholy odors, and clamorous sounds. 

At the stations, we were met in different parts 
of India by the greatest imaginable variety of 
conveyances— carriages with footmen and driv- 
ers in state livery, sent by the native princes, ho- 
tel and public carriages after models never 
dreamed of in America, bullock carts, elephants, 
camels, rickshaws, and, in Calcutta and Bombay, 
by taxi-automobiles. 

When your driver starts off down the street 
at a reckless gait, clanging a bell in the floor of 
the carriage with his foot, and a boy on a step at 
the back calls out "Tahvay !" as you bowl along, 
you wonder if you have not taken, by mistake, a 
police wagon or an ambulance. But it is all 
right ; you hear the same shouting and clanging 
of bells from all the other carriages along the 
route. This noise is necessary to make the idlers 
who stroll along the streets hand in hand get out 
of the way of the carriages. 

There are so many horses in India that one 

most gorgeous raja. The conveyances to which 
they are harnessed range from the rickety public 
ekkas to the royal gold and silver coaches used 


wonders why any one should ever walk, and, in 
fact, very few do. They are of all grades, differ- 
ing as much as does the shabbiest beggar from the 


on state occasions. One sees these wretched- 
looking public carriages that can be hired for a 
few cents filled with lazy natives and pulled 
along by a poor little pony that looks as if it were 
half-starved. Contrasting with these poor, over- 
worked creatures are the thoroughbreds which 
literally die in the stables of the princes for lack 
of exercise. 

When we were visiting in the native states, 
the chiefs sometimes offered us saddle-horses. 
The first time I rode one of these, I started off 
gaily, nothing fearing. From a gentle canter 
my mount suddenly broke into a dead run. Sup- 
posing that horses in all countries understood the 
same language, I said "Whoa," first mildly, per- 
suasively, then loudly, imploringly ; but without 
the slightest effect. On he sped faster and fas- 
ter, until he overtook another horse, apparently 
a friend of his, for he slowed down to a walk 
beside it. I learned afterward that a sound sim- 
ilar to that used in America to make a horse go 
is used in India to make him stop. So the poor 
dear did not understand in the least my frantic 
cries of ''Whoa !" 

The only other swift-moving animal that it 
was my misfortune to encounter in India was a 
camel. This was in the north, in the desert of 
Rajputana. We were going to visit some tombs 
about five miles from the city. The others went 
in carriages, but I preferred to try the "fleet- 
footed camel." The creature knelt docilely 
enough to let me climb into the saddle back of 




the driver; then he unfolded his many-jointed 
legs and rose, throwing me forward and back- 
ward in a most uncomfortable manner. 

He walked haughtily about the grounds of the 
guest-house a few minutes, turning up his nose 
at everybody, then suddenly let his hind legs col- 
lapse, almost throwing me off. The driver suc- 
ceeded in making him understand that there was 
no use making a fuss, that he would have to take 
us. Off across the desert he started, at a gait so 
rough that I know of nothing with which to com- 
pare it. At first, I tried to hold to the saddle, 
but it was too slippery, so there was nothing to 
do but to throw my arms about the driver, and 
hang on to him with all my might. I returned in 
a carriage ! 

At Mysore and several other places, we saw 
camel-carriages. They make a queer sight, these 
ungainly, loose-jointed animals shambling along 
in the harness. In Bikanir, we watched the 
camel corps drill. The natives in this part of 
India are very finely built men, and they look 
most imposing in their gaily colored uniforms 

in India that it is difficult to say which is tbe 

Perhaps the bullocks, when they walk, are the 


slowest of all. They do, however, sometimes 
trot, and that at a rather brisk pace. They are 
beautiful animals, and very different from those 
in America. Their skin is wonderfully soft and 


and turbans as they sit erect on the arrogant silky. Between their shoulders is a large gristly 
camels who snub even their masters. hump. From their chin down between their fore 

There are so many slow, lazy ways of traveling legs hangs a loose, flabby fold of skin. 




Of these, the most beautiful are the huge white 
bulls sacred to the Hindu god Shiva. These lead 
a life of leisure and luxury. They roam about the 
streets unmolested, eating from the fruit and 
vegetable stalls at will. Some are housed in the 
temples of the god. 

Those who are not so lucky as to be held sa- 
cred have a rather hard time of it. They do most 
of the heavy hauling, and often suffer very cruel 
treatment from their drivers. In fact, no other 
animal is so much the victim of the cruelty and 
ignorance of the natives as these poor bullocks. 

We drove in all sorts of curious-looking con- 
veyances behind these somewhat refractory crea- 
tures. Once we drove out into a desolate region 
to visit some deserted temples, seated on the floor 
of a bullock cart with an arched cover of plaited 
bamboo over us. The men along the road walked 
faster than our bullocks, which went so slowly 
that, had it not been for the jolting of the cart, 
we would scarcely have known that we were 

In the southernmost part of the peninsula, 
along the Malabar coast, where there are no 
trains, we traveled in cabin-boats rowed by na- 

tives. It took them all night to row from Ouilan 
to Travandrum, about fifty miles along the back- 
water. They sang from the moment they began 
to row, timing the stroke of the oar to the rhythm 
of their song. In the morning, they appeared 
as smiling and fresh as they had the evening be- 
fore when we started. 

In Madras, we rode in rickshaws like those of 
China and Japan. In many parts of India, men 
take the place of animals, both in carrying peo- 
ple and in transporting cargo. Several times we 
were carried up mountains in dholies by coolies. 
These dholies consist of a seat swung between 
two poles by ropes. They are carried by two or 
four men, who trot off up the hill with the poles 
resting on their shoulders, while the passenger 
dangles between them. They used to come down 
the mountains so fast that we were quite terri- 
fied. The seat would twist and sway, hit against 
trees, graze along the side of rocks, while our 
porters would dance along, talking and laughing, 
without paying the slightest attention to us. Then 
there are various kinds of pushcarts used in dif- 
ferent parts of the country. 

Of course, the really Indian way of traveling 



S '^ ,,%sfsj * v '*' 

£ . ~-,,, : , f jn i n . . i .. i n . . m/ ■!*■ !■' '< i»» '- • -— — 


is on elephants. Very few, however, except 
princes and foreign travelers, ever ride on these 
lordly animals. In the "zoos" in Calcutta and 
Bombay, there are elephants for the children to 
ride. They climb steps to a platform the height 
of the elephant's back, then jump into the how- 
dah, where they are tied fast to make sure of 
their not falling. The old huthi, as the elephant 
is called there, sways off, waving his trunk, flop- 
ping his ears, and blinking his eyes. He makes 
a tour of the gardens, then returns to the plat- 
form to get other children. 

At Jaipur, Gwalior, and a number of other 
towns where there is a fort on a hill, elephants can 
be hired for the ascension. The huge creatures 
knelt down while we clambered into the howdah 
with the aid of ladders. When they rose, it 
seemed like an earthquake to us on their backs. 
They climbed the hill so slowly that the others of 
the party who walked arrived ahead of us. Our 
huthi would smell about carefully with his trunk 
before taking each step, then he would put a huge 
foot forward cautiously, and throw his great 
weight onto it slowly, as if afraid that the earth 
would give way under him. It took him so long 
Vol. XLI.— 2, 

to accommodate his four feet to each step, that 
I was thankful he had not as many as a centiped. 

To appreciate an elephant in all his glory, one 
should see him in the splendor of princely pro- 
cession. Designs in bright colors are painted on 
his forehead and trunk, trappings of silver orna- 
ment his tusks, head, and ankles, a rich cloth of 
gold and silver embroidery hangs over his colos- 
sal sides, and on his back is perched a rare how- 
dah, often of gold and silver, with silk hangings. 
Aloft in the howdah rides the prince, resplendent 
with gold, silk, and jewels. In front, on the 
elephant's neck, sits the mahout, urging him on 
with strange-sounding grunts, and prods from a 
short, pointed spear. 

The elephants are reserved for state occasions. 
Most of the princes now have automobiles, which 
they look upon much as a child does its latest toy. 
The mass of the people depend upon the bullocks 
and horses to cart them about. There are now, 
also, in most parts of the empire, telephones and 
telegraphs ; but they are such ancient systems and 
so unreliable that they are not to be compared 
with ours. India is through and through a lazy 
country, where nobody is in a hurry. 

^4en Alexander 

^ ' Dances 

By Elsie Hill 

Oh, where is Alexander? We have sought him high and low, 
Our hats are on, our coats are on, it 's time for us to go. 
Oh, where has Alexander gone — can anybody say? 
For dancing-school 's beginning in the house across the way. 






We 've seen the little girls go in, with smoothly 

shining hair, 
We 've seen the little boys, and marked their 

almost cheerful air ; 
We hear the merry music, and the glowing 

lights we see, 
And where on earth, we ask of you, can 

Alexander be? 


He is n't in the attic, nor behind the cellar 

He is n't in the coal-bin, as he was the week 

before ; 
He is n't in the clothes-press, as he was two 

weeks ago- 
Whatever has become of him, does anybody 

know ? 



He does n't "care for dancing much," he thinks it 's "meant for girls, 
He seems to have "too many feet" that trip him when he twirls ; 
His arms "get somehow in the way" — as everybody owns — 
But oh, we wish that he could dance as well as Thomas Jones ! 







For what will Alexander do wncu, ri rown to 

man's estate, 
He wildly longs to waltz, and finds, alas ! it is 
too late? 
"And how will Alexander feel," despairingly we 

"When he cannot tell a two-step from an 
Andalusian glide !" 


And as we spoke, we heard a noise directly 

A bump, a thump, a slip, a slide, a military 

We flew to Mother's dressing-room as quickly 

as we could, 
And there before the looking-glass our 

Alexander stood ! 


He bowed with grave politeness, he bounded 

to and fro; 
He grimly pirouetted on one neatly slippered 

And we watched in admiration as he piloted 

with care 
An imaginary maiden to a seat that was n't 



And when he had his breath again, he turned to us to say, 
As he rearranged his collar in an unembarrassed way : 
"It must be time for dancing-school! I thought I heard you call; 
I 'm really very sorry if I 've made you wait at all." 


He paused to pick a table up, then said in even tones : , 

"Of course I do not wish to dance 'as well as Thomas Jones,' 
But I thought, perhaps, I 'd practise, just a little, out of sight. 
For if I 've got to do it, I am going to do it right !'" 

^ ■, 




Author of "Foot-ball, the American Intercollegiate Game," and 
Representative of Princeton University on the Rules Committee 


R. W. Watson . 
J. H. Sears . . 
G. B. Walbridge 
E. G. Bray . . 
E. B. Cochems . 
C. D. Daly . . 
Charles Dillon 
W. H. Eckersall 
W. P. Steffen . 
W. E. Sprackling 
E. E. Miller . . 
R. O. Ainslee . 
R. E. Capron 











(Penn. State) 




Harvard . . . . 

Nov. 20, 1880 

. 90 yards 

Pennsylvania . 

" 25, 1886 

. • 85 " 

Wesleyan . . 

" 14, 1897 

. . 100 " 

Pennsylvania . 

Oct. 21, 1899 

. 100 

Chicago . 

Nov. 28, 1901 

. 100 

Navy .... 

30, 1901 

. 100 

Harvard . . . 

. Oct. 31, 1903 

. 105 

Wisconsin . 

Nov. 26, 1904 

. 106 " 

Wisconsin . 

" 21, 1908 

. 100 

Carlisle . . . 

20, 1909 

. 105 " 

Pennsylvania . 

Oct. 28, 191 1 

• 95 " 

Cornell . 

. Nov. 4, 191 1 

. 105 " 

Wisconsin . 

" 18, 1911 

• 95 " 

There is no exploit in foot-ball so difficult of 
achievement and so rare as the full-field run 
from kick-off to touch-down. Theoretically, 
such a performance would seem to be impossible. 
Actually, however, it has been accomplished 
thirteen times against elevens of major strength 
in the past forty years, and probably has been 
achieved as many more against minor teams. 

Consider the extraordinary difficulties sur- 
rounding the accomplishment of this great feat. 
Here are eleven men, deployed in a space 160 
feet wide and 300 feet long, to prevent a solitary 
runner from traversing the lime-line stripes that 
mark this space and reaching the last line for a 
touch-down. The disposition of these eleven men 
within this space is not made at random. Indeed, 
their system of deployment represents the study 
and experience of forty years, and presents the 
most ingenious arrangement that can be devised 
to protect every inch of the field against any and 
all contingencies. Further, the defensive eleven 
is not handicapped on this play by the feature of 
surprise. The attempt to make a full-field run 
upon the kick-off does not come unexpectedly, 
like a sudden thrust at end following a prolonged 
attack upon the line, as in scrimmage. Before 
the ball is kicked, every man upon the defense 
knows that only two plays can follow, either a 
return kick or an attempt to make a run, and such 
is the informidable character of a return kick 
upon this play, that the defensive eleven may de- 
vote its entire attention to preventing the run. 

True, the runner, in racing and zigzagging 
through this spread of eleven men, will have the 
assistance of his ten comrades to block and in- 
terfere, but blocking at the longest is only mo- 
mentary, easily evaded, and quickly overcome. A 
low, sharp tackle, a slight jostle, a blockade, or a 
push, and the flying runner loses his footing, 
and instantly is buried upon the sward, beneath 
an avalanche of opponents. 

Against such enormous odds and such a great 
combination of adverse chances, therefore, the 
full-field runner from kick-off must make his 
way. Strange to say, a study of the successful 
runs of this character discloses the astounding 
fact that their possibility is increased by the very 
precautions taken for their prevention. With 
only a single exception, each one of the thirteen 
full-field runs above tabulated, was accomplished 
in precisely the same manner. That is, not, as 
one would suppose, by a swift dodging dash to 
one side of the field or to the other, through a 
broken and scattered mass of defenders, but by 
a run straight into and through the very center 
and thickest of the opponents. In the thousands 
of instances where a runner has tried to fly up the 
outside stretches, in all save one he has failed. 

What is the cause of this peculiar phenomenon 
of foot-ball? Why is a defense to this play the 
weakest at its strongest point? Because the de- 
fending players, in concentrating upon the run- 
ner at the center of the field, so interlock, block, 
impede, and interfere with one another at the 







November, 1880. 90 yards. 



November, 1886. 85 yards 



November, 1897. 100 yards 

E. G. BRAY. 

October, 1899. 100 yards 

very moment they meet him, that, occasionally, it 
happens that not one of these defensive players 
can free his arm to seize him, while the runner, 
tenaciously keeping upon his feet, is whirled and 
rammed straight through the defensive mass into 
a comparatively clear field, in which he then has 
to elude only one or two tacklers. In an open 
field, it is not difficult to dodge one and two 
tacklers in succession, but it is extraordinarily 
difficult in an open-field dash to dodge an entire 
eleven. Hence, on a full-field run from kick-off, 
fortune favors the bold runner who directs his 
flight squarely into the central bulwark of the 
defenders, and not at their apparently exposed 
flanks resting against the side-line. 

While the kick-off, substantially in the form of 
the present day, always has been possible under 
the rules, in practice it has not always been a 
method of play. From 1876 to 1880, the initial 
play was a kick-off as it is to-day, except the 
kick might be a punt or drop-kick, as well as a 
place-kick. About 1880, however, some unknown 
genius devised the "dribble." This was only a 
technical kick-off by which the kicker kicked the 
ball forward a foot or two to be picked up by 
himself or by a comrade for a run. In 1884, 
Princeton produced the famous "V trick," which 
still further distorted the kick-off, although still 

technically observing it. In the V trick, the 
player with the ball technically kicked off by 
striking the ball with his foot while the ball was 
in his hands and without releasing it. In 1892, 
the V trick gave way to Harvard's celebrated 
"flying wedge," in which the ball was still put 
into play in the same manner as in the V trick. 
In 1894, the flying wedge was abolished by rule, 
and the old-fashioned kick-off reestablished and 
limited to a place-kick. During the first year or 
two, it was a common sight to see a player hold 
the ball for the kicker. Eventually the little tee 
of earth prevailed, and from that day to this the 
game has had a real kick-off and the opportunity 
for a full-field run from kick-off to touch-down. 
A search through the accounts of the games 
from 1876 to 1 881 finds only a single instance of 
a full-field run from kick-off to touch-down. 
Harvard was playing Yale at Boston, November 
20, 1880. A hard, grueling battle was drawing 
to a close without a score by either eleven. Just 
as the last five minutes began, Walter Camp 
kicked a goal from the field for Yale. The teams 
quickly lined up for a kick-off, and Cutts, of Har- 
vard, sent a long, swirling kick to Yale's twenty- 
yard line, where it was caught by R. W. Watson, 
captain of Yale. With the catch of the ball 
Watson leaped into flight, and sped straight up 

I9 T 3-] 




November, 1901. 100 yards. 



November, 1904. 106 yards. 

C. D. DALY. 


November, 1901. too yards. 

the center of the field. The Harvard men did 
not mass upon him in that primitive day as 
would now occur, but met him with a scattered 
formation. Through this broken field Watson 
raced and dodged, flinging off tackier after tack- 
ier, and crossed the line, scoring the first touch- 
down ever scored against Harvard by Yale ; 
Yale's previous victories were achieved by goals 
from the field. 

Six years later occurred another instance of 
this rare play. This time, the warriors were Har- 
vard and Pennsylvania, and the battle-field was 
famous old Jarvis Field, at Cambridge. Penn- 
sylvania was varying the opening plays by a mix- 
ture of dribbles and kick-offs. Upon one of the 
latter the ball sailed down to Harvard's full- 
back, Joseph Hamblen Sears, a renowned name 
upon the gridiron twenty-five years ago. This 
swift and powerful runner leaped into flight 
straight up the center of the field. Dodging Penn- 
sylvania's ends and tackles, the first to meet him, 
he suddenly swerved to the right, and, by a mar- 
velous zigzagging run, threaded his way in and 
out among Pennsylvania's remaining rushers and 
backs, until he flashed by every one and burst 
into a clear field, over which he leaped to the 
goal-line — accomplishing a full-field run of 
eighty-five yards, and a touch-down. 

And no,w came and went eight years in which 
the kick-off and the possibility of the full-field 
run from a kick-off passed from the game. With 
the return of the kick-off in 1894, curiosity 
eagerly awaited the achievement of the first full- 
field run from kick-off to touch-down. 1894, 
1895, and 1896, however, came and went without 
the accomplishment of this great feat. 1897 like- 
wise opened, waxed, and drew to a close, when, 
suddenly, George B. Walbridge, of Lafayette, in 
a game against Wesleyan, made the run. Even 
in this instance a cunning stratagem was neces- 
sary to clear the way for the powerful but fleet- 
footed Walbridge. 

This stratagem still available was a variation 
of the triple pass adapted to a kick-off. Wes- 
leyan won the toss of the coin, and, selecting the 
ball, kicked off. Duffy, of Lafayette, caught the 
ball on his twenty-yard line, and, quickly turning 
around, passed it five yards farther back to the 
giant Rinehart, who instantly dashed obliquely 
across the field to the left, as though to turn up 
the left side-line. Walbridge, who had been sta- 
tioned on the ten-yard line well to the left, now 
advanced slowly forward, as though to interfere 
for Rinehart. In the meantime, the remaining 
Lafayette players were crossing the field and 
concentrating in front of Rinehart to protect him 





November, 1908. 100 yards. 


November, 1909. 105 yards. 

E. E. M1LLEK. 

October, 1911. 95 yards. 



November, 1911. 95 yards. 

in his attempt to force Wesleyan's right flank, 
thus drawing all of the Wesleyan players also 
over to the left. As Rinehart -and Walbridge 
met, the former handed the ball to the latter, the 
pass being concealed by the close mass of La- 
fayette players about them. Rinehart, feinting 
to have the ball, continued his flight up the left 
side-line, preceded by five of his comrades as 
interference. The remaining four Lafayette 
players, who were the most skilful interferers on 
the eleven, suddenly parted to the right, and, out- 
flanking the last straggling Wesleyan men com- 
ing across the field, swept them also into the trap 
on the left, while Walbridge, swift as Mercury 
with his winged shoes, and only detected by a 
few Wesleyan men who were helpless to reach 
him, swept up the field, and over the line. 

It was another Lafayette man who achieved 
the next full-field run of this kind. This player 
was Edward G. Bray. Bray's run holds a place 
of singular distinction in the list of these runs. 
First, it was the only one of two full-field runs 
from kick-off which have the honor to have won 
a game ; second, although made in the first fifteen 
seconds of play, it was the only score of the day ; 
and, third, it was achieved against a brilliant 
Pennsylvania eleven in a sensational, spectacular 
dash of one hundred yards replete with repeated 
displays of strength, skill, and speed. 

Of the 15,000 spectators who assembled at 
Franklin Field on that crisp autumn day, Octo- 
ber 21, 1899, probably not one dreamed of the 
remarkable play that was to occur on the kick- 
off, and eventually win the game. Lafayette 
won the toss and chose the western goal. Penn- 
sylvania kicked off. The ball, sailing high from 
the powerful foot of T. Truxton Hare, floated 
down to Lafayette's ten-yard line. With the 
kick, the entire Pennsylvania eleven, except 
Woodley, swept down the field in a great, con- 
verging crescent. On the tips were the two end- 
rushers, Combs and Stehle, cautiously following 
the side-lines and alert for any stratagem. In 
the center came Overfield, McCracken, and 
Snover, with a secondary defense behind them 
composed of Davidson and Kennedy. The ball, 
with a sharp impact, struck the tenacious arms 
of Bray, and the great full-back instantly leaped 
into flight. Settling the ball securely in his left 
arm, with head well back and right arm free, 
he sprang from line to line, going straight up 
the middle of the field, with his comrades form- 
ing before him a V-shaped wedge, apex forward. 
The two elevens, with a tremendous crash, came 
together upon Lafayette's thirty-five-yard line. 
For the fraction of a second, they stood still as 
the recoil and shock shook every man, and then, 
like a great pair of folding-doors, Pennsylvania's 




crescent was burst in two, and through the open- 
ing leaped the indomitable Bray, followed by two 
other Lafayette men, Knight and Chalmers. 
With machine precision, Pennsylvania's secon- 
dary defenders closed in, but Kennedy went 
down before Knight and Davidson was blocked 
off by Chalmers. As all four went to the ground, 
Bray leaped forward into a clear field save only 
Woodley, a swift, low, hard tackier. This clean- 
cut player, seeing the grave danger, came up the 
field on a curving course so as to intercept Bray 
near the side-line, a safe forty yards from Penn- 
sylvania's goal-line. The spectators, who were 
sitting dumfounded by the swift kaleidoscope of 
sensations, now saw that the bold assault of Bray 
would come to naught, as he was caught between 
the side-line and the ferocious Woodley. As the 
men approached, they saw Woodley crouch to 
spring, when suddenly, as though from nowhere, 
Chalmers's great bulk flashed across the path of 
Bray and struck the springing Woodley with the 
full force of its 180 pounds. Down went the little 
warrior Woodley with Chalmers upon him, while 
Bray leaped past them, and in ten strides was 
across the goal-line. 

Such a performance as this would have been 
sufficient to sate the throng who saw it, but for- 
tune was lavish that afternoon, and other sen- 
sational plays followed. Here was the lighter, 
less skilful but immensely spirited eleven six 
points in the lead, with substantially the whole 
game still to be played. Fiercely, indeed, did 
that Pennsylvania eleven of giants assail that lit- 
tle Lafayette team. Time and again did the 
great guards Hare and McCracken, in Pennsyl- 
vania's most famous mechanism of attack, 
"guards back," batter Lafayette backward line 
upon line, only to be piled into a pyramid of red 
and blue jerseys in the last space, and the ball 
taken from them. Thus the battle waged and 
thus the battle closed, Lafayette safeguarding 
to the last the touch-down which Bray had won. 

Again two years were destined to come and 
go before another warrior of the gridiron would 
achieve a full-field run from kick-off, and then, 
only two days apart, two brilliant instances of 
the play occurred. In the west, November 28, 
1901, E. B. Cochems, of Wisconsin, in a game 
against Chicago, caught the ball from kick-off 
on his ten-yard line, and dashed and dodged, 
plunged and writhed through all opponents for a 
touch-down. Two days later, Charles D. Daly, 
of the Army, famous previously as a player and 
captain at Harvard, caught the Navy's kick-off, 
also on his ten-yard line, and sprinted an even 
hundred yards for a touch-down. 

Cochem's run came near the end of the game, 
Vol. XLL— 3. 

when his eleven had victory well in hand. Daly 
achieved his performance at the opening of the 
second half, dramatically breaking a tie that 
had closed the first period of play. Cochem's 
great flight presented all of the features of 
speed, skill, and chance which must combine to 
make possible the full-field run. Like his pre- 
decessors, he boldly laid his course against the 
very center of Chicago's on-coming forwards, 
bursting their central bastion, and then cleverly 
sprinting and dodging through the secondary 

Daly's famous dash presents the only instance 
of a full-field run from kick-off being achieved 
by skirting the flanks of the enemy. Not only 
was this run made along the outside, instead of 
through the center, but it was so successfully ex- 
ecuted that not a single hand, comrade's or oppo- 
nent's, was laid upon Daly from the beginning 
to the end of his flight. 

The first half had closed with a score of 5 to 5 
Daly having kicked a goal from the field for the 
Army, and Nichols having scored a touch-down 
for the Navy, the try for goal being missed. 
After an intermission tense with expectancy and 
excitement, the elevens deployed upon the field. 
Navy kicked off. The kick was low, but pos- 
sessed power and shot straight down to Daly on 
his ten-yard line. The Army instantly charged 
toward the center of the Navy's running cres- 
cent, forming, as they ran, the familiar hollow 
wedge for Daly to enter. But this alert-minded 
player, by one of those sudden decisions to vary 
an established rule of action which in real war- 
fare has won many a brilliant victory, sharply 
turned to the right, abandoning the protecting 
wings of the wedge, and started with incredible 
swiftness on a wide, circling dash around the 
Navy's left flank. The Navy forwards checked 
their charge and ran to the left to force Daly out 
of bounds, but the latter, outrunning and outrac- 
ing all, flashed by the pack, and, clinging close 
to the side-line, dashed down the field and across 
the goal-line. 

Fortune with curious regularity now permitted 
another period of two years to elapse before the 
occurrence of another full-field run from kick- 
off. This time it was a Carlisle Indian who cov- 
ered the long distance, in a game against Har- 
vard, October 31, 1903, and did so by the crafti- 
est, wiliest stratagem ever perpetrated by a red- 
skin upon his pale-faced brother. The first half 
had closed with the Indians in the lead five points 
to none. Harvard opened the battle by sending 
a long kick to Johnson on Carlisle's five-yard 
line. The Indians quickly ran back to meet John- 
son, and formed a compact mass around him. 



Within the recesses of this mass of players, John- 
son slipped the ball beneath the back of Dillon's 
jersey, which had been especially made to receive 
and hold the ball. Then, the ball thus secretly 
transferred and hidden, Johnson uttered a whoop 
such as Cambridge had not heard since the days 
of King Philip's War, and instantly the bunch of 
Indians scattered in all directions. Some ran to 
the right, some to the left, some obliquely, and some 
straight up the center of the field, radiating in all 
directions like the spokes of a wheel. The crim- 
son players now upon them looked in vain for 
the ball, dumfounded, running from one opponent 
to another. Meanwhile, Dillon was running 
straight down the field so as to give his oppo- 
nents the least opportunity for a side or rear 
view, and conspicuously swinging his arms to 
show that they did not hold the ball. Thus, with- 
out being detected, he passed through the entire 
Harvard team excepting the captain, Carl B. 
Marshall, who was covering the deep back-field. 
Obeying instructions, Dillon ran straight at Mar- 
shall. The latter, assuming that the Indian in- 
tended to block him, agilely side-stepped the Car- 
lisle player, and, as he did so, he caught sight of 
the enormous and unwonted bulge on the back of 
Dillon. Instantly divining that here was the lost 
ball, Marshall turned and sprang at Dillon, but 
the latter was well on his way, and quickly 
crossed the line for a touch-down. 

The next instance of a full-field run from kick- 
off brings us to the longest run achieved in any 
manner in the history of the major games, 106 
yards, by Walter H. Eckersall, of Chicago, 
against Wisconsin, November 26, 1904. Still 
complying with the law of these runs, this flight 
was made straight through the center of the 
enemy. The battle was raging closely, scoring 
by one side being quickly followed by a score by 
the other. Near the middle of the second half, L. 
C. De Tray, of Chicago, picked up a fumbled 
ball and ran eighty yards for a touch-down. Not- 
withstanding this lead, the game was too close 
for Chicago to feel sure of victory or for Wis- 
consin to become resigned to defeat. Kennedy 
added another point to Chicago's score by kick- 
ing the goal. Thereupon Melzner kicked off for 
Wisconsin. The ball soared high, then sank 
swiftly down into the arms of Eckersall, who 
was standing on Chicago's four-yard mark. 
Crouching forward, he ran up the center. On 
the twenty-yard line, he cleverly sprang out of 
the clutches of the two Wisconsin ends by leap- 
ing between them. Ten yards farther forward, 
with an interference of seven men closely massed 
about him, he crashed into eight Wisconsin play- 
ers. Again these colliding masses inexplicably 

burst in two at the center, and the runner was 
shot through into a clear field, save a solitary 
secondary defender whose fleetness of foot was 
no match for the incomparable Eckersall. 

As proof of the extraordinary difficulty of 
achieving a full-field run from kick-off, four 
long years now came and went without any 
player in a major game accomplishing this great 
feat. In 1908, however, it again befell Chicago 
to ornament the annals of foot-ball with another 
full-field run. The hero on this occasion was 
Chicago's captain, W. P. Steffen, and the oppo- 
nents were again Wisconsin. The play occurred 
on the game's opening kick-off, and while Chi- 
cago twice afterward scored, the battle would 
have resulted in a draw without Steffen's touch- 

The following year brought forth a beautiful 
full-field run by W. E. Sprackling of Brown 
through the formidable Carlisle Indians, an ex- 
ceptionally fleet-footed, sharp, hard-tackling 
team, but on this occasion out-plunged, out-raced, 
and out-dodged by the extraordinary Sprackling, 
105 yards for a touch-down. 

Three other full-field runs from kick-off have 
occurred since the run of Sprackling, and, curi- 
ously enough, they occurred in the same year, 
191 1. These were the runs of E. E. Miller, of Penn- 
sylvania State College, against the University of 
Pennsylvania, a dash of ninety-five yards; the run 
of R. O. Ainslee, of Williams, 105 yards, through 
Cornell ; and that of R. E. Capron, of Minnesota, 
against Wisconsin, for ninety-five yards. 

Since 191 1, an improvement has been made in 
the defensive plans of teams to prevent a full- 
field run from kick-off. Many elevens now de- 
liver the kick-off into a corner of their oppo- 
nent's territory instead of in front of the goal- 
posts. When the kick-off is sent into a corner 
of the field, it gives to the kicking side the advan- 
tage of a deadly side-line over which to force 
the runner and also to hamper him in his flight. 
It also places the ball in the arms of a less for- 
midable back, since the best running back in- 
variably is stationed in front of the goal-posts. 
Most important of all, it does away with that 
colliding mass at the center of the field which, 
by the inexplicable combination of chances alone, 
makes possible the bursting through of the run- 
ner. Fortunately for those who desire to see, 
some day, a full-field run from kick-off, the cor- 
ner kick-off involves the danger of a kick out of 
bounds, and so cannot be regularly employed. 
Thus the honor roll awaits the addition of other 
heroes of the gridiron who shall achieve the 
greatest feat upon the lines of lime— the full- 
field run from kick-off to touch-down. 


I have a gray kitty and Twinkle 's her name, 
She follows me 'round, and is cunning and tame ; 
But Dicky, the poodle, and Billy, the Skye, 
Won't let me pet Twinkle if either is nigh, 
And when I call, "Kitty,— here, kitty!" all three 
Come running together, as fast as can be. 


Sometimes when I go for Mama to the store, 
I like to take Twinkle, — just him, and no more; 
But Dicky and Billy — they won't stay behind — 
I 've scolded and scolded, they simply won't mind ! 
So a funny procession we surely must be, 
Dear Twinkle, and Dicky, and Billy, and me. 


When supper is ready, but none of them near, 
I call very softly, "Here 's meat, kitty dear" ; 
But Billy comes running, and after him Dick, 
They snatch the best morsels if kitty 's not quick. 
Such jealous old doggies you never did see, 
But it saves lots of trouble— one name does for 
three ! 





The corn-stalks lean in pointed sheaves, 
Bare branches sing against the blue ; 

The lawn 's a sea of withered leaves 
That shizzle as my feet go through. 

And Mike ahead and I behind 
Are raking hard as hard can be. 

Oh, see them whirling in the wind, 
Just like a waterspout at sea ! 

And I dive in; I jump and twirl, 

Caught up from earth and floating off; 

And now I plunge where breakers curl, 
Engulfed within the ocean's trough. 

I sink, I gasp; for help I 've waved; 

But Michael will not turn his head. 
Lost, lost in Shizzle Sea! — No, saved! 

I 'm "rescued"— on the flower-bed ! 

Now I 'm a mole. I 've tunneled through 
That leafy mountain, quite a while, 

Just see how straight I burrowed to 
The center of that 'normous pile ! 

Here, wrapped in leaves from foot to head, 
Who cares what wind or snow may do? 

I 'm Bruin making up his bed 

To sleep the whole long winter through. 

At last our leaves are heaped, and show 
Against the dusk in jutting peaks, 

Like Indian wigwams, row on row, 

Whose smoke ascends in coils and streaks. 

They catch, they blaze ! The camp 's aflame ! 

And I, the hostile chief, Red Cloud, 
Steal, crawling slyly, on my game, 

To whoop the war-cry long and loud ! 

Too soon the war-dance ends ; too soon 
The blaze is sunk in smoldering gray. 

Up rakes, and homeward by the moon ! 
A fine day's ivork we 've done to-day! 


Brother Squirrel: "What 's become of the Turkey family? " 

Brother Rabbit: "Why, some one put that sign up there, and no one has seen a feather of them since.' 



"Morry! — Morry ! — Oh-h-h-h, Morry !" Aunt 
Delia called from an up-stairs window. 

"Can you stop what you 're doing long enough 
to take your uncle's letters to the mill for me? 
I have n't time to take them myself." 

"In a minute, Aunty — Dorry, can you finish 
untangling this plaguy thing? I never saw such 
a line for snarls !" and he tossed the tangled mass 
to his cousin. 

"I won't be long, Dorry," he called a moment 
later, swinging down the hillside path on a run. 
"Time me. I '11 do it in fifteen minutes !" 

"What are you doing here ?" asked Uncle Gray, 
when Morry appeared at the mill. 

"I just brought you your letters," answered 
Morry. "Aunt Delia said you wanted them." 

"Why — why, thank you, Morry," replied Uncle 
Gray. "And what fun are you in for to-day?" 

"Dorry and I are going fishing." 

"Again?" said Uncle Gray, smiling. "You are 
two enthusiastic fisherpeople. Still, I suppose you 
don't get much chance in the city, either of you. 
Where are you going to fish ?" 

"Above the dam," said Morry, eagerly. "Jim 
says there are just slews and slews of bass there, 
'specially out in the middle or down by the 
feeder. He says I can take his boat and—" 

"He does, does he?" interrupted Uncle Gray. 
"Now, see here ! when your mother and Dorry's 
mother said you two could come up here to the 
Ferry for a vacation, I promised I 'd take care of 
you. And the first thing one of you does is to 
fall out of a tree, practising gymnasium exercises, 
and bruise herself; and now yon want to go and 
get in the river. I hate to spoil your fun, lad, but 
above the dam is no safe place for any one who 
is n't much of a waterman. I must talk to Jim !" 

"But what could happen, Uncle Gray?" pleaded 
Morry. "I can row, and there is n't any current." 

"There is n't any current 'way up above the 
dam, no. But there is a lot of current down near 
the feeder. And if you ever drifted into the 
feeder — what? The feeder walls are too high for 
any one to get out. If the wheels were not going, 
the current would carry you right on down 
through the by-pass, and you 'd be smashed up- 

like that! If the wheels were going, your boat 
would be sucked up against the grating, and 
goodness knows how you 'd get out ! So if you 
want to fish above the dam, you stay out of the 
boat, and fish from the shore. I 'm sorry, but 
that 's final. If you can't do that, then I '11 have 
to say, 'No more fishing.' " 

"All right— yes, sir," said Morry, dutifully, as 
he turned away ; but in his heart he was rebel- 
lious. Jim had been unwisely enthusiastic about 
those bass. 

"I knew you 'd not make it in fifteen minutes," 
cried Dorry, triumphantly, as Morry toiled up 
the hill again. "You 've been twenty-three min- 
utes, and your lines are all untangled. And Aunt 
Delia has prepared the nicest lunch, and said we 
could start the minute you came back." 

They trudged off at once, with the pole over 
the boy's shoulder, while his cousin carried the 
lunch basket, and soon were following the bank 
of the feeder up to the clear water beyond. 

"My, is n't it hot !" exclaimed Dorry, as they 
hastened along, too rapidly for comfort in their 
eagerness to reach the fishing-pool. "I 'm going 
to leave my sweater on this little bridge till we 
come back." And as she tied it loosely to one of 
the beams, she asked her cousin : "What kept you 
so long at the mill?" 

"Oh, Uncle was talking about the feeder and 
the danger if a boat got caught in the current," 



answered Morry. "And I guess it would take a 
brave chap with a cool head to get out of it if he 
once got in. I love to see or hear about a brave 
man or a brave deed ; don't you ?" 

"Of course," said Dorry, sedately, "we all do. 
But the bravest deeds are not those of physical 
courage. The bravest people are those that have 
moral courage, like— like Columbus, and Joan of 
Arc, and Abraham Lincoln, and— and those 

"I don't agree with you a bit," said Morry, swift 
in defense of his favorites of history. "And Joan 
of Arc was a great example of physical courage, 
anyway. And while every one knows Abraham 
Lincoln was a great man, it was the generals who 
were the brave ones." 

"Why, Morris Davis !" cried Dorris. "Every 
one knows it took forty times the courage to be 
President during the war that it did to fight the 
battles !" 

"What?" cried Morry, waxing warm. "Why, 
look at Pickett— charging a whole battle-line on 
foot, and getting just cut to pieces; and look at 
Stonewall Jackson, who could n't be made to run ; 
and look at Sheridan. Lincoln was a great man, 
but he did n't have to fight !" 

"No, he had to do something harder. He had 
to order men to fight and die, and take all the 
responsibility before the country — he had the 
moral courage !" 

"You girls always admire moral courage — be- 
cause you are such 'fraid cats about your lives and 
getting hurt." 

Morry was indignant, and showed it in his 

"Yes, and boys — reckless creatures who don't 
have sense enough to look out for themselves half 
the time— they admire physical courage because 
it 's the only kind they 've got !" 

Dorry was indignant too, but lost her indigna- 
tion in fear as a snake glided across the road. 

"Oh, Morry— Morry— look at that !" cried 
Dorry, clutching his arm with a shudder. 

Morry could not help laughing. 

"If I only could show you a lovely bit of moral 
cowardice, now, we 'd be quits," he said. "The 
snake won't hurt you — it 's only a water-snake, 
hiking for the feeder." 

"Oh, I know— you say a water-snake is n't dan- 
gerous—but it 's a snake, just the same!" And 
Dorry shuddered again. 

"For a girl who captains her school basket-ball 
team, and who won a medal last year for gymnas- 
tic work and for the best record on the flying 
rings, you certainly show precious little real cour- 
age," laughed Morris, reverting again to the ques- 
tion between them. 

"But that is so different," defended Dorry. "It 
does n't take physical courage to do things on the 
rings, or play basket-ball, either. It takes some 
muscle and lots of practice, but it is n't— like- 
like facing a horrid snake !" 

"Well, how about that moral courage you ad- 
mire so ? Why don't you show it ?" 

"I did n't say I had it !" answered Dorry, 
warmly; "I said it is the finer kind of courage— 
both Mother and Dad say so !" 

With a wisdom beyond his fourteen years, 
Morry let his cousin have the last word. 

"I wish you 'd tell me about that feeder thing," 
said Dorry, having fished in silence and without 
results for ten minutes. "I don't understand it at 
all. What 's it for, and how does it make the 
mill go?" 

Delighted to exhibit his superior knowledge, 
Morry explained. 

"The dam," he said, "raises the level of the 
river and makes this lake. The water that does n't 
flow over the dam flows down the feeder— it 's 
nearly a quarter of a mile to the mill. The mill is 
below the level of the water in the feeder — the 
feeder is nothing but a stone-walled canal, you 
see, — and the water from it falls down on the 
water-wheels and turns them, and that gives 
power to the mill that grinds the wood into a 
pulp, and they haul the pulp away to other mills, 
where they make paper out of it." 

"What becomes of the water after it gets in the 
mill?" continued Dorry, athirst for information. 

"Why, Dorris Davis ! Don't you remember 
that poem about the mill never grinding with the 
water that is passed? It just runs out and into 
the river again, of course !" 

"But I mean when the mill is n't running?" 

"Oh, well, that 's different. When the mill 
is running the by-pass is closed, and the water 
from the feeder runs over the wheels. When the 
by-pass is open, the wheels don't turn, and the 
water just rushes by the mill and down what we 
called the waterfall— remember, you thought it 
was so pretty?" 

"Yes," said Dorry, "pretty and — and terrible, 
too ; it made so much noise, and seemed so very, 
very powerful." 

Dorry subsided, and they fished on. But bites 
were few and far between. Finally Dorry threw 
down her rod. 

"I 'm hungry," she said. "I 'm going to unpack 
the lunch." 

But Morris did not answer. He had wandered 
off, intent on trying another place. Hardly think- 
ing what he was doing, he crawled down the 
sloping wall toward a small boat, which, tied to 
a stake, floated idly just below him. 




" "If I get into that," he thought, "I can get a 
cast farther out." Then, "Uncle said not to go in 
the boat ! Shucks ! But— but he did n't say any- 
thing about a tied boat," Morry argued with him- 
self. "He meant Jim's boat— on the lake. He said I 
was n't a good-enough waterman. Well, that 
proves he did n't mean a tied-up boat, because, of 
course, a tied-up boat does n't need any water 
skill— Caesar's ghost ! look at that fish !" 

And, arguing no more, Morry dropped lightly 
from the wall into the boat. 

How it happened Morris could never explain. 
Whether his jarring jump had unfastened the 
carelessly tied rope, or if the mischief was caused 
by his strenuous tramping back and forth as from 
this vantage-point he landed the fish, he could not 
say. But suddenly he felt a tug at his line, and, 
looking up, saw that the boat was free at the 
mouth of the feeder, with the powerful current 
whirling him down the stone ditch, with its sides 
too steep and high to climb from a moving boat, 
even if he could approach them. A despairing 
glance showed that he was oarless. With the 
knowledge of his helpless state, he cried out 

"Dorry !— Dorry ! — Dorry I" he called, his voice 
rising to a scream as he passed below her. "Run ! 
—the mill !— tell them ! — start the wheels— shut — 
off— the— by-pass !—" until he knew he was too 
far away to be understood. 

He saw Dorry straighten up, take one look, 
then dive through the bushes ; and the realization 
that he was alone, in a position of great peril, 
calmed his excitement with the calmness of des- 

There was but little to do. What would happen 
to him depended on what Dorry did. If the 
water was running the mill, well and good ; his 
boat would be sucked up against the iron grating 
which guarded the water-wheels from logs and 
danger. But if the mill was not running— if the 
by-pass was open— why, then— then— then his 
boat and he would be shot down the falls like a 
bolt from a gun— and the drop was forty feet to 
the river-bed below, and Morris had too often 
watched in fascination the majestic fall of the 
"finest water-power in the State," as his uncle 
had often called it, to have any illusions as to 
what he "might expect from such an adventure. 
Then he remembered — it was lunch hour, when 
the mill was shut dozun ! 

"Would Dorry be in time?— Could she outrun 
the current?— Would she know what to do when 
she got there?— Could she appreciate the dan- 
ger?" Morry asked himself these questions in 
swift, mental flashes. 

"She 's only a girl— could n't blame her— how 

scared she was at that snake— girls have no 
nerve— yet she did start in a hurry—" 

In spite of himself, Morry hoped. He knew his 
cousin to be a fast runner— recollections of the 
speed of foot which had made her captain of her 
basket-ball team, and her lithe strength which had 
won both praise and prizes at her gymnasium, 
flashed through his mind. Yet Morry was but 
grasping at straws of hope rather than having 
any real faith. Then came a new thought : 

"Even if she— if she fails— there 's the bridge- 
maybe I can jump and cling to it— it 's a chance— 
Oh !" as his boat passed the last of the trees, and 
he saw the road. 

A flying figure, a little distance ahead of him, 
caught his eye. Dorris had beaten the current, 
but not by much. She was running with her head 
low, and Morry felt a thrill of admiration at the 
speed his cousin was making. 

"Hurry— hurry, Dorry," he called after her. 
"There— is n't— much— time !" 

Nor was there. He saw Dorry turn a face that, 
even at that distance, looked white and fright- 
ened, and then run on. He felt the increased 
speed of his unmanageable craft as it drew nearer 
and nearer the little bridge over the feeder, and 
he shuddered. He wondered why Dorry did n't 
shout. He shouted himself, as loud as he could, 
long-drawn cries of "Help— he-e-e-lp— he-e-e-lp !" 
in the faint hope that some one would hear. But 
the roar of the water, which told him the wheels 
were not turning and that the by-pass was open, 
spoke also of ears which could not hear for that 
very roar, and, with a sickly feeling of despair, 
he realized that Dorry, swift run though she had 
made, could never enter the mill, summon help, 
and get back before he would have passed under 
the bridge ; and after that— he trembled at the 

But now Morry saw something which brought 
his heart to his mouth with hope again. Dorry 
had not gone to the mill. She had given a swift, 
backward look, seen the nearness of the boat, and 
calculated the time she had. She, too, had heard 
the roar of the water through the by-pass, and 
realized that it was the noon hour, and that the 
mill was shut down— that all the hands had gone to 
dinner. On to the bridge she ran, wriggled under 
the lower of the two stringers which formed its 
sides, and, flat on her face, making a cushion of 
her sweater, bracing her legs against the stringer 
above, she reached out over the water, her arms 

"Jump— Morry— jump! and catch my hands!" 
she called, as loudly as she could. 

Morry did not hear, but he saw that her legs 
were securely hooked against the stringer, and 




her position was such that he could reach her 
hands as the boat passed beneath the bridge. 

"She wants me to jump and catch her hands," 
flashed through his mind. "But is she strong 
enough? Can she stand the strain?" Again a 
picture of his little cousin, a high, swinging figure 
on the rings in the school exhibition, came into his 



As the boat neared the bridge— and it all hap- 
pened more quickly than it takes time to read it— 
Morry stood upright on the thwart, his arms 
upraised. As the boat passed under, he caught at 
the two hands held out to him, felt the water take 
the boat from beneath him, knew that he swung 
out and out and out, a human pendulum, heard a 
strangled cry from above him, and realized as he 
Vol. XLI.-4. 

hung suspended that only a girl's arms and nerve 
and his own muscles held him back from certain 

"Hold — hard — I 'm — coming — up," he shouted. 

Though neither large nor heavy, Morry was 

both strong and skilled in athletics. He had a 

tight grip of his cousin's wrists, and slowly and 

carefully, and scarcely conscious of the effort, 

he "chinned" himself. 
Then, gathering his 
strength, he let go with 
one hand, giving a 
mighty pull and lurch 
upward as he did so, 
and with it caught the 
edge of the bridge tim- 
bers. Quick as a flash, 
/' , Dorris grasped his belt 

with her free hand, 
and so aided his effort 
to climb. In an in- 
stant, he had let go 
with his other hand, 
grasped the stringer, 
while she still held his 
belt ; and with a great 
effort he was up and 
over, sinking down 
panting and speechless 
beside Dorris, now ly- 
ing soft and limp on 
the bridge. 

For a few moments, 
Morry was too spent 
to speak. Then : 

"You — you saved my 
life!" he said. "Oh, 
Dorry— I can't— I don't 
know how to say it !" 

The girl lay panting, 
completely exhausted 
with her hard run and 
the excitement and 
danger and the strain 
she had undergone. 
But after a while she 
began to recover, and 
the manner of her re- 
covery amazed Morry 
beyond measure ; for Dorry rose to her knees, 
took one look at her cousin's face, then burst into 
tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. 

"Why, Dorry!" cried Morris. "Why, Dorry!" 
But the boy had the good sense to let her sob 
herself quiet. Then he helped her gently to her 
feet, and they started toward the house. 

"Come, Dorry," he said. "We 'd best be getting 



back. Some one may have heard me yell— and 
be worried. I must go and tell them all about it. 
Oh, the luck! — what will Uncle say?" 

"No, they did n't — no, I 'm sure not," said 
Dorry. "You don't need to say a word about it. 
It 's all — all over. What 's the use of worrying 
them about it? Don't— don't tell." 

"I 've got to — I disobeyed — I went into the 
boat. But— but it means no more fishing !" 


"But, Morry,— please ! You 've been punished 
enough. And I — I don't want you to tell." 

Dorry could not have told why she did not want 
the story told, or why she feared her uncle's 
praise, or her aunt's tears, at the danger of it all, 
for she knew that it would have taken little more 

of pulling or of weight to have toppled them both 
from the bridge to the water. 

For a few minutes after, Morry thought, and 
hope was strong in him that, after all, he need 
not tell the sorry tale. But he dropped thoughts 
of telling or not telling at the sudden sight of 
Dorry's white face, and the slow tears welling. 
"Uncle— Uncle Gray— Aunt Delia— quick- 
come here !" he called, as they topped the hill and 
went toward the house, 
Morry half leading and 
half carrying Dorry. 

Something in his voice 
brought both relatives run- 
ning from their mid-day 
meal, and Morry poured 
forth the story of his dis- 
obedience, his danger, and 
his rescue. He did not 
spare himself. 

"Well, I owe my life to 
her," he ended passionately. 
"And— and— I said this 
morning girls did n't have 
anything but moral courage 
— I thought only this morn- 
ing that girls had n't any 
nerve. It is n't so ! You 
have more courage and 
nerve than any man I know 
of, Dorry— that 's all there 
is to it," he ended with a 
trembling voice. 

"But— but I was wrong, 
this morning, too, Morry," 
was her reply. "I said boys 
had no moral courage. It 
must have taken a lot to tell 
—to tell it all so fairly— 
when I begged you not to. 
I— I guess moral and the 
other sort of courage are 
mixed up together." 

Whether the one was 
greater than the other was 
a question they never set- 
tled. Each had now a new 
point of view — a new real- 
ization of the meaning of 
courage, whether of the 
body or of the mind. 
But if this question was still unsettled, of a new 
and comprehending affection, beyond and above 
that bond of blood they already had, there was a 
very thorough understanding, as Morry took his 
cousin's hands in both his own and felt their weak 
pressure in response to his hearty grip. 

■P if. mk 



About the time of our American Revolution, in 
the pasture of a certain Scotch hillside, we might 
have seen a blue-eyed baby boy, lying among the 
flocks of nibbling sheep and looking quietly at 
the moving clouds, or reaching for a bit of pink 
heather. Because his right leg had been lamed 
by a bad fever, so that he could not run or even 
creep, he was taking a queer remedy. Dr. 
Rutherford had said that if young Walter could 
live out of doors and lie in the "skin of a freshly 
killed sheep," he might be cured. So there he 
was at Sandy Knowe, in the kindly care of his 
grandfather, and placidly companioned by all 
these pasture playfellows. 

Either from the power of the Scotch breezes 
or of the warm sheepskin coat, the child grew 
strong. First he began to roll about on the grass, 
or crawl from flower to flower, and, by and by, 
he learned to pull himself up by a farm-house 
chair, and, finally, with the help of a stick, to 
walk and run. No doubt he was a great pet with 
the warm-hearted Scotch neighbors, and no 
doubt they brought him things to play with and 
flowers to love long before he could clamber over 
the rocks and get the sweet honeysuckle for him- 
self. He used, wistfully, to watch for the fairies 
to dance on the hills, and he had a secret flut- 
tering hope that sometime, when he fell asleep 
on the grass, he might be carried away to fairy- 
land. One day he was left out in the field and 
forgotten till a thunder-storm came up. Then his 
Aunt Jane, rushing out to carry him home, found 
him sitting on the grass, clapping his hands at 
every flash of lightning, and crying, "Bonny ! 
bonny !" 

It is no wonder that such an out-of-doors baby 
loved animals. On the hills, they huddled round 

him in woolly friendliness. His Shetland pony, 
no bigger than a Newfoundland dog, used to go 
with him into the house. One day, the child, sob- 
bing pitifully, limped to his grandfather's farm- 
house and sat down on the steps. A starling lay 
in his lap, its stiff little feet stretched out be- 
seechingly, its brown feathers quite cold. The 
bird, which Walter had partly tamed, was dead. 
By and by, the child's passion subsided ; but the 
"laird" who had hushed the starling's singing 
was not forgiven so soon, and the Scotch laddie 
had to take a long gallop on his pony to cool his 
aching head. 

As Walter would play contentedly among the 
rocks for hours, or ride his pony without tiring, 
so, for hours, he would listen, in rapt imagina- 
tion, to Aunt Jane's ballads, until he could repeat 
whole passages by heart. Stretched on the floor, 
with shells and pebbles drawn up in order, he 
would fight the battles or shout forth the rhymed 
stories to chance visitors. "One may as well speak 
in the mouth of a cannon as where that child is !" 
exclaimed the parish preacher, with some disgust, 
for, after Walter learned to read, he was even 
more excitable. From one of Mrs. Cockburn's 
letters we can imagine the six-year-old boy read- 
ing the story of a shipwreck to his mother. "His 
passion rose with the storm. He lifted his hands 
and eyes. 'There 's the mast gone !' he ex- 
claimed wildly. 'Crash it goes ! They will all 
perish !' " 

From the time he was six, he read ravenously ; 
and it was through his wide reading that, when 
only fifteen, he became, for a few moments, 
the center of a group of learned men. It was 
when the poet Burns visited Edinburgh, and had 
shown great interest in a picture of a soldier 




lying dead in the snow with a dog keeping patient 
watch beside him. Beneath the picture were 
some beautiful lines, but neither Burns nor any 
of those learned men knew their author, until 
young Walter Scott, who happened to be present, 
whispered that they were by Langhorne. Then 
Burns turned to him with glowing eyes and said : 
"It is no common course of reading that has 
taught you this" ; adding, to his friends, "This lad 
will be heard of yet." 

How proud the lad felt ! How wistfully joy- 
ful in the warmth of the great poet's praise ; and 
then how suddenly forgotten when, only a few 
days later, Robert Burns passed him in the street 
without a glance! Scott's moment of fame had 

At school, however, he held the fame of the 
playground. Lame though he was, he was one 
of the best fighters and one of the readiest fight- 
ers among his fellows ; and he was the very best 
story-teller. At recess, those who did not join 
in the running games crowded round the bench 
at his, "Come, slink over beside me, Jamie, and 
I '11 tell you a story." And so, now reciting 
whole pages by heart, now filling in from his own 
wild imagination, the boy Scott carried his play- 
mates into a "wonderful, terrible" world. "I did 
not make any great figure in the high school," he 
tells us. "I made a brighter figure in the yards 
than in the class." However, he was never dis- 
tinguished as a "dunce," as some have thought ; 
but simply as "an incorrigibly idle imp." (See 
Scott's own foot-note to his autobiography.) 

Though Scott merely dabbled in foreign lan- 
guages, he devoured English romance. English 
poetry, too, such as Shakspere's plays, Spenser's 
poems, and, dearest of all, Percy's wonderful col- 
lection of ballads, flew away with his fancy into 
a dream-world. Before he was ten, he had pain- 
fully copied out several note-books full of his 
favorite ballads, most of which he could recite 
from beginning to end. 

Meanwhile, he was growing more and more to 
love natural beauty. Like Irving, he longed to 
paint, and gave up his efforts to do so with sad 
reluctance. Great crags and rushing torrents 
filled him with a reverence that made his "heart 
too big for his bosom." And when he found 
an old ruin and could crown that ruin with a 
legend, his joy was complete. Handicapped by 
lameness, Scott rode wonderfully, even as a little 
boy, and was always joyously daring: Almost to 
the day of his death, he would rather leap the 
trench or ford the flood than "go round." 

Moreover, as he said, he was "rather disfigured 
than disabled by his lameness," so that he man- 
aged, limpingly, to wander far, often twenty or 

thirty miles a day. In rough cap, jacket, and 
"musquito trousers," carrying a long gun, he used 
to wade into the marshes to shoot ducks, or fish 
for salmon by torch-light— "burning the water," 
befriended by his pack of dogs. Bold cragsman 
that he was, he took no account of passing hours, 
sometimes even staying out all night. "I have 
slept on the heather," he tells us, "as soundly as 
ever I did in my bed." Little enough patience 
his father had with such "gallivantings." "I 
doubt, I greatly doubt, sir," Mr. Scott would scold, 
"you were born for nae better than a strolling 

After leaving school, Scott, like many other 
authors, was apprenticed to the law. "A dry and 
barren wilderness of forms and conveyances," he 
called it; but it was his father's profession, and, 
though the out-of-doors boy disliked the drudgery 
and detested the office confinement, he loved his 
father, and wanted to be useful. We can easily 
imagine how he "wearied of the high stool," and 
how glad he was to see daylight fade and to go 
home to read exciting stories by a blazing fire. 
Great credit, then, is due him for the five or 
more years that he persevered at the dull law, 
and much to his master, Mr. David Hume, who 
fitted him for that profession. Law study not 
only gave Scott system, but training in tenacity. 

His real studies, he tells us, were "lonely" and 
"desultory," "driving through the sea of books 
like a vessel without pilot or rudder," or, accord- 
ing to Lockhart, "obeying nothing but the strong 
breath of inclination." On his long walks and 
reckless rides, he was educated by the wind and 
sky, and by the rough people whom he has made 
immortal. He knew, personally, the charming 
beggar of "The Antiquary" ; and he knew, per- 
sonally, Rob Roy, chief of a Highland clan, and, 
like the English Robin Hood, "a kind and gentle 
robber." In "The Pirate" he immortalized an 
actual old sibyl "who sold favorable winds to 
sailors" ; in "Guy Mannering," a real Gipsy, with 
her "bushy hair hanging about her shoulders" and 
her "savage virtue of fidelity" ; and in "The 
Heart of Midlothian," he glorifies the simple 
Jeanie Deans in "tartan plaid and country attire." 

The old warriors of the highlands were more 
than willing to fight their battles over again for 
Scott, and he used to say that the peasants of 
Scotland always expressed their feelings in the 
"strongest and most powerful language." He 
found more solid fun in talking with the "lower 
classes," whose superstitions were almost a faith, 
than in spending hours with the more conven- 
tional people of his own rank. What, to some, 
was idle gossip, to him was living history. "He 
was makin' himself a' the time," said an old 




the painting by Sir Henry Raebu 

Scotchman, "but he didna ken maybe what he Border" is an echo of his rambles, and "The 

was about till years had passed. At first, he Lady of the Lake," a "labor of love'' in memory 

thought o' little, I dare say, but the queerness of Loch Katrine, 
and the fun." The "Minstrelsy of the Scottish All of his interests widened rapidly; society, 




law, love, soldiery, all have their claims. Bashful 
and awkward as Scott was, he gathered what 
points he could from those who had more social 
training than he. At twenty-two, he began to 
apply his legal knowledge by acting as counsel in 
a criminal court, and so valiantly did he defend an 

- fc/g ;f 


old sheep-stealer, that the man received the ver- 
dict "not guilty." 

"You 're a lucky scoundrel," Scott whispered 
to his client. 

"I 'm just o' your mind," came the happy an- 
swer, "and I '11 send ye a mankin (hare) the 
morn, man." 

Before Scott was twenty-five, he fell in love 
with a "lassie" who was later betrothed to one 
of his own best friends. Scott thought his heart 
was broken, but it was "handsomely pieced," as 
he said a few years later, though the "crack re- 
mained" to his dying day. 

In the meantime, he lived 
the life of a man of action. 
He entered Parliament. 

In February, 1797, when 
all Scotland feared the in- 
vasion of the French, his 
fighting blood rose to the 
call, and, with many other 
young men, he volunteered 
to serve. Too lame to 
march, he helped to organ- 
ize a troop of cavalry of 
which he was, because of 
his dependableness, elected 
quartermaster. The fighting 
spirit of his childhood had 
never died. His mother al- 
ways said that if he had 
not been a cripple, he would 
have been a soldier. That 
means we should have lost 
him as an author. And so 
we have to thank his first 
great handicap, lameness, 
for the two hundred vol- 
umes he gave the world. 

Though now his time was 
closely packed with hard 
work, these years were 
holidays compared to his 
later struggles. Before long, 
he was combining the duties 
of lawyer and quartermas- 
ter with those of county 
Ip sheriff, "speculative print- 
er," and author. Let us get 
a little into the heart of the 
man, however, before we 
study him as an author, or 
visit him at Abbotsford. 

When Sheriff Scott was 
compelled to judge a poacher, 
Tom Purdie, his human na- 
ture softened before the 
victim's plea of poverty and hunger, and he 
took Tom into his own employ as shepherd. 
Nothing could have been more characteristic 
of him. He loved to help. Among the friends 
whom he helped to his own disadvantage, 
Southey and Hogg are conspicuous. Scott pro- 
posed Southey as poet laureate, though he himself 




had been offered the honor. As for Hogg, I sup- for William Laidlaw, dictating Gipsy stories for 
pose he took more thankless help than will ever him, and then writing: 
be known, for that rough peasant had a way of 

accepting assistance as his right ; he was as un- 
conscious of any indebtedness as he was that his 
muddy feet had no place on Mrs. Scott's chintz 
sofa, where he stretched himself full-length the 

Dear Willie: 

While I wear my seven-leagued boots and stride in tri- 
umph over moss and muir, it would be very silly in either 
of us to let a cheque twice a year of £2$ make a difference 
between us. 


(SEE PAGE 33. 

first time he called. Scott bore with all such 
peculiarities because he enjoyed Hogg's humor 
and rustic charm ; and though, years later, Hogg 
repaid Scott's kindness by bitter jealousy, the 
greater man proved his greatness by his loyalty. 
When he heard that "The Ettrick Shepherd" was 
very sick in an "obscure alley" in Edinburgh, he 
paid for the best medical care ; and no doubt did 
him many unrecorded services. Scott's own 
memory dismissed such things about as soon as 
they were done. Now he paid for the lifelong 
care of a poor German friend, of unbalanced 
mind, who had threatened his life ; now he wrote 
sermons for a tired minister or he created a place 

These stories suggest some of the costs of 
friendship — costs never entered into the accounts 
of the noble spender's heart. Yet we must re- 
member them, later, in our reckoning of Scott's 
great business failure. 

Let us look first, however, at Scott the author 
and Scott the home-maker. 

His literary life may be divided into two parts 
of eighteen years each. During the first eighteen 
years, a period of joy, he wrote poems; and 
during the last eighteen years, novels. As every 
one knows, it was Lord Byron's striding popu- 
larity that made Scott give up verse. We get this 
from his own frank admission that he "would no 




longer play second fiddle to Byron"; and "Since 
one line has failed, we must just strike into some- 
thing else." Certainly his last poem, "The Lord 
of the Isles," was not equal to "The Lay of the 
Last Minstrel," "Marmion," or "The Lady of the 
Lake." Scott himself called it a failure; but, 
whether it was a failure or not, we are glad that 
something made the great man, with all his hid- 
den powers, turn to prose. We are as glad Byron 
beat him at poetry as we are that lameness hin- 

called him "The Great Unknown" or "The Wiz- 
ard of the North." He never accounted for his 
disguise except by saying it was his "humor." No 
doubt he felt more confident in his "Coat of 
Darkness" ; for, while he was sure of his repu- 
tation as a poet, he was merely trying his hand at 

And yet many think to-day that he was even 
a greater novelist than poet. During the time 
that he was editing his "Complete Edition," one 


dered him from being a soldier. Step by step, 
through handicaps and failures, the buried genius 
of the man is found. In his warm admiration for 
Maria Edgeworth's Irish tales he had once mod- 
estly thought that he might write stories of Scot- 
land. For the number of those stories, the world 
blesses his business failure ; as it blesses his verse 
failure for their beginning. 

One day, when Scott was looking in a drawer 
for fishing-tackle, he came on the roughly written 
sheets of "Waverley," begun many years before. 
As he read those unfinished pages, he wanted to 
go on with the romance ; and so to those first dis- 
carded sheets we owe the whole set of the 
"Waverley Novels." For years, their authorship 
was a mystery. Book after book came out "By the 
Author of Waverley," while the puzzled world 

per cent. — or one in every hundred— of all the 
people in Edinburgh were at work in the making 
and selling of his books. 

If you have never thrilled with the ""Stranger, 
I am Roderick Dhu" of that heroic law-breaker; 
or, with Rebecca, dared Brian du Bois Guilbert 
to advance one step farther toward that dizzy 
parapet ; or cried over Kenilworth, if you are a 
girl ; or acted Ivanhoe and Rob Roy, if you are a 
boy, then you have missed something that be- 
longed by right to your youth. 

Many love history more through Scott than 
through any one else ; perhaps not the most au- 
thentic history, but history gloriously alive. And 
many more have learned from him to be tender 
to the "under dog." It may be a real dog, like 
Fangs ; it may be a court fool, or a Gipsy, or 




some member of the once despised race of Jews; 
but Scott will always make you "square" to the 
"fellow who is down." He may even make you 
love some one whom the rest of the world has 
forgotten to love. 

It would be interesting to visit the place where 
most of those wonderful novels were written. 
Scott had bought the farm of one hundred and 
ten acres in a rough condition. Many of the 
trees that grow there to-day were planted by his 
hands, and he and Tom Purdie used to tramp 
over the place on windy days to straighten the 
young saplings. Little by little the farm changed 
to a noble estate, beautiful without and within, 
and the Abbotsford of to-day, robbed of its mas- 
ter, is more like a museum than a home. The 
footsteps of sight-seers echo through its great 
rooms, — their walls enriched with suits of armor, 
with tapestry and relics ; and their floors so 
slippery you can "almost skate on them." There 
is the portrait of Scott's great-grandfather, 
Beardie, that loyal Tory who refused to have his 
beard cut after Charles I was executed; and 
there is a portrait of Scott's son, Walter, who 
died of India fever just after being made colonel. 
The grim armory speaks of many battles; the 
relics recall many stories. Among these are a 
brace of Bonaparte's pistols ; the purse of Rob 
Roy; a silver urn given to Scott by Byron; and a 
gold snuff-box given by George IV. 

From the time of Scott's first land purchase, 
the estate grew from one hundred and ten acres 
to fifteen hundred. If we had gone to Abbots- 
ford with merry-hearted Irving, during Scott's 
lifetime, and even before he was made baronet, 
we should have seen it less as the great castle, 
which it is to-day, than as a "snug gentleman's 
cottage" beaming from the hillside above the 
Tweed. The branching elk horns over the door 
gave it the look of a hunter's lodge; but the scaf- 
folding surrounding the walls, and great piles of 
hewn stone, hinted a grander future. As Irving 
entered, "out sallied the warder of the castle, a 
black greyhound, and, leaping on one of the 
blocks of stone, began a furious barking." This 
was Hamlet. "His. alarm brought out the whole 
garrison of dogs— all open-mouthed and vocifer- 
ous." Then, up the gravel path limped the mas- 
ter of the house, moving along rapidly with the help 
of a stout walking-stick. We can almost see him— 
his broad, freckled face and sandy hair ; his eyes 
"sparkling blue" under the old white hat ; his big 
figure dressed in a dingy green shooting-coat and 
brown pantaloons ; and his worn shoes tied at the 
ankles. By the master's side, with great dignity, 
jogs the gray staghound, Maida, trying to show 
gravity enough for all that yelping pack. It 
Vol. XLL— 5. 

would hardly be a welcome without this gather- 
ing at the gate. 

"Come, drive down, drive down, ye 're just in 
time for breakfast," urges Scott, and then adds, 
when Irving explains that he has had his break- 
fast, "Hoot, man, a ride in the morning in the 
keen air of the Scotch hills is warrant enough 
for a second breakfast." 

And so, with Irving, we see the great "min- 
strel" at his chief meal, and with Irving we are 
expected to eat huge slices of the sheep's head 
and of the big brown loaf at Scott's elbow. Of 
course, at the table, there is no discussion of the 
children ; but a short visit displays their natures : 
Sophia, joyous and musical; Anne, quiet; Walter, 
his father's pride because he is such a fine shot ; 
and Charles, a lovely boy of twelve. Scott said 
there were just three things he tried to teach his 
children : "to ride, to shoot, and to speak the 
truth." And when they rode he taught them to 
think nothing of tumbles. "Without courage, 
there can be no truth," he would say, "and with- 
out truth, there can be no other virtue." 

The dogs are allowed in the dining-room : 
Maida, beside Scott; the pet spaniel Finette, 
with soft, silky hair, close to "Mama" ; and a 
large gray cat, stealing about with velvet steps, 
which begs delicate bits of breakfast from all the 
family, and cuffs the dogs in a friendly way with 
his paw. 

After breakfast, they all set out through the 
sweet, rough country, Scott limping rapidly 
ahead as usual, pointing out the badgers' holes 
and sitting hares (which he is always the first 
to see), while the dogs beat about the glen, bark- 
ing and leaping, or boundingly answer the call 
of the ivory whistle that swings from their mas- 
ter's buttonhole. The little terriers, Pepper and 
Mustard, are as excited as Maida is dignified. 
Snuffing among the bushes, they have started a 
hare, and Hinse, the cat, joins the chase in hot 

By and by a shower springs up, and Scott 
shares with Irving the tartan plaid that Tom 
Purdie has been carrying. And so the two great 
men, congenial as old friends, snuggle under the 
Scotchman's warm shelter ; and while rain soaks 
the pink heather and mist folds the hills, they 
talk of trees and nations, homes and dogs, now 
and then matching each other's legends. Their 
hearts are in wonderful harmony. Irving tells 
Scott of the grand American forests, and Scott 
answers, "You love the forests as much as I do 
the heather. If I did not see the heather at least 
once a year, I think I should die." 

So cordial and outdoorish is our host, so ready 
to guide in our rambles, "overwalking, overtalk- 




ing, and overfeeding his guests," as his wife used 
to say, that we may easily forget his business in 
life, or that he has anything else to do but en- 
tertain. But Scott rose, presumably, this day, as 
all others, at five o'clock, and was writing away 
rapidly by six, so that he "broke the neck of the 
day's work before breakfast." This was his reg- 
ular program. While he was bathing and dress- 
ing, his thoughts were "simmering" in his brain, 
so that he dashed them off "pretty easily" when 
his pen was in his hand. With no interruption 
except breakfast, he worked steadily till eleven 
or twelve. By this system, very rarely broken, 
he could afford a ride after lunch, and, at one 
o'clock, rain or shine, he could mount his big 
horse for a gallop over the hills. The pictures 
he saw on these rides are in his books, and so is 
the joyous outdoor spirit. One of his first poems, 
"Marmion," was practically written on horse- 
back, the lines coming into his brain while he 
trained his regiment, raced over the moors, or 
plunged through floods. 

And just as he would not let his work cheat 
his outdoor life, he would not let it cheat his 
children or his friends. When Irving visited 
him, he had to excuse himself after breakfast to 
correct proof; but often he wrote in a room filled 
with people. Perhaps he used manuscript sheets 
the same size as letter-paper, so that he might 
write his books and yet seem to be writing a com- 
mon letter. The shouts of his children playing 
marbles or ninepins around him, or his dogs 
sleeping at his feet, or even leaping in and out 
of the open window, could not interrupt his 
thought, though occasionally the father stopped 
to tell a story to the pleading pets who talked, or 
give an affectionate pat to those who only looked 
their love. And then his active hand drove on, 
laying aside sheet after sheet. 

Let us stop a few minutes to speak of Scott's 
affection for all his dumb friends. It cannot 
easily be exaggerated. Of his horses, neither 
Captain nor Lieutenant nor Brown Adam liked 
to be fed by any one but him. When Brown 
Adam was saddled and the stable door opened, 
he would trot to the "leaping-on stone" (a help 
to his lame master), and there he would stand, 
firm as Gibraltar, till Sir Walter was well in the 
saddle, when he would neigh trumpetingly and 
almost dance with delight. Under Scott's hand, 
he was perfectly trustworthy; but he broke one 
groom's arm and another's leg with his wild ca- 
pers. The beautiful snow-white horse, Daisy, 
proved less faithful than Brown Adam. She was 
as full of jealousy as she was of life. When Sir 
Walter came back from a trip to the Continent, 
he found Daisy had changed toward him. In- 

stead of standing still to be mounted, she "looked 
askant at me like an imp," said Scott ; "and when 
I put my foot in the stirrup, she reared bolt up- 
right, and I fell to the ground." For any of the 
grooms the horse stood perfectly; but Scott tried, 
again and again, always with the same result. 
At last he had to give Daisy up. When some one 
suggested that the snowy animal might have felt 
hurt at being left in the stable, Scott said, "Aye, 
these creatures have many thoughts of their own. 
Maybe some bird had whispered Daisy that I 
had been to see the grand reviews at Paris on a 
little scrag of a Cossack, while my own gallant 
trooper was left behind bearing Peter and the 
post-bag to Melrose." 

Among Scott's dogs, his earliest friends were 
his bull-terrier, Camp, and two greyhounds, 
Douglas and Percy. These used to race over the 
hills beside their galloping master, and nose 
around in the bushes while he stopped to fish. 
Of the three, Camp had most perfectly his mas- 
ter's confidence. Scott used to talk to him just 
as if he was a human being; and the servant, 
setting the table for dinner, would say, "Camp, 
my good fellow, the sheriff 's coming home by 
the ford," or "The sheriff 's coming home by the 
hill," and, even when Camp was old and sick, he 
would pull himself up from the rug and trot off 
as nimbly as his strength would let him, to meet 
his master by the Tweed or the Glenkinnon burn. 

Dear old Camp ! he was buried by moonlight 
in the garden just opposite Scott's study window. 
"Papa cried about Camp's death," Sophia Scott 
told Irving. Indeed, we all know that the affec- 
tionate master felt so bereft that he broke an en- 
gagement at dinner that evening, and gave as his 
perfectly honest excuse, "the death of a dear 
old friend." 

Maida's grave at Abbotsford is between Sir 
Walter's bedroom window and the garden. There 
is a life-sized statue with the head raised as if 
looking toward the window for his master's face. 
The Latin inscription reads: 

Beneath the sculptured form which late you wore, 
Sleep soundly, Maida, at your master's door. 

Percy was buried not very far away with the 
epitaph : "Here lies the brave Percy." 

Scott had one dog, a Highland terrier, that 
sometimes grew tired of the chase, or "pretended 
to be so," and would whine to be taken up on his 
master's horse, where he would sit as happy as 
a child. And there was a large wolf-greyhound 
which had posed for so many artists that he 
would get up and saunter out of the room at the 
sight of brushes and a palette— portrait-painting 
was a great bore ! 




One last story, and we must leave Scott's ken- 
nels and stables for a closing study of the man 
himself. One clear September morning, boys 
and girls, dogs and ponies, Scott, Laidlaw, Mac- 
kenzie, and many others set off for a day's fish- 
ing. Maida gamboled about the prancing Sibyl 
Grey, who tossed her mane in glee at the thought 
of a day's sport. Just as the joyous party was 
ready to gallop away, Anne Scott shouted delight- 
edly, "Papa, Papa, I knew you could never think 
of going without your pet." At her merry laugh- 
ter, Scott turned, and there, in the roadway, 
frisking about his pony's feet, was his little black 
pig. It took only a moment to lasso the eager 
little grunter, and drag him away from the sports- 
men; but Scott said, with mock gravity: 

What will I do gin my hoggie die? 
My joy, my pride, my hoggie. 

That pig was as ridiculous in his claim for a 
place in the inner circle as the hen that cackled 
for intimacy, or the two donkeys which used to 
trot to the edge of the pasture bars and stretch 
out their long, hairy noses for a "pleasant crack 
with the laird." 

After the dreadful business failure, however, 
Scott had little time for any of this playfulness. 
We need not postpone the sad story any longer, 
though we want to make it as short as possible. 
The crash came in 1826. Within six months of 
each other fell his two greatest sorrows: his 
wife's death and this business collapse. In the 
partnership with James and John Ballantyne, 
whom Scott had known at school, Sir Walter had 
furnished nearly all the capital, and the Ballan- 
tynes had been made responsible for the accounts. 
It did not seem to occur to either of the brothers 
to keep the great author informed of the busi- 
ness situation, and Scott, who was overtrusting, 
did not demand an exact statement. There was, 
besides, a complication with Messrs. Constable, a 
publishing house in which the greater portion of 
Sir Walter's fortune was involved. Things are 
as tangled to the reader as they were to the busi- 
ness partners. Failure, which they did not know 
how to help, was closing round them. Both the 
Ballantynes seemed to postpone the evil day of 
facing facts. Scott might have examined the 
accounts ; he should have ; but he was not warned, 
and he did not suspect the hopelessness of the 
debt, till, with Constable's failure, the crash 
came, and all were ruined. Let us tell the truth : 
Scott was blind; he was unbusinesslike; he was 
overhopeful; he was extravagant. He was al- 
ways too ready to make loans, and far too ready 
to spend money on his life-hobby — his dear estate 
of Abbotsford. But, when he realized his di- 

lemma, he came to the fore with a majesty of 
honor seldom, if ever, equaled in history. He 
refused all props, the loans urged by his friends ; 
the offered pensions. "Now he worked double 
tides— depriving himself of outdoor exercise al- 
together." "This own right hand shall work it 
off," reads his diary, though into that same diary 
creeps a note of discouragement— "I often wish 
I could lie down to sleep without waking. But 
I will fight it out if I can." On his sun-dial he 
carved with his own hand, "I will work while it 
is yet day" ; and his brave motto was, "Time and 
I against any two." 

The natural question comes, why did he not sell 
Abbotsford? It had grown to be a magnificent 
place. Well, he did. He quitted the estate, leav- 
ing orders for sales of his entire collection of 
paintings, relics, and furniture; but it was the 
pride of his life, the home for which he had 
worked all his days, and which he had dreamed 
would belong to his children. As he said, his 
heart clung to what he had created; there was 
hardly a tree that did not owe its life to him. 
In 1830, his creditors gave him back fifteen thou- 
sand pounds' worth of his own books, furniture, 
and relics; he and his children returned; and 
again the place was beautiful, though there was 
little time to enjoy it. 

Working at fearful pressure, the out-of-doors 
Sir Walter shut himself from savage hills and 
roaring streams, while his horse whinnied for 
him in the stable, and his dogs lay restless at 
his feet. Over page after page he raced, not 
stopping to dot an i, or cross a t, punctuating by 
a hurried dash, or not at all, and spelling, like 
Stevenson, with perfect carelessness. If, with 
a mental microscope, we can find any blessing 
in this agonizing business failure, it is in the 
number of books it gave the world. But the ef- 
fort of writing those books cost Scott his life. 

He wrote till his fingers were covered with 
chilblains and his brain was threatened with ex- 
haustion. One of the novels was struck off in 
six weeks at Christmas time ; another was dic- 
tated in great pain and punctuated by groans, 
Scott's amanuensis, Laidlaw, begging him to stop. 
"Nay, Willie," came the heroic answer, "only 
see that the doors are fast. I would fain keep all 
the cry as well as all the wool to ourselves." 
One morning before breakfast, he finished "Anne 
of Geierstein," and, as soon as breakfast was 
over, set to work on his "Compendium of Scot- 
tish History." In a little over a week, immedi- 
ately following the news of ruin, he wrote one 
whole volume of "Woodstock" ; the entire book 
was written in less than three months. To these 
facts, literature gives no parallel. There was 



no waiting for inspiration. Conquering moods 
and weather, Scott made himself work at set 
times. Perhaps the drudging law, at which one 
time the young man had written a hundred and 
twenty folio pages without stopping for food and 
rest, trained into him this wonderful tenacity. 
Yet "a single season blanched his hair snow 

All must not be told. Let us spare ourselves 
the painful details of the battle, knowing, as we 
do, the heart of the man, the thing that made him 
will to fight and die for honor's sake. The failure 
that darkened, ennobled his life. Scott, the man, 
was even greater than his books. As with anxious 
watch we follow the struggle, twice we see him 
fall. But he rises again, gropingly reattacks his 
labor, and writes on, in spite of blood "flying to 
his head," a fluttering memory, and stiffened 

In October, 1831, the doctors absolutely forbade 
work. Following their advice, he went to Italy, 
with the lame hope of cure. But not the blue 
sky of Naples nor any sun-filled breeze could 
take the place of his dour Scotland. In his pa- 
thetic homesickness, he pined for the highlands. 
With all its roughness, the land of the thistle 
was the land of his heart. The buffeting wind of 
a lifetime, the bleak hills cloaked in mist, the 
water of the Tweed rushing over its white stones 
—he needed them all. "Let us to Abbotsford," 
he begged. 

And so they took him home. As they traveled, 
he showed little interest in anything but far-off 
Scotland. His sad eyes waited for his own trees, 
the plentiful heather, the climbing gorse that 
painted the hills with gold. 

As they journeyed on, he grew more and more 
sure that his debts were all paid ; and his friends, 
knowing how he had struggled, never told him 
that this was not quite true. 

"I shall have my house, and my estate round 
it, free, and I may keep my dogs as big and as 
many as I choose, without fear of reproach." So 
he comforted himself. 

When, about the middle of June, they reached 
London, Sir Walter was too weak to go on with- 
out rest. Outside his hotel gathered begrimed 
day-laborers with the awed question, "Do you 
know, sir, if this is the street where he is lying?" 
By careful stages, early in July, he traveled on, 
crossed the last salt water, and was tenderly 

lifted into a carriage for the last drive. Unawake 
as he had been to everything else, the well-known 
roads and foaming streams roused his memory: 
"Gala Water, surely— Buckholm— Torwoodlee," 
he murmured expectantly. When, above the 
trees, they saw Abbotsford towers, he grew more 
and more excited; and when they crossed Mel- 
rose bridge over the Tweed, it took three men to 
hold him in the carriage. Pitifully weak though 
he was, he wanted to run to meet his home. Then, 
trembling, he saw Laidlaw ; then his dogs, trying 
to kiss him with noses and tongues and paws, and 
to tell him how much they had missed him. They 
were very gentle, though, as if in their loving 
hearts they knew the days of rough comradery 
were over. Scott smiled and sobbed together at 
their welcome. 

For a few days he lingered, to be wheeled 
about in a chair among his roses or under his 
own dear trees. Sometimes his grandchildren 
tried to help push. 

"I have seen much," he would say again and 
again, "but nothing like my ain house— give me 
one turn more." 

"My dear, be a good man— be a good man. 
Nothing else will give you any comfort when 
you come to lie here." This was his farewell to 
Lockhart, a few days before he died. 

"Shall I send for Sophia and Anne ?" Lockhart 
gently asked. 

"No," with his old brave calm. "Don't disturb 
them. Poor souls ! I know they were up all 
night. God bless you all." 

The end came with its peaceful relief Septem- 
ber 21, 1832. It was a beautiful day. Through 
the open window streamed warm sunshine, and 
the Tweed sang on that soft, old music that 
would have suited its sleeping master better than 
the most wonderful requiem. 

They say the line of carriages that followed 
Sir Walter to Dryburgh Abbey was over a mile 
long. But perhaps his highland heart would have 
been more pleased by the host of yeoman who 
followed behind on horseback; or the villagers, 
with heads uncovered, gathered in sorrowful 
black crowds to say good-by to the "shirra" J ; or 
even the little act of one of his horses, which 
drew him on that final day. It halted, of its own 
accord, at the end of the climb, on the very spot 
where horse and master had so often stood to 
view the steadfast hills. 

1 Sheriff. 

Chapter I 


WO boys were driving along a 
wooded road. It was June, in 
the heart of Massachusetts, 
and even in the shade of the 
tall trees, the air was so warm 
that the lads had laid off their 
jackets, and were enjoying the 
comfort of their outing shirts. 
While the passenger talked, the driver lis- 
tened. Silent though he was, his quick eye 
glanced constantly along the roadside, through 
the woods, or up and down the vista of the road. 
Yet from time to time his glance came back, 
inquiringly, to the lad at his side. At each glance, 
he appraised something in the other : the silk 
stockings, the patent-leather belt, the heavy gold 
fob, the fine texture of the shirt, or the hand- 
some scarf-pin. All of these were in contrast to 
his own costume, which was plainer and simpler. 
At each glance, also, the driver swept his eye 
across the other's face, noting afresh the narrow 
chin, the loose lips, the nose a little upturned, and 
the brown, self-satisfied, inattentive eyes. 

The talker drew out a little silver case. "A 
cigarette, Pelham?" 

"No, thanks," said the other. 
His companion, with a cigarette between his 
lips, looked at him sidewise, shrewdly. "Would 
n't you like to, though ?" 

Pelham laughed, but gave no other answer. 
The other persisted: "Your father won't let 
you?" He began to light his cigarette. 

"He 'd scalp me," answered Pelham, still smil- 

The other grew serious. "That 's perfect 
tyranny !" he declared. "And it 's entirely out 
of date for fellows nowadays." 

"Hold on !" said Pelham. "He would n't scalp 
me for smoking, but for breaking my promise." 

"Good heavens !" cried his companion. "Why 
should you promise such a thing?" But Pelham 
merely smiled, not even changing expression at 
the taunt, "Country !" He did, however, the next 
moment, quickly draw rein, stop the horse, and 
leap from the runabout. Going back for a few 
yards, he searched a moment by the side of the 
road, stamped vigorously, and then returned to 
the carriage. 

The other looked at him in surprise. "Did you 
go back just to put out my match?" 

"It needed it," was the answer. "You 'd better 
learn right now, Brian, that you can't do anything 
much more dangerous than that. When you 
throw away that cigarette, be sure to throw it in 
the middle of the road." 

"You say it 's dangerous?" asked Brian, in- 

"We have n't had rain for nearly a month," 
explained Pelham. "It threatens to be another 
dry summer. The old leaves are as dry as tin- 
der, and a fire might sweep for miles. That 's 
one thing," he added, "that a city fellow never 

Brian reared his head as if his pride was 
touched. "We can't know everything," he re- 
sponded. "I suppose I 'd have been taught that 
in this little town where we 've been buying sup- 




plies. You seem to think it quite a place, but it 's 
little bigger than your own village." 

"About ten times bigger," remarked Pelham. 

"Nothing to buy there," scoffed Brian. "I saw 
nothing to make me take out my roll." 

"What do you mean by this roll that you talk 
so much about?" asked Pelham. "I thought it 
was understood that your father was to give you 
no more than my allowance, five dollars a month." 

"Just the same," laughed Brian, "was it agreed 
that I was to come without money? It 's all very 
well, Pelly, my boy, limiting myself down to your 
scale of living. Thanks to that robbery, my Eu- 
ropean trip is spoiled, and Father has to spend 
the summer in the city. Even Mother is visiting 
about. So if I 'm to live here with you people, 
it 's right that I should n't bring my luxurious 
habits to corrupt Uncle Rob's simple country 
household. Mind you, I don't think that Uncle 
is right. He can do nothing to stop the march 
of progress proper to people of our class. And 
I think it will work out wrong for you in the 
long run. When you get to college, Pelham, and 
meet the fellows that have money— well, never 
mind. But, at any rate, for this summer I '11 keep 
within the same allowance as you do." 

Pelham had listened quietly. The other had 
not watched his face, or he would have noticed 
the eyes growing more and more serious, the 
mouth more and more firm. At the end, he asked, 
in a voice that was perfectly level, "But the roll?" 

Brian reached into his pocket, and, drawing 
out a wallet, displayed within it layer upon layer 
of bank-bills. "Why, how you stare !" he mocked. 
"Has Cousin Pelham never seen so much before?" 

But Pelham was not staring. A little line, the 
beginning of a frown, showed between his eye- 
brows. Little prickles ran up his neck, a strange 
sensation of anger at this defiance of his father. 

"Don't let Father see it !" he warned. 

"What if he did?" asked Brian, flushing^ 

"I guess," his cousin answered, "that either 
you or the money would go straight back to the 

"If he did that," began Brian, hotly, "then my 
father—" He checked himself. "My mother, I 
mean—" He stopped entirely. 

Pelham smiled with sudden amusement. "So 
Aunt Annie gave you the money ! Well, Brian, 
keep it to yourself, that 's all." 

Brian slipped the wallet into his pocket. "No 
fear," he remarked. "There is n't anything to 
spend it on here, anyway. If I had Father's auto 
here, I could run you over to Springfield in a 
couple of hours, and give you some fun." 

"Your father lets you run his big auto?" asked 
Pelham, with a slight accent of surprise. 

Brian looked away. "I can run it," he an- 
swered. "But, Pelham," he asked quickly, "does 
n't your father ever let you handle money? He 
ought to get you used to it." 

"Oh, I 'm used to it," replied Pelham. "More 
than once I 've carried three thousand dollars, all 
in bills, right in my inside pocket." 

"What for?" said Brian, surprised in his turn. 

"For the pay-roll," explained Pelham. "Some 
of our men at the mills get as high as thirty dol- 
lars a week, and all of them are paid above the 
average of ordinary mill-workers. The money 
comes over this road every Saturday, and — " 

"Over this road !" interrupted Brian. He 
glanced up and down the lonely road, running 
through unbroken woods. "Why, a robbery 
would be easy !" 

"Not with Father or Brother Bob carrying the 
money !" There was a ring of pride in Pelham's 
voice. "They 're known to be pretty handy with 
the revolver. Bob brought over the stuff this 

"But what have you to do with the money?" 
asked Brian. 

"Oh, sometimes when they 're very busy in the 
office, Father sends me home with it, and Mother 
and Harriet and I make up the pay envelops. 
Or Harriet and I do it alone ; she 's mighty clever 
about it. And then I take the envelops back to 
the mill. It 's only a couple of hundred yards." 

"Only a couple of hundred yards !" scoffed 
Brian. "It was only twenty-five feet across the 
alleyway from the bank to the side door of Fa- 
ther's office, but the messenger lost twenty thou- 
sand dollars there last month in just three sec- 
onds !" 

"It was hard," murmured Pelham, sympatheti- 

"It meant no Europe for me," grumbled Brian. 
"And Mother 's given up her limousine, and Fa- 
ther has no summer vacation. I tell you, Pelham, 
if you lived in the city, you 'd never dare take 
such risks with your money. Why, I don't go 
fifty feet in a crowded street without touching 
myself to see if my money is safe." Brian put 
his hand to his hip, started, stared, felt wildly 
inside the pocket, then cried: 

"The wallet is gone !" 

Pelham stopped the horse. "Look under your 
feet," he suggested. 

But Brian was already searching frantically 
among the bundles that had reposed beneath the 
seat. "It 's not here !" he cried, after a minute, 
"Pelham, we must go back. It must have fallen 
out !" 

"Jump out and walk back," directed Pelham, 
"I '11 turn and follow." 




Presently they were going slowly back, the one 
walking, the other in the wagon, both looking 
carefully in the middle of the road and on both 
sides. But the wallet was not found. 

"We 've not missed it," stated Pelham, pres- 
ently. "And we 've passed the place where you 
had it in your hand." 

"Just around this next bend," said Brian. 

"It was in your hand as we turned the curve," 
asserted Pelham. 

"No," insisted Brian, "I must look !" 

They went, therefore, around the bend, Brian 
first, Pelham after. And there, in the middle of 
the road, stood a lad no older than themselves, 
intently examining something which he held in 
his hand. He was more than half turned away 
from them, and his face they could not see. 

Instinctively Brian trod softly; and Pelham, 
stopping the horse, leaped silently to the ground 
and glided to his cousin's side. On tiptoe they ap- 
proached the boy, until they could see what he 
held. It was, unmistakably, a wallet. 

He caught the sound of their steps, and thrust 
the wallet into his pocket. Then he turned. He 
was startled to find strangers so close upon him, 
and threw his head high, while his nostrils dis- 
tended with his sudden gasp. But he stood his 
ground. Pelham felt the swift impression of the 
wiry, well-knit frame ; the clothes, not ragged, yet 
apparently torn by briers; the crop of fair and 
well-trimmed hair, not guarded by a cap ; and the 
high forehead; but all these he merely glimpsed, 
for almost immediately his attention was riveted 
by the stranger's eye, alert and inquiring, yet 
curiously gentle. The boy was looking at Brian. 

Brian rushed at him. "Give me that !" 

The brown eye snapped, the nostrils opened 
wider, and the stranger stopped Brian with a 
rigid arm. As if instantly measuring him, and 
while holding him in play, the lad looked past 
Brian at Pelham, to see what threatened from 

The eye was like that of a deer, which looks 
for kindness even when at bay. In spite of the 
frown and the set jaw, the eye was liquid, almost 
girlish in its appeal. Yet this was only for a 
moment. For Brian, grappling at the arm that 
held him off, cried, "Take him, Pelly !" and Pel- 
ham, unwillingly yet loyally responding, moved 
to take the stranger from the other side. 

Then the softness vanished from the eye ; it 
flashed dark lightning, the wiry frame bent and 
then snapped erect — and between Pelham and the 
stranger sprawled Brian, face downward in the 

For a moment the lad confronted Pelham; then 
suddenly he turned and plunged into the woods. 

Pelham, leaping over his cousin, followed in- 
stantly, although a grudging admiration checked 
the fierceness of a true pursuit. At the third 
leap, he found himself amid a thicket of birches, 
through which the stranger had already passed. 
Another stride, and he tripped. As he narrowly 
saved himself from falling, and staggered against 
a tree before he could recover his balance, he 
saw that his chance of success was gone. The 
stranger had vanished behind a screen of scrub- 
pine, and not a sound floated back to tell of his 
course. Pelham returned to the road. 

Brian was just rising to his feet, making un- 
seemly sounds as he cleared his mouth of dust. 
"You lost him !" he accused. 

"So did you," responded Pelham. Sudden 
amusement seizing him at the sight of his cousin's 
angry, dirty face, he turned quickly to the horse. 
Brian kept at his side. 

"Ptoo !" he spluttered. "All dirt ! Turn the 
horse around ! Ptah ! We '11 give the alarm at 
the village." In another minute, they were spin- 
ning homeward. "Faster !" urged Brian. 

"We can't keep a faster pace than this," an- 
swered Pelham. He listened in silence to his 
cousin's denunciations, until Brian grew peevish 
for lack of a response. "Look here," he de- 
manded. "That fellow has my money. Don't 
you care?" 

Pelham was thinking. "Brian," he asked, "are 
you sure you put your wallet in your pocket be- 
fore we passed that turn?" 

"What if I did n't?" returned Brian. "He 
could have found it at this side of the bend, and 
dodged out of sight." 

"Yes," answered Pelham. "But where could he 
have come from? He could n't have overtaken 
us, coming on foot. He certainly did n't come 
this way. I should have seen him if he had been 
sitting by the road. And as for his coming 
through the woods, why, there 's. scarcely a path 
or a farm or a clearing from the railroad, ten 
miles north of this strip of road, to the river, 
eight miles south." 

"What of it?" demanded Brian. "The thing 
to do is to catch him. I tell you to hurry." 

"We 're going as fast as we can," returned 
Pelham. "And as for catching him, it depends 
entirely on the direction that he takes. He may 
swing toward Nate's farm, and if he comes out 
there, we 've as good as got him already. But 
if he keeps to the west of it, we '11 have to turn 
out the whole town in order to catch him." 

"Then we '11 turn out the town !" declared 

Pelham asked, "What are you going to say 
about the money?" 




Brian was checked, but only for a moment. 
"I '11 say that there was five dollars in the wal- 

"You won't get up much interest in that," re- 
marked Pelham. 

"Well, then," declared Brian, "I '11 catch that 
fellow, even if I have to tell the truth. There 
was a hundred and seventy-five in the wallet." 

Pelham whistled. "That 's worth offering a 
reward for. We can turn out the boys and even 
the mill-hands on the strength of that. They 're 
all free on Saturday afternoon." 

They drove on for a while in silence. The 
road wound slowly upward until, reaching the 
"height of land," it paused for a moment before 
its descent, and gave a single view of a round 
valley, in the center of which lay a village. Then 
once more the travelers, descending, were among 

"Brian," ventured Pelham at length, consoling, 
"that 's a pretty big loss." 

Brian answered sharply: "Don't speak about 

Pelham looked at him in surprise. Brian was 
sitting huddled together, with both his hands in 
his pockets. His face was red, and he did not 
look at his cousin. 

"Oh, very well," said Pelham, slowly. The un- 
certainties of his cousin's temper irritated him, 
but he reminded himself that Brian's loss was 
heavy, and that his fall in the road must have 
shaken him roughly. He said no more, therefore, 
but drove on until the woods gave way to fields, 
and the village lay in sight. 

It was a typical New England town, spread on 
both sides of a narrow stream which, from its 
depth and swiftness, almost merited the name of 
river. The road crossed it near the woods, and 
met it again in the center of the village, where 
the best houses of the place were spaced at gener- 
ous intervals. From one opening in the houses 
and trees could be seen, not far away, a collec- 
tion of long, stone buildings, the mills of Pel- 
ham's father. Finest of all the houses of the 
village stood the Dodd homestead, likewise of 
stone, square, and solid, and simple. It stood well 
back from the street, amid lawns, shrubberies, 
and flowers. Beyond it showed glimpses of a 
wide mill-pond. Pelham turned the horse in at 
the gate, and drove toward the house. There, 
seeing his father sitting upon the piazza, Pelham 
stopped the horse, and spoke. 

"Father," he said, "back here in the woods 
Brian dropped his wallet from the carriage, and 
when we went back for it, we found that a boy, 
one that I never saw before, had picked it up. 
He got away from us, and ran into the woods." 

Mr. Dodd rose and came to the railing. He 
was a man of middle height, stockily built, and 
with a short, grizzled beard. His keen eyes 
looked at his nephew. "How much money did 
you lose?" 

"Only five dollars," answered Brian. 

Pelham looked at him quickly. Brian, still un- 
comfortably slumped in his seat, did not look up 
to meet his uncle's eye. 

"Don't feel so badly about it," said Mr. Dodd. 
"Perhaps we can make it up to you." 

"Oh, no !" protested Brian. His face, under 
Pelham's gaze, slowly reddened deeply. 

"We '11 see," said his uncle. "Lucky it was n't 
more !" 

The two boys drove to the stable. "So !" said 
Pelham, after a pause, "you 'd rather lose the 
money than tell Father the truth of it?" 

Brian, still very red, made no answer. 

Chapter II 


On a hillside, three girls were picking berries. 
Clumps of blueberry bushes, which here yielded 
their earliest fruit, dotted the pasture. The wide 
field was fringed, at its upper edge, with woods, 
beyond which rose the weather-worn face of a 
cliff that topped them by a dozen feet. Turning 
and looking down the slope, the girls could see a 
valley shaped like a bowl, in whose bottom re- 
posed a little town. Five miles away, a gap in 
the surface of hills showed the outlet to the 

There was but one of the girls worth our at- 
tention. The others were nobodies, the hand- 
maidens of Nausicaa, whose self she was. But 
they felt themselves quite her equals, never sus- 
pected her of being a princess, and called her 
Harriet. Their talk was girls' talk, happy and 
careless, except when one of them asked : "Are n't 
you scared to be so far away by ourselves ?" 

Harriet straightened her slender figure, shook 
down the berries in her basket, and looked at the 
town. "Three miles home," she said. "I can see 
our own roof. But it 's only a mile to Nate's. 
Why should we be scared ?" 

Her voice was clear, her tone light. The other 
asked her: "Are n't you ever scared?" 

"Are you?" returned Harriet. Her gray eyes 
showed amusement. 

"Oh, I am, often," cried the third of the girls. 
"I hate to be out after dusk ; and I loathe the gar- 
ret and the cellar. I don't like any lonesome 
places. I would n't come here all by myself for 

Harriet smiled. "What is there to hurt us?" 




"I suppose," said one of the others, "you think 
you can't be scared !" 

"I know I can," Harriet answered. "But I 
hope never to be." She looked again at the land- 
scape. "Here least of all. Why, it 's beautiful 
here !" 

One of her companions clutched her arm. 
"There 's some one on the cliff !" They all turned 
and looked. 


The cliff was, perhaps, a hundred feet away, 
its brown and streaked rocks topped with low 
bushes. "I see no one," said Harriet. 

"He was climbing down," explained the other. 
"He 's got behind the trees. Listen !" 

They listened, and from behind the trees came 
the sound of scrambling. "It was a man ?" asked 
Harriet, lowering her voice in spite of herself. 
Vol. XLL— 6. 

"Or a boy," was the answer. The other pulled 
nervously at her hand. "Let 's run !" 

"Run?" demanded Harriet. "It may be some 
one we know. It ought to be." 

"Let 's hide, then, till we make sure," urged the 
other, her voice trembling. 

Harriet looked around upon the low bushes. 
"There 's no place to hide. We must wait." 
The others, pressing close on either hand, 
clutched her gown. Impa- 
tient that, in spite of herself, 
their fears infected her, she 
stood, with head erect, trying 
to pierce the screen of trees 
that concealed the face of the 
cliff. And now showed clearly 
which was the princess here, 
and which the handmaidens; 
for, while the others drew 
partly behind her, she pressed 
a little forward. 

"Don't!" they begged, 
clutching her the tighter. 

Suddenly there came a 
crash, the clatter of rocks 
striking and breaking, and a 
long, splintering fall. Then 
came a great cry of pain 
and horror. The two girls 
squealed and cowered, put- 
ting up their hands as against 
a blow. Even Harriet, though 
she held herself still more 
erect, responded to the cry 
with a gasp that was like a 
sob. Then there was silence. 
"Oh," cried one of the girls, 
"what is it?" 

"W r ait," answered Harriet. 
Behind the trees, at first, 
was stillness, but then, as they 
listened, there came a groan. 
The two girls sprang back- 
ward. "Run !" 

"Stand still !" commanded 
Harriet. She did not know 
that she was brave, nor think 
that she was sensible ; but the 
others felt her power, and 
crept back to their positions behind her. 

There was another groan, and then a scuffing 
began among the trees. The bushes creaked and 
snapped. The girls, with straining eyes, saw 
first a glimpse of white, then a blond head, and 
then, blindly staggering into the open, the figure 
of a boy. And such a figure ! One temple was 
streaming blood; the face writhed with pain; 




and from one arm, held stiffly forward, protruded 
the stub of a tree-branch, standing out like a 
bone from a red rent in the wrist. 

"Oh !" shuddered the two girls. Fascinated by 
this terrible figure, they stared, motionless. 

The boy came reeling forward. He did not 
see them ; he did not know where he was going. 
His eyes were strained at the crude thing that, 
like some savage weapon, protruded from his 
arm. With his other hand he pulled at it, and 
Harriet shuddered as she saw it resist him. 
Again he pulled, and, with a great effort, he 
yanked it from the wound. It was followed by 
a gush of blood. The boy gazed for a moment 
at the inches of crimsoned wood, then cast the 
stick from him. Three more strides he took to- 
ward the girls, until they prepared to avoid him. 
Then, without a word or a groan, he plunged 
heavily, and fell almost at their feet. 

Two of them screamed and turned to run. 
"Stop !" commanded Harriet. They waited, poised 
for flight, while Harriet looked at the boy. 

He was motionless, insensible. The wound in 
the temple was concealed as he lay, but she saw 
that from the injured wrist, lying in the grass, 
were coming regular jets of blood. Immediately 
she dropped on her knees before him. 

"Your handkerchiefs, girls !" she cried. But she 
knew that in this emergency handkerchiefs were 
too short and weak. Quickly unbuttoning the 
sleeve of the lad's outing shirt, with one strong 
pull she tore it open to the shoulder, and with two 
more ripped it from the arm. The blood still 
spurted from the wrist, and behind her the girls 
squealed again. Then rapidly Harriet knotted 
the sleeve round the arm above the wound, and 
gave one end of it to the stronger of her friends. 
"Pull !" she directed. At her own first pull, she 
drew the other almost from her balance. "Pull !" 
she commanded impatiently. To her relief, at the 
second pull she saw the blood slacken its flow. 
At the third, it stopped entirely. Then she threw 
the ends again around the arm, knotted them se- 
curely, and looked up at her friends. 

"I can run fastest," she said. "Will you two 
stay here while I go and get Nate ?" 

They looked at each other, hesitating. Like 
silly creatures they blushed, and like foolish ones 
they shuddered. "No," they agreed. "We don't 
dare !" 

"Then go for Nate quickly!" she ordered. 
"Both go. Together you ought to find the way." 

"Come with us," begged one. 

Harriet shook her head. "He must n't be left 
alone. If he moves, the knot may slip, and he 'd 
bleed to death. No, go quickly, and try to no- 
tice how to find your way back." 

With visible relief, yet fluttered by excitement 
and importance, they left her. Harriet was alone 
in the pasture with the boy. 

Now, first, she began to feel the strain of the 
event. It was scarcely a minute since she heard 
that startling cry in the bushes, and her nerves 
yet thrilled in response. The excitement of the 
sudden need was still on her. Her heart was 
beating fast ; her knees were so weak that with 
relief she sat down on a stone to rest. Pres- 
ently she found herself studying the boy. 

He was so pale that her heart was sore for 
him. She wished for water, to revive him ; but 
there was none on that hillside, and so she 
waited, and thought. She had never seen the lad 
before: what kind of a boy was he? The fea- 
tures were clear-cut and, in fact, refined ; the 
clothes, though torn, seemed rather to have suf- 
fered from the fall than from wear. They were 
fairly new and of good quality. 

Suddenly she remembered the wound in the 
temple, and, rising, went to the boy and turned 
his head. The bleeding had stopped, but the 
flesh was rapidly swelling and darkening from a 
cruel bruise. She put her fingers to it, and, with 
a groan, the boy opened his eyes. 

At sight of her he started and tried to rise. 
He was on his knees, his face red with the effort, 
when once more he turned white, groaned, and 
collapsed again. This time he fell on his back. 
Anxiously Harriet examined the bandage : it had 
not slipped. When she looked at the boy's face 
again, he was watching her. 

"It is not bleeding," she said. "How do you 
feel ?" 

"Everything swims," he answered faintly. His 
eyes closed, and so long remained so that she 
feared he had fainted again. But after a while 
he looked at her. 

"Are you in pain ?" she asked. 

He shook his head, not in answer, but as if 
waving the question aside. With some difficulty 
he spoke. "Back there where I fell — my coat." 

"Do you want it ?" she asked. 

His eyes closed wearily, but he nodded. 

She hastened into the little wood, and there 
found, at the foot of the cliff, the place of his 
fall, marked by two large fallen stones, and by a 
young tree quite broken down. There lay his 
jacket, and she carried it back to him. Though 
he did not open his eyes, she felt that he knew 
she had returned. 

"I have it," she said. 

Slowly he spoke again. "In the pocket — a wal- 

She took it out and held it in her hand. "Yes, 
it 's here." 




His eyes flew wide open, and he tried to raise 
himself. Failing, he yet commanded her with 
his glance. He seemed no longer dazed by his 
fall, but to understand his situation. He looked 
at her with strangely appealing eyes. Harriet 
was reminded of a wild animal which, when cor- 
nered or trapped, mutely begs , 
for help. But now he spoke. 

"Don't open it !" 

'"Very well," she answered. 
"What shall I do with it?" 

"Keep it for me," he re- 
plied. "Don't let any one 
know you have it." 

She slipped the wallet into 
the pocket of her skirt. "All 

His eyes did not leave her. 
A desperate kind of earnest- 
ness was growing in them. 
Then she saw that he was 
struggling to rise again. He 
lifted his head but an inch 
before it fell back. Quickly 
she knelt by him and put a 
hand on his chest. "You 
must lie still !" 

He tried to lift his hand- 
failed— succeeded. His eyes 
implored her. "Hide it !" he 
gasped. "Promise !" 

With a womanly instinct 
to soothe by complying, she 
also raised a hand. "I prom- 
ise !" she repeated, and felt 
as if she had taken an oath. 

His hand fell, and he 
looked his gratitude ; but then 
his eyes closed again. This 
time she knew that he had 
fainted once more. He lay 
so still, and the silence of the 
wide pasture so long re- 
mained unbroken, that at last 
she became anxious. Would 
the others manage to find 

It was a mile to Nate's, 
and the way might easily be 
missed. And then her own position would be 
hard to find. The cliff's stretched for a long 
distance above the upper end of the pasture, 
and the girls might not be able to tell at what 
point of them she was. When she listened, 
she heard nothing but the wind in the trees and 
the distant cawing of the crows. She looked 
down at the town, seemingly so near, and wished 

that a single friend of all that were there below 
might be here at her side. She looked again at 
the boy. He lay as if he were dead. 

Harriet was a girl bred in a gentle household, 
to whom, as yet, life had been made easy. Even 
sickness and bereavement, which none can es- 


cape, so far had passed her by ; and apart from 
simple daily duties, she had had no responsibili- 
ties. But she was of the kind that learns quickly. 
As she sat here, curbing her impatience, seeing 
her own home below her and yet knowing that it 
was hopeless to wish to bring this injured boy 
into its shelter, she had a glimpse of the mean- 
ing of patience. 




But at last she heard a hail. "Harriet, where 
are ye?" 

She sprang to her feet. "Here I" she called. 
"Here, Nate!" 

There came in sight a tall and wiry man, look- 
ing, in spite of the fact that he was her father's 
best dyer, like a woodsman, which, indeed, he 
preferred to be. He came up the hillside with 
long strides, nodded to her briefly, and, gaunt and 
weather-beaten, stood over the unconscious boy. 

"Fainted, hez he?" he asked. He dropped on 
his knee, tested the tightness of the bandage, 
nodded once more at Harriet, and then rose 

"All the better," he remarked. "He won't mind 
the travel." Stooping, he picked up the boy as 
if he were a child, and, cradling him in his arms, 
started downhill as swiftly as if he bore no bur- 

"The girls?" asked Harriet, keeping pace with 

"One I sent for the doctor," explained Nate. 
"She '11 telephone from the Upper Cross-Roads. 
The other— she 's gittin' the fire an' heatin' wa- 
ter, since I let the stove out arter gittin' break- 

He still strode swiftly onward, not pausing in 
the whole of the journey. "Jes' as easy on the 
legs," he explained, "an' a great sight better for 
the arms an' back if the trip is short." Harriet, 
carrying the jacket, had to hurry to keep up with 
him, and was glad when they came in sight of the 
little low farm-house in which Nate lived. She 
was equally glad to see, laboring up the road 
that approached from below, the doctor's car- 
riage. Nate reached the house, strode through 
the open door, and laid his burden on a couch. 

"Thar !" he said. 

The lad lay so white and still that fear clutched 
swiftly at Harriet's heart. "He is n't — dead?" 
she faltered. 

"Lord love ye, no!" answered Nate. "Now 
the best thing you can do is to see if that Joanna 
friend of yours has got the fire goin' rightly. 
Somehow I mistrust her. I 'm goin' to put this 
young gentleman to bed while it can't hurt him." 

In the kitchen, Harriet found Joanna, flushed 
and vexed. "Oh, I 've fussed so over this old 
stove !" she cried. "And it just smolders !" 

"Let me try," said Harriet. 

She took off the lid and rearranged the wood; 
she studied the drafts, opened one, closed an- 
other, and then stood listening. The roar of the 
fire answered to the change, and she smiled. 
Harriet was "capable." 

"Well, I never !" sighed Joanna. 

"There 's rather too much water in the kettle," 

decided Harriet. "It heats too slowly. I '11 put 
some of it in this pan, and bring on both the 

Then the third friend, Elinor, joined them, full 
of the importance of her achievement. She had 
got the doctor by telephone, and had made him 
come at once. "You know how slow old Doctor 
Fitch is." She had returned with him, making 
him urge his horse. Now he was with Nate. 
They were n't in the next room any longer, but 
were in Nate's own bedroom, just beyond. The 
three girls waited now, listening for sounds from 
the farther room. At a groan, the two girls 
turned pale, and Harriet, biting her lips, covered 
the water in the open pan, that it might heat 
more quickly. It was some minutes before Nate 

"Now, Harriet, if you 've got some warm wa- 
ter — " He went back. 

She felt helpless, but thought rapidly. If the 
water was to be but warm, then perhaps it ought 
to be a little warmer than the hand. She had 
noticed a little pile of coarse, clean towels ; per- 
haps a couple would be useful. With the water 
and the towels she went into the bedroom, ex- 
pecting Nate to take them from her. Both he and 
the doctor were busy beside the bed. 

The doctor looked up and nodded. "Right 
here beside me," he directed. "So. Now stand 
there till I want them." 

Harriet felt herself turn pale. The motionless 
body lay beneath a sheet, but clear in view was 
the dreadful red wrist, with the jagged rent. The 
doctor was too horribly businesslike. Harriet 
wanted to run away. At the sound of a moan, 
she shuddered. 

Nate, with understanding, looked up into the 
girl's pale face. "He ain't rightly conscious," 
he explained. "But he 's kinder sensitive, and 
when the doctor tries to sew, why, he tries to 
pull away. So I 've got to hold the arm, Har- 
riet, and you — why, you 've got to stand by. We 
need you. Don't mind it if he groans; he don't 
really feel it." 

Harriet tried to steady herself. If only these 
things were n't so terrible ! Never had she real- 
ized it before. 

Nate looked at her a moment longer. "Don't 
look at us," he directed. "And, Harriet, remem- 
ber your mother." 

The last words helped. Her mother would not 
flinch at such a time. She would be like her 
mother. While the doctor worked, while every 
nerve in her shrank at each groan from the boy, 
Harriet clenched her teeth upon her lip, forced 
herself to stand still, and silently obeyed each 
order. The strain seemed endless. The doctor's 




movements were deliberate ; the threadings, and 
snippings, and tyings, and washings seemed to 
go on forever. Yet it was but a scant five min- 
utes before the doctor had begun to cover the 
wound with cotton and with gauze. Then Nate, 
taking the basin from Harriet, led her out of 
the room, through the kitchen — where the other 
two looked at her in silent awe — and out into the 
open air. 

"Sit down," he said, pointing to a bench that 
stood beside the door. "Lean your head against 
the house." 

Harriet obeyed. It was a relief to sit down, a 
pleasure to rest her head. Wearily she closed 
her eyes. For a moment, the darkness was shot 
with golden streaks, her ears sang, and she felt 
as if she were falling infinitely far. Was she 
fainting? She felt very cold. Then suddenly her 
brain cleared, the singing stopped, and warmth 
returned to her. She opened her eyes, and, find- 
ing Nate watching her anxiously, was able to 
smile at him. 

"Thct 's all right !" he exclaimed with relief. 
"If you went off in a faint, you 'd bother me more 
than the boy. Here, girls. Water for Harriet. 
Keep her sitting here for a while, then go and get 
your horse." 

"I feel perfectly well," protested Harriet. 
"Don't waste a thought on me. I 'm all right." 

"Ten minutes on that bench !" ordered Nate 
as he went into the house. 

Fifteen minutes later, the girls were saying 
good-by. "A quiet afternoon to you, Harriet," 
the doctor recommended. "And don't worry 
about this youngster. He 's knocked out, of 
course, and he '11 be weak. But you saved him, 
I think." He went back to his patient. 

Nate helped the girls into the carriage, and 
then spoke to Harriet. "Your mother '11 want 
to come up and see about him, of course. I don't 
object to that, but you tell her from me that she 
can't take him home with her. I don't mean to 
let a chap go that 's chucked right into my arms, 
and, besides, I 've taken a fancy to him." 

The girls jogged slowly homeward. Harriet, 
holding the reins over her old horse, was con- 
tent to let him take his own pace ; she did not 
listen to her friends' chatter, but fell into a study. 
The others, glancing at each other behind her 
back, nodded knowingly and giggled. 

"She 's thinking," said Joanna, "how good- 
looking he was." 

Harriet, lost in thought, did not hear the silly 
remark. In the past hour, she had received ideas 
which her friends were not capable of grasping, 
but of which she began to see the meaning. The 
mystery of pain, a girl's usefulness, these were 
in her thoughts. 

( To be continued. ) 



T is for Turkeys, so great and renowned ; 

H for the Hearth, that we gather around. 

A for the Apples, so rosy and sweet ; 

N for the Nuts that are always a treat ; 

K. for the Kindling we burn in the grate ; 

S for the Stories our elders relate. 

G for the Games, when the feasting is o'er; 

I for the Icicles outside the door; 

V for the Vigilant Fathers of old, 

I for Ideals, they taught us to hold. 

N for the Needy we meet here and there ; 

G for the Gifts and the "Goodies" we share. 




A legend of the Black Forest 


Nowhere in all Germany were clocks made so 
well and in such numbers as at Kesselberg in the 
Black Forest, a village that stands high on the 
banks of the Rhine where it is swift and narrow 
as it surges across the border from its cradle in 
the Swiss mountains. 

For a hundred and fifty years, the men had 
worked in the forest in the summer, cutting 
down trees and carefully drying the wood that, 
during the long winter, was to be made into 
clocks, for everybody in Kesselberg plied the 
same trade, and timepieces from this village 
marked the hours in homes of the rich all over 
the land. 

But there came a time when the people grew 
tired of the old craft. Machine-made clocks had 
just come into use, and it became the fashion to 
use them instead of the hand-wrought ones. The 
price of Kesselberg wares came down, and some 
of the peasants, becoming discouraged at having 
to toil for the small income the work now yielded, 
went away to go into service in great houses in 
the cities. These sent word back of how much 

money they earned, and one after another the 
villagers left until only the aged remained at 
home, and it seemed that the ancient industry 
would die out. But the grand duke of the coun- 
try was a wise man as well as a good one. He 
was proud of Kesselberg and its generations of 
clock-makers, and wanted the work to go on, that 
the village might be famous in the future as it 
had been in the past. So he offered a prize of 
five thousand marks to whoever should make the 
finest clock during the coming winter. 

The word went like flame across an autumn 
field. Five thousand marks ! That was over 
twelve hundred dollars, and more than a peasant 
could hope to earn in many years. News of the 
wonderful offer traveled far, until it reached the 
ears of all who had gone away, and there was 
wild excitement among them. They loved the 
Black Forest huts among the larch and hemlock 
trees far better than the great, strange houses in 
the cities, and the sighing of the wind in the 
woods was sweeter to them than the strains of 
cathedral organs; so back they went to their na- 




five mountains, to take up the work of their 
fathers. All summer long, axes flew in the 
woods, and the crash of falling trees sounded 
across the Rhine, and such preparations were 
made for a winter of clock-making as Kesselberg 
had never known. 

At that time, there dwelt in the village Ger- 
ther Walden, a goat boy. He was fourteen years 
old, and lived with his grandfather, Hans Ger- 
ber, who, in his younger days, was the most skil- 
ful clock-maker of the Black Forest. But sick- 
ness had kept him from work for several years, 
so Gerther made a scant living by herding goats 
in the summer, and helping a neighbor with his 
clock-making in the winter. The old man was 
growing strong again, and when word of the 
ducal offer went round, began to think of taking 
up his trade. 

"But I have little hope of winning the prize," 
he said to Gerther, as they ate their supper of 
black bread and goat's milk one evening. "Younger 
men have become skilful during my months of 
illness, and Hans Gerber is no longer the best 
clock-maker of Kesselberg. Besides, we have no 
money to buy paint, and Chris Stuck is planning 
to put gold flowers and birds on his clock." 

Gerther did not reply. He knew his grand- 
father spoke the truth, and the thought made him 
sad. And that night as he lay unable to sleep, 
he kept trying to think of some way of getting 
the prize. 

"If we could only win it," he murmured, "we 
could have a new hut with a wooden floor in- 
stead of a ground one, and a cow to take the 
place of Brindle, who died last year." 

He thought for a long time, and at last fell 
asleep from sheer weariness. But over in the 
opposite corner of the room, Hans Gerber lay 
awake throughout the night, for he, too, thought 
about the prize, and wished, but hardly dared to 
hope, that it might come to him. 

The next day, as Gerther went through the 
woods with his goats, he heard a cuckoo call. 

"Cuckoo, cuckoo !" it sang as it flew in and out 
among the trees. 

The boy listened, thinking how sweet it was, 
and asked, in a loud voice : "Cuckoo, how many 
years before I shall be rich?" 

"Cuckoo !" the bird trilled again. Gerther 
laughed, for Black Forest peasants believe it can 
tell fortunes, and while they think it lazy because 
it will not make a nest for itself, but lays its eggs 
in the homes of other birds, they like it better 
than any other. Its call made Gerther glad, and 
he repeated the question. 

"The truth, bird, the truth ! How many years 
before I am rich?" 

And again came the sweet sound, "Cuckoo!" 

He started home with a light heart, and, as he 
drove his flock through the village, saw groups 
of peasants standing in the street. He knew they 
were talking about the prize, but without stop- 
ping to chat with them, he went straight on to 
his grandfather's cabin, for he wanted to ask a 
question of the old clock-maker. 

"Grospapa!" he called as he bounded in at the 

Hans Gerber was drawing plans on paper, but 
he turned from his work to listen. 

"What is it, Gerther?" he asked. 

"Could a clock be made that, instead of strik- 
ing the hours, would sing them out the way the 
cuckoo does?" 

The old man's eyes brightened, as if he thought 
the idea a wonderful one. 

"A singing clock!" he murmured. "Aye, aye. 
It is strange that the idea never came to me, for 
I am sure such a clock can be made. I believe 
that I can do it, because, when a boy, I worked 
with an organ-maker in Cologne, and the know- 
ledge gained then may help me." 

They talked and drew plans until their last bit 
of paper was used up, and then scratched with 
a stick on the ground floor till the candle burned 
out and the hut was in darkness. Then they 
went to bed, strong in the belief that they could 
make a singing clock. 

Autumn came, and the leaves on the forest 
trees were like gaily decked sprites. The vil- 
lagers sang as they gathered in the wood, for 
the thought of the reward that spring might 
bring made them eager to begin the work. None 
were gayer than Hans Gerber and Gerther, for, 
although they knew the others had paint that 
they could not get, they were happy in the 
thought of a wonderful secret. 

Fierce winds swept in from the Swiss moun- 
tains, and the Black Forest was carpeted with 
white. The Rhine froze over, and the village 
was shut in from the world. But little cared the 
people for the long, cold winter. In every house 
both young and old were busy. The women and 
girls did the housework, and when it was fin- 
ished, took out knives and saws and wood. Even 
the children had a part in the work, for they car- 
ried the wood to the workers, or smoothed with 
sandpaper the pieces that were finished. The 
wind howled outside, and the snow drifted against 
the windows, but that did not matter. The well- 
fed fires kept the huts snug and warm, and the 
peasants sang and told stories as they worked. 

But there was one hut where it was not cozy, 
where the fire burned so faintly that a chill crept 
over the man and boy within. For Gerther had 




been busy with the goats during the summer, and 
had no time for wood-cutting, so they had only 
a few dead branches that he had picked up in 
the forest, which had to be used very sparingly. 
But the work went on just as in the huts where 
the fire was well fed. When their fingers stif- 
fened with cold, they clapped hands until the 


surging blood made them warm. They carved 
out pieces, smoothed and fastened them in place, 
until, one day, Hans Gerber said : "The clock is 
finished !" And setting it on the table, he added: 
"Let us see if the cuckoo will call." 

Turning the hands so that they marked the 
hour, they waited. It was a breathless moment, 
for, if the cuckoo did not call, the winter's work 
was a failure, and their only hope of winning the 
prize was gone. But there came a whirring 
Vol. XLI.-7. 

sound, and from the door under the face a tiny 
bird popped out, calling, "Cuckoo, cuckoo !" 

Gerther's eyes grew bright as stars, and Hans 
Gerber nodded his head and smiled. 

"The singing clock is good, boy ! We have 
done our work well." 

The lad could hardly wait for spring, for now 
that the clock was finished, the days 
seemed weeks long, and he thought 
the snow would never melt. But one 
afternoon, as he was bedding the 
goats, he heard what Black Forest 
peasants say is an unfailing sign 
that the cold weather is over. A 
pair of martens twittered in the 
woods and commenced building in 
the bird-house over the hut, and the 
next morning he found that the ice 
on the river was breaking. 

Easter Monday was set for the 
exhibition, and great preparations 
were made for the event, as the 
grand duke himself, with the duchess 
and the young princess, was coming 
to inspect the work. The house- 
wives made their finest fruit-bread 
and nut-cakes, while the men car- 
ried the clocks to the village inn, 
where they were arranged on tables 
according to size and beauty. Ger- 
ther and his grandfather went with 
the rest, but when the boy looked at 
the work of the others, his heart 
sank. All but the cuckoo-clock were 
painted. Some had the cases orna- 
mented with flowers and birds, and 
one was enameled in blue and silver. 
"I 'm afraid our clock won't take 
the prize," he said to his grand- 
father as they walked home through 
the budding woods. "The others are 
so gay, and ours has not a bit of 

But Hans Gerber was old and 
wise, and knew that a clock may be 
very fine without, yet not half so 
good within, as one that is plain and 
unpainted. So he answered consolingly, "Don't let 
that worry you, boy. It 's the works that make 
a clock worth while, not a case that looks like 
Joseph's coat." 

So Gerther went to sleep that night, and 
dreamed that they had a new hut, and that a cow 
with a star on her forehead stood in the barn, 
for it seemed their clock had won the prize. 

The next day, a throng of villagers gathered 
in front of the village inn. Everybody was in 



holiday dress. The girls and women had on their 
finest caps, and skirts, and bodices. 

When Gerther and his grandfather came into 
the crowd, a peasant whispered, "Poor Hans 
Gerber ! See his clock, without a speck of paint." 

While they talked, the sound of wheels and 
horses' hoofs told that the ducal carriage was 
coming, and the peasants made an opening 
through which the royal party might pass. They 
bowed low as the duchess and the Princess Anna 
stepped out and went into the inn. Behind them 
walked the grand duke, looking very handsome 
in his military uniform with its gold epaulets. 

Eager eyes were upon the great folk as they 
looked over the exhibit, and the crowd was so 
silent that there was the quiet of a deserted place 
about the inn. No one spoke, but all watched 
intently the expression of the nobleman's face 
as he moved about the tables. Now he seemed to 
choose the clock with the bird-decked case, and 
now the blue and silver one made by the inn- 
keeper. Twice he went back to it, and the peo- 
ple murmured, "It will take the prize." He did 
not seem to notice the unpainted one that stood 
at the end of the table, and, as Gerther watched, 
he felt that a stone was on his heart. If only 
he would wait until it struck the hour ! 

The grand duke turned to speak to the duch- 
ess, and hope rose in the boy's heart, for every 
minute's delay gave a chance to hear the cuckoo 
call before it was too late. It was ten minutes 
to three. Would he wait those ten minutes? 
But again the boy grew sick at heart, for he 
turned as if to announce his decision. 

A thought came to Gerther, and like a flash he 
moved to act. Hastening to where the nobleman 
stood, he said timidly, "Please, Your Highness, 
may I make my clock strike?" 

The grand duke looked at him kindly, but the 
peasants murmured in amazement. 

"He must be crazy," they exclaimed, "to think 
of winning a prize with that clock." 

But Gerther did not mind their remarks. In 
fact, he did not hear them. He thought only of 
the clock, and of making the cuckoo call. 

"Which is yours?" the grand duke asked. 

"This," said the boy, pointing to the clock. 

Perhaps the great man felt sorry for a boy 
whom he thought had no chance of winning the 

prize, for he answered very gently, "Yes, make 
it strike." 

Gerther turned the hands to three, and a whir- 
ring sound began. Then, from the door under 
the face a bird popped out, and called, "Cuckoo, 
cuckoo, cuckoo !" 

The grand duke and duchess started. The 
peasants' eyes grew big with wonder, and the 
Princess Anna clapped her hands. 

"Oh !" she cried in delight. "A singing clock !" 

"Yes," answered the duke, "a singing clock. 
There are others more gay to look upon, but 
none so wonderful as this." 

Then, turning to Gerther, he asked : "Did you 
make it, boy?" 

"Grandfather and I," came the reply. "I 
thought of putting the cuckoo in, and he planned 
and did most of the work." 

"Then to you and your grandfather belongs the 
prize !" And, turning to the table, he laid the 
purple winning-ribbon on the cuckoo-clock. 

The peasants broke into cheers, and crowded 
around Hans Gerber and his grandson, for Black 
Forest folk have kind hearts, and though each 
had hoped to win the prize himself, he was glad 
it went to those who most deserved and needed 

So Gerther's dream came true. They had a 
new hut with a wooden floor, and a cow with a 
star on her forehead stood in the barn. 

The story spread. From everywhere came or- 
ders for cuckoo-clocks, until the old man and the 
boy could not fill them, and soon all the villagers 
were at work under their direction. The rich in 
the cities paid so well for these timepieces that 
the peasants gave up all thought of going away, 
and were glad to stay in the woods and carry on 
the ancient industry. The wares of Kesselberg 
were shipped to every European land, and even 
across the sea to America. 

Years passed. Gerther went to Heidelberg to 
study in the university, and became a great and 
wise man. But it was not his wisdom that made 
him most known and loved in the Fatherland, 
but the clock he helped to make when a boy, the 
cuckoo-clock which was the means of reviving 
an industry that was fast dying out, and made 
the clock-makers of the Black Forest famous 
even beyond the German lands. 






Chapter III 


After spending several days wondering how she 
could best break the news to the children that 
their father was going to take them away, Mrs. 
Neal decided that she would wait until the last 
possible moment. Then she would tell them that 
their father had a Christmas present for them, 
nicer than anything he had ever given them be- 
fore. It was something that could n't be sent to 
them, so he wanted them to go all the way on the 
cars to his new home, to see it. Then, after they 
had guessed everything they could think of, and 
were fairly hopping up and down with impatient 
curiosity, she 'd tell them what it was — a new 

She decided not to tell them that they were 
never coming back to the Junction to live. It 
would be better for them to think of this return 
to their father as just a visit until they were used 
to their new surroundings. It would make it 
easier for all concerned if they could be started 
off happy and pleasantly expectant. Then if 
Molly had grown up to be as nice a woman as she 
had been a young girl, she could safely trust the 
rest to her. The children would soon be loving 
her so much that they would n't want to come 

But Mrs. Neal had not taken into account that 
her news was no longer a secret. Told to one 
or two friends in confidence, it had passed from 
lip to lip, and had been discussed in so many 
homes that half the children at the Junction knew 
that poor little Libby and Will'm Branfield were 
to have a stepmother before they knew it them- 
selves. Maudie Peters told Libby on their way 
home from school one day, and told it in such a 
tone that she made Libby feel that having a step- 
mother was about the worst calamity that could 
befall one. Libby denied it stoutly. 

"But you arc!" Maudie insisted. "I heard 
Mama and Aunt Louisa talking about it. They 
said they certainly felt sorry for you, and Mama 
said that she hoped and prayed that her children 
would be spared such a fate, because stepmothers 
are always unkind." 

Libby flew home with her tearful question, 
positive that Grandma Neal would say that 
Maudie was mistaken, but with a scared, shaky 
feeling in her knees, because Maudie had been so 

calmly and provokingly sure. Grandma Neal 
could deny only a part of Maudie's story. 

"I 'd like to spank that meddlesome Peters 
child \" she exclaimed indignantly. "Here I 've 
been keeping it as a grand surprise for you that 
your father is going to give you a new mother 
for Christmas, and thinking what a fine time 
you 'd have going on the cars to see them, and 
now Maudie has to go and tattle, and tell it in 
such an ugly way that she makes it seem like 
something bad instead of the nicest thing that 
could happen to you. Listen, Libby !" 

For Libby, at this confirmation of Maudie's 
tale, instead of the denial which she hoped for, 
had crooked her arm over her face, and was cry- 
ing out loud into her little brown gingham sleeve, 
as if her heart would break. Mrs. Neal sat down 
and drew the sobbing child into her lap. 

"Listen, Libby !" she said again. "This lady 
that your father has married used to live here at 
the Junction when she was a little girl no bigger 
than you. Her name was Molly Blair, and she 
looked something like you — had the same color 
hair, and wore it in two little plaits just as you 
do. Everybody liked her. She was so gentle and 
kind, she would n't have done anything to hurt 
any one's feelings any more than a little white 
kitten would. Your father was a boy then, and 
he lived here, and they went to school together, 
and played together just as you and Walter Gray 
do. He 's known her all her life, and he knew 
very well when he asked her to take the place of 
a mother to his little children, that she 'd be dear 
and good to you. Do you think that you could 
change so in growing up that you could be un- 
kind to any little child that was put in your care?" 

"No-o !". sobbed Libby. 

"And neither could she !" was the emphatic 
answer. "You can just tell Maudie Peters that 
she does n't know what she is talking about." 

Libby repeated the message next day, emphati- 
cally and defiantly, with her chin in the air. That 
talk with Grandma Neal, and another longer one 
which followed at bedtime, helped her to see 
things in their right light. Besides, several things 
which Grandma Neal told her made a visit to her 
father seem quite desirable. It would be fine to be 
in a city where there is something interesting to see 
every minute. She knew from other sources that 
in a city you might expect a hand-organ and a 
monkey to come down the street almost any day. 



And it would be grand to live in a house like the 
one they were going to, with an up-stairs to it, 
and a piano in the parlor. 

But despite Mrs. Neal's efforts to set matters 
straight, the poison of Maudie's suggestion had 
done its work. Will'm had been in the room when 
Libby came home with her question, and the wild 
way she broke out crying made him 
feel that something awful was going 
to happen to them. He had never 
heard of a stepmother before. By 
some queer association of words, his 
baby brain confused it with a step- 
ladder. There was such a ladder in 
the shop with a broken hinge. He 
was always being warned not to climb 
up on it. It might fall over with him 
and hurt him dreadfully. Even when 
everything had been explained to him, 
and he agreed that it would be lovely 
to take that long ride on the Pullman 
to see poor Father, who was so lonely 
without his little boy, the first un- 
happy impression still stayed with 
him. Something, he did n't know ex- 
actly what, but something was going 
to fall with him and hurt him dread- 
fully if he did n't look out. 

It 's strange how much there is to 
learn about persons after you once 
begin to hear of them. It had been 
that way about Santa Claus. They 
had scarcely known his name, and 
then, all of a sudden, they heard so 
much that, instead of being a com- 
plete stranger, he was a part of every- 
thing they said and did and thought. 
Now they were learning just as fast 
about stepmothers. Grandma and 
Uncle Neal and Miss Sally told them 
a great deal, all good things. And it 
was surprising how much else they 
had learned that was n't good, just by 
the wag of somebody's head, or a 
shrug of the shoulders or the pitying 
way some of the customers spoke to 

When Libby came crying home 
from school the second time, because one of the 
boys called her Cinderella, and told her she would 
have to sit in the ashes and wear rags, and an- 
other one said no, she 'd be like Snow-white, and 
have to eat a poisoned apple, Grandma Neal was 
so indignant that she sent after Libby's books, 
saying that she would not be back at school. 

Next day, Libby told Will'm the rest of what 
the boys had said to her. "All the stepmothers 

in stories are mean like Cinderella's and Snow- 
white's, and sometimes they are cruel. They are 
always cruel when they have a tusk." Susie 
Peters told her what a tusk is, and showed her a 
picture, in a book of fairy stories, of a cruel hag 
that had one. "It 's an awful long, ugly tooth 
that sticks away out," said Libby. 


It was a puzzle for both Libby and Will'm to 
know whom to believe. They had sided with 
Maudie and the others in their faith in Santa 
Claus. If Grandma and Uncle Neal had been 
wrong about that, how could they tell but that 
they might be mistaken about their belief in step- 
mothers too? 

Fortunately, there were not many days in 
which to worry over the problem, and the few 




that lay between the time of Libby's leaving 
school and their going away, were filled with 
preparations for the journey. Of course Libby 
and Will'm had little part in that, except to col- 
lect the few toys they owned, and lay them beside 
the trunk which had been brought down from the 
attic to the sitting-room. 

Libby had a grand washing of doll clothes one 
morning, and while she was hanging out the tiny 
garments, on a string stretched from one chair- 
back to another, Will'm proceeded to give his old 
Teddy bear a bath in the suds which she had left 
in the basin. Plush does not take kindly to soap- 
suds, no matter how much it needs it. It would 
have been far better for poor Teddy to have 
started on his travels dirty than to have become 
the pitiable, bedraggled-looking object that Libby 
snatched from the basin sometime later, where 
Will'm put him to soak. It seemed as if the 
soggy cotton body never would dry sufficiently 
to be packed in the trunk, and Will'm would not 
hear of its being left behind, although it looked 
so dreadful that he did n't like to touch it. So it 
hung by a cord around its neck in front of the 
fire for two whole days, and everybody who 
passed it gave the cord a twist, so that it was 
kept turning, like a roast on a spit. 

There were more errands than usual to keep 
the children busy, and more ways in which they 
could help. As Christmas drew nearer and 
nearer, somebody was needed in the shop every 
minute, and Mrs. Neal had her hands full with 
the extra work of looking over their clothes and 
putting every garment in order. Besides, there 
was all the holiday baking to fill the shelves in 
the shop as well as in her own pantry. 

So the children were called upon to set the 
table and help wipe the dishes. They dusted the 
furniture within their reach, and fed the cat. 
They brought in chips from the woodhouse and 
shelled corn by the basketful for the old gray 
hens. And every day they carried the eggs very 
slowly and carefully from the nests to the pan- 
try, and put them one by one into the box of bran 
on the shelf. Then several mornings, all specially 
scrubbed and clean-aproned for the performance, 
they knelt on chairs by the kitchen table, and 
cut out rows and rows of little Christmas 
cakes from the sheets of smoothly rolled dough 
on the floury cake-boards. There were hearts, 
and stars, and cats, and birds, and all sorts of 
queer animals. Then, after the baking, there 
were delightful times when they hung breath- 
lessly over the table, watching while scallops of 
pink or white icing were zigzagged around the 
stars and hearts, and pink eyes were put on the 
beasts and birds. Then, of course, the bowls 

which held the candied icing always had to be 
scraped clean by busy little fingers that went 
from bowl to mouth and back again, almost as 
fast as a kitten could lap with its pink tongue. 

Oh, those last days in the old kitchen and sit- 
ting-room behind the shop were the best days of 
all, and it was good that Will'm and Libby were 
kept so busy every minute that they had no time 
to realize that they were last days, and that they 
were rapidly coming to an end. It was not until 
the last night that Will'm seemed to comprehend 
that they were really going away the next day. 

He had been very busy helping get supper, 
for it was the kind that he specially liked. Uncle 
Neal had brought in a rabbit all ready skinned 
and dressed, which he had trapped that after- 
noon, and Will'm had gone around the room for 
nearly an hour, sniffing hungrily while it sput- 
tered and browned in the skillet, smelling more 
tempting and delectable every minute. And he 
had watched while Grandma Neal lifted each 
crisp, brown piece up on a fork, and laid it on 
the hot waiting platter, and then stirred into the 
skillet the things that go to the making of a de- 
licious cream gravy. 

Suddenly, in the ecstasy of anticipation, Will'm 
was moved to throw his arms around Grandma 
Neal's skirts, gathering them in about her knees 
in such a violent hug that he almost upset her. 

"Oh, rabbit dravy !" he exclaimed, in a tone of 
such rapture that everybody laughed. Uncle 
Neal, who had already taken his place at the 
table, and was waiting too, with his chair tipped 
back on its hind legs, reached forward and gave 
Will'm's cheek a playful pinch. 

"It 's easy to tell what you think is the best 
tasting thing in the world,' - he said teasingly. 
"Just the smell of it puts the smile on your face 
that won't wear off." 

Always, when his favorite dish was on the 
table, Will'm passed his plate back several times 
for more. To-night, after the fourth ladleful, 
Uncle Neal hesitated. "Have n't you had about 
all that 's good for you, kiddo?" he asked. "Re- 
member you 're going away in the morning, and 
you don't want to make yourself sick when 
you 're starting off with just Libby to look after 

There was no answer for a second. Then 
Will'm could n't climb out of his chair fast 
enough to hide the trembling of his mouth and 
the gathering of unmanly tears. He cast him- 
self across Mrs. Neal's lap, screaming, "I are n't 
going away ! I won't leave my dranma, and I 
won't go where there '11 never be any more good 
rabbit dravy !" 

They quieted him after a while, and comforted 




him with promises of the time when he should 
come back and be their little boy again, but he 
did not romp around as usual when he started to 
bed. He realized that when he came again maybe 
the little crib-bed would be too small to hold him, 
and things would n't be the same. 

Libby was quiet and inwardly tearful for an- 


other reason. They were to leave the very day 
on the night of which people hung up their stock- 
ings. Would Santa Claus know of their going 
and follow them ? Will'm would be getting 
what he asked for, a ride on the Pullman, but 
how was she to get her gold ring? She lay 
awake quite a long while, worrying about it, but 
finally decided that she had been so good, so very 
good, that Santa would find some way to keep 

his part of the bargain. She had n't even fussed 
and rebelled about going back to her father as 
Maudie had advised her to do, and she had 
helped to persuade Will'm to accept quietly what 
could n't be helped. 

The bell over the shop door went ting-a-ling 
many times that evening to admit belated cus- 
tomers, and as she grew drowsier and 
drowsier, it began to sound like those 
other bells which would go tinkling 
along the sky road to-morrow night. 
Ah, that sky road ! She would n't 
worry, remembering that the Christmas 
angels came that shining highway too. 
Maybe her heart's desire would be 
brought to her by one of them ! 

Chapter IV 


Although L stands equally for Libby 
and lion, and W for William and 
whale, it is not to be inferred that the 
two small travelers thus labeled felt in 
any degree the courage of the king of 
beasts or the importance of the king of 
fishes. With every turn of the car- 
wheels after they left the Junction, 
Will'm seemed to grow smaller and 
more bewildered, and Libby more 
frightened and forlorn. In Will'm's 
picture of this ride they had borne only 
their initials. Now they were faring 
forth tagged with their full names and 
their father's address. Miss Sally had 
clone that "in case anything should 

If Miss Sally had not suggested that 
something might happen, Libby might 
not have had her fears aroused, and if 
they had been allowed to travel all the 
way in the toilet room which Miss 
Sally and Grandma Neal showed them 
while the train waited its usual ten 
minutes at the Junction, they could 
have kept themselves too busy to think 
about the perils of pilgrimage. Never 
before had they seen water spurt from 
faucets into big white basins with 
chained-up holes at the bottom. It suggested 
magic to Libby, and she thought of several games 
they could have made if they had not been hur- 
ried back to their seats in the car, and told that 
they must wait until time to eat before washing 
their hands. 

"I thought best to tell them that," said Miss 
Sally, as she and Mrs. Neal went slowly back to 





the shop, "or Libby might have had most of the 
skin scrubbed off her and Will'm before night. 
And I know he 'd drink the water-cooler dry just 
for the pleasure of turning it into his new drink- 
ing-cup you gave him, if he had n't been told not 
to. Well, they 're off, and so interested in every- 
thing that I don't believe they realized they were 
starting. There was n't time for them to think 
that they were really leaving you." 

"There '11 be time enough before they get 
there," was the grim answer. "I should n't won- 
der if they both get to crying." 

Then for fear that she should start to doing 
that same thing herself, she left Miss Sally to 
attend to the shop, and went briskly to work, 
putting the kitchen to rights. She had left the 
breakfast dishes until after the children's depar- 
ture, for she had much to do for them, besides 
putting up two lunches. They left at ten o'clock, 
and could not reach their journey's end before 
half-past eight that night. So both dinner and 
supper were packed in the big pasteboard box 
which had been stowed away under the seat with 
their suitcase. 

Miss Sally was right about one thing. Neither 
child realized at first that the parting was final, 
until the little shop was left far behind. The 
novelty of their surroundings, and their satisfac- 
tion at being really on board one of the wonder- 
ful cars which they had watched daily from the 
sitting-room window, made them feel that their 
best "s'posen" game had come true at last. But 
they had n't gone five miles until the landscape 
began to look unfamiliar. They had never been 
in this direction before, toward the hill country. 
Their drives behind Uncle Neal's old gray mare 
had always been the other way. Five miles more, 
and they were strangers in a strange land. Fif- 
teen miles, and they were experiencing the bit- 
terness of "exiles from home" whom "splendor 
dazzles in vain." There was no charm left in 
the luxurious Pullman with its gorgeous red 
plush seats and shining mirrors. All the people 
they could see over the backs of those seats or 
reflected in those mirrors were strangers. 

It made them even more lonely and aloof be- 
cause the people did not seem to be strangers to 
each other. All up and down the car they talked 
and joked as people in this free and happy land 
always do when it 's the day before Christmas 
and they are going home, whether they know 
each other or not. To make matters worse, some 
of those strangers acted as if they knew Will'm 
and Libby, and asked them questions or snapped 
their fingers at them in passing in a friendly way. 
It frightened Libby, who had been instructed in 
the ways of travel, and she only drew closer to 

Will'm and said nothing when these strange 
faces smiled on her. 

Presently, Will'm gave a little, muffled sob, 
and Libby put her arm around his neck. It gave 
him a sense of protection, but it also started the 
tears which he had been fighting back for several 
minutes, and, drawing himself up into a bunch 
of misery close beside her, he cried softly, his 
face hidden against her shoulder. If it had been 
a big, capable shoulder, such as he was used to 
going to for comfort, the shower would have been 
over soon. But he felt its limitations. It was 
little and thin, only three years older and wiser 
than his own ; as a support through unknown 
dangers not much to depend upon, still it was all 
he had to cling to, and he clung broken-heartedly 
and with scalding tears. 

As for Libby, she was realizing its limitations 
far more than he. His sobs shook her every 
time they shook him, and she could feel his tears, 
hot and wet on her arm through her sleeve. She 
started to cry herself, but fearing that if she did 
he might begin to roar so that they would be 
disgraced before everybody in the car, she 
bravely winked back her own tears, and took an 
effective way to dry his. 

Miss Sally had told them not to wash before 
it was time to eat, but of course Miss Sally had 
not known that Will'm was going to cry and 
smudge his face all over till it was a sight. If 
she could n't stop him somehow, he 'd keep on 
till he was sick, and she 'd been told to take care 
of him. The little shoulder humped itself in a 
way that showed some motherly instinct was 
teaching it how to adjust itself to its new burden 
of responsibility, and she said in a comforting 

"Come on, brother, let 's go and try what it 's 
like to wash in that big, white basin with the 
chained-up hole in the bottom of it." 

There was a bowl apiece, and for the first five 
minutes their hands were white ducks swimming 
in a pond. Then the faucets were shining silver 
dragons, spouting out streams of water from 
their mouths to drown four little mermaids, who 
were not real mermaids, but children whom a 
wicked witch had changed to such and thrown 
into a pool. Then they blew soap-bubbles through 
their hands, till Will'm's squeal of delight over 
one especially fine bubble, which rested on the 
carpet a moment instead of bursting, brought the 
porter to the door to see what was the matter. 

They were not used to colored people. He 
pushed aside the red plush curtain and looked 
in, but the bubble had vanished, and all he saw 
was a slim little girl of seven snatching up a 
towel to polish the red cheeks of a chubby boy 




of four. When they went back to their seats, 
their finger-tips were curiously wrinkled from 
long immersion in the hot soap-suds, but the ache 
was gone out of their throats, and Libby thought 
it might be well for them to eat their dinner 
while their hands were so very clean. It was 
only quarter-past eleven, but it seemed to them 
that they had been traveling nearly a whole day. 

A chill of disappointment came to Will'm when 
his food was handed to him out of a pasteboard 
box. He had not thought to eat it in this primi- 
tive fashion. He had expected to sit at one of the 
little tables, but Libby did n't know what one had 
to do to gain the privilege of using them. The 
trip was not turning out to be all he had fondly 
imagined. Still the lunch in the pasteboard box 
was not to be despised. Even disappointment 
could not destroy the taste of Grandma Neal's 
chicken sandwiches and blackberry jam. 

By the time they had eaten all they wanted, 
and tied up the box and washed their hands 
again (no bubbles and games this time, for fear 
of the porter), it had begun to snow, and they 
found entertainment in watching the flakes that 
swirled against the panes in all sorts of beautiful 
patterns. They knelt on opposite seats each 
against a window. Sometimes the snow seemed 
to come in sheets, shutting out all view of the 
little hamlets and farm-houses past which they 
whizzed with deep, warning whistles, and some- 
times it lifted to give them glimpses of windows 
with holly wreaths hanging from scarlet bows, 
and eager little faces peering out at the passing 
train— the way theirs used to peer, years ago, 
it seemed, before they started on this endless 

It makes one sleepy to watch the snow fall for 
a long time. After a while, Will'm climbed down 
from the window and cuddled up beside Libby 
again, with his soft, bobbed hair tickling her ear 
as he rested against her. He went to sleep so, 
and she put her arm around his neck again to 
keep him from slipping. The card with which 
Miss Sally had tagged him, slid along its cord 
and stuck up above his collar, prodding his chin. 
Libby pushed it back out of sight, and felt under 
her dress for her own. They must be kept safely, 
"in case something should happen." She won- 
dered what Miss Sally meant by that. What 
could happen? Their own Mr. Smiley was on 
the engine, and the conductor had been asked to 
keep an eye on them. 

Then her suddenly awakened fear began to 
suggest answers. Maybe something might keep 
her father from coming to meet them. She and 
Will'm would n't know what to do or where to 

Vol. XLL— I 

go. They 'd be lost in a great city as the little 
match girl was on Christmas eve, and they 'd 
freeze to death on some stranger's door-step. 
There was a picture of the match girl thus fro- 
zen, in the Hans Andersen book which Susie 
Peters kept in her desk at school. There was a 
cruel stepmother picture in the same book, Libby 
remembered, and recollections of that turned her 
thoughts into still deeper channels of foreboding. 
What would she be like? What was going to 
happen to her and Will'm at the end of this jour- 
ney, if it ever came to an end? If only they could 
be back at the Junction, safe and sound— 

The tears began to drip slowly. She wiped 
them away with the back of the hand that was 
farthest away from Will'm. She was miserable 
enough to die, but she did n't want him to wake 
up and find it out. 

By and by, a lady who had been quietly watch- 
ing her for some time, came and sat down in the 
opposite seat and asked her what was the matter, 
and if she was crying because she was homesick, 
and what was her name, and how far they were 
going. But Libby never answered a single ques- 
tion. The tears just kept dripping, and her 
mouth working in a piteous attempt to swallow 
her sobs; and finally the lady saw that she was 
frightening her, and only making matters worse 
by trying to comfort her, so she went back to her 

When Will'm awakened after a while and sat 
up, leaving Libby's arm all stiff and prickly from 
being bent in one position so long, the train had 
been running for miles through a lonely country 
where nobody seemed to live. Just as he rubbed 
his eyes wide awake, they came to a forest of 
Christmas trees. At least they looked as if all 
they needed to make them that was for some one 
to fasten candles on their snow-laden boughs. 
Then the whistle blew the signal that meant that 
the train was about to stop, and Will'm scram- 
bled up on his knees again, and they both looked 
out expectantly. 

There was no station at this place of stopping. 
Only by special order from some high official did 
this train come to a halt here, so somebody of 
importance must be coming aboard. All they saw 
at first was a snowy road opening through the 
grove of Christmas trees, but standing in this 
road, a few rods from the train, was a sleigh 
drawn by two big, black horses. They had bells 
on their bridles which went ting-a-ling whenever 
they shook their heads or pawed the snow. The 
children could not see a trunk being put on to the 
baggage-car farther up the track, but they saw 
what happened in the delay. 

( To be concluded. ) 



Every one is familiar with the picture of James 
Watt, the boy, sitting by the kitchen fire, and 
gazing thoughtfully at the hissing steam from 
the kettle. Whatever of allegory there is about 
that picture, there is nothing but absolute truth 
in the story of the boy's early and studious ex- 
periments with steam, and its peculiarities of 
evaporation and condensation, which afterward 
led to his improvements in the stationary engine, 
and placed England in the lead as a power-pro- 
ducing, manufacturing country. 

George Stephenson's first job was as a valve- 
boy on a mine pumping-engine, the steam admis- 
sion-valves of those early days being worked by 
hand in unison with the stroke of the piston-rod. 
The boy Stephenson attached a cord to the beam, 
and, at the lower end, suspended a short bar of 
iron in such a manner as to trip the valve at the 
proper instant. For that he was abused by the 
engine tender, who accused him of laziness ; but 
the simple idea found root in the brain of the 
overseer, and a year later, the engine was fitted 
with the first automatic valve ever designed. 
Samuel Smiles, Stephenson's biographer, has said 
that this juvenile attempt at a self-acting valve 
was the leading idea of one of the improvements 
which later made possible Stephenson's fine de- 
velopment of the locomotive. 

Every page of this magazine could be filled 
with detailed accounts of boys' ideas which have 
developed into real inventions, or useful improve- 
ments on existing apparatus, while some of them 
have resulted in great progress in the industrial 
world. The electric generator, or dynamo, was 
actually due to an experiment by a sixteen-year- 
old boy. 

Professor Henry, a scientist of fame in the 
first half of the last century, had experimented 
exhaustively in electricity, endeavoring to get, 
from chemical batteries, a current that could be 
commercially used. But he could not sufficiently 
reduce the expense of the chemicals. He dis- 
carded a group of revolving magnets as useless, 
giving it to his son as a plaything. After the boy 
had amused himself with twirling it, and adjust- 
ing it in accordance with his own ideas, he se- 
cured one of the little testing instruments— a gal- 
vanometer—used by the professor for detecting 
the electric current, and, hooking on the wires in 
the way he had seen his father attach them, he 
continued twirling the magnets. While he was 
doing this, the professor entered the room, and 

was astonished to see the needle of the galvanom- 
eter drawn to one side, showing the existence of 
an electric current. This had never before been 
produced by such magnets without the use of a 
chemical battery. Within two hours, Professor 
Henry had attached the discarded magnets to a 
lathe, and, by quick, steady revolutions, produced 
a current and an amazing spark. The true dy- 
namic electric generator had been discovered ! 

When it is considered that every electric power 
plant, every electric lighting plant, and every 
electric railway in the world are based upon that 
boy's play-hour revelation of the possibility of 
making an electric current without the use of 
chemicals, this little known instance of what 
boys have done for the world is entitled to a very 
high place. 

In 1830, Obed Hussey, of Ohio, was inventing 
a reaping-machine, the first ever designed in this 
country. His chief difficulty was the cutting de- 
vice, which was three large sickles, set in a frame 
and revolved so as to cut into the grain. It would 
not work satisfactorily. A young son, watching 
the experiments, asked his father why he did not 
use a lot of big scissors, with one handle fastened 
to one bar, and the other handle to a sliding bar, 
thus opening and closing them. Hussey instantly 
adopted the idea, substituting for scissors the 
two saw-toothed blades which are in common use 
to-day on harvesters, the cutting action being 
quite similar to that of scissors. 

From that boy's suggestion he perfected, in 
one week, a machine on which he had in vain 
exercised all his ingenuity for the preceding two 
years. The principle of that cutting device is 
the principle of all of the great harvesting ma- 
chines, and its benefit to the farming industry of 
the entire world has been unsurpassed by any 
other invention for use on the farm. 

Then there is Edison ! Thomas Alva Edison 
— the wizard who has conjured out of nothing- 
ness the graphophone, the stock ticker, the incan- 
descent lamp, and a hundred other marvels. Edi- 
son's development as an expert in electricity was 
not due to lectures and study in a technical col- 
lege, or to association with scientific men during 
a business career. It was due to his persistent 
and thorough investigations while he was still a 
paper-and-candy boy on the Grand Trunk Rail- 
road ; sweeping and cleaning a station in payment 
for being taught telegraphy ; saving, scraping, 
and earning extra dimes and quarters by hard 




work, in order to get the money to buy his lit- 
tle experimental apparatus; the butt of trainmen, 
yardmen, and cheap operators, until his inches 
reached the measure of his brains, and insured 
more considerate treatment. His splendid quali- 
ties of perseverance, unwearying patience over 
details, love for the work itself and infinite con- 
fidence in its possibilities, were as dominant in 
the train-boy as they are in the man of to-day. 

The boy is hidden in the man, and his early 
achievements are quite often unrecorded by his 
friends or by the world. And yet: Professor 
Faraday became a scientific expert in chemistry 
and electricity while serving apprenticeship to a 
bookbinder; Sir Joshua Reynolds and Gainsbor- 
ough had gained a fair reputation as artists even 
before they were out of their teens ; Vanderbilt, 
the originator of great transportation organiza- 
tions, was the owner of a ferry between New 
York and Staten Island when he was sixteen, and 
a Government contractor for transporting sup- 
plies to various coast stations before he was 
twenty. Elias Howe, the inventor of the sewing- 
machine, had secured two patents for ingenious 
mechanical tools before he was allowed to vote. 
Sir Henry Bessemer, the inventor of the wonder- 
ful process of refining steel, was laying the foun- 
dation of his wealth and title, and terribly worry- 
ing his parents, by heating, hammering, and 
melting all scraps of metal he could get hold of, 
while he should have been studying Latin gram- 
mar and Greek history. 

Thirty years ago, a boy of sixteen was his fa- 
ther's helper in a little Maine sawmill run by 
water-power. They desired to run two saws in- 
stead of one, but the father considered the power 
of the stream unequal to doing this. The boy 
studied the problem, boxed in the wheel, and so 
improved the buckets as to eliminate all waste 
and utilize every gallon of water. Then they set 
up a second saw, and ran it successfully. Al- 
though there was nothing of the design of the 
modern turbine in his improvement, there was 
the prime principle of conserving every ounce of 
energy, and it is that principle, developed by in- 
vention and skilful mechanism, that has since 

harnessed the full power of hundreds of rivers 
and waterfalls throughout the world. 

It would be wonderfully interesting, and per- 
haps as wonderfully instructive, to know how 
much genius has been repressed by the necessity 
of following an uncongenial occupation for 
which the boy has been unfit. Corliss, the great- 
est improver of the steam-engine since the days 
of Watt, was devoted to mechanics as a boy, but 
found himself placed in an office to learn book- 
keeping, which he would not, or could not, do. 
Then he went into a wholesale grocery, but he 
utterly failed there also. Then, following his own 
bent, he became the greatest engine-builder in the 
United States. Ezra Cornell, the founder of the 
university which bears his name, was appren- 
ticed to his father, a potter, though he begged to 
be put into mechanics. But later, he went into 
the work he loved, and accumulated wealth and 
honor. Richard Arkwright was "made" a bar- 
ber, although in his boyhood he showed great me- 
chanical understanding. Fortunately he formed 
the acquaintance of a clock-maker, got tools and 
metals, and invented the spinning-jenny, one of 
the most intricate of machines, and which 
brought him wealth and a title. Benjamin Frank- 
lin was obliged to work with his father at tallow- 
chandlering until the insistent persuasions of an 
older brother obtained his release from that trade 
and an engagement with a printer. 

Smeaton, one of the greatest of English engi- 
neers, was placed in a law office, which he de- 
tested. He doggedly cut loose, put on overalls, 
and went into mechanical work, achieving the 
highest success and renown. Against their in- 
clinations, Stephen A. Douglas was apprenticed 
to a cabinet-maker; Nathaniel P. Banks to a ma- 
chinist ; and James K. Polk to a merchant. Ben- 
jamin Harrison, one of the signers of the 
Declaration of Independence, was put to study- 
ing medicine, which he left to enter public life. 
All of them had to fight their way out of uncon- 
genial and unsuitable employments in order to 
enter fields to which they, as boys, were strongly 
inclined, and in which they achieved honor for 
themselves, and for their country. 


t build a bridge from 
shore to shore 
Across a stream where 

waters pour 
In haste to mix their 
sparkling flow 
With ocean waves some miles below, 
Is not a task to waken fear 
Or questions in an engineer. 
Then why should doubt oppress a band 
Who have all kinds of trades at hand, 
When they have in their heads a scheme 


To throw a bridge across the stream ? 
Said one, as they stood by the place 
And watched the water in its race : 
"Not only for ourselves in haste, 
When wading fails to suit our taste, 
But for the people who must cross 
On slippery stones all green with moss, 


Will we erect from side to side 
A structure which will bridge the tide." 
Another said: "A year or two 
Ago a scheme like this fell through; 
But workmen left their things about 
To carry on the plan laid out. 
We '11 take the stuff from where it lies, 
And build a bridge for a surprise ; 
When in the morning people flock 
i To cross the stream, they '11 have a shock. 
'T will be a joy to leave the log, 
The stone, and water to the frog, 
And cross upon our airy way 
Without a cent of toll to pay." 
Material was near at hand, 
Which was good fortune 

for the band, 
And soon a stream of 

Brownies flowed 
Both to and fro— some 

with a load, 
And more in haste to 

heed the cry 
Of those whose arms were 

piled too high. 
But willing hands are 

never slow, 
And soon the bridge 

began to grow. 
Some in mid-air the birds 

Swinging on ropes with 

hooks devised, 
To make things safe, if that could be. 
T was an exciting thing to see ! 
Indeed, a Brownie, without guy 
Or safety hitch or fixture nigh, 
Swinging and turning, is, I say, 
A sight to take the breath away. 
At times, a hammer, bolt, 

or bar 
Would slip and spread a 

panic far. 
Perhaps a wrench would 

rattle down 
And light upon a 

Brownie's crown 
While bending at some 

labor there 
That called for all his 

time and care, 
Then skip half-way the 

span across, 
To splash into the stream, 

a loss. 
But work in air at risk of 





Does not the Brownie courage check, 
And in the mine or in the cloud, 
Of their condition they are proud. 
Said one: "There 's pleasure in the task 
That gives folks aid before they ask; 
'T is well to keep an open eye 
To note a want or hardship nigh, 
For none can help from Brownies seek, 
And we must let our actions speak. 
So drive the bolt in overhead, 
And turn the nut to tighter thread; 
We '11 give the people round a chance 

Without mistake, or fuss, or clatter, 
We '11 never know— but that 's no matter. 
Then speed if ever was required 
To bring the finish they desired; 
Then blows were doubled, loads increased, 
And he did best who said the least. 
Some sections tumbled from the top, 
And rod and brace together drop, 
And working tools— a perilous slip- 
That on the frame still held their grip, 
And being steel, as now appears, 
Increased the Brownies' toil and fears. 

Across the swinging bridge to dance." 
But talk fell in with ringing stroke 
And turning wrench, and never broke 
Or checked the rush that was begun, 
And would keep up till all was done. 
And what the Brownies build will stay 
In spite of winds that round it play 
And whistle in the loudest key 
As they come rushing from the sea. 
It took long ropes, a pull, a heave 
With mystic hands, one may believe, 
To check the sinking or the drift, 
And sections to their stations lift. 
How rivets found their proper place, 
And so, too, every rod and brace, 

Said one, between the stroke and strain, 
To those more given to complain : 
"What though we toil, what though we run 
To aid mankind till rise of sun? 
If blessings come from friendly act, 
They fit the better through the fact." 
'T was hard to swim against the tide 
With heavy pieces trailing wide, 
And long enough to form a span 
Of great importance in the plan. 
At times, these pieces would break loose 
And great confusion would produce, 
And in a manner represent 
A ship by some explosion rent; 
And none could tell where ruin ran, 




Nor where it ended or began. 
The birds along the river's side 
Sat on the branches, open-eyed; 
No sleep brought rest to beast or bird 

Old plans were found that showed aright 
How certain sections should unite, 
And tasks proved easy that before 
Upon their time and patience wore. 

Forgot were corn-fields, frogs, and peas, 
The mice, and snakes, and bumblebees, 
The grubs, and bugs in wood or clay, 
And measuring worms that inch their way. 
The work went faster toward the close, 
And from the chaos order rose. 

A barge was brought that played a part 
Most sorely needed from the start, 
For midway out, with anchors down, 
It on their efforts placed the crown, 
And work from there was pushed ahead 
That to a finish quickly led. 



"Now, Nathalie, put on your hat and take a run 
out in this nice, bright sunshine," said Mrs. 
Barnes, as her small daughter was preparing to 
curl herself up in a little knot over a book. 

"Oh, Mother dear, please let me read instead !" 
pleaded Nathalie. "You know it 's no fun at all 
running about with just me. Mabel and Helen 
and Belle have all gone away for the summer, 
and I feel so 'conspikerous' going out all alone." 

Mrs. Barnes sighed. This was to be the hard- 
est part of that stay-at-home summer which she 
and Mr. Barnes had agreed was necessary this 

"Just go a little way to please Mother," she 
continued. "Stay-in-the-house girls don't get any 
rosy cheeks." 

So Nathalie with a pout put away the story- 
book, and, taking her hat, walked listlessly down 
the street. Soon, however, she quickened her 
pace. "I '11 go down to Mr. McAllister's," she 
said to herself, "to see the puppies. It 's been 
two whole weeks since I 've seen them. Per- 
haps, if Mr. McAllister is there, he '11 let me go 
in and play with Prinnie." 

Now Mr. McAllister raised puppies to sell, and 
kept them in a big yard quite surrounded by a 
board fence. Nathalie had found a way of climb- 
ing this fence by sticking her little toes into a 
few convenient knot-holes. Once on top, she 
could watch all the dog families, and especially 
her favorites, some dear, silky, King Charles 
spaniels. The flower of this family she had chris- 
tened Prinnie. He had the longest ears of all, 
and the pinkest tongue, and his soft brown eyes 
looked up to Nathalie's and said so plainly, "Oh, 
how I would like to get up there, little girl, and 
make friends with you !" She knew that he was 
a King Charles, so she had named him, first, 
"Prince Charles"; but that seemed quite too dig- 
nified a name for such a frisky bit of a dog, so 
"Prince Charles" became "Prince Charlie," and 
then "Prince" alone, and finally "Prinnie." 

A few minutes later found Nathalie safe on 
her perch on the fence, delightedly watching the 
three spaniels romping with their mother. 

"Oh, my dear, dear little Prinnie !" she called. 
"Have n't you missed your Nathalie the last two 
weeks ? I 've been so busy getting all my friends 
ready to go to the country and sea-shore that I 
have n't had time to come to see you. Now I 'm 
left all alone, and I have n't any little brothers 
and sisters to play with as you have, Prinnie. 

love. Oh, Prinnie, if I could only get down and 
squeeze you, I 'd feel so much better ! Do you 
suppose Mr. McAllister would mind very much 
if I just gave you one pat on your nice, flat lit- 
tle head?" 

"Mind, lassie ; mind," said a good-natured 
voice; "nothing would give Sandy McAllister 
more pleasure. Come, give me your wee hands, 
and I '11 jump you down." 

Then when Prinnie allowed himself to be petted 
and cuddled on Nathalie's arm, Mr. McAllister 
went on : "My, how you 're loving the wee dog- 
gie ! You ought to be having one of your own. 
You 're Mr. Barnes's lassie, are n't you ? I mind 
often seeing you on the top of- that fence." 

Nathalie replied that she was afraid her papa 
could n't buy her a dog this summer; she was n't 
even having any new dresses. 

"I was n't speaking of buying a dog," Mr. 
McAllister continued. "But how would you like 
to be taking care of one for me ? There 's a 
fine good mon who 's spoke' for this wee doggie 
you call Prinnie, but he does n't want him till 
fall. Now, if your mama is willing, I '11 just let 
you take him till Mr. Sampson sends for him, 
providing you promise to take care of him just 
as I tell you." 

"To keep him till fall !" exclaimed Nathalie. 
"Oh, Mr. McAllister, do you really, really mean 
it? I think you 're the very, very best man in 
the world, except Papa, of course." 

"Perhaps there 's not monny thinkin' the same," 
chuckled Mr. McAllister ; "but run along, lassie, 
and ask your mama, and if she 's willing, you may 
come back for the wee doggie." 

Nathalie could almost have jumped the board 
fence, she was so excited, but Mr. McAllister set 
her down on the other side, and off she ran. 

Mrs. Barnes at first looked a shade doubtful. 
A puppy in the house, even if he were the "most 
darlingest, sweetest, angelest puppy that ever 
•was," meant chewed-up shoes and torn papers ; 
but soon her face lightened. 

"On these conditions," she said, "Prinnie may 
come to stay with us this summer. He must have 
long, long walks every day on the outskirts of the 
town, where there are open fields for him to romp 
in. He may stay in the house only nights and 
when it is stormy. You must also take full 
charge of his meals, and keep his long coat in 
good order. Back to Mr. McAllister he must go 
the first time you forget any of these rules." 

6 4 



Nathalie fairly flew back to the top of Mr. 
McAllister's board fence. The good man did 
not have to ask her the verdict. When he had 
lifted her to the ground, he placed Prinnie in 


her arms. Then he told her she must listen very 
carefully to the directions for Prinnie's care. 
He showed her just how to prepare his food, and 
warned her not to allow him to eat between 
meals, for he said that was as bad for wee dog- 
gies as for lassies. 

"And," he concluded, "if you 're forgetting 
anything, come back and ask Sandy McAllister; 
and you might be coming down now and again to 
Vol. XLI.— 9. 

show me how the little fellie 's prospering. I 
have n't any wee lassies of my own now." 

From that day, it was a different Nathalie in 
the little house on the street, or, rather, not in 
the little house, for Nathalie 
did little but eat and sleep in 
the house except when it 
rained. Prinnie must have 
his long tramps every day. 

"Little dogs must take a 
great deal of exercise to 
keep well," Mr. McAllister 
had said. 

What fun they had to- 
gether ! Prinnie chasing 
chipmunks and barking fu- 
riously at their antics, while 
Nathalie picked flowers and 
joined him in mad scampers 
over the fields. He would 
go into bushes and come 
out fairly bristling with 
sticks and leaves and some- 
times burs. Then what a 
brushing there had to be 
when they got home ! 

Prinnie would sit sadly 
but patiently while Nathalie 
combed out the hateful tan- 
gles and told him never, 
never to go into such places 
again. Prinnie would listen 
solemnly, but the very next 
day, perhaps, he would find 
a still more "burry" place. 

Nathalie's doll family 
was quite neglected that 
summer, for one could 
scarcely hold even a well- 
behaved doll-child, and be 
ready to dart after an ex- 
cited dog at any moment. 
Nathalie's largest doll, Baby 
Griselda, or Grizzie, had 
most cause for complaint. 
Unfortunately for Griselda, 
her clothes just fitted Prin- 
nie. Part of every day's 
program was to dress Prinnie in Grizzie's white 
dress, and tie her dainty baby cap over his 
long ears, and to hold him tightly in her arms as 
she paced the yard singing a soft lullaby. Prin- 
nie would lie meekly quiet ; he would even close 
his eyes lazily; but let Nathalie lower him gently 
into Grizzie's cradle, and relax her hold but a 
moment, and two brown eyes would open wide, 
four black legs would make a wild dash across 



the lawn, and one doll's dress would need some 
of Nathalie's most careful mending hefore it was 
fit to return to its rightful owner. 

Letters from Nathalie's friends at the sea- 
shore or in the country excited no envy in her. 
What were the delights of bathing and boating 
compared with caring for Prinnie and teaching 
him new tricks? 


He would bark prettily for a lump of sugar ; 
he could sneeze most entrancingly for any dainty. 
But Nathalie remembered Mr. McAllister's ad- 
vice, and did not allow him many. She had to 
content herself with very little candy, for Prin- 
nie would beg so bewitchingly for a share that 
it was hard not to spoil him. 

She carried him dutifully down to see his mas- 
ter, but some way or other, although Mr. McAl- 
lister was very kind and praised her care, it al- 
ways made her feel a little sad to go there. 

And so the long summer days slipped on. 
Nathalie was brown and rosy, Prinnie sleek and 
bright-eyed. July, August had gone ; now Sep- 
tember was here, and in a few days, Nathalie's 
little friends would come back and enter school. 
She would be glad to see them, but— 

"When is fall?" she asked her father that eve- 
ning at supper. 

"Oh, fall has really begun now," he replied. 

The fall was really here, and she must— that 
dreadful man who had ordered Prinnie would 
want— The thought was too dreadful to finish. 
She ought to take him back at once, take Prin- 
nie back — her pet — Prinnie, whose rough, pink 
tongue had awakened her every morning — whose 
daily meal she had carefully prepared. Prinnie, 
who had been her companion every minute for 

two long months. 

j She was moody and silent all the 
1 next day. She did not dare walk by 
Mr. McAllister's board fence. 

In the evening, the blow fell. Her 
father announced at supper, "Mr. 
McAllister says the man who owns 
your dog is coming around for him 
to-morrow. You can take Prinnie 
over in the morning." 

Nathalie could not eat any more 
supper that night. The top of Prin- 
nie's little head was all wet with salt 
tears when she laid him in his basket. 
The next morning, she arose early. 
There was much to be done. The 
blow was a harsh one, but if Prinnie 
must go, he should go in state. Nath- 
alie washed and ironed Grizzie's 
white dress and bonnet. Then, after 
giving Prinnie a careful combing and 
brushing, she dressed him in these 
garments for the last time. 

With Prinnie clasped tightly in her 
arms, she sadly set out for Mr. Mc- 
Allister's. Perhaps the gentleman 
would not come after all. If only 
she could keep Prinnie a few days 
longer ! But no, Mr. McAllister was 
a pleasant-faced stranger. The time 
Nathalie walked straight up to the 

talking to 

had come. 

strange man, and, struggling to keep down the 

lump in her throat, she held out Prinnie. 

"Here 's— your— d-o-g— s-i-r," she managed to 
sob; and the tears fell in torrents. 

Prinnie, whom the astonished gentleman had 
failed to take from Nathalie's outstretched arms, 
made his customary dash for liberty. While 
Nathalie was recovering him, Mr. Sampson heard 
the story from Mr. McAllister. 

When Nathalie came up a few minutes later 
with the struggling Prinnie, the stranger re- 
marked : "My little girl, who, by the way, is a big 
little girl, has changed her mind about this dog. 
She wants a large dog, a collie. So here I am 
with two dogs on my hands, and only room for 
one. Do you suppose you could persuade your 
mother to let you keep on taking care of this 
one as your very own? If so, he is yours." 

6 7 

• \ '<■: 

f\ ' ;;,- 



'T was on a dull November day, 
When Billy, on his homeward way, 
Met Mister Turkey, whom he knew, 
And stopped to have a word or two. 

Said Billy : "Thursday 's drawing nigh, 
With turkey (roast) and pumpkin-pie, 

And many kinds of first-class fare- 
But don't you worry — you '11 be there!" 

Now whether Mister Turkey knew 
What Billy meant, I leave to you ; 
But he said, "Gobble!" trailed his wing. 
And Billv ran like anvthingf ! 




Here is the first description of Oliver Cromwell 
by an eye-witness that history relates ; the writer 
is a courtier, Sir Philip Warwick and the scene, 
the House of Parliament: 

I came into the House one morning, well clad, and per- 
ceived a gentleman speaking whom I knew not, very ordi- 
narily appareled, for it was a plain cloth suit, which seemed 
to have been made by an ill country tailor. His linen .was 
plain, and not very clean; and I remember a speck or two 
of blood upon his little band, which was not much larger 
than his collar. His hat was without a hatband. His stat- 
ure was of a good size ; his sword stuck close to his side ; his 
countenance swoln and reddish; his voice sharp and untun- 
able, and his eloquence full of fervor. 

And here is a characteristic outburst by the 
man himself : 

I had rather have a plain russet-coated captain that knows 
what he fights for and loves what he knows, than what you 
call a gentleman, and is nothing else. 

A great democrat, this Oliver, and a mighty 
fighting man ; but, above all, a man who looked 
upon himself as chosen by the Lord to the win- 
ning of His battle. After defeating the king at 
Naseby, he wrote to his friends in this wise: 

I can say this of Naseby, that when I saw the enemy 
draw up and march in gallant order toward us, and we a 
company of poor, ignorant men ... I could not, riding 
alone about my business, but smile out to God in praises, in 
assurance of victory, because God would, by things that 
are not, bring to naught things that are. 

After the battles were all won, and the king 
was dead and his son defeated at Worcester, 
Cromwell ruled England for five years as pro- 
tector. A short, but surely an amazing, inter- 
lude in the long line of kings and queens from 
William the Conqueror to George V. 

Charles fled to Carisbrooke after having sur- 
rendered to Cromwell's army at Holmby House. 
In a book written for young people by S. R. 
Keightly, "The Cavaliers" (Harper, $1.50), this 
period of time is given with much interest and 
sympathy. Cromwell is, of course, one of the 
chief characters. And there is one of Captain 
Frederick Marryat's stories that pictures the for- 
tunes of a Royalist family at about the same 
time, "The Children of the New Forest." 

There are two stories by Beulah M. Dix that 
you must certainly try to get. One is "The Fair 
Maid of Graystones," and it pictures the atmo- 

sphere and the manners of the day with the great- 
est felicity, meanwhile telling a delightful tale ; 
the other is "A Little Captive Lad," with scenes 
in Holland and England. This book is perhaps 
even more charming reading than the first. In 
both, the author has striven to create the very 
feel and look of those passed days, and in both 
she has succeeded to a remarkable degree. 

A different type of book, but accurate histori- 
cally and full of adventurous incidents, is one of 
Henty's books for boys that covers the period 
from the outbreak of the civil war to the ex- 
ecution of the king, and defeat of the second 
Charles. It is called "Friends Though Divided," 
and relates the fortunes of a Roundhead and a 
Royalist youth who fought on opposite sides. 

I dare say many of you have read Dumas' 
story "Twenty Years After," and remember the 
thrilling adventures leading up to the assassi- 
nation of the Duke of Buckingham, and the mov- 
ing narration of the king's death. Dumas does 
not bother particularly about historic accuracy, 
to be sure, but he tells a splendid story, and he 
gets into it much of the fire and fury of the age. 

One of G. P. R. James's novels takes up the 
Royalist cause with immense fervor. Its title 
is "Henry Masterson," and it walks right into 
the Roundheads in the roughest kind of a way. 
It is full of vigorous portraiture, however, and 
very well worth the reading. In a case of this 
sort, one wants to see what people have to say 
on either side. Between the two, you get a 
pretty fair notion of how those who really lived 
through the business came, each of them, to be 
so sure that he was right and the other fellow 

So, after you have read James's book, turn to 
Amelia Barr's "The Lion's Whelp." Here 
Cromwell stands a true hero before you, with 
his stout captains about him, and in his heart the 
dream of a great Commonwealth of Saints. This 
dream failed, and after Cromwell's brief rule, 
England returned to the Stuarts, to king-rule 
and an extravagant court, to jewels and May- 
poles, and all the fun and frippery which the 
stern Puritan would have naught to do with. 
Nevertheless, this failure of Puritanism and de- 
mocracy was only apparent. In truth, the bulk 
of Englishmen remained serious and purposeful, 
free of mind, determined to take their full share 
of the government, men who respected them- 



selves, men of whom England expected each one and of the opposing cavaliers, though these lat- 

"to do his duty." ter are hardly drawn as justly. Prince Rupert 

This story of "The Lion's Whelp" will show was no saint, so much is beyond a doubt ; but he 

After the portrait by Sir Peter Lely, in the Pitti Gallery, Florence. 

very enthusiastically and clearly just what this 
hope of the Puritans was, and how Cromwell 
bore himself, both as captain and statesman, and 
even in the privacy of his own family. It gives 
many other portraits of the famous "Ironsides," 
as Cromwell's immediate followers were called, 

had his good qualities, ruffian and swash-buckler 
as he was. 

In conjunction with this book by Mrs. Barr, 
you should also read her "Friend Olivia," which 
depicts Quaker life in the early Roundhead days, 
and is a charming story in itself. Cromwell also 



appears in this book, with many another famous 
leader. The Quakers had their own troubles, 
and many of them came to America at this time, 
but, on the whole, the Roundhead government 
allowed great spiritual freedom to the people. 

Touching on events in the three countries of 
Holland, England, and America is an interesting 
juvenile by S. H. Church, entitled "Penruddock 
of the White Lambs" (Stokes, $1.50) ; and 
Emma Marshall has a little book, "The White 
King's Daughter," which tells in a moving way 
the fate of the Princess Elizabeth at Caris- 
brooke. Another excellent juvenile with Royal- 
ist sympathies is Ronald MacDonald's "God Save 
the King" (The Century Co., $1.50). 

Another of Scott's novels comes in here, 
"Woodstock." This is a romantic tale, set at 
Woodstock, the royal demesne, and the time is 
after the king's flight. The story is royalist in 
feeling, but the hero is a fine and generous 
Roundhead. The view of Cromwell is interest- 
ing. Scott loves a setting like that of this old 
and picturesque castle, and he has evoked the 
whole situation between the divided English peo- 
ple with wonderful success. 

O. V. Caine's book "Wanderer and King" tells, 
in a free way for boys, the story of Charles IPs 
loss of the battle of Worcester, and his strange 
wanderings. It is good reading. 

A most delightful book that gives many 
glimpses of English life during all the years be- 
tween 1622 and 1685 is "John Inglesant," by J. 
H. Shorthouse. The book is a work of great 
talent, a tender, saintly, exquisite story of a 
rare character. It is not a story of adven- 
ture, yet you will find yourselves reading it 
with absorption. For it is so living and real, and 
especially so lovable. Though in no sense his- 
torical, it is valuable because it makes clear the 
strong undercurrent of thought and feeling that 
brought about the extraordinary historical 
changes of the times. And, in any case, it is a 
story you should know, and which you will prob- 
ably re-read (MacMillan, $1). 

I have suggested a good many books for this 
special period in England's story because it is 
of such importance in the life of the nation. 
You will probably not be able to find them all, 
but from the list you can surely get enough to 
give you a very clear conception of both sides 
of the struggle. 

After Naseby, England is the England of to- 
day. The long, long struggle between the peo- 
ple and their overlords, which we saw beginning 
in the days of Harold, had finally seen the tables 
turned. Henceforth, the English Government 
was a government by the people. There was no 

longer any question of the king's controlling 
Parliament. Much remained to be done before 
freedom was a firmly established fact ; but it was 
quickly coming into practical life. 

Milton was the great literary genius of the 
Puritan spirit, and perhaps its finest flower. Read 
some of his solemnly splendid poetry in con- 
junction with the novels and stories I have men- 
tioned. He wrote a great deal beside poetry. 
But his prose works have lost their value to-day, 
since the ideals they uphold are no longer in dis- 

You will find that there was much that was 
hard and narrow in Puritan England, as there 
was in Puritan America. There is something far 
more taking about the gay and dashing cavalier, 
with a pretty word for a pretty maid and a ready 
sword for any enemy of the king's, than in his 
sober opponent, who was generally more given 
to finding fault than to praising. Just the same, 
the dashing followers of Rupert and Maurice 
were dashed to pieces by that same quiet fellow 
and his like. And many things in the England of 
that time really deserved a lot of faultfinding, 
when you come down to it. 

Death came to the great Cromwell with a wild 
storm that blew down mighty trees and tore the 
roofs from houses. A fitting death-song for that 
fighter's spirit, which was not ready to depart, 
seeing much work still waiting to be done. 

Richard Cromwell took his father's seat, and 
held there for two years, a weak and worthless 
man, while the country was in turmoil about him. 
And then the people, tired out with contentions 
and disturbances, rows between the army and 
Parliament, and the entire incompetence of this 
new protector, called Charles II to the throne. 

The old constitution was restored, the vote of 
the convention being "that according to the an- 
cient and fundamental laws of this kingdom, the 
government is, and ought to be, by King, Lords, 
and Commons." 

On the twenty-fifth of May, 1660, Charles 
landed at Dover. A mighty multitude welcomed 
him, cheering him all the way to Whitehall. 

But Cromwell's old army gave no cheer of 
welcome. In gloomy silence, rank on rank, they 
watched the king as he reviewed them at Black- 
heath. Even careless Charles could not but shiver 
before these dark and stern men who had once 
thrown all the royal pomp of England into the 
dust and sent him flying at Worcester. But 
their work was done. Without fuss or fury, 
they returned to their farms and their trades, to 
become industrious workers in the fields and 
shops of England. And the last chapter in 
the wonderful story of Cromwell had been told. 



r>vi \n //> $ 

ifV fill M-..L //«£/. A 

In a deep forest, cool and dim, 

There dwelt two bear-cubs fat but trim. 


vr v-v 1 ut :ft 



«M':'tX»il«If«: V 



* 'i4^ 

j'/ '.','(■ 


; ./.'' 

One morning, while they roamed at play, 
They met an old fox, lame and gray. 

Vol. XLL — io. 




She shared their luncheon, then did reach 
And gave awishing-ring to each. 

\i^m\§m m \\ k 

For miles and miles, they roamed, I 'm told, 
Until they met a monster bold. 

19' 3-] 



Yet ere one bite he takes — cahoots 

They 've wished for magic seven-league boots. 

And, speeding home through fields and farms, 
Were soon clasped in their mother's arms. 

2 Jl Wf -m*G&n£t&*- 





<&V- p rag v. 



The broad strip of land running from the border 
of Mexico to the border of Canada and known 
as the inter-mountain region, is said to contain 
a greater assortment of the marvels of nature and 
of the marvelous achievements of man than any 
other section of this country. From the Rocky 
Mountains on the east to the Sierra Nevada 
Mountains on the west, this strip, six hundred 
miles wide, is crossed and recrossed by perplex- 
ing mountain-ranges that have made the building 
of railroads of almost unparalleled difficulty and 

It is the country, too, where no rain falls for 
the six or seven months of summer. Its every 
mountain-range is a hiding-place for mineral 
treasures from eold to lead, from coal to fire- 

Twenty miles up that rocky, winding gash in the 
mountains are the Utah copper-mines ; and, al- 
though three thousand men are daily taking out 
more ore and waste than is taken from any other 
mine in the country, or probably in the world, it 
has neither shaft nor tunnel. No man works 
underground. It is an open mine, a mountain of 
copper ore, four miles around the base, and 
nearly two thousand feet high from base to sum- 
mit. On winding tracks gigantic steam-shovels 
tear into the rocks, the gravel, the ore, and dump 
their load on cars that take it to the crushing 
mills and the smelters. 

Starting from Salt Lake City, we ride over the 
San Pedro Railroad for fourteen miles to Gar- 
field. Here we change to the Garfield and Bing- 
ham Railroad, a private road built and operated 

There are twenty-seven terraces around the mountain, carrying tracks sixty miles in length. Sixty thousand tons of material are handled every 

day. The summit is nearly two thousand feet above the town of Bingham. 

clay ; and at one point, midway in a region of 
deserts, of stupendous mountains, and of beauti- 
ful farms, is a mining canon that in several re- 
spects is unsurpassed in interest by any similar 
spot in this country, or, perhaps, in the world. 
This is Bingham Canon in the Oquirrh range. 

by the mining company, and undoubtedly the 
most expensive and audacious railroad in the 
United States. It runs for twenty miles, and for 
that entire distance there was not, at the start, 
one spot level enough to hold even a trackman's 
shanty, for, instead of being built along the canon 




bed, the track runs far above that bed, circling 
around the middle of mountains, crossing canons 
on trestles from 150 to 260 feet in height, and 
plunging through tunnels half a mile or more in 
length. There are four such tunnels and sixteen 
such canons to cross, and when not in one or 
above the other, the track is -- 
crowded on a narrow ledge 
cut in the mountain side. . 
These twenty miles of rail- 
road cost three million dol- 

At Bingham, take a glance 
at the locomotive. It is one 
of the heaviest and most 
powerful ever built. It is 
ninety feet and six inches in 
length. It has sixteen driv- 
ing-wheels operated by four 
cylinders. Its weight is 620,- 
000 pounds. The station at 
Bingham is two thousand 
feet higher than that at Gar- 
field. A powerful engine, a 
monster, is needed to tow a 
train of ore cars up a hill 
twenty miles long. 

Turning from the big en- 
gine, we gasp with surprise 
to see the town of Bingham 
in the narrow canon, six 
hundred feet below our sta- 
tion ; and leading down to it 
a series of stairways con- 
taining more than a thou- 
sand steps. It makes this 
railroad the most astounding 
elevated railway in the world. 
There is only one street in 
Bingham, a town of three 
thousand inhabitants, a street 
that winds with sharp crooks 
and abrupt turns along the 
canon bed. On each side, the 
steep mountain slopes are so 
close to the narrow roadway 
that few houses have all their foundation under 
the first floor. Some are three stories high in 
front, with only one story at the rear. We step 
into the hotel, and find a stairway with a small 
store-room at one side. There is no space for 
more at that level. On the second floor, we find 
four rooms, two of which project at the back to 
meet the mountain side. On the third floor are 
eight rooms, four of them projecting far beyond 
the two below them ; and from this height we 
may pass through a doorway, walk across a 

wooden bridge eight feet long, and reach the side 
of the mountain. 

Although there are no side streets to the town, 
many houses are built on the mountain sides, and 
are reached only by a distressingly severe climb 
up the rocks. These houses are rude shacks, 

Six hundred feet difference in the levels. 

built in groups and occupied by foreign laborers 
— Finns, Huns, Swedes, and Austrians, who pre- 
fer to occupy their own homes in their own way 
rather than to live in the boarding-houses in the 

These groups have distinct names. One is 
Greek-town, another Finnville, another, of rather 
better construction, the "Waldorf Astoria." 
Many of the shacks consist of only one room, 
occupied, perhaps, by four men, who do their own 
cooking and housekeeping. Others live, with 




wives and children, in such crude houses not be- 
cause the wages are low, for they are excellent, 
but so that they may save every possible penny. 
In a few years, they will return to their father- 
land and become small landowners with an inde- 
pendence won in these mountains. 

To obtain a satisfactory view of the great open 

Two hundred and sixty feet high. 

mines, we must journey on horseback for a mile 
or more up the steep canon. We ride along the 
uneven, straggling street, passing residences and 
shops, stores, amusement halls, and churches im- 
partially mingled, and at the top of a sharp rise 
we come in view of the gigantic mountain that 
is being demolished. On terraces around its sides 
are snorting locomotives shifting trains of ore 
cars. At frequent intervals are the great steam- 
shovels that scoop up a wagon-load of broken 

rock and dump it in a waiting car. An engine 
whistle may toot continuously for three or four 
minutes, and at the first scream of that whistle, 
every locomotive backs away, and every work- 
man runs for shelter-, for that shrieking whistle 
says, "Blast coming!" Five minutes later, a cloud 
of dust leaps toward the sky; a dull roar booms 
slow and heavy, and rocks 
big and little, boulders and 
pebbles, are hurled into the 
air. At the next minute, en- 
gines and men are back at 
work, shifting, scooping, 

There are twenty-seven 
terraces on this mountain, 
each carrying tracks, of 
which there are more than 
sixty miles around the enor- 
mous pile of ore. Every day 
60,000 tons of material are 
broken down, loaded onto 
cars, and hauled away. It is 
a load for more than a thou- 
sand fifty-ton ore cars, and 
the yearly load would make 
a train of such cars that 
would extend from San 
Francisco to New York City. 
But only one third of that 
daily output is ore of suffi- 
cient value to be crushed, 
milled, and smelted. Forty 
thousand tons are waste- 
rock, gravel, and silicates. 
But all this must be put out 
of the way so that the un- 
derlying deposits may be 
reached. It is taken to 
neighboring canons and 
there dumped. The twenty 
thousand tons of ore are 
hauled along the High Line 
to Garfield, and halted near 
a collection of huge build- 
ings, called the concentrating 
A shifting-engine pulls the load into the great ore 
bin on the highest level. The bin is four hundred 
feet long, thirty feet deep, and has two inside tracks. 
We go down a long stairway into the crushing 
mill. The ore follows through great chutes, de- 
scending by its own weight, and is received in 
the heaviest and most powerful mills that are 
used for any purpose. Masses of rock as big as a 
wash-tub drop into the appalling jaws, and are 
crushed like eggs. These are the first mills, and 




do no fine grinding, the ore passing from them 
into smaller mills, where it is ground as fine as 

There is a good reason for this final grinding. 
The copper minerals are distributed throughout 
the rock in very small particles. Many pieces of 
rock show, to the eye, no indication of metal, for 
it is what is known as "low-grade ore" — 1.25 to 
1.75 per cent, copper. The fine grinding enables 



Two cylinders and eight driving-wheels on each side. 

the next process to save nearly all of the copper, 
gold, and silver. 

This is the concentrating process, and is con- 
ducted in great buildings on a still lower level, 
where the ore dust, now mixed with water, comes 
down through pipes, and is distributed on tables 
kept continually in motion — a short, jerky shak- 
ing, such as the cook uses when she sifts flour. 
Diagonally across the tables are small ledges, 
called riffles, about as thick as a lozenge. As the 
shaking continues, the water and the ore dust 
flow slowly across the tables. The gold, the sil- 
ver, and the copper, being heavier than the rock, 
sink and are caught by those little ledges, and 
work off to one side of the table, while the rock 
and the waste flow above the riffles to the other 

It seems incredible that this process should 
save all the minute grains of metal. But it does. 
The percentage of gold is small, only about twen- 
ty-five cents' worth being found in a ton of the 
ore ; but repeated scientific tests have shown that 
the engineers are securing almost every grain of 
it. Of silver and copper far larger quantities 
are found. The average amounts obtained every 
day from that 20,000 tons of ore are 200 ounces 
of gold, 2000 ounces of silver, and 400,000 pounds 
of copper, the total value being about $75,000. 

There are twelve hundred of those concentra- 
ting tables in operation for twenty-four hours 
every day. As the sifted metals ("concentrates," 
they are now called) come from the tables, they 
flow in streams of water into concrete pits. Here 
the metal sinks to the bottom, the water is drawn 
off, and the concentrate is shoveled into cars by 
steam, and sent to the smelters, about a mile 

Here, subjected to intense heat in enormous 
caldron furnaces, the metal is melted and run 
into bars. In refining plants, it is again melted, 
and the gold, the silver, and the copper are sepa- 

From the sixty thousand tons of rock, gravel, 
and ore handled every day at the mines, only two 
hundred tons of pure metal are finally secured, 
or about one third of one per cent. But they 
are worth seventy-five thousand dollars. 

George Frederic Stratton. 


The leg of the boat-fly is so densely clothed with 
long hairs as to be feather-like. It is probable 
that the luxuriant supply of bristly hair enables 
the fly to walk on the water without danger of 
sinking, thus holding the insect on the surface 
in much the same way in which a snow-shoe 
helps the boy that wants to walk on the crust of 
the snow ; that is, it spreads the pressure of the 
foot over a larger surface. In addition to this, it 


is probable that these hairs hold air entangled in 
them, which may also tend to prevent the foot 
from sinking below the surface. 


[From one of our older readers] 

Delton, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas : The form of the swarm of bees 
shown in this picture is owing to the fact that the bees 
alighted on a basket, and spread over it, preserving its 

When bees swarm out of the hives, they go as rapidly 
as possible, and fly around until they usually find a tree or 
a bush upon which they wish to alight. If the queen is 




with them, 
for several 
as possible. 
This we 
When the 1 

they settle in a cluster, where they may stay 
hours. But we always try to hive them as soon 

do by tying a market-basket under the bees, 
imb is shaken, most of the bees cluster on the 


basket. Then the limb is smoked to prevent the bees from 
returning. This basket of bees is then taken to a new hive 
which has been fitted up with comb foundation, upon which 
the bees immediately begin to work. 

Pearl Lawrence. 

Every winter in San Bernardino, California, an 
orange show is held. It is held in the winter be- 

cause oranges are then at their best, and in San 
Bernardino because that is the center of the 
orange-growing country. Many attractive ex- 
hibits are shown beside oranges, of course, and 
out on the streets are plenty of side-shows, and 
peanuts, and red lemonade ; but oranges are the 
main feature, and one can imagine how beautiful 
are the "golden apples," as oranges are sometimes 
called, when made into different forms. The 
engine shown in the picture is covered entirely 
with oranges, and it rests on a turn-table also of 
the fruit. Needless to say, it won first prize in 
its class. Clara Hunt Smallwood. 


Most people are familiar with the fact that a 
powdery or mealy substance comes from the 

an "engine made of oranges. 


wings of butterflies and moths when they are 
touched, or when they come against the clothing. 
On account of this, they are sometimes called 
millers, though the term is more frequently ap- 
plied to moths. The naturalist has a long Latin 
name for them that means scaly wings,, and so 
calls them the Lepidoptcra. 

Some other kinds of insects besides the Lepi- 




doptcra have interesting scales on their wings. 
This is especially true of the mosquito, which has 
a very beautiful arrangement of long, flat scales 
arranged in rows along the veins of the wings, 
as shown in the accompanying illustration. Those 
of the butterfly are often of especially beautiful 
colors so arranged as to form exquisite patterns. 


About twenty or twenty-five years ago, the 
bridge shown in the accompanying photograph 
was built in Hamilton, Canada, over what is 
known as Coal Oil Inlet. The structure is heavy, 
and is built in the usual trestle design. In time, 
the stagnant water, combined with the coal-oil 
that floated on its surface, became a nuisance and 

crushed between the hands, is rubbed in water 
as one uses a cake of soap, a plentiful lather 
results, as cleansing as any soap bought in a 


store. The photograph shows a stripped bulb 
beside one in its natural shaggy wrapping. 

Charles Francis Saunders. 


a menace to health. The city council therefore 
ordered the inlet filled in, and operations were 
begun, j;he method used being to run cars loaded 
with gravel on the bridge, and to then dump 
their contents through the trestlework. One 
evening, a week after the work was started, the 
slipping of the bridge began, and it finally took 
the shape shown in the picture, the twist being 
about five feet. This movement was due, I think, 
to the undercurrent of water, together with the 
slimy mud with which this inlet is bottomed. 
This condition was, of course, corrected before 
the trains were allowed to pass over it. 

James Moore. 


An odd and useful plant of our Pacific coast is 
shown in this photograph — the botanist's Chloro- 
gahim pomeridianum, or, in popular speech, the 
soaproot. The grass-like, crinkled leaves appear 
close to the ground in the spring, and are known 
to every California country-dweller. They grow 
from a deep-rooted bulb incased in coarse fiber. 
If the fiber is stripped off and the onion-like bulb, 
Vol. XLL— ii. 


I am sending you two photographs of an inter- 
mittent spring that were taken about 4 :30 and 
4:55 p.m., April 18, 1913, at what is locally known 
as "Tide Spring," about five miles northeast of 
Singerglen, Virginia. 

Owing to the peculiar location of the spring, 
and the direction of the light, it was difficult to 
get a satisfactory view. I set up the camera 
and made the first exposure when the water was 
at its lowest, and about twenty-five minutes later, 
from exactly the same viewpoint, I made the 
second exposure, when the spring was at full 

There was no noise in the coming or the going 
of the water, but only a steady filling or emptying 
of the basin through its sandy bottom. One pe- 


culiar fact was that about five minutes before 
the water began to flow, the basin began to fill 
and the water rose for about two inches, then rap- 




idly fell to its former level, and about five min- 
utes later it began to rise again. 

In dry seasons, the spring flows only once or 


twice a day, and has been known to remain qui- 
escent for months ; but when this occurs, water 
issues steadily from another spring at a consider- 
able distance from this one. Harry Staley. 

A small boy left his chip hat out in the shed one 
year, and when looking for it the following" sea- 

A hornets' nest in a hat. 

son, found that hornets had built a small nest 
upon the inside. He had heard that possession 
was nine points of the law, so he generously left 
the little tenants unmolested in their strange hab- 
itation until they had no further use for it. 

James G. McCurdy. 



Whitesboro, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Please tell me what makes echoes. 
There are some where I live. 

Your interested reader, 

Elisabeth Elting. 

An echo is a sound that comes back. It hap- 
pens when there is something in the distance 
against which the vibrations of the air may 
strike. The sound rebounds, much like a ball 
that is thrown against a house, and it then comes 

on the hillside where these people stand, a call, 

even in an ordinary tone of voice, comes back 

distinctly from the distant hill. 

Lack and makes the echo. But the sound does 
not fall to the ground as a ball does, but goes in 
a straight course. Sound travels about eleven 
hundred or twelve hundred feet in a second, and, 




therefore, the object giving the echo must be so 
far away that the sound shall get back some time 
after it has been made, and be heard separate 
from the original sound. — H. L. W. 

light travels faster than sound 

Marysville, Wash. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I would like to ask why it is that 
when a steamboat is far out on the lake, and blows the 
whistle, the steam is seen before the sound is heard, while 
when the boat is near the shore, the steam and the whistle 
are seen and heard together. 

Your most interested reader, 

Virginia C. Tooker. 

The reason that you see the steam from the 
whistle before you hear the sound is because the 
light, which is reflected from the steam to your 
eye, travels faster than the sound which comes 
from the whistle to your ear. Light moves at the 
rate of about 186,000 miles a second, while sound 
travels at about 1200 feet a second. 



Dear St. Nicholas: I have often heard that, in dreams, 
when you are falling, if you strike the bottom, you will be 

Yours truly, 

Julie Melcher. 

The dream of "falling" is one of the common- 
est of all dreams. Usually, the '"fall" is not a 
sheer drop, like a physical fall, but rather a float- 
ing or gliding downward, such as is described at 
the beginning of "Alice's Adventures in Wonder- 
land." The dream is ordinarily explained as due 
to some irregularity, some momentary check, or 
arrest, of the action of the heart. 

The belief that the dreamer must wake before 
he strikes the bottom is very wide-spread, and 
probably very old. As a matter of fact, we do, 
in the vast majority of these dreams, wake with 
a start just as we are about to strike. But there 
are plenty of such dreams on record in which the 
dreamer has come to the ground, usually with a 
forward glide which does away with the shock. 
In one instance, however, the dreamer fell with 
a crash, broke to pieces, picked herself up, and 
put herself together again ! This form of ending 
is, doubtless, rare; the other form (which I have 
myself experienced) shows that "landing" is not 
fatal. — E. B. Titchener. 

big minutes and little minutes 

Evanston, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Why does the time go the same 
when the big clocks sometimes have bigger minutes than 
small clocks ? 

Helen Rushton (age 10). 

The minute-hand of a clock or a watch revolves 
completely around the dial once in sixty minutes. 

The hour-hand does so once in twelve hours. 
But, to accommodate the larger hands, the space 
representing the minute is made longer ; but a 
longer hand or a shorter hand does not change 
the time of the revolution. A minute on a big 
clock is one sixtieth of a revolution of the min- 
ute-hand, and a minute on the smallest watch is 
also one sixtieth of a revolution of the minute- 
hand, and the time of the revolution is exactly 
the same in the two. Therefore, a minute has 
just the same length on each. — E. F. B. 

If you will take a pencil and paper and draw a 
line around a saucer or plate placed upside down 
on the paper, you will have a circle similar to 
that of the face of a clock. Then, if you will 
take something smaller, about the size of a watch 


— a butter plate or the bottom of a vase may do, 
and draw another circle exactly in the middle of 
the larger one, you will be able to study the ques- 
tion. First make a dot at the center of the two 
circles, and with a ruler or any straight edge 
draw a line from the dot out to the larger circle ; 
this line will be like the hand of a watch from 
the center to the small circle, and it will be like 
the hand of a clock out at the large circle. Now 
if you will make a dot about the distance of a 
minute on the clock circle, and draw another line 
from it to the center, you will see that the dis- 
tance on the small circle is much smaller. You 
will then be able to understand that the clock and 
watch hands make the same angle in going a min- 
ute, and that they will go clear around in the 
same time ; but the larger the circle, the greater 
the distance to be traveled. — H. L. W. 


One of the unending joys of the League is the constant 
succession of "jolly" pictures sent in by the young pho- 
tographers — scenes in which the spirit of happiness reigns 
supreme. No matter what the setting or background may 
be, the active life represented seems almost always to reflect 
entire contentment with the present moment or the gleeful, 
buoyant mood of youth. A glance at the little pictures on 
page eighty-seven shows how true this is — for the spirit of 
sport, of jollity, of complete satisfaction, or of abounding 
happiness pervades them all. And the tide of such pictures 
that pours in, month by month, makes us feel what a fortu- 
nate country is this great land of ours — when such scenes 
are every-day happenings in all its far-stretching levels and 
in the shadows of its hills, along its inland water-courses 
and "by the blown sea-foam" of its widely sundered shores. 

There is cause enough for Thanksgiving, indeed, when a 
country of a hundred millions can show such multitudes of 
its cheery young folk, day by day, throughout the year, in 
carefree enjoyment of " the great outdoors." 

A keen love of fun, moreover, gives zest and breeziness 
to the prose and verse this month. In both there are sev- 
eral contributions that display genuine humor on the part 
of their young authors, and of a kind which their fellow- 
members of the League will not fail to appreciate. The 
young artists, too, have shown that they are not a whit 
behind their comrades in this respect, and their work exhibits 
both cleverness of fancy and admirable skill in drawing. 

So the magazine is justly proud of its League contribu- 
tors, one and all, and wishes them even greater triumphs in 
the new volume which begins with this November number. 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

PROSE. Gold badge, Griffith M. Harsh (age 14), Douglas, Ariz. 

Silver badges, Marie Harjes (age 13), Neuilly-sur-Seine, France; Alice Borncamp (age 12), Winona, Minn.; Mil- 
dred Sweney (age 15), St. Joseph, Mo.; Lile E. Chew (age 17), Morristown, N. J. 

VERSE. Gold badges, Hope Satterthwaite (age 13), New York City; Dorothy C. Snyder (age 15), Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Silver badges, Weare Holbrook (age 17), Onawa, la.; Josephine Lytle Livingood (age 12), Newport, R. I.; Randolph 
Goodridge (age 13), Hartford, Conn. 

DRAWINGS. Gold badge, Louise M. Graham (age 14), Seattle, Wash. 

Silver badges, Isabel Emory (age 15), Westfield, N. J.; Isabella Steele (age 8), Waukon, la. 
PHOTOGRAPHS. Gold badge, Junior Scruton (age 16), Sedalia, Mo. 

Silver badges, Duncan Mellor (age 14), Plainfield, N. J.; Lambert F. Dickenson (age 14), New York City; Mildred 
Gould (age 10), Hinsdale, 111.; Dorothy Steffan (age 15), Philadelphia, Pa.; Ella H. Snavely (age 16), Manheim, Pa. 
PUZZLE-MAKING. Silver badges, Ida Cramer (age 12), Reinbeck, la.; Muriel W. Clarke (age 13), White Plains, 
N. Y. 

PUZZLE ANSWERS. Silver badges, Mary L. Angles (age 12), Douglas, Ariz. ; Bernard Candip (age 14), New 
York City. 




AGE 14. 





Gold Badge. {Silver Badge won July, 19 13) 
The haughty mountain lifts high its proud head 

And bears aloft its shining crest of snow. 
It scarcely deigns to look where creatures tread, 

It gives no thought to what may pass below. 
Around its jagged peaks the vultures wheel 

And scream above the tempest and the storm. 
It seems its very majesty to feel, 

And proudly raises up its mighty form. 

"during vacation." by junior scruton, age 16. 
(silver badge won jan., 1913.) 

GOLD badge. 

But more I love the gentle wooded hill 

Which rises, sloping, from the meadows green. 
It seems to love the little trickling rill 

That, running at its foot, completes the scene 
Of peace and quiet beauty, nature's own. 

The hill smiles on the pleasant farms beneath, 
The mountain frowns and stands aloft and lone. 

I love the hill which rises from the heath. 



Gold Badge. {Silver Badge xvon September, 1913.) 
Soon after breakfast the three lads of Camp Delight set 
out for a tramp up the canon. Of course Brix, the dog, 
accompanied them. 

The Chiricahui Mountains are said to be inhabited 
by many kinds of wild animals. The boys hoped to see 
some of them. 

George carried a twenty-two rifle with which he had 
successfully brought down a tomato can from a stick 
the day before, and, therefore, felt confident of his 
power to protect the party. Walter was armed with a 
Brownie No. 2, and Charlie led the bulldog. 

A good deal of superfluous energy was worked off in 
scrambling up the steep walls of the canon. A sharp 
lookout was kept for rattlesnakes and Gila monsters. 

As the boys had recently come from a prairie home, 
they were filled with admiration at the sight of the 
gigantic pines, sycamores, and many other forest trees 
native to these mountains. 

Following the trail for some miles up the canon, it 
led them near a large cave, which they stopped to 
explore. The most remarkable thing within it was the 

resemblance to a warrior's head, formed of stone. 
They fancied it some fierce old Apache chief, whose 
war-whoop had often echoed from these towering cliffs. 
After the cave came lunch. Seated under a juniper- 
tree, the boys enjoyed their sandwiches and grape-juice ; 
unlike Elijah, not wishing they were dead — but very 
glad to be alive. Lunch over, the boys felt brave 
enough for anything, and, penetrating into a mysteri- 
ous-looking thicket, they peered ahead to see the cause 
of Brix's uneasy whine. 

Disturbed from his acorn feast, a huge bear rose on 
his haunches a few yards away. 

"What happened next" was the flight of 
three very brave ( ?) youngsters down the 
stony trail — hurrying home to gather wood 
for the camp-fire. 



"Oh, dear," said Mr. Fly, "I wish I could have 
a minute's peace ; I 'm nearly tired to death. 

"Ah ! there 's the sugar-bowl ! I guess I '11 
stop there a moment, for I do love sugar. 
Phew ! what was that ? I guess I '11 move 
on. That cake looks good. I '11 sample it. 
I'm ! Ah ! that 's — " Swat ! ! ! — "Good- 
ness ! they almost had me then. Why were 
those human beings ever made ? They 're the 
torment of our lives. 

"I 'm going to try that man's head next, it 
looks nice and smooth. 

"There, now I 'm comfortable, I 'm going 
to sleep." 

Swish ! Swish ! 

"Oh, my ! I did n't know that man had a 
paper in his hand. 
"Oh, dear, where can I go now: 
plate, and freshen myself up a bit. 

I '11 stop on that 

AGE 14. 


"I am so tired, I wonder what will happen next — " 
Swish ! Swish ! Poor Mr. Fly soon found out what 
happened next. 






Gold Badge. (Silver Badge won Jam 
O clouds that float so bright on high 

Up in the heavens of blue, 
As you go sailing slowly by, 

Take me along with you, 
And let me, too, sail far away 

To where the waves leap wild and 
And there I '11 stay for e'er and aye, 

Beside the great blue sea. 


iary, 1912) 


O wand'ring wind that shakes the trees 

And wails, now faint, now strong. 
As you go wafting onward, please, 

Oh, please ! take me along 
To where the green-blue water curls, 

And backward sways, then onward swirls, 
And masses of green seaweed hurls 

Beside the great blue sea. 

For, oh ! I sometimes long all day 

To see the water blue, 
And run my fingers through the sand, 

And watch, my whole life through, 
The breakers as they onward dash, 

And hear them as they wildly crash 
Against the rocks, and backward splash, 

Into the great blue sea. 

(A true story) 


(Silver Badge) 
My sister Hope and I had been invited to spend a week 
end with a friend at Chantilly, near Paris. 

Our excitement was hard to keep within bounds, for, 
apart from the pleasures awaiting us at Chantilly, we 
were going away from home, for the first time in our 
lives, quite alone. 

All spare time was employed in discussing which 
costumes, sweaters, hats, and dresses would be needed 
for tennis, golfing, driving, motoring, and indoor enter- 
tainments, because much of a varied character would 
happen in the short visit. 

Our views on the subject of dress were on a more 
extensive scale than those of our mother and maid, who 
did not look forward to the proposed trip with the same 
intense interest that we did. 

While we were thus crazily agitating ourselves and 
every one else about us, our English governess was 
making preparations to go to her home. 

The auspicious Friday dawned a perfect lune day, 
and I awoke with a feeling that something extraordi- 
narily pleasant was coming. Of course ! Chantilly ! 
I must run to Hope's room and wake her up ! But 

what was that curious stiffness in my neck ? It felt 
swollen, and hurt me when I moved. I found Hope 
awake. She called out : "Marie, the day has come ! 
can you believe it? But what is the matter?" 

I had to confess that I was not feeling well, and 
pointed to my throat. Hope gave a look of horrified 
dismay, and together we went to our governess's room. 
Miss Clover tried to keep her cheerful calm, and said 
the doctor should be telephoned for, though probably I 
only had a little cold. The doctor arrived, and in a 
matter-of-fact way announced, "Mumps!!" 

What happened next? 

Not what we had foreseen through the rose-colored 
spectacles of happy anticipation, but an isolated bed- 
room, and the remembrances of what "was to have 
been" but — "was not !" 



(Honor Member) 
Thanksgiving Day dawned bright and clear, and the 
rising sun, peeping over the hills, roused the inmates 
of the old Halloway homestead to their preparations 
for this day of thanks. 

The relatives of Mr. and Mrs. Halloway were scat- 
tered far and wide throughout the Southern States, but 
for many years they had had an annual reunion at the 
old home on Thanksgiving Day. This year there was 
to be no departure from the old rule, and so, after an 
early breakfast, the permanent members of the house- 
hold separated, to accomplish their various duties in 
preparation for the coming guests. Some busied them- 
selves in putting the house in order, others packed 
baskets to carry to less fortunate neighbors, and Mrs. 
Halloway repaired to the 
kitchen to aid Hannah in 
preparing dinner. 

The hour for dinner was 
set for one, and by twelve 
o'clock all had arrived. 
Scattered all over the 
grounds were groups of 
jolly, laughing people. Mrs. 
Halloway, having done all 
she could in the kitchen, 
was bustling about with her 
usual southern hospitality, 
making every one comfor- 
table, while old Mr. Hal- 
loway made a pretty pic- 
ture as he sat on the broad 
veranda enjoying himself 
in the midst of a group of 

At last the welcome din- 
ner-gong sounded, and the 
crowd trooped into the 
spacious dining - room, 

where the table literally 
groaned under the weight 
of the good cheer placed 
on it. Surely no more ap- 
petizing array had ever greeted a holiday party. 

When all had found their places, Mr. Halloway arose 
from his seat at the head of the table, and 'gave thanks 
for all the blessings which had been granted them dur- 
ing the year. Then he began carving the big turkey. 

Now, eliminating the possibility of a fire or other 
accident, I think that no one will have any difficulty in 
imagining — what happened next. 

^ VH 

















(Silver Badge) 
Out where the broad-winged, flapping sea-gull flies, 
A feverish sailor in his hammock lies. 
The hammock slowly, smoothly, softly swings ; 
The tired sailor shuts his burning eyes. 

He dimly hears the billows' frothy hiss. 
The curling waves run by and seem to kiss 
The moving hulk that presses them aside. 
'What have I heard," he asks, "that sounds like this?" 

The evening breeze blows through the woodlands wild. 
He hears a mother crooning to her child. 
And, breathless, sees the humble cot inside 
The rude stone fence that he himself had piled. 

Beyond the well-worn, white -scrubbed threshold there, 
He sees a woman sitting in a chair, 
And, nestled in her arms, a ruddy babe. 
Her eyes are wistful, and her face is fair. 

He pauses at the lintel-post to hear 

The song. It has no bird-like note of cheer ; 

Its rich, sweet melody ends in a sob. 

Upon the mother's cheek there shines a tear. 

Out where the broad-winged, flapping sea-gull flies, 
The sailor wakes and scans the waves and skies, 
Then, disappointed, shuts his eyes again. 
" 'T was but the singing of the sea," he sighs. 



(Silver Badge) 
It was a dark and gloomy night. The wind, sweeping 
across the ocean, piled up the mountainous waves and 
hurled them against the great cliffs with thunderous 
roars. At intervals the rain beat down upon the ocean 
and upon the village which stood near by, but at times 


it ceased, and the moon peered timidly over an edge of 
cloud, only to hastily withdraw, frightened at the 
gloomy scene she looked upon. 

In the village all was dark. No one wished to stay 
awake to hear the rain beat fitfully on the roofs and 
the wind whistle down the street. 

When the moon appeared again, she stayed longer 

than before, for she now had something interesting to 
look upon. A cottage door was slowly opening, and a 
young girl, muffled in a long cloak, was stealing out. 
She crept cautiously down the street, pausing now and 
then to glance fearfully behind her, as though dreading 
pursuit. Then, drawing her cloak more closely about 
her, she hurried on. The moon was so interested by 
this strange proceeding that she utterly refused to with- 
draw her gaze and retire behind the clouds, although 
they frowned fiercely at her. What did she care for 
mere clouds when something so unusual was happening ? 

The girl had 
now left the 
village behind 
her and was 
hurrying up 
the lonely 

road. Reach- 
ing the top of 
the hill, she 
paused and 
peered anx- 
iously into the 
darkness. Sud- 
denly a horse- 
man galloped 
out from the 
and came to- 
ward her. At 
first she start- 
ed, as if in 
fear, then 

turned and ran 
rapidly for- 

But alas for 
the moon. As 
though to pun- 
ish her idle curiosity, the clouds roared angrily and 
pounced upon her, enveloping her with a mist so thick 
and dark that she could not see through it. And to this 
day the moon still wonders what happened next. 



(Honor Member) 
Gaze on the mountains, peaceful, grand, sublime, 

They fill my heart with awe akin to fear ; 
How well through ages past, untouched by time, 

Have they survived wild tempests year by year! 

Upon the deep blue of the summer sky, 

They have been painted by a master hand ; 

Against the clouds which glide sedately by, 

Like mighty bulwarks of the north, they stand. 

In purple haze the distant mountains lie, 
A drowsy hush descends on lake and hill ; 

Light breezes in the hemlocks softly sigh, 
With lazy murmur hums the little rill. 

The flaming sun sinks slowly out of sight, 
For one brief space a vagrant sunset gleam 

Flashes like fire along the rocky height ; 
E'en as it fades, I waken from my dream. 

Now in the west the twilight, dim and gray, 

Blots out the sun's last glimmering beam of light. 

The mountains in the mist, awaiting day, 
Slumber beneath the shining stars to-night. 

AGE 14. 






(Silver Badge) 

Oh, sing me a song of the sea, yo ho ! 
Where the winds blow wild and free ; 
Where the billows rise to a monstrous size, 
And you cling to the mast with your life as the prize. 
Oh, that is the kind of a life for me, 
A life on the sea, yo ho ! 

Oh, sing me a song of the sea, yo ho ! 
Where the fog is thick and damp ; 
Where the wild fog bell is used to tell 
That some poor ship went down in the swell. 
Oh, that is the kind of a life for me, 
A life on the sea, yo ho ! 

Oh, sing me a song of the sea, yo ho ! 
Where the sun's rays gild the ship 
With its first pale light, as it comes to sight, 
Welcomed by sailors as end of the night. 
Oh, that is the kind of a life for me, 
A life on the sea, yo ho ! 

(A true incident) 


(Silver Badge) 
At the time of the outbreak of the Civil War, Miss 

O was in a young ladies' seminary rot far from 

St. Louis, Missouri. The president of the college was 
a northerner, but there 
were many daughters of 
stanch southerners attend- 
ing this school. 

There were, at this 
time, lawless bands known 
as bushwhackers. Al- 
though inclined to favor 
Confederacy, these reck- 
less men would do any- 
Q thing to further their 
*i interests. 

Early one morning the 
bushwhackers burned most 
of the town, and the young 
ladies of the school were 
greatly terrified when, 
later in the day, Ander- 
son, the guerilla, drove 
his band into the school 

Although the president 
of the school had fled for 
his life, many of the 
scholars were still waiting 
for their parents to send 

for them. Miss O , 

foreseeing danger, quickly 
ran to the chapel, and, as she was an accomplished 
musician, played "Dixie" on the organ for all she was 
worth. Entering the chapel, the bushwhackers seemed 

to quiet down, while at their bidding Miss O played 

many southern tunes. When finally they took their de- 
parture, the scholars wondered, with intense excitement 
mingled with fear, what would happen next. 

Those who were able to sleep were awakened very 

early by the tramping of soldiers. Again Miss O 

took her place at the organ, and as the bluecoats ap- 
Vol. XLI.—I2. 

proached, the rich tones of the "Star Spangled Banner" 
issued from the chapel. After many northern songs 
had been played, the soldiers departed, and the girls 
were enabled to reach their homes in safety. 






(Silver Badge) 
The gun was fired and five boats shot by the buoy in 
front of the club-house. They had a speed of from 
eighteen to twenty- 
five miles an hour, 
and the race-course 
was five miles long. 
The boats had to go 
over it three times, 
before they finished. 

All the spectators 
were full of interest 
from the beginning, 
and especially those 
who were shouting 
for the Winner. This 
was a long, narrow, 
white boat, and its 
speed was twenty 
miles an hour. 

The first lap was 
run, and as she 
passed the starting- 
buoy, she slowed 
down and stopped. 
For ten minutes she 
lay there, and the 
two young men who 
were running her 
worked furiously at 
the engines. At last 
the Winner started 
again, and though 
there was small 
chance of her com- 
ing in first, the men 

ran her around the remaining two times. The other 
four were well on their second lap when she started, 
but as they drew near the buoy, way in the distance, 
Winner could be seen coming down the lake at top 
speed. The four passed the buoy, and several minutes 
later Winner passed it, and was then on her last lap. 

*e C-ahatrk. 







Everybody shouted, but there was no response from 
those in the boat. Their eyes were fastened on those 
so far ahead of them now. 

For a short time they passed out of sight, and then 
all eyes were turned to the on-coming racers. Winner 
was slowly gaining. They came nearer the end, and 
Winner steadily gained until she passed three of the 
boats. It seemed impossible for her to pass the fourth, 
but at the last minute she shot through the water, and 
came in a few feet ahead of her opponent. 




{Silver Badge) 
Far from the reach of land, 
In the great ocean's hand, 

Far out at sea ; 
Far 'neath the foaming deep 
Where the great billows sweep, 
Oceans their secrets keep, 

Ever to be. 

Down 'neath the churning foam, 
Where the great fishes roam, 

Silence does reign. 
Down 'neath the shining blue, 
Boat, ship, and sailor, too, 
Oft have gone, never to 

Rise up again. 

O'er all the ocean flows, 
Its bright blue never shows 

What lies beneath ; 
Never its secrets told, 
Ever the ocean old 
Holds ships, and men, and gold, 

Past all belief. 

{A true story) 


My father has told me many interesting stories of his 
boyhood, and one which I like the best of all is this : 

He was at the age of about nine or ten, when he 
loved sugar so much, that it seemed that he could never 
get enough of it. So one rainy day he went to the 

store-room where the sugar-barrel was kept. He had it 
in his mind to have for once all of the sugar he wanted. 
He knew that his mother was up-stairs lying down with 
a sick headache, and his father was not at home, so he 
had a good chance. 

He started in by just putting his hands into the bar- 
rel, but finally thinking that he had very little time to 
himself, he got farther in, and being very short, fell 
head first into the barrel ; in his attempt to get out 
quickly, he turned over the sugar-barrel on himself. 

He had sugar in his hair, in his eyes, and both hands 
were full. 

The cook, hearing the noise from the falling barrel, 
ran into the room, to see what was the matter, and 
when she saw little Tom all covered over with sugar, 
she was very much surprised, for she nor anybody else 
had heard him go in there. 

She ran directly to his mother's room, pulling Tom 
after her, to tell her of the mishap. His father had 
just arrived, so he went out into the hall and took him 
into the next room, and I think we all know — what 
happened next. 


No. i . A list of those whose work would have been used had space 

No. 2. A Hst of those whose work entitles them to encouragement. 


Melville Otter 
Charles Martin Burrill 
Edward R. Williams 
Marjorie Moran 
Edith Lucie Weart 
Pearl E. Travis 
Clarice Leurs 
Ivan Clyde Lake 
Cornelia Tucker 
Thais Plaisted 
Mabel Dana 
Elizabeth Kales 
Constance Quinby 
Edith M. Levy 
Clara Snydacker 
Margaret Pratt 
Adelaide H. Elliott 
Laura Morris 
Henrietta L. Perrine 
Priscilla Weeks 
Eleanor W. Haasis 
Ruth C. Harris 
Helen A. Winans 
Margaret M. Horton 
Edna Walls 
Mary T. Lyman 
S. Frances Hershey 
Emily S. Stafford 
Dorothy M. Russell 
Laura Hadley 
Jack Flower 
Carolyn Pierce 
Beatrice Fischer 
Fanny Marr 
Gjems Fraser 
Marion L. Williams 
Helen E. Adams 
Sarah Roody 
R. Mary Reed 
Elsie Barker 
Margaret Laughlin 
Helen H. Stern 
Adelaide H. Noll 
Elizabeth Skinner 
C. Rosalind Holmes 
Elsie Stuart 
Richard M. Gudeman 
Eleanor Fullerton 
Charles B. Hale 
Edyth Walker 
Martha Williams 
Lucile Luttrell 
Mary B. Boynton 
Margaret Pennewell 
Marjorie Riley 
Evelyn Ollison 

Florence G. Shaw 
Eleanor North Mann 
Margaret Watson 
Maybelle Louise 

Eleanor K. Newell 
Helen E. Westfall 
Margaret M. Benney 
Hilda Gaunt 
Robert Wormser 
Lois Murray Weill 
Laura Wild 
Henry BelHs^Van Fleet 
Margaret H. Topliff 
Mary L. D. West 
Lillian Green 

Eugenia Towle 
Clarisse Spencer 

De Bost 
Frances Kestenbaum 
Alice L. Chinn 


Louise Redfield 
Grace N. Helfstein 
Marian Thanhouser 
Margaret Tildsley 
Elsa\A. Synnestvedt 
Flora McDonald 

Christina Phelps 

"a welcome guest. by wil- 
helmina babcock, age 17. 

Martha H. Comer 
Gaston A. Lintner 
Lois Hopkins 
Elizabeth Badger 
Caroline Adams 
Frederica Winestine 
Dorothy Manwell 

Lucile E. Fitch 
Elsie Emery Glenn 
John C. Farrar 
Harriet Eagle 
Nell Adams 
Elsie L. Lustig 
MargarettaC. Johnson 




Bruce T. Simonds 
Betty Humphreys 
Elizabeth Reynard 
Lois A. Tuttle 
Elizabeth Morrison 

Edith Valpey Manwell 
Sarah M. Bradley 
Helen G. Rankin 
Frances E. Burr 
Winifred Manning 

Adele Chapin 
Frances Goodhue 
Vera McQueen 
Vernie Peacock 
Courtenay Halsey 
Hazel K. Sawyer 
Linda Van Norden 
Eleanor Linton 
Dorothy Rose 

Ruth L. Franc 
Katherine G. Batts 
Beth M. Nichols 
Elisabeth Engster 
Constance Clifford 

Lucy W. Renand 
Jean E. Freeman 
Eugenia B. Sheppard 
Emanuel Farbstein 
Fannie Farbstein 
Madeleine Wild 
Jeaimette Everett Laws 
Grace Franklin 
Marion Munson 
Christopher G. 

La Farge, Jr. 
Harriet W. McKim 
Isabel Rathborne 
Grace Hammill 
Robert H. Walter 
Lidda Kladivko 
Lucy Mackay 
L. E. Barbour 
Emily Legg 
Elizabeth H. Kendrick 
Felice H. Jarecky 
Florence W. Towle 
Helen Krauss 
Adeline R. Eveleth 
Frances Caroline 

Marjorie M. Carroll 
Maria B. Piatt 
Doris E. Packard 
Forris Atkinson 
Mary A. Porter 
Virginia Houlihan 
Mary Sumner Benson 
Elizabeth Hendee 
Doris F. Halman 
Eugenie W. DeKalb 
Edith Sturgis 
Walter B. Lister 
Judith Matlack 
Elizabeth Burnham 
Eleanor Johnson 
Herbert A. Harris 


Jennie E. Everden 
Louise Spalding 
Alene S. Little 
Ruth Huntington 
E. Theo. Nelson 
John Latta 
Margaret E. Nicolson 
Henry P. Teall 
Dorothy Hughes 
Lucy C. Holt 
Robert Martin 
Emma Katherine 

Dorothy E. Lutz 
Vahe Garabedian 
Dorothy L. Mackay 
Mary Lyon 
Frances B. Gardiner 
Loena King 
Charles Dahl 
Welthea B. Thoday 
Clarence R. Smith 
Wiard B. Ihnen 

Dorothy E. Handsaker 
Janet Stedman Taylor 
Anne Lee Haynes 
Charles Howard 

Nora Stirling 
Hildegarde Beck 
Max Wilmarth 
Emma Glassman 
Helena Gedney 
Longshaw K. Porritt 


Frances A. Palmer 
Rachel Huntington 

Stewart S. Kurtz, Jr. 
Sarah L. Major 
Sarah W. Rollins 
Margaret Macdonald 
Dorothy M. Graham 
GerdaC. Richards 
Julia F. Brice 
Harriet T. Parsons 
Katharine Owers 
Eleanor Pelham 

Lucy B. Grey 
Elizabeth Willcox 
Alice D. Rukelman 
Horton H. Honsaker 
Elizabeth Wood 


Alberta B. Burton 
Henry S. Johnson 
Margaret Blake 
Ethel T. Boas 

Chesley Hastings 
Jean F. Benswanger 
Alma Chesnut 
Daniel B. Benscoter 
Edith Pierpont 





Mary K. Greene 
Elmer Krohn 
Alice M. Hughes 
Mary Huntington 
Isabel Bacheler 
Clementine Bacheler 
Emily C. Acker 
Marguerite Clark 
Lina G. Hill 
Alta I. Davis 
Lyman D. James 
Jack Hopkins 


Leroy Salzenstein 
Erida Louise 
Hester Alida Emmett 
Ethel C. E. Chard 
Alfred Willis Bastress 
Genevieve Blanchard 
Cornelia M. Cotton 
Josephine Root 
Vaughn J. Byron 
Ralph Goodwin 
Kathryn Lyman 
Beatrice N. Penny 
Dorothy V. Tyson 
Hortense Douglas 
Eleanor E. Coates 
Lucy A. Benjamin 
Louise Northrup 
Eleanor Thomas 
Charlotte MacEwan 
Rachel Trowbridge 
Mary E. Springle 
Elizabeth W. Passans 
James W. Frost 
Helen H. Van Valer 
Sibyl F. Weymouth 
Sylvia Wilcox 
Hilda Lord 
Dorothy M. Parsons 
Esther R. Harrington 
Carolyn Archbold 
Martha L. Clark 
Alexander Scott 
Eleanor Stevenson 

Helen M. Lancaster 
Marian B. Mishler 
Sarah Marvin 
Martha Lambert 
Isabel Armstrong 
Margaret Anderson 
Marjorie C. Huston 
Patrina M. Colis 
Virginia Maude 

Helen Bayne 
Rosamond Sherwood 
Harriet Dyer Price 
Elizabeth Ellison 
Ruth Englis 
Malcolm C. Spence 
Pearl I. Henderson 
Douglass Robinson 
Dorothy von Olker 
Virginia Gohn 
Eleanor Lowrey 
Anna Cornell 
Fanny Moschcowitz 
M. Alison Mclntyre 
Helen Bull 
Eleanor O. Doremus 
Fred Breitenfeld 
Louise A. Wiggenhorn 
Marion Boles 
Gerald H. Loomis 
Walter Hochschild 
Dorothy Farrand 
Alice Richards 
Margaret Condict 
Margaret Richmond 
Gertrude Tiemer 

Anna Caroline Crane 
Elizabeth Richardson 
George W. Howe 
Jack Harris 
Persis S. Miller 
Margaret Hinds 
Theodore L. Chisholm 
Jasper Keeler 
Elizabeth S. E. Brooks 
John J. Miller, Jr. 

Mildred W. Longstreth Elwyn B. White 
Samuel H. Ordway, Jr. Margaret E. Cohen 
Helen Ziegler Joe Earnest 


Anne C. Coburn 
Elizabeth Jones 
Betty May Howe 
M. Isabelle Davis 
Tom Winston 
Dorothy C. Walsh 
Hilda Libby 


The St. Nicholas League awards gold and silver badges 
each month for the best original poems, stories, drawings, 
photographs, puzzles, and puzzle answers. Also, occasion- 
ally, cash prizes to Honor Members, when the contribution 
printed is of unusual merit. 

Competition No. 169 will close November 10 (for for- 
eign members November 15). Prize announcements will 
be made and the selected contributions published in St. 
Nicholas for March. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, "A Greeting," or "The Autumn Woods." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, " The Story of an Old Attic." 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, "Uphill," or "Down- 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, " Jack-o'-Lantern Time," or a Heading for 

Puzzle. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the an- 
swer in full, and must be indorsed. 

Puzzle Answers. Best, neatest, and most complete set 
of answers to puzzles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 
Must be indorsed and must be addressed as explained on 
the first page of the " Riddle-Box." 

Wild Creature Photography. To encourage the pur- 
suing of game with a camera instead of with a gun. The 
prizes in the "Wild Creature Photography" competition 
shall be in four classes, as follows: Prize, Class A, a gold 
badge and three dollars. Prize, Class B, a gold badge 
and one dollar. Prize, Class C, a gold badge. Prize, 
Class D, a silver badge. But prize-winners in this com- 
petition (as in all the other competitions) will not receive 
a second gold or silver badge. Photographs must not be 
of "protected " game, as in zoological gardens or game 
reservations. Contributors must state in a few words where 
and under what circumstances the photograph was taken. 

Special Notice. No unused contribution can be re- 
turned by us unless it is accompanied by a self-addressed 
and stamped envelop of the proper size to hold the manu- 
script, drawing, or photograph. 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber or not, 
is entitled to League membership, and a League badge and 
leaflet, which will be sent free. No League member who 
has reached the age of eighteen years may compete. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed as 
"original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, tu ho must be 
convinced beyond doubt that the contribution is not copied, 
but wholly the "work and idea of the sender. If prose, the 
number of words should also be added. These notes must 
not be on a separate sheet, but on the contribution itself — 
if manuscript, on the upper margin ; if a picture, on the 
margin or back. Write or draw on one side of the paper 
only. A contributor may send but one contribution a 
month — -not one of each kind, but one only; this, how- 
ever, does not include the "advertising competition," or 
"Answers to Puzzles." 
Address : The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Square, New York. 

This November number marks the date when 
St. Nicholas is forty years o — no, not old — is 
forty years young. For St. Nicholas, like Santa 
Claus, is simply another name for The Spirit of 
Youth, which never can grow old. If you choose 
to apply the word in the way that boys and girls 
speak of their cronies as "dear old Jack" or "dear 
old Jill" — well and good. Indeed, on the very 
first page of the very first number, Mrs. Mary 
Mapes Dodge, the beloved editor, paid a warm- 
hearted tribute in the name of all young folk, to 
"dear old St. Nicholas, with his pet names 'Santa 
Claus,' 'Kriss Kringle,' 'St. Nick,' and we don't 
know how many others. Is he not the acknow- 
ledged patron saint of New York, America's 
greatest city? Did n't his image stand at the 
prow of the first emigrant ship that ever sailed 
into New York Bay ? Certainly. And what is 
more, is n't he the kindest, the best, and the jol- 
liest old dear that ever was known? Certainly, 

True indeed ; and since that happy day what a 
host of young folk have spoken just as warmly of 
the magazine that was named in his honor, and 
have found that so long as they were boys and 
girls, St. Nicholas was of just the right age for 
them, — was just as old as they were. 

It is true, too, of the St. Nicholas Magazine 
and of Santa Claus, that they have not only the 
same name, but the same ideal and special pur- 
pose : their one "excuse for being" is to make 
everybody in general and young folk in particular 
as happy as it is possible for them to be. The 
main difference between the two is that Santa 
comes but once a year, while St. Nicholas makes 
twelve visits in the same interval — one for each 
month of the round dozen. Moreover, it has 
now maintained this pace for forty years without 
skipping a single month — has completed twelve 
times as many calls as the Christmas saint — and 
yet has kept as young as ever! Surely here is a 
miracle greater than any ever wrought by the 
blessed Santa himself ! 

And with this happy result: that, to-day, all 
over this wide land of ours, in Europe, and the 

islands of the sea — we might truly say all round 
the world — there are thousands and thousands of 
boys and girls and of grown men and women, yes, 
even of grandfathers and grandmothers, who re- 
joice that this is so, and who share our pride in 
the record of those forty years. 

For a truly glorious record it has been. St. 
Nicholas was not only a new magazine, but from 
its very beginning a new kind of magazine. It 
set itself to prove, from the first, that only the 
best was good enough for boys and girls, as for 
their elders. The manifold achievements which 
its history presents are referred to, at length, in 
the pages alongside this number's Table of Con- 
tents. We bespeak a careful reading of those 
pages by all our boys and girls and their parents 
as well, for we feel sure they will welcome, on 
this anniversary, a reminder of the good things 
and the good times that the magazine has brought 
into their lives. 

Let us all rejoice, therefore, that St. Nicho- 
las, now that he "is come to forty year," is 
young at heart as ever — as all who love and live 
for young folk must needs be. And turning back 
to that first page of the magazine, forty years 
ago, we realize how much truer it is to-day than 
it was then, — -and in a marvelously better way, 
—that "St. Nicholas" is indeed "the boys' and 
girls' own Saint, the especial friend of young 
folk the world over." To our readers and their 
parents, this is a familiar story, an oft-told tale. 
The "Letter-Box" of this month, or of any 
month, and the host of equally ardent missives 
which we have no room to print, show clearly 
enough the esteem and affection in which the mag- 
azine is held. And to each of its readers, it makes 
this birthday pledge : So long as you are a boy or 
a girl, St. Nicholas will be your chum, your 
crony, and — just as old as you are. 

We may even add a confidential whisper that, 
if you wish to remain young, there is no better 
way to accomplish it than to form the habit of 
reading St. Nicholas when you are eight years 
old, and continue that good habit until you are 


Manchester-by-the-Sea, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for five or six 
years, and I cannot tell you how much I enjoy you. 
My father took you, also, when he was a boy, and I 
have about twenty old volumes of St. Nicholas bound. 
I just love to look over them and read them. 

I liked "The Lucky Sixpence" so very much that I 
bought the book, and I am going to do the same with 
"Beatrice of Denewood." 

Your base-ball articles are helpful as well as inter- 
esting, and I often remember the helpful things that 
Mr. Claudy wrote about. I especially like the one on 
"Signals and Signal-Stealing." 

Your interested reader, 

Edith Rosamond Merrill (age n). 

Washington, D. C. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I want to tell you how I enjoy 
and appreciate you. I am a member of the League, but 
am nearing the age limit. 

You are a truly delightful magazine, and I am sure 
that I am reading good reading when I have you. "The 
Land of Mystery" certainly abounds in mystery and 

In the July number, there was a most beautiful poem 
entitled "Wandering," by a girl thirteen years old. 
You don't know how I love that poem, and I know it 
by heart. The poem I refer to is on page 857. 
Your loving reader, 

Helen G. Rankin. 

Hillsboro, O. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Although I have taken the St. 
Nicholas since 1907, this is the first letter I have ever 
written to you. 

I enjoy every page of the St. Nicholas, and I like 
to read the poems and stories that other girls and boys 
about my age have written in the League, and I often 
wonder if I could do as well. 

I like all the short stories, and also the continued 
ones, especially "The Land of Mystery." 

I think the Letter-Box is fine, and I always read 
every letter. I think the letters from girls and boys in 
Australia, China, Chile, or any other country are so 
interesting and instructive. 

I am fourteen years old, and I enter high school this 
fall. My sister, Patty, is eight, and will go into the 
third grade. 

We have a little black kitten named "Imp." It spends 
most of its time upon the transom or the grape-arbor. 
It ran away twice, but we found it again. 

Although Hillsboro is not a very large place, we 
girls have very good times, swimming and playing cro- 
quet in the summer, and coasting in the winter. 

I am keeping all my St. Nicholas Magazines, and 
on rainy days, I like to get them and read the stories 
over again. 

I lend my magazines to the other girls, and we all 
enjoy them very much. 

Sincerely yours, 

Narka Nelson. 

Los Angeles, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : In the Nature and Science de- 
partment of the August number, we saw an account of 
blackbirds attacking people in Los Angeles, California. 
We were very interested, as we had z, similar experi- 
ence in the same city. 

We live here, and going to school one morning, some 
blackbirds flew at us, and tried to peck our heads. We 
became frightened and ran. 

When we got home, we were assured it was a com- 
mon occurrence. 

We are very interested and excited over your two 
serial stories. We think that all your departments are 
fine, too. 

Your interested readers, 

Dorothy Klauber, 
Mary Mathews. 

Cloudcroft, N. M. 
Dear St. Nicholas : As I have never written to you 
before, I thought I would tell you about the country I 
live in. I live in El Paso, Texas, but, at present, I am 
spending the summer in the Sacramento Mountains. 

El Paso is just across the Rio Grande from Jaurez, 
Mexico, and on the border line. The Rio Grande has 
been changing its course for a long time. Gradually 
it has taken land from Mexico and added it to the 
United States. After great discussion, the United 
States paid Mexico for the disputed territory. 

There have never been floods here, but about sixteen 
yea'rs ago, the State of Colorado had unusually heavy 
storms. In spring, the snow melted, flooded the sur- 
rounding country, and overflowed the rivers. After a 
while, the water rose above the embankment, and grad 
ually crept up one street after another, until it reached 
the principal streets. When the water stopped flowing 
from the mountains, the water ebbed back, revealing 
the damage it had done. 

In the southern part of El Paso is the poor Mexican 
quarter. The Mexicans live in adobe houses. These 
houses have flat roofs, which are used as we use ve- 
randas. Poorer Mexicans live huddled up in a small 
one-room house. They eat many dishes, consisting of 
chile and other things. Some of the things they eat 
are en chiledes, chile concarne, and tamales. 

In western El Paso is the largest silver smelter in 
the United States. It is the second largest in the world, 
the largest being in Mexico. The El Paso smelter is 
situated on the river which furnishes its power. 

Northeast of El Paso is Fort Bliss, the residence of 
the soldiers. It has base-ball- and parade-grounds. 
This is inclosed by the soldiers' barracks and officers' 

North of El Paso is Mount Franklin. It was once 
part of a plateau, but after many years this has become 
a peak, and the land below a mesa. Some tin mining 
and quarrying is carried on. 

Your very interested reader, 

Birdie Krupp. 

Seal Harbor, Me. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My real home is down in Chest- 
nut Hill, Philadelphia, but my sister and I come up 
here every summer with Grandmother. I am eleven 
years of age, and my sister is eight. 

My uncle has a little dog, and his name is Timmy. 
He is very cute. Uncle says, "Timmy, get your ball," 
and he gets it and has a game of ball with Uncle. 

It is very pretty here at Seal Harbor. There is a 
nice beach, and lovely walks, for there are many moun- 
tains. There is a lovely lake called "Jordan Lake," 
and a tea-house. It is four miles away, and my sister 
and I often walk there. 




I enjoy reading your stories so much, especially 
"The Land of Mystery," which I think is very exciting. 
Your loving reader, 

Mary Lardner Bayard. 

Auckland, New Zealand. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Ever since 1908, when I first had 
you to read, I have wanted to join the League, but by 
the time I get you, it is too late to send any contribu- 
tion, so I have to content myself with writing letters, 
though this is my first. 

I do like the serial stories, and I think "The Lucky 
Sixpence" and "Beatrice of Denewood" are just lovely. 
I have generally read all the stories by about the sec- 
ond day after you come, and then I have to wait a 
whole month before I can go on with them. 

Living, as I do, in Auckland City, I see ever so many 
Maoris. The women do look so funny sometimes, walk- 
ing about town in dresses of every imaginable color, 
barefooted, and sometimes smoking pipes. 

Although I live in Auckland, I am not a New Zea- 
lander, as I was born in Australia, and lived there for 
some time. I have been to several places in New Zea- 
land, but I think I enjoyed our stay in Christchurch 
best of all. The scenery here is very pretty, and Waite- 
mata, the name of the Auckland harbor, is Maori for 
"sparkling water." 

I am yours sincerely, 

Margaret Brothers. 

Richmond, Ind. 
Dear St. Nicholas: You can't imagine how much I 
have enjoyed you this year. I think "The Land of 
Mystery" and "Beatrice of Denewood" are splendid 
stories. I am always in a flutter of excitement as the 
time draws near when you are to come. 

I am twelve years old and will be thirteen in Au- 

My little brother Edward enjoys the section "For 
Very Little Folk" a great deal, and I think he is almost 
as anxious for you to come as I am. 

Yours affectionately, 

Mildred Nusbaum. 

Lawrenceville, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for two years, 
and I don't know what I 'd do without you. I am very 
much interested in "The Land of Mystery" and "Bea- 
trice of Denewood." 

We have a library in Lawrenceville, and I often go 
there for St. Nicholases. I have just finished Vol. 22, 
Part I, and am just in the middle of an exciting serial 
story, so I have to wait until I can get Part II. 

For pets I have thirty-six baby chickens, about fif- 
teen big ones, a cat, a ring-neck dove, and a canary. 
I have lots of fun doing your League puzzles. 
Your loving friend, 

Mary E. van Dyck. 

Greenwich, Conn. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you for three years 
now, and have read you through every time, so as not 
to miss a single one of your fine stories. I think that 
"Beatrice of Denewood" and "The Land of Mystery" 
are the two best serial stories I have ever read. 

The sketch on the ways to swim was very interesting 
to me, for, at the present time, I am learning all the 
different strokes. I liked the ways to dive the best. 

I have two sisters and one brother. My brother is 
the youngest, and his favorite saying is, "By, by in cho 
chos," meaning, "I want to go out in the automobile." 
Next year, I am going to be in the fourth form at 
school. That means that I will have four more years 
at school before I graduate for college. 
I am your devoted reader, 

Ruth Virginia Hyde (age 11). 

Albany, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for almost four 
years, and there has n't been a month in the four years 
that I have n't been excited waiting for the mail to 
come on the fifteenth day. (That is when I receive 
you.) I have never seen a letter from Albany in the 
magazine, so I thought I would write. I am extremely 
interested in the stories and especially "The Land of 
Mystery," "The Lucky Sixpence," and its sequel, 
"Beatrice of Denewood." I have a lot of dogs at my 
summer home, but only one in the city. He is a pure 
white, thoroughbred, gordon setter, and his name is 
Kipi. He is very affectionate and intelligent, and is a 
fine companion. 

Your loving reader, 
Dorothy Cuyler Shingerland (age 13). 

Suffern, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken your magazine for 
about half a year, and think that no other one is equal 
to it. I think that "Beatrice of Denewood" and "The 
Land of Mystery" are fine, as well as all the rest. 

A few days ago, five or six boys and girls were play- 
ing with me, and after we had played for a long time 
and were tired, I got out some copies of St. Nicholas, 
and soon every one of them were so interested they did 
not want to go home for lunch. 

From your most interested reader, 

Ruth Hooper. 

Boston, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Even though I don't take you, I 
always manage to read you every month. You are the 
best magazine published, I think. 

I have six pets, a pony, very black, whose name is 
Teddy, a collie, named Spunk, a terrier, named Jack, a 
parrot, named Poll Pry, a squirrel, named Chip, and a 
charming pussy whose name is Kitty Puss. She has 
four kittens, Mittens, Muff, Mit, and Mose. One day, 
my father was all dressed up for a wedding, and as he 
passed Poll Pry, she said: "Is n't Syd a pretty boy?" 
Sydney is my father's name. 

Poll Pry is scolding me now. She is saying, "Who 
you writing to? Answer me! Quick? Say. All right 
for you, I '11 call the cop." 

I remain, 

Your interested reader, 

Christine Isobel Amadon. 

Mount Vernon, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for three years, 
and this is the first letter I 've written you. I think I 
would feel as if something were missing in my life if 
you did not come every month. 

Though I enjoy everything in you very much, "The 
Land of Mystery" is my favorite. I can hardly wait 
until next month to find out how it and the other stories 
will end. Your loving reader, 

Florence Webster {age 13). 


A Greek Puzzle. Zigzag, Themistocles ; i to 8, Pericles; 9 to 13, 
Cleon ; 14 to 21, Leonidas; 22 to 30, Aristotle ; 31 to 36, Pindar; 37 to 
41, Myron ; 42 to 47, Ithaca; 48 to 54, Salamis ; 55 to 58, Tyre. Cross- 
words: 1. Treason. 2. Chalice. 3. Elysium. 4. Smatter. 5. Illegal. 

6. Asphalt. 7. Transit. 8. Mortify. 9. Coppice. 10. Slander. II. 
Erodent. 12. Ostrich. 

English Historical Diagonal. Plantagenets. Cross-words: 1. 
Paxton. 2. Albert. 3. Thanet. 4. France. 5. Cabots. 6. Armada. 

7. Tostig. 8. Wolsey. 9. Sidney. 10. Quebec. 11. Stuart. 12. 

An Anagram Acrostic. The Courtship of Miles Standish. 1. 
Thora of Rimol. 2. Hiawatha's Fishing. 3. Enceladus. 4. Charle- 
magne. 5. Ovid in Exile. 6. Ultima Thule. 7. Resignation. 
Twilight. 9. Sandalphon. 10. Hawthorne. n. Iron-beard. 
Pegasus in Pound. 13. Old Age. 14. Flowers. 15. Maidenhood. 
In the Harbor. 17. Loss and Gain. 18. Endymion. 19. Sleep. 
Scanderbeg. 21. Torquemada. 22. Amain. 23. Nuremburg. 
Delia. 25. It is not always May. 26. Seaweed. 27. Holidays. 

Word-Square, i. Cried. 2. River. 3. Ivory. 4. Eerie. 5. 

Novel Numerical Enigma. "Liberty and union, now and for- 
ever, one and inseparable." Daniel Webster. Diabolo, answer, neat, 
Indiana, envy, lorn, wool, eel, bur, son, tone, episode, roof. 

Illustrated Central Acrostic. Balaklava. 1. caBin. 2. crAbs. 

3. taLon. 4. frAme. 5. baKer. 6. paLms. 7. blAde. 8. raVen. 9. 
spAde. " 

Squares Connected by Diamonds. I. 1. Scare. 2. Caper. 3. 
Apple. 4. Relic. 5. Erect. II. 1. Moral. 2. Opine. 3. Ridge. 

4. Anger. 5. Leers. III. 1. Carat. 2. Amuse. 3. Ruche. 4. Ashen. 

5. Teens. IV. 1. Petit. 2. Elate. 3. Taper. 4. Items. 5. Terse. 
V. 1. E. 2. Old. 3. Elder. 4. Den. 5. R. VI. 1. E. 2. Ant. 
3. Enter. 4. Tea. 5. R. VII. 1. R. 2. Bog. 3. Rogue. 4. Gun. 
5. E. VIII. 1. E. 2. Ace. 3. Eclat. 4. Ear. 5. T. IX. 1. E. 
2. Kit. 3. Eight. 4. Thy. 5. T. 

Arithmetical Puzzle. Willie was eleven and his father was 

To our Puzzlers: Answers to be acknowledged in the magazine must be received not later than the 10th of each month, and should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas Riddle-box, care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth Street, New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the August Number were received before August 10 from Bernard Candip — MaryL. Angles — Claire 
A. Hepner. 

Answers to Puzzles in the August Number were received before August 10 from Sophie E. Buechler, 9 — Kenneth Everson, 9 — Gladys 
S. Conrad, 9 — Nell Adams, 9 — J. Whitton Gibson, 9 — Edwina Kittredge, 9 — Mary E. Steinmetz, 9 — Ruth Dorchester, 9 — Max Stolz, 9 — Leon- 
ard Kimball, 9 — Isabel Shaw, 9 — Mary Steeles Voorhis, 9 — "Chums," 9 — Dawn G. Williams, 8 — Margaret Warburton, 8 — "Lilla and Lilla," S 
— Jonas Goldberg, 8 — Theodore H. Ames, 8 — Alberta B. Burton, 8 — Arnold G. Cameron, Jr., 7 — Ruth V. A. Spicer, 7 — Evelyn Hillman, 7 — 
Rebecca Vincent, 7 — Lothrop Bartlett, 6 — Phyllis Young, 6 — Henry G. Cartwright, Jr., 5 — Geiveright, 5 — Helen A. Moulton, 5 — Amelie 
de Witt and Cornelia Holland, 5 — Marian E. Stearns, 5 — Douglas Robinson, 5 — " Greenville," 5 — Mary Bates Martin, 4 — Eloise Peckham, 4 — 
Barbara and Frederica Pisek, 4 — Elizabeth E. Abbott, 4 — Dorothy Berrall, 4 — Marion J. Benedict, 3 — Elizabeth Carpenter, 3 — Helen Bull, 3 — 
Dorothy Dewar, 3 — Henry Noble, 3 — -Martha Hammond, 3 — Janet Brouse, 3 — Evelyn Schoen, 3 — Dorothy Chesley, 2 — M. Ernestine Apple- 
ton, 2 — Millicent F. Williams, 2 — Hortense Miller, 2 — Dorothy Craig, 2 — Emma Carter, 2 — James Carter, 2 — K. C. K., 2 — Alma R. Field, 2— 
Carl Sprecher Schmidt, 2— Fred Floyd, 2 — Allan Robinson, 2 — Edith Brill, 2 — Florence L. Klitz, 2 — Jessica B. Noble, 2 — Leatha W. Hecht, 2 — 
Rosalind Orr English, 2 — Chester E. Phillips, 2. 

Answers to One Puzzle were received from G. C— L. P. J.— D. R. U.— C. P. U.— B. A.— C. H. H.— E. H.— R. A.— H. D., Jr.— M. B.— 

" Camp Songo"— H. K E. S. H.— L. S. O.— M. E.— M. H. S.— A. W. S.— D. L. J.— O. M.— D. P.— L. D.— A. D.— R. B. B.— J. B.— H. H. 

—I. S.— D. H. B.— S. N. C — R. V. H— L. D. P.— S. M.— J. N. B.— J. S.— L. W.— J. W.— K. von L.— M. T. P.— C. G. C— E. G.— E. R. D. 
— F. S. W— V. M.— D. H.— E. E.— R. Z.— C. F.— A. H. McD.— M. B.— H. E. A.— T. P. 


I. 1. The lowest English title of nobility. 2. A plea of 
absence. 3. To clinch. 4. Excessively fat. 5. Salt- 

II. 1. A small drum. 2. Over. 3. False. 4. A little 
egg. 5. To set again. 

flavis trebbi (age 13), League Member. 

Ireland. 6. The capital of one of the United States. 
7. A country of northern Africa. 8. A range of moun- 
tains in Utah. 9. A river of South America. 10. The 
capital of one of the United States. 11. A quaint Eng- 
lish city not far from Liverpool. 12. The largest inland 
sea in the world. 13. A lake lying north of Lake Su- 
perior. IDA CRAMER (age 12). 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

All of the places described contain the same number 
of letters. When these are rightly guessed and written 
one below another, the zigzag, beginning at the upper, 
left-hand letter, will spell the name of one of the boun- 
daries of North America. 

Cross-words: i. A country of northern Africa. 2. 
A province of Chile. 3. A country of Europe. 4. A 
large island of the Malay Archipelago. 5. A river of 


All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and written one be- 
low another, the initials will spell a famous holiday. 

Cross-words : 1. Bondage. 2. Very brave. 3. Con- 
duct. 4. Delicacy. 5. A piece in the game of chess. 6. 
A flexible twig. 7. A musical instrument. 8. To hin- 
der. 9. Excusable. 10. To draw into the lungs. 11. A 
prickly plant. 12. A tool for boring. 13. Dismal. 14. 
Yearly. 15. A common man of a respectable class. 
edith anna lukens (age 1 2), League Member. 



4 -.20 

November woods &re b&re and still, \ ^" S'A P 
November d^ys ajre de&r And bright, Vi 

E^ch noon burns up Ihe mornings thill, 

The mornings snow is gone by night, 
Each d^y piy steps grow slow, grow light, 

V\s ihro' the woods I reverent creep, 
Wafchmq All fhinqs'lie down to sleep" fcp 
3-<3-n- 1 - 18-15 



In this puzzle the key-words are pictured. The an- 
swer, containing twenty-one letters, will form a little 
couplet that was popular in 1840. It commemorates a 
battle fought in November, 181 1. 


































When the words described have been rightly guessed 
and written one below another, the zigzag of stars 
(shown in the diagram) will spell the surname of a 
famous writer who was born in November, 1759; the 
letters represented by the figures from 1 to 7 spell the 
name of his native land; from 8 to 18, his best known 
work; and from 19 to 24, a friend who was also a 
famous writer. 

Cross-words: i. Illiberal. 2. Excessive joy. 3. A 
Spanish nobleman. 4. A substance neither animal nor 
vegetable. 5. According to the letter. 6. Permitted. 
7. Conceit. 8. To tread under foot. 

P. ERNEST ISBELL (age 14). 


My first is in darling, but not in dear ; 
My second in month, but not in year ; 
My third is in verb, but not in noun ; 
My fourth is in dress, but not in gown ; 
My fifth is in minute, but not in day ; 
My sixth is in robin, but not in jay; 
My seventh in eel, but not in fish ; 
My eighth is in platter, but not in dish. 
My whole is a chilly month of the year, 
Though it could n't be spared without loss, I fear. 
Florence Rogers (age 1 3), League Member. 


I am composed of seventy-four letters, and form a 
Thanksgiving quotation from the Earl of Clarendon. 

My 68-26-56-9 is to chop into small pieces. My 32— 
37-72-7 is caloric. My 28-23-53-20 is a popular roast. 
My 70-50-1 3-4-1 7 is a rich repast. My 35-63-66-48- 

43 is speed. My 58-40-45-64-18 is hoarse. My 30-57- 
1-54-15 is to weave. My 74-61-3-42-10 is a pronoun. 
My 11— 52-25-33-5 is a woman sovereign. My 73—12- 
24-62-59-8 is the highest point. My 60-6-47-39-65-36 
is a widely popular beverage. My 67-19-14-51-29-69 is 
language. My 44— 21-16-2-34-49 is to sew. My 27-22- 
3 8-46-5 5-3 1 -4 1 -7 1 is to choke. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

Here are two groups of letters : 

I- 3, 8, 7, 4, 100, 14, 4, 9. 

II. 14, 24, 34, 6, 19, ii, 10, 12, 20. 

Write the first row of letters one below another, and 
beside each letter write out the number in letters. From 
each of these eight written words select one letter, and 
you will have a masculine name. 

Treat the second row of letters in the same way, and 
you will have a surname. These two names form the 
whole name of a President of the United States. 

MURIEL W. CLARKE (age 13). 

I. Upper Diamond: i. In distance. 2. A small barrel. 
3. Lukewarm. 4. A two-wheeled carriage. 5. In dis- 

II. Left-hand Diamond: i. In distance. 2. A rodent. 
3. A water-nymph. 4. A sailor. 5. In distance. 

III. Lower Diamond: i. In distance. 2. A fabulous 
bird. 3. A feminine name. 4. A Spanish epic poem. 
5. In distance. 

IV. Right-hand Diamond: i. 
erage. 3. A proof of absence, 

V. Left-hand Square: i. A 
One of a line of English kings, 
bird. 5. Tendency. 

VI. Right-hand Square: i. Deals out scantily. 2. A 
musical drama. 3. Lawful. 4. To obliterate. 5. A city 
of Massachusetts. 

Duncan Scarborough (age 16), Honor Member. 

In distance. 2. A bev- 
4. To decrease. 5. In 

convulsive motion. 2. 
3. Sun-dried clay. 4. A 



This man owns railroads and steamship lines. 

He lives in a palatial home surrounded by every 
luxury. His table is supplied with the best the 
world affords. Yet he cannot procure anything 
better than 

Why? Because no one can obtain choicer materials 
than we use. No care can exceed that which we devote 
to their preparation and blending. And no chef can 
produce a richer or more delicately-balanced combination 
than the Campbell formula. 

Judge for yourself its delicious flavor 
and wholesome quality. Your money back 
if not satisfied. 

21 kinds 10c a can 

"Gracious mel 
What can it be 
That shadow round and 

This soup I know. 
Makes youngsters 

But do I look like that?" 


Clam Chowder 




Pepper Pot 





Mock Turtle 





Chicken Gumbo(Okra) 

Mutton Broth 


Clam Bouillon 

Ox Tail 


Look for the red-and-white label 



Last week I visited a boy scout 

patrol and found fifteen bright-faced earnest 

lads listening to a talk by their scout master. 

'Take care of your teeth, ' ' he urged ; ' 'You can't 

grow up to be strong self-reliant men unless you have 
good health — and good teeth mean good health. Brush 
your teeth thoroughly twice a day and visit your dentist 
twice a year — it is insuring your health and happiness when 
you are grown men." 

The Scout Manual puts care of the teeth first among the things a boy 
should know if he wants good health (see page 39 Boy Scout Manual). 
And every boy should realize that Good Teeth — Good Health will take 
him far along the road to success in school, in sports, in business and 
in pleasure. 

The twice-a-day use of Colgate's Ribbon Dental Cream — the dentifrice 
with the delicious flavor — keeps the teeth clean and the mouth healthy. 

\bu too should use 






Gran'pa's Stories. 

"Why, Bobbie, in those days we sometimes killed a bear for breakfast and a deer for dinner !" 

Bobbie says, " Gee ! I'd like to kill a bear," and quickly adds, "But, 
you didn't have any Jell-O for dinner, did you ?" 

And gran'pa is obliged to admit that there was nothing quite so good 
as Jell-O in "those days." 

All children love 

with its delicious flavors — which are pure fruit flavors — and it is one of the 
good things to eat of which a " little more " may be taken without harm to 
little stomachs. 

Tired mothers can prepare Jell-O more easily than anything else the 
children like. It takes only a minute to do it. 

The pure fruit Jell-O flavors are : Strawberry, Raspberry, Lemon, 
Orange, Peach, Cherry, Chocolate. 

1 Of* eac k m a se P arate package, at any grocer's 
• or general storekeeper's. 

Send for the beautiful new recipe book, with splendid 
pictures in colors. It is free. 

THE GENESEE PURE FOOD CO., Le Roy, N. Y., and Bridgeburg, Can. 

The name Jell-O is on every package in big red letters. 
If it isn't there, it isn't Jell-O. 



"Good Store, John— 

I notice most live stores carry Holeproof Hose 

America's best stores sell Holeproof 
Hose simply for these reasons : 

The style is perfection, they are made 
in all weights, and if 6 pairs wear out 
in 6 months, if even a thread breaks, you 
get new hose free. 

We pay an average of 74c per 
pound for the yarn in Holeproof. Com- 
mon yarn sells for 32c. But ours is 
twisted from three soft, but long fibre 
strands, and the long fibres give it 
strength. Such yarn means smart style 


and comfort, for it does n't depend 
on bulk for strength. The best stores 
know that Holeproof is standard, that 
it lives up to these facts. That's why 
they sell it. And a million customers, 
who know too, now buy it in these 

See the new fall colors that are fash- 
ionable now. Write for your dealers' 
names. We ship direct where no dealer 
is near, charges prepaid on receipt of 


Holeproof Hosiery Company of Canada, Ltd., London, Canada 
Holeproof Hosiery Company, 10 Church Alley, Liverpool, England 




$1.50 per box and up, for six pairs of 
men's; of women's and children's $2.00; 
of Infants' (4 pairs) $1. Above boxes guar- 
anteed six months. 

$2 per box for three pairs of men's SILK 
Holeproof socks ; of women's SILK Hole- 
proof Stockings, $3. Boxes of silk guaran- 
teed three months. 



For long wear, fit and style, 
these are the finest silk gloves 
produced. Made in all lengths, 
sizes and colors. 

Write for the illustrated 
book. Ask us for name of 
dealer handling them. 




Sugar Wafers 

A tempting dessert 
confection, loved by 
all who have ever 
tasted them. Suit- 
able for every occa- 
sion where a dessert 
sweet is desired. In 
ten-cent tins ; also 
in twenty-five-cent 


Another charming confec- 
tion — a filled sugar wafer 
with a bountiful center of 
rich, smooth cream. 


An ever-popular delight. 
An almond-shaped dessert 
confection with a kernel of 
almond-flavored cream. 


Still another example of the 
perfect dessert confection. 
ILnchanting wafers with a 
most delightful creamy fill- 
ing — entirely covered by 
the richest of sweet choc- 







: ?,^t^«! 


Why soldiers never march across a bridge 

"Rout step" is the command when troops approach a bridge — the men 
break rank and WALK across, instead of marching in regular cadence. 
This is done because the vibration due to the rhythmic tramp of many 
feet endangers the bridge. If the tread of a company of men will 
shake a bridge, what a shaking-up each MAN must give himself! 

This strain, so dangerous to a 
bridge of iron and stone, falls on 
your spine and delicate nervous 
system as you walk on the hard 
floors and pavements. Protect 
yourself with O'Sullivan's Heels — 
they absorb the shock and prevent 
the weariness and nerve fag that 
come from pounding along on hard 
leather. They are invisible, wear 

twice as long as leather, and keep 
the shoes in shape. 

O'Sullivan's Heels are made for men, 
women and children, and cost but 50c a 
pair, attached. All shoe makers and shoe 
dealers will attach them to your shoes 
when you buy them, or at any other 
time. If you prefer, send us 35c in 
stamps and a tracing of your 
heel, and we will mail you a 

O'SULLIVAN RUBBER CO., 131 Hudson St., New York 



Of New 
Live Rubber 



Come on, 

Build a 
With Me! 

You '11 certainly have lots of good times this fall and winter if 
you own an Ives Miniature Railway System. Building and running 
an Ives Railway is just about the most interesting thing a boy can do. 

Make Ha 

An Ives Railway is exactly like a real railroad — engine, tender, baggage cars, passenger 
coaches, stations, tunnels, bridges, switches, everything. 

The Ives Train speeds round and round the track under its own power. You can stop 
it at stations or by signal. You can lay the track, arrange the switches, stations, sema- 
phores and other parts in an almost endless number of new ways. 

And if you have the Ives Struktiron you can build bridges, round-houses, freight depots 
and many other things which your skill will suggest. Struktiron has many structural 
iron parts with the necessary angles and braces for building structures of unusual strength. 
You can build a bridge 3 feet long which will carry heavy weight. Ask us or your toy 
dealer to tell you more about Struktiron. 

Ask your father or mother to buy you an Ives Miniature Railway System and Ives Strukt- 
iron. Every Ives Toy is guaranteed to give good service. We will replace without charge 
any part that is faulty in material or workmanship. Look for the Ives name on every piece. 

Toy, department, and hardware stores sell Ives Toys. 

Mechanical outfits cost from $1 to $20 a set; electrical $4 

to $25. If your dealer does not sell Ives Toys, write us. 
Write for Catalog 
Write to-day for the beautiful illustrated catalog of Ives Toys; 
please tell us your toy dealer's name. 

The Ives Manufacturing Corporation 

Established 1868 

196 Holland Avenue, Bridgeport, Conn. 



~ O 

The richest and purest milk 
possible to produce is used 
in the manufacture of Eagle 
Brand Condensed Milk. 

The quality of all milk received 
is fully tested and every safe- 
guard used to insure the high- 
est quality product. 




Especially prepared with scrupulous 
care (or infant feeding. Also perfectly 
adapted to general household uses. 
Send for our booklets, "My Biography," 
"Borden's Recipes," and Where Clean- 
liness Reigns Supreme." 




"Leaders of Quality" 
New York 


in each town to ride and exhibit sample 1911 model 
"Ranger" Bicycle. Write for special offer. 

Wo Ship on Approval "without a cent deposit, 
] prepay freight and allow 10 DAYS FREE TRIAL 
on every bicycle. FACTORY PRICES on bicycles, 
"■ tires and sundries. Do not buy until you receive our 
r catalogs and learn our unheard of prices and marvelous 
special offer. Tires, coaster-brake rear wheels, lamps, sundries, half prices. 
MEAD CYCLE CO. Department T-272 CHICAGO, ILL- 

Does n't mid-October seem to bring Thanks- 
giving very near? It does to the Book Man. 
And after Thanksgiving, Christmas is so close 
at hand that there seems all too little time to 
plan and buy and wrap up Christmas gifts. So 
right away now is the best of times to begin 
planning— and buying as fast as you can- 
Christmas gifts for all your list. And the Book 
Man hopes this year to help you all in your 
book choosing. 

Do you remember that charming letter Dor- 
othy Wordsworth wrote once to her good 
friend Coleridge: 

"Yes, do send me a book . . . not a bargain book 
bought from a haberdasher, but a beautiful book, 
a book to caress — peculiar, distinctive, individ- 
ual : a book that hath first caught your eye and 
then pleased your fancy; written by an author 
with a tender whim, all right out of his heart. 
We will read it together in the gloaming, and 
when the gathering dusk doth blur the page, 
we '11 sit with hearts too full for speech and 
think it over." 

That is just the kind of book which has been 
made of Rudyard Kipling's wonderful stories, 
"The Jungle Book." You know when you pick 
the book up and turn the leaves that the artists 
who made the pictures loved the Jungle tales, 
and that the artist who designed the cover had 
the same feeling for the Jungle as the great 
Master of Words who wrote "The Jungle 

(Continued on page 34.) 



Polly and Peter Ponds 

have gone away to school. Their letters 
will appear in this magazine each month 

To Mr. Peter Ponds 

Dear Peter: — I am writing this in 

a hurry because it is eight o'clock now 

and we all have to go to bed exactly 

at nine, and Molly Williams who has 

.^HBk fli H H tne next roorn KS going to have a fudge 

party before then, so you will see there 
'm* 3w isn't much time. 

It is an awfully nice place, Peter. 
The girls are lovely, all but Alinda Mc- 
Bride who is a snob and wears party 
dresses all the time. So are the teach- 
ers, except Miss Minkum who is a 
hatchet-faced terror — my, but she 
gives long, hard lessons. 

Oh, yes, and before bed-time I have 
to clean off a place on my dress where 
I sat on a chocolate cream, so this let- 
ter will have to be short. 

Oh, Peter, I must tell you the funni- 
est thing that happened last night. 
Molly and Jennie P'oster, who is a darling if she has a snub nose — she is my room- 
mate — and I were sitting in our room just before bed-time, with the light turned 
low, because we were telling secrets. All of a sudden, I remembered that box of 


that Mamma just sent me, and I called out loud, "Oh, girls, here's a box of the love- 
liest stuff. You 've all just got to try some right away." And I was passing the box 
to Molly, when she cried, "'S-sh!! Here comes Julius Caesar!" (That 's what we 
call Miss Minkum, because she looks like his twin sister) and I cried : "Put it behind you, 
quick, maybe she'll think it's candy and come in and then we '11 fool her." (We 
are not allowed to keep candy in our rooms and can only have a fudge party one night 
a week.) And Molly did, and sure enough Miss Minkum saw us out of the corner 
of her eye and came in like a stern old lictoress, and said: 

"Young ladies, I am afraid you have something here that is forbidden. Miss 
Williams, let me see what is in your hand!" 

And wewere all just bursting with giggles, but Molly passed her the box and you ought 
to have seen her face change when she saw what was in it. She looked positively amiable. 

"Young ladies," she said, "I ask your pardon. There is nothing I should rather have 
found in your possession. This cream is a very excellent composition for the benefit 
of the skin. There is none better. Good night, young ladies." 

Well, I must stop now or I sha'n't get any of the fudge. I can smell it now — mmmm — 

How are you getting; on ? With love -v a? \- n 

J & & Your affectionate sister, tolly. 


131 Hudson Street - - New York 

— Talcum Powder — Toilet Soap — Pond's Extract. 


1 QAT saw ^ e 

lOt I first be . 

ginning in popular 
favor of the original 
Rogers Brothers 
silverware that now 
enjoys a national 
preference under 
the brand 

1847 ROGER! 




"Silver Plate that Wears" 

The Cromwell pat- 
tern, here illus- 
trated, is much 
admired. It has all 
of the charm with- 
out the severity of 
the plain pattern. 

Sold by leading 
dealers. Send for 
illustrated cata- 
logue "L-5". 


Successor to 
Meriden Britannia Co. 


New York Chicago 

San Francisco 

Hamilton , Canada 

The World's Largest Makers 
of Sterling Silver and Plate. 

THE BOOK MAN— Continued 

Book." You will get more pleasure out of this 
beautiful edition than out of any other edition 
of "The Jungle Book" which has ever been 
made. And you will find no more delightful 
gift book among all the new books than this. 
You can buy it at any book-store for $2.50; 
and the postage will be 15 cents additional. 


Is n't "Sonny Boy's Day at the Zoo" a fasci- 
nating title? "Sonny Boy" is a real little New 
York lad, Stanley Clisby Arthur, Jr. When he 
was two years old he lived near the New York 
Zoological Park, and he spent most of his days 
there. Perhaps no little boy ever had so many 
good animal friends, for from the time he was 
a wee baby he loved all the Zoo animals, and 
they seemed to love him. His mother wrote 
this book of rhymes about what he saw and 
heard and talked that wonderful summer ; and 
it is full of pictures made from photographs of 
Sonny in his rompers — Ms father snapped 
them — and of many strange, friendly animals. 
If you want to make a little brother or sister, 
or cousin, very happy, give him or her "Sonny 
Boy." Its price is 90 cents, and the postage 
costs 10 cents. 

The Book Man wants to call your attention 
again to Miss Hildegarde Hawthorne's helpful 
talks in St. Nicholas on reading. Miss Haw- 
thorne, you know, is a granddaughter of the 
great Nathaniel Hawthorne; and all her life 
she has loved to read — more perhaps than any- 
thing else. And how much she has read ! Best 
of all she knows how to tell yon what to read 
for general culture, what to read on any spe- 
cial subject, and not only what to read but how 
to read. You will find if you go back over 
your St. Nicholas, and read again her talks 
on books, you will gain much that perhaps es- 
caped you in the first reading. 

You will all be glad to know that the jolly 
serial, "The Townsend Twins," and that de- 
lightful story of adventure, "Beatrice of Dene- 
wood," have been put into book form, with 
some new chapters in each to add to the inter- 

( Continued on page 40. ) 



Boys — Build Railroads, Bridges — in Play 

Build sky-scrapers for your toy engines and tin soldiers — 
now. And you'll be training yourself toward success in 
engineering, architecture or any business when you grow up. 


is the greatest fun in the world. Just think of making real things like flying- 
machines, Ferris wheels, or railway signals that actually work. And when you 
get tired of them — presto, change — you use the same handsome brass and nickeled- 
steel beams, braces, bolts and wheels to make a traveling-crane or a pile-driver or 
any one of a hundred fascinating playthings. 

Get that boy you are interested in a set of MECCANO 

For birthday or Christmas — or right now as part of his education — there is 
nothing else that instructs and amuses big and small boys so well as MECCANO. 
One look at one of the inexpensive sets — or the book of designs — will make you 
want to play with this "wonderful developer of latent ability" yourself. 

At most good toy and sporting-goods dealers. But whether your dealer 
carries MECCANO or not, we want you, if you have — are — or are a friend of a 
boy, to write us for more information about MECCANO. Manual of instruction 
with each set. Ask for catalogue. 

Be sure the name MECCANO is on the box 

The Embossing Co. 

23 Church St. 
Albany, N. Y. 

'*~y~y MAKERS OF -1 













o o o o.oooo o 

o- O O CO 


Sf. Nicholas Advertising Competition No. 14.J. 

Time to send in answers is up November 10. Prize-winners announced in the January number. 


V h %> ^ &) 

" I have a good one this time," said our friend Alex- 
ander the Little, unwrapping a drawing that looked like 
a mixture of the alphabet and a lot of leaves. "It is 
just the thing for an autumn contest. There is a lot of 
knowledge in it, and some fun as well." 

" Explain yourself," we told him. 

"You see, I have taken ten advertised articles from 
the October St. Nicholas advertising pages, and then 
put the letters of each one on one kind of leaf." 

"And how is it to be solved?" 

"Pick out all the leaves of one kind — for instance, 
the maple leaf in the left-hand lower corner, the one 
with ' H E ' on it. There is another maple leaf with 
' T I ' on it, and so on. When you have put down all 
the letters on maple leaves, you will have the letters that 
spell one of the advertised articles, when put together 
in the right way. A good way is to cut out little bits 
of paper, and to put on each the letters on a leaf. Then, 
by moving these about you can see what is spelled." 

After you have guessed the articles, write them as 
given in the large type of the October advertisements, 
put them in alphabetical order and number them, and 
you will have solved the puzzle. The leaves are a little 
rough in the design, but they are meant to be the follow- 
ing kinds: oak, lime, horse-chestnut, maple, birch, chest- 
nut, elm, poplar, sassafras, tulip tree. 

The letter you are to write this month, so that we can 
decide the winner in the case of equally correct lists, 
should be about " Why the grown-ups read St. Nich- 

As usual, there will be One First Prize, $5.00 to the 
sender of the correct list and the most natural and in- 
teresting letter. 

(See also 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each, to the next two in 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each, to the next three. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each, to the next ten. 

Note : Prize-ivinners who are not subscribers to St. 
Nicholas are given special subscription rates upon imme- 
diate application. 

Here are the rules and regulations. 

1 . This competition is open freely to all who may 
desire to compete -without charge or consideration 
of any kind. Prospective contestants need not be 
subscribers to St. Nicholas in order to compete for 
the prizes offered. 

2. In the upper left-hand corner of your list give 
name, age, address, and the number of. this competi- 
tion (143). 

3. Submit answers by November 10, 1913. Do not 
use a pencil. 

4. Write your letter on a separate sheet of paper, 
but be sure your name and address is on each paper, 
also that they are fastened together. Write on one side 
of your paper only. 

5. Be sure to comply with these conditions it you 
wish to win a prize. 

6. Address answer : Advertising competition No. 
143, St. Nicholas Magazine, Union Square, New 

page 38. ) 



Goodies for the Little Folks from Candyland 

REMEMBER, when a little tot, you dreamed of fairies and far- 
. away candylands ? We have made this dream come true for 
your little kiddies. Just surprise them with a package of delicious 
Necco or Hub Wafers. You can't imagine a safer and more 
delightful way to satisfy their natural candy hunger than by nib- 
bling the tasty confections from a package of 

Necco Wafers 

Glazed Paper Wrapper 

Hub Wafers 

Transparent Paper Wrapper 

Made of the purest ingredients in America's largest, best equipped 
most sanitary candy kitchens, these delicious "joy bringers" are 
the very embodiment of purity and cleanliness. Made in a pleasing 
variety of nine popular flavors — each delicate wafer is a feast in 
itself. Caution your children against indiscriminate candy 
buying — teach them to look, for the seal of Necco Sweets — it's 
the synonym of confection perfection. 


Makers of over 500 varieties of Necco Sweets 



Report on Advertising Competition 141. 

The Advertising Picnic was a great success. As us- 
ual, there were many correct lists, in fact, so many that 
we had to refer to your discussion of the advertisements 
to decide the winners. 

I don't suppose the Judges will ever cease to be sur- 
prised at the thought and knowledge and insight which 
you boys and girls show in solving our advertising com- 
petitions. One fact clearly stood out in all your work, 
and that is that story advertisements, such as Polly and 
Peter Ponds and the Fairy Story series were very popu- 

Some of the suggestions which were made for the im- 
provement of different advertisements seem prompted 
in some instances by ideas little short of genius. 

In regard to those of you who have sent us answers 
to three or four competitions and have not received prizes, 
the Judges would say to you once more that it takes a 
person who is very careful and thoughtful to win a prize. 
If you are not, some one who is will get the prize you 
might have won. 

For instance, in the September issue we asked you to 
write the name of the advertised article as it appears in 
the advertisement, but where the form given in the story 
is found in the advertisement, to put it in that form in 
your answer. Probably nine-tenths of you failed on that 
point in the case of the "3-in-One" advertisement. 

Here are the prize-winners: 

One first prize, $j.oo: 

Griffith Harsh, age 14, Arizona. 

Two second prizes, $3.00 each: 

Esther Butler, age 15, Michigan. 
Lucia Pierce Barber, age 14, Vermont. 

Three third prizes, $2.00 each. 

Frederick W. Agnew, age 16, Pennsylvania. 
Amalie Smith, age 10, New Hampshire. 
Frances Cherry, age 14, Kentucky. 

Ten fourth prizes, $1.00 each : 

Ruth Finney, age 15, California. 

Beatrice C. Tabor, age 17, Montana. 

Elizabeth Hammond, age 15, New York. 

Emma Knapp, age 15, New York. 

Jane P. Clark, age 14, New York. 

Elizabeth C. Carter, age 12, Massachusetts. 

John Perez, age 13, New York. 

Margaret Perry Rawson, age 15, New Jersey. 

Virginia Hibben, age n, Illinois. 

Anna Rogers, age 14, New York. 

The Judges have decided to allow prize-winners 
special subscription rates if they do not now take St. 
Nicholas, but application must be made immediately. 

Every St. Nicholas Household Must Have These 

The Arthur Rackham 
Mother Goose 

The most beautiful edition of Mother Goose ever made, with cover 
and title-page in color and 25o pages of fascinating Rackham 
pictures. Price $2.30 net, postage 24 cents 

Miss Santa Claus 
of the Pullman 

Ready in Christmas gift-book form October 24. A joy of a book. 
Annie Fellows Johnston is the most popular writer for children 
to-day, and probably the most widely read since Louisa Alcott. 
Christmas cover. Frontispiece in color. Price Si. 00 net, postage jo cents 






Extension Heel 

"Watch Your 
Children's Step" 

Do they walk naturally ? Notice if their an- 
kles sag as the full weight of the body falls 
on each foot. Watch if they are inclined to 
walk on their heels, or "toe-in" too much. 
Weakness in growing foot-structures is pre- 
vented and relieved by the 

COWARD su a pI c o h rt SHOE 


A shoe that gives helpful, corrective support 
to arch and ankle muscles, and prevents and 
remedies " flat-foot " conditions. Made on a 
Coward natural-foot last, which lets the great 
toe " grip " at each step, poising the body and 
making the child sure-footed. 

Many children need this Coward Shoe; all 
children benefit by its wearing. 

Coward Arch Support Shoe and Cow- 
ard Extension Heel have been made 
by James S. Coward, in his Custom 
Department, for over thirty years. 

Mail Orders Filled — Send for Catalogue 



264-274 Greenwich St., New York City 

(near warren street) 

THE BOOK MAN— Continued 

est and value of the books. If you have never 
had the experience of life in a summer camp, 
you vyill get an excellent idea of its fun and 
adventures from Warren Eldred's book. He 
lives in Brooklyn, but he spends many of his 
holidays camping with boys; and only this 
summer he was at the scene of the Townsend 
Twins' camp. And "Beatrice of Denewood" 
has been written with so much knowledge of 
the times and scene, and with such accurate 
attention to details, that you get a fine under- 
standing of just how people really felt and 
thought and just how life was lived in Revolu- 
tionary days. Each of these books is $1.25 net. 

This is a miniature reproduction of the cover 
of the new Palmer Cox book, "The Brownies 
Many More Nights.*' There are eleven 
Brownie books altogether now ; and there are 
no books published that appeal so strongly and 
steadily to children. Palmer Cox has been 
drawing Brownies most of his life, and when 
he talks of these little sprites and their curious, 
quaint, lovable ways you realize that they are 
very real to him. Oh, yes, the Book Man 
knows Palmer Cox, and among his treasures 
is one of Mr. Cox's cards, with a gay, little 
Brownie pointing to Mr. Cox's name, and 
address, Brownieland — which the creator of 
the Brownies says is his home. 


TKcOld Nursery RKymes 
llla/toted by f < J 


You will all be glad to know that the Mother 
Goose rhymes and Arthur Rackham's Mother 
Goose pictures, which have been appearing in 

(Continued on page 42. ) 



BOYS AND GIRLS love to model 
with Harbutt's Plasticine. Every 
child likes to make things. The 
mud pie days are followed by others 
of the same kind, but more fruitful. 
Plasticine affords endless delight to 
boys and girls of all ages as it allows 
opportunity to use their own ingenuity. 
Plasticine modelling develops their ar- 
tistic sense and accuracy of observa- 
tion. It encourages the use of both 
hands and trains the fingers in dex- 
terous movements. 




solves the problem of home modelling. It requires no water and is not 
mussy, like clay. It always remains plastic and ready for instant use. It is 
inexpensive, as it can be used over and over again. Various sized outfits 
with complete instructions for modelling, designing, house building. 

Sold by Toy, Stationery and Art Dealers every- 
where. If your dealer cannot supply you, write ^"»-» MAKERS OF "1 
for free booklet and list of dealers near yon. I 1 . -, ? %-\ _ VV 



■ :>■■■>■: 


sKgBy > or tree booklet and list 01 dealers near yon. 1 ' -, . » ^ I 


|||f 58 Liberty Street, Albany, N. Y.. t/ *J 11 \<\L 1V /V *~" 


Wonderful "Constructor" 

The most remarkable and original engineer- 
ing and construction outfit. Hundreds of 
designs and models possible. No nuts or 
screws used in any of the combinations., 
Nothing more fascinating or instructive for 1 
bright boys, A pastime that may develop 
the beginnings of a construction engineer. 
On sale everywhere. Outfits from $2 to $60. Ac- 
cessory Outfits of the "Constructor" can alwa.\s 
be added. If your own dealer hasn't "Bing's Con- 
structor, - write us. and we will forward you a 
catalogue and see that yow are supplied. 

JOHN BING, 378 Fourth Ave., New York. 



for Women 
and Children 

T'HE fruit of over thirty 
■*• years' study to produce 
a device of absolute relia- 
bility. Millio ns of mothers 

trust fe&z/'^faji, for assured 
neatness, security and economy. 

Look for the yellow 
band on every pair 

At Shops Everywhere 

(Child's sample pair, by mail, 
16 cents. State age.) 

Makers BOSTON 



"Which hand will you take? 

It really doesn't matter, you see. They 
are both n&g&t. Mother doesn't want 
either of the children to be disappointed, 
and she does want to be sure that they 
have only candy that is pure and fresh. 



Besides these masterpieces of flavor 
there are nearly fifty other kinds of ■<&$£& 
to suit every candy taste. 

<*£$£# candies are sold by ■e%y2* sales agents 
(leading druggists everywhere) in United States 
and Canada. If there should be no sales agent 
near you, please write us. 

THE BOOK MAN— Continued 

St. Nicholas— and many more besides— have 
been made into the most beautiful and fasci- 
nating Mother Goose book you ever saw. 

Did you know that Mother Goose rhymes go 
back so far that no one knows just when they 
began? The very earliest printed collection of 
these songs is said to have been put out by a 
London printer in 1719— "price, two coppers." 

Arthur Rackham is ranked as the greatest 
illustrator for children living. He made those 
wonderful pictures which you all know for 
"Peter Pan" and "Alice in Wonderland" and 
"Grimm's Fairy Tales," the most remarkable 
illustrations which have ever been made for 
these classic books ; but every one agrees that 
he has surpassed everything he has yet done 
in these pictures of the dear old Mother Goose 
folk. Arthur Rackham, too, chose the rhymes 
—just the very words he learned in childhood 
from his nurse. 

The book has twelve fascinating pages in 
color and a great many black and white draw- 
ings. The cover is perfectly charming, it is in 
color too. And the title-page is a drawing of 
a sampler picturing delightfully the House that 
Jack built. No St. Nicholas home ought to 
try to get along without this splendid copy of 
Mother Goose. Put it first on your Christmas 
list for your brother or sister. Its price is 
$2.50, and if you want to send it by mail, to a 
cousin for instance, the postage will be 24 

The Century Co. has just issued a new cata- 
logue. It has colored pictures on both covers, 
and tells just what book lovers and book buy- 
ers want to know about some of the very best 
of the new books,— travel, fiction, biography, 
art books, and children's books. You will en- 
joy looking through it, and it will give you 
some helpful suggestions not only about things 
you want to read now and all through the win- 
ter, but about books of unusual beauty and 
worth for gifts. 

You will be specially interested in the Clas- 
sified List of Books for young people of all 
ages, and next month the Book Man will tell 
you more about Christmas gift books, new and 
not new. 

Meantime write me any question you will 
about books. Just write and tell me what book, 
or books, you love best, and why; and what 
kind of books you get most pleasure out of, 
and how much time you have for reading. And 
if you will send your name and address on a 
post card you shall have a copy of the beauti- 
ful illustrated catalogue. Address the postal 
like this: 

The Book Man, 

St. Nicholas Magazine, 

New York. 



\Hello Boy si 

Make Lots 
of Toys 

I know what boys like so I 've made the Mysto Erector. I tell you, it 's great fun to 
make, all yourself, dozens of models that run on wheels or by the little Mysto Electrical 
Motor. You '11 enjoy reading my 24-page new booklet — full of pictures of the Erector. 

It 's easier, quicker to work with because parts 
are bigger and one fifth more of them than in any- 
other such toy. Just think, boys, you can build 
bridges, towers, electric engine and trailer, der- 
ricks, swings, railways, machine shops, wagons, 
and dozens of other models. They 're strong- 
stand up stiff, too. Not wobbly — won't bend. 

The Erector is the only model-building toy that has a Mysto Motor. You can build 
rnd run electric railways with cars, derricks, machine shops, etc. It 's great fun. 

The Toy that resembles Structural Steel 

Write me— NOW- 
for my new book. 

Please give 

your toy 



Toy dealers sell the Mysto Erector — $1.00 
and up. Ask your parents to buy it for you. 

A. C. GILBERT, President, 


52 Foote Street, New Haven, Conn. 

Makers of Puzzles, Magic Tricks. 
Send for catalogue of hundreds — easy and hard. 


'HE family physician put this baby on "Eskay s 
Food" when he was but 10 days old. 

His mother, Mrs. Jas.H. Bush, Schenectady, writes: 
" 'Eskay's' agreed with little Richard 
perfectly. He is thoroughly healthy, 
weighs 34 lbs. at 14 months, and has nearly 

all his teeth, eight of which he cut during 
July and Aug. without the least trouble. r % 

What "Eskay's Food" has done for this boy, it will do /M 
for your little one if he is not being thoroughly / 
nourished. /jm 

For his sake don't wait; don't let him > 
. worry along, but "Ask / 
Your Doctor"^ 
about "Eskay's 
Food" today. / 

Ten Feedings Free A 

y mine & French 
462 Arch Street, 

w Gentlemen: Please 

send me free 10 feedings 

of Eskay's Food and your 

l^» helpful book for mothers, 

^^ "How to Care for the Baby." 


Street and No 

City and State 





CTAMP-COLLECTING is a fruitful source of edu- 
"J cation to the lads and lassies. Much general in- 
formation and much specific knowledge can bo 
gained by them while playing with their stamps, and 
the love of order and neatness be instilled into their 
minds and practices. Above all, they learn keenness 
of observation and the habit 
of detecting and noting dif- 
ferences, a habit which will 
be of great advantage to 
them always. While they 
learn much by themselves 
and through their own ef- 
forts, a little help and guid- 
ance from Father would be 
of assistance and encour- 
agement to them. We wish 
to intimate to you, fathers, 
rather plainly that you are 
not altogether laying aside your dignity in so helping 
them. Stamp-collecting is not altogether, nor by any 
means, simply a child's game — a something to amuse 
the youngsters ; it is a man's hobby and a man's di- 
version. There are in these United States many men 
who are known as "Stamp Dealers," but these could 
not continue long in business did they depend only 
upon the ten-cent and twenty-five-cent purchases of 
the small boy. They are in the stamp business 
because grown men and wealthy men find pleasure 
and relaxation in the pursuit. There are thousands 
and thousands of collections whose value runs into 
four figures — collections worth ten, twenty, and fifty 
thousand dollars are by no means uncommon, while 
at least one collection (in Ohio) is valued at over 
a million. The Brooklyn Academy of Arts and Sci- 
ences has a Philatelic Section. In England, the 
Royal Philatelic Society has its "Fellows" as well as 
the other Royal Societies, and George V is himself 
an enthusiast, being the possessor of a collection 
noted for its completeness. 

The game of base-ball in the vacant lot does not 
prove that base-ball is a childish amusement. Nor 
does the fact that children collect stamps prove that 
stamp-collecting is uninteresting to the grown-ups. 
There are amateurs and professionals in the one as 
well as in the other, and fathers can help their chil- 
dren with their stamps with no loss of dignity to 
themselves, but with pleasure and profit to all parties 


NOT long ago, we illustrated the new issue of 
Siamese stamps, but were at a loss to know the 
meaning of the scrollwork at the left of the design. 
St. Nicholas has readers the world over, and one 
of these (Miss M. M: I., a girl of twelve years) 
lives in far-away Siam. She not only speaks the 
language, but also writes it, with all its funny little 
querls that look so meaningless and hopeless to 
those who do not understand them. She writes to 
St. Nicholas to say that each of the small figures 
on the left of the stamp wears a little pointed crown, 

and that they represent two Siamese angels — Towa- 
but and Towada. 


OUR illustrations this month show the new type 
of British Colonials, bearing King George's 
head. The design represented by the British Hondu- 
ras one-cent is new. The Jamaica and St. Helena 
are more like the older types. 



'D. G. C." of Detroit sends a letter illustrating 
three stamps which he has had trouble in identi- 
fying. He asks for a reply in "next month's issue." 
To all readers we would say that the requirements 
of publishing so large a magazine as St. Nicholas 
necessitate the writing of the Stamp Page several 
months in advance. Some time, therefore, must 
elapse before an answer to a query can appear upon 
this page. If any reader, however, will inclose a 
stamped, addressed envelop, St. Nicholas will 
gladly answer all questions promptly. The word 
"Magyar" on two of the stamps of D. G. C. defin- 
itely identifies them as Hungarian, but of what issue 
they are can be determined definitely only by the 
water-mark. The third stamp with a double-headed 
eagle is an Austrian Postage Due, of either 1908 or 
1910 issue, according to the paper. €][ The Standard 
Stamp Catalogue, which can be purchased from any 

of our advertis- 
ers, is almost in- 
valuable to the be- 
ginner. It gives a 
picture of all for- 
eign stamps and 
the date when is- 
sued, besides quo- 
ting its price both 
used and unused. 
With its help, all stamps difficult to identify can 
be successfully hunted up. There is no other one 
publication which is' so generally useful, not only 
to the beginner, but to the older collector as well. 
We advise every stamp-collector to procure a copy. 
<| The water-marks Crown C. C. and Crown C. A. 
occur only on certain of the colonies of Great 
Britain. The water-mark consists of a crown just 
below which are the letters C. C. or C. A. In the 
first instance, the letters signify Crown Colonies, 
and in the second Crown Agents. Originally, the 
Crown C. A. water-mark was so spaced in the paper 
that it appeared once upon each stamp ; this is called 
the "single" Crown C. A. Within the last few years, 
however, the spacing in the paper has been changed ; 
both the crown and the letters are smaller, and are 
placed much more closely together. Whereas for- 
merly only one group — one set of crown and letters 
— appeared upon a single stamp, now there is one 
complete group and portions of a number of other 
groups upon each stamp. This latter arrangement is 
called "Multiple" Crown C. A. 


> -Jwj^>fi<W||-Hr i' 

f- .~' ■ -r ' 

'j ; 

i ,y .''Kfiifcl ! 

li[§§&£7W'||f i 

1 K*t mf ■ -'T *ftS2' 

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'llSKi£SS2SO!fl' ' 







ALBUM (Ready Nov. 1st.) 

Contains separately described printed spaces for over 15,000 dif- 
ferent stamps from the earliest issues to the present year. All 
in one volume. An unequalled gift for young: people who are 
starting; stamp collections. Board covers, $2. 25. Cloth covers, 

Over 200 dime sets, also packets, sets, albums and supplies are 
described in our new eighty page illustrated "Price List" for 
1914. Send for it today, free. 108 all different stamps from 
Paraguay, Turkey, Venezuela, etc., 10c. Finest approval sheets 
at 50% discount. Agents wanted. 

Scott Stamp & Coin Co. 
127 Madison Avenue New York City 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India 
^jgjjv with Catalogue Free. Postage 2 cents. If possible send 
tfH^KSi names and addresses of two stamp collectors. Special 
(ml Ami offers, all different, contain no two alike. 50 Spain, 
vEJLJKw 11c -; 40 Japan, 5c; 1"" l'. S.,20c; 10 Paraguay, 7c; 17 
\S»g*/ Me vie. i, 10c : 20 Turkey, 7c; 10 Persia, 7c; 3 Sudan, 5c ; 
V 9H8P' 10 Chile, 3c;50 Italy, 19c. ;200 Foreign, 10c; 10 Egypt, 
7c; 50 Africa, 24c; 3 Crete, 3c; 20 Denmark, 5c;20 Portugal, 6c;7 
Siam, 15c; 10 Brazil, 5c; 7 Malay, 10c; 10 Finland, 5c; 50 Persia, 
89c;50Cuba, 60c; 6 China, 4c; 8 Bosnia, 7c Remit in Stamps or 
Money-Order. Fine approval sheets 50% Discount, 50 Page List 
Free. Marks Stamp Company, Dept. N, Toronto, Canada. 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio. 

MYKEEL'S Stamp Weekly, Boston, Mass. 6 mos. and 205 
diff. foreign stamps or 101 diff.U. Remit 25c 10 weeks 10c. 


sent with our 60% approval sheets for 5c. 
Palm Stamp Co., Box 174, Arcade Sta., Los Angeles, Cal. 


For the names of two collectors and 2c postage. 20 different 
foreign coins, 25c. Toledo Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio, U.S.A. 

STAMP ALBUM with 538 Genuine Stamps, incl. 
Rhodesia, Congo (tiger), China (dragon), Tasmania 
(landscape), Jamaica (waterfalls), etc., 10c 100 diff. 
Jap., N. Zld., etc., 5c Big list ; coupons, etc., 

Hussman Stamp Co., St. Louis, Mo. 

>. Judge A Packet By The Price, Quality Counts 
I Here. 500 all diff . postage stamps only 75c. 750dijf. 
postage$1.35. vmdiff. postage ,rf3w>s(Best Made)$^.Z5. Money 
saving list of single stamps, sets, packets, etc., free. 

M. Ohlmans, 75-77 Nassau St., New York City. 



1. A letter. 2. A cover. 3. A boat. 4. The 
smallest amount or quantity. 5. A devil. 6. A 
rapid gait. 7. A letter. Send correct answer and 
receive ABSOLUTELY FREE Perforation 
Gage, Stamp Tweezers, and 100 Stamp Hinges. 
The Hobby Co., Box 403, Springfield, Ohio. 


With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N.Y. 

DANDY PACKET STAMPS free for name, address 2 collec- 
tors, 2c postage. Send to-day. U.T.K. Stamp Co., Utica, N. Y. 

V diJ 1 I \_/V^l\.Ili 1 and 50 different Stamps, only 10c 
Burt McCann, 323 No. Newton St., Minneapolis, Minn. 


■ " ferent Foreign Countries, including Bolivia, Crete, Guat- 
emala, Gold Coast, Hong-Kong, Mauritius, Monaco, Persia, 
Reunion, Tunis, Uruguay, etc, for only 15 cents — a genuine 
bargain. With each order we send our pamphlet which tells all 
about "How to Make a Collection of Stamps Properly." Queen 
City Stamp&CoinCo., 32 Cambridge Bldg., Cincinnati, O. 

FREE. 108 Foreign Stamps. Album, & Catalogs, for 2c postage. 
Payn Stamp Co., 138 No. Wellington St., Los Angeles, Cal. 

i r\ SETS (80 Stamps) and New Price List, 10c if you send for 
1 " trial Approval Sheets at 75% discount. 1000 mixed Foreign, 
25c. 300oStamp Hinges, 25c F.J.Stanton (A), Norwich, N.Y. 

1914 Standard Catalog Now Ready 

Prices Postpaid 

Paper bound 85 cents. Cloth bound #1.00 


4 Argentine 1910, 14 Austria 1904, 15 Austria 1907, 6 Austria 
Dues 1910, 3 Austrian Tuikey 1908, 12 Belgium P. P. 1902-06, 

5 Bolivia 1901-02, 6 Bosnia 1906. 6 Bosnia 1912, 5 Cape of Good 
Hope 1902-04, 5 Chile 1902, 6 Chinese Republic 1912. 

12 Sets for $1.00. 


43 Washington Building Boston, Mass. 

I A TV! A If A One of our specialties. Also Free fine 
»J.f\lVl/\I\^.r\ unused stamp to purchasers from approvals. 
Chester McLaughlin, Brentford Hall, Cambridge, Mass. 

STA MPS 105 China, Egypt,etc,stamp dictionary and list 3000 I 
bargains 2c Agts., 50%. Bullard & Co., Sta. A, Boston. I 

C. 115 varieties foreign, for 2c. postage. Agents 75%. 

OtaiTipS H. N. Haas(B), 440 E. 3d St., Bloomsburg, Pa. 

1000 Different SKSSe&SKE! $30 for $1.75 

500 different $ .45 I Hayti, 1904 Complete 6 Var. $ .15 

200 " .09 Abyssinia, 1895 " 7 " .45 

12 " Bermuda .25 | Nyassa, Giraffes, '01 " 13 " .25 
Gold California $i, each 35c; $i, each 65c: 25 diff. Foreign 
Coins, 25c Jos. F. Negreen, 8 East 23d St., New York City. 


Transvaal, Servia, Brazil, Peru, Cape G. H., Mex- 
ico, Natal, Java, etc., and Album, 10c looo Finely | 
Mixed, 20c 65 different U. S., 25c 1000 hinges, 5c 
Agents wanted, 50 per cent. List Free. I buy stamps. _ 

C. Stegman, 5941 Cote Bkilliante Av., St. Louis, Mo. 


D/\.r\Va^Vll^^> lr , Luxembourg ; 8 Finland ; 20 Sweden ; 
15 Russia ; 8 Costa Rica ; 12 Porto Rico ; 8 Dutch Indies ; 5 
Crete. Lists of 6000 low-priced stamps free. 
Chambers Stamp Co., Ill G Nassau Street, New York City. 

FIMF a P nrova ' selections. I pay good prices for stamp 
r 11NC collections. A. O. Durland, Evansville, Ind. 

OAnA hinges for 12c. These 30c sets contain GOOD 
«""" stamps. 50 varieties Turkey, Bulgaria, and the 
Orient, 35 varieties S. America, 30 varieties Central America, 
30 varieties Africa, 30 varieties Mexico. Postpaid. 

Owen Dicks, Kenmore, New York, Box 75. 


For School, College or Society. 

We make the "right kind" from 
hand cut steel dies. Beauty of de- 
tail and quality guaranteed. No pins 

less than #5.00 a dozen. Catalog showing many artistic designs free. 

FLOWER CITY CLASS PIN CO., 680 Central Building, Rochester, N. Y. 



St. Nicholas Pet Department 

Announcements of reliable advertisers only are ac- 
cepted. The Department will gladly give advice 
to all those interested in pets. Address "PET DEPARTMENT," St. Nicholas, Union Square, New York. 

IIIIIIlllllII! IIII Illllllllllilillllllllllll IIIU.Li: U.1 .6 i.lll. Ill ILilhlii :, i II ll II ll.llll II II 

G. D. TILLEY, Naturalist 

"Everything in the bird line from a 
Canary to an Ostrich " 

Bird Pets from all Parts 
of the World 

Singing, Cinnamon, Red, Norwich, Belgin, Yorkshire 
and Manchester Coppie Canaries. Piping English Bull 
finches that whistle complete tunes. Talking Parrots. 
Finger-tame Bright Red Macaws. Rare and tame Pigmy 
Illiger's Macaws. Piping Indian Crows. Finger-tame 
Black Crows. Rare White Jackdaws, very tame and 
amusing. European Magpies, splendid pets. Parrakeets 
and Love-birds that will breed in captivity. Tiny bril- 
liantly colored Finches from various foreign countries. 
Bleeding-heart, Bronze-wing, Ring-neck, and other 
doves. Tame Cranes that will follow one about like a 
dog. Pigeons. Bantams. Odd Silkie fowls from Japan, 
very ornamental and hardy. Long-tailed Phoenix from 
the Orient. White-headed Jays. European Blackbirds. 
Shama Thrushes from India. Chinese Starlings. Red- 
crested singing Cardinals from Brazil. Tame Japanese 
Robins, in full song. Gray and White Java Sparrows. 
Beautiful Peafowl, Pheasants, Waterfowl, etc. 

Bird Feed, Cages and Supplies 

I am the oldest established and largest exclusive dealer 
in land and water birds in America, and have on hand the 
most complete stock in the United States. 


For Sale 

Boston Terrier Puppies. Ab- 
solutely safe with children and 
most affectionate house dog. 
We have some choice specimens 
just now, prices reasonable. 


P.O. Box 285, Waterbury, Conn. 

Goldfish and Canaries 


A 2C. stamp will send you our special offers on the 
above, which will surprise you and please your friends. 
We also have guinea-pigs, rabbits of all kinds, white 
mice, white rats, Japanese dancing mice, dogs of all 
varieties. All goods shipped with safety anywhere. 

EDWARDS BIRD-SHOP, 129 Mich. Ave., Detroit, Mich. 

Your Pony 

We have him. He *s a loving 
playmate, a useful companion, 
and an unequaled health bringer, 
taking you out into the fresh air 
and bright sunshine. ThisChrist- 
mas will be the best of all if you 
order him soon. Write now. 


724 Forest St., Medford, Mass. 


Carefully trained for children's safety. Only 
gentle, highly-bred registered ponies in our 
herd. Champion stock, all colors and sizes. 



Shetland Ponies at 
Bargain Prices 

Must reduce the herd about one-half before win- 
ter sets in. Mares safe in foal, safe children's 
ponies ready to use, yearlings, mares and stal- 
lions, very gentle, a few foals left. 

This is a rare chance for anyone wishing to 
start a herd, as these are all choice-bred ponies. 

A good discount will be given if three or more 
are taken at one time. 

SHADY NOOK FARM, No. Ferruburgh, Vt. 


an unceasing source of pleasure. A safe 
and ideal playmate. Makes the child 
strong and of robust health. Highest 
type— complete outfits — here. 
Inexpensive. Satisfaction guar- 
anteed. Write for illustrated 

{£ ™ Dept. 9 Markham. Va. 

Snow White Eskimo Puppies 

Black nose, sharp ears, shaggy coat as fine as silk, and a big plume tail 
curled up over the back. Cunning as a fox, romp and play from daylighttill 
dark, proud as a peacock, and the handsomest dog living. Natural trick dogs. 
Imagine if you can what other breed would behalf as nice for the Kiddies. I 
am the oldest and largest breeder of these beautiful dogs in the U. S., and 
for the past eleven years have supplied some of the largest eastern Pet 
Shops. You can save one-half on Christmas orders if they reach me early. 
I also breed English Bulls from the best imported dogs in America. Satis- 
faction and a square deal is my motto. 

Brockways Kennels, Baldwin, Kansas 

Airedale Terriers 

Most popular dog of the day 

The Airedale is the best companion, 

watch-dog, and all-round hunting-dog. 

Ideal pets for children, faithful, kind, 

and wonderful intelligence. 

Puppies from $25 up: 
Beautiful booklet free. 

Elmhurst Airedale Kennels 
Kansas City, Mo. Sta. E. 



St. Nicholas Pet Department 

to all those interested in pets 


Announcements of reliable advertisers only are ac- 
cepted. The department will gladly give advice 
PET DEPARTMENT," St. Nicholas, Union Square, New York. 


A Nut Brown Maiden with a White Collie or a Tan Colored Boy with a White 
Collie is a sight to warm the heart of any lover of outdoors. Every home should have 
such a combination of color and life. Collies are brave, kind, gentle, beautiful, grace- 
ful, enduring, hardy, intelligent, and active, and are ideal for city, suburb, country, or 
camp. Collies are intelligent and sympathetic companions for adults, beautiful, grace- 
ful, and sensitive comrades for young ladies, tireless playmates and FEARLESS PRO- 
TECTORS for children, and dauntless guards of the home or farm. Every boy and 
girl has an inborn right to be brought up with a faithful pet. Girls especially should 
have a big, strong, brave dog to attract them to outdoor play and protect thevi on any 
occasion. Ours are country raised (on an island) pedigree stock and are hardy, healthy, 
and rugged, and never require artificial heat in winter. We ship anywhere in North 
America. A pair will raise $150.00 worth of puppies a year. Kipling said : " Buy a pup 
and your money buys love unflinching that cannot lie." Now is the time to place an 
order for a Collie for a Christmas present. 



today are bred, raised, and trained right here at this 
place. We have English or Llewellen Setters, Irish 
Setters, Gordon Setters, and Pointer Dogs that are 
well and most thoroughly trained. We sell trained 
dogs from $50.00 to $200.00. Puppies, all ages, from 
$15.00 to $25.00 each. We invite correspondence. 

Scottish Terriers 

Offered as companions. Not 

given to fighting or roaming. 

Best for children's pets. 


Brookline, Mass. 

Irish Setter Puppies 

By many considered the most beautiful of all breeds. 
Just now they are soft, woolly, dark-red bundles of fur, 
full of life and play, waiting for a kind little master or 
mistress. Soon they will grow to be loving, faith- 
ful companions. Of course they are pedigreed. 

WALTER McROBERTS, Richwood Kennels, Peoria, 111. 

Money inSquabs 4 

Learn this immensely rich business I 
we teach you; easy work at home; 
everybody succeeds. Start with our 
Jumbo Homer Pigeons and your success is assured. 
Send for large Illustrated Book. Providence 
Squab Company, Providence, Rhode Island. 

If you want to keep your dog in the 
best of condition feed 


Send 2c. stamp for "Dog Culture" 





Every boy and girl should know about 
the Black Short Haired Cattery 

The Largest Cattery 
in America 

Send for Catalogue and Illustrated Price 
Lists of all Pet Stock 




York Office — 154 West 57th Street 

Save Our Native Birds 

You can keep native birds 
about your place many weeks 
later than usual by setting out 

The Dodson Sheltered 
Food House for Birds 

and you will save the lives of 
many birds by so doing. It is 
a fact that birds do not freeze 
to death — they starve to death. 
Many native birds will remain 
North all Winter if they get 
plenty of food. This is true of 
Robins, Thrushes, Bluebirds, 
Downy Woodpeckers, Flick- 
Built of clear, white pine— 24 x 24 x 18 ers, Nut Hatches and many 
inches. Price with 8-foot pole, $8.00 other birds 
f. o. b. Chicago — with copper roof, TL . «■ 1' »? j- u 
$.0.00. A smaller Shelter and Heeding T , nls , , Shelter -Feeding House 
Table (different design) with 8-toot should be set out right BOW — 
pole, $6.00— with copper roof, $7.50. for the birds' sake. 

Trap For Sparrows 

You can get rid of English Sparrows — 
the pests that drive away song birds. 

The Dodson Sparrow Trap 

is catching thousands of sparrows. Used all over Amer- 
ica. Works automatically all the time. Remove spar- 
rows once a day. 

The Dodson Sparrow Trap catches as many as 75 to 100 sparrows a 
day. Made of tinned wire. Size, 36 x 18 x 12 inches. Price, in- 
cluding- receiving box, $5.00 f. o. b. Chicago. 

For illustrated folders about birds, bird houses, 
shelter and feeding houses, or for any information 
on the subject of native birds, write to The Man 
The Birds Love — address 

1209 Association BIdg., Chicago, 111. 

(Mr. Dodson is a Director of the Illinois Audubon Society.) 



One of the illustrations in 
Pillow for making- Bobbin Lac 
Museum, New York.) 

) covering Lace. Gta 
the Metropolitan 

One of the illustrate 
Terrier. Medium hei 
weight, 18 pounds. 

>up of Dogs. Boston 
i (to top of shoulder); 

This is for the St. Nicholas Girls 

We don't want you to think for a minute that the 
Century Dictionary is only a mass of dry business 
or scientific facts. IT IS NOT! 

Are you interested in needle work, jewelry, 
sketching, or painting? Perhaps you collect odd 
bits of china, old books, or flowers. Maybe you 
are going to travel, and want to know interesting 
points about the famous places and cathedrals 
you will visit, or the men and events that 
made them worth seeing? / 

These are just a few of 
the things that the Cen- 
tury not only tells about, 
but illustrates in such a 
way that you can't help 
being interested. 

Did you see the " Century Dictionary " 
advertisement last month ? 
Watch for it next month. 

The Century 
and Atlas 



New York 

Please send, 
without cost or 
obligation to me, 
/ the booklet con- 
/ taining the story 
of the Century, with 
a map, color-plates, 
and specimen pages 
from the new edition. 

4 8 

[The entire contents of this Magazine are covered by the general copyright, and articles must not be reprinted without special permission] 




Frontispiece. "Hark, Hark, the Dogs Do Bark ! " Painted for St. Nich- 
olas by Arthur Rackham. 
The Nursery Rhymes of Mother Goose: "Hark, Hark, the Dogs Do 

Bark!" "Hickory, Dickory, Dock." "Little Jack Horner." 
" Diddle-ty — Diddle-ty — Dumpty." "Three Wise Men of Gotham." 

"Ride a Cock-Horse." " Little Betty Blue. " " Rain, Rain, Go Away. " 

Illustrated by Arthur Rackham in pen and ink and in color. 

Miss Santa Claus of the Pullman. Serial Story. (Conclusion.) . . .Annie Fellows Johnston 99 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

The First Letter. Verse Nora Bennett 107 

Illustrated by Louise Perrett. 

A Resolve. Verse Ethel M. Kelley 108 

Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory. 

A Correction. Verse George 0. Butler 109 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Larry Goes to the Ant. Story Effie Ravenscroft - 110 

Illustrated by Bernard J. Rosenmeyer. 

Birthday Treasure. Verse Elsie Hin 123 

Illustrated by Herbert Paus. 

Annie Fellows Johnston. Sketch Margaret w. Vandercook 127 

Illustrated from photographs. 

Back to Nature. Verse a. B 131 

Illustiated by the Author. 

At The Sign of the Christmas Tree. Verse Pauline Frances Camp 132 

Illustrated by Beatrice Stevens. 

The Runaway. Serial Story Allen French 134 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Field-Goal Art. Sketch Parke H. Davis 141 

Illustrated from photographs. 

The Great Game on Thanksgiving Day. Picture. Drawn by E. B. Bird 147 

Bunglers. Verse Ellen Manly 148 

Illustrated by R. B. Birch. 

The Song of the Christmas Tree. Verse Blanche Elizabeth Wade 152 

Down the Wrong Chimney. Picture 152 

Wireless Wizardry. Sketch Robert G. Skerrett 153 

Illustrated from photographs. 
" The Wireless Cage." Picture. Drawn by Culmer Barnes 155 

War and Peace at the Rose Alba. Story Eveline w. Brainerd 156 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Dim Forest. Story d. k. Stevens 163 


A Christmas Acrostic. Verse Mabel Livingston Frank 169 

In Paris — at Christmastide. Verse Esther w. Ayres 170 

Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay. 

The Djinnger Djar. Verse Carolyn wells 172 


For Very Little Folk : 

The Baby Bears' Second Adventure. Verse Grace G. Drayton 173 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 176 

The St. Nicholas League. With Awards of Prizes for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles 182 


The Letter-Box 19" 

The Riddle-Box 191 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 58 

The Century Co. audits editors receive manuscripts and art material, submitted for publication, only on the understanding that they shall 
not be responsible for loss or injury theretoivhile in their possession or in tra?isit. Copies of manuscripts shoidd be retained by the authors. 
In the United States and Canada, the price of The St. Nicholas Magazine is $3.00 a year in advance, or 25 cents a 
sintfle copy , without discount or extra inducement of any kind. Foreign postage is 60 cents extra when subscribers abroad wish the 
magazine mailed directly from New York to them. We request that remittance be by money order, bank check, draft, or registered letter. 
The Century Co. reserves the right to suspend any subscription taken contrary to its selling terms, and to refund the unexpired credit. 
The half-yearly parts of ST. NICHOLAS end with the October and April numbers respectively, and the red cloth covers are ready 
with the issue of these numbers ; price 50 cents, by mail, postpaid ; the two covers for the complete volume, $1.00. We bind and furnish 
covers for 75 cents per part, or $1.50 for the complete volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers to us, they should be dis- 
tinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are not exchanged for numbers. PUBLISH ED MONTH L Y. 


Union Square, New York, N. Y. 

IRA H. BRAINERD, Vice-President 
10SIAH J. HAZEN, Ass't Treasurer 
DOUGLAS Z. DOTY, Secretary 


Christmas Stocking Books for the Little Folks 

The Brownies' 
Many More Nights 

The new Brownie book by Palmer Cox, whose Brownie 
books have been the joy of millions of little folks. 

Palmer Cox's Brownie books are unique. His clever pen, his 
gift at jingle-turning, seem to gain in cleverness and fun with 
every year, and youngsters of alljages will vote this the jolliest 
Brownie book yet. 

A T i/je books now. Board covers in color and pictures on 
every page. Quarto, 14b pages. Price $1.50 each. 

If you would make a household of children perfectly happy, give them the set: 

The Brownies' Latest Adventures 

One hundred and forty-four pages of con- 
densed sunshine. 

The Brownies: Their Book 

The original Brownie book, the first collec- 
tion of Mr. Cox's verse and pictures. 

Another Brownie Book 

The Brownies at Home 

The Brownies Around the World 

The Brownies Through the Union 

books, for 
little children. Price 'i0 

Brownies Abroad 

The Brownies in the Philippines 

The Brownie Primer 

Made up from all the Brownie 
schools and for all 
cents net. 

Brownie Clown of Brownietown 

One hundred pages of Brownie quaintness 
and jolly fun and ridiculous doings, with many 
of the old favorites, and some new characters 
playing pranks, -t 11 in color. Price $1.00. 

The Queen Silver-Bell Books 

By Frances Hodgson Burnett 
Princess of Story-tellers 

Of all the delightful stories for the young in heart by the 
author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy," none is quite so deli- 
ciously whimsical and fascinating as her series of "Queen 
Silver-Bell" fairy tales, dainty, quaint stories in which Queen 
Silver-Bell tells all about how she lost her temper, and, to 
prove to mortals that there are fairies, sets out to write of 
their funny, pretty, helpful pranks and doings. And these 
are her stories: 

Queen Silver-Bell 

Telling not only how the tiny queen lost her 
fairy temper and the dire results thereof, but 
of "How Winnie Hatched the Little Books." 

Racketty-Packetty House 

All about a delightful family of lovable chil- 
dren and even more lovable dolls, as dear a 
story as was ever written. 

The Cozy Lion 

A most delightful bit of nonsense — imagine 
a cozy lion — with the fantastic and tender strain 
in the telling characteristic of Mrs. Burnett. 

The Spring Cleaning 

Dear little Bunch, and the dear, dear Prim- 
rose World, and the beautiful Primrose Day 
party, all appeal to the heart of every child. 

Four exquisite little books, each with twenty pictures in color by Harrison 
Cady. Price 60 cents each. Little folks love them. 


Union Square 



[A)/\U\U|/ \\2^\kS'^ 



An Ideal Christmas Stocking Book 

Reduced from beautiful full page in c, 

Miss Santa Claus 
of the Pullman 

This is the new book by Annie Fellows Johnston, who wrote the "Little 
Colonel" books. She is the most popular writer for children to-day, 
and probably the most widely read since Louisa Alcott. 

It is the kind of a little book you will choose to give to the child, or 
children, nearest your heart, and then you will read it together by the 
fire — all through at the first sitting — and again and again. And you and 
the children will love it equally. Every one who read the story in 
St. Nicholas will want it in its longer book form. 

A joy of a Christmas gift-book, with a lovely Christinas cover and alto- 
gether delightful illustrations, the frontispiece in color, by Reginald 
Birch. Price $1.00 net, postage 10 cents 

The Century Co.'s Classified List of Books for Young Folks tells you about 
many choice gift-books for boys and girls of all ages. Sent on post-card request. 


Union Square 




Ideal Gift Books for Any Boy or Girl 

The Biography of a Grizzly 


Just about the most wonderful animal story ever written— saving 
and excepting always those masterpieces of genius, the Jungle 
Books. It is a true story — we have Mr. Seton's word for that — 
but it has the magic of imagination on every page. 

Its pictures make it a never-ending joy; they are the author's. 

Printed in two colors, with a verv attractive binding. Price 

By the Same Author 
The Biography of a Silver Fox 

One of the most delightful of all Mr. Seton's delightful stories — for the young in 
heart of all ages — the story, from his cubhood to his splendid prime, of that aris- 
tocrat of foxes, Domino Reynard, and his happy, adventurous life among the 
Goldur Hills. All the magic of the wild, free life of the open is in its pages. 
Over 100 illustrations by the author, and very beautifully made. Price $1.50. 

Donald and Dorothy 

By MARY MAPES DODGE, the children's friend 

Not a new book, but always new in its power to interest and delight every boy and 
girl — the story of a sister and a brother — fine, sweet, true. 

Pictures. Price $1.50. , 



A book of unusual freshness and charm, the story of a dear little girl whose beauty 
and sweet ways and genius for winning love brought her many experiences. 
Reginald Birch's pictures are quaint and fascinating. Price $1.50. 

Master Skylark 


Young people will get a truer idea of the life of Shakspere's day from this delight- 
ful story than from many a serious volume. 

The pictures by Reginald Birch are among the book's delights. Price $1 .50. 

Three Unusual and Specially Worth-While Books 

The Training of Wild Animals 

By Frank C. Bostock. Edited 
by Ellen Velvin, F.Z.S. Tells 
just how training is done. 
Price $1.00 net. postage 10 cents. 

Fighting a Fire 

By Charles T. Hill. A graphic 
and interesting picture of the 
heroism of a fireman's life. 
Price $1.50. 

Careers of Danger and Daring 

By Cleveland Moffett. True 
stories of steeple-climbers, en- 
gineers, divers, and other 
every-day heroes. Price $1.50. 

Let us send you our attractive new Holiday Catalogue. 
It contains, among many other helpful suggestions for 
your holiday planning, a "Classified List of Books for 
Young Folks," which will give you wide choice of some 
of the very best hooks for children ever published. 
A book is always a splendid gift. 


Union Square 



v!ikto/\i/ yS' ' 

Fine Books for the Boys' Christmas Stockings 

The Land of Mystery 

By Cleveland Moffett 



Every boy who has fol- 
lowed this splendid story 
of adventure through the 
pages of St. Nicholas will 
want it in book form with 
the new chapters and the 
many additional illustra- 

It is one of the very best 
stories of adventure ever 
written, every chapter 
tingling with mystery and excitement. 

The book is attractively bound, and has sev- 
enty illustrations from drawings by Hambidge 
and from photographs chosen by the author. 
Price $1.25 net, postage 11 cents. 

The Townsend Twins 
—Camp Directors 

By Warren L. Eldred 

For the boy who read it in 
St. Nicholas and for the 
boy who missed that plea- 
sure, but has heard it talked 
about, this jolly story of 
the fun one party of lads 
had in the Adirondacks one 


Illustrations, sixteen full 
pages, by C. M. Relyea, have 
caught the spirit of fun. 
25 net, postage 12 cents. 

Ralph Henry Barbour's 
Splendid Books 

Crofton Chums — Team-Mates 
— -Kingsford, Quarter — The 
Crimson Sweater — Tom, Dick, 
and Harriet — Captain Chub — 
Harry's Island. 

They are all wholesome, jolly. 
books, full of outdoor fun, which 
hoys and girls read with almost 
equal pleasure. Price, each, $1.50, 
except "Crofton Chums," which is 
$1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

The Knights 
o£ the Golden Spur 

By Rupert Sargent Holland 
Xoble adventure, stirringly told, 
with a plot quite out of the usual 
to stir and hold the interest. De- 
lightful illustrations by Birch. 
Price $1.25 net, postage 1.2 cents. 

Hero Tales 
From American History 

By Theodore Roosevelt and 
Henry Cabot Lodge 

There is no better book of hero 
tales than this. Illustrated. Price 

The Boys' Life 
of Abraham Lincoln 

By Helen Nicolay 

In choice of incident and event, in 
accuracy, in sympathy, in vivid 
interest, it stands, and will stand, 
as the ideal life of Lincoln for 
young people. Illustrations by 
Hambidge and others. Price $1.50. 

Francis Arnold Collins's 
Unusual Books 

The Wireless Man 

Price $1.20 net, postage 11 cents. 

The Boys' Book of 

Model Aeroplanes 

Price $1.20 net, postage Vi cents. 

The Second Boys' Book of 

Model Aeroplanes 

Price $1.20 net, postage 11 cents. 

All generously illustrated. 









x^^^Ki/ \\A^i^2k 



Choice Christmas Stocking Books 

Sonny Boy's Day at the Zoo 

Verses by Ella Bentley Arthur, telling all 
about what Sonny Boy saw in the New York 
Zoological Park. Many illustrations from 
charming photographs by Stanley Clisby Ar- 
thur — photographs of a real — and very dear 
— Sonny Boy and his friends in the Park. 

A book to delight the heart of any child, the kind 
that will be worn out through constant loving. 

Gay cover of red cloth. Small quarto, 75 pages. 

Price 90 cents net, postage 10 cents. 

On Your Christmas Lists Too 

Russian Wonder Tales 

An ideal gift-book for almost any age — dear old once-upon-a-time 
stories of adventure in which all kinds of delightfully impossible things 

Twelve lovely and unusual pictures in color, made originally for the Imperial Rus- 
sian edition of these tales by the famous Russian artist Bilibin. Quaint and attrac- 
tive binding. Price $2.50 net, postage 19 cents. 

Joan of Arc 

Put this on your picked Christmas list too. It is a unique and striking book, both 
the story of the Warrior Maid of France and forty-three superb colored illustra- 
tions in the most delightful style of the famous French artist, M. Boutet de Monvel. 

Price $3.50 net, postage 17 cents. 

iEsop's Fables 

A delightful edition of one of the great world books. All ages will enjoy this at- 
tractive book, with its forty quaint drawings by E. Boyd Smith, and its page 
borders printed in tint. Price $2.00 net, postage lb cents. 

The Bible for Young People 

Every mother has wished for such a book as this — a Bible within the understand- 
ing of young children yet retaining the accepted text. Here it is, the text hal- 
lowed by generations of reading carefully adapted and arranged so as to hold the 
young reader closely, with no loss of vital and beautiful passages. 

Beautifully illustrated from famous paintings by the Old Masters. 475 pages of 
easy-to-read text, handsome red binding. Price $1.50. 


Union Square 



i/^/^zvai/ ai4^%|/ y^-if-^ 

For Every Good Child's Christmas Stocking 

The most beautiful edition of Mother Goose ever made 

The Arthur Rackham 

Mother Goose 

All the Arthur Rackham Mother Goose pictures which have ap- 
peared in St. Nicholas, and many more besides, have been put 
into this joy of a book. 

There are twelve fascinating pages in color and more than sixty delight- 
ful black-and-white drawings. Arthur Rackham, greatest of living illus- 
trators for children, designed also the lovely cover and the delicious 
sampler title-page. 

Two hundred and fifty pages of pure joy 

Price $2.50 net, postage 24 cents. 

If you are Christmas-gift buying for any boy or girl, send for The 
Century Co.'s Christmas Catalogue with its classified list of books for 
young folks of all ages. You can see the books at your bookseller's. 








A little girl wrote ST. NICHOLAS recently, "I just can't wait to get ' Beatrice' in a book." 

Beatrice of Denewood 

authors of "The Lucky Sixpence" 

This is the latest story of the bonny little heroine 
of "The Lucky Sixpence." Much of the story is 
laid in the later days of the Revolutionary War; 
and the events and the people of those stirring 
days are pictured vividly. Both boys and girls 
will enjoy the stirring tale of how the adopted 
daughter of Denewood comes to happiness 
through many perils. 

Sixteen very attractive full-page illustrations by C. M. 
Relyea. Price $1.25 net, postage Ik cents. 

Each book is complete in itself; but the two read 
together gain in interest. The two volumes would be 
a gift carrying much pleasure to any boy or girl. The 
price of "The Lucky Sixpence" is $1.25 net, postage 
12 cents. 

Sue Jane 

By MARIA T. DAVIESS, author of "The Melting of Molly," "The Tinder Box," etc. 
Every girl delights in a well-told story of school-girl good times; and here is a 
story, by one of the most popular writers of the day, with a novel note in it. 

There are eight full-page illustrations by E. A. Furman. Price $1.25 net, postage 
10 cents. 

The Lady of the Lane 

By FREDERICK ORIN BARTLETT, author of "The Forest Castaways" 
This is such a different kind of a storv that it will make a special appeal to young 
girls, and it is the freshly wholesome sort of tale that grown-ups approve — to the 
point of reading. How pretty, spoiled Elizabeth became the real "Lady of the Lane" 
is the storv — of absorbing interest, told with much humor, sympathy, and skill. 
Sixteen full-page illustrations by E. C. Caswell. Price $1.25 net, postage 12 cents. 

Bound Volumes of St. Nicholas 

St. Nicholas, the prince of all magazines for young folk, from three to eighteen, is 
bound each vear, in two large, octavo, red-and-gold volumes. They make a fine 
gift, for any 'boy or girl, and one that will be treasured and handed on trom one 
set of readers to another. The price is $b.00 for the set. 

Are you Christmas-gift planning for any boy 
or girl, big or little? Our Classified List of 
Books for Young Folks is a mine of helpful 
suggestions. Let us send it to you. Your ad- 
dress on a post-card will bring it. 


Union Square 





-\'/ Ji= 

\l2^\'/1\^|/ \i / 4^\^_\ ! 



Rudyard Kipling's Magic Books 

The Jungle Book 

New Illustrated Edition 

This beautiful edition of Rudyard 
Kipling's "Jungle Book," the fa- 
vorite work of the greatest of living 
writers, is an almost ideal piece of 
book-making. Artists and publish- 
ers have caught the spirit of these 
magic tales wonderfully, and the 
result is a volume of rare delight. 

Sixteen full-page illustrations in rich 
color by the famous English artists, 
Maurice and Edward Detmold. Text in 
black, with charming border in green on 
every page. Lovely cover in green and 
gold. Price $2.50 net, postage 15 cents. 

Every boy and girl who has read and loved this 
marvelous jungle classic, Rudyard Kipling's 
greatest book, should have it in this beautiful 

The Second Jungle Book 

There are no books to take the place of "The Jungle Book" and 
"TheSecond Jungle Book," no books so rich in the magic and 
mystery and charm of the great open and its wild life. 

Both may be had in the original green cloth edition, with interesting illus- 
trations. Price $1.50 each. 

Another edition (just right to slip into pocket or bag) is printed on thin 
paper and bound in flexible red leather. Price $1.50 net, postage 8 cents. 

Rudyard Kipling's Great Book for Boys, Captains Courageous 

It is the story of a rich man's son, picked up out of the ocean by a fishing 
dory. How he "found himself" is stirring reading. Many illustrations by 
Taber. In green cloth, $1.50. In red leather, price $1.50 net, postage 8 cents. 

The Century Co.' s New Holiday Catalogue tells of other delightful Christ- 
mas stocking volumes. Sent by The Century Co. on post-card request. 

The Kipling Index is an invaluable guide to authorized American trade editions of Kudyard Kipling's works. Sent 
free by Boubleday, Page & Co., Garden City, N. Y., on requeBt and live cents for postage. 


Union Square 




If myths are true, no one may attain the wisdom of 

The Sphinx 

But you need never say "I do not know" twice to the 
same question — you do not need to guess — or rely on what 
others may remember. 

The Century is complete and accurate 

It never fails to answer your questions 


The Century Co. St. N. -12-13 

Union Square, New York City. Name 
Please send me the new booklet containing the 
story of The Century Dictionary, with maps, color- 
plates, and specimen pages of the new edition, and Street 

the wonderml cover picture of Peary in the cabin of 

the Roosevelt, done in full color. City - State 




for Fine Corre- 
spondence or Gen- 
era] Business Uses 
are America's Best. 
They have given 
satisfaction to a 
multitude of users 
for nearly half a 
century. They are 
made in tints and 
surfaces to suit all 
tastes. You can get 
them at any first- 
class stationer's. 


that stands for 
quality in fine 
•writing paperj 



When you think of writing 
think of Whiting 

Whiting Paper Company 

New York Philadelphia Chicago 

" -I . "■"" 


A box of fine writ- 
ing paper is both 
attractive and use- 
ful, and is sure to 
please the recipient. 
The Whiting line is 
unexcelled in the 
quality of the paper 
and in the tasteful- 
ness of the boxes. 
Each holiday box 
contains from one 
to five quires, with 
envelopes to match. 

The Most Fascinating and Instructive 
Book for a Girl is the 

Mary Frances Sewing Book 

Or Adventures Among 
the Thimble People 


... , "THE MARY FRAN- 
Author ot C£S C ooK BOOK" 

It tells, in as quaint and delightful a story as ever appealed to 
a child's imagination, how the fairy "Thimble People" teach 
"Mary Frances" to sew. It teaches the readerhow to sew — 
how to make every variety of garment — how to make the va- 
rious stitches — how to use patterns — how to fold and cut the 
material — how to piece it together. The book includes a 
complete set of patterns for doll-clothes — undergarments — 

street clothes — coats — hats — even a wedding dress. Illustrated with 300 colored drawings that 
for interest and instruction are absolutely inimitable. 320 pages, 7^ x 9^ inches. Cloth 
bound, with colored inlay on front. 

When You See This Book You Will Want It 

No description can do the book justice. But when you examine it — when you read a few 
pages — realize the fascination of the story and see how clear and complete the instructions 
are — when you see the remarkably interesting and instructive illustrations — when you 
realize what a wonderful idea the detachable patterns are — you will understand how 
entertaining and instructive this book is to any girl. 

SENT FREE. All Charges Prepaid for Examination 

Because we cannot adequately describe the charm and value of this unique book we will 
gladly send it anywhere on approval, all charges prepaid. If it does not exceed your 
expectations, send it back at our expense. If you want it, simply remit the price, $1.50, 
and 20 cents postage. 




YOU have read some of 
the curious adventures 
of Jim and Will with the 
engineers of New York; 
but you do not know them 
all. There were far too many 
to be crowded into an eight- 
month serial. 


Wouldn't you like to know 
what happened to "Tim" 
when he was picked up by 
a bucket dredge ? how 
"Danny" Roach battled with 
rats in a caisson? how a man 
jumped into a deep pit to 
save his fellow-workmen 
from death? how a blow-out 
was stopped by the broad back 
of a sand-hog? The whole 
story is told in 

With the Men Who Do Things 


Author of 

"The Scientific American Boy",. "The Scientific American Boy at School" 
and "Handy Man's Workshop and Laboratory" 

It is a handsomely bound volume of 275 pages, illustrated with 85 half- 
tone engravings, 25 line drawings and a frontispiece in color. It contains 
25 chapters filled with interesting engineering data vouched for by a dozen 
eminent engineers, and many curious adventures all based on fact. 

It tells in a boy's own way what every boy wants to know. 

A descriptive circular and table of contents sent free on application. 

Price, $1.50 net. Postpaid, $1.65. 

MUNN & CO., inc., 

361 Broadway - - New York City 








"A Book of 
Fairy- Tale Bears " 

" The House with the 
Silver Door " 

r~ , — - 


j WKm 


L r fs«&^A 

\ ■■ "" : 

"Midshipman Days " 



A *f-C . > 

' ?/■*■ 



^i^JI "' ' 

" ^4 Scout of To-day " 


Fully illus. by the author. $i.oonet. By mail,$i.i6. 



Illustrated. 75 cents net. By mail, 83 cents. 

"l SPY" 

Illustrated in color. 50 cents net. By mail, 55 cents. 


Fully illus. by the author, gi.50 net. By mail, $1.65. 


Illustrated. $1.50 net. By mail, pi. 66. 


Illustrated. #1.00 net. By mail, $1.10. 



Illustrated in color, jii.oo net. By mail, $ 1.09. 



Illustrated. $1.00 net. By mail, #1.12. 



Illustrated. $1.00 net. By mail, #1.09. 



Illustrated. By mail, £1.50. 



Illustrated. Boxed. $2.00 net. By mail, $2.19. 



Illustrated. $1.-5 net. By mail, $1.37. 



Illustrated. $1.00 net. By mail, 



Illustrated. #1.25 net. By mail, $1.36. 


Illus. by E. Boyd Smith, gi.25 net. By mail, gi.33.' 

For full descriptions of the above and other books 

send for our FREE Holiday Bulletin. 

Address Houghton Mifflin Company, 4 Park St., Boston. 

" The Irish Twins" 

11 The Golden Dog' 

'Ballads of the 

" The Quest of the 
Fish-Dog Skin" 





or Every Wide -Awake Bo 

1 — - 







1 -<, 'HtS^S 


i— " 

^W( ■: ■ ■ ■ 

JJ4 ^___^_ 

The Boy Mechanic 

480 Pages— 700 Article*— 800 Illus- 
trations — Cloth — Price $1 .50 Prepaid 

A book that describes how to make 
all the things every boy likes to 
build or experiment with. 

The Most Interesting Boys' Book 

Unlike so many other books of a somewhat 
similar nature, it is not confined to only one 
or a few subjects but describes 700 different 
things boys can make and do in the fields of 
mechanics, electricity, sports, arts and crafts 
work, magic, etc. 

An unusually generous book ; size 7 by 10 
in. and 1% in. thick; printed from large, 
clear type on high grade book paper and 
durably bound in cloth. Attractive four- 
color cover design. 

Wholesome, Practical, Instructive 

Besides telling how to make scores of things useful 
about the house, full and complete directions are 
given for constructing the following and hundreds of 
other things which appeal to the heart of every boy. 

Many Electrical Appliances — Steam and Gas 
Engines — Turbines — Motors — Wireless and Morse 
Telegraph — Self- Propelled Vehicles — Toboggans — 
Ice-Boats — Canoes — Paddle Boats — Punts — Camp- 
ing Outfits — Tents — Fishing Tackle — Magic Lan- 
terns — Searchlights — Cameras — Telescopes — Glid- 
ers, Kites and Balloons — Electric Furnaces — Lathes 
— Pottery Kilns, etc. 

Many hours of enjoyment are in store for the boy 
who becomes possessor of this book. 

Sent Fully Prepaid to any Address 
Upon Receipt of the Price 

Popular Mechanics Magazine, Dept. B 

318 W. Washington Street, CHICAGO 





Write today to 


5 W. 32d Street New Yo. 

Every St. Nicholas 
little one should 
have this Christ- 
mas the Arthur 
Rackham Mother 
Goose — a perfect 
joy of a book. 

Price $2.50 net, 
postage 24 cents 



*' It has proven a gold 
mine of information for 
my youngsters. They 
use it every day in their 
school work. Person- 
ally it has proven its 
worth many times over 
to me." 

Subscriber No. 30,827. 

"Every family with 
growing children, seek- 
ing information, should 
have this invaluable 
work in the library." 

Judge J. P. Gorter, 

Do you Want to Know ? 

A TEN year old boy persuaded his mother to let him leave a volume of the 
^*- new Encyclopaedia Britannica (1 ith edition) on a chair by his bed so that 
he could go on looking at it the next morning just as soon as he woke up. 

He is not an exceptional boy. He would rather have a bicycle than a book. He 
would rather catch pollywogs in the swamp than read about butterflies in the en- 
cyclopaedia. But he is like all children in wanting to know. 

When you want to know things there is no book that 
can tell you as much, and tell it so you will be sure it is 
right, as the Encyclopaedia Britannica. 

There is no sort of interesting thing that you cannot 
find out about in this great work, whether you want to 
know about famous men and women, daring explorers, 
like Livingstone or Peary ; masters of men, like Alexan- 
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Washington; inventors, like Watt or Edison; heroines 
and women saints and sinners, such as Joan of Arc or 
Florence Nightingale, Mary Queen of Scots or Cleopatra ; 
or about inventions andmacnines, such as the steam-engine 
or aeroplane, about ships or guns or photography , or the 
playing points and history of any game or sport that in- 
terests you (the article on foot-ball is by Walter Camp) ; 
or about the wonders of animal and plant life ; about all 
the countries and cities of the earth and strange and out- 
of-the-way places ; exploration and adventure, the travels 
of Marco Polo or the exploits of deep-sea divers. If this 
advertisement were to cover several pages it could not 
even hint at all the many entertaining things you can 
read about in the Britannica. 

Things you hear about and do not quite under- 
stand, and of which nobody you know can give a good 

A REMARKABLE BOOK sent free for the asking— a descriptive prospectus interesting 
for itself, larger than most books (160 pages, 250,000 words), and more richly illustrated. 

explanation, are explained in this great book. They are 
explained by men who know, by some of the greatest 
scientists, teachers and men of wisdom, 1500 in all, that 
there are in the world. And only this encyclopaedia has 
an index that helps you to find right away the answer to 
your question. 

It cost $1,500,000 to make this book, more than the 
cost of the finest library that anyone except the very rich- 
est man could have in his home. But only a small outlay 
is required to bring the Britannica into your home. 

Prof. Leo Wiener, of Harvard, who is the father of a 
"just ordinary" boy that went to college at an age when 
most boys enter the high school, and astonished the whole 
world with his progress, says : 

' ' My children are being trained for final results : 
they are trained not for marks, but for power." 

The Britannica trains for power. If you are 

ambitious, this is the book to help you. , 

It helped Faraday the great chemist y ^f 

to a career. He read the 5th 'jf?* #. 

edition while binding it, as a f£& ^<° ^ 

book-binder's apprentice. . <& ♦* J"° 



The Encyclopaedia Britannica 

120 West 32nd Street, New York 






Illustrated by LOUIS RHEAD 

In these fantastic stories Mr. Rhead 
has found ample scope for his un- 
usual illustrative talents. Each gen- 
eration of young readers is absorbed 
in its turn in the strange adventures 
of the immortal Gulliver in the coun- 
tries of the pygmy Lilliputians, the. 

gigantic Brobdingnagians, the Houyhnhnms, that race of talking horses, etc. 
Illustrated and Uniform with the Illustrated Editions by Louis Rhead of 

Crusoe," "Robin Hood," etc. 

' Robinson 
Over One Hundred Illustrations. Svo, Cloth, $1.50. 

DOOK Ol InCllcHl Ol*2l VeS By KATE DICKINSON sweetser 

Here is a book that will delight every boy who is lucky enough to get it in his hands, 
indispensable to every Boy Scout, and of deep interest to all young readers. Here is Pow- 
hatan, mighty leader of thirty tribes ; Sequoya, inventor of the Cherokee alphabet ; Pontiac, 
the arch conspirator; noble Chief Joseph ; the fierce fighters — Black Hawk, Tecumseh, 
Osceola, Sitting Bull, and others equally notable. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $1.50 net. 

IVlStluK 1 IClCi By clarence b. kelland 

Here is a splendid story, telling of the exploits of four as natural and resourceful 
youngsters as ever lived. From Mark Tidd's arrival in town things began to happen. 
The scheming fat boy, slow but courageous, is a new character in boy fiction ; and inci- 
dent and humor are as completely blended together as the eggs and flour in the cakes 
Mark's mother used to make. Illustrated. Post Svo, Cloth, $1.00 net. 

Harper's Begin- 
ning Electricity 



This book is an introduction to 
electricity, carefully planned to 
avoid the difficulties so often met 
with in scientific books for young 
readers, and is direct and con- 
venient in its application. Simple 
explanations are given for ex- 
periments and devices which ev- 
eryboy will love to make. There 
is a brief outline of the history of 
electricity. Among the chapters 
are one devoted to the telegraph, 
telephone, and the electric motor. 

Illustrated. Crown Svo, 
$1.00 net. 

Harper's Aircraft 
Book for Boys 

Why Aeroplanes Fly ; How to Make 
Models and all about Air- 
craft Little and Big 



The object of this book is two- 
fold : to explain in a simple, lu- 
cid manner the principles and 
mechanism involved in human 
flight, and to tell the boys how 
to design and construct model 
aeroplanes, gliders, and man- 
carrying machines. In this field 
of aeroplane construction there 
is opportunity for boys to obtain 
a great deal of pleasure and prac- 
tical knowledge. 

Illustrated. Crown Svo, 
Cloth, $1.00 net. 


Harper's Wire- 
less Book 


In this book for younger read- 
ers the author explains simply 
the principles, operation, and 
construction of wireless trans- 
mission. He shows boys what 
to do and how to do it in the lines 
of wireless telegraphy, telephony, 
and power transmission, point- 
ing out what has already been 
accomplished and what remains 
to be done. Part I. deals with 
Principles and Mechanism of 
Wireless; 'Part II., Operation 
and Use of Wireless; Part III., 
Wireless Telephony; Part IV., 
Wireless Power Transmission. 
Illustrated. Crown Svo, 
Cloth, $1.00 net. 


Joe, the Book 


In this story of the success of 
the champion boy corn-raiser of 
his State, the author points out 
a new field for youthful ambition. 
It is a sort of book that makes 
you wonder why it has not been 
written before — the romance of 
promise for the poor country boy 
who sees the miracles intelligent 
labor can bring about. The 
story, with its mixture of infor- 
mation and interest, will stir 
every country boy to emulation ; 
and city youngsters will enjoy 
the descriptions of Southern life 
— the bear, deer, and coon hunts, 
barbecues, shooting, fishing, and 

Illustrated. Post 8vo, 
Cloth, $i .00 net. 

Young Alaskans 
in the Rockies 


In this new story, the third of 
the series, Mr. Hough tells of 
the doings of the young Alaskans 
through Yellowhead Pass and 
down the Fraser, Canoe, and 
Columbia rivers. The first part 
of the camping-trip is by pack- 
horse, and the boys learn how 
to load the animals scientifically, 
to ford rivers, and to protect 
themselves from mosquitoes. 
Later on they descend the rivers 
in rough boats ; and, with the 
aid of two Indians, track and kill 
some splendid grizzlies, as well 
as mountain goats and caribou. 
Illustrated. Post Svo, 
Cloth, $1.25 net. 


y 1 m 

Camping on 
Western Trails 



The same spirit of self-reliant 
boyhood in the out-of-door world 
remote from civilization which 
characterized "Camping in the 
Winter Woods " is present in 
this new volume, with an even 
wider field of interest. The 
characters are the same two boys 
of the earlier volume. They 
spend a summer in the Rocky 
Mountains with a guide, and the 
days are not long enough for all 
the excitement and amusements 
they try to crowd into them. 

Illustrated. Post Svo, 
Cloth, $1.25 net. 

Camping on the 
Great Lakes 


A story of self-reliance and in- 
dependence as well as an engag- 
ing tale of adventure, which it 
brings home to American boys 
and girls the significance of our 
inland seas, just as the author's 
previous story, "Camping on 
the Great River," showed the 
significance of the Mississippi. 
The various adventures, emer- 
gencies in storms and a variety 
of incidents take the boys into 
the wilder regions of Lake Su- 
perior. There are glimpses of 
the old romantic French and In- 
dian history, and also hints as to 
the significance of the Lakes and 
the Sault Ste. Marie as the high- 
way of a vast commerce. 
Illustrated. Post 8vo, 
Cloth, $1.25 net. 

The Roaring 


This story is by the author of 
"Toby Tyler," and has in it 
much of the charm of that popu- 
lar favorite. Five boys in a 
village organized a club, "The 
Roaring Lions," and their gor- 
geous badges and sashes were 
the envy of all other boys. The 
membership increased, and some 
of the boys were jealous of the 
original officers and laid plans to 
outvote them. But when the 
vice-president was formally im- 
peached, harmony was restored 
and the long-looked-for excur- 
sion proved a great success. 

Frontispiece. i2mo, 
Cloth, bo cents. 


The Rainy Day 
Railroad War 


The scene of this story is laid in 
the Maine woods. There is an 
exciting contest between the 
lumber barons and the builders 
of a little six-mile railroad. Rod- 
ney Parker, a young engineer not 
long out of college, is given the 
job, and he has need of pluck 
and grit to finish it. He is told 
to do his best and not to bother 
his employers. Col. Gid Ward, 
a local tyrant, a "cross between 
abull moose and a Bengal tiger," 
insists that Rodney shall not go 
on with the railroad. But Rod- 
ney refuses to be intimidated. 
There is actual violence, but he 
escapes from imprisonment and 
wins the day. 

Post Svo, $1.00 net. 






"Read us a Christmas Story" is what children the world over 
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colors. Net $1.25. 



This fairy tale has always been a great favorite with children 
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26 Illustrations in colors. Net $2.30. 

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Read by 500,000 boys 

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The Century Go.'s attractive 
new Holiday Catalogue is 
full of Christmas sugges- 
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The Inside of the Pole 

Think of it! Right inside the great, big, shivery North Pole with 
Santa Claus. Nixies all around making toys ; hammers going like 
lightning, and the most wonderful of stables for the reindeer. 

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The Adventures of Jack and Betty in the Companion every month are delight- 
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boy features of 

The Christmas Number of 

•Woman's Home Companion 



There Was A "Dandy" Story 

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about many strange people in far-off lands. 
Merely to turn through its big pages, everyone 
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to go there yourself. And TRAVEL "takes you 

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Leading a captive mutclier to water. Mutcher is the name given in India to baby 
elephants, which are often captured along with the herd of grown-ups 



St. Nicholas for 1914 

A Feast of Good Things 
for Boys and Girls 

With the October number, St. Nicholas 
proudly added the fortieth volume to its long 
array of similar annual issues; and these forty 
volumes, in the familiar red-and-gold binding 
that has been fondly cherished by three gener- 
ations of American young folk, form the 
greatest treasure-house of good reading for 
boys and girls that any land can show. The 
magazine was not only the pioneer in its own 
field, but it has always led the van in the do- 
main of juvenile periodical literature— both 
for America and the world. 

It is a happy omen for the future, too, that 
the magazine was never more prosperous than 
now, and never more in touch with the vital 
needs and interests of its readers. American 
boys and girls know a good thing when they 
see it, and the lads and lassies of to-day love 
their St. Nicholas as loyally as did their fa- 
thers and mother before them. They 
know that it will not fail them in the 
constant endeavor to provide entertain- 
ment, inspiration, practical knowledge, 
real literature and real art, sympathetic 
comradeship, rich stores of fun and 
of jollity, — in short, everything in the 
line of choice reading that makes for 
their highest good and their truest hap- 

How well it has succeeded is a fa- 
miliar story throughout the length and 
breadth of our own and other lands, for 
there is hardly a corner of the earth 
where English-speaking families can 
wander but St. Nicholas goes with 
them, or is already there to meet them. 
But it is, of course, the peculiar pride 
and property of American youngsters, 
and is issued primarily for their especial 

After 40 years of achievement St. Nich- 
olas is more than ever the "best-loved of all 
magazines." It is now more rapidly than ever 
making new acquaintances by the thousands, 
and changing those acquaintances into friends. 

And on this fortieth anniversary, St. Nich- 
olas sets out to make the next ten years the 
most fruitful and successful of all, so that it 
may round out its half-century in due time, 
with a still higher record of honor and fulfil- 
ment. Its ambition now, as always, is to make 
each year richer than its predecessor in the 
literary and artistic argosies offered to the 
eager and alert minds of Young Americans. 
To begin with, the issues for next year will 

More pictures by Arthur Rackham. (g) A. R. 

bring them an unusually varied list of serials 
—treasures of text and picture — in which 
every reader, from eight to eighteen, will find 
something exactly fitted to his or her especial 
taste. First of all, there will be : 



More Pictures 
by Arthur Rackham 

During the year just closed, the magazine 
has had the good fortune to publish the series 
of fascinating color-drawings illustrating 
"Mother Goose," by the distinguished artist, 
Arthur Rackham. This series will be contin- 
ued well into the new volume, which will con- 
tain several of the finest drawings of the en- 
tire set, and also more liberal instalments of 

From the cover of "Miss Santa (Jlaus of the Pullms 

black-and-white Mother Goose pictures. These 
black-and-white drawings are hardly less won- 
derful than the color-scenes. They are, in 
themselves, an art-education for young folk. 
St. Nicholas and its readers love his draw- 
ings, and propose to revel in them next year, 
for, in addition to the Mother Goose feature, 
there will be a whole series of entrancing 
scenes in color from the "Arthur Rackham 
Picture Book," which is to be brought out in 
the autumn of 1914. St. Nicholas young 
folk will thus have the privilege of seeing 
many of these masterpieces in advance, and it 
is safe to say that no finer pictures 'will be 
found in any magazine than these by Eng- 
land's foremost illustrator. 

One of the most welcome announcements 
that could possibly be made to the younger 
boys and girls who take St. Nicholas is that 
of the serial story begun in the October num- 

"Miss Santa Glaus of the Pullman" 
by Annie Fellows Johnston 

Mrs. Johnston's readers are numbered liter- 
ally by scores of thousands through the popu- 
larity of her "Little Colonel" books and other 
stories. And of this host of ad- 
mirers by whom she is so well 
beloved, a goodly portion are 
subscribers to this magazine. 
Every reader, old and young, 
will welcome the advent to its 
pages of that delightful pair, 
"Libby" and "Will'm," while 
"Miss Santa Claus" herself will 
take all hearts by storm. Mrs. 
Johnston knows the child-nature 
perfectly, and portrays it in 
this story with the human 
touch, and with rare skill and 
charm. It is illustrated by 

Of other serials, one of the 
most important is 

"The Runaway" 
by Allen French 

Instructor in English at Har- 
vard University, and author of 
"The Junior Cup," "Pelham 
and His Friend Tim," etc. 
Mr. French wrote for St. Nicholas, years 
ago, "The Junior Cup," one of the best stories 
for boys that the magazine has ever published. 
When brought out in book form later, it 
promptly attained, and still enjoys, great pop- 
ularity. In "The Runaway," he has created an 
even more interesting and a far more power- 
ful narrative, with a very exciting plot, three 
strongly contrasted boy-characters, a "mys- 
tery" element, a seemingly impossible rescue 
by a man in an automobile, a thrilling climax, 
and a girl-character who will undoubtedly 
prove the most popular of all the story-folk. 
This serial is really a story for the whole 
family. It ought to be read aloud by the eve- 
ning lamp, and parents will enjoy it almost 



Three of the leading characters in " The R 

as much as the boys and girls for whom it was 
written. Beginning in the November issue, it 
will continue through twelve numbers. 

Another series, rich in imagination, humor, 
and pictorial features, will be the 

"Stories of Friendly Giants" 
collected by Eunice Fuller and 

Seymour Barnard and 
illustrated by Pamela G. Smith 

As stated in the preface : "Giants' disposi- 
tions are in proportion to the size of their 
bodies, and so when they are good, as most of 
them are, they are the kindest-hearted folk in 
the world, and like nothing" better than helping 
.human beings out of scrapes." Some of the 
most delightful giant stories ever written are 
to be retold in this series, for St. Nicholas 
young folk, with remarkable pictures by Miss 
Pamela Smith, who has won fame as an illus- 
trator of fanciful tales, both in England and 

Still another serial is entitled 

"The Lucky Stone" 
by Abbie Farwell Brown 

author of "The Flower Princess," "The Star 
Jewels," "The Lonesomest Doll," etc. 

The story seems, at first sight, to be intended 
for younger girls, and .it will, in truth, delight 
them; but it has the poetic charm of "Peter 
Pan" and other idyllic tales that appeal to 
young and old alike, a sort of fairy-tale of 
American life to-day, but with just enough 
realism in the opening chapters to bring out, 
in fine contrast, the wonderful way in which 
the wearied young lady of a great estate plays 
"fairy godmother" to an imaginative child of 
the tenements, and finds her own reward in a 
surprising way before the curtain drops. 

St. Nicholas, however, aims not merely to 
entertain its young folk, but, at the same time, 
to guide, to help, to inspire its young readers, 
to make them acquainted with the best that is 
being written, and the best that is being done 
in the world. It addresses an audience that is 
beginning to learn how to think. The maga- 
zine wishes to help them to think for them- 
selves and to think purposefully. So it holds 
up to them, not only literary and artistic ideals, 
but achievements of the world's greatest men 
and women, and frequent pictures of the great 
things that are being accomplished in this 
great age. The serial 

"With Men Who Do Things" 
by A. Russell Bond 

author of "The Scientific American Boy" and 
"Handyman's Workshop and Laboratory," was 
one of the most popular features of the last 
volume, describing, as it did, the actual work 
of the vast engineering enterprises in and 
around New York. Mr. Bond's account of the 
building of a sky-scraper and of a subway — 
"Five Hundred Feet above Broadway" and "One 
Hundred Feet below Broadway" — of "A Drive 
through the River-Bed" and "Spinning a Web 
across the River." of "Quenching a City's 
Thirst," and of "Cars that Travel Skyward," 
will not soon be forgotten by boys and girls 
or their parents. These articles formed one 
of the features that drew from President 
Marion Burton, of Smith College, a hearty 
word of praise for St. Nicholas in his bacca- 
laureate address last summer. 

All readers will welcome the announcement, 



therefore, that this unique series is to be con- 
tinued in 1914, with the same boys as charac- 
ters, but with a wider range of subjects. For 
it will deal with even greater wonders, — with 

Photograph by Brown Bros. 

Fifty stories above ground. 
From "With Men Who Do Things." 

some of the greatest engineering feats in the 
whole country, — and will reveal many amazing 
secrets of the skill and power of man in over- 
coming the obstacles of nature. And, as sepa- 
rate incidents in the chapters, such novelties 
as "A Hanging Building," "Freezing Quick- 
sand," "A Pneumatic Breakwater," and "A 
Chimney Built about a Man," will add dra- 
matic interest to the accounts of the most fa- 
mous constructive enterprises that our country 
can boast. 

A second series of a very practical kind, 
but limited to a boy's own powers and possi- 
bilities, will deal with most, if not all, of 

100 things that a boy can do or 
make indoors or out 

and is written by 

Francis Arnold Collins 

author of "The Boys' Book of Model Aero- 
planes," "The Wireless Man," etc'. 


Every boy, no matter what his tastes, will 
find in this series something that will prove 
exactly what he wants. The entire collection 
treats entertainingly of more than one hun- 
dred subjects of up-to-date interest in the lives 
of boys both in and out of doors. There are, 
besides, some very practical chapters giving 
detailed instruction for making and operating 
scores of novel scientific toys. 

One section is devoted to model aeroplanes, 
the subject of two earlier books by Mr. Collins 
which have met with much success. The sub- 
ject is brought up to date, and the development 
of this fascinating branch of aeronautics both 
in America and Europe is described and illus- 
trated. Directions are given for building a 
model aeroplane which will fly more than half 
a mile The story of the newest achievements 
in wireless electricity, which fill several chap- 
ters, will be welcomed by the readers of the 
author's recent work, "The Wireless Man." 

Other readable chapters treat of such widely 
different subjects as forestry, intensive gar- 
dening, the training of pet animals, bookbind- 
ing, and concrete construction. There are 
helpful papers giving instruction for the build- 
ing of hydro-aeroplanes, model motor-boats, 
ice-yachts, dirigible balloons, and the like. A 
number of fascinating toys run by hydraulic 
power are illustrated and described, as well 
as scientific kites, gyroscopes, windmills, and 
scores of other scientific toys. And the strong 
reading interest of the pages will prove inter- 
esting to grown-ups as well as to boys. 

Nor are the girls forgotten, in the practical 
matters, for 

"The Housekeeping Adventures 

of the Junior Blairs" 

by Caroline Benton French 

author of "Saturday Mornings," "A Little 
Cook-Book for a Little Girl," etc., 

will describe, in story form, the household 
emergencies which Mildred (fourteen), Jack 
(twelve), and Brownie (nine) have to meet. 
These children are real and interesting, and 
the account of how they assisted in getting 
ready for Christmas— in preparing luncheons 
for school; in making dishes for the sick; in 
helping at an afternoon tea and a lunch-party 
— will tempt other young folk to go and do 
likewise. They find out that there is no drudg- 


ery about it, but genuine fun 
and the gain of genuine 
knowledge that will always 
be useful to them. Even the 
boys are "in on" these good 
times, for Jack gets some 
fine lessons in camp-cookery, 
which all boys should know 
in these days when the out- 
door months and experiences 
play so large a part in their 

The biographical articles 
which have presented to the 
readers of St. Nicholas dur- 
ing the past year new and uplifting glimpses 
of the lives of Lincoln, Phillips Brooks, Emer- 
son, Agassiz, and other great men, will be 
continued in 1914 under the title of 

" More than Conquerors" 
by Ariadne Gilbert 

Each article reviews its subject from the 
standpoint of the obstacles or handicaps which 
the man described had to overcome. Young 
readers cannot fail to find their courage 
quickened, their ambitions exalted, and their 
appreciation of good literature doubled, by 
these inspiring and beautifully written pa- 
pers. The series 
will be contin- 
ued well into 
the new vol- 
ume. The arti- 
cle on Sir Wal- 
ter Scott, in the 
November num- 
ber, is a fair 
example, and 
further papers 
will tell of the 
lives of Beetho- 
ven, Pasteur, 
Augustus Saint- 
Gaudens, and 
other famous 

^Ufc^-^— -*-i« 

From " Black-on-Blue," 

And in addition, St. Nicholas has in store 
a second series of briefer biographical 
sketches, but no less fascinating, dealing with 
romantic incidents in the boyhood of Titian, 
"the Boy of Cadore," Stradivarius, "the Whit- 
tler of Cremona," and other great characters 

of the older times. They are written by Mrs. 
Katharine D. Cather. 

Even the Very Little Folk are to have a 
"serial" of their own this year, for Mrs. Grace 
G. Drayton, whose delightful comic drawings 
are known the country over, has written, for 
youngest readers, a quaint set of rhymes about 
"The Two Little Bears," and illustrated them 
in her own inimitable way. 

So much for some of the serials, though it 
does not exhaust the list. But it is enough to 
show that young folk who crave continued 
stories are sure of a feast in the new volume. 
And when it comes to short stories and 
sketches, poems and pictures, the list of good 
things is far too long for anything more than 
a passing mention. We must not overlook, 
however, one exceptional story that ought to 
be read in every household in the land— 

" Larry Goes to the Ant" 
by Effie Ravenscroft 

a true "father and son" story — dealing with a 
very vital problem in almost every home — the 
boy's choice of a profession or occupation. This 
true story is a strong, heart-warming pre- 
sentation of an American boy's struggle be- 
tween his love for his profession and his love 
for his father, and of the amazing "stunt" by 

which the ques- 
tion was set- 

Then there is 
the fine, short 

Ralph Henry 

author of "The 
Crimson Sweat- 
er," "Kingsford, 
Dick, and Har- 

by Ralph Henry Barbour. riet " etc 

Boys and girls familiar with Mr. Barbour's 
St. Nicholas stories might think, at first, that 
this title should be "black and blue" and take 
it for a foot-ball story. But such is not the 
case. There is a surprise awaiting the young 
reader, both in the kind of story and its final 



incident. It is told in Mr. Barbour's brisk and 
lively style. 

In the way of sports and athletics, however, 
the new volume will supply plenty of interest 
and "action"— always of a timely sort. The 
November number, for instance, contains a new 
and valuable article for foot-ball enthusiasts : 

"The Full-field Run 

from Kick-off to Touch-down" 

by Parke H. Davis 

author of "Foot-ball, the Intercollegiate 
Game," and Representative of Princeton on 
the Rules Committee. This paper presents the 
record of every player in the big games who 
has achieved this greatest exploit on the field. 
And in the present number, Mr. Davis de- 
scribes "The Field Goal Art." 
Then, too, there is a novel set of 

"Rose Alba" Stories 
by Eveline W. Brainerd 

each complete in itself, and yet connected 
with the others by the same characters, though 
in an entirely different series of incidents. 
These stories have to do with a hitherto- 
neglected side of child-life, namely, that of the 
boy-and-girl dwellers in New York City's 
apartment-houses. Much has been written 
about the sons and daughters of the very 
wealthy, and about the child of the tenements, 
but here is a new and striking picture of the 
"ventures, adventures, and misadventures" of 
the young folk in apartments like the "Rose 
Alba." Very interesting they are, too, for, as 
the author truly says, "Six children on the top 
floor of a New York apartment-house can 
have an amazing number of happenings in a 
very small space." 


The NATURE AND SCIENCE pages will 
be crammed each month with interesting items 
that pique the curiosity or rouse the wonder 
of youngsters by their apt illustration of the 
myriad miracles of every day ; and they con- 
stantly present, also, sketches of animal-life, 
bird-life, plant-life, with drawings by the best 
artists— which delight the youthful nature- 

lover. The department has received the high- 
est commendation from schools and teachers 
all over the country. As for 

The St. Nicholas League 

its pages teem with amazing work by the 
young folk themselves, with whom it grows 
more popular year by year. A good part of 
the prose and verse printed month by month 
is so astonishing in its excellence that new 
readers and many grown-ups declare it could 
not have been written by boys and girls of the 
ages mentioned. 

But to constant readers of the magazine 
these remarkable productions in prose and 
verse, in photography and in drawing, have 
ceased to be more than "the regular thing," 
"all in the day's work," and quite to be ex- 
pected. This department has been of incalcu- 
lable benefit in stimulating youthful ambition 
and endeavor, and bringing latent gifts to light. 
Several graduates of the St. Nicholas League 
have already made their mark in the magazines 
for grown-ups, both among the writers and 
artists, and they all ascribe warm praise to the 
League as the beginning of their success. 
Howard Pyle was so impressed by the quality 
of the young artists' work that he once offered 
a course of instruction, free, to one of the 
League's boy-illustrators. 

The BOOKS AND READING pages, con- 
ducted by Hildegarde Hawthorne, are of great 
benefit to young and old in acquainting them, 
just now, with the best books of fiction deal- 
ing with successive periods of English history, 
and, when this is completed, will lead its army 
of young readers into other equally interesting 
paths of literature. 

In the RIDDLE-BOX each month, those 
who love enigmas, rebuses, and other puzzles 
find plentiful enjoyment in grappling with the 
twisters of varied sort that are spread before 
them. It is seldom, however, that these prove 
to be too difficult or involved for their keen 
wits ; and many of these young wiseacres have 
contributed to the League some twisters of 
their own that would keep many a grown-up 
"guessing" for a weary while. 

The regular price of St. Nicholas is $3.00 a year, 25 cents a copy. There is an extra charge of 60 cents for 
postage to points outside the United States and Canada. Why not subscribe for St. Nicholas right now? 



This picture by a Japanese artist slicivs the sacred mountain of Fuji. 

Extract from 



Author of "The Lady of the Decoration," "The Lady and Sada San," etc. 

These are paragraphs from a story, illustrated 
in colors, told by a little Japanese teacher to 
her American friend: 

"He wear name of Tahke Nishimura, which 
in English say Mr. Bamboo of the West Vil- 
lage. He most funny little boy in my kinder- 
garten class. But he have such sweet heart. 
It all time speaking out nice thoughtfuls 
through his big round eyes, which no seem like 
Japanese eyes of long and narrow. 

"His so much slim of body make him look 
like baby. But his mama say he been here 
four years. She nice lady and loving mother. 
One more thing why that child 's most funny 
small enfant. He have papa who is great gen- 
eral of war, with big spirit. Tahke Chan fixed 
idea in his head he 's just same kind big war- 
rior man. He use same walk and the same 
command of speak. . . . 

"We work very hard all days before morn- 
. ing of Christmas tree, but not one child in 
whole class could make things such fast as 
Tahke Chan. His hands so small they look 
'most like bird-foots hopping round quick in 
flower garden when he construct ornaments 
of bright color. Sometimes he have look of 
tired in his face, and bad coughs take his 
throat. For which, if I did not know 'bout 
Christmas story and all other many things like 

that, I would have a thought that fox spirit 
was industrious to enter his body. 

"Then I mention, 'Go play in garden,' for I 
know well how he have like of play in lovely 
garden of his home, where, with body of bare, 
he race big dragon-flies what paint the sum- 
mer air all gold and blue. But Tahke Chan 
makes the laughs for me when he looks so 
firmly and say: 'No. I have the busy to make 
ready for honorable guest coming on feast-day 
of Christmas.' All time he not singing he talk 
'bout what big welcome we give to new 
god. . . . 

"Nothing left but picture of one small blue 
soldier looking up through blazon flames of 
Christmas tree to shining thing above. His 
cheeks so full of red with fighting cough, eyes 
so bright with wet of tears, he fold his hands 
for prayer, and soft like pigeon talking with 
mate he speak : 'O most Honorable Little God ! 
How splendid ! You are real ; come live with 
me. In my garden I 'm a soldier ; I '11 show 
you the dragon-flies and the river. Please 
will you come?' "... 

The whole story, and of course a great 
many other fine articles, poems and illustra- 
tions are printed in the December Century, 
which for grown-ups is as delightful as the 
Christmas St. Nicholas is for boys and girls. 



You can be sure of 

St. Nicholas 

In these days of changing standards, 
there is no magazine published that 
you can be so sure of. Without being 
namby-pamby, St. Nicholas is amus- 
ing and helpful to boys and girls of 
all ages. In many respects it is like 
a trusted and young-hearted compan- 
ion for the child you care for most. 

St. Nicholas has won the loyalty and 
affection of hundreds of thousands of 
children. It has been edited for 
more than forty years on the theory 
that "the best in art and literature is 



Is this your introduction to 

St. Nicholas? 

If so, you are to be congratulated on 
making the acquaintance of the "best 
loved of all magazines." 

Now, here is your opportunity to solve part of 
your Christmas problem and to make at least 
two young people happy for i 2 months. Take 
advantage of our special Christmas Gift Offer of 

St. Nicholas subscriptions 
at $2.00 each 

by using this special order blank 

THE CENTURY CO., Union Square, New York: 

I accept your special offer for more than one new subscription and inclose 

$ for _.._ new subscriptions to St. Nicholas 

to be sent beginning with the .! number to 







Of fine quality, made from carefully) selected 
high-grade cocoa beans, skilfully blended, pre- 
pared by a perfect mechanical process, without 
the use of chemicals or dyes. It contains no 
added potash, possesses a delicious natural flavor, 
and is of great food value. 

Booklet of CKoice Recipes sent free 


Establisked 1780 


3 2 

ft I VjfeM! 





<g^-~— — ■ — - 




Vol. XLI 


Copyright, 1913, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

J J V ©A.R. 

No. 2 

Hark, hark, 

The dogs do bark, 

Beggars are coming to town: 
Some in rags, 
And some in tags, 

And some in velvet gowns. 

Hickory, dickory, 

The mouse ran up 

the clock; 
The clock struck 

The mouse ran 

\ Hickory, dickory, 


Little Jack Horner 
Sat in a corner, 

Eating a Christmas pie; 
He put in his thumb, 
And pulled out a plum, 
And said, "What a good boy am I ! 

Vol. XLI.— 13. 

©A. 8. 




Diddle-ty — diddle-ty — dumpty, 
The cat ran up the plum-tree, 
Half a crown 
To fetch her down, 
Diddle-ty — diddle-ty — dumpty. 

Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, 
To see a fine lady upon a white horse; 
With rings on her fingers, and bells 

on her toes, 
She shall have music wherever she 


Little Betty Blue 

Lost her holiday shoe. 

What shall little Betty do? 

Buy her another 

To match the other, 

And then she 11 walk in two. 

Three wise men of Gotham 

Went to sea in a bowl; Rain, rain, go away, 

And if the bowl had been stronger, Come again another day; 

My song would have been longer. Little (Arthur) wants to play. 








young girl 

enough to 

those rosy 

beard, sprang out of 

ran after the boy 

Chapter V 


A half-grown boy, a suitcase in one hand and a 

pile of packages in his arms, dashed toward the 

car, leaving a furry old gentleman in 

the sleigh to hold the horses. The 

old gentleman's coat was fur, and his 

cap was fur, and so was the great 

rug which covered him. Under the 

fur cap was thick white hair, and all 

over the lower part of his face was a 

bushy white beard. And his cheeks 

were red, and his eyes were laughing, 

and if he was n't Santa Claus's own 

self, he certainly looked enough like 

the nicest pictures of him to be his 

own brother. 

On the seat beside him was a 
who, waiting only long 
plant a kiss on one of 
cheeks above the snowy 
the sleigh and 
as hard as she 
could go. She was not more than 
sixteen, but she looked like a full- 
grown young lady to Libby, for her 
hair was tucked up under her little 
fur cap with its scarlet quill, and the 
long, fur-bordered red coat she wore 
reached her ankles. One hand was 
thrust through a row of holly 
wreaths, and she was carrying all the 
bundles both arms could hold. 

By the time the boy had deposited 
his load in the section opposite the 
children's and dashed back down the 
aisle, there was a call of "All aboard !" 
They met at the door, he and the 
pretty girl, she laughing and nodding 
her thanks over her pile of bundles. 
He raised his hat and bolted past, but 
stopped an instant, just before jump- 
ing off the train, to run back and thrust 
his head in the door and call out laugh- 
ingly, "Good-by, Miss Santa Claus !" 

Everybody in the car looked up and smiled, and 
turned and looked again as she went up the aisle, 
for a lovelier Christmas picture could not be 
imagined than the one she made in her long red 
coat, her arms full of packages and wreaths of 

holly. The little fur cap with its scarlet feather 
was powdered with snow, and the frosty wind 
had brought such a glow to her cheeks and a 
sparkle in her eyes, that she looked the living em- 
bodiment of Christmas cheer. Her entrance 


seemed to bring with it the sense of all holiday 
joy, just as the cardinal's first note holds in it the 
sweetness of a whole spring. Will'm edged along 
the seat until he was close beside Libby, and the 
two sat and stared at her with wide-eyed interest. 




That boy had called her Miss Santa Claus! 

If the sleigh which brought her had been drawn 
by reindeer, and she had carried her pack on her 
back instead of in her arms, they could not have 
been more spellbound. They scarcely breathed 
for a few moments. The radiant, glowing crea- 
ture took off the long red coat and gave it to the 
porter to hang up, then she sat down and began 
sorting her packages into three piles. It took 
some time to do this, as she had to refer con- 
stantly to a list of names on a long strip of paper, 
and compare them with the names on the bundles. 
While she was doing this, the conductor came for 
her ticket, and she asked several questions. 

Yes, he assured her, they were due at East- 
brook in fifteen minutes, and would stop there 
long enough to take water. 

"Then I '11 have plenty of time to step off with 
these things," she said. "And I 'm to leave some 
at Centerville, and some at Ridgely." 

When the conductor said something about 
helping Santa Claus, she answered laughingly, 
"Yes, Uncle thought it would be better for me to 
bring these breakable things instead of trusting 
them to the chimney route." Then, in answer to 
a question which Libby did not hear, "Oh, that 
will be all right. Uncle telephoned all down the 
line and arranged to have some one meet me at 
each place." 

When the train stopped at Eastbrook, both the 
porter and conductor came to help her gather up 
her first pile of parcels, and people in the car 
stood up and craned their necks to see what she 
did with them. Libby and Will'm could see. 
They were on the side next to the station. She 
gave them to several people who seemed to be 
waiting for her. Almost immediately she was 
surrounded by a crowd of young men and girls, 
all shaking hands with her and talking at once. 
From the remarks which floated in through the 
open vestibule, it seemed that they all must have 
been at some party with her the night before. A 
chorus of good-bys and Merry Christmases fol- 
lowed her into the car when she had to leave 
them and hurry aboard. This time she came in 
empty-handed, and this time people looked up and 
smiled openly into her face, and she smiled back 
as if they were all friends, sharing their good 
times together. 

At Centerville, she darted out with the second 
lot. Farther down, a number of people were 
leaving the day coaches, but no one was getting 
off the Pullman. She did not leave the steps, but 
leaned over and called to an old colored man who 
stood with a market-basket on his arm, "This 
way, Mose. Quick !" 

Then Will'm and Libby heard her say: "Tell 

'Old Miss' that Uncle Norse sent this holly. He 
wanted her to have it because it grew on his own 
place and is the finest in the country. Don't 
knock the berries off, and do be careful of this 
biggest bundle. I would n't have it broken for 
anything. And— oh, yes, Mose" (this in a lower 
tone), "this is for you." 

What it was that passed from the little white 
hand into the worn brown one of the old servitor 
was not discovered by the interested audience in- 
side the car, but they heard a chuckle so full of 
pleasure that some of them echoed it uncon- 

"Lawd bless you, liT miss, you sho' is de flowah 
of de Santa Claus fambly !" 

When she came in this time, a motherly old 
lady near the door stopped her, and smiling up 
at her through friendly spectacles, asked if she 
was going home for Christmas. 

"Yes !" was the enthusiastic answer. "And you 
know what that means to a freshman— her first 
home-coming after her first term away at school. 
I should have been there four days ago. Our 
vacation began last Friday, but I stopped over 
for a house-party at my cousin's. I was wild to 
get home, but I could n't miss this visit, for she 's 
my dearest chum as well as my cousin, and last 
night was her birthday. Maybe you noticed all 
those people who met me at Eastbrook. They 
were at the party." 

"That was nice," answered the little old lady, 
bobbing her head. "Very nice, my dear. And 
now" you '11 be getting home at the most beautiful 
time in all the year." 

"Yes, / think so," was the happy answer. 
"Christmas eve to me always means going around 
with Father to take presents, and I would n't miss 
it for anything in the world. I 'm glad there 's 
enough snow this year for us to use the sleigh. 
We had to take the auto last year, and it was n't 
half as much fun." 

Libby and Will'm scarcely moved after that, 
all the way to Ridgely. Nor did they take their 
eyes off of her. Mile after mile they rode, barely 
batting an eyelash, staring at her with unabated 
interest. At Ridgely, she handed off all the rest 
of the packages and ah of the holly wreaths but 
two. These she hung up out of the way over her 
windows, then, taking out a magazine, settled 
herself comfortably in the end of the seat to read. 

On her last trip up the aisle she had noticed 
the wistful, unsmiling faces of her little neigh- 
bors across the way, and she wondered why it 
was that the only children in the coach should be 
the only ones who seemed to have no share in 
the general joyousness. Something was wrong, 
she felt sure, and while she was cutting the leaves 




of the magazine, she stole several glances in their 
direction. The little girl had an anxious pucker 
of the brows sadly out of place in a face that had 
not yet outgrown its baby innocence of expres- 
sion. She looked so little and lorn, and troubled 


about something, that Miss Santa Claus made up 
her mind to comfort her as soon as she had an 
opportunity. She knew better than to ask for her 
confidence, as the well-meaning lady had done 
earlier in the day. 

When she began to read, Will'm drew a long 

breath and stretched himself. There was no use 
watching now when it was evident that she was 
n't going to do anything for a while, and sitting 
still so long had made him fidgety. He squirmed 
off the seat and up onto the next one, uninten- 
tionally wiping his feet on 
Libby's dress as he did so. 
It brought a sharp reproof 
from the overwrought Libby, 
and he answered back in the 
same spirit. 

Neither was conscious that 
their voices could be heard 
across the aisle above the 
noise of the train. The little 
fur cap with the scarlet 
feather bent over the maga- 
zine without the slightest 
change in posture, but there 
was no more turning of 
pages. The piping, childish 
voices were revealing a far 
more interesting story than 
the printed one the girl was 
scanning. She heard her 
own name mentioned. They 
were disputing about her. 

Too restless to sit still, and 
with no way in which to 
give vent to his all-consum- 
ing energy, Will'm was ripe 
for a squabble. It came 
very soon, and out of many 
allusions to past and present, 
and dire threats as to what 
might happen to him at the 
end of the journey if he 
did n't mend his ways, the 
interested listener gathered 
the principal facts in their 
history. The fuss ended in 
a shower of tears on Will'm's 
part, and the consequent 
smudging of his face with 
his grimy little hands which 
wiped them away, so that he 
had to be escorted once more 
behind the curtain to the 
shining faucets and the basin 
with the chained-up hole at 
the bottom. 
When they came back, Miss Santa Claus had 
put away her magazine and taken out some 
fancy-work. All she seemed to be doing was 
winding some red yarn over a pencil, around and 
around and aro'und. But presently she stopped 
and tied two ends with a jerk, and went snip, 




snip with her scissors, and there in her fingers 
was a soft fuzzy ball. When she had snipped 
some more, and trimmed it all over, smooth and 
even, it looked like a little red cherry. In almost 
no time she had two wool cherries lying in her 
lap. She was just beginning the third when the 
big ball of yarn slipped out of her fingers, and 
rolled across the aisle right under Libby's feet. 
She sprang to pick it up and take it back. 

"Thank you, dear," was all that Miss Santa 
Claus said ; but such a smile went with it that 
Libby, smoothing her skirts over her knees as 
she primly took her seat again, felt happier than 
she had since leaving the Junction. It was n't 
two minutes till the ball slipped and rolled away 
again. This time Will'm picked it up, and she 
thanked him in the same way. But very soon, 
when both scissors and ball spilled out of her lap 
and Libby politely brought her one and Will'm 
the other, she did not take them. 

"I wonder," she said, "if you children could n't 
climb up here on the seat with me and hold this 
old Jack arid Jill of a ball and scissors. Every 
time one falls down and almost breaks its crown, 
the other goes tumbling after. I 'm in such a 
hurry to get through. Could n't you stay and 
help me a few minutes?" 

"Yes, ma'am," said Libby, primly and timidly, 
sitting down on the edge of the opposite seat 
with the ball in her hands. Miss Santa Claus put 
an arm around Will'm and drew him up on the 
seat beside her. "There," she said. "You hold 
the scissors, Will'm, and when I 'm through wind- 
ing the ball that Libby holds, I '11 ask you to cut 
the yarn for me. Did you ever see such scissors, 
Libby? They 're made in the shape of a witch. 
See ! she sits upon the handles, and when the 
blades are closed, they make the peak of her long, 
pointed cap. They came from the old witch town 
of Salem." 

Libby darted a half-frightened look at her. She 
had called them both by name ! Had she been 
listening down the chimney, too? And those 
witch scissors ! They looked as if they might 
be a charm to open all sorts of secrets. Maybe 
she knew some charm to keep stepmothers from 
being cruel. Oh, if she only dared to ask ! Of 
course Libby knew that one must n't "pick up" 
with strangers and tell them things. Miss Sally 
had warned her against that. But this was dif- 
ferent. Miss Santa Claus was more than just a 

If Pan were to come piping out of the woods, 
who, with any music in him, would not respond 
with all his heart to the magic call? If Titania 
were to beckon with her gracious wand, who 
would not be drawn into her charmed circle 

gladly? So it was these two little wayfarers 
heard the call and swayed to the summons of 
one who not only shed the influence, but shared 
the name of the wonderful Spirit of Yule. 

Chapter VI 


With Libby to hold the ball and unwind the 
yarn as fast as it was needed, and Will'm to cut 
it with the witch scissors every time Miss Santa 
Claus said "snip !" it was not long before half a 
dozen little wool cherries lay in her lap. Then 
they helped twist the yarn into cords on which 
to tie the balls, and watched with eyes that never 
lost a movement of her deft fingers, while she 
fastened the cords to the front of a red cro- 
cheted jacket, which she took from her suitcase. 

"There !" she exclaimed, holding it up for them 
to admire. "That is to go in the stocking of a 
poor little fellow no larger than Will'm. He 's 
lame, and has to stay in bed all the time, and he 
asked Santa Claus to bring him something soft 
and warm to put on when he is propped up in bed 
to look at his toys." 

Out of a dry throat Libby at last brought up 
the question she had been trying to find courage 

"Is Santa Claus your father?" 

"No, but Father and Uncle Norse are so much 
like him that people often get them all mixed up, 
just as they do twins, and since Uncle Santa has 
grown so busy, he gets Father to attend to a great 
deal of his business. In fact, our whole family 
has to help. He could n't possibly get around to 
everybody as he used to when the cities were 
smaller and fewer. Lately, he has been leaving 
more and more of his work to us. He 's even 
taken to adopting people into his family so that 
they can help him. In almost every city in the 
world now, he has an adopted brother or sister 
or relative of some sort, and sometimes children 
not much bigger than you ask to be counted as 
members of his family. It 's so much fun to 

Libby pondered over this news a moment be- 
fore she asked another question : "Then does he 
come to see them and tell them what to do?" 

"No, indeed! Nobody ever sees him. He just 
sends messages, something like wireless tele- 
grams. You know what they are?" 

Libby shook her head. She had never heard 
of them. Miss Santa Claus explained. "And his 
messages pop into your head just that way," she 
added. "I was as busy as I could be one day, 
studying my algebra lesson, when all of a sud- 
den, pop came the thought into my head that lit- 




tie Jamie Fitch wanted a warm red jacket to 
wear when he sat up in bed, and that Uncle Santa 
wanted me to make it. I went down-town that 
very afternoon and bought the wool, and I knew 
that I was not mistaken by the way I felt after- 
ward, so glad, and warm, and Christmasy. That 's 
why all his family love to help him. He gives 
them such a happy feeling while they are doing it. 

It was Will'm's turn now for a question. He 
asked it abruptly, with a complete change of 

"Did you ever see a stepmother?" 

"Yes, indeed ! And Cousin Rosalie has one. 
She 's Uncle Norse's wife. I 've just been visit- 
ing them." 

"Has she got a tush?" 

"A what?" was the astonished answer. 

"He means tusk," explained Libby. "All the 
cruel ones have 'em, Susie Peters says." 

"It 's a tooth that sticks away out," Will'm 
added eagerly, at the same time pulling his lip 
down at one side to show a little white tooth in 
the place where the dreadful fang would have 
grown, had he been the cruel creature in ques- 

"Mercy, no!" was the horrified exclamation. 
"That kind live only in fairy tales along with 
ogres and giants. Did n't you know that?" 

Will'm shook his head. "Me an' Libby was 
afraid ours would be that way, and if she is, 
we 're going to do something to her. We 're go- 
ing to shut her up in a nawful dark cellar, or— 
or something." 

Miss Santa looked grave. Here was a dread- 
ful misunderstanding. Somebody had poisoned 
these baby minds with suspicions and doubts 
which might embitter their whole lives. If she 
had been only an ordinary fellow passenger, she 
might not have felt it her duty to set them 
straight. But no descendant of the family of 
which she was a member, could come face to face 
with such a wrong without the impulse to make it 
right. It was an impulse straight from the sky 
road. In the carol service in the chapel, the 
night before she left school, the dean had spoken 
so beautifully of the way they might all follow 
the star, this Christmas-tide, with their gifts of 
frankincense and myrrh, even if they had no 
gold. Here was her opportunity, she thought, if 
she were only wise enough to say the right thing ! 

Before she could think of a way to begin, a 
waiter came through the car, sounding the first 
call for dinner. Time was flying. She 'd have 
to hurry, and make the most of it before the jour- 
ney came to an end. Putting the little crocheted 
jacket back into her suitcase and snapping the 
clasps, she stood up. 

"Come on," she said, holding out a hand to 
each. "We '11 go into the dining-car and get 
something to eat." 

Libby thought of the generous supper in the 
pasteboard box which they had been told to eat 
as soon as it was dark, but she allowed herself 
to be led down the aisle without a word. A higher 
power was in authority now. She was as one 
drawn into a fairy ring. 

Now, at last, the ride on the Pullman blos- 
somed into all that Will'm had pictured it to be. 
There was the gleam of glass, the shine of sil- 
ver, the glow of shaded candles, and himself at 
one of the little tables, while the train went fly- 
ing through the night like a mighty winged 
dragon, breathing smoke and fire as it flew. 

Miss Santa Claus studied the printed card be- 
side her plate a moment, and then looked into her 
pocket-book before she wrote the order. She 
smiled a little while she was writing it. She 
wanted to make this meal one that they would 
always remember, and was sure that children 
who lived at such a place as the Junction had 
never before eaten strawberries on Christmas 
eve; a snow-covered Christmas eve at that. She 
had been afraid for just a moment, when she 
first peeped into her purse, that there was n't 
enough left for her to get them. 

No one had anything to say while the order 
was being filled. Will'm and Libby were too 
busy looking at the people and things around 
them, and their companion was too busy thinking 
about something she wanted to tell them after 
a while. Presently, the steward passed their ta- 
ble, and Will'm gave a little start of recognition, 
but he said nothing. It was the same man whose 
locket he had found, and who had promised to 
tell Santa Claus about him. Evidently he had 
told, for here was Will'm in full enjoyment of 
what he had longed for. The man did not look 
at Will'm, however. He was too busy attending 
to the wants of impatient grown people to no- 
tice a quiet little boy who sat next the wall and 
made no demands. 

Then the waiter came, balancing an enormous 
tray on one hand, high above his head, and the 
children watched him with the breathless fasci- 
nation with which they would have watched a 
juggler play his tricks. It was a simple supper, 
for Miss Santa Claus was still young enough to 
remember what had been served to her in her 
nursery days, but it was crowned by a dish of 
enormous strawberries, such as Will'm had seen 
in the refrigerator of the car kitchen, but no- 
where else. They never grew that royal size at 
the Junction. 

But what made the meal one of more than 




mortal enjoyment, and transformed the earthly 
food into ambrosia of the gods, was that, while 
they sifted the powdered sugar over their berries, 
Miss Santa Claus began to tell them a story. It 
was about the Princess Ina, who had six brothers 
whom a wicked witch changed into swans. It 
was a very interesting story, the way she told it, 
and more than once both Libby and Will'm 
paused with their spoons half-way from berries 
to mouth, the better to listen. It was quite sad, 
too, for only once in twenty-four hours, and then 
just for a few moments, could the princes shed 
their swanskins and be real brothers again. At 
these times they would fly back to their sister Ina, 
and with tears in their eyes, beg her to help them 
break the cruel charm. 

At last she found a way, but it would be a hard 
way for her. She must go alone, and in the fear- 
some murk of the gloaming, to a spot where wild 
asters grew. The other name for them is star- 
flower. If she could pick enough of these star- 
flowers to weave into a mantle for each brother, 
which would cover him from wing-tip to wing- 
tip, then they would be free from the spell as 
soon as it was thrown over them. But the flow- 
ers must be gathered in silence. A single word 
spoken aloud would undo all her work., And it 
would be a hard task, for the star-flowers grew 
only among briers and weeds, and her hands 
would be scratched with thorns and stung by net- 
tles. Yet, no matter how badly she was torn or 
blistered, she must not break her silence by one 
word of complaint. 

Now the way Miss Santa told that story made 
you feel that it was you and not the Princess Ina 
who was groping through the fearsome gloam- 
ing after the magic flowers. Once Libby felt the 
scratch of the thorns so plainly that she said 
"O-o-oh" in a whisper, and looked down at her 
own hands, half expecting to see blood on them. 
And Will'm forgot to eat entirely, when it came 
to the time of weaving the last mantle and there 
was n't quite enough material to piece it out to 
the last wing-tip. Still, there was enough to 
change the last swan back into a real brother 
again, even if one arm never was quite as it 
should be ; and when all six brothers stood around 
their dear sister, weeping tears of joy at their 
deliverance, Will'm's face shone as if he had just 
been delivered from the same fate himself. 

"Now," said Miss Santa Claus, when the waiter 
had brought the bill and gone back for some 
change, "you must never, never forget that story 
as long as you live. I 've told it to you because 
it 's a true charm that can be used for many 
things. Aunt Ruth told it to me. She used it 
long ago, when she wanted to change Rosalie into 

a real daughter, and I used it once when I wanted 
to change a girl who was just a pretend friend 
into a real one. And you are to use it to change 
your stepmother into a real mother! I '11 tell you 
how when we go back to our seats." 

On the way back, they stopped in the vesti- 
bule between the cars for a breath of fresh air, 
and to look out on the snow-covered country, 
lying white in the moonlight. The flakes were 
no longer falling. 

"I see the sky road !" sang out Will'm, in a 
happy sort of chant, pointing up at the glittering 
milky way. "Pretty soon the drate big reindeer '11 
come running down that road !" 

"And the Christmas angels," added Libby, rev- 
erently, in a half-whisper. 

"And there 's where the star-flowers grow," 
Miss Santa Claus chimed in, as if she were sing- 
ing. "Once there was a dear poet who called the 
stars 'the forget-me-nots of the angels.' I be- 
lieve I '11 tell you about them right now, while 
we 're out here where we can look up at them. 
Oh, I wonder if I can make it plain enough for 
you to understand me !" 

With an arm around each child's shoulder to 
steady them while they stood there, rocking and 
swaying with the motion of the lurching train, 
she began : 

"It 's this way: when you go home, probably 
there '11 be lots of things that you won't like, and 
that you won't want to do. Things that will seem 
as disagreeable as Ina's task was to her. They 
won't scratch and blister your hands, but they '11 
make you feel all scratchy, and hot, and cross. 
But if you go ahead as Ina did, without opening 
your lips to complain, it will be like picking a 
little white star-flower whose name is obedience. 
The more you pick of them the more you will have 
to weave into your mantle. And sometimes you will 
see a chance to do something to help her or to 
please her, without waiting to be asked. You may 
have to stop playing to do it, and give up your own 
pleasure. That will scratch your feelings some, but 
doing it will be like picking a big, golden star- 
flower whose name is kindness. And if you keep 
on doing this, day after day as Ina did, with 
never a word of complaint, the time will come 
when you have woven a big, beautiful mantle 
whose name is love. And when it is big enough 
to reach from 'wing-tip to wing-tip,' you '11 find 
that she has grown to be just like a real mother. 
Do you understand?" 

"Yes, ma'am," answered Libby, solemnly. 
Will'm did not answer, but the far-off look in 
his eyes showed that he was pondering over what 
she had just told them. 

"Now we must run along in," she said briskly. 




"It 's cold out here." Inside, she looked at her 
watch. It was after seven. Only a little more 
than an hour, and the children would be at the 
end of their journey. Not much longer than that, 
and she would reach hers. It had been a tire- 


some day for both Libby and Will'm. Although 
their eyes shone with the excitement of it, the 
sandman was not far away. It was their regu- 
lar bedtime, and they were yawning. At a word 
from Miss Santa Claus, the porter brought pil- 
lows and blankets. She made up a bed for each 
on opposite seats, and tucked them snugly in. 

"Now," she said, bending over them, "you '11 

have time for a nice long nap before your father 

comes to take you off. But before you go to 

sleep, I want to tell you one more thing that you 

Vol. XLL— 14. 

must remember forever : you must always get the 
right kind of start. It 's like hooking up a dress, 
you know. If you start crooked, it will keep on 
being crooked all the way down to the bottom, 
unless you undo it and begin over. So if I were 
you, I 'd begin to work that star- 
flower charm the first thing in the 
morning. Remember you can work 
it on anybody if you try hard enough. 
And remember that it is true, just as 
true as it is that you 're each going 
to have a Christmas stocking !" 

She stooped over each in turn and 
kissed their eyelids down with a soft 
touch of her smiling lips that made 
Libby thrill for days afterward, 
whenever she thought of it. It seemed 
as if some royal spell had been laid 
upon them with these kisses ; some 
spell to close their eyes to nettles and 
briers, and help them to see only the 

In less than five minutes, both Libby 
and Will'm were sound asleep, and 
the porter was carrying the holly 
wreaths and the red coat and the suit- 
case back to the state-room which 
had been vacated at the last stopping- 
place. In two minutes more, Miss 
Santa Claus had emptied her suitcase 
out on the seat beside her, and was 
scrabbling over the contents in wild 
haste. For no sooner had she men- 
tioned stockings to the children, than 
pop had come one of those messages 
straight from the sky road, which 
could not be disregarded. Knowing 
that she would be on the train with 
the two children from the Junction, 
Santa Claus was leaving it to her to 
provide stockings for them. 

It worried her at first, for she 
could n't see her way clear to doing it 
on such short notice and in such lim- 
ited quarters. But she had never 
failed him since he had first allowed 
her the pleasure of helping him, and she did n't 
intend to now. Her mind had to work as fast as 
her fingers. There was n't a single thing among 
her belongings that she could make stockings of, 
unless — she sighed as she picked it up and shook 
out the folds of the prettiest kimono she had ever 
owned. It was the softest possible shade of gray 
with white cherry blossoms scattered over it, and 
it was bordered in wide bands of satin the exact 
color of a shining ripe red cherry. There was 
nothing else for it, the lovely kimono must be 




shorn of its glory, at least on one side. Maybe 
she could split what was left on the other side, 
and reborder it all with narrower bands. But 
even if she could n't, she must take it. The train 
was leaping on through the night. There was no 
time to spare. 

Snip ! snip ! went the witch scissors, and the 
long strip of cherry satin was loose in her hands. 
Twenty minutes later two bright red stockings 
lay on the seat in front of her, bordered with 
silver tinsel. She had run the seams hastily with 
white thread, all she had with her, but the stitches 
did not show, being on the inside. Even if they 
had pulled themselves into view in places, all 
defects in sewing were hidden by the tinsel with 
which the stockings were bordered. She had un- 
wound it from a wand which she was carrying 
home with several other favors from the german 
of the night before. The wand was so long that 
it went into her suitcase only by laying it in 
diagonally. It had been wrapped around and 
around with yards of tinsel, tipped with a silver- 
gauze butterfly. 

While she stitched, she tried to think of some- 
thing to put into the stockings. Her only hope 
was in the train-boy, and she sent the porter to 
bring him. But when he came, he had little to 
offer. As it was Christmas eve, everybody had 
wanted his wares, and he was nearly sold out. 
Not a nut, not an apple, not even a package of 
chewing-gum could he produce. But he did have, 
somewhere among his things, he said, two little 
toy lanterns, with red glass sides, filled with small 
mixed candies, and he had several oranges left. 
Earlier in the day he had had small glass pistols 
filled with candy. He departed to get the stock 
still on hand. 

When the lanterns proved to be miniature con- 
ductor's lanterns, Miss Santa Claus could have 
clapped her hands with satisfaction. Children 
who played train so much would be delighted with 
them. She thrust one into each stocking with an 
orange on top. They just filled the legs, but there 
was a dismal limpness of foot which sadly be- 
trayed its emptiness. With another glance at her 
watch, Miss Santa Claus hurried back to the 
dining-car. The tables were nearly empty, and 
she found the steward by the door. She showed 
him the stockings and implored him to think of 
something to help fill them. Had n't he nuts, 
raisins, anything, even little cakes, that she could 
get in a hurry? 

He suggested salted almonds and after-dinner 
mints, and sent a waiter flying down the aisle to 
get some. While she waited, she explained that 
they were for two children who had come by 
themselves all the way from the Junction. It was 

little Will'm's first ride on a Pullman. The 
words "Junction" and "Will'm" seemed to recall 
something to the steward. 

"I wonder if it could be the same little chap 
who found my locket," he said. "I took his name, 
intending to send him something Christmas, but 
was so busy I never thought of it again." 

The waiter was back with the nuts and mints. 
Miss Santa Claus paid for them, and hurriedly 
returned to the state-room. She had to search 
through her things again to find some tissue- 
paper to wrap the salted almonds in. They 'd 
spoil the red satin if put in without covering. 
While she was doing it the steward came to the 

"I beg pardon, miss," he said, "but would you 
mind showing me the little fellow? If it is the 
same one, I 'd like to leave him a small trick I 've 
got here." 

She pointed down the aisle to the seat where 
Will'm lay sound asleep, one dimpled fist cuddled 
under his soft chin. After a moment's smiling 
survey, the man came back. 

"That 's the kid, all right," he told her. "And 
he seemed to be so powerful fond of anything 
that has to do with a train, I thought it would 
please him to find this in his stocking." 

He handed her a small-sized conductor's punch. 
"I use it to keep tally on the order cards," he 
explained, "but I won't need it on the rest of 
this run." 

"How lovely!" exclaimed Miss Santa Claus. 
"I know he '11 be delighted, and I 'm much 
obliged to you myself, for helping me make his 
stocking fuller and nicer." 

She opened the magazine after he had gone, 
and, just to try the punch, closed it down on one 
of the leaves. Clip it went, and the next instant 
she uttered a soft little cry of pleasure. The 
clean-cut hole that the punch had made in the 
margin was star-shaped, and on her lap, where it 
had fallen from the punch, was a tiny white paper 

"Oh, it will help him to remember the charm!" 
she whispered, her eyes shining with the happy 
thought. "If I only had some kind of a reminder 
for Libby, too !" 

Then, all of a sudden came another message, 
straight from the sky road ! She could give 
Libby the little gold ring which had fallen to her 
lot the night before in her slice of the birthday 
cake. There had been a ring, a thimble, and a 
dime in the cake, and she had drawn the ring. It 
was so small, just a child's size, that she could n't 
wear it, but she was taking it home to put in her 
memory book. It had been such a beautiful eve- 
ning that she wanted to mark it with that little 




golden circlet, although, of course, it was n't 
possible for her to forget such a lovely time, even 
in centuries. And Libby might forget about the 
star-flowers unless she had a daily reminder. 

She held it in her hand a moment, hesitating, 
till the message came again, "Send it!" Then 
there was no longer any indecision. When she 
shut it in its little box, and stuffed the box down 
past the lantern and the orange and the nuts and 
the peppermints into the very toe, such a warm, 
glad Christmasy feeling sent its glow through 
her, that she knew past all doubting she had inter- 
preted the sky road message aright. 

Many of the passengers had left the car by this 
lime, and the greater number of those who re- 
mained were nodding uncomfortably in their 
seats. But those who happened to be awake and 


alert, saw a picture they never forgot, when a 
lovely young girl, her face alight with the joy of 
Christmas love and giving, stole down the aisle 
and silently fastened something on the back of 
the seat above each little sleeper. It was a 
stocking, red and shining as a cherry, and silver- 
bordered with glistening fairy fringe. 

When they looked again, she had disappeared, 
but the stockings still hung there, tokens which 
were to prove to those same little sleepers on 
their awakening" that the star-flower charm is 

For love indeed works miracles, and every mes- 
sage from the sky road is but an echo of the one 
the Christmas angels sang when first they came 
along that shining highway, the heralds of good- 
will and peace to all the earth. 


ii «i i i m ■ i • i ■ - — - 

We Ye dipped the pen into the ink ; 

Now hold your hand just so. 
And first we '11 make a big round "S,' 

To start the word, you know. 

And then a little - 'a" comes next. 
An "n," a "t," and "a" — 

Perhaps, if we try very hard. 
We '11 finish it to-day. 


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ARRY had come to a decision ! The joy of 
it was in the brightness of his eye; but the 
awe of it was in the pallor of his 
cheek. With a hand that trem- 
bled he took out his watch. The 
hands stood at five minutes to ten. In five min- 
utes, his father's morning office hours would be 
over. Dr. McCleary would then be free from in- 
terruption for a period, unless he had a hurry call ; 
and it was this possible interim that Larry intended 
to make use of for the delivering of what, he 
acknowledged to himself with a sinking feeling 
at the pit of his stomach, was going to be a shock. 

The thought of the approaching ordeal brought 
drops of sweat about his mouth ; and to enable 
himself to bear those five minutes, he took from 
his innermost pocket an envelop and held it in his 
hand. It was the contents of that envelop that had 
led to the decision which, he felt, was going to 
shake to its very foundations the McCleary house- 

At the end of those awful five minutes, he drew 
a gasping breath of relief, put the envelop care- 
fully back into his pocket, and arose. Larry was 
a stalwart youth, and one of the coolest-headed 

of the athletes that the local college had gradu- 
ated at its last term. But as he started down the 
stairs, his trained and prize-winning legs trem- 
bled so that, for the first time since his infancy, 
he had to grasp the banisters for support. 

The outer office was without waiting patients, 
and the inner one was likewise without occu- 
pants, so Larry went to the library. A wave of 
affection so great that it momentarily choked him 
swept over him as he stood in the door for a 
moment and looked remorsefully at his father's 
stately head, crowned by its waves of iron-gray 
hair, the best-beloved head in the town. 

Dr. McCleary looked up from the pile of pam- 
phlets on the table. 

"Hello, son !" he exclaimed cheerfully. "I was 
just going to call you. I 've decided, after many 
mental throes," he went on, with a merry twinkle 
in his fine eyes, "which college is going to have 
the honor of conferring another 'Dr. Lawrence 
S. McCleary' on the world. I 've selected the one 
in Baltimore. It 's some way from home, to be 
sure," and the doctor's face shadowed, "but you '11 
take a three-years' course at this one" — he 
handed Larry a prospectus— "and a postgraduate 



at Johns Hopkins. You '11 thereby do the whole 
thing in the same city, which I, being old-fash- 
ioned, consider an advantage, especially as this 
particular city contains one of the most famous 
hospitals in the world. You see, I believe in roots. 
There 's been a Dr. McCleary for six genera- 
tions, and will be one for six more, I trust. And 
I intend that the one I contribute shall be the 
best that money can provide. Does that plan 
meet with your august approval, son ?" 

There was an odd undercurrent of wistfulness 
in the doctor's tone, in spite of its jocularity. And 
Larry, between whom and his father there had 
always been a bond of sympathetic, silent under- 
standing, caught the undertone and choked up 

"Dad," he commenced, almost inarticulately, 
"there 's something— something— " He gathered 
himself together and finally blurted out: "Dad, 
I don't want to be a doctor — I can't be a doctor, 
Dad ! I want to be a newspaper man !" 

It might have been a full minute before Dr. 
McCleary found his voice and replied; but to 
Larry it seemed an eternity. 

"Sit down, son," the doctor said, in the gentle 
tone of one who is dazed. "Now what is this that 
you just said? You don't want to be a doctor? 
There never was an eldest McCleary who did n't 
want to be a doctor, son. Let 's have the whole 
story. Perhaps it 's just a delusion." 

Larry shook his head vehemently at the clos- 
ing remark, for he felt his courage returning un- 
der the strengthening influence of the doctor's 
presence. He leaned forward and looked with 
the eloquent brown eyes of his mother into the 
steady gray ones of his father. 

"Dad," he said, "this is a crisis, and it 's not a 
time for keeping anything back. I 've never 
wanted to study medicine, never ! And I believe 
that somehow you knew it before I did; you felt 
it. I 've never admitted it to myself until a couple 
of weeks ago, when all those things from the 
medical schools began to come in. And, Dad, 
I 've always loved newspapers instinctively; and 
I did n't realize that until— well, recently. You 
know I 've always tried to read 'em, Dad, ever 
since I could sit up to one. Every time I hear a 
newsboy call an 'extra,' or even the regular edi- 
tion for that matter, an electric shock runs up 
my spine. Oh, I can't tell you all, Dad ! But I 'm 
mad about 'em; just properly mad, that 's all; not 
books, you understand, but papers, the things that 
represent life right up to the last minute ticked 
off by the clock ! 

"And I did n't tell you, Dad, but when you and 
I went to Washington to that convention, I spent 
nearly all my time among the papers at the Con- 

gressional Library while you were sitting at the 
feet of the scientists, you know. The library has 
papers from all over the world, Dad, and files that 
go back to the year one, I guess. You know," he 
went on, with shining eyes, "it 's said to be the 
greatest newspaper collection in the world. From 
my way of looking at things, Dad, the newspaper 
man is the man who touches life in its broadest 

Dr. McCleary's ruddy face had become the 
color of cold ashes. He looked at his son curi- 
ously, and then smiled somewhat wanly. 

"So does a doctor, son; so does a doctor," he 
said slowly. 

He brushed a hand across his forehead. 

"This is an awful blow, Lawrence,— we will be 
frank, as you said. The eldest McCleary has 
always been a doctor, you know. There 's never 
been any question about it for generations; some- 
how we 've come to think that the world expects 
it of us, and that the rule is as fixed as the other 
vital laws of the universe. For several years 
I 've been planning finances so that you could 
have the best and broadest advantages. And 
lately,— well, I get tired sometimes. The practice 
is heavy and the responsibility great; and I realize 
at this moment how I have been looking forward 
to the support of my boy, the next Dr. McCleary. 

"But you 're right, son. I 've felt rather than 
known all along that your heart was n't in it. 
But a newspaper man, son ; why a newspaper 
man ? I wonder how it happened ! No McCleary 
was ever remotely connected with a paper. I 
must say," he continued, as if to himself, "that 
the average reporter does n't impress me. In yes- 
terday's paper, for instance, one of them an- 
nounced that pellagra is the medical name for 
hook-worm ! Being the editor of the school paper 
has n't gone to your head, has it, Larry?" he con- 
cluded, with a hopeful note in his tone. 

"Not a bit of it, Dad !" Larry replied emphati- 
cally. "Maybe this has, though." 

He took from his pocket the envelop and laid 
it, superscription side up, upon the table. In con- 
servative and impressive lettering in the upper 
left-hand corner was the inscription "The Morn- 
ing Tribune." Dr. McCleary extracted the con- 
tents, and the latter proved, to his amazement, to 
be a narrow slip of blue paper which said: "Pay 
to the order of Lawrence McCleary fifteen dol- 

"That 's for an idea I sent to 'The Tribune,' 
Dad," Larry explained; "just the bare idea, you 
understand. And it was my first attempt to break 
in ; and at the time I meant that it should be my 
last attempt, too, but— I felt like a traitor to 
you, Dad. But I had the idea, and I just could n't 




keep it in; so I thought I 'd have one try, just 
one. Honest, I thought 'The Tribune' would 
squelch me, and I 'd be glad to quit." 

Dr. McCleary stared down at that fatal blue 
slip for fully three minutes. Then he cleared his 

'"Lawrence," he said, "suppose you go out and 
prowl around the garden till I call you. I '11 be 
ready to talk business to you then." 

Larry went out, and with his cap pulled down 
over his face, sat down in front of the old sun- 
dial that for generations had served the Mc- 
Clearys as a focus for their attention when they 
had weighty problems to solve. Fully a half-hour 
elapsed before his father called him ; and by that 
time, Larry himself had made up his mind to 
something. When he arose and started slowly 
toward the house, there was a perceptible droop 
in his stalwart shoulders. 

He did not wait for his father to speak. 

"Father," he said (and Dr. McCleary started, 
for it was the first time in his experience that one 
of his motherless sons had addressed him as "Fa- 
ther"), "it 's all over. Why, I would n't grieve 
you that way for anything in the world ! Noth- 
ing that I might do in life would compensate me 
for it. I '11 be a doctor, Father, and I '11 be a 
good one, too !" 

"Not so fast, son ; not so fast !" the doctor ex- 
claimed cheerfully. "You '11 be what you were 
cut out to be; I have n't any right to deny you 
that privilege, even if I am your dad. But we '11 
make a sporting proposition of it, son. In other 
words, I shall require you to prove to me that you 
were cut out to break all the McCleary traditions 
and be a newspaper man instead of a doctor. I '11 
put it to you this way: if you can get on 'The 
Tribune,' I '11 not only accept the situation, but 
I '11 give you my blessing, and it '11 be from the 
bottom of my heart; but understand, I stipulate 
that it must be 'The Tribune.' " 

Larry's shoulders straightened magically; a 
smile crossed his face, and he started to speak. 
But his father raised his hand. 

"Wait a minute ! This is a crisis with both of 
us, and we 're going to play fair. I know what 
you are up against, and you don't. 'The Tribune' 
is and always has been my ideal paper; it is, in 
fact, one of the very few papers for which I have 
respect. I would consider any connection with it 
an honor. But I happen to know something of its 
innermost workings. Because, my son, you are 
not the only young gentleman in this town who 
aspires— or has aspired— to the excitement of 
newspaper life. The sons of three of my patients 
and friends have done likewise in the last five 
years. All of them aspired to 'The Tribune,' and 

none of them met with success. They were able 
to get on other papers, but they have n't made 
'The Tribune' yet, and probably never will. 

"That paper uses the utmost discrimination in 
the selection of its men. Nothing ordinary will 
do, for when a man is put on 'The Tribune,' he is 
there for life, if he cares to stay; and he is pen- 
sioned after a certain number of years' service. 
It has made some of our most prominent writers. 
It has an application file that reaches nearly to 
the ceiling, I suspect, and it fills its rare vacancies 
from that. You may think that you have an open 
sesame in that check, but you have n't. I will 
admit, though, that you may have in it a wedge 
that will open the way for a personal interview. 
I want to warn you, though, that Colonel Larra- 
bee has the reputation of being a sort of man- 
eating tiger unless— well, unless." 

The eager light of battle had come into Larry's 
eye. He unconsciously took a grip on his belt, 
and went through a series of motions like a 
knight girding himself for a fray in which he 
meant to conquer. His father observed it all, 
and smiled quietly and in a way which suggested 
a lurking opinion that the seventh Dr. Lawrence 
McCleary was not yet lost to the family. 

"When shall I start, Dad ; you are master of 
ceremonies now?" Larry asked. 

" 'The Tribune' is a morning paper," the doc- 
tor replied thoughtfully; "if you leave to-morrow 
on the seven o'clock train, you will be in the city 
in an hour and a quarter. That will give you 
time to freshen up before your interview, sup- 
posing that you get an interview," he concluded, 
with a smile that was half mischievous, half sad. 

"Colonel Larrabee will see you now, Mr. Mc- 
Cleary. Will you step this way?" said a com- 
posed voice at Larry's elbow. Had Larry been 
familiar with that voice, he would have detected 
in it a note of respect and admiration. For the 
very capable young woman who guarded from 
intrusion Colonel Willard Larrabee, owner and 
publisher of the powerful "Tribune," felt both 
admiration and respect for any one who was 
going to be granted an interview with that grand 
vizir at ten o'clock in the morning. 

When Larry arose, his heart began to pound 
with such enthusiasm that he was sure its beats 
were quite audible to the young woman and every 
one else in the vicinity. For he was hearing 
again his father's parting words: "Remember, 
son, it 's a gentlemen's bargain ; 'The Tribune' or 
the medical school." And he would have been 
vastly relieved could he have seen himself as he 
was seen at that moment, a perfectly composed 
young man, unmistakably both a gentleman and 




1914 CALENDAR 1914 











z l 











2 3 





















r 9 

















2 3 



3 ] 



1 1 

2 5 


















I dont object to Santa Claus. 

Kris Knngle, and the rest. 
But. lookino into it. Hind 

St Nicholas suits me best! 




T F 

11 11 















2 3 









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T 9 










F_ S 

16 17 




— ■ . 











1 1 

2 5 



J 9 






J 4 





2 3 

The dates in the red circles will be the 

Red Letter 

Days of 1914, — the days 

when ST. 


will come to you. The 

magazine for each month 

will be issued on the 1st c 

f the month 

, except when 

that falls upon Sunday. 

Then ST. 


will appear 

a day earlier 


















1 1 



r 9 





an athlete, a combination which is bound to be 
attractive to any one. 

A large person swung around in a revolving 
chair and glanced at Larry for possibly the frac- 
tion of a minute ; whereupon Larry felt as though 
he had been subjected to an application of the 
X-ray. But the large person spoke ; and the qual- 
ity of the voice that proceeded from the grim 
mouth was such that Larry felt as if the X-ray 
had been followed by a soothing narcotic. 

"Good morning, Mr. McCleary," Colonel Wil- 
lard Larrabee said. "And what can I do for you, 

"You can put me on 'The Tribune,' sir," Larry 
promptly replied. And the sound of his own 
voice amazed him ; entirely respectful, it was yet 
entirely natural, and, moreover, entirely confident. 
No one could have suspected from its sound that 
Larry felt himself to be facing his life's crisis; 
that he was, figuratively speaking, standing be- 
Vol. XLL— 15. 

fore the door whose closing upon him meant con- 
demnation to a life's work with which he had no 
sympathy, to express it mildly. 

Again Colonel Larrabee looked at him. An- 
other expression had replaced the gimlet cjuality 
of his eyes, an expression that was half quizzical, 
half something else, and in its entirety gave the 
impression that the colonel was going to indulge 
in something amusing at somebody's expense. 
That look had a peculiar effect upon Larry. He 
experienced the same sensations that he always 
had on the days when it became necessary for 
him to prove once more to his friends and fel- 
low citizens that he was their star runner. His 
heart magically cpiieted, and he sat tight. 

"Is that all?" the colonel asked quietly. "Would 
you believe it, Mr. McCleary, we quite frequently 
have requests like that here on 'The Tribune' ? 
Usually, though, we get them in writing; the 
applicants don't get past the city-editor to me. 




Your card, however, rather interested me ; it had 
a weight of its own, you know. By the way, here 
it is." He handed Larry the "card," the envelop 
containing "The Tribune's" check. ' 'The Trib- 
une,' " he went on, "is not in the habit of pur- 
chasing ideas recklessly ; and it can always use 
an exceptionally good man ; an exceptionally good 
one, understand." 

He suddenly took out his watch and looked at it. 

"Now, Mr. McCleary," he continued briskly, 
"what paper are you from ? How much and what 
kind of experience have you had? Of course you 
are sure that you can write, so I won't ask you 
about that. Can you get the news? You 've got 
the physique, have you got the rest?" 

Larry swallowed hard. 

"I have had no experience, Colonel Larrabee," 
he said. And again his voice sounded perfectly 
natural. "My sole recommendation is that you 
thought one of my ideas worth buying, and that I 
believe that I was cut out for the work." 

The colonel's eyebrows suddenly threatened to 
disappear into his hair. 

"Ah ?" he exclaimed ; and for a moment said 
nothing more. And for many a year thereafter, 
"Ah" spoken as an interrogation was to Law- 
rence S. McCleary the most expressive, most cut- 
ting word in the English language. 

"Who told you, Mr. McCleary, that 'The Trib- 
une' is a kindergarten ? Nobody, of course. You 
did n't need to be told,— you knew it ! Now, the 
city-editor has n't any patience with cubs; won't 
have 'em around him, in fact. But personally I 
don't object to an occasional cub if he 's got a good 
physique. In newspaper work, it 's not all how 
well you can write, not by any means ! It 's how 
long and how hard you can hustle for news, how 
long you can go without your dinner before your 
stomach caves in, etc. As I said before, your 
physique and your 'card' recommend you for a 
try-out, anyway. So we '11 see what you can do. 
You go out and hunt me up a nice story about 
the city's first public school ; where it was, and 
who ran it ; who attended it, and what became 
of all of 'em, the master included. Arrange for 
some pictures, too. You make me a nice story 
out of that, and we '11 see what we '11 see." 

Larry arose. It seemed to him that a thousand 
joy-bells were ringing in his ears. Poor dad ! 
The door had n't shut, after all! For the first 
time his composure almost deserted him. 

"Colonel Larrabee, I appreciate — " he began. 

"So you do," the colonel interrupted blandly, 
and shot his chair half-way around. 

Larry, accepting this unmistakable dismissal, 
started for the door. With his hand on the knob, 
he stopped and turned. 

"How soon must the copy be in, sir?" he asked. 

The colonel looked over his shoulder; and now 
there was no mistaking his expression ; it was 
one of almost impish amusement. 

"Oh, in two or three days," he replied. And 
the revolving chair shot all the way around. 

Larry was smiling to himself when, a few min- 
utes later, he entered the nearest drug-store and 
opened the directory. 

"Two or three days for a story like that!" he 
thought. "I must have looked like a dub ! Why, 
it 's easy, easy ! Poor dad !" 

Presently, he emerged from the drug-store and 
boarded a car. Twelve minutes later, he swung 
briskly from the platform at a certain corner, and 
ascended the steps of a glistening white building 
which, long and low, was set in the midst of much 
trim greenery. Within, a short young man and 
then a tall young woman were encountered in 
turn; and by them "The Tribune's" latest acquisi- 
tion was passed on into a pleasant, peaceful apart- 
ment where a pleasant and peaceful-looking man 
occupied a substantial chair at one end of a 
table upon which was a clutter of papers. He 
smiled approvingly if inquiringly as the very 
good-looking young man advanced upon him ; 
whereupon the said young man responsively 

"Is this Mr. Van Deusen?" Larry inquired. 

"It is," replied the superintendent of public 
schools ; and he extended his hand, but did not 

"I am from 'The Tribune,' Mr. Van Deusen," 
Larry commenced (and a thrill ran through him 
as he heard his own words). "And I wanted to 
see if you would oblige me with some information 
about the city's first public—" 

"There 's the door, young man, — use it !" And 
Van Deusen, on his feet now and his face white 
with anger, pointed to the petrified Larry the way 
out. There was menace in the gesture ; it indi- 
cated a restrained desire to force the issue of the 
door upon the startled young man. 

This sudden metamorphosis of an urbane gen- 
tleman into a would-be (and obviously capable!) 
pugilist, rendered Larry, after the first start of 
surprise, incapable of movement, of inquiry, of 
protest. Van Deusen surveyed his helpless 
amazement with an eye glassy from emotion, and 
then suddenly choked out : 

"First assignment ?" Larry merely nodded. 

"Well," Van Deusen went on, "you are the 
twenty-third person 'The Tribune' has sent here 
on that fool's errand. The joke may be on you, 
but the outrage is on me !" 

Larry felt himself turn pale; he did not know, 
however, that his mouth fell open and so re- 




mained; this mortifying fact was thrust upon his 
consciousness later. 

Van Deusen continued to survey him in silent 
rage; but presently a softening glimmer came 
into his eyes, doubtless compelled there by the 
edifying spectacle of utter dejection presented 
by Lawrence S. McCleary, Jr. 


"Sit down, young man, sit down !" he ex- 

Larry sat down. Mr. Van Deusen, however, 
did not sit down. He continued to stand, and 
Larry was bitterly sure that he did this that he 
might glower the more forcefully upon the object 
of his displeasure. Larry was relieved to observe, 
though, that he put his muscular-looking hands 
beneath his coat-tails and played a flapping ac- 
companiment to the caustic speech that he pro- 
ceeded to deliver. 

"Young man," said the superintendent, "if you 
possess such a thing as a memory, kindly exert 
it for the purpose of recalling that some forty 
years ago this fair city was devastated by fire. 
Now I, of course, would n't expect you or your 
illustrious predecessors on this assignment to have 
your valuable mind-space cluttered up with a 
mere incident of this kind. But it so happens 
that this was the most destructive fire in the his- 

tory of these United States of America. It raged 
for two days and two nights ; engaged the atten- 
tion of the whole civilized world ; destroyed al- 
most one third of the city; left more than seventy 
thousand persons homeless. In consideration of 
these rather unusual details, you may have con- 
descended to make a note of it along with the 
famous base-ball scores. Also it de- 
stroyed nearly eighteen thousand 
buildings and — here we reach our 
issue— with them all school records 
whatsoever. Therefore, young man, 
nobody knows anything about the 
first public school. Nobody ever can 
know anything about the first public 
school. I myself would give a pretty 
penny to know something about it. 

"You 're the butt of a joke, young 
man. That 's 'The Tribune's' stock 
'decoy' for all the cubs who think 
they are 'called' to journalism and 
'The Tribune.' And this is the last 
time I am going to explain that fact, 
positively the last ! I don't know 
what 'The Tribune's' idea is, I 'm 
sure. Perhaps it wants to see how 
far each one will go on a blind trail. 
Well, the farthest any one of the 
twenty-two went was this office. 
They all began here and ended here, 
just as you '11 do. But the joke 's 
ceased to be a joke at this end; and 
if you don't tell your editor so, I 
shall. In fact, I did tell him at the 
eighteenth man ; but this time I '11 
make a warning of it." 

He ceased speaking, probably be- 
cause of the evident circumstance that his audi- 
ence had wilted to the last possible degree. But 
he continued to flap his coat-tails and glare at the 
offending one. And it was here that Larry, es- 
saying speech, discovered to his further humilia- 
tion that his mouth was open. 

"Twenty-three?" he managed to blurt out. 
"Twenty-three!" the superintendent acidly 
agreed. Then suddenly one hand moved itself to 
his vest pocket and came out filled. 

"Have a cigar, boy," he said kindly; "and walk 
a few squares to the park and sit there and com- 
mune with nature until you recover. You seem 
to be harder hit than the others ; anyway, they 
laughed it off. Perhaps you 're not a bluffer ; 
you 're showing that you care. Some men would 
n't like that, but it happens that I do. If you 
really need a position, come to see me in a week ; 
I 'm busy now. And remember this, my boy, 
journalism has no reward except itself." 




Larry did not smoke, had never smoked, in- 
tended never to smoke ; but Larry did not know 
this at that moment. The world was a blank, the 
rosy, smiling, promising world of a few minutes 
ago. So he mechanically took the cigar, choked 
out a "Thank you, sir," and made his exit. In 
the same dazed way he made for the nearest 
park, selected the first bench that impressed itself 
upon him because of its isolation, and dropped 
upon it. 

The colonel's "joke" had doubtless not ap- 
peared as a joke exactly to any of Larry's "illus- 
trious predecessors"; but to Larry it was an ac- 


tual tragedy. "The Tribune" or the medical 
school ! And now it must be the latter. Anyway, 
his failure would bring joy at home; and his dad 
would n't guy him about it, because his dad was 
n't that sort. How he wished that he could see 

He put his elbow upon his knee, dropped his 
disconsolate head into his hand, and fell to sur- 
veying the gravel walk. And presently he became 
aware that he was not the only agitated creature 
in that vicinity ; for the small space encompassed 
by his vision was the scene of great excitement 
to a denizen of another world. Within it, a small 
black ant ran wildly about, stopping ever and 
anon at one spot, only to rush off to another from 
which she would depart in undiminished haste 
after having inspected it from every possible 

"If I did n't know," Larry observed, "that the 
ant's high order of intelligence prohibits insanity 
(according to Messrs. Spencer and Hearn), I 'd 

say that little beast down there had slipped a 
mental cog." 

Just then the "little beast" arrived at a small 
mass of something resembling dried lime, sub- 
jected it to the usual detailed inspection, and then 
began to remove it atom by atom. Apparently 
she believed that the treasure she sought was 
within the mass, and was to be gotten at only by 
the painstaking removal of the outward debris. 
So insignificant was the deposit that no human 
eye would have observed it under ordinary cir- 
cumstances ; but to the small black worker it was 
obviously a mountain of difficulty. All alone 
there she toiled on the path, and how long Larry 
watched her, fascinated, he did not know. Once, 
though, he laughed, shamefacedly enough, to find 
himself sweating in sympathy with her gigantic 

Obviously, too, she expected the approach of 
something, whether hostile or friendly Larry 
could not determine by her actions ; for at fre- 
quent intervals she left the immediate scene of 
her endeavors, reconnoitered carefully in all di- 
rections, and then returned to her task. At last, 
one of these quests was successful. Another 'ant 
approached and was met by the first one ; an ex- 
cited consultation ensued, and the 
pair started off toward the lime, 
the first one hurriedly and the sec- 
ond one slowly and reluctantly. 
The latter inspected the "find," 
another consultation followed, and 
the second insect departed in a 
manner ludicrously resembling 
"flouncing." The first little worker 
followed for some distance, hesi- 
tated, and then returned to her lonely and, as 
Larry believed, scorned and flouted task. 

Finally, after human minutes that were perhaps 
ant years, she reached what she sought — a tiny bit 
of the deposit presenting, to Larry's eyes, no 
point of difference from the discarded debris. 
The excavator evidenced great excitement at her 
success, executing about the "find" what looked 
to Larry strangely like a war-dance. She then 
took firm hold of the treasure, which was three 
times larger than herself, and began a toilsome 
journey toward some unseen and distant Mecca. 
Her method of progress consisted of a sixteenth- 
inch pull, a halt to regain energy, another pull, 
and so on. 

During one of her reconnoitering trips, which 
for some reason she continued, Larry (who was 
now observing for a definite reason) moved her 
burden backward upon the path of its toilsome 
passage. The insect's distress was pathetic. 
Frantically she ran about, seeking the lost ; and, 




finding it, she recommenced its transportation 
with a determination unshaken by the incalculable 
(to her) distance that had been lost. 

Larry whistled in admiration. 

"What a game little brute ! Absolutely can't 
discourage her !" he exclaimed. 

Having thus delivered himself aloud, he became 
aware that his face was hot ; an instant later, he 
realized that he had blushed. 

"Lawrence S. McCleary, would-be news- 
paper man," he said bitterly (yes, he was 
talking to himself), "you take off your hat 
to that ant, and then get up and follow 
her example ! She 's a better man than 
you are any day in the week ! The scrap 
she wanted was under a mountain of de- 
bris ; nobody knew whether it was actu- 
ally there or not. But did she let any 
one come along and rage at her and say, 
'Impossible ! it 's not there ! you can't do 
it! it can't be done!'? She went on the 
supposition not that it could n't be done, 
but that it could. And she hustled and 
kept on hustling even when you threw her 
back ; and she '11 keep right on hustling, 

"And so will you, Lawrence S. Mc- 
Cleary ! You get off this bench and hustle 
on that assignment ! No wonder you 've 
an 'S' in your name ! It ought to stand for 
sluggard, — anybody that can be influenced 
to crawl off and sit down as easily as you 
can before you 've even had a try at it ! 
You can't be a road-maker or a bridge- 
builder, or a timber-cutter, or an agricul- 
turist, or anything else that Spencer says 
the ant is ; but maybe you '11 turn out to 
be a passable reporter, if you keep your 
mind on that ant !" 

"When you 're talkin' to yourself, you 
're keepin' bad company, sonny," drawled 
a voice in close proximity. 

Larry looked around, and then raised 
his cap in respectful salute to the many 
years that had seated themselves beside 

"I believe I was talking to myself," he 
admitted ruefully; "but I don't do it often. I 
was discoursing on ants." 

"Ants?" the new-comer repeated, quite without 
surprise. "Well, ants is wonderful creeters. 
Seems to me they 've always got themselves in 
trainin'. Whyfore do they always be buildin' 
their houses right in people's paths where they 're 
sure to be knocked down every other minnit? 
Why, just to make themselves strong 'gainst set- 
backs ! I 'm a great hand for readin', and I 've 

read how an ant always comes out on top, no mat- 
ter what she 's run up against. They do say she 
can run a tunnel through solid rock. But what 
gets me is she knows all about raisin' mushrooms, 
which is more 'n I do. I tried raisin' 'em in my 
cellar, but I come out at the little end o' the horn ; 
which shows I ain't as much sense as a despised 
little ant." 

Larry had turned, and was surveying: his com- 


panion with frank interest ; for in the last few 
minutes Larry had become a person with one idea 
— if he could but get on a faint scent on that pub- 
lic-school business, just a scent ! Nothing ever 
just "happens"; might n't this chance acquain- 
tance who was "a great hand for reading" be a 
kindly trick of fate? 

"I wonder, sir," he inquired eagerly, "if you 
could n't tell me something about the city's first 
public school ?" 




But the old man unhesitatingly shook his head. 

"I ain't been in these parts but about sixteen 
years," he said. "Come up here to live with my 
daughter. An' I don't remember readin' nothin' 
about that." Then he asked somewhat wistfully, 
"Got any tobacker, sonny? I 'm clean out." 

Larry smiled in spite of his disappointment. 
He withdrew the superintendent's cigar from his 
pocket and proffered it. 

"Will this do?" he asked. 

The old man's eyes glistened as he smelled the 

"I don't often git a cigar, 'specially a good one 
like this," he said. "I 'm mighty sorry I can't tell 
you what you want to know." He looked up at 
Larry regretfully, observed him shrewdly for a 
moment, and then added, with a droll expression : 
"You seem all worked up about it, sonny. Now 
it does appear to me that if a common, underfoot 
ant can tunnel through rock, a likely lad like you 
ought to be able to find out about that school. 
I 'm a mighty old man, sonny, an' I ain't made 
what you 'd call a howlin' success out o' life. An' 
I can look back now an' see how, in tight places, 
I might have got a hunch from some mighty low- 
to-the-ground things if I 'd been a mind to." 

At this bracer Larry arose, and there was de- 
termination in the act. 

"That 's it exactly, — just what I was telling 
myself when you came along," he agreed. 

' He raised his cap in farewell, and started off 
in a hurry. 

"Sonny, come back! I just thought o' some- 
thin' !" the old man shouted. And Larry promptly 
retraced his steps. 

"I beat up my mind, 'count o' you givin' me 
this cigar," the old man commenced excitedly, 
"an' I remember readin' sometime in somethin' 
or other that somethin' called The Old Settlers' 
'Sociation had been broke' up ; an' somebody was 
give' a medal testifyin' that he was the oldest 
livin' man born in this city. I took notice because 
he was older 'n me. Now, if you could find one 
o' them old settlers, sonny !" 

Larry gripped the gnarled old hand hard and 
shook it. "Thank you! I 'm off!" he exclaimed. 

Twenty minutes later, Larry was seated at a 
table in the public library, rapidly scanning and 
turning the leaves of the most recent edition of 
The Daily News Almanac. 

"Not there !" he murmured, when the last page 
had been thus scanned. He sat back for a mo- 
ment, his face tense and pale. "I '11 have to get 
the back numbers," he thought ; "and that '11 take 
time, time, endless, precious time ! I never real- 
ized before what an important thing time is, not 
even on field-days !" 

After he had assured himself many times over 
that the attendant was in reality a snail though 
she looked like a human, he found himself in pos- 
session of twelve red-bound volumes. Minute 
after minute he bent over this unaccustomed task, 
feverish with excitement one moment, cold with 
discouragement the next. A dozen times he 
caught himself thinking, "All this trouble for 
nothing ! Did n't Van Deusen and twenty-two 
others tell you that you could n't do it? Get on 
the next train, and go home and forget it." But 
he answered himself with the admonition : "Keep 
your mind on the ant, sluggard,— keep your mind 
on the ant, and move the debris ! What you want 
is here somewhere, even if you can't see it !" 

In the middle of the volume of the twelfth 
year back, he suddenly stooped closer. There be- 
fore him, inconspicuously yet unmistakably there, 
was a notice of a meeting of The Old Settlers' 
Association, and it included the name of the sec- 
retary ! Larry copied it with a shaking hand, 
and with all possible speed made for the outside 
and a directory. By all the laws of nature and 
habit, he should have been hungry ; but the 
thought of food never entered his mind. 

"Pierre Dubreuil ! What great luck that it 
was n't William Jones and a needle in a hay- 
stack !" he congratulated himself. 

But the directory blandly declined to produce 
a Pierre Dubreuil. It surrendered only one Du- 
breuil— Alonzo; and according to its testimony, 
this gentleman conducted a detective agency in 
a neighborhood necessitating a fifteen-minutes' 
ride ! Only that one chance, and that the slim- 
mest kind of a one ! Larry stifled a groan as he 
faced this fact. Then he boosted himself with 
the reminder, "It might be a whole lot worse, 
sluggard ! This Dubreuil 's a detective, and will 
know everybody in the city." 

Alonzo Dubreuil, Esq., weighed all of two hun- 
dred pounds, and evidently had n't a minute to 
spare in the businesslike-looking office at which 
Larry arrived in due time. 

Mr. Pierre Dubreuil? No, he was not a rela- 
tive. In fact, Alonzo had never heard of Pierre. 
Wait a minute, though. If memory served him 
correctly, there had been a Dubreuil on the po- 
lice force, whether Larry's quarry or not he could 
not say. And unless he was mistaken, this Du- 
breuil had been retired about, well, say seven 
years before. A moment's further cudgeling of 
memory produced the belief that Policeman Du- 
breuil had lived on Eastern Avenue ; but about 
this fact Alonzo was by no means certain. 

"You 're just moving the debris, Larry," re- 
marked the fagged-looking youth who boarded 
a car marked Eastern Avenue ; at which mut- 




tering the conductor not unnaturally observed 
him with speculation in his eye. For many weary 
minutes, Eastern Avenue's stores and drug-stores 
yielded up no information of a Dubreuil of any 

he so informed himself as a clanging gong an- 
nounced his entrance. 

Mr. Dubreuil? Yes, indeed! She (the pro- 
prietress) and he had "lived neighbors" for two 

> \v i \ i : \v rii 


name or calling whatsoever. And Larry halted 
at last in front of a small notion-store and looked 
with unjust animosity at its creditable display of 
gingham aprons and sweeping-caps. 

"I 'm on a fool's errand, just as Van Deusen 
said. But I '11 quit here. This is my last try !" 

years, otherwise she would not have known of 
his existence ; he was a very quiet man, and never 
talked about himself or his business. But he had 
moved away three years before, and she did not 
know his address. Was his name "Pierre"? 
Alas, she did not know ; she had never heard. 




"What do I want now, I wonder?" Larry, out- 
side, interrogated himself. "For a good guess, 
I '11 say an expressman." 

Back into the little shop he went, and elicited 
the cheering information that the nearest ex- 
pressman was "down street one block and to the 
right one block." Where the expressman was 
concerned, fortune smiled upon Larry at last. 
He had indeed moved Policeman Dubreuil's folks. 
No, he did n't know his first name, but he could 
get his address from his old books. When forth- 
coming, the new address proved to be within 
walking distance ; but Larry's knees and empty 
stomach and excitement forbade walking. 

"I almost wish I 'd never seen an ant," he in- 
formed the atmosphere, as he impatiently waited 
for his car. "It 's a plain case of ignorance be- 
ing bliss. If there 'd been anything in what I 'm 
doing, would n't some other fellow have done it 
long ago?" 

The woman who opened the door to him at the 
given address shook her head. Mr. Dubreuil had 
not lived there for a year. No, she did not know 
either his first name or his present address ; she 
could not even say that he was still living, as he 
was very old, and had been ill. The door closed 
unceremoniously upon a very dejected youth. 

"Now, I wonder what that ant would do in the 
face of this set-back?" Larry inquired of himself. 
"Dubreuil may not be living; if he is living, he 
may not be Pierre; if he is Pierre, he may not 
know a blessed thing about the first public school. 
Well, the ant would just hang on like grim 
death," he answered himself. "I 'm wound up 
now, and could n't stop if I wanted to. Now the 
woman said Dubreuil had been ill; therefore me 
for the nearest drug-store !" 

Larry had guessed— or, rather, reasoned— 
correctly. The clerk remembered having filled 
the Dubreuil prescriptions, which had been nu- 
merous. The files yielded the name of the at- 
tending physician, and the 'phone yielded the 
information that the said doctor was out; he 
would be in in ten minutes, however, as he had 
an office appointment, and the patient was wait- 
ing even then. Then for an eternity of suspense, 
Larry sat still and champed the bit. When he again 
took down the receiver, his hand was icy cold. 

Yes, the doctor would certainly give him Mr. 
Dubreuil's present address. But who required it ? 
Ah, a representative of "The Tribune"? Just a 
moment. The address came across the wire 
clearly ; and then Larry, his heart in his throat, 

"Is Mr. Dubreuil's name 'Pierre'?" 

"Pierre, certainly," was the crisp retort; and 
Larry actually fell away from the 'phone. 

Twenty minutes later, a rosy-cheeked matron 
was proudly informing a trembling representative 
of the press (for Larry so considered himself) 
that her father had indeed been secretary of The 
Old Settlers' Association. When it had dis- 
banded, he had been given a medal testifying 
that he was the oldest living man who had been 
born in the city. 

Then Larry braced himself; for the answer to 
his next question meant either glorious success 
or crushing defeat, — meant, he believed, journal- 
ism or the medical school. Did— did she suppose 
her father could know anything about the city's 
first public school ? The matron laughed. 

"I think," she said, "that he could tell you even 
the exact number of nails it took to build that 
school. It is the subject nearest his heart, his 
dearest memory of the old days." He could be 
found at the Walnut Street Police Station, doubt- 

Larry could never give a clear account of the 
next few minutes. He always maintained that 
he neither rode nor walked to that police station ; 
he floated. He must have entered in a conven- 
tional manner, however, for his advent excited 
no commotion whatsoever. He still could not 
grasp the fact of a success in the face of the 
seemingly impossible, success for him where 
twenty-two others had failed ! 

In such a mental and physical condition was he 
that he was again surprised at the normal sound 
of his voice when he inquired for Mr. Dubreuil. 
He was directed to the sergeant's desk; and when 
he beheld the manner of man who was occupying 
the chair, the cap he had removed was crammed 
into his pocket, instinctive homage to a well-spent 
life. That Pierre Dubreuil's years were many, 
he of course knew; that these years were all on 
the credit side of his life's account was proved 
by the compact strength of the proudly erect 
frame, the ruddy glow beneath the dark skin, the 
clearness of the keen but kindly dark eyes. 

Would Mr. Dubreuil perhaps talk to a repre- 
sentative of "The Tribune" about the city's first 
public school ? Would he ! His sparkling eyes 
attested to the pleasure it would be to so talk. 
Just wait until he had had a chair brought. And 
when the chair had been brought, he did not talk, 
he discoursed, glowing with pleasure at his own 
performance. He told exactly where the school 
had been ; he gave unhesitatingly the names of the 
teacher and all his fellow pupils — alas, that he 
should be the sole survivor of that little band ! 
With all sorts of quaint touches — for he was of 
French-Indian descent— he described the primi- 
tive furniture that had been made from packing- 
cases, etc. He agreed, with obvious pride, to the 




publication of his photograph, and one of The 
Old Settlers' medal, and of his children and 
grandchildren. And if the young man would 
come out to his house that evening, he could give 
him more details and some old daguerreotypes. 

Surely no cub reporter ever had so satisfactory 
a subject. And when Larry was at last ready for 
departure, he was outfitted with notes that were 
complete in themselves, and with a sketch of the 
school-house which he had made under Dubreuil's 
direction. With the old settler's 
eloquence thus verbatim, Larry 
had no misgivings as to the cred- 
itable writing of his story. 

Outside the station, he con- 
sulted his watch. Four forty-five ! 
One last favor this disciple of 
an ant now prayed. It was that 
Colonel Larrabee would be at 
"The Tribune" office when he ar- 
rived. And it was granted him. 
Colonel Larrabee was still there, 
and he would see Mr. McCleary. 

The colonel had turned his 
chair until he faced the door 
when Larry entered, and his 
expression indicated that his 
thoughts were highly amusing. 
But somehow the twinkle in his 
eyes became less evident after a 
second's inspection of "The Trib- 
une's" latest aspirant. For the 
expected air of dejection and in- 
jury was not apparent about this 
cub. He looked fagged, but he 
bore himself very erectly, and 
there was a refreshing briskness 
about him ; and in his frank eyes 
there was — yes — a twinkle that out-twinkled the 
colonel's own twinkle. But his tone was quietly 
respectful, with no faintest tinge of anything else. 

"I just wanted to ask you, sir," he said, "how 
much you require about the city's first public 
school? I have all the details and a sketch of 
the school, and have arranged for a number of 

"What 's that, McCleary? You say you have 
that story? Impossible!" The colonel's tone was 

The triumphant cub handed him the sketch and 
his notes. The colonel looked at them, looked 
at them again, and then looked at Larry. 

"Tell me — all," he said simply. 

And Larry told him — all except the ant's part 
in his success. At the end, the colonel lay back 
and laughed until he was almost beyond the 
power of articulation. 
Vol. XLI.-16. 

"McCleary," he said, "you 've blown up 'The 
Tribune's' stock decoy, and made me a lot of 
trouble. I invented it myself years ago, and it 
has never failed. I '11 never find another like 

He held out his hand and smiled; and it was a 
very human, very winning, smile. 

"You 're hired, my boy," he said ; "and at eigh- 
teen per. That 's an unheard-of salary for a cub 
on 'The Tribune'; the few that we 've had have 


never started on over ten, and most were glad to 
start on nothing. But I 'm going to take you 
under my personal charge ; I have plans for you. 
By the way, McCleary, how badly do you need 
this job? Be frank. What made you hang on 
after that wet blanket Van Deusen handed you ? 
He 'phoned me how near he came to punching 
your head, and made dire threats into the bar- 
gain. But you look hungry, my boy ; is it econ- 
omy or enthusiasm ?" 

Larry looked startled, and then suddenly 
blurted out : 

"Why, I have n't had anything to eat since 
supper last night ! Was too excited to eat break- 
fast. Drank a cup of coffee, thinking I 'd have 
some breakfast after I saw you, sir. I believe- 
in fact, I must be hungry. As to how badly I 
need the job — well, just let me explain, sir." 

When the tale had been told, the colonel 



walked over and laid his hand on his new re- 
porter's shoulder. 

"We '11 make it twenty per," he said quietly. 
"You 're the kind we want. You 've proved it. 
And — " he exploded with mirth again — "we 'II 
send a copy of your 'special' to Van Deusen by a 
special messenger, as a peace-offering and prom- 
ise of future immunity from annoyance. I 'm 
going to let you sign it, too." 

Larry sent a telegram that night — "On Trib- 
une ; home Monday." 

But there was nothing of his achievement in 
his air when, having arrived by the earliest train, 
he walked up the path with a bundle of pa- 
pers under his arm. There were two reasons for 
this. One was the sobering thought of what his 
success would mean to his father; the other had 
developed on his homeward journey. He had 
been reviewing his experiences a bit compla- 
cently, it must be confessed, when he suddenly 
brought his fist down upon his knee. "You 
chump !" he exclaimed under his breath. "Will 
you tell me where your wits were, that, when 
you found Dubreuil was a policeman, you did n't 
go straight to the police department to find him 
instead of chasing yourself all over town?" It 
was a wholesomely humiliating and steadying re- 

As soon as Larry's foot struck the porch, Dr. 
McCleary himself threw open the screen-door. 
They clasped hands without a word, and then, 
arm in arm, went to the library. Larry spread 
open "The Tribune" and pointed out to the doctor 
his double page, illustrated, signed "special." 
And the doctor read every word of it, and looked 
at the pictures from every point of view. When 
he turned to Larry, his eyes were bright. 

"I 'm proud of you, son," he said. 

"But thereby hangs a tale, Dad," Larry replied 
eagerly. And he told him as he had told the 
colonel. But he told his father what he had not 
told his editor, that is, how he might have done it 
better, and about the ant ; about how the little 
insect's indomitable faith and energy and pluck 
had been his shame and his inspiration. 

"But, Father," he ended (and again the doctor 
looked startled at the unfamiliar title), "now 
that I 've got what I wanted, 
I find that I can't keep it. I 
love it with all my heart. 
But since I 've been away 
under such circumstances, I 
find that I must love you 
with a whole lot more than 
my heart. So I 'm going to 
explain to the colonel, and 
resign at the end of my first 

week. Maybe when I 've taken my degree, he '11 
let me write an occasional article, and that '11 

It was because of Dr. McCleary's emotion that 
he choked twice before he spoke; and that, when 
speech did come, it came in the terse slang of 
the times. 

"Forget it !" he blurted out. "Why, you 've 
proved your case beyond all doubt ; proved it 
beyond any point I expected of you ! And, son, 
that little ant has averted a double tragedy in the 
McCleary household. I 'm an old man, son, and 
have seen much of life, and to me a human being 
in the wrong place is a tragedy. I was so upset 
by the turn things had taken that I telegraphed 
your brother Ted (could n't wait to write) : 
'Would you like to be a doctor?' The scamp tele- 
graphed back : 'Hurrah ! Homeward bound !' 

"He came home on the next train, galloped up 
the street, and actually wept on my shoulder. If 
we are to believe him — and I certainly do — he 
was born with the desire to study medicine. Kept 
it to himself, because the honor was destined for 
you. When your telegram came, he almost col- 
lapsed before my eyes. Certainly, I am a rich 
man in my two fine sons, a doctor, and, I believe, 
an eventual editor, both the sort that the country 

"Why, Dad !" Larry exclaimed. "I 'd have 
seen it if I had n't been blind ! I 've thrown Ted 
out from among your books time without num- 
ber. Could n't think what a coming lawyer 
wanted to be reading medicine for. Why, Dad—" 
he faltered and grew white under his tan. He 
realized suddenly that all of them had been under 
a mighty tension. His father saw. 

"Ted 's across the hall," he said. 

Ted was, indeed, across the hall, sitting joy- 
fully in the midst of the medical-school literature 
that had struck such despair to the heart of an 
aspiring journalist. And his freckled face be- 
came engulfed by a grin when Larry entered. 

He waved a pamphlet hilariously. 

"Hello, reporter!" he greeted condescendingly. 
"What can I do for you to-day?" 

"Hello, Dr. McCleary !" he was answered 
promptly, whereupon he threw back his shoulders 
and snorted with pride. At 
the end of this demonstra- 
tion, his brother continued: 
"I just came in to tell you 
that, in the light of recent 
events, the proper thing for 
you to do the next time you 
meet an ant in the garden, is 
to side-step and take your 
cap off to it." 

Little Kirsten is weary. 

She has made the pewter bright, 
She has left the bread well-kneaded, 

And molded the candles white, 
And buttered the house-elf's porridge, 

As she does for him every night. 

'Little Kirsten is sleeping," 

Whispered her brothers three; 

: 'But to-morrow brings her birthday, 
And birthday gifts have we: 

Here on the sill we '11 lay them 
For her waking eyes to see." 

P A O S ' 








Then down he dropped on the hearthstone, 

For a tired troll was he. 
'Now," he cried, "for my payment ! 
"Ho-ho!" he cried, "for my fee,— 
The bowl of well-buttered porridge 

Nightly she sets for me. 

'But what is this ?" he muttered ; 

"What pay is this for a troll? 
She has left it all unbuttered, 
Her grudgingly given dole ; 
No task I shirk, no honest work, 
And I win a butterless bowl !" 

Then his small brown face grew twisted 

With a malice ill to see ; 
'Evil for evil." he whispered, 
"Gift for a gift," quoth he. 
'Here by the open casement 

What mischief waits for me?" 

Flash ! 'T is a golden florin — 
Into the dark it flies ! 

Plash ! T is a florin of silver- 
Lost in a pool it lies ! 

'And now to shatter the spindle !" 
With naughty s'lee he cries. 



"But first I '11 swallow my porridge — 

Hungry I am, and cold." 
He seized the bowl, he drained it, 

And deep in the dish, behold 
A wonderful lump of butter. 

Sweet butter, yellow as gold ! 

Loud laughed the little old hillman. 
"By my cap of elfin red, 
Now, by my cap, 't was a lucky hap 
That I stopped in time !" he said; 
"That I meddled not with the spindle, 
But stole the gold instead ! 

"For gold I can fetch in plenty. 

And silver from my till ; 
But where should I find her a spindle 

Fashioned with patient skill. 
All carven fair with a loving care, 

In caverns under the hill ?" 

Little Kirsten lies sleeping, 

And dawn is in the skies. 
And see where, bright in the morning light, 

Her birthday treasure lies: 
Silver, and gold, — and a carven rose. 

To gladden her waking eyes ! 



Shut your eyes and dream of the most beautiful 
southern home you can imagine. Because in such 
a house, called "The Beeches," in Pewee Valley, 
Kentucky, lives Mrs. Annie Fellows Johnston, the 
author of "Miss Santa Claus of the Pullman," 
"The Little Colonel" stories, "Mary Ware," and 
other books you know equally well. 

Mrs. Johnston has not always lived in Ken- 
tucky. She was born in Evansville, Indiana, and 
spent her childhood and girlhood eight miles out 
from there, in another big house, white, with 
green shutters, built on her grandfather's place 
and facing Cherry Lane. 

Those were the days when she used to read St. 
Nicholas to tatters, and afterward go to bed 
early just to plan having a story of her own pub- 
lished in it sometime. Of course she never con- 
fided this ambition to any one then, except to her 
mother and two sisters. To the ten boy and girl 
cousins living in the same neighborhood the idea 
would have appeared preposterous. They under- 
stood that Annie intended to write books, but that 
she should actually expect to have one printed in 
St. Nicholas would have been too much ! Yet 
the subscribers to this magazine know how de- 
lightfully one girl's dream has been fulfilled. 

It really does not seem exactly fair that fate 
should oblige so many of us to be city children. 
For have you not often noticed, in reading of 
famous men and women, that the large majority 
of them have spent their youth in the country? 

Why, it would almost seem as though Annie 
Fellows Johnston was preordained from the first 
for this business of writing delightful books for 
girls. She had exactly the right background and 
training; she learned precisely the things that a 
girl ought to know ; and she had such ideal home 
duties and amusements. 

In the first place, she had the inspiration and 
the aid of a wonderful mother, whose name be- 
fore her marriage was Mary Erskine. In those 
pioneer days in rural Indiana, education was not 
so easy to obtain as it is now. But when Mary 
was only eighteen, she inspired her brothers and 
a boy cousin with a determination to go to col- 
lege. In due time she convinced their parents 
that she was capable of leading such an expedi- 
tion, and with various household comforts, such 
as feather-beds and a cow, thev started on their 

long, slow journey. Part of it was by canal-boat. 
As the college did not admit women in those early 
days, she attended the adjoining seminary, keep- 
ing pace with the boys, for whom she was a capa- 

ble home-maker. For they kept house together in 
the most satisfactory and ideal way. 

With such a mother, it is small wonder that 
Mrs. Johnston has had the talent and character 
for making the best of her opportunities. 

Can you picture a small, brown-eyed, brown- 
haired girl perched up in a cherry-tree? For if 
you can, you have formed a pretty good image of 
your favorite author. Mrs. Johnston has not 
changed half so much as other persons do in 
growing up. She is still small enough to be a 
girl (shop people would be sure to offer her 





"misses' size," should she ever attempt to pur- 
chase ready-made clothes), and the brownness of 
her eyes remains so unusual that you have a 
fashion of remembering their color and the hu- 
morous light behind their outward seriousness 
long after she has gone away. 

The cherry-tree was Annie Fellows' library, 
her study, her palace of dreams, and, at certain 
times of the summer, her refreshment room. In 
it she used to learn to parse Milton, to be recited 
later at the country school-house, and to memorize 
bits of literature from the old McGuffey readers. 
For it was a piece of rare good fortune for a 
girl, who was afterward to become a writer her- 
self, that in her part of the State of Indiana, 
the precept "Thou shalt not speak ungram- 
matically," was almost as sacred as one of the 

In almost all cases, it is true that the makers of 
books have been great readers. Yet think upon 
what different literature from that of the modern 
girl the author of "The Little Colonel" was 
brought up ! She had the theological library of 

IK:! " iSl 


her father, a Methodist minister (who had died 
when she was a child of two). It included 
"Pilgrim's Progress," but also such works as 
Fox's "Book of Martyrs," and others even more 
depressing. The lighter literature was bought, bor- 

rowed, or smuggled in from the neighbors; "The 
Wide, Wide World," "St. Elmo," Andersen's 
Fairy Tales, and the Godey's Lady's Book of the 
early seventies, the one magazine of fashion and 
fiction that seemed to be found in every house- 
hold of that day. 

Mrs. Johnston says that in her home and in her 
part of the country the word "duty" was spelled 
with a big "D." Yet she had a privilege which, 
you will agree with m&, was most unusual, and 
rather dangerous to mention in St. Nicholas : 
no member of her family was ever obliged to lay 
down a story until it was finished— lessons and 
tasks could be postponed, meal-times and even 
bedtime ignored. 

So, you see, one grown-up person understood 
just how girls and boys feel when they are so 
possessed by a story that it is almost impossible 
to put it aside before its conclusion and come 
back to this workaday world. 

Yet, from Mrs. Johnston's own description, it 
sounds as though the workaday world used to be 
a pleasanter place than it is at present. 

"Mine was a happy childhood," she declares, 
"for my wise mother thought a girl should know 
everything that goes toward the making of a com- 
fortable home." So being literary did not excuse 
little Annie from having a hand in all the old- 
fashioned country industries, learning to make 
preserves, patchwork, and pickles, even to "bread 
and buttonholes," that Rose complained of in 
"Eight Cousins." 

Still, business and pleasure seemed to make a 
closer combination when people used to go to old- 
fashioned quilting-bees and apple-paring parties, 
and had singing schools, and literary societies, 
and oratorical debates with the neighbors for au- 

There were no moving-picture shows, no mati- 
nees, and no soda-water fountains ; there was not 
even a cross-roads store where one could buy 
peppermint candy, in the neighborhood where 
Annie Fellows lived as a little girl. Yet she her- 
self declares that she never missed these delights 
because she never knew them. "We had instead 
the panorama of the seasons, sorghum-making 
time, when the boiling molasses made all outdoors 
smell like a delicious world-wide candy-pull ; 
cider-making time, when the piles of red, golden, 
and russet apples poured into the hopper of the 
mill and, as if by some magic, came out a beauti- 
ful amber liquid. Then there were the hay-harvest, 
with the rides home on top of the gigantic loads, 
nutting, and coasting, and sleighing." One be- 
comes quite breathless with the thought of all 
these delightful, old-time pleasures that compara- 
tively few girls have the chance to enjoy to-day. 





And yet in learning of such a girlhood, it grows 
quite easy to understand why Mrs. Johnston has 
become the most popular modern writer of girls' 
books in the United States. Has any one else 
ever known how to make young people have such 
good times, how to give such delightful house- 
parties, and how to make things turn out in just 
the way that her young readers wish? 

There was a little girl living not far from the 
present home of Mrs. Johnston who came, one 
day, from a visit to her mother's intimate friend, 
wearing a very aggrieved expression. "Mother," 
she demanded, "why did Mrs. Hewitt say that 
she hoped my grandmother's mantelpiece might 
fall upon me?" It was not the mantelpiece but 
the mantle of the distinguished woman that the 
friend had desired to descend like a fairy god- 
mother's cloak upon the little granddaughter's 
shoulders. So has it never occurred to you that 
perhaps the "mantle" of Louisa M. Alcott has 
fallen upon Annie Fellows Johnston ? Of course 
the two authors are unlike in many ways, but they 
both seem to have had the same healthy, old- 
fashioned home-training; they both seem to have 
written about girls and a kind of living that was 
real and not make-believe, and they both have 
succeeded in attaining the first place among their 
readers. Miss Alcott belonged to those of us who 
were young twenty years ago ; Mrs. Johnston be- 
longs to those of us who are young now. 

And yet neither of these two authors started 
out with any idea of finally writing girls' books. 

Mrs. Johnston declares that, as she was born 
Vol. X I.I -17. 

in Indiana, it was her birthright to expect some 
day to write "the great American novel." And 
that making her debut as an author in a story for 
children called "Big Brother," was like firing 
away with your eyes shut and then being surprised 
to find out that you had hit a mark. So, too, 
Louisa M. Alcott, having spent most of her life 
in Concord, Massachusetts, with famous friends, 
also conceived of herself at the beginning of her 
career as a future novelist for gro.wn-ups. 

But, living always in the same neighborhood, 
Miss Alcott felt obliged to write chiefly of the 
little New England corner of the world which 
she knew so well and intimately ; while Mrs. 
Johnston, having traveled half over the world, 
has been able to take her heroines and heroes 
along with her. One of the best of all her stories, 
"The Giant Scissors," owed its inspiration to her 
stay in the old walled town of Saint-Symphorien, 
in France. 

A friend tells of a Christmas luncheon at "The 
Beeches" when the maid brought on, with the 
dessert, pecan-nuts from Texas and lichee-nuts 
from China, apples from Oregon, sweetmeats 
from Japan and Germany, maple-sugar from the 
Catskill Mountains — all gifts sent by friends who 
truly cared for the writer of the best girls' books. 

Although known as a southern author, Annie 
Fellows came to live in the South only after her 
marriage to her second cousin, Mr. Will Johnston. 
It was perhaps this "cousinness" that made the 
three children of her husband's first wife her de- 
voted friends from the beginning. But it was 



probably her "understandingness" of girls and 
boys, which we appreciate from her stories, that 
made the word "stepmother" never even thought 
of in her family. 

John was the youngest child and the only son. 
To him is dedicated "The Quilt that Jack Built," 
for he was "The Boy Who Made All Boyhood 
Dear to Me." And to him also is dedicated "The 
Jester's Sword," for it was his brave and daunt- 
less spirit through years of illness which sug- 
gested the allegory. It was in quest of health for 
him that Mrs. Johnston went to the Arizona desert. 
They lived there awhile in tents, then went to the 
hills of Texas, where they made a home on their 
place called "Penacres," until his death, three 
years ago. 

The oldest daughter, Mary, is the artist who 
designed and painted the dolls and costumes for 
"The Little Colonel's Paper Doll Book," and who 
made some of the illustrations for "Ole Mammy's 

In one of our photographs of Mrs. Johnston, 
she appears to be holding an ordinary home- 
grown kitten ; but she is in reality clasping the 
tiny wildcat known as Matilda in "Mary Ware 
in Texas." Among other choice members of the 
family at "Penacres" were "Joseph," the wolf,— 
whose chief delight was eating watermelon,— a 
number of foxes, badgers, chaparral-cocks, and 
at one time two mountain-lions. For in the years 
in Texas, John had a veritable zoo. 

So, you see, Mrs. Johnston has lived a full and 
varied life. And always she has seemed to care 
most about people and places. 

In her books she has created a world that holds 
all girl ideals. Lloyd is not just "The Little Colo- 
nel"; she is the type of a beautiful, high-spirited, 
generous character toward which thousands of 
other girls aspire. Mary Ware is n't the one 
plain, clever maiden who wins by wit and a good 
heart; she is the representative of many others 
like her. 

Into the weaving of her plots Annie Fel- 
lows Johnston brings beautiful old legends, 
poems, and allegories of her own creation, which 
her readers will remember for long years. 
From the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific, how 
many girls belong to "The Little Colonel's Order 

of Hildegarde" ! And quite as many are now 
stringing a rosary of pearls, each pearl to mark 
some duty done, because of the example of 
Edryn, the little page who became a knight of 
King Arthur's Round Table. 

For the really worth-while books must not only 
amuse us; they must give us something to think 
about, and something to help us. We know that 
Mrs. Johnston can make us laugh and cry almost 
in the same minute ; and that she teaches us to 
dream big dreams, and then to do the littlest task 
in the cheerfulest spirit. 

Of course most of her characters are imagi- 
nary; they only seem real because she makes 
them so. The places in her stories that are real 
have had many pilgrimages made to them— "The 
Locusts," Lloyd's grandfather's home ; "The 
Beeches," now Mrs. Johnston's own place; "Clo- 
vercroft," and "The Haunted House of Hartwell 

If long ago this most popular of young people's 
writers had not confessed that she found more 
rewards in writing books for girls and boys than 
for an older audience, the readers of St. Nicho- 
las could very easily have convinced her. But 
Mrs. Johnston needs no such conviction. Years 
ago, she declared that she would rather stick to 
her present friends than turn to any others. 

Mrs. Johnston probably receives more letters 
from appreciative readers than any other author 
in the United States. And the letters come from 
other countries as well as this, since some of her 
stories have been translated into foreign lan- 
guages. Sometimes there are as many as twenty 
or thirty missives in one mail from unknown 
friends who have learned to care for her through 
her books. 

In one of "The Little Colonel" tales, Annie Fel- 
lows Johnston retells the beautiful story of Rob- 
ert Louis Stevenson, — how the Indian chiefs in 
a far-off Samoan island built with their own 
hands a road in honor of their friend, the white 
chief, whom they had named "Tusitala," the Teller 
of Tales. And this road was called "The Road of 
Loving Hearts." One wonders if Mrs. Johnston 
knows that her ardent young readers have been 
building just such a road for her; only its foun- 
dations are laid in the loving hearts of children. 

®gotljSattte"$lj0 0lcl ^ercplana clean 
$nft tlje^uto titljomesljtitl remain, item 
^ortljelkin,ti$ jjou ktiutu. 

Ho, for the ancient hostelry, 

Whose generous doors swing wide and free ! 

Whose guests, when the first snow crystals fall, 

Gather within its spacious hall 

From north and from south, and from west to east, 

Big folks down to the very least, 

Thronging, far as the eye can see, 

To lodge at The Sign of the Christmas Tree. 

The guests are known by their curious wiles, 
Mysterious nods, and becks, and smiles; 
There are secrets flying about by scores, 
Smothered laughs behind fast-closed doors ; 
There 's a noise of hammers, and tink of bells. 
And whispered "Hushes," and soft "Don't tells." 
Oh, a wonderful place for mystery 
Is the ancient Inn of the Christmas Tree ! 

There guests sit apart, and stitch and sew 
On woven linen as white as snow ; 
Flowers bloom bright on silken fields, 
And fresh surprises each moment yields. 
And the room where they sit is like a dream, 
Where scarlet berries of holly gleam ; 




And over the lintel, in gold, is wrought 
Its beautiful name of "Loving Thought." 

And Peggy, and Polly, and Pete, and Prue, 
With a dear little girl that looks like you, 
A red-haired lass, and a blue-eyed lad, 
Grandmother dear, and Mother, and Dad, 
And hundreds of others all over the land, 
Are working away with heart and hand, 
Snipping and clipping, where none may see, 
At the Merry Sign of the Christmas Tree. 

But oh, dear people who long have been 

Guests 'neath the roof of this pleasant inn, 

Bethink, there are those who do not belong 

To the work and fun, to the cheer and song ! 

Empty-handed and wistful-eyed, 

They are out in the cold this Christmas-tide. 

Tie up your parcels with ribbon gay ; 

Sprig them with green in the good old way; 

Then, from your riches, where need is seen 

Fill up the lives that are bare and lean. 

So shall a gracious blessing be 

Called down on The Sign of the Christmas Tree ! 




Author of " The Junior Cup," " Pelham and His Friend Tim," etc. 

Chapter III 


"Why does n't one of you say something?" de- 
manded Harriet, impatiently. 

Reaching home before the dinner-hour, she had 
told her story to all the family. As she dwelt on 
its details, her enthusiasm mounted. She de- 
scribed the sound of the fall, the boy's cry, his 
injury, Nate's helpfulness. Two things, indeed, 
she did suppress: her own important actions and 
the wallet. But she expected some comment at 
the end, some praise perhaps, but certainly much 
wonderment. Instead, the others all looked at 
each other, and let her finish in silence. 

"What is wrong with you ?" cried Harriet. 

Pelham leaned toward her. "Harriet, you 've 
told your story. Now will you listen to ours?" 

She stared at him in surprise. He turned to 
Brian. "Will you tell it, or shall I ?" 

"I suppose it 's got to be told," answered 
Brian. "You tell it." 

Harriet listened while Pelham told the story of 
his own adventure. She had come back from 
Nate's with a warm sympathy for the unlucky 
boy, but at Pelham's description of the lad whom 
he and Brian had met, she slowly grew cold with 
dismay. It was surely the same boy. Then the 
wallet ! 

Bob, her oldest brother, nodded cheerfully. 
"He got pretty well come up with, the young 

In spite of her dismay, Harriet started indig- 
nantly. There rose before her eyes the face of 
the stranger, strangely appealing in its half wild- 
ness. "Oh !" she cried, "he 's not a criminal !" 

Bob smiled at her as older brothers do. "Then 
what about Brian's money?" 

Doubt crept over her. After all, the others 
must be right. Tears started to her eyes. 

Her mother drew her down beside her on the 
window-seat. "Sometimes, dear," she said, "we 
have to believe such things." 

Harriet's face burned. Within her skirt she 
felt an unaccustomed lump which she recognized 
as the wallet. What was she to do? 

Brian cleared his throat. "I think, Uncle Rob- 
ert," he began, "that I — that we— That is, I 
think the wallet had better be forgotten. I came 
upon the boy suddenly. He may not have real- 
ized that the wallet — that I was asking him to 

give it to me. It was my fault. I 'd just like to 
drop the whole matter." 

"But we can get it from him now," said Mr. 

Harriet had clutched at her dress. Ought she 
to give the wallet up? 

Brian spoke again, still hesitatingly. "I — I 'd 
like to have nothing said about it. Perhaps the 
boy was poor." 

Mr. Dodd smiled. "That gives him no claim 
to your money." 

"I feel," Brian explained, "as if I somehow 
had something to do with this accident of his. 
As if he thought we were still following him, and 
so slipped and fell. I 'd like to make him a pres- 
ent of the money." 

Mr. Dodd considered. "Well," he said pres- 
ently, "he can't get away from us. When I tele- 
phoned the doctor just now, he said that among 
other injuries the lad seems to have a sprained 
ankle. He must stay here for a while, then. If 
he 's treated well, it may be that his conscience 
will work." 

"You know, sir," still persisted Brian, "some 
fellows think they may keep anything they find." 

"Well," said Mr. Dodd, "for the present I will 
say nothing to him about it. But in the mean- 
time—" He drew out his own pocket-book and 
took from it a five-dollar bill. 

Brian flushed scarlet. "Oh, no, sir !" 

"Nonsense," said his uncle. "Brian, I want 
you to take it. Five dollars is a whole month's 
allowance. Besides, I feel responsible for the 
loss, in a way." 

Harriet's heart had been warming toward 
Brian. His forgiveness pleased her, especially 
when it enabled her to think better of the 
stranger. Brian's willingness to lose the money 
seemed very generous. Further, although she 
knew that when a boy objects to receiving money 
from an older relative he is seldom really un- 
willing, she now saw Brian, red to the ears, take 
the money with genuine reluctance. She nodded 
her approval. 

Bob, who had subsided into a newspaper, now 
came suddenly out of it. "Are you people 
through with this question of ethics, so that I 
may throw some more light on this matter?" i' 

"Go ahead," said his father. 

"Have you considered," inquired Bob, ' "how 
this young highwayman— excuse me, Harriet, 



this knight-errant— happens to be traveling 
across wild country in this casual manner?" 

They all looked at each other. None of them 
had yet thought of this. Bob took up his paper 
again. "Listen," he said. "This is to-day's pa- 
per, and I find an account of what happened 
yesterday on the railroad about ten miles north 
of us, on the stretch between Winton and Farn- 
ham." He began to read from the newspaper. 

"Boy disappears from train, and is not recovered. — 
Yesterday afternoon disappeared from train number 12, 
on the Worcester and North Adams branch of the B. & 
M. R. R., between Winton and Farnham, a boy of fif- 
teen years. He was traveling with an older brother, 
W. L. Wilson, a New York business man, who was 
greatly agitated at the disappearance. It seems that on 
the long stretch between these towns, the older brother 
was playing whist in the smoking-car, when the boy, 
complaining of the air, got permission to go to the next 
car. Since then he has not been seen. It was at first 
supposed that, being dizzy from the close atmosphere 
of the smoking-car, he had fallen from the platform of 
the train. Wilson, together with a foreman and three 
men of a section gang, traveled the whole distance back 
to Winton on a hand-car, keeping a most careful watch 
for the boy ; but no trace of him was found. No other 
train had passed over the road, a single-track division, 
in the interval, and at first it seemed impossible to 
account for his disappearance. Wilson then acknow- 
ledged that he and his brother had recently quarreled, 
and that the lad might have run away in a fit of 
temper. The conductor states that about seven miles 
out of Winton the train slowed up sufficiently for 
an active boy to jump from the step without danger. 
Had he walked back to Winton, a junction, he might 
have taken the train for New York, which left shortly 
before the older brother's return. No one recollected 
seeing a boy of the description, but Wilson, acting upon 
the theory, and declaring that he knew where his bro- 
ther would naturally go, took the first train to New 
York. There is another theory : that the boy fell into 
one of the three ponds over which the railroad passes." 

Bob looked up. "Perhaps," he said, "we can 
now form a third theory of our own. There is a 
spiteful young brother for you, to do so much to 
make trouble for an honest and well-meaning, 
though perhaps unduly strict, older brother." 

"How do you know so much about him?" de- 
manded Harriet. 

"Because," answered Bob, "though you yourself 
have not yet discovered it, all older brothers are 
honest and well-meaning. Even their strictness 
arises from the kindly desire to save unfortunate 
youngsters from mistakes which the elder has 
already committed and repented of. Now, shall 
we wire to this Mr. Wilson of New York?" 

"But," cried Harriet, "we can't be sure that 
this is the same boy?" 

Mr. Dodd rose. "The boy himself shall decide 
that. My dear," he said to his wife, "we 'd better 
drive to Nate's after dinner and see the lad. 
Meanwhile, dinner is waiting." 

Through the meal, the wallet weighed like lead 
in Harriet's pocket. It seemed to her as if 
every one must know that she had it. Her 
mother remarked on her lack of appetite, and 
noticed, without speaking of it, her absent-mind- 
edness. But both of these characteristics were 
natural after such an experience as Harriet's, 
and Mrs. Dodd, careful mother though she was, 
did not suspect that there was anything more on 
the girl's mind. 

Harriet was trying to decide what she ought 
to do. On the one hand, she had promised to tell 
no one of the wallet; but on the other, there was 
the fact, which she could not deny, that the 
wallet had been— no, not stolen from Brian, but 
found and kept. While her father had been giv- 
ing Brian the money, Harriet had been obsti- 
nately silent, trying to find some way in which 
to keep her promise ; but the longer she thought 
of the matter the more firmly she became con- 
vinced that she must tell. 

"I will tell Mother about it immediately after 
dinner," she decided. 

But the meal was no sooner finished, with 
Harriet watching for a chance of a talk with her 
mother, than Mr. Dodd said to his wife, "Come, 
dear. The horse is waiting." 

"Where are you going?" cried Harriet. 

"To Nate's," answered her mother. "We want 
to see how the boy is." 

In spite of her disappointment, Harriet looked 
at her mother gratefully. Mrs. Dodd, a very 
handsome woman for all her forty-five years, 
had more than her good looks wherewith to claim 
her daughter's admiration. She was quick to do 
good; Nate had judged her well when he fore- 
saw this visit. Harriet gave her Nate's message : 
she might see the boy, but was not to expect to 
take him away. 

"Very well," laughed Mrs. Dodd. With her 
husband she departed. 

Bob had gone to the mill. Harriet, left alone 
with Brian and Pelham, thanked her cousin for 
giving up his claim to the money. "It was very 
good of you," she said. 

"Good of him," echoed Pelham. "I tell you, 
Harriet, that 's what I call 'going some.' " 

Brian sprang to his feet. "Confound you, Pel- 
ham," he cried. "Cut that out !" He went 
quickly out of the room. 

"Snappy, is n't he?" asked Pelham. 

But with her mind still full of Brian's gener- 
osity, Harriet saw nothing unnatural in his tem- 
per. "He does n't like to be praised," she said. 
And Pelham returning no answer, she sat think- 

It seemed to her that her course was clear. 




The wallet was not, perhaps, stolen— that is, not 
in the ordinary sense of the word. Yet in an- 
other sense stolen it was, and the injured boy, in 
making her promise to keep it secret, was really 
making her aid him in keeping it from its right- 
ful owner. The act was unfair. No promise 
could hold which was made under such circum- 
stances. Of course, now that she knew that 
Brian really owned the wallet, she was free to 
return it to him. 

Impulsively she sprang to her feet to follow 
him. One moment's regret she had, as she 
thought of the appealing gaze of the fainting boy; 
but she dismissed it. One more thing she had 
learned : she must be careful where she trusted. 
Then she began to hunt for Brian. 

He had not gone up-stairs, and a look out of 
the window showed her that he was not in the 
front garden. Probably he was in the big garden 
behind the house, and as the shortest way was 
through the kitchen, that way she took. 

To her surprise, in the kitchen she found Brian 
standing alone. He was by the stove, with one 
hand in his pocket, and with the other gingerly 
endeavoring to manage the lid-lifter. Amused, 
Harriet thought of a line from an old saga, and 
she quoted it: 

" 'What, lad, are you taking to cooking?' " 

Brian started, dropped the lifter with a clatter, 
snatched his hand from his pocket, and turned 
from her. His face reddened deeply, and Harriet 
was surprised. 

"I did n't mean to startle you," she said. She 
added mischievously: "The cookies are in the 

"Oh, come now, Harriet," protested Brian. 
"You know I 'm too old to go hunting for 

It occurred to her to wonder what he was 
doing there, but she put the question aside. 
"Come into the garden," she said, "before Bridget 
finds us and drives us out. She won't allow any 
one here unless she 's in a good temper." 

The flush slowly faded from Brian's cheeks. 
"Come on, then," he said. Into the garden the 
two went together, and there she thought to find 
a chance to give the wallet to him. 

It was a large garden, with paths wandering 
here and there among shrubs and flower clumps. 
Harriet's mother had taught her to love the work 
of gardening, and this place was to her a resort 
of peace and friendliness. It was very natural, 
therefore, to expect soon to be speaking confi- 
dentially with Brian. 

But he talked so that she could find no chance. 
Though his blush was gone, his embarrassment 
seemed to remain. Harriet thought that he was 

talking to cover it. He rattled on about unim- 
portant matters; and though Harriet waited for 
him to speak of the most natural subject of all, 
their adventures with the stranger, he did not 
mention it. 

Harriet tried to bring him to it. "Was n't it 
odd," she asked, "that that boy should come out 
of the woods just where I was?" 

"Perfectly natural," answered Brian. He 
stooped to examine a flower. "What do you call 
this thing?" 

"Why," exclaimed Harriet, "I thought that 
even city boys knew roses!" 

"Of course," he answered with a little irrita- 
tion. "I meant what kind." 

"A tea-rose," she answered. "Those just be- 
yond are the hybrid-perpetuals, and over that 
arch are the Dorothy Perkins." 

"Great garden this," remarked Brian. "Do you 
know, the land you have in this garden, if placed 
on Fifth Avenue, would probably be worth a 

"If you 'd take it and put it there, I 'd let you 
have it for half a million." 

Brian looked at her, surprised. Younger girls 
did not usually poke fun at him. Then he laughed. 
"Good !" he exclaimed, but half-heartedly. "You 
country folk come back at a fellow sometimes." 

Harriet tried to break into his train of thought. 

"H-m, great garden," mused Brian, moving 
along as he spoke, so that she was forced to fol- 
low. "All kinds of things you 've got." 

"Everything we want," she replied. Then she 
made her effort. "Brian, that wallet—" 

He turned to her quickly, and his face was red 
again. "Now don't you begin on that," he said 
roughly. "Did n't you hear me tell Pelham to 
let it alone?" 

"Why, Brian !" she cried, surprised and hurt. 

He turned. "Just cut that out entirely," he 
said curtly, over his shoulder, as he walked away. 

Now Harriet, being no saint, felt her cheeks 
grow hot. No one before had ever spoken to her 
like that. Harriet usually pleased people, for 
most of them recognized her good sense and her 
good intentions. In the town she was well liked; 
at home her brothers did nothing worse than tease 
her. Not even cousinship, she felt, entitled Brian 
to speak so to her. Quite indignant, she turned 
and hastened toward the house. 

Then she began to reflect. Perhaps she had 
spoken unkindly. She could not see why he 
should be sensitive on the subject— yet boys were 
so queer! And if he were sensitive, then, per- 
haps, she had hurt his feelings. She slackened 
her pace. Ought she to apologize? Perhaps she 




ought. With a generous impulse she turned back, 
and hastened after Brian. 

She could not find him at first among the wind- 
ings of the paths, where here and there shrubs 
grew large. But presently sbe turned a corner 

it behind 
help you 


and came upon him. To her surprise he was just 
rising from a stooping position, and was dusting 
off his hands as if he had been gardening. The 
earth before him, well in from the border, had 
just been disturbed. She remembered that this 
was the place where her mother had ordered a 
late seeding of asters. Now, to Harriet a seed- 
bed was as sacred as Bridget's kitchen. 
Vol. XLL— 18. 

She was too indignant to notice that he started 
quite violently, and flushed to his very hair. 
"Just weeding," he exclaimed confusedly. 

"Oh, please don't touch anything in the gar- 
den," she cried. "You can't be sure that you 
have n't pulled up a flower- 
ing plant. What was it you 
took out?" 

"I don't know," 
Brian. "I threw 
me. Here, I '11 
find it." 

But though for a minute 
they looked carefully, noth- 
ing resembling a plant was 
found on the smooth walk or 
the carefully raked beds. 

"I hope it was n't impor- 
tant," said Brian. 

She looked again at the 
seed-bed. "I suppose it was 
n't," she admitted. "Now I 
think of it, I don't see why 
there should be either a weed 
or a plant there. John sowed 
aster seed there yesterday, 
and he does n't usually leave 
weeds where he has been 

"Well, he did this time," 
retorted Brian, abruptly. 

"Why, Brian," she cried, "I 
did n't mean to doubt you." 

He lowered at her. "And 
if your old seeds have n't 
sprouted, then I could n't 
hurt them anyway. You 
need n't have been so huffy 
about it." 
been rude, 
're rather 

"Well," declared Brian, 
"you need n't fret any more. 
I '11 never touch a thing in 
your garden again." He 
turned and left her. 
Greatly depressed, Harriet went slowly back to 
the house. Once she thought of the wallet. "I '11 
give it to Father or Mother," she thought. Pel- 
ham had disappeared from the living-room, the 
piano was no solace in her present mood, and she 
sat and read fitfully among the magazines until 
the sound of wheels on the driveway told her that 
her father and mother had returned. She met 

felt that she had 
"I 'm afraid we 
fussy about the 
she murmured 



them at the door just as Pelham and Brian, ap- 
pearing from different quarters, joined them also. 

"What did you learn ?" demanded Pelham. 

"Nothing," answered Mr. Dodd, briefly. 

"Did you ask about the wallet ?" inquired Brian. 

Mr. Dodd shook his head. "Mary, you tell 
them," he said to his wife. "I am going to tele- 
phone." He went to the library and shut himself 
in. The three looked their inquiries at Mrs. 

"The boy is ill," she explained. "He is lying in 
a fever, and is not able to talk." 

"Sick !" exclaimed Brian, scornfully. "Just 
from a fall !" 

Harriet checked her retort. Her mother re- 
proved Brian gently. "A blow on the head, a 
deep cut in the arm, a sprained ankle, and much 
loss of blood are enough for most people. Be- 
sides, we all think, from the look of his clothes, 
that he got wet in the woods yesterday, perhaps 
by blundering into a swamp. And he slept out 
without any covering. The doctor says it may 
mean pneumonia." 

Harriet sat down. The news made her feel 
weak. Before he fell, had he already been feel- 
ing faint and sick? If he should die, what then 
would be her duty concerning the wallet ? For 
as the face of the boy rose before her, and she 
saw his very eyes, earnest and appealing, she felt 
again that he must be honest. 

She heard the boys and her mother talking, but 
could not listen to what they said. Her problem 
absorbed her. Was her promise binding? She 
sat thinking until her father joined them again. 

"It 's puzzling," he said. "I 've been telephon- 
ing the station-master at Winton. He says that 
the matter of the disappearance yesterday is very 
clear to him. The older brother was in the great- 
est distress so long as he believed that the boy had 
fallen from the train ; but when it was clear that 
no body was to be found, then he seemed certain 
that his brother had run away. All he wanted 
then was to follow him quickly to New York. 
He refused to give any address, and they have 
n't heard from him since." 

"How about dragging the ponds?" asked Pel- 

"There are n't any ponds along the route," an- 
swered Mr. Dodd. "That was some reporter's 
foolishness. Until he heard from me, the sta- 
tion-master supposed that the man had found his 
brother. And really, when you think of it, that 
is the natural conclusion. There is nothing to 
prove that this boy is that boy." 

"What are you going to do?" asked his wife. 

"Nothing at all," answered Mr. Dodd. "The 
station-master at Winton knows all there is to 

know, and if Wilson comes back, will send him 
over here. Meanwhile, the boy can't get away." 
He turned to the door. 

"Father," said Harriet, rising. 

"Not now, dear," he said. "I am driving your 
mother down to the store, and must hurry to the 
mill. We '11 be back before supper." 

Harriet, after watching her father and mother 
drive away, went slowly to her room. The wallet 
still weighed heavily in her pocket, and she 
wanted to be rid of it, at least until she could 
talk the matter over with her parents. She shut 
herself carefully into her chamber. In her part 
of the house she knew that there was no one. 
Yet it was with caution that she took the wallet 
from her pocket, listened for a while, and then, 
going nearer to the light, looked at the cause of 
her troubles. 

Then, with a start, she studied it eagerly, turn- 
ing it over and over. It was a large wallet, and 
a long one too, made of good leather that had 
withstood much wear. It was stuffed with some- 
thing, but she did not open it. On one side, she 
saw faint impressions where once gilt letters had 
been stamped ; a few tiny glittering spots were 
still adhering. Though she carefully turned the 
wallet to and from the light, Harriet could read 

Yet she began to smile. "Now," she asked 
aloud, "where shall I put it?" As she looked 
around the room, she realized how little real pri- 
vacy she had there. Not only she herself, but 
also her mother and an old family servant con- 
stantly went to her bureau, bringing her clothes 
from the laundry or the sewing-room. Harriet 
saw no place in her chamber where she could 
hide the wallet. 

A glance out of the window showed her Pel- 
ham and Brian on the tennis-court. Feeling safe 
from interruption by them, she went to the up- 
stairs writing-room, which was nothing else than 
the old nursery. Here stood her and Pelham's 
desks, where in school-time they studied in the 
evening. To her desk she went. 

It was a fine old one. Harriet was very proud 
of its swell front, its claw feet, its brass handles, 
and the beautiful dark wood. But now she was 
thinking of something else. In the center of its 
row of pigeonholes was a wide space for her ink- 
stand, and flanking this space were two little col- 
umns, looking like decorations set against wide 
partitions. Grasping one of these by its square 
capital, Harriet pulled at it. Pillar and partition 
both drew out, and Harriet had what she wanted. 
The partition was nothing else than a long and 
tall and very thin box, open at the back. Into it 
Harriet pushed the wallet, which fitted tightly. 






She thrust the whole back into its place in the 

As she turned away, she had one doubt. Ought 
she not to tie up the wallet in paper? But no. 
No one would find it, for no one but herself went 
to her desk. Even supposing it were to be found, 
no one would look at it. Satisfied, Harriet went 

When her father returned, he called for her. 
"Was n't there something, Harriet, that you 
wanted to ask me?" 

"Nothing now, Father," she answered. "I 've 
settled it myself." 

Chapter IV 


Slowly the haze was clearing from his mind. He 
was lying— surely he was lying upon a bed. To 
his weak vision appeared near by, now almost 
clear, and again perplexingly shadowy, the walls 
of a room. A dim light seemed to suggest a cur- 
tained window, or perhaps evening. From out- 
doors he heard the note of a bird, and there was 
wafted to him a faint odor of earthy things. 
Gathering a little resolution, he knitted his brows 
and looked about him. It was hard to turn his 
head. As he swept his gaze slowly about, he saw 
a room almost bare, simply furnished, and very 
clean. A chair and a bureau teetered in a strange 
manner ; yet when he frowned a little harder, 
they stood still. 

What was that odd white thing in the air not 
far above the bed? A square, white thing it 
seemed, wavering sidewise and then back again. 
He frowned at it. Was it hanging from the ceil- 
ing? Ah, he saw! A stick, thrust into the bed 
at the foot, was holding it toward him. Yes, and 
there were letters on it. But frown as he would, 
they wavered and faded away. And so did he ; 
he felt himself slipping away in sleep, and was 
very glad to go. 

Later, he could not say how long, he came out 
of his doze, and again began to fix his attention 
upon the square, white thing. A kind of sign, 
was it ? He saw it better now. Why should it be 
above his bed? What did it say? He looked and 
puzzled, and finally the letters took form : 


There were more words, but his attention wan- 
dered. The room seemed brighter now, as if the 

{To be con 

sun shone on the window, wherever the window 
might be. Probably at his back. That was best 
for sick folks. 

Was he a sick folk? Why, else, was he lying 
on his back, with some heavy thing, doubtless a 
bandage, on his head? Why else was that ridicu- 
lous sign hanging over his head? What more did 
it say? Again he knitted his brows, and this time 
he read : 


If he wanted whom? Why ring? Oh, yes, if 
he wanted him, ring. But how? 

Again he faded away into sleep, and again, 
after an interval, he came to himself. Once more 
the light was different in the room ; the sun lay 
along the floor. It must be late afternoon. And 
that absurd sign was still there— "If you want 
me, ring." But how could he ring? And who 
was this mysterious Me? 

As he wondered, he became aware of a sound, 
which he somehow knew had been continuing 
from the first. It was like the noise of machin- 
ery, and yet was unlike. At any rate, it was an 
irregular, creaky, jumpy kind of machinery. It 
continued monotonously on and on ; it was, he 
reflected, a pretty soothing kind of noise to sleep 
to. And then a new sound came to his ears : a 
cheerful and yet a thoughtful whistle. A man's 
whistle — a boy would not whistle so thoughtfully. 

He lay and listened for a while. Now the 
whistle sounded, now it ceased, now it began 
again. Though it was a thoughtful whistle, it 
was a contented one ; it had, moreover, something 
to do with the machinery. Was Me working over 
the machine? 

Slowly there grew a desire to see this whistling 
person. "If you want me, ring." But again, how 
ring? Around the room was nothing to be seen, 
no button and no bell handle. But what was that 
blurred thing close overhead? A good frown 
now, a close squint ! The blurred thing took 
shape. It was a hanging rope. 

He tried to raise a hand. It would not come. 
Something held it down ; a weight, not a ban- 
dage. He tried to wiggle the fingers, and found 
that they also were held. And lift the hand he 
could not. Was the other hand in the same fix? 
He tried. Slowly the hand came up, groped, 
found the rope, and gripped it. He pulled. From 
a distance came a tinkle. The whistling ceased. 
Something jarred, and the machinery stopped its 
thudding. A voice called: "Jest a jiffy!" 

tinned. ) 

The Field-Goal Art 


Author of " Foot-ball, the American Intercollegiate Game," and 
Representative of Princeton University on the Rules Committee 

Of all the individual performances in foot-ball 
involving a highly perfected degree of technical 
skill, none exceeds the art of kicking a goal 
from the field. Nature equips a player to run, 
to dodge, to tackle, to 
break through, and to 
block, although, of 
course, a player im- 
proves in each by prac- 
tice. Nature, however, 
does not equip a player 
to kick a goal. This is 
an art, and, like all art, 
it must be acquired by 
practice, — by practice 
long, persistent, pa- 
tient, and exact. 

Old foot-ball men, 
like old soldiers, find 
as keen a delight in 
the reminiscences of 
the past asthey do in the 
performances of the 
present. Hence when 
they come together and 
narrate the stories of 
the famous goals from 
the field, they tell the 
tales of the most thrill- 
ing scenes in the his- 
tory of the game, for no 
other scoring play has 
performed so spectacular a part in foot-ball, sud- 
denly and unexpectedly wresting victory out of 
defeat, and converting the victors into van- 
quished. And, indeed, it is the most ancient of 
our three scoring plays. The touch-down and 
the safety are American inventions of thirty-five 
years ago. The field goal is an English inheri- 
tance, and has been famed in song and story for 
over a century. 

Who holds the honor of having kicked the 
longest goal from the field? Was it a drop-kick, 
or was it a goal from placement? And was it 
achieved in scrimmage, or was it delivered by a 


free-kick following a fair catch? Who holds the 
record for the longest goal from a drop-kick, and 
who from a place-kick? Who has kicked the 
largest number of field goals in a single game ? 
And who by a supreme effort has sent a long, 
difficult shot across the bar for a goal and thus 
won back a lost game ? 

For the longest goal from the field we must go 
back to the Princeton-Yale game of 1882. How, 
pray, can this be ? How could a player in that 
primitive day kick a goal from the field at a dis- 
tance that would defy the attempts of a host of 
brilliant full-backs for 
three decades ? 

In the first place, in 
that early day each and 
every player kicked the 
ball. Drops were used 
for distance equally with 
punts, the ball was kicked 
while rolling and bound- 
ing along the ground, 
and many a run, when 
the runner saw himself 
about to be tackled, ter- 
minated in a running 
drop-kick for goal. In 
fact, O. D. Thompson, 
of Yale, one of the earli- 
est and best drop-kick- 
ers the game ever has 
known, actually defeated 
Harvard in 1878 by a 
running drop-kick from 
the forty-yard line. Then 
again, fair catches and 
free-kicks were far more 
abundant in the games of 
thirty-five years ago than 
they are to-day. Consequently tries for goals from 
the field came far more frequently in play, and 
at greater distances and wider angles than one 
sees in the modern game. Finally, the ball was 
not of such a pronouncedly oval shape in 1882 
as it is in 1913. In the pictures of that period 

p. j. o DEA. 





one Usually finds the captain, an individual with 
a mustache and side-whiskers, clad in skin-tight 
flannels, holding a foot-ball whose ends are much 
flatter than those of the 
ball of to-day. Never- 
theless, it was a Rugby 
ball, and the players of 
that period stoutly as- 
sert that they enjoyed 
no special advantage 
by reason of the slightly 
less spheroidal shape of 
the ball. 

In each one of the 
distance records for 
goals from the field, in 
fact for any goal from 
the field kicked from a 
distance of at least fifty 
yards, the wind invari- 
ably is and must be a fac- 
tor. Thus, on the thir- 
tieth day of November, 
1882, a lusty, young win- 
ter's gale was blowing 
at Princeton's back, 
squarely into the face of 
Yale. It was the closing 
minutes of the first half, 
and Yale had just scored 
a touch-down and kicked 
the ensuing goal. Moffat now kicks off for 
Princeton, and Terry, of Yale, returns. Poe, of 
Princeton, the first of Princeton's six foot-ball 
Poes, all brothers, makes a fair catch sixty-five 
yards from the Blue's cross-bar. J. T. Haxall, who 
is playing the position of "next-to-centcr" in 
Princeton's line, now known as "guard," is called 
back to try for a goal from placement. Away goes 
the ball, but falling short, settles into the arms of 
Bacon, of Yale, who instantly 
leaps into flight up the field. As 
he nears the first Princeton 
player, without slacking his 
speed, he kicks the ball while 
on the run far down the field, 
where it is caught and heeled 
by Moffat, seventy yards from 
Yale's goal. Again Haxall is 
sent back to bombard the goal, 
but again the ball strikes the 
ground in front of the bar. A 
short run by Bacon, followed by a punt, termi- 
nates in another fair catch by Baker, of Prince- 
ton. This player, Baker, by the way, was des- 
tined to be the father of another great player, 
H. A. H. Baker, Princeton's present captain. 




The ball is now put down sixty-five yards from 
Yale's goal and fifteen yards to the side of cen- 
ter. For the third time, Haxall draws back to 
deliver the kick. Tossing a wisp of grass in the 
air, he finds the exact slant of the wind, and 
turns the seam of the ball to allow for its de- 
flection. The ball at last is carefully pointed, 
and Haxall steps backward four paces. Locating 
the distant cross-bar with his eye, he signals for 
the ball to settle the final finger's width upon the 
ground, and the play is on. Yale charges for- 
ward, and Haxall leaps for the ball, catching it 
with a mighty thud which shoots it above the 
outstretched hands of the Yale forwards, safely 
off on its long flight. The players turn and watch 
the spinning ball. At the thirty-yard line it ap- 
pears to be settling. With mysterious momentum, 
however, it clings in the air, and in another sec- 
ond sails between the posts a full yard above the 
cross-bar, scoring the longest goal from the field 
in the history of the American game, full sixty- 
five yards from placement. 

Some may say that the distance was incorrectly 



measured, or that the feat has been exaggerated 
by college-mates of that day, contemporary and 
later historians. And yet, the longest drop-kick, 
achieved by P. J. O'Dea, of Wisconsin, against 
Northwestern, November 28, 1898, accurately ob- 




served and carefully measured, is only three yards 
less than Haxall's place-kick. The drop-kick un- 
questionably is a more difficult performance than 
the place-kick. To accomplish the former, the 
player must drop the ball upon the ground and kick 
it after it has wholly risen on the rebound. Prac- 
tice begets such precision in executing this diffi- 
cult kick, so closely timing the rebound and the 
blow, that the eye cannot detect the actual rebound 
of the ball, but a trained 
ear instantly recognizes 
the rebound in advance 
of the kick by a wholly 
different sound in the 
impact of the kicker's 
foot against the ball. 
The skill of a successful 
drop-kick is further aug- 
mented by the fact that 
it must be delivered in 
the face of a veritable 
avalanche of charging 
players who come crash- 
ing through the line and 
hurl themselves against 
the kicker in a fierce at- 
tempt to block the ball. 

Like the place-kick of 
J. T. Haxall, the drop- 
kick of P. J. O'Dea was 
aided by a strong wind, 
but as a handicap this 
wind was accompanied 
by a swirling snow- 
storm which iced the 
ball, benumbed the fin- 
gers of the kicker, and partly obscured the goal- 
posts. This famous goal was scored in the begin- 
ning of the game. In possession of the ball and 
the superb O'Dea, Wisconsin adopted at the out- 
set an exclusively kicking attack. Two exchanges 
of the ball had taken place when O'Dea, a third 
time, was sent back to punt. From his place 
behind the line the goal-posts were faintly visible 
through the snow, full sixty-two yards away. 
Enticed by the magnitude of the feat, O'Dea 
suddenly determined to try a drop-kick for goal. 
The ball was passed and caught by O'Dea. But 
Northwestern's giant forwards are upon him, and 
the kick apparently is blocked. O'Dea leaps 
quickly to the left and, in the same stride, drops 
the ball. With a swinging kick he lifts it into 
the air through the very fingers of the North- 
western players. The officials, recognizing the 
sound of a drop-kick, leap into position to judge 
the accuracy of the attempt. The ball, soaring 
high above the players, floats upon the wind to- 



ward Northwestern's goal. The players, quickly 
perceiving the possibility of an extraordinary 
achievement, cease their play and, transfixed 
with amazement, 
watch the tumbling 
ball. With great 
rapidity the ball set- 
tles as it nears the 
goal, but the power 
is behind it, and, 
keeping up, it grazes 
the bar, but goes 
over, thus scoring 
the longest field goal 
from a drop-kick in 
the annals of the 

The debate as to 
the comparative mer- 
its and disadvan- 
tages of these two 
methods of the field- 
goal art, the drop- 
kick versus the 
place-kick, is end- 
less. While the drop- 
kick from scrim- 
mage, or from a fair 
catch, has been in 
use from earliest 
times, the latter 

rarely, it is true, in recent years, the place-kick in 
scrimmage was not thought of until the middle 
nineties. At first it was believed that this form 
of field-goal work would wholly displace the 
drop-kick, but the drop-kickers still continued to 
appear and to startle great throngs by their daz- 
zling shots across the bar. 

The honor of having scored the largest num- 
ber of field goals in a single game rests with B. 
W. Trafford, of Harvard, and was achieved 
against Cornell, November i, 1890. Five times in 
this game did Trafford send a clever drop-kick 
across the bar. Three of these goals were kicked 
from the thirty-yard line, and two from the 
thirty-five-yard line. 

This record never has been equaled, and there 
are only two instances which approach it with 
one goal less. Alexander Moffat, of Princeton, 
in 1883 scored four drop-kicks against Harvard 
in a single half, and in 191 1 Charles E. Brickley, 
of Harvard, in the freshman game with Prince- 
ton, duplicated the performance. Indeed, only 
five instances can be found in which a player has 
kicked three goals from the field in a single game. 
Walter H. Eckersall, of Chicago, achieved the 
feat against Wisconsin in 1903 ; George Capron, 






of Minnesota, did it also against Wisconsin in 
1907; W. E. Sprackling, of Brown, has the signal 
honor of having thus defeated Yale in 1910, and 
James Thorpe, the celebrated Carlisle Indian, in 
191 1 kicked three beautiful goals from the field 
at difficult distances and angles against Harvard. 
The latest example of triple scoring by field goals 
was given in 1912, by Charles E. Brickley, who 
thus overcame Princeton, one of his goals being 
a magnificent place-kick from the 
fortv-eight-vard line. The above seven 

bar. Let us enjoy the feat of Thompson in 1878, 
the manner of which never has occurred since. 
Harvard is playing Yale at Boston, and the game 
is close and scoreless. A random kick sends the 
ball into a pond of water near the field, but 
Walter Camp, to the huge merriment of the spec- 
tators, plunges in and gets the ball. By an agree- 
ment touch-downs are not to count in this game, 
so both goals are continually bombarded with 
long drop- and place-kicks. Just as the 
half is closing, Camp kicks a goal for 


From photograph by The Pictorial News Co. 

achievements, as stated, read coldly indeed as 
mere statements of fact, but beneath each one is 
the rush and swirl of a great game, of crisis fol- 
lowing crisis, and the crash and roar of intense 

While we are back in the early days of the 
game, let us contemplate at close distances some 
of the heroes of that period, whose names are 
fresh after the lapse of thirty and thirty-five 
years. First and foremost was O. D. Thompson, 
of Yale. All are familiar with the sensational 
exploits two years ago of Sanford B. White, of 
Princeton, who alone defeated both Harvard and 
Yale. But in O. D. Thompson, Yale has a man 
who, in 1876, defeated both Harvard and Prince- 
ton, and in 1878 again defeated Harvard, and 
achieved each victory by a drop-kick across the 

Yale, but time having expired while the ball is in 
flight, the goal does not count. The second half 
opens, wages, and wanes without a score. Camp 
tries a long drop, but misses the post. Winsor 
and Wetherbee, of Harvard, rush the ball back 
to Yale's side of the field. Thompson now gets 
the ball, and races brilliantly to Harvard's forty- 
yard line, where, about to be tackled, he delib- 
erately drops the ball while on the run, catches it 
cleverly on the bound, and drives it between two 
Harvard players onward between the posts and 
over the bar, for a field goal and the game. 

All are familiar also with the sensation caused 
in 1912 by the great field goal of H. A. Pumpelly, 
of Yale, kicked against Princeton from the forty- 
nine-yard line. But what would occur in this 
modern day if a player should score on Prince- 




ton some Saturday afternoon by a drop-kick from 
the forty-yard line, the next Saturday afternoon 
score upon Yale by another drop-kick from the 
forty-five-yard line, and then finish the season 
one week later by sending another drop-kick over 
Harvard's cross-bar from the forty-eight-yard 
line? This precisely is what F. W. W. Graham, 
of Pennsylvania, did in 1885. Another famous 
goal-kicker of the middle eighties, long since 
deceased, was G. A. Watkinson, of Yale, whose 
lamentably brief career was distinguished by 
many a beautiful goal from the field. A full-back 
who shares with these men the honors of that 
decade is William T. Bull, of Yale. This mem- 
orable back had the honor to achieve goals against 
both Harvard and Princeton, and to defeat the 
latter in 1888 by two brilliant drop-kicks. This 
celebrated battle was waged upon the old Polo 
Grounds in New York. Each university pro- 
duced that year an exceptionally strong eleven. 
As a result, their annual game from the very 
beginning became a stubborn deadlock. Time 
and again, each crashed into the other without a 
gain, and at no time did either become dangerous 
through rushing the ball. Just as the scoreless 
first half was closing, Bull on the last down sent 
a drop-kick across the bar from the thirty-eight- 
yard line. The second half was a repetition of 
the first, a succession of fierce, brilliant dashes 
into stone walls. Again the half was closing, the 
final minute being in actual flight. Yale had the 
ball on Princeton's twenty-yard line, far to the 
side of the field. The signal sounded for a drop- 
kick, and Bull fell back until one foot almost 
touched the side-line. Only a few seconds now 
remained to play. In such a difficult position few 
there were, if any, who believed that a field goal 
was possible. With a bound, the old-fashioned 
way, the ball was snapped into the hands of Wur- 
tenburg, Yale's quarter-back, who, in turn, made 
the long, low, underhand pass back to Bull. The 
latter deftly dropped the ball to the ground, 
swung his foot against it with a resounding 
whack, and down the narrow air groove shot the 
ball, true as a rifle bullet, splitting the goal space 
exactly in twain. 

And now, two years later, occurred a mighty 
drive. Cornell and Michigan were waging their 
first game, at Detroit. The contest was grossly 
unequal, Cornell scoring often and alone. Mich- 
igan's full-back, J. E. Duffy, a natural and prac- 
tised drop-kicker, was continually bombarding 
Cornell's goal with drop-kicks at long distances, 
but in vain. Eventually, he essayed a goal from 
the fifty-five-yard line, then the center of the 
field. This time the ball rose high into the air, 
and with tremendous speed shot directly for the 
Vol. XI.L— 19. 

goal, crossing the bar well above the posts, and 
striking the ground a full twenty-five yards 
behind the bar, one of the best drop-kicks for 
accuracy and for distance ever executed. 

But now came and went a dreary period for 
the field goal. Good kickers were not wanting. 
At Yale was Vance McCormick, at Pennsyl- 
vania George H. Brooke and John H. Minds, at 
Harvard Charles Brewer, and at Princeton Shep- 
ard Homans and John Baird, all capable of kicking 
stupendous goals, but the play itself unfortunately 
was out of fashion. The value of the perfor- 
mance was five points, but the greater ease of 
scoring a touch-down was too great a handicap to 
invite a try for a field goal. The yardage at this 
time, it will be recalled, was only five in three 
downs, or four downs, as popularly counted. But 
most important of all, these were the years of the 
powerful momentum mass plays. Under these 
two propitious conditions the superior eleven, 
obtaining the ball, marched in a series of un- 
broken downs, however slowly, straight down the 
field, unless stopped by a fumble, a penalty, or a 
voluntary kick. Tries for a field goal, therefore, 
became inattractive except by the weaker eleven 
or by the superior eleven in the face of a hopeless 
first down, two situations which rarely occurred 
within striking distance of the cross-bar. An 
occasional field goal, it is true, now and then was 
kicked by some one of the above men, but the 
long, spectacular goals of the eighties, excepting 
a forty-five-yard goal by George H. Brooke 
against Cornell in 1895, were not among them. 

In 1898 unexpectedly arrived a change. In the 
east, F. L. Burnett, of Harvard, scored upon 
Pennsylvania by a drive of fifty yards, and E. G. 
Bray, of Lafayette, defeated Lehigh by a mar- 
velous drop-kick in the snow at a distance of 
forty yards. In the west, P. J. O'Dea executed 
his great record drop of sixty-two yards, and 
followed it with a brilliant series of other difficult 
goals. Instantly the field goal again came into 
fashion and popularity. As a result, the season 
of 1899 brought forth a veritable fusillade of 
field goals the country over, the most sensational 
of which was the drop-kick of Arthur Poe, of 
Princeton, which defeated Yale. 

The sensational timeliness of this goal and its 
decisiveness rather than any extraordinariness of 
performance make this field goal one of the most 
famous in the history of American foot-ball. As 
a background, the game itself was marvelous, a 
grueling struggle from start to finish, with the 
fortunes of war ever shifting from one side to the 
other. Princeton, at the outset by ferocious as- 
saults, drove Yale the length of the field, only to 
be piled at last in a thwarted heap, two downs in 




succession on Yale's three-yard mark. Then with 
a single down remaining, Reiter, of Princeton, 
burst through for a touch-down, from which 
Wheeler kicked a goal. Within ten minutes, Yale 
forced Princeton back behind her own goal-line, 
and there blocked a kick which gave Yale a 
touch-down from which the ensuing try for goal 
was missed. Just as the half closed, A. H. 
Sharpe, of Yale, a powerful drop-kicker, was 
sent back into the angle of the thirty-yard line and 
the side-line, to try for a goal from the field, and 
from this extremely difficult position achieved the 
feat, thus bringing the half to a close with Yale 
10 points and Princeton 6. The second half was 
even a tighter battle than the first. Rush fol- 
lowed rush and tackle followed tackle, with spirit, 
vim, hammer, and bang. Substitute after sub- 
stitute went until, at last, of Princeton's original 
eleven only three players remained. The half 
waned without further scoring by either side. 
The final minute of play begins. Princeton has 
the ball on Yale's thirty-yard line. The score is 
ten to four against the Tigers. A straight-line 
plunge carries the ball to the twenty-five-yard 
line, but twenty precious seconds have gone. The 
Yale stands are emptying, the undergraduates are 
swarming over the fence eager to swoop in 
triumph upon the field. Suddenly Arthur Poe, 
of Princeton, leaves his place at end and falls 
back into kicking position. Yale's entire eleven 
mass to block the kick. In an instant the pass is 
made, but in that same instant Brown and Fran- 
cis, of Yale, crash through Princeton's line and 
leap for Poe. The latter drops the ball for the 
kick, and as he does so, Brown blocks him from 
the side. A great shout goes up from the Yale 
stands as they see that the kick is blocked. But 
with a determined swing from the side, Poe kicks 
at the ball, catching it high on his instep. The 
ball rises into the air through the very arms of 
Francis, and, to the amazement of the spec- 
tators, in a big rainbow curve floats over the 
cross-bar and strikes the ground behind the posts. 
It is a goal. The score is Princeton n and Yale 
io, and it is Princeton's undergraduates who 
swoop in upon the field. 

Of the four decades of intercollegiate foot-ball, 
the most prolific in exceptional instances of the 
field-goal art unquestionably has been the period 
from 1900 to 1910. In the first year of this 
decade, Carl B. Marshall, of Harvard, drove a 
drop-kick forty-five yards over Yale's cross-bar, 
and Charles D. Daly, another Harvard captain, 
at that time a member of the Army eleven, in a 
game with Yale at West Point put a place-kick 
also across Yale's cross-bar from the fifty-yard 
line. The next year, 1902, that goal-kicker ex- 

traordinary, John De Witt, of Princeton, ap- 
peared, and furnished a galaxy of goals in each 
season of his career. In addition to many goals 
against minor teams or at short distances, in 1902 
he sent two kicks spinning through Cornell's up- 
rights, one from the forty-five-yard line, and the 
other from the fifty-yard line, and two weeks 
later sent another brilliant shot across Yale's 
cross-bar also from the fifty-yard line. In the 
succeeding season, 1902, De Witt achieved the 
unsurpassed record of kicking a total of eleven 
goals from the field during the season, and closed 
his great career in a blaze of glory in the final 
game by kicking a goal against Yale from the 
forty-eight-yard line, thereby defeating the Blue. 

This also was the year that produced that other 
goal-kicker extraordinary, W. G. Crowell, of 
Swarthmore. Here was a player who was a 
whole scoring machine in himself, dropping goals 
continually from all possible distances and angles, 
including a fifty-five-yard goal against Franklin 
and Marshall, the second longest place-kick in 
the history of the game. 

To the old foot-ball man who sits musing over 
these brilliant years comes in delightful reverie 
the picture of R. H. Davis, of the Army, sending 
his great goal of forty-eight yards over the heads 
of the Navy players; and P. W. Northcroft, of 
the Navy, later achieving identically the same 
performance against the Army; of N. B. Tooker's 
forty-eight-yard goal against Yale for Princeton, 
and H. H. Norton's forty-yard goal that won a 
memorable victory for the Navy from Princeton ; 
of E. W. Butler, of Cornell, annually scoring 
against Pennsylvania and that brilliant band of 
goal-kicking Carlisle Indians, Peter Houser, Mi- 
chael Balenti, and Frank Hudson. 

It is dramatic setting, however, rather than 
mere statistical superiority, that gives indelible 
fame to a goal from the field. And so a goal of 
only thirty yards achieved by V. P. Kennard, of 
Harvard, against Yale, November 21, 1908, ar- 
rests our attention. Kennard was a field-goal 
specialist. For years he had practised this art 
over all others. The squad at Harvard contained 
better runners, better tacklers, and better punters, 
but no one could compare with Kennard at drop- 
ping a goal from the field. Thus he did not obtain 
a place in the first line-up against Yale that 
memorable Saturday afternoon, but occupied a 
very important post upon the bench, keenly 
watching the play, and alert for the moment when 
he should be called into action to strike. Through- 
out the first half, the struggle was a series of 
dashes and crashes of one team against the other 
without a score. The half drew to a close. Sud- 
denly Harvard, by a brilliant burst of power, 




carried the ball from their own forty-yard line 
to Yale's twenty-three-yard mark. Here occurred 
one of the famous rallies of the Blue, and three 
sledge-hammer blows by Harvard, left and right, 
went to naught. The assault was stemmed and 
a single down remained. At this juncture, Ham- 
ilton Fish, Harvard's captain, gave a sharp com- 
mand. Instantly E. F. Ver Wiebe, the regular 
Crimson full-back, retired, and in his place from 
the side-line came Kennard. Cool, determined, 
and careful, he takes his place in drop-kicking 
formation, crouching easily forward, waiting for 
the ball, and calculating the angle and distance 
to the cross-bar. With a swish the ball leaves 
the ground and shoots into his outstretched 
hands. Yale charges; the stands arise en masse; 
Kennard kicks. Into the ball with that kick goes 
the power and accuracy of a thousand hours of 
practice, and in a single second is achieved the 
reward, as the ball cleaves the goal, giving Har- 
vard the only score in that long, bitter battle. 

But if the period from 1900 to 1910 has been 
brilliant in examples of the field-goal art, what 
are we to expect for the decade now upon us? 
Each year has glittered with field goals. Three 
seasons in succession has the Navy defeated the 
Army by a goal from the field after a rushing 
attack throughout an afternoon had been in vain, 
the kick twice being delivered by J. P. Dalton, 
and the last time by J. H. Brown. In this brief 
period, James Thorpe, of Carlisle, has beaten 
Harvard by his goals from the field, and Prince- 
ton and Yale have played a tie at 6 to 6, repre- 
senting two field goals by H. A. H. Baker, of 
Princeton, one by M. B. Flynn, and the other the 
sensational goal of H. A. Pumpelly, both of Yale. 
At Harvard is Charles E. Brickley, and through- 
out the west a gallant host of long, clever kickers, 
waiting for the crisis that shall bring their edu- 
cated feet into play. All of these field-goal feats 
here narrated, therefore, are only prophetic. The 
best of the field-goal art is yet to come. 


3a|| S3 'tl I 

HREE wise old men, one 
summer's day, 
For Bungletown set out. 
Oh very wise indeed were they, 
And one was short and stout. 
They knew how all things should 
be done- 
There was no doubt of that ; 
From how the sun his course 
should run, 
To what to feed the cat ! 


HE King of Bungletown, 't was 
Some good advice did need, 
And they would teach him how 
to reign 
And be a king indeed. 
His subjects' wants he soon 
should know, 
On what complaints to frown ; 
And what requests to grant, also 
How best to wear his crown. 



ND as for Mrs. Queen, poor thing ! 
So far at fault was she, 

Her Majesty to time to bring 
No easy task would be. 

Her bread was simply a disgrace- 
She knew not how to spin, 

And as for dust in every place- 
She never cared a pin ! 

HEN they must regulate the court, 

Where much was going wrong : 
The ladies wore their hair too short, 

And wore their trains too long. 
The noble lords were not sedate 

As noble lords should be, 
The Prince's manners, sad to state, 

Were terrible to see. 

■y / / j 




UT wisdom makes sometimes mistakes— 

The three wise men, that day, 
In journeying down to Bungletown, 

Fell out upon the way. 
Each being wiser than the rest, 

Among them all, you see, 
On which of three wrong roads was best 

They could not quite agree. 




So one to seek the north set out ; 

One sped him to the west; 
And one said always when in doubt 

To travel east was best. 
They went so far, they went so fast, 

They never met again. 
And so poor Bungletown, at last, 

Benighted did remain. 

The manners of the court, we hear, 

Are still extremely poor— 
The Queen loves not to spin, poor dear ! 

To bake she can't endure ! 
The King all crooked wears his crown, 

And never knows he 's wrong, 
And every one in Bungletown 

Still bungles right along ! 

Oho for the woods where I used to grow, 
The home of the lonely owl and crow ! 
I spread my arms to shelter all 
The creatures shy, both large and small. 
I sang for joy to the friends I knew: 
The sunshine, rain, and the sky so blue. 
Oho for the forest ! Oho for the hills ! 
Oho for the ripple of murmuring rills ! 
Oho, sing I, oho ! 

Oho for the hall where I now hold sway, 
The home of the happy children gay ! 
I spread my arms with gifts for all, 
From father big to baby small. 
I sing for joy to these hearts that glow— 
Of manger bed, and the Child we know. 
Oho for the holly ! Oho for the light ! 
Oho for the mistletoe's berries so white ! 
Oho, sing I, oho ! 




A young American, John Hays Hammond, Jr., 
has recently been doing things down on the east 
coast of Massachusetts that would have been his 
death-warrant in the days of the Salem witches. 
From a hilltop overlooking Gloucester harbor, he 
was directing daily, by means of invisible waves, 
the manceuvering of a sinister-looking craft of 
high speed which may soon develop into a very 
formidable instrument for coast defense. Mark 
you, no one is on board; the boat performs all 
of its amazing evolutions guided by a curious 
combination of vibrations having their source in 
an apparatus at Mr. Hammond's hand, far up on 
the bluff ! This sounds uncanny, does n't it? But 
it is one of the developments of a new branch of 
knowledge, the science of telautomatics, or the 
management from afar of mechanical operations. 
Telautomatics is going to do a large variety of 
astonishing things for us before long, and all of 
us should know something about this new wiz- 

Wireless telegraphy has become an old story 
now, and you know that its way of working is 
for the man at the sending station to set up waves 
in the atmosphere by means of an electrical dis- 
charge. These waves in the atmosphere, like 
the circling ripples we see spreading from a 
stone dropped in a pond, reach out invisibly 
through the air or ether until they awaken to 
action a delicate and very sensitive receiver. 
Vol. XI.I.— 20. i 

This receiver is part of a local electric circuit, but 
the battery current cannot flow until the arriving 
waves cause the receiver to complete the path 
for the electricity. In making and breaking this 
current flow, the receiver actually repeats the 
signals despatched from a long way off, and in 
this fashion dots and dashes representing letters 
are produced. 

Of course this is quite different from making 
a boat turn in any direction, or to halt it or start 
it at will ; but you will see in a moment that the 
difference is largely in the way the ether waves 


are put to service. In wireless telegraphy, all 
that is asked of the receiver is to repeat a mes- 
sage; in telautomatics, the wireless message de- 




mands action upon the part of mechanisms ca- 
pable of exerting a good deal of power. Let 
us call the receiver a child, or messenger, and the 
local battery, or "relay," the man that is strong 
enough to do what is desired. Keep this simple 
comparison in mind, and you will find it easy to 
understand all that is needful of Mr. Hammond's 

Over in Europe, the French and the Germans 
have been busy for some time experimenting with 
torpedoes that could be guided by Hertzian 
waves, that is, vibrations produced in the ether 
by an electrical discharge, the kind of waves used 
in wireless telegraphy. When one, two, three, 
or four of these waves were despatched in proper 
order, the sensitive receiver would allow the 
vigorous "relay" to act so as to call' into play any 
one of as many different mechanical movements. 
One would start the torpedo, two would stop it, 
three would turn it to the right, and four would 
swing its nose to the left, and, possibly, a fifth 
would explode the charge of guncotton. The 
wireless experts of these two countries have had 
a promising measure of success. The idea, you 
know, is to make the deadly torpedo more certain 
of hitting its intended mark. 

Of course England could not remain idle when 
her fretful neighbors were busy at this kind of 
thing, so her wireless "sharps" got into the game. 
The British naval men went their continental 




rivals one better — they took an old submarine, 
capable of carrying a number of torpedoes, and 
fitted her with a system of wireless control of a 

more novel character. They aimed to use a form 
of guiding wave that could not be disturbed or 
rendered ineffective by an enemy, as can be done 

II Jt '-<■■• 




when Hertzian waves are employed, and they 
used under-water sound waves, which Mr. John 
Gardner was the first to so utilize, for their crew- 
less submarine. 

Sound, you know, travels four times as far 
below water as it will through the air, and, unlike 
t he atmosphere, the power of water in forward- 
ing these waves is not affected by the weather as 
are Hertzian impulses. Here was one advan- 
tage, but we shall see that there were others. The 
Gardner receiver was so made that its ear was 
deaf to all but a chosen group of sounds. It was 
a kind of sound-lock that could not be opened or 
worked except by a certain key-note or chord, 
and the desired operations could be set in motion 
then only by the repeating of this "open sesame" 
in a given way. 

Before we come to Mr. Hammond's invention, 
which is the latest, let us go back a short span. 
A few years ago, Professor Ernst Ruehmer, of 
Germany, who died recently, produced a wireless 
telephone with which he experimented in the 
outskirts of Berlin. Instead of a wire he used 
the beam of a search-light for his conductor, and 
at the receiving end he had a little cell of 
selenium. Selenium is a curious metal inasmuch 
as its capacity to let electricity flow through it 
varies greatly when exposed to light of different 
intensities. The brighter the light the less resis- 
tance it offers to the passage of the current. 




Professor Ruehmer made use of this peculiarity 
in this way : 

At the despatching point, the electricity for an 
ordinary telephone was drawn from the supply 
current feeding the search-light. Every time a 
word was spoken into the transmitter, the current 
to the light was sapped for an instant to an 
infinitesimal degree, and the glowing carbon 
blinked a wee bit. At the receiving station, that 
blink affected the selenium cell, and, to that ex- 
tent, altered the flow of the operative current of 
a telephone there. Those variations reproduced 
the impulses originating at the sending station, 
and thus created the same sounds of speech at 
the listening end of the light beam. This, you 
see, was really carrying the sounds of speech by 
light waves. Professor Ruehmer has since found 
it possible to use a beam of light effectively in 
the daytime ; in fact, a beam that is very hard 
to detect except when facing it directly. You 
will see the importance of this in a moment. 

Mr. Hammond has cunningly combined the re- 
sults of Ruehmer's and Gardner's inventions in a 
manner that makes his own work equally inge- 
nious. To begin with, the sounds he uses are 
of so high a pitch that the human ear is in- 
capable of hearing them, and this fact gives 
the advantage of secrecy. He first employs a 
beam of light, as did Ruehmer, and, by means 
of these high-pitched sounds which he can pro- 
duce at will, he causes it to "shake" or quiver so 

slightly as not to be perceived by the eye. With 
this twofold message-wave, of light and sound, 
he sends his orders by a special language, as it 
were, to the selenium cell and to a tuned receiver 
aboard his torpedo-boat. These message-waves 
call to their aid the reserve energy of the local 
"relay," which then carries out the biddings of 
the feeble aerial vibrations. Unlike Hertzian 
waves, those employed by Mr. Hammond can be 
sent along a fixed line, like a rifle-shot, and his 
craft goes speeding onward as though at the end 
of an unseen electrified wire. 

Up to now, most of the studies in "far-off con- 
trol by wireless" have had for their aim some 
wartime use; but you can see that this is just the 
beginning of a wonderful work. In the course of 
the next few years, telautomatics will find many 
other practical fields of service, and these will 
aid us in every-day life. A ship in a fog will 
thus be guided safely into a difficult harbor; com- 
mercial, crewless aircraft will be sent hither and 
thither aloft with their burdens of mail or ex- 
press matter ; dirigible balloons, without aero- 
nauts, will be launched way, way up into the skies 
for the purpose of making important observations 
of the air currents, etc. ; far-away lights will be 
turned on and off without connecting wires ; and 
hundreds of other actions will be controlled in 
like manner. 

The only really puzzling question is, Where 
will this wizardry of wireless end? 

Squirrel on thk Window-ledger " Come on, Bunny, and go nutting. What in the 
world are you doing? " 

Bunny: "Can't you see that I *m exercising in a wireless cage?" 

■ *i 

ar and C^reace 

at the 

1II-DRED and Polly were sitting on 
the stairs leading to the roof of the 
Rose Alba apartment-house. They 
were cousins. Polly Eaton's house- 
hold had the right-hand door as 
you reached the last landing on the 
steep steel-and-stone staircase. Mildred King 
lived behind the left-hand door. On the farther 
side of the landing were two other doors, opening 
into similar flats. The Kings and Eatons were so 
occupied with their own affairs — for six children 
on the top floor of a New York apartment-house 
can have an amazing number of affairs in a very 
small space — that these near neighbors seemed 
hardly persons at all, only beings in whose behalf 
Mrs. Eaton or Mrs. King would now and again 
command quiet. The door was open at the top of 
the short flight of steps to the roof, and the square 



of blue sky looked down on the children. 
The subject of their talk was a lady living on 
the first floor. 

"She looks cross," announced Mildred, and 
crossness was a mighty offense in the chil- 
dren's moral code. 

'"She scolded me once," volunteered Polly. 
Mildred opened her eyes at this bit of 

"When? What for?" she demanded. 
Polly looked slightly confused. 
"Albert and I were going through the 
hall," she explained hurriedly, "and she 
heard us and came out." 

The sound of clambering steps and muffled 
voices came through the well of the four 
flights of stairs. "Here are the boys !" Mil- 
dred exclaimed. "Wait till they come, 

Albert King and Paul Eaton were ahead, 
Albert, aged nine, with tumbled light hair like 
his sister Mildred's ; Paul, three years older, with 
big, gray eyes and straight, brown locks. Behind 
climbed David King, just five, very determined, 
very sturdy, and quite untroubled at bringing up 
the rear of the procession. 

"Boys, Polly is telling me what that cross Mrs. 
Frisbie said to her the other day." 

Albert looked indignantly at his cousin. 
"There, I knew you 'd go and tell !" 
"Why should n't she tell ? What had you been 
doing?" demanded Mildred, her sisterly sus- 
picions promptly awake. 

"Nothing!" stubbornly retorted Albert. "We 
just hurried down-stairs, and when we got to her 
door, it opened all of a sudden." 

"And she stood there right in our path," chimed 
in Polly, taking advantage of the dramatic style 
to divert Paul and Mildred, who, as the older 

■ 56 



members of the band, felt that more or less 
guard-duty devolved upon them. 

"All of you and Aunt Ellen had gone, and we 
were to catch up with you before you crossed 
Broadway," pursued Albert. 

"Well, well !" ordered Paul. "What did she do ?'' 

"She told us our mother ought to be ashamed 
of letting her children disturb the whole house !" 
repeated Albert, fiercely. 

"And Al told her we had two mothers, and we 
could n't have disturbed her much if she did n't 
know that about us," continued Polly, proudly. 

"She said if we had two mothers, they ought to 
be twice as much ashamed," finished Albert. 

"The idea !" said Mildred. "The idea ! And all 
we ever do is to go by her door and get out the 

"Oh, she 's cross !" pronounced Paul. "Only 
you 'd better be quiet on those stairs next time. 
I bet you slid down the banister, Al." 

Albert and Polly maintained a discreet silence, 
but Mildred intervened. 

"I 'm glad if she was disturbed!" she said, 
throwing law and order to the winds. "What do 
you think she has done now ? She 's complained 
because Aunty Griswold walks round her rooms 
evenings, and Aunty Griswold is going away." 

The three boys stared aghast. Aunty Griswold 
going away ! Why, what would the Rose Alba be 
without Aunty Griswold? 

"What doth she walk around in the eveningth 
for?" lisped David, who stood wide-eyed during 
this conversation, swaying on the edge of the top 
step, his arm wound round the newel post. "Why 
doth n't she thit down?" 

"She has to do her housework evenings be- 
cause she sews all day," explained Mildred, who 
at thirteen had clear ideas as to housework. 

"I don't see what Mrs. Frisbie expects. She 
does n't expect her not to do any housework, does 
she?" questioned the judicial Paul. 

"Aunty Griswold could n't disturb anybody !" 
averred Albert, indignantly. 

"I don't believe it," said Paul. "It 's too silly !" 

"The janitor's little girl told me," retorted Mil- 
dred. "She always knows everything that hap- 
pens in the house." 

The others, silenced by this authority, stood 
oppressed by the sense of calamity. 

"I 'th goin' to thee her," announced David, 
dropping from his perch on the upper step. 

"That 's it," cried Albert, "come on !" and he 
followed the red worsted cap that had disap- 
peared around the sharp angle of the stairway. 

Outside Aunty Griswold's door the five gath- 
ered, and the friendly dressmaker looked out on 
a row of solemn little faces. 

"All of you?" she cried. "Well, what is it?" 

"Are you going away?" demanded Paul. 

Aunty Griswold's face grew sober. 

"Yes," she said, "I am. I 'm going to live in 
another house." 

"But we don't want you to," burst in David. 

Aunty Griswold smiled, but not merrily. 

"If everybody felt as you do, I would n't be 
going," she said, and her kind eyes were uncom- 
monly bright as she looked at her visitors. 

"Please don't go," said Polly. "We don't care 
what she says," and Polly nodded her light curls 
significantly toward the stairway. 

Aunty Griswold held up a finger in warning. 

"But / care," she said, speaking quite low, so 
that none of the other three doors on the landing 
could possibly overhear. "I 've never been com- 
plained of before, and I can't bear it. I 'd rather 
go away." 

"Huh !" sniffed Albert. "It don't hurt any 
when you get used to it. Why, she 's even com- 
plained of us !" 

The corners of Aunty Griswold's mouth 
turned up and her eyes danced, so that you could 
hardly see the tears that had been in them a mo- 
ment before. 

"But I don't want to get used to it," she said. 
"I like to live where I 'm friends with people." 

The children looked at the plump little person 
before them. A tape-measure was thrown round 
her shoulders, a cushion bristling with pins hung 
at her side. To her little white apron stuck some 
shreds of woolen stuff. As she did not ask them 
in, they knew she was busy with a customer ; but 
customers were of small importance in the pres- 
ent crisis. 

"You won't move to-night, will you?" pleaded 

"Oh, no ! not to-night," she answered. 

"I would n't go anyhow," finished David, 
spunkily standing with his sturdy legs far apart. 

The next morning David went down the stairs 
and stood out on the steps, the mail that Paul had 
taken for him from the high boxes in the en- 
trance tightly clasped in his small hands. He 
waited longer than usual, watching the three 
older children till they reached the corner. Then 
he reentered the house slowly, closing the door 
carefully after him instead of letting it swing 
back, as was the custom. When he reached Mrs. 
Frisbie's door, he stopped short, and earnestly, 
deliberately, thoroughly, kicked it. After which 
he walked calmly across the hall, and slowly 
mounted the four flights that led to his Aunt 
Ellen's door. 

"Aunt Ellen," he inquired, "won't Uncle thtop 
Aunty Grithwold's going?" 




"He can't stop her, dear. He would if he 

"She don't want to go." 

"But she won't stay where people are disagree- 
able. You would n't stay with me if I were dis- 
agreeable, you know." 

"If Mrs. Frithbie wath n't croth, would she 

"Why, yes, I think she would." 

David stood for a few moments in the door- 
way; behind him Ralph called lustily for a play- 
mate, but he paid no heed. Then he trudged on, 
carrying his mother's mail. He did not wait, as 
was his wont, for the advertising pictures that 
were his booty from the larger envelops. Instead, 
he went to the window and stood looking out 
over the roofs of lower houses to the arches of 
the Cathedral of St. John. There was really 
nothing to see from that window. Sparrows sel- 
dom flew as high. Cats were scarce. It being 
Friday, few folk were hanging out washings. But 
David stood there so long that Mrs. King glanced 
several times inquiringly at him, and finally sug- 
gested that he come into the kitchen with her 
while she made ready the children's dinner. 

When Mildred and Albert tumbled in with the 
usual clamor about the morning's happenings, 
David regarded them in disapproving silence. 
He devoted himself to his brown bread and soup 
with an earnestness that relieved the table of 
much of the confusion attendant on meals at 
which he took part. 

"What 's the matter with you?" asked his 
brother, at length. "You 're awful quiet." 

"I guess he 's afraid he '11 bother Mrs. Frisbie," 
suggested Mildred. But comments passed over 
the small boy unheeded. 

"May I meet Milly and Albert at school thith 
afternoon?" he demanded. 

This was a favor granted only on great occa- 
sions, and after the exhibition of much virtue. It 
meant going alone around the block and waiting 
at an entrance while hundreds of children hur- 
ried by. 

"Oh, yes, we '11 look out for him," volunteered 
Albert, struggling into his coat. "Come to my 
side, 'cause I generally get out first." 

The door banged after the two. 

"May I, Muvver?" repeated David, not assured 
by his brother's orders. 

"Aunt Ellen is taking Baby Ralph out, and she 
will expect you to go with her." 

"We '11 all come back here," suggested David. 

Mrs. King yielded, wondering what notion the 
funny little fellow had in his head as he trotted 
down the hall and in at Aunt Ellen's door. 

"I mutht meet the children at school," he an- 

nounced importantly. "I '11 carry down the 
blanketh for the carriage when I go." 

"Oh, no you won't !" returned Aunt Ellen. 
"They might n't be there when I come down. W r e 
are going to Riverside to-day. Come directly 
back so that we can have a long afternoon there." 

Mrs. King and Mrs. Eaton went out with the 
six children on alternate afternoons, an arrange- 
ment that gave each mother a few hours of free- 
dom every other day. One person could act as 
outdoor nurse, since, as Aunt Margaret said, six 
were no more to handle than three. 

"Nor three more than two," said Aunt Ellen. 

It was David's duty to help carry down the four 
flights the many fittings needful to keep Ralph 
warm and happy in the brisk breezes of the Drive, 
and he was quite aware that to-day he was 
neglecting his task. But he had important mat- 
ters to attend to, and there was no time to lose. 
Aunty Griswold might this minute be getting 
ready to move. 

His eager little face peered up at Polly and 
Mildred as they came out in the throng of girls 
pouring from Public School No. 86. He had 
disregarded Albert's order, the avalanche of boys 
being somewhat overpowering to a five-year-old. 

"We mutht get the otherth quick !" he lisped, 
as. he caught Polly's hand. 

"What for?" she asked, in some surprise. 

"We 've got to do thomething," returned David, 
with assurance. 

So Mildred and Polly, obedient to the matter- 
of-course air which so often won the small lad's 
battles, hurried toward the boys' door. 

"There he ith ! there he ith !" squealed David, 
and darting into the crowd, caught Paul, at the 
moment intent on vaulting over a hydrant before 
his rival should reach it. 

Albert, too, disentangled himself from a bunch 
of younger lads, and David eyed his coterie with 

"What 's this about?" asked Paul, a little impa- 
tiently, having seen his rival successful. 

"Aunt Ellen thayth Aunty Grithwold would n't 
go if Mrs. Frithbie wath nithe," announced the 
small leader with an air of discovery. 

"Nice! That 's just what she is n't!" inter- 
posed Mildred. 

"There is n't anything to do. We asked Father 
last night," put in Albert, decisively. 

"She 'd thtay if Mrs. Frithbie wath friendth," 
persisted David. 

"If that 's all the trouble," said Polly, "I think 
something ought to be done. It 's easy enough to 
be friends." 

"Humph," said Paul, "perhaps you have n't 
had anybody mean to you ?" 




"No, I never have," answered cordial little 
Polly. "Nobody but Mrs. Frisbie, and I could be 
friends with her if she 'd only be friendly. I 
guess if anybody 'd only explain it to her, she 
could be." 

"We '11 tell her," announced David, calmly. 

The children stared at one another. 

"I don't know but we could," reflected Mildred. 
"What could we say?" 

"Paul would know things to say," promised the 
loyal Albert. 

"We won't talk any more about it now," or- 
dered Paul, sagely, as they turned their corner 
and saw Aunt Ellen with Ralph waiting on the 
sidewalk. "We '11 meet on the landing 
when we come back, and see if we 
can't get it done right away before 

Aunt Ellen did not have an easy 
afternoon. For once she admitted 
that six were more than three and 
many more than two. No games 
amused them. They had no interest 
in any of the mates they met upon 
the Drive. They played with Ralph 
spasmodically, and either with such 
vigor or such indifference that he 
felt distinctly aggrieved. To add 
to her troubles they were 
strangely impatient to get 
home. Polly asked the 
time till she at last refused 
to take out her watch ; and 
Albert talked continuously 
of the new book which he 
had had to leave at the end 
of the most exciting chap- 
ter. His aunt was firm, 
however. His mother was 
to have two free hours, 
and the children were to 
be out in the crisp air till 
five o'clock. David alone 
appeared careless as to 
their return. He saun- 
tered up and down the 
Drive, a calm spectator of 
the passing show. At last 
the sunshine faded, and 
their escort was satisfied, 
but the walk to the Rose 

Alba seemed uncommonly long. There was sur- 
prisingly little bustle in getting the carriage to its 
place beneath the stairs and gathering all the 
wraps and school-books that had been tucked in 
its corners. Aunt Ellen felt a surprised sense of 
relief that she had not once had to command 

silence. With Ralph lying sleepily in her arms, 
she mounted slowly, the children with their bur- 
dens hurrying ahead. When she reached her liv- 
ing-room, the articles they had carried were all 
dumped in the middle of the lounge, and not a 
child was to be seen. 

"Thev have run in to talk to Margaret," she 


said to herself, and thought no more about 

Paul and Polly, with Mildred and Albert and 
David, were safely ensconced meanwhile on the 
roof, where a neighborly chimney sheltered them 
from the wind. The landing was no safe place 




for their present business, with the likelihood of' 
the two fathers coming in a bit early. 

"We '11 go right down, and then, Paul, you '11 
have to speak first," said Milly. 

"Yes, Paul, 'cause you 're biggest," prompted 
Polly, seeing a certain hesitation in her brother's 
usually bold mien. 

one cheek. Now Mrs. Frisbie, when she ap- 
peared in public, always wore blue silk. No one 
had ever seen her in any of those washable gar- 
ments that the other housekeepers in the Rose 
Alba wore in the mornings certainly, and some- 
times afternoons as well. The apron made her 
seem like the rest of the human race. A bright 
smile spread over David's features. 

"And you know how best," added the wise 

"Then we '11 all thay thingth," put in David. 

Mildred looked at him suspiciously. 

"Remember, we must be very polite !" she 

"Oh, yeth," he agreed solemnly. 

"One, two, three ! Now start, Paul ahead," 
urged Polly. 

So they started, down the short flight, around 
the turn, across another landing, around again, 
and so on until they reached the first floor. David 
pushed Mrs. Frisbie's bell. 

That lady came to the door, a large gingham 
apron over her thin person, and a dab of flour on 


"Are you makin'-'em now?" he inquired. 

"Making what ?" demanded Mrs. Frisbie, too 
surprised by her five callers to be as forbidding 
as they expected. 

"Why, the Frithbie Caketh," returned David. 
"Muvver would n't buy any at the grother's. I 
never tathted 'em," he added reflectively. 

"Frisbie Cakes?" repeated the lady, in a puz- 
zled tone. "What are they?" 

"Why, they 're in all the stores, in little square 
boxes. I 've had 'em. One girl brings some to 
school 'most every day," volunteered Polly. 

One .and another of the group pressed infor- 
mation upon their hostess, relieved to find this 
safe topic of conversation. 

"And you thought I made them ?" inquired Mrs. 
Frisbie, smiling. 

"I hoped you did !" owned David. 

Mrs. Frisbie laughed again. Her thin face 




lighted when she laughed, and her keen eyes grew 

"Was that what you came for? I do make 
cookies. Come in and see if they are as good as 
those at the grocer's." 

The spicy odor of hot molasses came through 
the open door, and David followed his little nose 
with serene confidence. The others held back. 

"Oh, no, no, we did n't come for that!" pro- 
tested Mildred, in a shocked voice. "We did n't 
even know David thought you made Frisbie 

"Never mind; come in. I think mine are very 
good, and I 'd like you to try them." 

Albert yielded, and the others followed. They 
stared about them as they went along the narrow 
hallway. The open doors showed little rooms 
ranged along one side, as in all the flats of the 
Rose Alba. The walls were covered with a light 
paper over which ran green vines and little flow- 
ers. The furniture was white, too. The rugs 
were green-and-white, and the woodwork, that in 
their rooms wore a serviceable cherry stain, was 
here as white as the chairs and tables. There 
were thin, short curtains at the windows, and 
everywhere in place of vases and ornaments were 
growing plants. Vines climbed over the window 
casings and around the few pictures. In the 
front room, whither David gravely led them, a 
little table was set for two, with a green dish of 
low-spreading fern in the center. This was evi- 
dently the dining-room and sitting-room in one, 
for though there was no sideboard full of fancy 
china and glass, such as almost every flat in the 
Rose Alba boasted, there was a piano with a pot 
of deep red geraniums standing at one end, and 
a case full of music beside it. It occurred to Mil- 
dred that Aunty Griswold's kettles and carpet- 
sweeper might be a bother if Mrs. Frisbie played; 
but that did not excuse crossness. 

"Oh, how perfectly lovely !" breathed Polly. 

A great, tawny cat, with long hair and wide, 
plume-like tail, rose from the window-seat and 
stretched luxuriously, eying the children sleepily. 

"Oh," said Albert in his turn, "see its hair !" 
And he knelt on the floor by the soft bunch of yel- 
low fur. 

"Sit down," urged Mrs. Frisbie. "I don't know 
what your mother — " 

"Mothers," corrected Albert, and then blushed 
and stroked the yellow cat so hard that he arose 
in displeasure, and, jumping down, walked over 
to Mildred with an imperious mew. 

"Sunshine wants you to take him," explained 
his mistress. "If you sit in that rocker, you can 
hold him best." 

Mildred sat down proudly, and Sunshine curled 
Vol. XLI— 21. 

himself in comfort with his head outstretched on 
feathery paws, his eyes sharply watchful. 

"Yes, mothers," amended Mrs. Frisbie, cheer- 
fully. "I don't know what they will say to 
cookies just before dinner. I think I '11 give you 
only two apiece now, and then you can take some 

She brought out a plate of spicy, crisp, brown 
cakes, still warm from the oven, with edges 
turned up unevenly, and browner on one side than 
the other. Paul and Mildred took theirs rather 
shamefacedly. Not only were they accepting 
favors from one they had come to reprove, but 
from the enemy of their friend. It was an awk- 
ward situation. But there was no resisting those 
cookies, nor, for that matter, Mrs. Frisbie's man- 
ner. When each of her visitors was busily 
munching, she looked about with an air of satis- 

"They 're awful good," volunteered Albert, 
wishing to wipe out unpleasant recollections. 
"Why do you make 'em at night?" 

"Well, I 'm cooking my husband's dinner at 
night, anyway, and it 's easier to do all one's cook- 
ing at once. Then, too, I 'm busy almost all the 

"Why, you 're just like Aunty Griswold !" ex- 
claimed Polly. "She has to do hers at night, too, 
'cause she 's busy daytimes. Only she 's busy 
later, so she has to cook later." 

"And then she has n't any husband, you know," 
added Mildred, feeling that now the way was 
opened, she must step in. 

"He 'th dead," remarked David, helping him- 
self to another cooky with a dignified openness. 

"Indeed," said Mrs. Frisbie, in a tone that sug- 
gested a lack of interest. "So Mrs. Griswold is 
your aunt, is she?" 

"Oh, no," explained Paul. "We only call her 
aunt. We have n't any real aunts excepting one 
apiece. Our mother is Mildred's and Albert's and 
David's Aunt Ellen ; and their mother is our 
Aunt Margaret." 

"I see. Take another cake." 

Conversation seemed about to languish, but 
Polly came to the rescue. She was gazing 
frankly about her. 

"It 's lovely here," she said. "It 's like the 
country. It 's all just flowers and leaves and 
whiteness and greenness. If you only had a bird, 
it would be about as nice as Grandpa's." 

Mrs. Frisbie's smile came back again. 

"Is Grandpa's in the country?" she asked. 

"Oh, yes !" they all answered at once. 

"It 's out on Long Island at Burnham Park," 
detailed Paul. 

"And there is a lot of grass and trees, just like 



Riverside, only you can pick the trees," hurried 

"The flowers," corrected Polly. 

"And there is n't any river," corrected Mildred. 

"We go there sometimes Sundays and Satur- 
days," added Paul. 

Mrs. Frisbie smiled more gaily than at any 
time during their visit. 

"I 'm so glad you know about the country," she 
said. "I never lived in the city before." 

The children gazed at her as at some wanderer 
from strange lands. 

"Aunty Grithwold ith from the country," put in 
David, innocently. He was in the midst of his 
third cooky. 

"So she is; it 's just like Aunty Griswold !" 
agreed Polly. "She 's so funny, she does n't like 
it here so well as where she came from." 

"Neither do I," agreed Mrs. Frisbie. 

"Were n't you lonesome in the country with 
nobody nearer than the next house?" demanded 

"No, I liked it. I like a house all to myself," 
she began ; but stopped in the middle of the sen- 
tence. It seemed curiously discourteous to these 
small strangers to say anything uncomplimentary 
of the Rose Alba. 

"That 's just what Aunty Griswold says !" ex- 
claimed Mildred. "She 's been here a year, and 
she thought she never could stand having people 
right close to her all the time." 

"But she feels better now she knows us, and 
some of the other people. She 's so kind, every- 
body likes her," explained Albert, and then 
stopped short, remembering that Mrs. Frisbie, at 
least, did not like her. 

"Well, I 've been here three months, and I 
don't like it at all," confessed Mrs. Frisbie. 

"But you don't know anybody yet," objected 
Polly. "Aunty Griswold was real lonely till she 
knew us." 

"You '11 like it," Paul assured her easily. "You 
've got such a countryish sort of place here. And 
then your cookies taste just like the country, too. 
They are n't a bit like bakers'." 

"Oh, yes !" sighed Mildred. "You can't help 
liking this," and she glanced about the little 
flower-decked room and squeezed Sunshine softly. 
"Aunty Griswold has n't anything like this. 
She 's just beginning, you know, so she has n't 
any money but just enough to live on, and she 
sews all day long in her rooms, so, of course, they 
can't be pretty like this." 

"She hath n't any cat," remarked David, walk- 
ing over to Mildred and laying his little hand 
experimentally on the yellow down. 

"No, and not any husband," added Polly. 

"But for those things, you 're lots like her," 
reflected Mildred. "You see, you both came from 
the country, and have to be busy all the daytime, 
and you don't like New York; and then you 've 
got the same kind of a smile." 

"I guess you 've both got a sort of country 
look," ventured Paul. 

Mrs. Frisbie reflected on the plump, short, 
plainly gowned dressmaker whom she had seen 
hurrying in and out, and compared the picture 
with her own slender, tall figure. Then she 
laughed merrily. 

"You make me want to know Aunty Griswold," 
she said. "I think if I did that we would be 

"Do you think so?" exclaimed Mildred, jumping 
up and spilling Sunshine into David's little arms, 
where he landed wrong side up and struggled 
about to the right position, much ruffled both in 
coat and feelings. 

"That 's what we came for," announced Paul, 
with satisfaction. "You see, we felt sure if you 
only knew her, you 'd like her." 

The little clock on the mantle, the only article 
there save another dark red geranium, struck six 
clear strokes. 

"We must go right home," cried Polly, in con- 
sternation. "They '11 be frightened." And with- 
out waiting for farewells, she started down the 

"Nobody knew we were coming," explained 

"I see," said Mrs. Frisbie, thoughtfully. "Well, 
I 'm glad you came. But you are forgetting your 

David, the last of the line, and still lingering in 
the doorway, looked relieved. 

"I '11 carry them," he offered. 

Mrs. Frisbie handed him a fat bag, and then 
stood watching till the last rubbed shoe disap- 
peared at the turn of the stairs. 

The next noon, Aunty Griswold's door opened as 
the four older children came from school. David 
looked out at them. 

"Come !" he ordered mysteriously. 

He led the way to the front room, where, in 
the sunny window, was a dark red geranium. 

"Oh," exclaimed Polly, "it 's Mrs. Frisbie's 
best one !" 

Aunty Griswold came out from her kitchen, 
where she was eating a hurried luncheon between 

"I should n't wonder," she said. "Mrs. Frisbie 
came to see me last night, and I 'm not going to 
move. She 's real nice. She comes from the 
country, too." 

;^,'V ^ All 



c- O^ 

Very likely Elsie was dreaming that afternoon 
when she found herself in the Dim Forest. I am 
only telling you what she said about it afterward. 

She certainly had been reading "Through the 
Looking-Glass," and had a vague recollection of 
Amos asleep on the rug and saying "Woof ! 
Woof !" occasionally in a subdued but agitated 
tone. Also, she remembered her mother sitting 
by the window, working initials in a handker- 

But here she was, unaccountably standing in a 
dusky forest with queer trees whose branches 
waved in every direction, and seemed like long, 

°f SJyie. and i\v\qj 

slender arms. The colors in this forest were 
perfectly fascinating blues and browns, in deli- 
cate and indescribable variations. 

She was gazing about with intense interest, 
when she heard a low, inquiring "Woof ! Woof !" 
and, turning, she beheld Amos sitting intelli- 
gently on his haunches, with one ear raised and 
the other hesitating. As he caught her eye, he 
lifted the doubtful ear, and said in dog language, 
which was perfectly intelligible to Elsie, "Well, 
here we are; what next?" 

But Elsie had no plan, and was just going to 
ask Amos what he thought, when they heard 
a tremendous scrambling in the bushes, and 
a large tortoise-shell cat bounded across the 
path, and went up a tall tree, just as though 
she lived there, and was in a hurry to get 

Immediately behind the cat came an ex- 
traordinary little man, not much bigger than 
Amos, who carried a blue laundry bag with 
a white drawing-string, exactly like the one in 
Elsie's closet at home. He stopped under the 
tree and looked up at the cat, who was sitting on 
the very highest branch. 

"Well," he said finally, "I 've done it now." 
"Done what?" inquired Elsie, who was very 
much interested. 

"Let the cat out of the bag," he replied, with- 
out looking at her. "My aunt will be cross !" 

"Is it her cat?" asked Elsie, looking up to the 
top of the tree, where she could see two green 
eyes shining like coals. 

"No," he said, rather grumpily; "it 's the cat 





that must n't, in any circumstances, be let out 
of the bag. And 1 'm always letting it out." 

"But how do you get it in again, when it goes 
up a tree like that?" asked Elsie. 

"I don't," replied the little man, and he folded 
the laundry bag very neatly, and tucked it under 
his arm; "it*s a different cat every time." Then 
he turned and looked suspiciously at Elsie. 

"I 'm a gnome," he said; "what are you?" 

"Why, I 'm a little girl," replied Elsie, rather 
taken aback by his abruptness. "And this is 
Amos," she added, introducing the latter. 

"So that 's Amos, is it?" observed the gnome; 
"I 've heard all about him." He raised a tiny 
forefinger and said to Amos: 

"Dead dog !" 

"Woof!" said Amos; and was immediately 
dead dog. 

"Now," said the gnome to Elsie, "if you '11 
come with me, I '11 show you something." 

"But," cried Elsie, "we must n't leave Amos 
dead dog like that. He won't get up till you say 
'Policeman.' " 

The gnome considered this carefully. 

"Don't you always give him something for 
being dead dog?" he demanded finally. 

"Always," said Elsie. "He gets a biscuit when 
he comes to life." 

"Well, I have n't any biscuit," declared the 
gnome, as though that ended the matter, "so he '11 
have to stay there." 

"But have n't you anything?" asked Elsie, anx- 

"Well, I 've got a little cream-cheese," he re- 
plied. Amos opened one eye. "But it belongs to 
the cat," added the gnome, hurriedly. 

"Amos adores cream-cheese," cried Elsie, "and 
the cat won't come down for it, you know." 

The gnome went to the foot of the tree and 
peered upward at the cat for a long time, using 
his two little hands like opera-glasses. 

"No, he won't," he decided finally; and took a 
small piece of cream-cheese from his pocket. 

"Now," said Elsie, much relieved, "you say 
'Policeman,' and give Amos the cheese." 

The gnome approached Amos, who was looking 
out of the corner of one eye, and whispered, "Po- 
liceman !" Amos sprang to his feet and bolted 
the cheese in one gulp. 

"But why did you whisper when you said 'Po- 
liceman'?" inquired Elsie, quite puzzled by his 
mysterious conduct. 

The little man looked about him cautiously. 

"If you say 'Policeman' round here— out loud," 
he replied darkly, "you may get one ; and we 
don't want the police— especially you. You 're 
trespassing, you know." 

"Trespassing !" cried Elsie, alarmed. "I did n't 

"Well, you are," he informed her. "These are 
Mr. Rackham's woods." 

"Oh, now I know where I am!" cried Elsie, 
clapping her hands with joy. "I thought it looked 
familiar. Does n't Peter Pan live here?" 

"No, indeed," said the gnome; "he lives in 
quite another place. He never grew up, you 

"I know," admitted Elsie, "but what has that 
to do with it?" 

The little man went to the foot of the tree 
where the cat was, and looked up at the branches 
for several minutes. Elsie was getting impatient 
,when he finally returned. 

"It has a lot to do with it," he declared, a little 
crossly; "but I can't remember just what." 

Elsie laughed; his arguments were so like her 
brother Tom's. 

"You 're an odd one," she said, smiling at him. 

"Certainly," agreed the gnome ; "one is always 
odd. To be even, you have to be two or four." 

"I 'm eleven," said Elsie, a little perplexed. 

"Then you 're an odd one, too?" he declared 

"Is that a joke?" inquired Elsie. 

He went to the tree again, and looked up at 
the cat for three minutes very intently. 

"I don't know," he said when he returned; 
"what do you think?" 

"Perhaps it is," she replied doubtfully; and, re- 
calling some of her uncle's jokes, she added, "I 
can't always tell." 

"I never can," said the gnome, "until it Ceases." 

"Ceases?" said Elsie, puzzled. 

"Ceases to Be a Joke," explained the gnome. 
"They sometimes do, you know." Then he stood 
up very straight with his arms at his sides, made 
a bow, and recited : 

"To Jokes I 'm very much inclined, 
But never chanced to see one; 
When I get round to look, I find 
The Joke has Ceased to Be One." 

He bowed again, and looked anxiously at Elsie, 
who applauded him vigorously. 

"That was very good," she said ; "but it re- 
minds me a little of The Purple Cow." 

"Well, there you are !" said the gnome. "The 
Purple Cow was a joke; but before I saw it, it 
had Ceased to Be One." 

He was obviously so depressed by this state of 
affairs, that Elsie thought best to change the sub- 
ject, so she said: 

"I wonder if you would call my brother Tom 
an odd one." 




"How old is he?" inquired the little man, 

"Thirteen and a half," said Elsie. 

The gnome hesitated. "Wait a minute," he 
said, and stepped behind a large tree. Presently 
his head appeared. 

"Half of what?" he demanded, quite sternly. 

"Half of a year, of course," said Elsie. 

"Of course," replied the gnome; and withdrew 
his head. 


Elsie and Amos waited a long time, but the 
gnome failed to return with the answer. So they 
stole cautiously round to the other side of the 

The gnome was gone ! 

"Amos," cried Elsie, "the little man has run 
away !" 

Amos went round and round the tree, sniffing 
very hard ; but a gnome is not easy to track, and 
he finally gave it up, and they went off together 
at random. 

. They had gone only a short distance when, 
without any warning whatever, they met a little 
girl about Elsie's age, hurrying along the path 
leading a very reluctant and discouraged camel. 

The girl had long, straight hair, and was 
dressed in a quaint little frock, and wore ankle- 

Elsie recognized her at once, and cried out joy- 
fully : 

"It 's Alice!" 

Alice stopped, and the camel immediately sat 

"How did you happen to know me?" inquired 
Alice, politely. 

"Why, everybody knows you," said Elsie, with 
delight. "Have you been to Wonderland, or is it 
the Looking-Glass to-day?" 

"It 's the Looking-Glass," replied Alice; "and 
I suppose I must get back before it closes. I 
don't know how I got here," 
she added, looking about cu- 
riously; "not that it matters, 
you know." 

"No, indeed," said Elsie. 
"Do you mind if I ask about 
the camel ? I don't quite re- 
member him." 

Alice looked at the animal 

"Is n't he helpless !" she 
sighed. "He does n't belong 
to me, but I feel rather re- 
sponsible for him. He came 
out of the Admiral's Caravan, 
you know." 

"Oh, yes !" cried Elsie, sud- 
denly remembering; "I know 
him perfectly. And where are 
the Admiral, and Sir Walter, 
and the Highlander?" 

"Back there," said Alice, 
pointing vaguely. "They treat- 
ed the camel shamefully, so 
I 'm taking him away." 

At this point, the camel ut- 
tered a loud, complaining noise. 
"He does n't seem to like it," remarked Elsie. 
"No," said Alice, "he does n't like it a bit. 
He 's a most exasperating camel, and has n't the 
faintest idea when he 's well off. Get up !" she 
commanded impatiently. 

The camel stretched his long neck and groaned. 
"Do you see that?" said Alice, indignantly. 
"He is pretending he has lumbago. I 've a good 
mind to leave him behind !" 

But the camel, assisted by Amos (who knew 
just what to do), finally got on his feet again, 
groaning heavily, and followed Alice along the 
path in the lowest spirits. 

"If you see the Admiral down the road," Alice 
called back, "tell him the camel is all right. He 
won't care, but it 's just as well." And she began 
to run quite fast, while the camel stumbled after 
her, protesting languidly. 

Elsie and Amos were proceeding on their way 
rather excited by this adventure, when suddenly 




the little gnome popped out from behind a rock, 
and scurried swiftly down the path ahead of 

Amos gave chase at once, and Elsie followed 
as fast as she could. They had almost overtaken 
him, when he stopped abruptly and began to 
make figures with a stubby pencil on a large 
piece of wrapping-paper which was almost cov- 
ered with sums in addition, subtraction, multipli- 
cation, and division. 

Elsie came up, a little out of breath ; and Amos, 
after he had sniffed thoroughly at the little man's 
tiny legs, said, "Woof!" which meant: "It 's all 
right; this is the identical gnome." 

The little man paid no attention to them until 
Elsie coughed politely; then he hastily put away 
his pencil and paper, and said : "Do you waltz ?" 
and before she could reply, he scampered down 
the path again as fast as his little legs could take 

But Elsie, quite annoyed this time, called out 
very loudly, "Stop !" whereupon he instantly 
came to a standstill, and, taking out his pencil 
and paper, started to make figures very busily. 

"Let 's see," he said to himself, pretending not 
to see them; "thirteen and a half; thirteen is odd 
and a half may be either odd or even — " Then 
he looked at Elsie in a surprised manner, as 
though he had just discovered her. 

"Oh, how do you do?" he exclaimed; "where 
have you been all this time?" 

Elsie treated his inquiry as absurd, which, of 
course, it was. 

"Why did you run away from us?" she de- 
manded in turn. 

The gnome reflected. 

"I have had a great deal to do this afternoon," 
he said finally. 

Elsie was going to inquire into this, when they 
heard a shrill little voice calling, "Jacob.' Jacob!" 
and round the bend in the path appeared a little 
old lady, smaller even than the gnome. 

Her dress was eccentric, Elsie thought ; and 
she wore an immense muslin cap, very tall and 
stiff, which made her look somewhat like Elsie's 
recollection of the Grenadier in a certain story- 
book at home. 

The gnome became highly excited. 

"That 's my aunt !" he exclaimed, and imme- 
diately unfolded the blue laundry bag and peered 
anxiously into it. 

When the little old lady drew nearer, Elsie saw 
that she was working a very large letter "A" on 
a very small pocket-handkerchief. 

"Well," she said sharply, addressing the gnome, 
"where is the cat?" 

The gnome, whose name, Elsie decided, was 

Jacob, continued to look thoughtfully into the 

"I must have let it out," he said, after a while. 

At this, his aunt immediately took off her 
Grenadier cap and threw it into the air. To 
Elsie's astonishment, it did not come down, but 
continued ascending until it was lost to sight ; 
whereupon the old lady called out, "I told you 
so !" and sailed up into the air after it. 

"She 's gone shopping," said Jacob. 

Elsie was a good deal mystified by these events, 
but thought best to betray no surprise. 

"Whose handkerchief was she embroidering?" 
she asked, to show that she was not at all dis- 
turbed by the old lady's singular conduct. 

"Mine," replied Jacob. "That is," he added 
cautiously, "it is intended for me." 

"But she was making an 'A,' " said Elsie, quite 
unable to follow him. 

"Well, that 's the whole trouble," declared 
Jacob. "A is the only letter she can make, and 
she puts it on all my handkerchiefs. A stands 
for Anybody, and Anybody gets 'em if I don't 
look sharp." 

Elsie laughed. "I believe you 've made a 
joke !" she cried. 

"No," said the gnome, crossly; "I know what 
you mean, but that Ceased to Be One before it 
was made. How would you like some tea?" he 
added abruptly. 

"Is it tea-time so soon?" asked Elsie, in sur- 

"That depends entirely on the tea," said Jacob. 
"It is n't time for breakfast tea, but it is time for 
afternoon tea." 

"We have high tea at my house," said Elsie. 

"Green 's better," said the gnome, shortly. 
"Well, here is The Police," he continued, as 
though he had been expecting the Force any 
minute ; and to Elsie's dismay, a gigantic patrol- 
man came marching up the path. He was no 
less than ten feet tall, and extremely imposing; 
but as he approached them, she recognized the 
face of the officer who helped her across the 
street every morning on her way to school ; so 
she felt quite reassured. 

"The Police always makes the tea," said Jacob, 
as he started down the lane. The Police held up 
his hand to stop imaginary traffic while Elsie 
crossed the path, taking very short steps, for she 
did not want to hurt his feelings. 

"Move on, please!" he said; and started after 
the gnome, with Elsie and Amos trotting quite 
fast to keep up. 

Presently they came upon a very small house, 
no bigger than the one they built for Amos, and 
which he refused to live in. 




On the front steps was Jacob's aunt, making 
repeated and ineffectual efforts to get through the 
door. She was prevented by the height of her 
Grenadier cap, which she had apparently recov- 
ered since her remarkable disappearance. 


Every time she made the attempt, her cap en- 
countered the top of the door-frame ; and after 
each failure, she backed down the steps and made 
a new start. Jacob stood by, watching her criti- 

"I tell her she can't do it," he said, as the 
others arrived. 

"Why does n't she take off her cap?" suggested 

"She might do that," said Jacob. "Why don't 
you?" he inquired of his aunt. 

"I had my reasons," she replied stiffly. Never- 
theless, she removed her cap, and walked into the 
house without another word. 

"Now, if you '11 come inside, we '11 have tea," 
said Jacob, moving toward the door. 

"But we can't get inside," 
protested Elsie. "Of course 
Amos can, but he won't, be- 
cause he thinks somebody 
made it for him." 

"You can get in well 
enough, if you try," said 
Jacob, peevishly; "my aunt 
got in." 

"But she is very small, you 
know," replied Elsie. 

"So she is," admitted Jacob, 
as though he had just thought 
of that ; and he seized a crank 
on the side of the house, 
which Elsie had not noticed 
before, and turned it rapidly. 
The house began to expand, 
and presently became a large 
mansion with a front door 
high enough for even The Po- 
lice, if he took off his helmet. 
This so astonished Elsie 
that she exclaimed : 

"What an extraordinary 
house !" 

"It 's a semi-detached villa," 
Jacob explained, as he stopped 
cranking and secured the han- 
dle in a leather strap like the 
one on her uncle's automobile. 
"But what makes it grow 
so?" asked Elsie. 

"Caterpillar attraction," said 
Jacob. "I thought everybody 
knew that." 

Elsie did n't, and wanted to 
look into it ; but The Police 
said, "Move on, please !" and 
they all went inside, except 
Amos, who suspected chip- 
munks in a certain tree, and was prepared to 
keep that tree under observation any length of 

Within the house they found Jacob's aunt sit- 
ting at a tea-table in a high chair. She had re- 
sumed her Grenadier cap, and was wearing a bib 
marked with a large "A." 

In the corner of the room stood a Grand- 
father's Clock with a face precisely like the Man 
in the Moon. While Elsie was looking at it, the 
face wrinkled itself up, and sneezed five times. 




"Five o'clock !" cried Jacob; whereupon The "Well, I know that," replied Jacob. "You can 
Police began to make tea with incredible speed see for yourself what she is like on Saturdays, 



and dexterity. Jacob put a great many lumps of 
sugar into his aunt's cup, which she removed and 
replaced in the sugar-bowl as fast as he put them 
into her cup. 

Everything happened so quickly that Elsie was 
quite bewildered. There was evidently an in- 
exhaustible supply of tea-pots, for The Police 
was making tea in one after another, but never 
pouring any. Finally, Elsie ventured to say: 

"Three lumps, please." But The Police seized 
another tea-pot, and sang at the top of his voice : 

" Don't say lumps of sugar to me ; 
I 've nothing to do but viake the tea! " 

At this, Jacob's aunt poured the sugar-bowl 
full of tea, and, tucking it under her arm, hastily 
jumped out of the window. 

"There she goes !" said Jacob, cheerfully. 
"She 's like that on Thursdays." 

"But this is Saturday," said Elsie, getting 
rather vexed at the unusual proceedings. 

and I thought you 'd be interested to know that 
she 's the same on Thursdays." 

"Well, I must be going," said Elsie, giving up 
all hope of getting tea. "I 've enjoyed myself 
very much," she added in her best manner. Jacob 
made no response, and The Police was getting 
another tea-pot out of the closet, so she slipped 
out, and, tearing Amos away from his tree, 
started back the way they had come. 

Just then Jacob called out from the front door: 

"You 'd better stay ; we 're going to have tea 
pretty soon !" But Elsie shook her head and 
kept on.' 

They had not gone far when she heard a little 
patter behind them, and, turning, she saw Jacob 
scampering madly to catch up. 

"Wait a minute," he gasped; and when he had 
recovered his breath, he said confidentially: 

"She 's like that seven days in the week. I 
thought you 'd want to know what days to avoid. 
You can come on the eighth," he added. 




"But, you funny little man," said Elsie, much 
amused, "there are n't eight days in the week." 

"Are n't there?" he asked anxiously. 

"No, indeed !" replied Elsie. 

"Dear me!" said the gnome, thoughtfully; 
"then I '11 have to get my hair cut" ; and he be- 
gan turning back somersaults so rapidly that he 
looked exactly like a Fourth of July pinwheel. 

He continued revolving until he gradually 
faded away into nothing, and Elsie found her- 
self yawning sleepily, while Amos was saying 
"Woof! Woof!" at short intervals. She rubbed 
her eyes, and when she looked out of them again, 
she saw her mother by the window, still working 

initials, and Amos was sitting in front of the 
sofa, anxiously trying to attract her attention 

"Where is Alice?" she asked, rather bewil- 

"You were n't reading 'Alice,' dear," said her 
mother; " 'Through the Looking-Glass' is there 
on the sofa beside you." 

Elsie rubbed her eyes again, and, looking hard 
at Amos, she said : 

"Amos, where have you been?" 

Amos yawned widely, sneezed, shook himself, 
and sat down again with a broad smile, which, to 
Elsie, indicated that whatever had happened 
would never be revealed by him. 


M for the Mistletoe, merry and bright, 
E for the Evergreen, Santa's delight ! 
R for the Room where we hang up the hose, 
R for Red Ribbons for Red Ribbon bows ; 
Y for the Youngsters who scurry to bed, 

C for the Candy Canes, yellow and red ; 
H for the Holly that shines through the pane, 
R for the Reindeer we seek for in vain, 
I for the Ice of the valley and hill, 
S for the Stockings for Santa to fill— 
T for the Tinsel that hangs on the Tree, 
M for the Music of laughter and glee; 
A for the Absent, remembered and dear, 
S for the Season's glad greetings of cheer ! 

Mabel Livingston Frank. 

Vol. XLI.— 22. 



One time, a djinn lived in a djar, 
The place where all good cookies are. 

The cookies, they were crisp and sweet, 
The very nicest kind to eat; 

And as I wanted one, myself, 
I reached up to the pantry shelf. 

But, goodness me ! for gracious' sakes ! 
Those brown and crispy cooky-cakes 

Had all turned into djinnger-snaps ! 
The very funniest little chaps ! 

And from the djar they all djumped out, 
And scampered all around about. 

And one fell right down from the shelf, 
And so, of course, he broke himself ! 

And two of them were making love 
(The others spying from above!), 

And one turned on his lantern's glare 
(But the fond lovers did n't care). 

And one djinn, 'round behind the djar, 
Found where the djams and djellies are. 

And he exclaimed, "Oh, djiminnee ! 
I '11 djust go on a djamboree !" 



" Now run and play — I Ve bread to bake," 
Says Mama Bear, " and pies to make." 

They met a sight their souls to grieve. 
A starving squirrel on Christmas eve- 




His house a tumbledown old hut, 
His children crying for a nut. 

The cubs took out their wishing-rings 
And wished the squirrels lots of things. 




Old Santa Claus, with satisfaction, 
Heard of the little cubs' kind action, 

For Christmas morning brought, you see, 
Reward in gifts and jollity. 




Grow ! Why, puddings do not grow at all ! 

cook makes them. 

And yet, they do grow; just as everything else 
does that we bring to 
our tables. Not that 
you will find them in 
very reality as they 
come from the kitchen, 
but what is as much 
to the point, you will 
find growing some- 
where all the things 
that go to make up 
the pudding. 

Now little Jack Hor- 
ner, who "put in his 
thumb and pulled out 
a plum," evidently 
thought the plum was 
the main thing in the 
pie. And I think we 
shall have to agree 
with Jack when it 
comes to puddings— 
the plum is the main 
thing. At any rate, 
that is what we are 
going to talk about 
here— the plum and 
where it grows. 

But first of all, I 
must tell you that plum 

is not its proper name. The real name of this 

little fruit is currant. And thereby hangs a tale— 

as good Dame Quickly would 
map of Greece, and you will 
Corinth. This old 
have had a way of 
name to things. The 
kind of architecture 
named Corinthian — 
first used there 

say. Turn to your 
find a place called 
city seems to 
lending its 

most beautiful 
in the world is 
because it was 
you know that 


Illustration from the United 
States Department of Agricul- 

two of the most beautiful books in our Bible are 
the Epistles to the Corinthians— letters which 



good Saint Paul wrote to the church at Corinth 
after he had come a-preaching upon its streets. 
And our little plum borrowed the name of the 
old city, too, having first been grown there- 
abouts, and came to be called the fruit of Corinth, 
or "currants." Just as our peach borrowed the 
name of Persia, its ancient home; and our dam- 
son, the name of Damascus ; and our quince, the 
name of Cydonia in Crete— which, by the way, 
still grows the best quinces in the world. 

But whereas peaches and damsons and quinces 
have turned emigrant and wandered all over the 
earth, this special currant has bided at home. 
The only place in the world where you will find 
it growing is a little ribbon of land shut in be- 
tween mountain and sea along the western coast 
of Greece. 

Wise folk would have it that the currant finds 

February, the hillsides are aflame with flowers — 
anemones, daisies, orchids, iris, and the golden 


marsh-mallow — not merely a posy here and there 
— the ground is carpeted. 

The old Greeks must have loved this coming 
of spring to their fields, for they made a very 
beautiful story about it, which they used to tell to 
their children. It was the story of Demeter and 
her daughter Persephone. You remember it : 
how Demeter, the goddess of harvests, lost her. 


in this little nook something peculiar to its needs. 
As for me, I like to think that it is in love with 
the very place itself — just as you would surely 
be if you had ever seen it. For it is a veritable 
sun-parlor, shielded on the north by giant moun- 
tains, and opening on the south upon summer 
seas where gentlest zephyrs blow ; and over all, 
an arch of sky as blue as lapis lazuli. No Jack 
Frost ever enters it ; but every season brings its 
harvest of fruit — peaches, loquats, pomegranates, 
figs, grapes that put "Eshcol" to shame, and 
oranges that vie with the "golden apples of the 
Hesperides." Even December and January bring 
offerings of flowers; and you may have roses 
from the garden for your Christmas table. 

Lovely as this home of the currants is always, 

I think you must come to it in spring to find it in 

its most charming mood. And you must not put 

it off too late, for even with the coming of 

Vol. XLI.— 23. 


daughter one day out in the fields, and found, 
after long search, that she had been stolen by Dis, 
the king of the under-world; how Demeter 
pleaded with Hera, the queen of the gods, to have 




her daughter restored; how, finally, it was ar- 
ranged that Persephone should spend half her 
time in the dark under-world, and half on the 
earth with her mother. 

When you see the flowers bursting out of the 
earth in spring, that is Persephone coming back 
from the under-world to visit her mother. And 
when Persephone has come, Demeter dries her 
tears. The clouds vanish away, and the happy 
mother blesses the fields with her smile through 
the long summer days. 

Can you imagine it ! A whole long summer 
with not a single rain. But that is just what our 
currants like best of all : they are true sun-wor- 
shipers. Indeed, a rain in summer would be a 
calamity to the vines. 

"Vines?" I 'hear some one exclaim. "Why, I 
thought you were talking about currants." 

And so I am. But I see that while we have 
been talking about the currant and its home, I 
have forgotten to tell you a very important thing: 
the currant of Greece is not at all related to the 
currant of our American gardens. It is a tiny 
grape, and grows on a vine, just as other grapes 

And not dozing either, for during these days 
every vine becomes a factory where sunbeams 
and soil are converted into sugar. The secret 
process of the vines goes on for weeks and 
weeks, till the purple clusters hang heavy with 
sweetness, and the time of ingathering is at hand. 

Then the fields become alive with workers. 
Men, women, and children turn out from morning- 
till night, clipping the fat clusters from the vines 
and carrying them away in great hampers to the 
curing grounds— for the rains will be coming 
again with autumn, and the harvest must be 
stored before the first drop falls. 

And how many currants do you think are gath- 
ered from these curing grounds every summer? 

A train load, perhaps ? More than that. 

A ship-load, then ? 

Still more. In a single season there are gath- 
ered nearly four hundred million pounds ! 

That is only a big number with no meaning. 
Suppose we put it another way. If you should 
put into one scale of a huge balance all the raisins 
of California and Spain and Turkey, you could 
weigh them down with currants from Greece. If 


do. So when you think of currants, you must 
think of vineyards. 

And such vineyards ! They cover the land. 
You may drive for miles along roads bordered 
with them. They nestle in the valleys. They 
climb the hills. The boldest of them even clam- 
ber up on the rough knees of the mountains and 
bask there in the sun. 

All the summer long, the vineyards lie dozing. 

you wanted to send all the currants to market at 
once by train, it would take forty miles of cars 
and a hundred mogul engines. 

Think of the puddings that would make ! 

But the Greek boys and girls who work the 
currants and gather them never heard of plum- 
puddings. It is a curious fact that the people 
who raise currants do not eat them. All the cur- 
rants are sent away to other lands. 





If you should visit the great currant-shipping 
port of Patras in autumn, you would come upon 
a busy scene. Then the packing-houses are full 
of din and the work overflows into the streets, 
as the fruit is gotten ready for shipment. The 
harbor, too, is crowded with vessels from every 
nation, come to take their cargoes of fruit. 

Some of the currants go to Germany. Some 
to Russia. Some to England and Holland. And 
many thousand tons find their way to America, 
where, in due time, they are brought by the 
grocer's boy to our kitchen doors against the 

So then, when you sit down to the next Christ- 
mas pudding, you may remember that it grew — 
at least the best part of it — over on the sunny 
shores of Greece; and that there have been stored 
in the little brown plums the winter rains and the 
soft breezes and the summer suns of Hellas. 
Arthur B. Cooke, 

U. S. Consul at Patras. 



In two places as widely separated as Davenport, 
Washington, and Potsdam, New York, the wind 
rolled snow into balls like those that boys use in 
building a snowman. The snow in each instance 
was soft and sticky, and from it the wind rolled 
thousands of balls that varied in size from a little 
particle to that of a barrel, and resembled huge 
rolls of cotton batting. The balls were concave 
on the ends, and plainly showed the layers of 

snow of which they were formed. A peculiarity 
was that, in the Davenport balls, the rolling was 



all uphill. The wind had picked up a little wisp 
of snow and rolled it along, much as a boy would 




do. In the photographs, the balls are shown, to- 
gether with the trail from which the wind had 
taken a fresh supply of snow. For these photo- 


graphs we are indebted to the courtesy of the 
"'Scientific American." 


what is sound ? 

Gloucester, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : " Will a tree falling where no one 
could hear it make any sound ? " I saw this question in 
a school paper, and the answer was " no." The proof given 
was that "all is silence to a person totally deaf." Does 
this mean that if one out of four people in a room was deaf, 
the other three would make no sound, if they were talking, 
because that one person could not hear them ? I wish you 
would please explain this in the St. Nicholas. 

Your interested reader and League member, 

Dorothy M. Rogers. 

The word sound has two meanings : first, it 
means a sensation produced in the ear or organ 
of hearing; second, it is used in a physical sense 
to mean the vibrations of a sounding body or the 
vibrations of the air, or other medium, in which 
vibrations are caused by the sounding body. 

In the first sense there could be, of course, no 
sound without the ear, but in the second sense, 
there are the vibrations in the air from a- falling 
tree, or other object producing these vibrations, 
whether there is any ear in the vicinity to receive 
those sounds or not. 

The word silence, as usually understood, im- 
plies an absence of sound, but the air may be 
filled with sounds, in the physical sense, even if 
our ear is not acute enough to hear them. — Editor 
of "Nature and Science." 

The answer to this question depends upon what 
we consider sound to be. We hear vibrations in 
the air which we call sound. If the hearing of 

the vibrations is sound, then there is no sound 
without hearing, but there is no doubt that the 
vibrations may take place when there is no one 
to hear them. 

What can we call these unheard vibrations? 
Certainly, strictly speaking, they are sound, just 
as much as light is light whether it is seen or not, 
and heat is heat whether it is felt or not. There- 
fore, in a scientific sense, sound is sound, whether 
it is heard or not. — H. L. W., a scientific pro- 


Cold Spring Harbor, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have always heard that everv 
one should sleep with his head toward the north, but I 
never knew why, so I thought I would ask you. 
Your respectful reader, 

F. C. Thomas, Jr. 

Electric currents run north and south, through 
the earth. An object is said to be in a state of 
better electric rest if its long axis is in line with 
the earth's electric currents. It is my impres- 
sion that the custom of sleeping with the head to 
the north was adopted before anything was 
known about these currents. If that is the case, 
I take it to mean that certain persons are so 
readily affected by these influences, that they 
find themselves disturbed if they try to sleep 
with the short axis of the body in line with them. 

I have purposely made the experiment and 
have asked friends to make it when we were in 
camp. None of us noted any connection be- 
tween our sleep and our position in regard to 
points of the compass. We were strong and well 
however. It might be quite different with inva- 

The volume of these terrestrial currents is not 
commonly appreciated. Drive any iron rod into 
the ground at right angles to the plane of the 
earth's surface, and it at once becomes a magnet. 
— Dr. Robert T. Morris. 

variable and new stars 

Chicago, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Could you tell me why a star, in 
one night, will shine out as a first magnitude star, and then 
gradually die out until it is lost to view entirely ? 
From your interested reader, 

Alfred Engelhard. 

There are many stars of the sky which vary in 
brightness in a remarkable manner. Every star 
is a great hot sun, millions of times larger than 
our little earth, and some of the stars which look 
to us to be single stars are really two suns so 
close together that they look to us like one. 
Sometimes one of these stars is very bright, and 
revolving around this bright star there is another 
which is less bright. And sometimes the darker 




star passes regularly between the bright one and 
us, and so hides the bright star partly from us. 
In the northern sky there is such a system called 
Algol, or the Demon Star. Every two days and 
twenty hours, the darker companion hides the 
bright sun partly from our view, and so cuts off 
five sixths of the light of the bright star. We see 
the star growing dimmer and dimmer for about 
three hours ; at the end of this time, the center 
of the darker star is directly in front of the center 
of the bright one. Then the darker one moves 
steadily past the star, and in time the star that 
had been dimmed shines out in full brightness. A 
little less than three days afterward, we see the 
same thing happen again. But none of these stars 
shine so bright as first magnitude stars, nor are 
they made so faint by the darker star as to be 
wholly invisible to the eye. 

Sometimes a "new" star blazes out in the heav- 
ens. Perhaps when this happens, a dark star has 
"'plowed" through one of the nebulous clouds in 
space, and its surface is thus heated by friction 
from a dark crust to a brilliant vaporous mass. 
Or perhaps when we see such a new star it means 
that two stars have run into each other, or passed 
very near each other. Exactly what happens 
when one of these new stars shines out, we do 
not yet know. — Professor Eric Doolittle. 

the effect on the bee of the loss of its sting 

Hampton, Ia. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have always heard that bees die 
after they have stung something. Could you please tell 
me whether it is true or not ? 

Your loving reader, 

Z. Faith Porter. 

For many years, it has been a much debated 
question, first, as to whether the honey-bee loses 
its sting in the act of stinging, and, secondly, 

complicated apparatus, and has been carefully 
described with the microscope by many students. 
The late J. D. Hyatt made extensive studies by 
allowing the bee to sting several pieces of lea- 
ther. That, as he said, gave him an excellent 
opportunity to study certain parts of the action 
and the structure of the whole apparatus. His 
investigations convinced him that when a bee's 
sting is firmly anchored, the deep, recurved teeth 
prevent it, in most cases, from being withdrawn, 
and the insect escapes, leaving the sting in the 
wound. His observations led him to think that 
the bee in most cases did not appear to be seri- 
ously injured by the loss of the sting. Recently 
the subject has been discussed in "Gleanings in 
Bee Culture." 

Other observers say that nearly all bees lose 
their sting in the act of stinging, but that this 
loss is not seriously injurious. The matter is 
summed up in the "ABC and XYZ of Bee Cul- 
ture" as follows : 

"It has been stated that the loss of the sting 
results in the death of the bee within a very 
few hours; but this can hardly be true. One 
correspondent in particular relates the following 

"Through carelessness, he allowed a certain 
one of his colonies to become so infuriated as to 
sting everybody and everything within reach. He 
declared, upon a subsequent examination, that 
there was scarcely a bee in that whole colony 
which did not show unmistakable evidence of 
having lost its sting in the uproar just mentioned. 
Now, the singular fact was that these bees actu- 
ally lived, gathered honey, and prospered. 

"That some bees die after losing their sting, 
may be true ; but that they invariably do zo is a 
claim now thoroughly discredited." 


if it does lose the sting, whether the loss kills the 
bee. Formerly it was generally supposed, be- 
cause the sting is barbed, that the bee could not 
pull it out after stinging, and that the loss of 
the sting is fatal. Probably no part of any other 
insect has been subject to more careful investi- 
gation and more extended discussion. It is a 



Dear St. Nicholas: Would you kindly tell me what is 
an eclipse — the eclipse of the moon and sun ? 
Your devoted reader, 

J. C. Henry Backman. 

An eclipse is a shadow in which the people 
who see it are standing. An eclipse of the sun 
is caused by the passage of the moon between the 
sun and the earth. The moon prevents the light 
of the sun from coming to the earth. An eclipse 
of the sun is, therefore, the shadow of the moon 
cast on the earth, and those who are within that 
shadow cannot see the sun because the moon is 
in the line of sight. An eclipse of the moon is 
the shadow of the earth upon the moon. The 
earth then is between the sun and the moon, and 
prevents the light from passing to the moon. 




The spirit of Christmas breathes through almost all the 
stories in this number, and crowds in between them ; it 
leaps to light on page after page in verse or picture; it in- 
vades even the "Nature and Science" department; and, 
last but not least, it has brought added prestige to the 
League through the Christmas offerings of our young art- 
ists and verse-writers. There were many capital Yule-tide 
drawings; and the Christmas hymn on the opposite page 
is a beautiful little poem, well worthy of a grown-up author, 
while scores of others were hardly less inspired. 

And a fine contrast to this Christmas feast is afforded by 
the young photographers, whose cameras caught many 
charming scenes of mid-year vacations. 

"My Neighbor" proved another popular subject, and 
brought us a fine array of little stories and sketches, ad- 
mirably told. The few here printed are fairly representa- 
tive of them all. As for the many, many others unavoidably 
crowded out, the heart of good St. Nicholas would be 
surely grieved concerning them but for the "never-say- 
die " spirit of their young authors, which is sure to win 
them erelong their "place in the sun"' — and both the 
gold and silver badges. So with thanks and blessings 
combined, the magazine greets its loyal young folk of the 
League, and wishes them, each and all, a Very Merry 
Christmas and a Happy New Year! 

Don 7 overlook the Special Kotice on page iSq. 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

PROSE. Gold badge, Edith Mayne (age 14), Brooklyn, N. Y. 

Silver badges, Mildred Benjamin (age 15), Scranton, Pa.; Minnie Bruner (age 11), Longmont, Col.; Martha E. 

Whittemore (age 17), Topeka, Kan.; Laura Hadley (age 14), New Haven, Conn. 

VERSE. Gold badge, Katharine Keiser (age 16), Clayton, Mo. Silver badges, Mary C. Sherman (age 15), Vienna, 

Va.; Florence Lauer Kite (age 13), Milton, Mass. ; Edythe Margaret Murray (age 13), Edinburgh, Scotland. 

DRAWINGS. Gold badges, Margaret K. Turnbull (age 17), Cambridge, Mass.; Wilhelmina R. Babcock (age 17), 

Providence, R. I. Silver badges, Robert Ringel (age 15), Brooklyn, N. Y.; George A. Chromey (age 14), Duryea, Pa.; 

Henry P. Teall (age 17), Bloomfield, N. J.; Edna J. Buck (age 17), Walpole, Mass. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Gold badges, C. Norman Fitts (age 16), Goshen, Mass.; Margaret H. Pooley (age 17), Buffalo, 

N. Y. Silver badges, L. Armstrong Kern (age 14), Mattoon, 111.; Richard C. Ramsey (age 16), Palo Alto, Cal; 

Constance C. Ling (age 14), Detroit, Mich.; Ruth D. Lee (age 12), Victoria, B. C; Catherine P. Norris (age 14), 

Phoenixville, Pa.; Rosalind Orr English (age 10), London, England. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold badge, Caroline F. Ware (age 13), Brookline, Mass. 

Silver badges, Henry S. Johnson (age 14), New Haven, Conn.; Joe Earnest (age 12), Colorado, Tex. 

PUZZLE ANSWERS. Silver badges, Jean C. Roy (age 12), Pittsburgh, Pa.; Virginia Park (age 14), Atchison, 

Kan.; Margaret Preston (age 14), Providence, R. I. 








Gold Badge. (Silver Badge won August, 1913) 

Rejoice! rejoice! we sing His birth, 

A little Child who came to earth 
Long years ago in Bethlehem ; 

When angels bright with rapture sang, 
And with the joy of heavenly sound 
To trembling shepherds on the ground 

The hillsides of Judea rang. 

Rejoice ! rejoice ! His gifts we bring 

Who is of love and friendship King. 
Like wise men of the Orient 

Who sought Him, longing, from afar. 

With gold, and myrrh, and incense sweet, 
To lay their treasures at His feet, 

So follow we the guiding star. 

Rejoice! rejoice! 't is Christmas Day! 

Let holly branches strew the way, 
And Christmas bells ring merrily. 

In this, the season of good-will, 

With joyful hearts we sing the love 
That came to us from heaven above, 

The love that bideth with us still. 





(Silver Badge) 
Dora Woodman woke one morning with a feeling of 
expectation. As soon as she was fully awake, she real- 
ized the cause of this feeling. It was the day that their 
new neighbors were to arrive. 

Dora had liked the people who had lived next door 
very much, and felt badly when they left. She was 
cheered, however, when she heard from the landlord, 
her uncle, that the new family had traveled extensively, 
had many interesting experiences, and that there was 
a daughter just Dora's age — thirteen. 

"That is n't all, Dora," he continued ; "you have n't 
heard of the principal member of the family — Robert. 
I assure you there is great pleasure in store for you, 
for he is a delightful companion, as I can testify from 

"Oh, Uncle Will, please tell me more about him ! 
How old is he?" begged Dora. No amount of coaxing, 
however, would induce Uncle Will to give any more 
definite information. 

"Just you wait and see," he said. 

For a month, Dora had waited patiently, and now her 
desire was to be realized. About ten o'clock they ar- 



rived. The first glance from behind Dora's bedroom 
curtains revealed a sweet-faced woman whom Dora 
knew to be the mother, a tall, fine-looking man, and a 
pretty, brown-haired girl. Satisfied that she should like 
the daughter for a playmate, she looked for Robert. To 
her surprise and disappointment, no one else appeared. 

Thinking that 
Robert would 
get there later, 
she determined 
to become ac- 
quainted with 
the daughter 
of the house. 
About noon- 
time she suc- 
ceeded, and as 
soon as she 
felt well enough 
acquainted, she 
said : 

"My Uncle 

Will mentioned your brother Robert — is he coming soon ?" 
"My brother Robert !" replied her friend, Elsie by 
name. "Why, I have no brother Robert ! Come over 
this afternoon, and we will go for a ride with Robert— 
my Shetland pony." 



Gold Badge. (Silver Badge won August, 1013) 
One July afternoon at camp, feeling in a mood for 
bird-hunting, I took my field-glasses and sauntered 
down a path bordered by woods on one side and by the 
lake on the other. Before I had gone far, I saw a cedar 
waxwing high up on a skeleton tree, busily preening 
his feathers, and 
near him, bobbing 
his head as he in- 
dustriously scanned 
each inch of bark, 
a downy wood- 
pecker. The cat- 
bird, obscured by 
the dense foliage, 
"meowed" to his 
heart's content, and 
all the woods 
seemed alive with 
sweet bird carol- 
ings. Walking 

stealthily along on 
the soft pine-nee- 
dles, such a blaz- 
ing vision of color 
flashed suddenly 
across my eyes as 
to completely daz- 
zle me. Not two 
feet from me, 
perched serenely on 
a bush, sat the 
most brilliant bird 
I had ever seen. 
Before I could think, the little fellow mysteriously 
vanished. Searching the high limbs of surrounding 
trees through my field-glasses, I spied the glowing 
scarlet and glossy black of my new acquaintance. The 
minute he flew away, I rushed back to camp for my 
field-book of the wild birds. How delighted I was to 














find that my new little neighbor was the scarlet tana- 
ger. Reading every word about the dashing songster, 
what could have surprised me more than to learn that 
its mate was a soft olive-green ! 

Again that afternoon I came unexpectedly upon the 
tanager as he darted across the path into the cool 
boughs of the hemlocks, a bright red berry in his bill. 
Waiting expectantly was a dear little bunch of olive- 
green feathers, which deftly caught the berry and 
blinked its satisfaction. 

After that I saw a great deal of my little neighbor 
and his contented family, and was loath to bid them 
good-by when the summer was over. 





Among the large maple- and walnut-trees which sur- 
round my home, stands a giant elm. 

It has braved the storms of over a century, and I 
sometimes wonder what its ringed chambers would dis- 
close to scientists should they gain access to them. 
Would they tell the story of those hardships it has so 
triumphantly mastered? I do not know. 

But its halls and bowers in summer give no evidence 
of them. Becoming the leafy habitation of the birds, 
they echo their sweetest songs ; chiefly those of the 
orioles, that dispense their liquid notes while hanging 
their pretty nests from the swaying branches. 

It is an attraction to passing tourists as well as school- 
children ; the latter to play in its cool shade, the for- 
mer to admire and photograph its gigantic form. 

Many a time has it been my retreat when reading, 
and the alluring center of our neighborhood picnics. 

At dusk, as the whippoorwill calls dismally from a 
near-by thicket, men congregate here to chat on sub- 
jects of various interests. 

And in winter, when the sharp north winds whistle 
through the naked branches, this tree stands sentinel 
over all the others — strong and brave. 

The beauty and grandeur of this old monarch have 
strangely appealed to me ; and I have so learned to 
love it that it has become an indispensable part of my 
childhood's friendships, which I shall never cease to 
cherish ; and if I can learn to love all my neighbors 
as I do this one, it will be easy to obey the command, 
"Love thy neighbor as thyself." 
Vol. XLL— 24. 



(Silver Badge) 
The Lord of heaven comes down to bless 

His people, here on earth, below. 
Around Him shines the holiness 

That makes the hearts of angels glow ; 
And angel voices, sweet and strong, 
In triumph sing that heavenly song 
Of "Peace on earth, good-will to men." 

But sweeter than that seraphs' song, 

The baby Jesus, there, we see, 
Whose birth was told through. ages long. 

He lies upon His mother's knee. 
He does not see the angel throng, 
He does not hear the seraphs' song 
Of "Peace on earth, good-will to men." 

Lord, though Thou didst not hear the praise, 

Nor angels in their glory see, 
Hear Thou the prayers Thy children raise, 

And give us strength to live for Thee. 
Still let us hear in seraphs' song 
The message sung by angel throng, 
Of "Peace on earth, good-will to men." 



(Silver Badge) 
I am a member of a family of prairie-dogs. We have 
furry brown coats, and live in burrows in the ground. 
Sometimes the dry farmers who do not like us pour 
molasses or sticky tar around our holes. Indeed, some 
of them have poisoned the seed-grains which are our 
chief foods. We are quite sharp, though, and are sel- 
dom poisoned. In the summer, we store the grain and 
other good things away in the different rooms so we 
shall be supplied in the winter. Our nearest neighbors 
are Mr. and Mrs. Owl. 

We live in what might be called a flat, and some 


might think that, living so near to one another, we and 
our neighbors eat about the same things. But they 
would be mistaken. Mrs. Owl once told me they fed on 
parts of ugly crawling things called scorpions. She said 
it took dozens and dozens for one meal, but that their 
greatest luxury was when they found a nest of tiny 

I must tell you what Mother Owl looks like. Her 
feathers are of a yellowish brown color, which is sprin- 




kled with black dots. The top of her head is covered 
with thick brown-and-white furry feathers. She has 
bright yellow eyes. If one notices closely, he will see 
there is a very thin skin like a veil which can be drawn 
over the eyes at will. She has a sharp, hooked beak. 

She often sits by the door of the hole where she 
lives, with the young owls beside her. If she sees any 
one coming, she turns and drops out of sight in the 
hole. Whenever she is angry with the baby owls, she 
makes a snapping noise with her beak. I think most 
of the time she is a very agreeable neighbor. 





(Honor Member) 
Far, far away, sweet bells are pealing, 

Their chimes are sounding soft and low ; 
And from the sky snowflakes are stealing, 

And falling on the earth below. 
The world is glad, all hearts are gay, 
The old are young, on Christmas Day. 

Forth from the village church are wending 
The townsfolk, pure in minds and hearts ; 

Each look a holy joy is lending, 

Each word a Christmas cheer imparts. • 

For all are glad, each heart is gay, 

The old are young, on Christmas Day. 



The neighbor I wish to tell you about is a little bird. 

In the city in which I live, there are few birds except 

Mr. Sparrow and his wife made a home for the fu- 
ture little ones last spring on one of our back porches. 
Now they have several little ones. 

Every evening, Mr. Sparrow takes a swing. There is 
a rope hanging from the porch above, and he catches 
hold of it, and swings back and forth. 

He is a fine neighbor, for there are very few neigh- 
bors who eat the bugs from your flower beds. 

I imagine that Mr. Sparrow has a time feeding his 
family, for as they chirp, chirp, they must say, "I am 
hungry ; I am hungry." 

How any one could kill a bird, even a sparrow, I do 
not see. For they are such busy little things. 

And we have no better neighbors than Mr. Sparrow 
and his family. 



Gleam, Christmas candle, gleam ! 

Spread thy soft radiance far. 
And let its pure light beam 

As holy as the star 
That led the wise men far away, 
To where the gentle Christ-child lay. 

Fade, Christmas candle, fade ! 

Now dimmer grows thy light. 
Yet forever has it made 

A weary heart more bright. 
And though, in time, thy watchers part, 
Thy glow will live in every heart. 



(Honor Member) 
My neighbor lives opposite the land of things that are 
real, across the shining silver street, in the country of 
fairy. There are people who cannot see over the street, 
and they are the children whom the gnomes and goblins 
never visit, and the men and women who never read 
fairy tales. But happy are those, little ones and grown- 
ups, who have fairy neighbors, for in them they will 
find ever loyal and constant friends. 

My little neighbor is very shy, and only visits me 
when I am alone, or when I lie awake at night. At 

such times, he comes 
on a moonbeam, or is 
blown. in by the wind 
from a forest dance 
with the fairy queen. 

Sometimes he races 
with me in the garden, 
and he always wins, 
for fairies' feet are 
very light, and his 
curled-toed shoes send 
him over the grass like 
a sunbeam. We play 
hide-and-seek together, 
but he is very hard to 
find, as he hides be- 
hind roses and daffo- 
dils and in birds' nests. 
At night, I can see 
him come by the tiny, 
rosy gleam of his 
wings. If he is in a 
frolicsome mood, he 
brings all the elves 
and fairies with him, 
and holds a ball on 
the moonlit floor. Of course you have been to a fairy 
ball, so I need not describe it. I have a wonderful 
time at fairy balls ! There I never bother about steps, 
but sprinkle some magic powder on my toes, and whirl 
off in an opal-colored circle. But if my nurse comes 
in, the moonlight fades, my neighbor vanishes, the elfin 
minstrels whisk around the corner to fairy-land, — and 
loneliness is everywhere. 







(Silver Badge) 
He is born, the Prince of Peace ! 

The restless world for once is calm ; 
Throughout the earth men's struggles cease, 

Night broods o'er all with soothing balm. 
An angel's voice rings o'er the plain : 

"Thy Saviour comes that sin may cease ; 
In a manger He hath lain, 

He is born, the Prince of Peace ! 

"He is born, the Mighty One!" 

The wondering shepherds haste away, 
And find the gentle Mary's Son 

Within the manger on the hay. 
The shepherds kneel before the Child, 

And thus His conquests are begun. 
— Not those of war, but sweet and mild — 

He is born, the Mighty One ! 

He is born, the King of Kings ! 

Wise men are upon the way, 
With their costly offerings ; 

Kneeling shepherds homage pay. 
Though we were not there that day, 

Still for us the message rings : 
"Come in haste, make no delay ! 

He is born, the King of Kings !" 

(As told by "Aunt Mary Ann") 


(Honor Member) 
"Come right in and set down ! I ain't set eyes on you 
this long time. No, I don't see much o' my neighbors. 
Mis' Hart, next door, she drops in now 'n' then. But 
goodness ! she talks so much, I don't hev no chance ! 
She 's that took up with her apple jell' this week, she 
ain't be'n over once. I alias make my jell' the fast 
week in August, like my mother, an' her mother afore 
her. An' so I 've told Mis' Hart many a time, but it 
don't do no good. 



"But then, she 's mighty queer 'bout some things. 
There 's that newfangled thing her boy sent her. He 
told her to jest rub it over her carpet, and it 'd take out 
all the dust ! The idee ! I 'm sure beatin' was good 
'nough for my mother and her mother ; I guess it '11 hev 
to do for me. 

"An' she 's got a bread-mixer too. Jest puts her 

dough in, and stirs an' stirs', like it was some sort o' 
magic. Pertends her bread 's good 's mine ! 

"An' them ain't all, I ken tell you. He 's give' her a 
sewin'-machine, an' a gasolene iron, an' a 'blue flame' 
stove, and land knows what not. 

" 'Course, it ain't my business to gossip 'bout her, 
but I never let my boy give me no tomfooleries ! I 
alias brung him up td get useful presents for his father 
'n' me, like money, an' good, substantial furn'ture. 

"My goodness! ef here don't come Mis' Hart herself. 
I s'pose I got to hear Ned's last letter an' all 'bout 
him. It makes me nervous to hear her run on a steady 
stream. / alias follow the example of my mother and 
her mother, an' try not to talk too much." 




(Silver Badge) 
Musk-brown, and yellow, and crimson, and gold, 

See how the leaves come falling, falling ; 
Flooding the paths with a wealth untold, 
Wafting a faint scent of mosses and mold, 

While the restless wind is calling. 

Spring is the time of fresh, young hopes and joys, 
When the year's youthful heart is a-throbbing ; 

Then warm Summer reigns with a proud, queen-like 
Till the wild Autumn wind comes a-sobbing. 

And Autumn — ah, Autumn, with brown, scented leaf, 

See how the leaves are falling, falling. 
But the year's weary heart is broken with grief, 
And Winter steals up like a guilty white thief, 

And the wind is forever calling. 



(Silver Badge) 
A charming neighbor once lived in our garden ; and 
this is how I came to know him : one summer afternoon 
I was picking flowers, when a tiny, sparkling bird 
darted by. Dropping everything, I ran to follow him. 
There he was, hovering among the trumpet-flowers, his 
wings whirring continually and making a blur on each 
side of his iridescent body. Now he skimmed about 
as if playing hide-and-seek with some little insect. 
Then, as though tired, he settled on a twig, remaining 
for several moments, motionless. The time had come 
to see who he was ! I crept up breathlessly. His 
brilliant green body was about three inches long, his 
bill Covering fully one third of that length ! An ex- 
quisite shade of rose and violet glistened on his throat. 
What a cunning little swallow-tail he had ! Yes, this 
was a really, truly ruby-throated humming-bird ! But 




what made him so quiet when he must have seen me? 
There he sat as unconcerned as could be. 

I rushed into the house for the field-glasses, and 
returned just in time to see him dash toward the birch- 
tree. Ah ! maybe his nest was there ! So I advanced, 
intent upon finding it. But Mr. Ruby-throat did not so 
wish. He flew before my face and darted away with a 
quick, attracting chirp ; but the hunt continued. Fi- 
nally, I spied a swallow-tail sticking up from something 
that resembled a knot, on a high bough. Perhaps this 
was Mrs. Humming-bird at home. What a tiny nest 
and how dainty it really was, with its edging of fern. 

Well, delightful entertainment was not lacking during 
the hot days that followed, and I shall always remember 
this little bird neighbor with joy. 






{Honor Member) 
Oh, how can I write of Christmas time 

When summer is here and skies are blue? 
How can I write of frost and rime 

When the river smiles and the brook laughs too? 
— An oriole sings in the apple-tree, 
A song of a warm, sun-dappled lea. 

Oh, how can I write of winter's joys 

When the green-clad mountains are calling me ? 

When I hear the river's exultant voice 
As it dashes on toward the distant sea? 

— The oriole sings all the sunny day ; 

Cold ice and snow seem far away. 

"The heart of the year," — -'t is the hardest of themes, 
When gentle breezes are laughing low. 

When lilting bird-songs disturb my dreams, 
Pray how can I write of frost and snow? 

— The oriole's song rings sweet and clear. 

Why, summer for me is the heart of the year ! 



{Silver Badge) 

July 10. 
The house across the road has been taken. It has been 
empty for years and years, and we have all grown to 
love the ramshackle old building with its clinging, 
green vines and its old-fashioned flower garden. The 
idea of neighbors there is preposterous. I know I 'm 
going to hate them. 

July 12. 
Neighbor Perkins says there are four children in the 
new family. They will probably scream and yell from 
morning to night. 

July is- 
The mother and eldest daughter came down to-day 
to fix up the house. The girl is about my age, and 
does n't look half as horrid as I expected her to. 

July 20. 
The whole family has arrived, bag and baggage. Be- 
sides the mother and daughter there are two eight-year- 
olds, and a small, golden-haired boy of five. There will 
be no more peace for us. 

July 21. 
Mother went over to-day to see if she could help our 
new neighbors. Now they '11 be borrowing from us all 
the time. 

July 22. 
I knew it. Marjorie, the daughter, borrowed some 
matches to-day. She said she hoped we would like each 
other and get to be friends. She is rather pretty, and 
has nice manners. 

July 23. 
I visited the Stones (our neighbors) to-day. The 
twins were off in the woods, but the mother is a per- 
fect dear, while the baby is too sweet for words. I am 
going to help them to-morrow. 

August 5- 
I have been so busy lately that I have not had time 
to write up my diary, but I know three things. They 
are : 

We all love the Stones ; 
Marjorie is my best friend ; and 
They are ideal neighbors. 


No. i. A list of those whose work would have been used had space 

No. 2. A list of those whose work entitles them to encouragement. 


Katharine Beard 
Emanuel Farbstein 
Adelin S. Briggs 
Marion Casey 
Betty Penny 
Glenn Bruce 
Elmer H. Van Fleet 
Rose FrancesCushman 
Grace C. Freese 
Dorothy Curtis 
Bessie Radlofsky 
Elsie Terhune 
Dorothy H. Mack 
S. Frances Hershey 
Margaret Crozier 
Ethel Warren Kidder 
Mary Daboll 
Elisabeth Story 

Henrietta L. Perrins 
Florence W. Towle 
Katherine M. Palmer 
Elizabeth Macdonald 
May E. Hershey 
Ruth L. Briggs 

Mary Swift Rupert 
Edith McEwen 
Elmaza Fletcher 
Ruth Harrington 
Anna Munson Sanford 
Elizabeth Boyd Bratton 
Lillian Green 
Althea Cuneo 
Vivian E. Hal] _ 
Anna G. Tremaine 
Catherine Sweet 
Elsie Baum 

Helen Frances Thomas 
Helen Stearly 
Margaret Pennewell 
Adelaide H. Nol^ 
Emily Frankenstein 
Irma Andre Hoerman 
Robert Wynne Wilson, 

Helen E. Frazier 


Ruth Cohn 
Helen Krauss 
Louise R. Hewson 

Annetta B. Stainton 
Barbara Barnes 
Henry Wilson Hardy 
C. Rosalind Holmes 
Betty Stine 
Eliza Anne Peterson 
Dorothy Waite 
Dorothy Levy 
Ruth Ure 
Elizabeth Kales 
Kenneth G. Hook 
W. E. Morris 
Oscar K. Rice 
Mary C. Schultz 
Mary A. White 
Sally Cushman 
Helena E. Perin 
Rebecca Latham 


Barbara Knight 
June Wellman 
B. Cresswell 
Richard Donald 

Alice Trimble 




Virginia McCormick 
Mary R. Steichen 
Hope Satterthwaite 
Annette B. Moran 
Margaret C. Bland 
Elsie L. Richter 
Marjorie M. Carroll 
Jeannette E. Laws 
Sarah M. Bradley- 
Edith Valpey Manwell 
Dorothy Deming 
Elsie Emery Glenn 
Mary Carver Williams 
Elsa Anna Synnestvedt 
Elizabeth Morrison 

Jean C. Trumun 
Nell Adams 
John C. Farrar 
Gladys S. Conrad 
Helen Katherine Smith 
Marian Blair 
Evelyn Engelbracht 
Cora Louise Butterfield 
Marion E. Munson 
Josephine Lytle 

Margaret A. Blair 
Elizabeth Pratt 
Eleanor Mishnun 
Eleanor Marquand 
Eleanor Bowman 
Elsie L. Lustig 
Vernie Peacock 
Georgene Davis 
Mignon H. Eliot 
Rose M. Davis 
Miriam Simons 
Isabel E. Rathborne 
Anna K. Eddy 
C. Marina Foster 
Edith Howard Walton 
Marjorie Dodge 
Mildred G. Wheeler 
Grace Lewis 


Pauline Lambert 
Theodora Booth 

Robert Martin 

Bessie Denslow 

Mary Elizabeth Mayes 

Edith M. Smith 

Paul Sullivan 

Austin Robbins Gordon 

Marion Monroe 

Edwin M. Gill 

Sarah T. Parker 

Isabella B. Howland 

S. Dorothy Bell 

J. Thomas 

E. Theo. Nelson 

Isabelle Rimes 

Virginia Gardiner 

Alethia S. Bland 

R. H. Foster 

Francis H. Dickson 

Mary Tuttle 

Alison M. Kingsbury 

Isabel Bacheler 


Jean Dickinson 
Gaston A. Lintner 
Elizabeth White 
Elinor Rennick 

Doris Bevy 
Ruth E. Prager 
Philip Stringer 
Christina C. M. Murtrie 
Margaret I.eathes 
Henry G. T. Langdon 
Madeline Connell 
Otis Wanton Balis 
Sarnia Marquand 
Ruth Packard 
Marie Le Tourneux 
Muriel G. Read 
J. Sherwin Murphy 
Frances E. 

Dorothy Perry 
Janet VValdron 

Helen Snook 
Frances Goodhue 
Margaret K. Hinds 
Mary Marquand 


As announced by the publishers, St. Nicholas 
will hereafter be issued about fifteen days later 
in the month than heretofore — or, as nearly 
as possible, on the first of every month. For- 
tunately for League members, this change in 
the date of publication enables us to extend the 
limit of closing the League competitions by 
about two weeks. The closing of each compe- 
tition will thus be brought a fortnight nearer 
to the report upon its contributions — a saving 
of time and patience that will be gladly wel- 
comed by every member of the League. 


Wo. 170 

Marjorie Ward 
Jessie L. Metcalf 
Frances K. Marlatt 
Phyllis Young 
Ellen McDaniel 
Marguerite T. Arnold 
Juliet Thompson 
Samuel H. Ordway, Jr. 
Alvin E. Blomquist 
George L. Howe 
Elizabeth C. Carter 
Edna M. Guck 
Eleanor D. Mason 
Phyllis M. Pulliam 
E. P. Pond, Jr. 
Eleanor Linton 
Elsa S. Ebeling 
Theresa Winsor 
Edgar Anderson 
Dorothy F, Robinson 
Douglas F. Smith 
Frances L. Caverhill 
Ethel Earle 
Rebecca Vincent 
G. Priscilla Dimick 
Frances Wiese 
Gladys Finch 
Jennie L. Haven 


Justine Prichard 
Ruth Reese 
Kathryn Pierce 
Mary Robertson Evans 
Georgea A. Beckus 
Thomas Nowlin 
Mary A. Porter 
Dorothy Benson 
Jane Palmer 
Abraham B. Blinn 
Hilda M. Young 
Edith Lord 
Grace Hammill 
Helen Gould 

Henry J. Maloy 
Julia G. Palmer 
Jean Dorchester 
Leo M. Peterson 
Charles Howard 

Alene S. Little 
Frederick W. Agnew 
W. B. Ihnen 
Dorothy Hughes 

Harry Clow 
Mary Dooly 
Elizabeth Russell 
Marjorie Marks 
Emy Hofmann 
Persis S. Miller 
Margaret Kohn 
Alexander Scott 
Mary Thomas 
Anna Roesl 
Martha Lambert 
Anne Coolidge 
Rudolf Cannon 
Gibson M Gray 
Frances M. Wolverton 
Roberta Jennings 
Fritz Wegner 
Clyde N. Kemery 
James C. Maples 
Viola Nordin 
Esther R. Harrington 
Richard T. Wilson 

Helen Ziegler 
Theodore H. Ames 

Margaret Speare 
William Ehrich, Jr. 
Mata Hauser 
Mary E. Tingley 
Samuel Stein 
Jack Flower 
Heustis Clark 
Eleanor P. Kortheuer 
Corey H. Ford 
Anna Sassman 
Penelope P. Rockwood 
Frederick B. Laidlaw 
Pauline Coburn 

Owing to lack of space many names on the second honor 
rolls have been omitted. 

The St. Nicholas League 
awards gold and silver badges 
each month for the best orig- 
inal poems, stories, draw- 
ings, photographs, puzzles, 
and puzzle answers. Also, 
occasionally, cash prizes to 
Honor Members, when the 
contribution printed is of un- 
usual merit. 

Competition No. 170 will 
close December 24 (for for- 
eign members December 30). 
Prize announcements will be 
made and the selected contributions published in St. 
Nicholas for April. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, "A Song of the Snow." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, " My Favorite Bit of History. " 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted ; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, " In the Sunshine." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, " Helping," or a Heading for April. 

Puzzle. Any sort, but must be accompanied by the 
answer in full, and must be indorsed. 

Puzzle Answers. Best, neatest, and most complete set 
of answers to puzzles in this issue of St. Nicholas. 
Must be indorsed and must be addressed as explained on 
the first page of the " Riddle-box." 

Wild Creature Photography. To encourage the pur- 
suing of game with a camera instead of with a gun. The 
prizes in the "Wild Creature Photography" competition 
shall be in four classes, as follows: Prize, Class A, a gold 
badge and three dollars. Prize, Class B, a gold badge 
and one dollar. Prize, Class C, a gold badge. Prize, 
Class D, a silver badge. But prize-winners in this com- 
petition (as in all the other competitions) will not receive a 
second gold or silver badge. Photographs must not be 
of "protected " game, as in zoological gardens or game 
reservations. Contributors must state in afnvtvords where 
and under what circumstances the photograph was taken. 
No unused contribution can be returned unless it is 
accompanied by a self-addressed and stamped envelop of the 
proper size to hold the manuscript, drawing, or photograph. 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber or not, 
is entitled to League membership, and a League badge and 
leaflet, which will be sent free. No League member who 
has reached the age of eighteen years may compete. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, must bear the 
name, age, and address of the sender, and be indorsed as 
"original" by parent, teacher, or guardian, who must be 
convinced beyond doubt that the contribution is not copied, 
but wholly the work and idea of the sender. If prose, the 
number of words should also be added. These notes must 
not be on a separate sheet, but on the contribution itself — 
if manuscript, on the upper margin ; if a picture, on the 
margin or back. Write or draw on one side of the paper 
only. A contributor may send but one contribution a 
month — not one of each kind, but one only; this, how- 
ever, does not include the "advertising competition" (see 
advertising pages) or "Answers to Puzzles." 
Address : The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Square, New York. 


Grand Haven, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have not taken you a year yet, 
but am one of your most devoted and interested read- 
ers. "The Land of Mystery" and "Beatrice of Dene- 
wood" are my favorites, I think, but they all are so 
lovely, it is quite hard to decide upon the best story. 

My little sister Elizabeth Jane says, "Please read me 
the St. Nicholas, Sister." She is only five, but under- 
stands a great deal more than is expected of her. 

I have read Annie Fellows Johnston's stories of the 
"Little Colonel" Series and a few others of her books, 
and just love them, so I was especially anxious to get 
the October number, for I read you were going to pub- 
lish a new story by my favorite author. 

From your exceedingly interested reader, 

Carol F. Kemerer (age n). 

I have a little cat 

As black as she can be, 
She will curl up on a chair, 

And stare and stare at me. 

We call her Phoebe Snow, for fun, 

Because she is very black ; 
She has thirteen toes on her two front feet, 

And beauty she does not lack. 

I have had her since I was two years old, 

That makes her nine, you see ; 
My love for her cannot be told, 

She is as good as she can be. 

Margaret Yard (age n). 

Terre Haute, Ind. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking you for over 
four years, but this is the first time I have ever writ- 
ten to you. I enjoy the Letter-Box, and find most of 
the letters very interesting, especially the letters from 
foreign countries. 

"The Land of Mystery" is the story I enjoy the most, 
although I like them all. 

I have two sisters ; one enjoys you just as much as 
I do, but the other is too small to understand the 
stories, being only one and a half years old ; we will 
soon be able to read the stories for Very Little Folk 
to her. 

Mother took you when she was small, and still has 
most of the copies left. 

I am eleven years old, but will soon be twelve. 
Your interested reader, 

Robert Hendrich. 

Portland, Ore. 
Dear St. Nicholas: We have lived in several towns, 
but the one I think the most of is a little town in 

If I stop a moment, I can see a little girl jumping up 
and down with delight upon seeing a man and horse 
approaching, for he is bringing mail from the box five 
miles distant, and to-day is the day St. Nicholas 
is due ! 

This little girl lives on a four-thousand-acre ranch 
near Choteau, Montana, and has no playmates but her 
horse and dog. 

The Rockies loom far away. Nothing to the right of 
her, nothing to the left of her except a few barren 
foot-hills. Do you wonder at her looking forward to 
that jolly magazine for girls and boys? 

Now she lives in a stupid city, but still waits for the 
St. Nicholas with as much eagerness as ever. 
Sincerely a loving reader, 

Dorothy Scott (age 14). 

Charlottenburg, Germany. 
Dear St. Nicholas : To-day I received your certificate 
making me a member of the League, which made me 
very happy. I am not going to compete this month, 
because I am very busy, but next month I will begin. 

I have subscribed for the St. Nicholas since 1909, 
but have never sent in any article for it. I am an 
American girl who came over to Berlin to live. The 
city is beautiful, and I go to school here. We don't 
live directly in Berlin, but in Charlottenburg, where it 
is much nicer. 

In the winter, we see the emperor pass our house 
every day, because he lives in Potsdam most of the 
time. The shortest route is past our street, the Kaiser- 
damm. When the Princess Victoria Luise got married, 
I sent her a letter of congratulation, and inclosed a few 
pressed forget-me-nots. A couple of weeks later, I re- 
ceived an answer. I never expected one, but when I 
got it, I was so overjoyed that I could hardly keep my 
wits about me. 

I am very interested in the story "Beatrice of Dene- 
wood." I think there was never a prettier story pub- 
lished in the St. Nicholas. I think the St. Nicholas 
League badge is very pretty, and I am going to wear it 
every day. Sincerely yours, 

Maxine Kaufmann (age 12). 

Long Lake, Fenton, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Did you ever hear of any person 
going out onto a lake and picking up a wild duck ? I am 
going to tell you how I did. 

We had just gone down to my cousin's house to stay 
the rest of the afternoon, my father, mother, brother, 
and two sisters. 

A little way from us was a large raft, and on the 
farther side was a young bluebill. My cousin and my 
brother and sister all got in a rowboat, and I rowed 
out to the raft, so we could see the duck better. 

We just got out there when the duck dove. But he 
dove for shallow water, and we chased him up. When 
he came up, and before he could dive again, my brother 
had caught him by the back. 

We took him to shore and brought him home with us. 
Now he is in the back yard under a peach crate. He 
has a basin of water and some food, and seems quite 

Last night, we discovered that he had been wounded 
under the bill. When his wound heals, we will set 
him free. Your interested reader, 

Neva Knapp (age 12). 



Word-Squares. I. 
Niter. II. i. Tabor. 

. Baron. 

Geographical Zigzag. 
3. Belgium. 4. Sumatra. 
Wasatch. 9. Orinoco. 10. Concord 

Alibi. 3. Rivet. 4. Obese. 5. 
Bogus. 4. Ovule. 5. Reset. 

Atlantic Ocean. 1. Algeria. 2. Atacama. 
5^ Shannon, & Atlanta. 7. Tripoli. 

11. Chester. £2. Caspian. 13. 

Novel Acrostic. Theodore Roosevelt. 

Primal Acrostic. Thanksgiving Day. 1. Thrall. 2. Heroic. 3. 
Action. 4. Nicety. 5. Knight. 6. Switch. 7. Guitar. 8. Impede. 
9. Venial. 10. Inhale. 11. Nettle. 12. Gimlet. 13. Dreary. 14. 
Annual. 15. Yeoman. 

Illustrated Numerical Enigma. 

" Tippecanoe, and Tyler too.'* 

Novel Zigzag. Schiller. From 1 to 7, Germany; 8 to 18, William 



3. Naiad. 4. 


Overlapping Diamonds and Squares. 
Tepid. 4. Gig. 5. D. II. 1. N. 2. Rat 

D. III. 1. D. 2. Roc. 3. Doris. 4. Cid. " 5. S. IV. 1. A. 
Ale. 3. Alibi. 4. Ebb. 5. I. V. 1. Start. 2. Tudor. 3. Adobe. 

4. Robin. 5. Trend. VI. 1. Doles. 2. Opera. 3. Legal. 4. Erase. 

5. Salem. 

Tell ; 19 to 24, Goethe. 
Hidalgo. 4. Mineral. 

Cross-word Enigma. 

5. Literal. 6. 


Ecstasy. 3. 
Egotism. 8. 


Numerical Enigma. " It is not the quantity of the meat, but the 
cheerfulness of the guests, which makes the feast." 

To our Puzzlers: Answers to be acknowledged in the magazine must be received not later than the 24th of each month, and should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas Riddle-box, care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth Street, New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received before September 10 from Margaret Preston — "Chums" — 
Virginia Park — " Allil and Adi " — Evelyn Hillman — Claire Hepner — Jean C. Roy — Phyllis Young. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received before September 10 from Raymond Ray, 8— Ruth Browne, 8 — Margaret 
O. Gondolf, 8— Jonas Goldberg, 8 — Douglas Marbaker, 8— Isabel Shaw, 8 — Theodore H. Ames, 8 — Florence S. Carter, 8— Mary L. Ingles, 8 — 
Ruth V. A. Spicer, 8 — Florence L. Kite, 8— Katharine Chapman, 8 — Arnold G. Cameron, 8 — Frances Eaton, 7 — Max Stolz, 7 — Marion J. Bene- 
dict, 7— Lothrop Bartlett, 7 — James Squires, 7 — Dorothy Berrall, 7 — Harrison W. Gill, 6 — Helen A. Moulton, 6 — Elizabeth Jones, 6— Ralph 
Goodman, 6 — Dorothy Wilcox, 6 — Alvin E. Blomquist, 5 — Edith M. Smith, 5 — Florence M. Treat, 5 — Alice Goddard, 5 — Eugenia Dodd, 4— 
Abraham B. Blinn, 3 — "Chums," 3 — Henry G. Cartwright, Jr., 3 — Frances K. Marlatt, 3 — David P. G. Cameron, 2 — Carl S. Schmidt, 2— 
Eloise Peckham, 2 — Doris Starkweather, 2 — L. Hunt, 1 — G. Cleaver, 1 — B. M. Beach, 1 — L. E. Danner, 1 — E. Jenssen, 1 — A. Goldberg, 1 — M. 
Schniewind, 1 — E. Ormes, 1 — H. M. Archer, 1 — H. R. Harmer, 1 — E. B. Bray, 1 — E. Hoornbeck, 1 — I. Brady, 1— H. Hester, 1— M. I. Brown, 
1 — M. Cohen, 1 — M. Veeder, 1 — M. Norcross, 1. 


Each of the five pictures may be described by a five- 
letter word. When these are rightly guessed and writ- 
ten one below another, the diagonal will spell a word 
that will soon be in frequent use. 

carrol t. Mitchell (age 14), League Member. 


Example : Quadruply behead, curtail, and transpose 
holders, and leave to strike gently. Answer, rece-pta- 
cles, pat. 

In the same way behead, curtail, and transpose, 1. 
The worm state of insects, and leave to tear. 2. Vexa- 
tion, and leave part of the head. 3. Neglect, and leave 
a snare. 4. An enterprise, and leave skill. 5. Staying 
quality, and leave a possessive pronoun. 6. Desolation, 
and leave perched. 7. Located beyond the sea, and 

leave a masculine nickname. 8. Real, and leave an 
emmet. 9. Depression, and leave to bow the head 
quickly. 10. The nobility, and leave a small bed. 11. 
The state of being freed from a charge, and leave an 
organ of- hearing. The initials of the new little words 
spell a famous era in art. 

gustav diechmann (age 14), Honor Member. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

* • • In solving this puzzle, follow the dia- 

* • gram at the left, though the puzzle 
2 has eighteen cross-words instead of 

* • • nine. When the eighteen words have 

* • been rightly guessed and written 

* one below another, the six six-letter 

* ■ • zigzags will spell, alternately, the 

* • names of three Presidents and 

* three Vice-Presidents of the United 

Cross-words : 1. A soothing medicinal mixture. 2. 
A soft cushion. 3. Made of wood. 4. Four quarts. 5. 
A seaport of Peru. 6. Rubbish. 7. A masculine name. 
8 Venom. 9. A tiny ball. 10. A small village. 11. A 
dried grape. 12. To solidify. 13. To collect. 14. As 
much as the arms can hold. 15. To hold fast. 16. 
Lime and sand mixed with water. 17. A city of Massa- 
chusetts. 18. A kind of thin cloth. 

joe earnest (age 12). 





In this enigma the words are pictured instead of de- 
scribed. When the seven words have been rightly 
guessed and written one below another, the letters from 
i to 14, in the following diagram, will spell the name 
of a famous gathering that took place in December, 
one hundred and forty years ago. 











13 14 * * * 


All the words described contain the same number of 
letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the primals will spell the name of a general, 
and the finals, a battle in which he met defeat. 

Cross-words: 1. To contract. 2. A fleet of armed 
ships. 3. Apparent. 4. The answer of a pagan god to 
an inquiry. 5. To disorder. 6. The hard covering of a 
tooth. 7. To labor too hard. 8. A papal messenger. 
Margaret m. dooley (age 1 6), League Member. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 

I am composed of sixty-three letters, and form a coup- 
let from a famous writer. 

i. My 3-46-35-39-62 is the name of the author of 
the couplet, and it is concealed in the following sen- 
tence : The boy's cot tipped over, but he was unhurt. 

2. My 60-54—21-55—63 is concealed in this sentence: 
The word before "ache" in my book is blurred. 

3. My 8-12-48-59 is in this sentence: He ate his 
lunch and we hurried off. 

4. My 32-57-22-53 is in this: The apron in Edna's 
room belongs to me. 

5- My 37-10-52 is in this: He sang a pretty song a 
week ago. 

6. My 33-44-16-27 is in this: This is the latest extra 
that we can buy to-day. 

7. My 50-2-41-17 is in this: The boy rowed us to 
the opposite shore. 

8. My 14-40—49-23 is in this : I saw Tom and Andrew 
in David's little tent. 

9. My 1 3-34-1 9-36-1 1-56-6 is in this: I saw Ben 
smile, though Tom says I did n't. 

10. My 42-47-25-29 is in this: Charles told us how 
to tie the knot. 

11. My 1-26-7 is in this: Our friends visited Jutland 
in Denmark. 

12. My 4-28-31-24 is in this: The yellow dog is 
gone, — the black one too, I fancy. 

13- My 30-61-18 is in this: They say a Manchu boy 
is given a good education. 

14. My 38-5-20 is in this: I never saw such a yellow 
car before. 

J 5- My 51-45-9 is in this: I saw Louise, Emma, and 
Helen enter the house. 

16. My 58-15-43 is in this: The candies I put in this 
box yesterday are all gone. 

HENRY S. JOHNSON (age 14). 

Each of the words described contains the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and written one below 
another, the zigzag through the first and second col- 
umns, and that through the third and fourth columns, 
will each spell the name of a famous composer. 

Cross-words : i. An aromatic spice. 2. An early Bib- 
lical character. 3. The "city of David." 4. A light. 
5. Part of a harness. 6. A famous English school. 

grace meleney (age 16), League Member. 


Gold Badge. (Silver Badge won July, 1913) 
51 4 57 Cross-words : 1. Distributed. 2. 

1. * 

2. * 5 10 ■ 38 

3. * 35 28 39 59 

Ardent. 3. A body of troops. 4. 
The upper air. 5. Obeys. 6. Fas- 

4. * • 14 ■ 20 tens. 7. Relating to morals. 8. 

5. * 21 6 -49 Ledges. 9. Faint-hearted. 10. A 

6. * • 9 -29 gust. n. Flushed with confidence. 

7. * 58 46 • 52 12. To touch gently, as with the 

8. * 37 ■ 12 50 elbow. 13. A cloth for drying the 

9. * • 22 • 7 hands. 14. A pleasure boat. 15.' 
10. * 53 17 33 23 Frothy. 16. To urge forward. 17. 

18 • 1 27 To sail by tacks. 18. Pleases. 19. 
54 ■ 19 56 An aromatic plant. 
11 36 3 34 When the foregoing words have 
45 been rightly guessed and written 
one below another, the initial let- 
ters, indicated by stars, will spell 
a famous date ; the numbers from 
1 to 29, what that date brings to 
mind ; from 30 to 38, a very fa- 
mous ship ; from 39 to 46, the place 
where it landed ; and from 47 to 59, the state in which 
this place is located. Caroline f. ware (age 13). 



14. * 48 

15. * 43 24 42 41 

16. * 47 16 15 40 

17. * 31 25 • 2 

18. * 44 8 13 55 

19. * 26 32 30 • 




"You ought to know this Campbell 'kind'." 

If you have not tried it, there is a new and de- 
lightful sensation waiting for your palate. Why 
not begin today's dinner with 

Put up strictly in the season only, this delicate creamy 
soup retains the sweet natural flavor of the tender stalks in 
their best condition. Blended with milk, fresh butter and 
other choice ingredients, this is one of the most tempting 
dinner courses you could imagine. 

Better phone your grocer for it right 
now, while you think of it. Your money 
back if not satisfied. 

21 kinds 

10c a can 

'Each Campbell kind 
Just suits my mind. 
There is no soup to beat it. 
'Tis merely play 
To serve each day. 
And more fun yet to eat it." 






Chicken Gumbo (Okra) 

Clam Bouillon 

Clam Chowder 
Mock Turtle 
Mutton Broth 
Ox Tail 


Pepper Pot 






Look for the red-and-white label 



The Kodak 
Gift Case 

A quality and 
richness that will 
appeal to the 
most fastidious. 


Vest Pocket Kodak, with Kodak Anastigmat 
lens. Hand Carrying Case, of imported 
satin finish leather in a shade of soft brown 
that is. in perfect harmony with the deep 
blue of the silk lined container. 

// solves that Christmas Problem. 

Fifteen Dollars at your Kodak Dealers. 




Sugar Wafers 

A tempting dessert 
confection, loved by 
all who have ever 
tasted them. Suit- 
able for every occa- 
sion where a dessert 
sweet is desired. In 
ten-cent tins ; also 
in twenty-five-cent 


Another charming confec- 
tion — a filled sugar wafer 
with a bountiful center of 
rich, smooth cream. 


An ever-popular delight. 
An almond-shaped dessert 
confection with a kernel of 
almond-flavored cream. 


Still another example of the 
perfect dessert confection. 
Enchanting wafers with a 
most delightful creamy fill- 
ing — entirely covered by 
the richest of sweet choc- 




First on 

Is John — He Gets Six 

"If they show holes before next 
July he '11 get new ones free." 

Give with your Christmas presents this year 
a guarantee of service like this: 

If any of these stockings or socks show holes 
■within six months from the day you buy them, 
we will replace them free. 

That is the Holeproof guarantee. 

We pay for our yarn an average of 74c. per 
pound. Common yarn sells for 32c. 

But Holeproof yarn is made up of three 7iery 
fine strands of long-fibre cotton. That long 
fibre gives it strength. The three-ply means 

My List 

Pairs of Holeproof" 

So the weight of Holeproof has nothing what- 
ever to do with the wear they give. You sacri- 
fice neither style nor comfort. 

Nearly 2,000,000 people now wear Holeproof. 
That is one reason why we can sell Holeproof 
at the prices of ordinary hosiery. 

Get the Christmas Box 

The genuine Holeproof are sold in your town. Write 
for your dealers' names. We ship direct, where no dealer 
is near, charges prepaid on receipt of price. 

Ask for Holeproof — in the Christmas Box. 

Write for free book that tells all about Holeproof. 


Holeproof Hosiery Co. of Canada, Ltd., London, Can. 
Holeproof Hosiery Co., 10 Church Alley, Liverpool, England 



$1.50 per box and up, for six pairs of 
men's: of women's and children's 
$2 and up; of Infants' (4 pairs) $1. 
Above boxes guaranteed six months. 

$2 per box for three pairs of men's 
SILK Holeproof Socks ; of women's 
SILK Holeproof Stockings, $3. Boxes 
of silk guaranteed three months. 



For long wear, fit and 
style, these are the finest 
silk gloves produced. 
Made in all lengths, sizes 
and colors. 

Write for the illustra- 
ted book. Ask us for name 
of dealer handling them. 



Two Ways to Spell a Good Thing. 

Teacher : " Dessert. " 

Bobbie : " Is it where the camels live ? " 

Teacher (severely): " Certainly not. It is the best part of dinner." 

Bobbie: " Oh, I can spell that — 

Nobody knows better than the children what the best part of 
dinner is, and Bobbie expresses the prevailing conviction regarding it. 

Delicious pure fruit flavors, freshness, wholesomeness and 
sparkle — these are famous Jell-O qualities. 

And nothing to do but add boding water, cool and serve. 

Put up in seven pure fruit flavors: Strawberry, Raspberry, 
Lemon, Orange, Cherry, Peach, Chocolate. 

Each in a separate package, 1 cents at any grocer's or any 

general store. 

A beautiful new Recipe Book, with brilliantly colored pic- 
tures by Rose Cecil O'Neill, author and illustrator of "The 
Kewpies," will be sent free to all who write and ask us for it. 

THE GENESEE PURE FOOD CO., Le Roy, N. Y., and Bridgeburg. Can. 

The name JELL-O is on every package in big red letters. If it 
isn't there, it isn't JELL-O. 


— - — - 

, — 

P"0 P" f To every reader of St. Nicholas Magazine we will send free a cardboard model of the 
* r\.I-*l-J Flexible Flyer, which shows how it steers ; also a handsome colored descriptive booklet con- 
Both sent free if you merely drop us a postal and say ' ' Send model 

taining various coasting scenes, etc. 
and booklet." Do \i today! 

S. L. ALLEN & CO. Box 1101 V Philadelphia 

The ideal Christmas gift for boys and girls 

Nowadays boys and girls looking for the greatest fun want more than a steering sled 
— they want the Flexible Flyer whose grooved runners enable them to steer at full 
speed without skidding, dodge around obstacles, and out-distance all other sleds. 
Flexible Flyer makes its owner king of the hill because it is 

the only sled with grooved runners 

The "Goose neck" design is another exclu- 
sive and important feature. 
Flexible Flyer goes faster, steers truer, con- 
trols easier, and is safer than any other sled 
ever invented. Its famous steering bar does 
away with dragging the feet, and the conse- 
quent wear and tear on 
boots and shoes ; pre- 
vents wet feet, colds, 
and doctor's bills. 

this trade mark 

Unless it bears this Trade Mark 

Seven sizes, carrying 
If your dealer can't 
order to us and give 



38 in. 












42 in. 












47 in- 










Flexible Flyer Racer 





Outlasts three ordinary sleds 

The Flexible Flyer is strong and durable in 
construction. It is light enough to easily pull 

1 child to 6 adults, 
supply you, send your 
us his name. We will 
ship — express prepaid 
east of the Mississippi 
— upon receipt of price 
named here. 

Insist on 
the genuine 

it isn't a Flexible Flyer. 




Vbit cai\ c^igfcp out 

txraile fcetejw ea.rtKs top crust &t t^e 

*>/° A.nzoi\«v. 

You ride along the brink of a mile-deep abyss. 
You breathe thin air and pure, with scent of pines 
and cedars. You descend a safe trail into earth's 
depths. And camp, at night, far down below, shut 
in by stupendous walls that shut out the world. 

Many glorious camping trips can be 
taken at the Grand Canyon of Arizona. 
All are under management of Fred Har- 
vey; you are assured every comfort con- 
sistent with " roughing it de luxe." Not 
all these trips are feasible for midwinter; 
but the inner-canyon camps are open the 
year 'round. 

One outing requires a three days' stay 
down in the titan of chasms. Another 
leads across the Painted Desert to the 
mesa home of the Hopi Indians. Still 
another is to the underground home of 
the Supai Indians, in Cataract Canyon. 
Or camp in the pines along the rim be- 
yond Grand View. A more strenueus 
jaunt is across the Canyon to the wild 
game wilderness of Kaibab Plateau. 

And always you are confronted by that 
most marvelous of Nature's marvels, the 
Grand Canyon of Arizona. 

To say that it is a mile deep, miles 
wide, hundreds of miles long, and painted 
like a sunset, only begins to tell the 
story. For the rest, go and see ifor 

Fortunately, the way there is easy, as 
a side trip from Santa Fe transconti- 
nental trains. Round-trip ' fare, Williams, 
Arizona, to Grand Canyon, is only $7.50. 
El Tovar Hotel, managed by Fred Har- 

vey, provides highest-class entertain- 
ment. At Bright Angel Camp the 
charges are less. 

You can glimpse the scene in a day. 
Stay three days or a week, and see more 
of it. 

A word regarding the Santa Fe's 
through California trains: 

The California Limited is the king ol 
the limiteds — all-steel Pullmans — daily 
the year 'round — between Chicago, Kan- 
sas City, Los Angeles, San Diego and 
San Francisco — exclusively for first- 
class travel — has a sleeper for Grand 

The Santa Fe de Luxe — once a week 
in winter season — extra fast, extra fine, 
extra fare — - between Chicago and Los 

Three other daily trains — all classes 
of tickets honored — they carry standard 
and tourist sleepers and chair cars. 

The Santa Fe meal service is managed 
by Fred Harvey. 

On request, will send you our two 
illustrated travel books, " Titan of 
Chasms — Grand Canyon " and " To 
California Over the Santa Fe Trail." 

W. J. Black, Passenger Traffic Manager, A . T. & S. F. Ry. Syitem 
1072 Railway Exchange, Chicago 



Hello Bi 

Make Lots of Toys 

I know what boys like. It's great fun to build 
machine shops that run lathes, saws, fans, etc. ; to 
make steel towers, railroad bridges, motor engines, 
and cars that run themselves. 

But best of all, boys, this is the only steel model builder that 
has a real electric Mysto Motor. It 's dandy to have a motor to 
make things move — isn't it? 

Besides, the Mysto Erector has one-fifth more parts than any 
similar toy, so you can build bigger, better models. You can build faster, too. Its gir- 
ders are square and look just like those on railroad bridges and steel buildings. They 
stand up stiff and strong. Nothing wobbly or shaky about 

The Toy that resembles Structural Steel 

Parents : Many a happy hour is ahead for the boy who owns a Mysto 
Erector. It 's nickel-plated on stiff steel and durable. He doesn't get 
discouraged working with it because its parts are larger; builds faster 
because he requires less bolts and screws to fasten. 

Building with the Mysto Erector develops your boy's mechanical skill — 
trains him in engineering principles and structural building. It educates 
as well as fascinates. 

It 's a good investment at any time and a splendid Christmas gift. Get 

him one. Prices from $i to 
$25. Sold by toy dealers. 
If your dealer hasn't it, please 
write us. 

m G 

rder Bridge 1 

Just see how many interesting' models 
you can build ! 




Dirigible Balloon 


Inclined Railway 


Machine Shop 

Motor Cars 

Traveling Crane 




Structural Steel Buildings 

and hundreds 
and described in 

: other models pictured 
my Free Book. 

Write (giving your toy dealer's 
name) for my Free Booklet, filled 
with interesting pictures. 

A. C. GILBERT, President 

The Mysto Mfg. Co. 

52 Foote St. 

New Haven, Conn. 

We also make Puzzles and 
Magic Tricks. Send for 
big catalog of hard and 
easy ones. 



We have all had that wish 
some time or other — and it seemed 
as if the little drops of water must turn 
to chocolate creams and peppermints and mo- 
lasses kisses and everything else that's good. They 
never did, but the thought made our mouths water. 




are as fresh and pure as anything sent by Nature. That's why 
Mother prefers them for the children. She knows they are as 
good as they are delicious. 

Besides <^^f Bonbons and Chocolates there are many other kinds to suit every 

candy taste. Among them are the famous old-fashioned molasses candy, the Fresh 

Every Hour mixture, and the delicately flavored drops and sticks in glass jars. 

Of course it won't ever really rain *&#£*, but a rainy day is a good time to 
have them. Mother knows a place near-by where they can be 
found. If she doesn't, ask her to write to us — or, 
better still, write to us yourself. 

64 Irving Place 
New York 

Frank DeK. Huyler, President 

Ask for <&tp&& Cocoa and 
*&2&& Baking Chocolate 

at your grocer s y~ — \ 

(. ' \ 



"They even tried to sell imitations to 

me! I give away thousands of boxes 

of real 



I know it's not the clean, pure, 
healthful, genuine unless I see the 
name WRIGLEY' Sand 
the spear.' 

Wrigley's is 










and aids 


It has no 

aftertaste if it's 


Be sure 




Bushels of Fun for Christmas 

"Hurrah! My 
Ives Train 
is Bully ! ' ' 

"t ^y 

Don't you think it 's fun to "run 
things"? Don't you like to "make 
things go "? Of course you do ! 
Every boy does. 

That 's why an Ives Miniature Rail- 
way System will be the finest Christmas 
present you ever had. You can run an 
Ives Toy Train to your heart's content. 

Make Ha 

Under its own power, round and round the track— across 
bridges, through tunnels, past stations and switches — speeds 
the Toy Train. It can be stopped at stations or by signal. 

You can show your skill by laying the track, and arranging 
the stations, switches, and other parts in scores of different 
ways. There 's always something new to keep you interested. 

Ives Struktiron is one accessory which is especially fascinat- 
ing. With it you can build, from structural iron, bridges, 
freight depots, and scores of other wonderful buildings. 

The many structural iron parts, with their angles and braces, 
are made unusually strong so that they can be used for practi- 
cal purposes. You can build a bridge 3 feet long which will 
carry unusual weight. Ask us to tell you more about Struktiron. 

You can get either an electrical or mechanical Ives Train. 
The mechanical outfits cost complete from $1 to $20 a set; 
electrical from $4 to $25. We guarantee every Ives Toy and 
will replace, without charge, any part that is defective in ma- 
terials or workmanship. 

Ask your father or mother to give you an Ives Miniature 
Railway and Ives Struktiron this Christmas. 
They can buy Ives Toys at toy, department, 
and hardware stores. If there 'sany trouble in 
finding an Ives dealer in your town, write us. 

Beautiful Catalog sent free for your 
toy dealer's name. 

The Ives Manufacturing Corporation 

Established 1868 

196 Holland Avenue, Bridgeport, Conn. 


Polly and Peter Ponds 

have gone away to school. Their letters 
will appear in this magazine each month 

To Miss Polly Ponds. 

Dear Polly: — Did you have a good 
time Thanksgiving? I did. I wanted 
awfully to be home with you and the 
folks, but we had the best turkey you 
ever saw and punkin pie. My, but 
it was fine! About twenty of the 
boys stayed here, and we had a grand 
time without any lessons. 

Maybe I 'm not lucky, though. 

Just think of having two Christmas 

/i^ ,'^ f; ^ ±JKf f \ y spreads in one year! You know 

Uncle Henry Ponds sent me a fine 
Christmas box, just full of all sorts of 
good things, and said, "Peter, I don't 
know whether you will go home for 
the holidays or not, but anyway here 's A Merry Christmas for you and your chums." 

Well, Billy Forbes and Sam Winslow and I opened that box last night. Everybody 
is going home Christmas, and we just couldn't wait. What do you think was inside? 
Well, there were mince-pie and candy and nuts and apples and cold turkey, lots of it, 
and jelly roll and all kinds of sandwiches and other things I can't remember. Anyway, 
they are all gone. Say, I wish you were a boy and could have been in with us. It 
was perfectly corking. And what do you think we found clear at the bottom? A 
whole box of all the fine things the 


Pond's Extract, Pond's Extract Vanishing Cream, Pond's Extract Soap, etc. 

Say, maybe Billy and Sam didn't envy me then ! Well, Uncle Henry is a brick and 
don't you forget it! He couldn't have made me a better Christmas present. My 
stock was all used up fixing up the fellows here who skinned their shins or bumped 
their heads or had chapped hands. They all swear by the Pond's Extract things. 

Well, I've got to stop and begin to sort my things, to take home. This letter won't 
get to you much before you leave for home, too. And I'll see you there for A Merry 
Christmas and Happy New Year! 

, Your affectionate brother, Peter. 


131 Hudson Street - - New York 

— Talcum Powder — Toilet Soap — Pond's Extract. 

smm ^HiHiiiiiiiiiHiMiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininnniiniB 



Tfe Eidktk 4 

WondS- ^ 
of tke 

Boys and Girls! 

HERE is just the present for Mother, Father, Grandma, Grandpa, elder brother or sister, 
or your closest friend in school. 
Thermos is the most wonderful and most acceptable present you can give any one — 
and you '11 want one yourself, too. Thermos keeps fluids or solids piping hot 24 hours, or icy 
cold for 72 hours. It has a thousand uses and makes everybody happy at Christmastide. 

keeps baby's milk fresh and sweet and pure ; it enables Grand- 
ma to have nice hot tea whenever she wants it; Father can 
have a cooling drink when he is ready for it, and in the play- 
room Thermos means bully hot soups or delicious cold 
lemonade when it 's time for refreshments. 

And Thermos School Kits and 
Food-Jars are lots of fun, too — 
lunches and lemonade just as you 
bring them from home. It 's great 
for the picnic, at recess, or day's 
outing. Travelling, or at home, 
everybody gets pleasure and com- 
fort from Thermos. 

Prices, $1.00 to $10.00 

Everybody knows and appreciates 
Thermos. This year, the new 
model, practically unbreakable 
Thermos, is more serviceable, and 
yet less expensive, than ever before. 
There is a Thermos at the price 
you wish to spend, and don't for- 
get to ask Santa Claus to bring 
you Thermos, too. 

Ask to see Thermos at a store near yon. If you have trouble finding Thermos 
we will send it to you on receipt of price — but remember the name Thermos. 


Norwich, Conn. Toronto 

A Free Thermos Pic- 
ture Puzzle For You 

Here 's lots of fun ! You '11 enjoy 
it immensely, and to get one all you 
need to do is send us your name and 
address. We '11 send you an inter- 
esting illustrated book telling all 
about Thermos, too. Don't for- 
get — write for both now. 


St. Nicholas Advertising Competition No. 144 

Time to send in answers is up December 15. Prize-winners announced in the February number 



Since Alexander's letter in the October number, he has 
shown a liking for writing rather than calling upon the 
Judges — and they are quite willing he should send his 
contributions by mail. The drawing which we present 
above came to us with a rather longer letter than we 
care to print in full, so we give only such of it as seems 
to be worth while, with our comments: 

"To the Honorable Judges, 

"Sirs: No doubt you have been awaiting my mas- 
terpiece (we have), and this is not it (we hope not), 
yet it is a puzzle that has remarkable merit in its way. 
This is the Yuletide (so we have heard from several) 
and few of its observances appeal more to the Young 
(ahem !) than the custom of suspending hosiery to 
mantel or hearth in order that Santa Claus or Kris 
Kringle (here we skip four pages). . . . The present 
competition shows fourteen stockings denuded of their 
contents (you mean "emptied," Alexander. Seethe 
dictionary), which contents in each case are the letters 
spelling something advertised in the November St. 
Nicholas. But these are not in their right order. 
They have been rearranged by the bright maker of the 
puzzle (we thought you made it ?) so as to spell words 
or sentences having some semblance or apology for 
meaning. To solve the puzzle, these letters — taking 
each time only the group from one stocking — must be 
put in their right order again. 

"As one who has had considerable experience in 
these matters, permit me to suggest to youthful con- 
testants (we are so fond of plain, simple English) that 
they cut out small squares of card, put a letter on each, 
and then move them about till they hit the right ar- 
rangement. You will rejoice to hear that my health 
is perfect, though a slight bruise ort my ankle (here 
we skip two pages) . . . and so T hope you will 
all enjoy the puzzle. Some day I may let Alexandra 
— my sister — make another one (yes, we think you 


will). Accept the repeated assurances of my continued 
esteem. ..." 

\Vhen you have found the fourteen answers put them 
in alphabetical order, correctly written according to the 
titles of the advertisements, number them, and then the 
Competition — which is not difficult — is solved. Where 
solutions are correct, the Judges must rank competitors 
by further test. And so you must send with your solu- 
tion a letter (not over 250 words in length) telling 
whether you and your family read the advertising pages 
of the magazine, or whether you merely read a few of 
them. Also tell in your letter whether you think ad- 
vertisements should be long or short, tell a great deal, 
or a little strongly. 

As usual, there will be One First Prize, $5.00, to the 
sender of the correct list and the most complete and in- 
teresting letter. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each, to the next two in merit. 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each, to the next three. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each, to the next ten. 

Note : Prize-winners who are not subscribers to St. Nicho- 
las are given special subscription, rates upon immediate appli- 

Here are the rules and regulations. 

1 . This competition is open freely to all who may desire 
to compete without charge or consideration of any kind. 
Prospective contestants need not be subscribers to St. Nich- 
olas in order to compete for the prizes offered. 

2. In the upper left-hand corner of your list give name, 
age,, address, and the number of this competition (144). 

3. .Submit answers by December 15, 1913. Do not use 
a pencil. 

4. Write your letter on a separate sheet of paper, but be 
sure your name and address are on each paper, also that they 
are fastened together. Write on one side of your paper only. 

5. Be sure to comply with these conditions if you wish 
to win a prize. 

6. Address answer : Advertising Competition No. 144, 
St Nicholas Magazine, Union Square, New York. 

(See also page 48.) 



The Fairies Know What the Kiddies Like 

THEY know that only the best confections should be given the children 
to satisfy their natural craving for "goodies." So give them confections 
of' guaranteed purity — Necco or Hub Wafers — the fairy food all the little 
kiddies crave. They are so deliciously good and so dependably pure that 
they can be eaten with perfect safety. 


Glazed Paper Wrapper 


\ .Sweets , 


Transparent Paper Wrapper 

are always fresh and wholesome, because only the purest ingredients are used, the most 
modern methods of manufacturing employed and sanitary wrappers to protect their original 
goodness adopted. Made in a toothsome variety of popular flavors — Lime, Lemon, Licorice, 
Chocolate, Clove, Cinnamon, Sassafras, Peppermint and Wintergreen. There's a flavor 
for every taste and each little wafer is a palate tickler. 

Try a package today, but look for the seal of Necco Sweets — the symbol of purity. 

Boston, Mass. 



Report on Advertising Competition 
No. 142 

We are quite sure 
that we know a great 
deal more about why 
certain things should be advertised 
in St. Nicholas now than we did 
last Christmas. The reason we are 
so sure is because during the past 
year we have received many inter- 
estingletters which you have written 
to us about advertising subjects. If 
you have been as faithful in every- 
thing else as you have been to your 
dearly beloved St. NICHOLAS dur- 
ing the past year, you richly deserve 
all the good things that can be 
crowded into your stocking. We 
all appreciate the work you have 
done during this time, and just now 
it makes us all feel that we can 
smile and be happy and joyful at 
this great Christmas Time. 

Those old stern Judges that have 
passed on your work for the last 
twelve months are really cheerful 
to-day, and they want to take this 
opportunity of wishing you the very 
merriest kind of a Christmas and, of 
course, a Very Happy New Year! 

They hope that San- 
ta Claus will bring 
you everything you 
want and that your holidays will be 
full of wonderful joy and happiness. 

We also hope that all of our St. 
NICHOLAS friends will continue to be 
interested in our work, and that we 
may see more of your delightful 
contributions and helpful letters. 

It would seem hardly right to re- 
port on any particular competition 
without remarking that carelessness 
is making it hard for most of you 
to win prizes. So just make up 
your minds that on the next com- 
petition you are going to take espe- 
cial care in following instructions, 
which we try to make very clear. 
Then we think there will be no 
trouble along this awful road called 

This month we not only want to 
award our prize-winners the prizes 
as shown below, but we also want 
to wish every single person who 
reads these lines our very heartiest 
Holiday Greetings ! 

One First Prize, $5.00: Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each: 

Elizabeth F. Cornell, age 13, Massachusetts. Elmore May, age 16, Ohio. 

Catherine F. Urell, age 13, Pennsylvania. 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each: 
Dorothy Stroud Walworth, age 13, New York. Marion Norcross, age 13, Illinois. 

Genevieve Goodyear Earle, age 15, New York. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each : 
Eleanor Nielson, age 18, Illinois. 
Lucia Pierce Barber, age 14, District of Columbia. 
Helen L. Crain, age 18, Illinois. 
Elizabeth Blake, age 14, New Jersey. 
William W. Smith, age 13, Louisville, Ky, 
G. Huanayra Cowle, age 12, Cheltenham, England. 
Virginia Heward, age 13, Maryland. 
Alys McLane, age 13, New York. 
Arthur H. Nethercot, age 18, Illinois. 
Mary Margaret Flock, age 12, Alabama. 



the Boy or Girl who gets an Ingersoll Watch will expe- 
rience one of the real "events" of life, for never but once 
does a child know the delight of first owning a watch. 

Every child covets a watch above any personal posses- 
sion, for it seems almost alive with its ceaseless "tick." 
Boys want to know what 's inside the watch, and in the 
box with each Ingersoll Watch comes a tiny booklet tell- 
ing how it "works," or it will be mailed free on request 
to those who write for booklet " P." 

The Ingersoll is positively guaranteed to keep good time. 
It is used by millions of "grown-ups." 

Dollar Watch 

Smaller Models for 
Girls and Little Boys 

Don't take a watch 
as an "Ingersoll" un- 
less it has that name 
on the dial. 

Parents can buy In- 
gersoll 'Watches in 
every town in Amer- 
ica at the regular 



For Weak Arches 
and Ankles that "turn in" 

Do not hamper active feet with 
elastic bandages or rigid metal 
braces. Help them with the 
friendly, firm and corrective as- 
sistance of the 

COWARD su a p r p c o h rt SHOE 


A shoe that relieves, protects and 
strengthens growing feet without 
muscular interference — steadies 
weak ankles, rests the arch and 
prevents "flat-foot." 

Coward Arch Support Shoe and Cow- 
ard Extension Heel have been made 
by James S. Coward, in his Custom 
Department, for over thirty years. 

Mail Orders Filled — Send for Catalogue 



264-274 Greenwich St., New York City 

(near warren street) 

Here 's wishing you a very Merry Christmas ! 

Oh, of course, Christmas Day is a full month 
away; but the getting ready for Christmas is 
the merriest and best of the day. Don't you 
think so? 

Now what about this getting ready? You 
have been making up your list for weeks and 
weeks ; and, if you are fortunate, you must plan 
hard to make what money you have cover the 
list. Yes, I said fortunate. Having to plan, 
and rearrange, and use your wits hard in your 
Christmas planning is much nicer than having 
so much money to spend that you just buy 
without any planning and figuring, or sub- 
tracting a little from Bobbie's gift to make 
Mother's more worthy of her. 

There is really nothing quite so nice for a 
gift at any time— but especially a Christmas 
gift— as a book. Hamilton Wright Mabie says: 
"To give a book is to enrich the receiver per- 
manently." And a gift that does that is quite 
the ideal gift. 

What about giving Father "The Trade of 
the World." It is written by James Daven- 
port Whelnley, a man who has studied his sub- 
ject many years all over the world; and it is 
a book which every business and professional 
man will be glad to have for his own. The 
price is $2.00 net, postage 16 cents extra. 

Perhaps you 'd rather give him a novel. 
Thackeray says: "Novels are sweets. All peo- 
ple with healthy literary appetites love them 
. . . a vast number of clear, hard-headed men, 
judges, bishops, chancellors, mathematicians, 
are notorious novel-readers." Your father 
could hardly fail to have keen pleasure in Dr. 
S. Weir Mitchell's latest novel, "Westways," 
a really great piece of work, equally notable 
for its noble conception and its scholarly 
workmanship. It costs $1.40 net, by mail $1.52. 
If your father is a lawyer, give him Frederick 
Trevor Hill's "The Thirteenth Juror" (price 
$1.20 net, postage 10 cents). 

If he enjoys a story with plenty of real 

( Continued on fage 51. ) 



THE BOOK MAN Continued 

story-interest give him the new novel by Fran- 
ces Hodgson Burnett, "T. Tembarom." It is 
delightfully told; and the pictures are unusual 
and charming. It costs $1.40 net; postage 
paid, $1.52. 

If Father is fond of travel, why not give 
him "The Near East," or "Romantic Amer- 
ica," or "Zone Policeman 88"? "The Near 
East" is a very beautiful book, with exquisite 
pictures in color by Jules Guerin. Its cost is 
$6.00 net, and the carriage is 26 cents. Per- 
haps all you brothers and sisters will put your 
money together and make it your gift to 
Mother and Father. Both "The Near East" 
and Robert Haven Schauffler's "Romantic 
America," with its eighty lovely pictures by 
famous American artists, are books to give the 
whole household pleasure and profit for many 
years. "Romantic America" costs $5.00 net, 
and the postage is 19 cents. 

Mother would like a good novel too— she 
would enjoy both "Westways" and "T. Tem- 
barom." And Elsie de Wolfe's "The House 
in Good Taste" would delight her beyond 
words. Miss de Wolfe loves making homes 
comfortable and beautiful ; and she knows how 
to take the simplest room and a little money 
and secure fascinating results; best of all, she 
tells about it— and about many houses she 
has made rare homes— so delightfully and so 
helpfully that it is quite the best book of its 
kind ever written. There are fifty-two insets 
showing some of the interiors Miss de Wolfe 
has created. The price is $2.50 net (postage 
20 cents extra), and it is as beautifully made a 
book as you could hope to find for that amount. 








HAtfjnr-A . FS.WC8. 

H . 

Big Brother, too, would be "tickled to death" with 
this book, and also with the same author's "A Vagabond 
Journey Around the World." 

Of course, this is only a beginning of sug- 
gestions. There are grandfather and grand- 

( Continued on page 52.) 




PARKER games are REAL 
games, full of life and LASTING 
pleasure — like our famous successes 
Pillow-Dex, Ping- Pong and Pastime 
Picture Puzzles, that everybody has 
played and enjoyed, but the Parker 
Games ROOK, PIT and PLAZA 
have today a greater popularity than 
any other three games in the world. 


The Newest Parker Came 
The brightest, livest, newest 
game for many years. A fit 
companion to ROOK and 
PIT, yet unlike either of 
them. It is absolutely fas- 
cinating! Pack contains 60 
cards, handsomely designed 
in colors. For 2 or many — . 
young or old. 
50c at your Dealer's, or by mail from us. 


The Game of Games 
The best loved household 
game in America. The larg- 
est selling game in the world. 
It fits into more leisure mo- 
ments for young people than 
any other game ever invented. You can't imagine 
the charm and interest of ROOK until you play it. 
50c at your Dealer's, or by mail from us. 

The Great Fun-Maker 

For laughter, excitement and 
a general good time PIT 
has no equal. It is learned 
in two minutes. It is worth 
many times its price. 
50c at your Dealer 's, or by mail from us. 
Each will delight you in a different way. 
Send for Illustrated List ai 50 Parker Games. 
Mention St. Nicholas. 



5 1 



Boys Can Build the Toys 
That Teach Them a Man's Work 


The romance of the sky-scraper and the great 
bridge glows in every boy's soul. He who to- 
day builds toy towers, derricks and Ferris Wheels 
with his MECCANO — learning the magic of 
beams and girders, bolts and plates — may to- 
morrow build the giant structures of his dreams. 

Get that boy you are interested in 
a set of MECCANO 

See its brass and nickeled-steel toy building: material at 
your toy or sporting-goods dealer. Or, if he hasn't the 
book of designs to show you the wonderful things a boy 
can build with MECCANO, write us to send catalogue 
and full information of "the best thing ever invented 
for a boy." 

Be sure the na,7ne MECCANO is on box 

23 Church Street, Albany, N. Y. 

- ^ ° . ° ..g e . ° ° rj "-■ ° ££ J 

-^•"-^ MAKERS OF -« 

■ l <£xs fkcxtTeacK, 

Old Fashioned Bayberry Dips 

Two seven=inch, hand-dipped Bayberry Candles, full of 
the spicy fragrance of the bayberries, daintily attached to a 
beautifully hand illuminated gift card bearing "The Legend 
of the Bayberry Dip." Exquisitely packed in a craftbox they 
possess a quaint charm. Send us 50 cents for two postpaid. Our 
book of Quaint New England Gifts solves Christmas riddles. 



This face /^ty 
book is fcri^-fA 

amusing to children than any other 
kind of a book. The faces are cut 
from the board leaves and are in- 
terchangeable. Brilliantly colored. 

Neatly Boxed. Size &'A x 1 1 inches. Price $1 .00 postpaid. 

IDEAL BOOK BUILDERS, Publishers, Dept. S12, 202 So. Clark St., Chicago. 

THE BOOK MAN— Continued 

mother, and your favorite uncle, and your 
dearest aunt, and the shut-in old lady whom 
you want to remember Christmas with the gift 
that will give the keenest and longest pleasure. 
If you want to send an invalid friend a gift 
full of sunshine — any age from fifteen to five 
hundred— try "Daddy-Long-Legs." It bubbles 
with high spirits and the joy of living on every 
page ; and yet there is an occasional little touch 
of pathos which makes it all the sweeter and 
tenderer. As I told you in October, Jean Web- 
ster wrote it, and the illustrations are just the 
delicious little scribbles a clever girl might do 
on the margins of her letters. The price is 
only $i.oo net; and the postage will cost you 
only 8 cents. 


Another happy choice for Mother's Christ- 
mas stocking would be the unique new 
"Around-the-World Cook Book." In it Mrs. 
Barroll, the wife of a naval officer, has gath- 
ered the best receipts from all over the world. 
She is a born cook, and she herself has tested 
and proved every one. Mother — and all the 
family — will bless you for the gift every day 
in the year. It is really worth a good deal 
more than the $1.50 net (postage 13 cents 
extra) it costs. 

If you want more suggestions, or any spe- 
cial help, or advice, about your gifts to the 
dearest among your family and grown-up 
friends, write the Book Man. Only, do it as 
soon as you can, because the days to Christ- 
mas slip away so fast. 

And why not, to-day, send to him for the 
beautiful new illustrated catalogue, which The 
Century Co. has just issued to help people in 
their Christmas buying? Write the words 
"catalogue" and "please" on a postal card and 
address it: The Book Man, St. Nicholas, 
The Century Co., Union Square, N. Y. The 
catalogue will go to you by return mail. The 
covers in color give you some idea of the beauty 
of "The Near East" and the Arthur Rackham 
Mother Goose; and the inside pages will tell 
you about many books of real value which will 
exactly fit into your Christmas plans. You 
can make a list of the books that specially ap- 
peal to you, and then go and look them over 
at your nearest bookseller's. 

If you live a long way from any book store, 
and want to order any book in the catalogue 
from the publishers direct, you can do it. 
Write clearly and fully the address to which 
you want the book to go. Inclose your card 
or message, and a check, money-order, or 

( Continued on £agc 53.) 



THE BOOK MAN— Continued 

stamps for the price of the book, or books, 
adding the amount given in the catalogue as 
"postage extra." The Book Man will see to 
it that your choice goes out— attractively and 
safely wrapped— just in time to arrive Christ- 
mas eve or day. 

There seems no space to talk here of the 
books you will buy with your own Christmas 
gift money, or the books you want to buy 
right now for your chum, and the little sister 
or brother, and the child, or children, for 
whom you are having the joy of playing Santa 
Claus. But if you will turn to the advertising 
pages in the front of the magazine you will 
find several pages telling you about some of 
the choicest books for boys and girls of all 
ages ever published — books which are a joy 
to read, and a joy to have for one's very own. 
And The Century Co.'s catalogue, for which 
you are going to send, has seven pages of "A 
Classified List of Books for Young Folks," 
which will prove a mine of suggestions. 


I am very much pleased at the great number 
of letters and postal cards already received 
from St. Nicholas readers. All of this cor- 
respondence,— letters that have come in and 
the answers that I have written, — has been 
about books. 

Recently I have been seeing a good deal of 
the Dictionary Man. He tells me that that 
great book, the Century Dictionary, Cyclopedia 
and Atlas, is the authority in courts of law, 
universities, schools and business corporations. 
He says that through the Century Dictionary, 
he is able to tap reservoirs of information 
about as large and pure as any in the country. 
Among the hundreds and hundreds of writers, 
for the Dictionary are, Dr. William T. Horna- 
day, who writes about animals, Dr. David Starr 
Jordan about fishes, and Dr. Liberty Hyde 
Bailey about farming. In this great book you 
can find out all sorts of things about natural 
history, geology, botany, mechanics, electricity, 
—in fact, nearly everything that .a boy or girl 
could ask about. 

The Book Man of course ought to know 
about all books, including the Century Diction- 
ary, but I confess that when you ask me some 
things,— for instance, about the spelling or 
pronunciation or history of certain words, — I 
am going to call on the Dictionary Man to 
help me answer your questions. 

Here 's wishing a fine getting-ready-for- 
Christmas time to you all ! 



has for many years been 
recognized by the med- 
ical profession as one of 
the best methods of mod- 
ifying fresh, cow's milk 
for infant feeding. 

This is so well known, that 
a great many doctors raise their 
own children on Eskay's. 

The above children of Dr. 
W. H. Arnold, Vancouver, 
were all raised bn Eskay's, 

and are typical examples of the 
robust health that follows a well- 
nourished babyhood. 

"Ask your Doctor" about Eskay's 
before you experiment with your little 
one's food and health. 


Smith, Kline & French Co. , 462 Arch St. , Philadelphia 

Gknti.kmkn: Plrnse send me free 10 feedings of Eskay's Food and your 
helpful book for mothers, ''How to Care for the Baby." 


Stre.H and No. 

City and State. 




$3, $6, $9, $12 and up 

Fan for Family Groups and Partie 

A Christmas Gift That Will Please Everyone"' 

i Throw pictures on a screen with the 
Radioptican. You can play games this 
way, entertain, instruct or simply show 
laughable comics — all the funnier because, 
they are enlarged and can be seen by all 
present at the same time. 


Write for Book That Tells How 
' 'Home Entertainments ' ' 

This book tells of the many ways to use the 
Radioptican for parties or private fun. It tells all 
about theroachine — why it uses pictures instead 
of slides, how simply it is operated— all you have 
to do is to connect it up tc an electric light and 
put in the pictures. If you haven't electricity, 
there are gas and acetylene models, the latter 
complete with generator and ready to operate. 

Ask Your Dealer to Demonstrate the Radiopti- 
can. It is sold whereverphoto supplies or optical 
goods are sold, also in department stores and ! 
toy shops. Every machine bears a guarantee tag 
that insures your being satisfied. 


817 River Street North Bennington, Vermont 

Branches: 45 W. 34th St., New York City San Francisco 

The Ideal Xmas Gift for Boys 

YOU will have no end of fun and learn accur- 
ately the principles of aviation with this 
perfect model aeroplane. Flying contests are 
great sport and you will get a lot of pleasure 
out of a 

Blue Bird Racing Aeroplane 

The swiftest, longest-flying toy aeroplane made. Sent 
prepaid anywhere for only $1.50, and the first boy in 
each community to order one will be appointed Offi- 
cial Starter for all Blue Bird Contests, and a hand- 
some badge will be sent him free. 

If not sold at a Toy Store near you, 
don't delay — write now. 48-page "Ideal" 
Model Aeroplane Supply Catalog, 5 cents. 

Ideal Aeroplane & Supply Co., 84-86 VV. B' way, N. Y. 


Keep this helpful servant where 
yon can put your hand right on it. 

There are many ways in which 3-in-One 
lessens labor. A little on a cheese cloth (after 
it has thoroughly permeated the cloth) makes 
a perfect "dustless duster." A few drops on 
a cloth wrung out in cold water is an ideal 

cleaner and polisher for furniture. As a lubricant, noth- 
ing excels 3-ui-One because it goes at once to the friction 
spot, and wears long without gumming; never dries out. 

3 -in-One Oil 

prevents rust and tarnish. Bath room fixtures, stoves 
and ranges, metal fixtures indoors and out, are kept 
bright and usable by 3-in-One. 

3-in-One is sold in drug stores, general stores, hard- 
ware, grocery and housefurnishing stores: 1 oz. size 10c; 
3 oz. 25c; 8 oz. (%yt.) 50c. Also in Handy 
Oil Cans, 3% oz. 25c. If your dealer hasn't 
these cans we will send one by parcel post, 
full of good 3-in-One for 30c. A Library 
I Slip With Every Bottle. 

i Pnrr-Write for a generous free sample and the 
I rKtt 3 in-One Dictionary. 

THREE-IN-ONE OIL CO., 42 QH. Bdwy., N. Y. 


Boys and Girls Make These 

Just think of making models 
of your own toys, dolls, 
soldiers, forts, houses, pic- 
tures — at home with 


Mothers, keep the children happy and occupied with Plasticine. 
Easy, simple and delightful, it teaches them while they play, and 
trains eye, hand and mind for future vocations. Infinitely superior 
to clay, because it isn't mussy, needs no water, remains plastic and ready 
for instant use, and is absolutely clean and antiseptic. Inexpensive, as it 
can be used over and over again. Various sized Plasticine outfits with com- 
plete instructions for modelling, designing and house-building, 25c to $2.00. 
Sold by Toy, Stationery and Art Dealers everywhere. If your dealer 
cannot supply you, write for free booklet and list of our dealers near you. 

THE EMBOSSING COMPANY, 58 Liberty St., Albany, N. Y. 

On Every Woman's Dressing-table 

there should always be found a bottle of that 
matchless perfume, the old time favorite 

Florida Water 

Once used, it is simply indispensable. Grateful on 
handkerchief or clothing; a fragrant Lotion or 
Spray ; a refreshing addition to the Bath, the Basin, 
or to the tumbler when brushing the teeth: it is 
mildly antiseptic and always delightful. :■. :: :: 


Sample size mailed for six cents in stamps. 
Ask for our booklet, "Beauty and Health" 

Lanman & Kemp, 135 Water street, New York 

Christmas Favors 

Christmas Stockings filled with Toys, 5c, 10c, 25c, 50c, $1.00, $2.00 each. 
Celluloid Santa Claus Roly Poly, 10c Miniature Christmas Tree in Wood 
Pot, 3 inches, 5c Table Trees, 10c, 25c, 50c. Santa Claus Figures, 5c, 10c, 
25c, 50c, $1.00. Reindeer, 25c, 50c Miniature Red Stocking (.box), 5c 
Empty Red Flannel Stocking, 25c Celluloid Santa Claus Card-holder, 10c 
Holly Sprays, 10c, 25c, 50c. doz. Mistletoe Sprays, 5c Holly Vines, 10c 
Paper Poinsettia, 5c. Velvet Poinsettia, 10c. Silver Rain, 5c. Box; Snow, 5c 
Box. Tree Candleholders, 15c. doz. Tinseled Garlands, 12 yards for 25c. 
Assorted Tinsel Ornaments, 15c. and 50c doz. Lametta, 5c box. Christmas 
Cord for tying Boxes and Favors, Red or Green, 5c. spool; Silver or Gold, 
10c. spool. Christmas Seals, 5c. package. Christmas Tags, 10c package. 
Snowball (box), 10c Patent Wax Caudles, 25c. box. Red Folding Bells, 5c, 
10c, 25c Garlands for Decorating. 10c. 25c Miniature PaperStocking with 
Favor, 5c Christmas Napkins, 35c package. Crepe Paper Holly Baskets, 
Salted Nut size, $1.00 doz. ; Ice Cream size, $1.20 doz. Holly Bell (box). 25c. 
Flapjack with Favor, 15c Holly Jack Horner Pie, 12 Ribbons, $4.00. Holly 
Sled Box, 10 Christmas Snapping Mottoes, 25c. 50c, $1.00 box, Santa Claus 
Ice Cases, 60c, doz. Christmas Tally or Dinner Cards, 25c. doz. Celluloid 
Balancing Birds, assorted Colors for Trees, 5c, Fancy Favor Boxes can be 
filled. Trunks, Hat Boxes, Suit Cases, Satchels, Drums, Musical Favors, 
etc, 10c and 15c each. Santa Claus Mask, 50c and $1.00 each. Miniature 
Straw Baskets, 5c, 10c. Assorted Imported Games, 25c Father Time Fig- 
ures, 10c. Assorted Favor Noise Makers, 5c, 10c. Big Assortment of Favors 
for Christmas Trees at 5c, each. Automobiles. Fire Engines, Cameras, Trolley 
Cars, Sprinklers, Coffee Mills, Boats, Sewing Machines, Pails, Tea Pots, Cabs, 
etc., at 10c each. Telephone, Hot Water Bag, Watches, Spinning Wheel, 
Plate Lifter, Water Pistol, China Honeymoon Couple, Flags of all Nations. 

If you have not our large 1912 Catalog, one will be 
sent on request. Attractive Assortment of Tree 
Decorations or Table Favors at $1.00, $2.00, or 
$5.00. We positively do not pay mail charges. 

B.SHACKMAN&CO., 906-908 Broadway, Dept.14, New York. 



The Man and th« factory 

* hind the Skier Piano 

A Personal Word From "The Man Behind The Name" 
"We are building for the future. By concentrating every effort to secure the 
highest efficiency throughout our organization, by constantly studying the best meth- 
ods of piano-building and by using that knowledge, we give to the making of each 
Steqer fc£ons Piano and the Steger Natural Player-Piano the greatest care in workmanship, 
years of experience and the finest materials the world can supply, realizing that our 
future growth and progress depend upon the artistic worth and durability of every in- 
strument sent forth from our factories." John V. Steger. 

Pianos and Natural Player-Pianos 

When you buy a Steger &$tna Piano you pay for no 

commission or allowances or extras. You pay only the 

|£^=~ =i factory cost, plus a small profit, and you get an instrument 

W stlgfr°B¥dg.°* excellent qualities, which will provide the highest 

Eg type of pleasure for your home-circle. 

/ Steqtr ttSata Pianos easily take rank with the finest pro- 

■ ducts of Europe and America. They are made in the great Steger piano- 

■ factories at Steger, Illinois, the town founded by Mr. J. V. Steger. 

H The Steger Idea Approval Flan. 5>rortttfvt* it* ^ttVttL 

■ Send for our catalog and other ^4-HJvV *X.<^>UH2» 
[ft interesting literature, which ex- PIANO MANUFACTURING COMPANY, 

5Hk plain it. Sent free on request. Steger Building, 

Chicago, Illinois. 


Published monthly, at New York, N. Y. 

Editor : William Fayal Clarke 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

f William W. Ellsworth 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Business Managers < Ira H. Brainerd 92 William Street, New York, N. Y. 

( George Inness, Jr 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Board of Trustees 

Publishers : The Century Co 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Owners : Stockholders — 

William W. Ellsworth 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Ira H. Brainerd 92 William Street, New York, N. Y. 

George Inness, Jr 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Robert Underwood Johnson 327 Lexington Ave., New York, N. Y. 

Donald Scott Cold Spring Harbor, N. Y. 

C. C. Buel 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

A. W. Drake 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

W. F. Clarke 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Josiah J. Hazen 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

George H. Hazen , 381 Fourth Avenue, New York, N. Y. 

Rodman Gilder 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Marie Louise Chichester 501 West 120th St., New York, N. Y. 

James Mapes Dodge Germantown, Pennsylvania 

S. Reed Anthony Boston, Massachusetts 

Beatrix Buel 130 East 67th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Estate of Roswell Smith 92 William Street, New York, N. Y. 

Estate of Annie G Smith .• 92 William Street, New York, N. Y. 

Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders holding 

1 per cent, of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities None. 

William W. Ellsworth, President. 
Sworn to and subscribed before me this thirtieth day of September, 1913. 

Frances W. Marshall, Notary Public, N. Y. County. 
(Seal) (My commission expires March 30, 1915.) 



The Oblong 
Rubber Button 


For School, College or Society. 

We make the "right kind" from 
hand cut steel dies. Beauty of de- 
tail and quality guaranteed. No pins 

less than $5.00 a dozen. Catalog showing many artistic designs free. 

FLOWER CITY CLASS PIN CO., 680 Central Building, Rochester, N. Y. 


in each town to ride and exhibit sample 1914 model 
l "Ranger" Bicycle. Write for special offer. 
I Wo Ship on Approval without a cent deposit, 
] prepay freighted, allow 10DAYS FREE TRIAL 
on every bicycle. FACTORY PRICES on bicycles t( 
" tires and sundries. Do not buy until you receive our' 
'"catalogs and learn our unheard of prices and marvelous 
special offer. Tires, coaster-brake rear wheels, lamps, sundries, half prices, 
MEAD CYCLE CO. Department T-272 CHICAGO, ILL. 

TOYS that appeal to children and parents alike 
are those that are nearest to the real thing- ; they 
not only amuse but educate. "BING" toys are 
reproductions of real things. 

Kitchen Ranges that cook— Unbreakable En- 
ameled Tea Sets, Laundry and Wash Sets for ac- 
tual use. "Bing's" Sanitary Plush Animals are 
so lifelike they almost talk. 

If your dealer doesn't handle - Bing" Toys, 
write for catalogue, giving his name, and we will 
see that you are supplied. 

378 Fourth Ave., New York 


BOYS — this book — our brand-new- 
catalog — is a mine of electrical knowledge. 128 
pages full of cuts, complete description and prices of the 
latest ELECTRICAL APPARATUS for experimental and 
practical work — Motors, Dynamos, Rheostats, Trans- 
formers, Induction Coils, Batteries, Bells, Telephone Sets, 
Telegraph Outfits. Greatest line of miniature 
ELECTRIC RAILWAYS and parts, Toys 
and Novelties. This catalog with valuable 
coupon sent for 6 cents in stamps. (No 
postals answered.) 

Nichol Bldg. Baltimore, Md. 


"The toys of a child are foundation stones of character" 

THE PANEL DOLL HOUSE is strongly made of framed fibre 
panels. Simple in construction and beautiful in design and color. 
May be taken apart or assembled in five minutes. Ample size, 
24x14x19 inches — 2 floors — 4 rooms, accessible by removable 
panel. An ideal gift — endorsed by educators. 

Sold direct. Packed "flat" in strong box F. O. B. Express 
office, Chicago, $5.00. Full description on request. 









WE find that our illustrations of new issues are 
meeting with great approval among our stamp- 
collecting readers. We shall try to give a picture 
of such stamps from time to time, especially when 

the new stamp 
differs materi- 
ally in design 
from the old. 
This month, we 
show the new 
British South 
Africa Com- 
pany, or, as is 
now listed in 
catalogue and 
album, Rhode- 
sia. The most 
prominent fea- 
ture is, of 
course, the real- 
ly fine likeness 
of George V. 
British Guiana 
sends us a new 
type in a very neat and pretty design. There is, how- 
ever, too much in it ; it is too crowded to be really 
beautiful. Around the upper part of the circle contain- 
ing the ship is the country's Latin motto " Damus Pet- 
timusque Vicissem," but the letters are so small that a 
reading-glass will be needed except by those whose 
eyes are young and very keen. Our third illustration 
is the new stamp of the Republic of China. The upper 
part has an inscription in Chinese, while the lower 
has an English one. The picture shows a junk in 
full sail, while indistinctly in the background is a 
railroad train. The higher values have different 
centers, and are printed in two colors. The fourth 
illustration is that of a stamp from the Republic of 
Dominica. This, however, differs from the old only 
in a change of color, the one-half centavo now being 
printed in orange and black. 


MANY years ago, more years than the writer of 
this article likes to think, he stood by his 
mother's side and talked over with her his hopes for 
Christmas. He expressed his wish for a pair of 
skates, a sled, and several books which he wanted. 
He remembers that his mother asked him if he did 
not hope for an album for his stamps. And the boy 
confessed to his mother that he did not think Santa 
Claus would bring him so large and so valuable a 
book as a stamp-album, but if one did come — And 
to this day he remembers and feels the thrill of joy 
that possessed him when he found by his stocking, 
on Christmas morning, a beautiful new stamp-album. 
I fear his other presents did not receive the interest 
and attention they deserved. 

Since then, the writer has been the active agent 
in giving to several youngsters a similar Christmas. 
And now he is giving a hint to his St. Nicholas 

readers. A stamp-collection is always more or less 
valuable, and should have a suitable housing, one 
worthy not alone of what it is to-day, but of what 
its owner hopes it to be. For the majority of col- 
lectors, young and old, both the novice and the 
more advanced student of stamps, nothing is so use- 
ful as a printed album, and one large enough to 
stimulate growth while providing for the needs of 
the present. To those who are already stamp-col- 
lectors, an album is a most acceptable present. And 
those boys and girls who do not collect as yet, 
should be encouraged to do so by the present of an 
album and a "packet" of stamps. 

These "printed" albums are profusely illustrated 
and the spaces for the stamps distinctly marked. 
They are published in a large variety of bindings 
and quality of paper. A postal-card to any of our 
advertisers will bring a circular illustrating pages 
from the different styles of album, together with the 
retail price of each of them. 


tfjf ] T is better to have a poor specimen than none 
Jl * at all if you collect used stamps, but not 
if it destroys the beauty and symmetry of a page as 
it is apt to do in a collection of unused stamps. It 
is not wise, however, to purchase a damaged stamp, 
nor to take it in exchange. Keep your collection up 
to as high a standard of excellenoe as you possibly 
can. If a heavily canceled specimen or a torn stamp 
comes to you as a gift, you can use it until you can 
replace it with a better. Ifl Collect the United States 
stamps in as many shades as possible while they are 
current. All the shades of the older issues, now so 
high-priced, were once current stamps and could 
have been bought at the post-office for face-value. 
The two-cent value will probably show more variety 
in shades than any other; yet very interesting varie- 
ties will be found in the one-, four-, and six-cent 
stamps as well. We think all of the stamps of the 
United States have been printed in this country. 
•fl We all have trouble determining the shades of 
stamps, and there is no good color-chart to be had. 
Indeed, it would be of little use. The catalogue lists 
only pronounced shades. Specimens can be found 
which are undoubtedly one shade and not the other ; 
but often a whole intermediate series of shades is to 
be found, and it is sometimes very hard to decide 
whether a specimen is nearer one or the other of 
two listed shades. 


CERTAINLY the readers of St. Nicholas have 
sharp eyes. In "Answers to Queries" in the 
August number we inadvertently used the word 
"millimeters" instead of "centimeters" in speaking 
of the standard gage used for measuring perfora- 
tions. And the sharp eyes of our readers noticed 
the error at once, and called our attention to it. 
The standard space is two centimeters, not two 


i ^22S 8 2 8a S852S8e282ga:^^ggg2Sa22aga22SgS22228225S S S SS SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSgSSSSSSSSS^ 






*^Wm lir* E.m 1 /\1_ 10c> 8x5 i nc hes, heavy 
cardboard covers, 160 pictures. Spaces for 546 stamps from 
135 countries. 

108all different stamps from Paraguay.Turkey, Venezuela, 
etc., 10c. 35 different stamps from Africa, a dandy packet, 
25c. Finest approval sheets, 50% commission. Send 
for big 84-page price-list and monthly stamp paper free. 

Scott Stamp & Coin Co. 
127 Madison Ave. New York City 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio. 

DANDY PACKET STAMPS free for name, address 2 collec- 
tors, 2c. postage. Send to-day. U.T.K. Stamp Co., Utica, N. Y. 

D a — If— * ofstampsfreewithmyapprovalsheets. I buy stamps. 
r dthcl Leland Hume, University, (Box 33), Miss. 


100 all different U. S. Stamps, early issues and 13c, 50c, $1.00 
values ; only 37c, or 15 beautiful Jubilees free ! 1 

More free stamps 
Every time you buy from our half-catalogue value approval 
sheets. Mention St. Nicholas when you order. They 're fine. 
Crescent City Stamp Co., Evansville, Indiana. 


For the names of two collectors and 2c. postage. 20 different 
foreign coins, 25c. Toledo Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio, U.S.A. 

STAMPS 105 China, Egypt,etc.,stamp dictionary and list 3000 1 
bargains 2c Agts., 50%. Bullard & Co., Sta. A, Boston. I 


Transvaal, Servia, Brazil, Peru, Cape G. H., Mex- 
ico, Natal, Java, etc., and Album, 10c 1000 Finely | 
Mixed, 20c 65 different U. S., 25c 1000 hinges, 5c. 
Agents wanted, 50 per cent. List Free. I buy stamps. 

C. Stegman, 5941 Cote Brilliante Av., St. Louis, Mo. 

r* I1^.t Q^mnc The Best Xmas Gift is 1000 all diff. 
\_.OHeCt JiampS (Superior Quality) postage stamps. 
Grade Worth Anybody's $5.00. My Price $2.25. Money Sav- 
ing Lists Free. Ohlmans, 75-77 Nassau St., N. Y. City. 

■31^**r O for OD ] y 10c 6 5 A u Dif xj s ; nc l u ding old issues 
of 1853-1861, etc.; revenue stamps, $1.00 and $2.00 values, etc., for 
only lie. With each order we send our 6-page pamphlet, which 
tells all about " How to make a collection of stamps properly." 

Queen City Stamp & Coin Co. 
32 Cambridge Building Cincinnati, Ohio 

105 VARIETIES, 2c. 130,4c. 1,000 mixed, 8c 1,000 hinges, 
8c Agents 60 approvals. Warner Bates, Mohawk, N. Y. 


given away to every collector trying our new 50% from Scott 

approvals. Some fine 20th Century and NEW ISSUES. 

Illinois Stamp Co. 2729 Hampden Court, Chicago. 

qaaa hinges for 12c; 10 Animal stamps, 10c; lOMenstamps, 
OUUU inc.; 10 Women stamps, 10c; 10 Boats, 10c; 10 Scenes, 
10c; 10 Baby heads, 10c 800 diff. stamps, $1.75, Approvals. 
Postage 2c. extra. Owen Dicks, Box 75, Kenmore, N. Y. 

IPFNT Approval books contain fine | f |7MT 
v*dli t stamps listing from 2 to 25c. each. *■ V»E«ll 1 
2c books hold stamps, cat. from 5c to 50c. each. Will send on 
approval to anyone interested. 1000 Finely mixed U. S. or 
Foreign stamps, 10c; 500 var. stamps from all parts of 
world, 75c; 100 var. U. S. stamps, cat. $2.50, 15c; 150 var. U. S., 
50c; 1 lb. U. S. stamps, about 6000, 50c; 1000 hinges, 5c 
P. G. Beals, 56 Pearl St., Boston, Mass. 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India 
x^Lifej. with Catalogue Free. Postage 2cents. If possible send 
ytfjj^SgA names and addresses of two stamp collectors. Special 
(El Jll offers, all different, contain no, two alike. 50 Spain, 
Wm JfBJ Ik.: I" [apan,5c; 100 1 . S., 20c; 10 Paraguay, 7c; 17 
NJSSKr/ Mexico, 10c ; 20 Turkey, 7c; 1' Persia, 7c; 3 Sudan, 5c; 
^5SS^ lOChile, 3c.;50 Italy, 19c; 200 Foreign, 10c; lOEgypt, 
7c;50Africa,24c; 3 Crete, 3c; 20 Denmark, 5c; 20 Portugal, 6c; 7 
Siam, 15c;10 Brazil, 5c. ; 7 Malay, 10c; 10 Finland, 5c; 50 Persia, 
89c; 50 Cuba, 60c; 6 China, 4c; 8 Bosnia, 7c Remit in Stamps or 
Money-Order. Fine approval sheets 50% Discount, 50 Page List 
Free. Marks Stamp Company, Dept. N, Toronto, Canada. 


__ 115 varieties foreign, for 2c postage. Agents 75%. 
"»PS H. N. Haas (B), 440 E. 3d St., Bloomsburg, Pa. 


** With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N.Y. 

OH, BOYS I Our new series of British Colonials on approval 
arejust great! YOU WILL BE Z).£\£-LIGHTED. But we 
must have reference. Sholley, 3842 Thomas Ave., So. , Min- 
neapolis, Minn. 


sent with our 60% approval sheets for 5c. 
Palm Stamp Co., Box 174, Arcade Sta., Los Angeles, Cal. 

V LJ 1 rWV^IVE.1 and 50 different Stamps, only 10c 
Burt McCann, 323 No. Newton St., Minneapolis, Minn. 

ARE you looking for splendid approvals? Try mine at 50% 
Discount. 1000 hinges with first selection. Oliver C. Lashar, 
Neenah, Wis. 

100 different stamps, 2c. postage. 

Reliance Stamp Co. 
209 Reliance Building, Kansas City, Mo. 


Outfit for Stamp Collecting 

Album, 200 all different stamps, 500 hinges $ .75 

Album, 300 al 1 different stamps, 1000 hinges, tweezers, gage . . 1.50 

Outfits up to $10. Send what you care to spend and we will 

send you an outfit guaranteed to please or your money back. We 

also sell Packets, Hinges, Stamps on Approval, Supplies, etc. 

The Hobby Co., Box 403, Springfield, Ohio 

FIMP" s t am P sso 'd cheap. 50% and more allowed from Scott's 
F 11\C prices. International Stamp Co., De Graff, O. 

1000 Different "ffi^M $30 for $1.75 

500 different $ .45 I Hayti, 1904 Complete 6 Var. $ .15 

200 " .09 Abyssinia, 1895 " 7 " .45 

12 " Bermuda .25 I Nyassa, Giraffes, '01 " 13 " .25 
Gold California $$, each 35c; $£, each 65c: 25 diff. Foreign 
Coins, 25c Jos. F. Negreen, 8 East 23d St., New York City. 


J_>/-Yrvvj/-\1 11 lJ 10 Luxembourg ; 8 Finland ; 20 Sweden ; 
15 Russia ; 8 Costa Rica ; 12 Porto Rico ; 8 Dutch Indies ; 5 
Crete. Lists of 6000 low-priced stamps free. 
Chambers Stamp Co., Ill G Nassau Street, New York City. 

1914 Standard Catalog Now Ready 

Prices Postpaid 

Paper bound 85 cents. Cloth bound $1.00 


4 Argentine 1910, 14 Austria 1904, 15 Austria 1907, 6 Austria 
Dues 1910, 3 Austrian Turkey 1908, 12 Belgium P. P. 1902-06, 

5 Bolivia 1901-02. 6 Bosnia 1906, 6 Bosnia 1912, 5 Cape of Good 
Hope 1902-04, 5 Chile 1902, 6 Chinese Republic 1912. 

12 Sets for $1.00. 


43 Washington Building Boston, Mass. 

( Continued on page 68.) 


[N the following pages are many ideas for the most ideal of Christmas gifts. 
Dolls can't play with you, games sometimes grow tiresome, and toys wear out, 
but a loving little pet will bring a new companionship and happiness into the home, 
growing stronger with passing years, ofttimes aiding in health and character building and frequently proving 
a staunch protector and friend. We are always ready to assist in the selection of a pet and like to help when 
possible. We try to carry only the most reliable advertisements and believe you can count on courteous 
and reliable service from the dealers shown below. o-r MipiJOI AS PFT DFPARTMFMT 

The Vickery Kennels 


The home of sixteen Champions 

Offer some especially se- 
lected Airedale puppies 
at reasonable prices, suita- 
ble for Christmas presents. 

*' By giving a child the manage- 
ment of a dog, a responsibility is giv- 
en, from which not only pleasure is 
derived, but kindness to dumb animals 
taught." Correspondence solicited. 

Chicago Office 1168 
Rookery BIdg., CHICAGO, ILL. 


today are bred, raised, and trained right here at this 
place. We have English or Llewellen Setters, Irish 
Setters, Gordon Setters, and Pointer Dogs that are 
well and most thoroughly trained. We sell trained 
dogs from $50.00 to $200.00. Puppies, all ages, from 
$15.00 to $25.00 each. We invite correspondence. 


I'm just a little collie puppy now, full of 
play, but soon I 11 be just as well behaved 
as my mother and able to do as many tricks. 
My master has written a book on dog train- 
ing which will help all dog owners. Price 
25c. I wish I could find a good home. 
Don't you want a thoroughbred puppy like 
me for Christmas? I don't cost much. 

Write at once to F. R. CLARK 
Sunnybrae Collie Kennels Bloomington, 111. 

Money mSquahs 4£k 

Learn this immensely rich business { 
we teach you; easy work at home; [ 
everybody succeeds. Start with our 
Jumbo Homer Pigeons and your success is assured. 
Send for large Illustrated Book. Providence 
Squab Company, Providence, Rhode Island. 

Scottish Terriers 

Offered as companions. Not 

given to fighting or roaming. 

Best for children's pets. 


Brookline, Mass. 


They are the best in the world 

Send 2c stamp for "Dog Culture" 

Factory and chief offices at NEWARK.N.J. 

Shetland and Welsh 
Ponies for sale 

that can be given a child is a PONY. 
We have now a large number on 
hand. Make your selection early. 
Write your wants. Department M. 

Addison County, North Ferrisburgh, Vermont. 


Carefully trained for children's safety. Only 
gentle, highly-bred registered ponies in our 
herd. Champion stock, all colors and sizes. 



Bird pets for sale from 
all parts of the world 

"Everything in the Bird Line 

from a Canary to an Ostrich" 

I have on hand the largest and most 

complete stock of acclimated land 

and water birds in the United States. 

Please roriie for prices. 
G. D. TILLEY, Naturalist, Darien, Conn. 



raised from brood matrons and stud dogs of reliable, gentle dispositions 
are safest for children, and the best dogs of all breeds are Airedales. 
Tough as leather in physique, easy to raise and train ; intelligent, obe- 
dient, clean, peaceful, and affectionate. Greatest watchdogs ; and hunt' 
ers of all game. Faithful pals. Ask anybody who owns one. I have sev 
eral litters of thoroughbreds for sale, reasonable. "All about Airedales' 

booklet sent postpaid for $1.00. h. S. Hera, Germantowii, Philadelphia, 

■■■■ »; « —i» ^w*^ w i m iwi ..< ^ iii ■ '■■■■■ ■ m m m ■ 

ev- I 
es" I 


Here's a Merry Little Friend 

The right kind of dog for a Christmas gift 
is a happy, rough and ready little 

Irish Terrier Pup 

Intelligent, suitable for city or country, they 
make ideal companions and faithful pro- 
tectors. Registry with American Kennel 
Club free. 

A White Scotch Collie for Christmas 

A Nut Brown Maiden with a White Collie or a Tan Colored Boy with a White Collie is a sight to warm the heart of any 
lover of outdoors. Every home should have such a combination of color and life. A splendid Xmas gift for the boy or 
girl. One that will delight the youngster and the whole family. Collies are brave, gentle, beautiful, graceful, enduring, 
and active, and are ideal for city, suburb, or country. Collies are intelligent and sympathetic companions for adults, aris- 
tocratic and sensitive comrades for young ladies, tireless playmates and fearless protectors of children, and dauntless 
guards of the home or farm. Every boy and girl has an inborn right to be brought up with a faith- 
ful pet. Girls especially should have a big, strong, brave dog to attract them to outdoor play and 
protect them on any occasion. Ours are country raised (on an island) pedigree stock and are hardy, 
healthy, and rugged and never require artificial heat in winter. We will have a litter ready for ship- 
ment before Christmas. Will ship anywhere in North America. 
Island Kennels are the only ones in the world where a pair of un- I 
related White Collies can be bought. A pair will raise $200.00 worth 
of puppies a year. We have no old dogs for sale. Kipling said: 
"Buy a pup and your money buys love unflinching that cannot lie." 

Island White Scotch Collie Farm, Oshkosh, Wisconsin 

Snow White Eskimo Puppies 

Black nose, sharp ears, shaggy coat as tineas silk, and a big plume tail curled 
up over the back. Cunning as a fox, romp and play from daylight till dark, 
proud as a peacock, and the handsomest dog living. Natural trick dogs. 
Imagine if you can what other breed would be half as nice for the Kiddies. 
I am the oldest and largest breeder of these beautiful dogs in the IT. S., and 
for the past eleven years have supplied some of the largest eastern Pet Shops. 
Now let's get together and you can save one half easy. Christmas orders 
should reach me early. I also breed English Bulls from the best imported 
dogs in America. Satisfaction and a square deal is my motto. 

BROCKWAYS KENNELS, Baldwin. Kansas. 

Your Playmate 

A Pony is a willing friend, always 
ready to ruu errands and never too 
tired foraromp in thefreshairand 
bright sunlight. Get a colt from the 
Famous" Shadeland" Herd 
and train him yourself. He doesn't 
need a warm stable, and costs only 
a few dollars to feed. All sizes, ages, 
and colors. Now is the time to 
write us for your Christmas Pony 
Powell Bros., Shade! and, Crawford Co., Pa. 


Larger than Shetlands and more do- 
cile. Quickly become attached to 
the children who ride or drive them. 

SPEEDWELL FARMS, Lyndonville, Vt. 

—smallest, daintiest of all dogs: weight 3 to 5 lbs. 
An ideal pet for women. Very affectionate and 
faithful. Large, pleading eyes and intelligence 
almost human. Perfect proportions. 

NOT the "hairless breed" 
I personally select finest from native Mexican 
raisers and sell direct to you at half prices asked 
in east. Booklet free. Write to-day. 

Me&illa Park, New Mexico 

LJOUNDS for Rabbit, Fox, Deer, 
*■ *• Bear, Coon, Wolf, and Blood- 
hounds. 50-page catalog, 5 cents. 


Lexington, Kentucky 


The most perfect family dog. Companionable, in- 
telligent, affectionate. Natural man trailers, easily 
trained, long registered pedigrees; always winners 
on the show bench and on the trail. A wonderful 
littersiredby Ch. Porthos, the old Champion of Eng- 
land and the best B. H. living. A litter from the 
Ch. bred bitch Uproar, the most successful breeder 
of England. Imported to be bred with My Hordle 
Hercules ; also one of her best imported dog pups, 10 
months old, a wonder, the biggest i n every way, will 
be a winner in any company, on the bench and in 
the stud. Illustrated Book, two stamps. Photo- 
graph, 25 cents. J. S. Winchell, Fair-Haven, Vt. 



= Beautiful, intelligent, charming manners and dispositions. = 

H "We have a lot of EXTRA CHOICE specimens 4 to 6 months old. in = 

= black, blue, orange, and tiger-stripe — perfect pets and beauties. Males == 

= $7.01), females $0.00. Fair $12.00. = 

= Our stock is healthy, farm-raised, house-trained, and gentle. Early = 

= orders secure best selection. State second choice of color desired. — 

= Complete satisfaction guaranteed. = 

J. WESTON DEANE, Proprietor = 

= Maple Hill Farm Freedom, Maine = 

A Few Good Pomeranians 

at reasonable prices. All colors, 
some have won many prizes. 
These dogs are being sold to make 
room in the kennels. They com- 
bine the best blood in England 
and America and will make ideal 
pets or show dogs. 


Ellis Place Ossining, N. Y. 

Tel., Ossining 323 



Just like Lady Babbie, whose picture this is. Beauti- 
ful Persian kittens with soft, lovely, silky hair, big 
bushy tails, and pretty eyes. They are exceptionally 
intelligent and affectionate, and make ideal pets. We 
have all colors and sizes, from a playful little kitten 
up to a dignified mother cat. Prices are reasonable. 
This would be the best Christmas gift of all if you 
could have a beautiful Persian kitten for your very own. 

Write us to-da\> and tell us just what you want. 

The Black Short Haired Cattery 
Oradell, New Jersey 

Just Suppose ! 

Suppose Santa Clans used ponies this 
Christmas instead of reindeer and left 
one for you! They cost so little to keep 
and feed, and bring su much joy, health 
and comfort to their owners that you 
ought to have one this Christmas. I 
am sure we have just what you want. 
Write us and rind out. 


"Year-Vound" Christmas Gifts 

You want to make your gift distinctive, unique. What more ideal 
than a black Chow puppy (notice the color), bred from pedi- 
greed and imported stock ! 

Will book orders now for a limited number of pups at $25 for 
females and $35 for males. 

The ancestors of these dogs lived years ago in ancient China. 
Royal dogs make royal gifts. 

Write to-day to PHILIP HUGHES 
Tipperary House,Thetford Mines, P.Q., Canada 


a darling Pekingese pupPy^ the little dog with 
a big bark, a big heart, a big brain. Pekingese 
are unexcelled in their affection, intelligence, and 
sturdiness. Small enough to hug, bigenough to 
bearealcomradeand playfellow. The Ideal Pet. 
Others like Wang waiting to be your pet. 
All ages and colors, prices reasonable. 

Jericho Turnpike Mineola.L. I..N.Y. 

Xmas Puppies 

Strong, well-bred Irish Terriers. 
Prices $ 1 5 to $40. 

Bay Shore Kennels, Shelburne, Vt. 

Shetland Pony 

—an unceasing source of pleasure, 
a safe and ideal playmate. Makes 
the child strong and robust. In- 
expensive to buy and keep. High- 
est types here. Complete outfits. 
Satisfaction guaranteed. Write for 
illustrated catalogue. 


Box .9 M ark hum. Va. 

On Christmas Morning 

Think of seeing your favorite pet waiting for you under the 
fragrant Christmas Tree. We can furnish sweet-voiced 
canaries, young talking parrots, choice little dogs, Angora 
kittens, guinea-pigs, rabbits, monkeys, goldfish and their 
supplies ; also finest bird cages. Select what you want from 
our free catalogue. Write at once to 
HOPE, Dept. B, 35 North 9th St., PHILADELPHIA, PA. 

Christmas Gift 

The real joy of Christmas is a real 
live puppy. Boston Terriers are ab- 
solutely safe and a natural house dog. 
Splendid puppies for $25.00 each. 

P. O. Box 285 Waterbury, Conn. 


Persian Kittens Bred RIGHT 

Out-Door Raised but House-Broken 

All colors. From prize queens and the 
followingwell-known kings: Imp.DuBet- 
to, Imp.Donnillo, Imp. Rob Roy III, Imp. 
Bruno's Best Boy, Faust II, Troll King, 
Aurora Admiral, Peer of the Realm, Kim, 
Jack, and Joel. $10 up. 







Birds of 
lists, 5c. 

Dogs of all breeds. Dept. St. N. 





r "i/,».m 

ave Our Native Birds 


'The Man the Birds Love' 


I have more than 500 birds about my home (near Chicago) every year. They are 
purple martins, bluebirds, wrens, tree swallows, flycatchers, robins, nuthatches, 
nickers — and a dozen other kinds. The same birds — and their children — come 
back to their houses in my garden every year. Many stay with me all winter, for 
I am careful to see that they get plenty of food, and I set out sheltered feeding 
places for them. I have banished the English sparrow because he is a mean, 
quarrelsome pest, and he always tries to drive the good birds away. I catch 
sparrows in a trap and destroy them. Hundreds of bird lovers are doing this now, 
and the dear native birds are rewarding them by coming back to live near by. I 
wish I could take every boy and girl through my garden and show them what 
delightful friends the beautiful wild birds are. Wild? Why, I feed many of my 
birds out of my hand. They light on my shoulders and nutter all around me. 
I have sold hundreds of bird houses, hundreds of shelters and feeding houses, 
and hundreds of sparrow traps — and everywhere they are winning the native birds 
back, saving birds' lives — and, not least, driving that pest, the sparrow, away. 

Don't you want bird friends living in your garden? I can help you win them. 
I 've been working for birds and loving them for 18 years. Let me send you 
my booklet about birds and how to win them. It is free. If you want to 
know anything about our native birds — write to me — I '11 answer your letter. 

JOSEPH H. DODSON, 1217 Association Building, Chicago, III. 

(Mr. Dodson is a director of the Illinois Audubon Society) 

Bird friends bring happiness. Give something that will make grateful memo- 
ries of your thoughtful kindness spring up every year with the birds' return. 
Dodson Bird Houses last a life time — give some one a Dodson Bird House. 

Bluebird House 

Set out a bird house now. The 
bluebirds come north early in 
spring. Dodson Houses win 
birds. Bluebird House, $5.00, 
f. o. b. Chicago. 
1 Purple Martin House, 26 
rooms and attic, $12.00, or 
with all-copper roof, $15.00, 
f. o. b. Chicago. 

Dodson Feeding Car 

Many dear little birds starve in 
winter. You can save them. I 
invented this car so you can draw 
it up to your window and stock it 
with food, then it runs down a 
wire to a resting place against a 
tree or pole. You can watch the 
birds feeding. It has drinking 
cup, feeding rack, and hooks; 
comes with 50-foot cord. Price, 
$5.00, or with copper roof, $6.00, 
f. o. b. Chicago. 

Catch Sparrows — For the Sake of Native Birds 

One Dodson Sparrow Trap has caught as many as 75 to 
100 sparrows a day. Hundreds of traps are doing the 
good work all over America. Now 's the best time to 
trap sparrows. The Dodson Trap is made of tinned 
wire. Price, $5.00, f. o. b. Chicago. 

Purple Martin House 

Purple martins are the most soci- 
able of birds. Several families 
live in the same house and often 
40 to 60 birds live happily in one 
of these big houses. Hundreds of 
Dodson Martin Houses are now 
in successful use. This house has 
26 rooms and an attic. Well ven- 
tilated. Price, $12.00, or with all- 
copper roof, $15.00, f.o.b. Chicago. 

I build several other kinds of Bird Houses. Write for my Booklet about Birds 


»t> jaicljolas $et department 

Goldfish and Canaries 


A 2c. stamp will send you our special offers on the 
above, which will surprise you and please your friends. 
We also have guinea-pigs, rabbits of all kinds, white 
mice, white rats, Japanese dancing mice, dogs of all 
varieties. All goods shipped with safety anywhere. 

EDWARDS BIRD-SHOP, 129 Mich. Ave., Detroit, Mich. 

Breeders of 



Beautiful and intelligent little 
horses for children constantly 
hand and for sale. Correspond- 
ence solicited. Write for hand- 
somely illustrated pony catalogue to 

617 Eighth Street Monmouth, III. 

Puppy Dlth— Cannot be Tipped Over 

We have made up a most unusual dish for a puppy, excellent 
for feeding and drinking. It is of Liberty pottery, in the moss 
green coloring. The design ispatented, so it cannot be had else- 
where. Shipped on receipt of $2.00, money order or New York 
draft. Group sketches of McHughwillow furniture on request. 





For Sale — High Class Winning 
Wire-haired and Smooth Fox 
Terriers, Irish Terriers, Aire- 
dale Terriers.Manchester Black 
and Tan Terriers, Bull Terriers 
and mostly all breeds for sale. 
Leeds Kennels. Devon, Pa. 

Allstone Kennel Airedales 

Fine, big, young, prize-winning Aire- 
dale, $75; puppies, $20 to $40 each. 
Champion stock. Best companions and 
guardians for women and children. 


Merry Christmas! 

Bow! wow! My full name is Evergreen 
Progenitor, A.K.C.131882. People say I 'm 
a very fine Boston terrier. I have already 
won nearly 50 prizes. I 'm proud of that, 
of course, but 1 feel especially happy just 
now because I have some very beautiful 
boy and girl puppies. They are loving 
little things, and I want them all to have 
good homes, with masters and mistresses 
who will love them dearly and treat them 
kindly. Would you like one of my pup- 
pies for Christmas ? Ask Father or Mother 
to drop me aline, and I will tell all about 
them. Write to-day. 

Evergreen Progenitor. 


Cocker Spaniels F 

As pets for the whole family, the 
merry little cocker has no equal. 
They are never cross orsnappy, are 
always clean and affectionate, and 
soon become regular members of 
the family. Some beautiful male 
pups at $25.00. House-broken 
dogs a year old, $50.00 up. 

Airedale Terriers 

Most popular dog of the day 

The Airedale is the best companion, 
watch-dog, and all-round hunting-dog. 
Ideal pets for children, faithful, kind, 
and wonderful intelligence. 

Puppies from $25 up. 

Beautiful booklet free. 

Elmhurst Airedale Kennels 
Kansas City, Mo. Sta. E. 


Belgian Hare or §£ 

Rabbit 3 

Gentle and docile pets. Increase yjF 

rapidly. Lots of pocket-money iVS 

in rearing and selling. Prize- £M 

winning stock, hardy, healthy, ELI 
well grown. 

J. McRAE, Orono, Ontario, Canada. ^st 


of quality. Herd established 1890. Christmas or- 
ders given special attention. Our long experience 
is your guarantee of quality and satisfaction. Our 
prices are reasonable. Write for catalog to Dept. E. 

JOEL MALMSBERRY & SON, northbenton 

Book of AIR 

Special Sale — at half their value 

of young" dogs from 3 to 12 months old 
of the very choicest breeding 1 possible. 
They are all straight good Airedales 
and a credit to their illustrious ances- 
tors— the greatest Championseverbred 
— All have been raised on different 
farms and are therefore companions, 
guards and reliable with children. 


Box 1877, Montreal, Canada 

Kennels at St. Enstache, P. Q. 

Choice Airedale Puppies 

forsale at reasonable prices. Breeder of thewin- 
ning Airedales "Netcong Pepper" and "Sun- 
shine Sensation." Satisfaction Guaranteed. 

PEQUAD KENNELS, Pequabuck, Conn. 




| > ' V ai 

delightful little Black Forest Legend 

C BBBij^- y -*• 

The Singing Clock 


has aroused an interest in these quaint clocks of 

' f BHiR 

ours all over the land 


For over 35 years we 've been making and im- | 





JJ I^^^AhR Bb 

of the better sort, and in about two hundred thousand I 

1 \-T " .£;».; ..■•..-,. -<-,'-' 

homes they are now cheerfully telling the time o' day. | 

^T^B B^^ 

They are most companionable ornamental time- | 



1 ^T^ffekm a« 

As a Christmas Gift, or as a surprise for the young- j 


sters, there "s nothing at the same cost that will give | 


as much real pleasure. 1 

w ' Hf • 

Let us send you our illustrated booklet and our | 

1 i » ; 

Special Christmas Stocking Offer made only to St. § 
Nicholas readers. I 

1 "The Little Bears" 

II Cuckoo Clock 



1 TTiej' 're after the birdie 

Near Hunting Park, Philadelphia | 

^ri'i'nv.niii -rrn-i r.rr;r,r,iii i:i:iiM- 'iirrj iiiir.iii.i.ririiiiiiiniN'iiii iniiiiiirniriiii t 'i ni i: m. i. 1 1 1 1 in mi. j m ,'i i r 'i rr.rrr:! i ri i ri : ■,- 

r ... luiiiiiiitiiiiiiii.i 

FORTY years ago St. Nicholas began its 
unique work in amusing, instructing and 
inspiring the young folks, yes, and the grown- 
ups, too. This lovable magazine is to-day a 
powerful influence in thousands of homes where 
high ideals prevail, where good literature and art 
are appreciated and where the education of the 
children is of prime importance. 

St. Nicholas provides advertisers with a splendid 
opportunity of getting well acquainted with the 
right sort of people in the right way. 




Century Magazine 

for 1914 

no prospectus for the year could express 
"the new spirit of The Century" so 
well as the current and future numbers 
of the magazine. 

The Century is the interpreter between the 
eager worker, the absorbed thinker, and the 
rapt artist on the one hand, and the earnest, 
cultured, life-loving public on the other. It 
studies and explains modern tendencies of 
many kinds, it tests values, it lives in the 
very mid-current of to-day. It separates the 
real from the apparent, the valuable from 
the worthless, the permanent from the mo- 
mentary, the humorous from the merely 

In fiction, the essay, and poetry The 
Century continues its leadership. 

A glance at the most salient features of the 
current (December) issue and of the January 
and February issues indicates that every cul- 
tivated home will require The Century in 
1 9 14 for the basis of its work and play, its 
study and relaxation in the fields of current 
literature, art, science, and the human onrush. 

The Century is the corner-stone of 
the family magazine reading in America. 

See opposite page 



The December Century 

"the most elaborate Christmas number ever pub- 
lished in America," is crowded with beautiful illus- 
trations, many t>f them in color, a wealth of fiction, 
and such momentous contributions to current 
thought as Professor Edward A. Ross's "Social 
Effects of Immigration," W. Morgan Shuster's 
authoritative paper, "Have We a Foreign Policy?", 
and "The Modern Quest for a Religion," a serious 
and reverent study by Winston Churchill, author 
.of "The Inside of the Cup." 

The January Century 

will contain an original theory expressed by Andrew 
Carnegie on " The Hereditary Transmission of Prop- 
erty." May Sinclair's story "The Collector" is an 
unequaled piece of fictional comedy. "The River" 
is a virile ballad by John Masefield. Richard Barry 
tells of the great, heretofore unsung hero, General 
Skobeleff. A discovery of absorbing interest to the 
world at large and to the art world is recorded by 
an American scholar. 

The February Century 

contains the beginning of a prophetic trilogy by 
H. G. Wells, in which this modern prophet sees a 
possible and logical future that stirs the imagina- 
tion to its depths. This number will be called 
a "Short Story Number," and will contain a group 
of stories, fanciful, touching, and amusing, that will 
appeal to every lover of fiction. 

THE CENTURY is now adding new subscribers daily 
to its list. It is also achieving remarkable success on the 
news-stands. Do not fail to secure the splendid December 
CENTURY and the numbers that follow. 

35cts.acoi>y THE CENTURY $4.00 a year 


6 7 


'sans feo^ 


The Pre-eminence of Maillard 

URITY, quality and su- 
perior merit have won 
for Maillard an indis- 
putable pre-eminence 
— maintained since 




Ice Creams 

1848. Remarkable proof of this 
long established distinction is 
shown in a letter recently received 
from a customer, who states : "In 
1856 my father bought Maillard 
candies and sent them to my 
mother in England. " 

Maillard candies packed in French 
Bonbonnieres [Exclusive Importa- 

jiu7tvvnmercs \cjn-tusive Importa- 
tion) or Fancy Boxes to order, and, 
when requested, made ready for safe 
delivery to all parts of the -world. 



AT 35th 



Continued from page 59 

FREE ! 107 Foreign Stamps, Album and Catalogs, for 2c post- 
age. Collection of 1000 different stamps, $2.00. 
Payn Stamp Co., 138 N.Wellington St., Los Angeles, Cal. 

1 Cfjrt variety packet worth $10, special, $5.95; new Greece 
iou " Expedition stamps, 5 unused, 12c; Hayti, 1904, set of 
6 cat. 46c., 10c; 1000 finest hinges, 10c; Scott catalogue, $1.00. 
H. G. Fairman, Poplar St., N. S., Pittsburgh, Pa. 


var. U. S. Revenues, catalog 25c, free with trial approvals. 
P. M. Elsden, Mount Vernon, Washington. 

• 3 * STAMPS. From over 60 countries, beingwell mixed so 
thereareover500 varieties represented. Immense Valuel Postpaid 
at $1.00. jWorld Wide Missions, Box S, Storm Lake, Iowa. 

STAMP ALBUM with 538 Genuine Stamps, inch 
Rhodesia, Congo (tiger), China (dragon), Tasmania 
(landscape), Jamaica (waterfalls), etc., 10c 100 diff. 
Jap., N. Zld., etc., 5c. Big list; coupons, etc., 

Hussman Stamp Co., St. Louis, Mo. 

Around the World in 80 Minutes— 25 countries. Natives 
and flags to color, a postage stamp, and valuable information of 
each country. Also a box with 2 humorous animal calendars. 
Each box a complete gift, with Japanese colors, brush, etc.; 50c 
each, postpaid. C. J. Budd, 44 W. 22d St., N. Y. 


1500 different postage stamps of the hard to get kind. A fine 
assortment of commemorative issues, high grade South and 
Central America, U. S. Colonies, etc. Just the packet for an 
ideal gift, money back if not satisfactory. Price $5.95. Write for 
list of fine packets. H. W. Aldrich, Box 544, Alvin, Texas. 

Pony Contest Closes December 31st 

Last Chance to Win Your Favorite Pet ! 

The contest which has been running for several 
months will close the end of the year. Those 
who desire to win a Shetland pony, a fine dog, 
or a beautiful Persian kitten, have time to do 
it, but they must start at once. The best way 
to qualify is to send us the names of any friends 
whom you can induce to subscribe for St.. 
Nicholas. These should be sent to us as soon 
as secured, so that we can head up a page for 
your account in our contest book. 

For several months past we have told about 
a pony we still give to each one who secures 
50 new subscribers to St. Nicholas, the 
dogs we give for 25 subscriptions, and the beau- 
tiful Persian kittens for 1 o subscriptions. For 
pictures of pets and full instructions see the 
September, October, and November issues of 
St. Nicholas. 

On November 5th, when this page was sent 
to the printer's, the following had won prizes: 


Master John Alden Sleer of La Crosse, Wis. 

— Shetland Pony. 
Master Samuel H. Hallowell, West Medford, 

Mass. — Scotch Collie. 
Miss Theodora Machado, Ottawa, Ont., Can. 

— Persian Cat. 

Long before this magazine comes out, many 
other boys and girls who have obtained nearly 
the number of subscriptions needed will reach 
the goal and will be rewarded with other ponies, 
dogs, and kittens. 

December 31st closes the contest. This 
gives you more than a month to win your 
favorite pet. Write to-day and ask us for sub- 
scription blanks and other information, but be 
sure to send with your order the name of at 
least one new subscriber, with $3.00, so that 
we may know that you are in earnest. 


St. Nicholas Magazine, 

Union Square, New York 



TB?m iTitH 

The Home of Toys" 


Fifth Ave. at 31st St. New York 

HERE may be found an infinite va- 
riety of everything in Toys and Gifts 

Schwarz Building 

The Largest Toy Store 

in America 

to make childhood days most entertain- 
ing and instructive. We wish all the 
St. Nicholas readers lived nearby so 
they could take a delightful trip through 
our store and see this wonderful display 
of Christmas Toys, Games, Novelties, 
etc. Come if you can, but if you cannot come we 

Would Like to Send You Our Illustrated Catalog 

from which you may select with the same assurance of satisfaction as if 

each article purchased was personally chosen in our store. Write to-day 

so you can have plenty of time to select what you want for Christmas. 

Prices loivest possible consistent with highest quality. 

The Best Known Boy in America 

"The Happy 
Daisy Boy" 



Every boy wants a gun. Give 
him a Daisy for Christmas and 
watch that smile of real joy. 

"Daisy Special" 1000 shots, $2.50 
Other"Daisy" Models, 50c to $2.00 

At All Dealers 

Daisy Manufacturing Co. ^ 



Boys' Yale Juvenile <C^O 
24-inch wheels, «p*>Ai 

20-inch wheels, $20 26-inch wheels, $25 

Don't You Want 
a Yale? 

Of course you do. 
Because every boy and girl in 
America likes to get out into 
the open air and sunshine. 
A Bicycle gives a youngster 
the healthiest kind of out- 
door exercise — 
And it's mighty useful to ride 
to school or on errands. 
Tell Father or Mother you'd 
like to get a Yale Bicycle for 

They '11 be glad to get one for 
you if you tell them that it 
will make you healthier and 

But be sure to tell them it 
should be a Yale. 

Because the Yale is made so 
strong that it will stand all sorts 
of hard knocks — 
And its special design makes it 
so easy to ride, you'll never tire. 

Tell Father to send us a postal-card for our 
Bicycle booklet — or write for it yourself — 

The Consolidated Mfg. Co. 

1762 Fernwood Ave., Toledo, Ohio 

Eastern Representative — F. C. Cornish 
219 Clinton Ave., Newark, N. J. 

The Work of Great Artists 
at Moderate Prices 

The Century Miniatures Unequaled 
as Christmas Gifts 

Cofiyrighl, The Century Co. 

Villa d'Este 


Maude Adams 
as "Peter Pan" 



Pylon of Edfu 


Size of prints, 5J^ x 8 inches 
Size of mounts, io x 14 inches 
Price 25 cents each, postage paid 

The Century Prints are more truly 
works of art and less printed pictures 
than ordinary plates. Each miniature 
is reproduced in full color from special 
plates and double mounted on the high- 
est quality stock. 

Among the artists represented are : 

Maxfield Parrish, 
Jules Guerin, 
Sigismund de Ivanowski, 
Anna Whelan Betts, 

Write for catalogue to 


Union Square, New York 



'High as the Alps 
in Quality" 

WHEN Santa Claus brings Peter's, he brings the best 
Christmas candy for little folks. 
Let the youngsters eat all they want of Peter's — its purity 
and wholesomeness make it best for Christmas and every 
other day. 

Crown the Christmas stocking with a supply of 

Peter's Milk Chocolate 

There never was a Christmas candy quite so pure and good. 





«v==^j O you think you could sit all day long the year around 
l.jjl making delicate lace like this Swiss girl ? Just imagine 
(U=====c> what slow, tiresome work it must be. No wonder 
mother prizes so highly her genuine hand-made pieces. No 
wonder she will wash them with nothing but* Ivory Soap. 

She knows that soap containing strong chemicals would weaken and destroy 
the delicate threads. She is sure that Ivory is mild and pure because it never 
has failed to wash safely for her anything that water itself would not harm. 

That is why her laces are washed with Ivory Soap. That is why they remain 
like new even though she uses them frequently and washes them whenever 
they become soiled. 

IVORY SOAP . . . . . 998* PURE 


[The entire contents of this Magazine are covered by the general copyright, and articles must not be reprinted without special permission.] 


Frontispiece. " Mother Goose." Painted'by Arthur Rackham.. Page 

The Nursery Rhymes of Mother Goose: "Hot-cross Buns! " "There 
was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe." " Girls and Boys, 
Come Out to Play." "Old Mother Hubbard." " Polly, Put the 
Kettle On." " Jack Sprat Could Eat No Fat. " 193 

Illustrated by Arthur Rackham in pen and ink and in color. 

Black-on-Blue. Story Ralph Henry Barbour 195 

Illustrated by W. F. Stecher. 

Rather Hard. Verse Eunice Ward 203 

Secrets. Verse Ethel JMarjorie Knapp. 204 

Illustrated by Fanny Y. Cory. 

More Than Conquerors : The Magic Touch. Biographical Sketch . . . Ariadne Gilbert 205 

Illustrated from sculpture by Augustus Saint-Gaudens, painting by Kenyon 

Cox, and from photographs. 

"Not Invited." Picture. Drawn by Gertrude A. Kay 214 

The Lucky Stone. Serial Story Abbie Farwell Brown 215 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

"Aunt Jo " and «' One of Her Boys " : A letter from Miss Alcott 222 

Illustrated with photograph and facsimiles. 

Christmas Waits at the Rose Alba Eveline Warner Brainerd 226 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

Contrasts. Verse Caroline Hofman 233 

Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer. 

Jerusalem Artie's Christmas Dinner. Story Julia Darrow Cowies 234 

Illustrated by Horace Taylor. 

The New Schoolmaster. Verse Pauline Frances Camp 236 

With Men Who Do Things. (Part Two.) Serial Story A. Russell Bond 237 

Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha and from photographs. 

The Ballad of Belle Brocade. Verse Carolyn weUs 244 

Illustrated by C. Clyde Squires. 

The Runaway. Serial Story Allen French 246 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

The Brownies and the Railroad. Verse Palmer Cox 253 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Two Men with Brains. Sketch Tudor Jenks 256 

Brother Rabbit: " This is 1-9-1-4." Picture. Drawn by I. W. Taber 256 

The Housekeeping Adventures of the Junior Blairs. Serial Caroline French Benton 257 

Illustrated by Sarah K. Smith. 

Books and Reading Hildegarde Hawthorne 262 

Illustrated from paintings bv Ivanowski and Munkacsy. 

The Men Who Try. Verse . . '. Whitney Montgomery 264 

For Very Little Folk : 

The Baby Bears' Third Adventure. Verse Grace G. Drayton 265 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks 268 

The St. Nicholas League. With Awards of Prize's for Stories, Poems, 

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles 276 


The Letter-Box 285 

The Riddle-Box 287 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 24 

Tke Century Co. and its editors receive manuscripts and 'art material, submitted for publication, only 'on the understanding that they sluzll 
not be responsible for loss or injury theretowhile iti their possession or in transit. Copies of manuscripts should be retained by theauthors. 

In the United States and Canada, the price of The St. Nicholas Magazine is $3.00 a year in advance, or 25 cents a 

single copy, without discount or extra inducement of any kind. Foreign postage is 60 cents extra when subscribers abroad wish the 
magazine mailed directly from New York to them. We request that remittance be by money order, bank check, draft, or registered letter. 
The Century Co. reserves the right to suspend any subscription taken contrary to its selling terms, and to refund the unexpired credit. 
The half-yearly parts of ST. N ICHOLAS end with the October and April numbers respectively, and the red cloth covers are ready 
with the issue of these numbers ; price 50 cents, by mail, postpaid ; the two covers for the complete volume, $1.00. We bind and furnish 
covers for 75 cents per part, or $1.50 for the complete volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers to us. they should be dis- 
tinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are not exchanged for numbers. PUBLISH ED MONTHLY. 

WILLIAM W. ELLSWORTH, ___, „„„„„„ , T ^ ^ WILLIAM W. ELLSWORTH, President 


GEORGE INNESS, JR. __ . _ __'__, ._ ,, JOSIAH I. HAZEN, Ass't Treasurer 

Trustees Union Square, New York, N. Y. douglas - z. doty, secretary 


The Cerf 

earn anch^tlas 

welve Vol| nes 

Revised and Eh arged 

Boys and Girls 

in this age of outdoor life have 
more trouble than ever to have 
a good time on rainy days. 

Did you ever think what a lot of 
fun it would be — -how much 
more you would know and would 
have to talk and think about — 
if you had, say, ten thousand fine 
pictures of every kind of thing, 
and over three hundred maps of 
every state and country, and, on 
top of all that, a really interesting 
story about each of these things, 
and places, and people, and 

The Century is all that, and much 
more, for there are two hundred 
thousand of those stories alto- 
gether, and the men who wrote 
them are the men who know, and 
whom you know — Dr. F. R. 
Hutton, Walter Camp, Dr. Stein- 
metz, Christy Mathewson, Walter 
Travis, and a hundred others. 

How about the rainy days with 
such people to amuse you? 


Union Square, 
Nov York City. 
/ .Please send me the 

/new booklet containing 
the story of The Century 
/ Dictionary, with maps, color 
- plates, and specimen pages of 
X the new edition, and the wonder- 
V ful cover picture of Peary in the cabin 
— _-' of the Roosevelt x done in full color. 

' * Name 

* Street 

f ity State 


Do You Know How to 

What!? You want to go with Uncle Glen on a 
fishing trip next summer and you don't know 
how to fry a trout? 

And you, Sylvia, expect to keep house for — 
your mother some day, and all you can cook is 

Dear me, this must be remedied. Here 's the 
way to learn something about cooking, one of 
the most fascinating and important of all subjects. 

We will send to every new subscriber who fills 
out the coupon below and sends it to us before 
January 31, twelve numbers of St. Nicholas 
beginning with the February number, and also a 
copy of this fine January number, containing the 
first of the series of articles by Caroline French 
Benton under the title of "The Housekeeping 
Adventures of the Junior Blairs." 

THE CENTURY CO., Union Square, New York 

As a new subscriber to St. Nicholas I wish to take advantage of your offer, 
good until January 31, of a year's subscription to St. Nicholas with a copy of 
the January number free of charge. I enclose $3.00. 


Birthday Address 





THE holidays had lost their cheer; 
The Christmas spirit made me surly. 
I 'd thought of new gifts all the year ; 

For months I 'd worried late and early. 
For there was always Mrs. Higgins, 

And Mrs. Brown, and Mrs. Cobb; 
I 'd sent to them, and Mrs. Wiggins, 

A hand-embroidered thingumbob, 
A lap-dog muff, a muffin-molder, — 

Presents that had the sole excuse 
Of fascinating the beholder, 

Though quite without the slightest use. 

And I knew that each of these 
something equally significant, 
ing match-box, or a hand- 
razor blades, or a Tasmanian 
for the den, or a holiday edition 
illustrations in eighteen colors 

dear old ladies would send me 
such as a burnt-leather travel- 
painted receptacle for safety- 
hammered brass butter-knife 
of "Mary's Lamb," with art 
and bound in limp snake-skin. 

But then I hit upon a plan 

That surely far surpassed my old one, 
Though it might seem (to any man 

Of great timidity) a bold one. 
What came last year from Mrs. Wiggins 

I sent to little Mrs. Brown ; 
And Mrs. Cobb's to Mrs. Higgins 

(They lived in different parts of town) 
"No work at all, — just readdressing," 

I laughed aloud in happy glee ; 
"To send these gifts is not depressing, 

And brings me popularity." 

But even now, and it is some time after Christmas, I cannot account for 
the fact that the pretty little 
hand-carved candlestick, mod- 
eled after Giotto's Tower, which 
I received this year from little 
Mrs. Brown, is the same one 
that / myself sent last year to 
poor Mrs. Higgins. 

( This is but one of the many contributions to the January Century Magazine ) 


Every St. Nicholas Home Should Have 

The House 
in Good Taste 


America's Most Successful Woman Decorator 

"The House in Good Taste" is a unique 
and delightful discussion of the problems 
of house furnishing which come to every 
woman, whatever her environment or her 

It is the chronicle of a professional dec- 
orator's actual experiences — not a rehash 
of theories and principles that have been 
laid down before by countless writers — 
and very delightful is the friendly auto- 
biographical flavor which runs through all 
the pages. 

Frontispiece portrait of the author. Four insets in 
color and forty-eight in black and white, showing inte- 
riors designed and carried out by Miss de Wolfe. 

Price $2.50 net, postage 20 cents 

Cook Book 


A careful compilation of six hundred choice receipts 
gathered from many lands, which every American 
housewife should have — equally helpful to the young 
bride trying to run her new toy of a kitchen efficient- 
ly ; to the farmer's wife, put to it to set a varied and 
appetizing table ; to the mistress of many servants 
and of constant formal and informal entertaining. 
Durably and attractively bound. 

Price net, postage ij cents 

Other Helpful Books 

The Century Cook 


Economy, practicability, and the 
resources of the average kitchen have 
been constantly borne in mind in the 
preparation of this very full, com- 
plete, and satisfactory book — which 
covers every point in cookery, from 
the humble meal to the state dinner. 
Richly illustrated. Price $2.00 

Home Economics 


Its four hundred and sixteen pages 
seem to cover every possible detail 
of housekeeping and home-making 
that the most particular housewife 
could desire. 

52 illustrations. $7.50 



A supplement, not a successor, to 
"The Century Cook Book." There 
are 223 pages of suggestive hints on 
dainty and tempting dishes for dainty 
meals; and everything relating to the 
planning, cooking, and serving of 
any luncheon. 

A real cook' s picture book. Price $1 .40 
net, postage ij cents 

A Handbook of 
Invalid Cooking 

By MARY A. BOLAND, a noted expert in 
this work 

It embodies the result of the best 
scientific research, and yet is so simple 
that every housekeeper needs it even 
more than the trained nurse. $2.00 

The Century Book 
for Mothers 


In preparing this book, the authors 
have endeavored fully to explain, not 
only what every intelligent mother 
ought to know, but what she should 
wish to know, regarding the care of 
her child. 

$2.00 net, postage iS cents 

Can we send you further information? 
THE CENTURY CO. Union Square 

New York 


Save $2.00 for Your 

Would n't you like to tell your mother 
and father how they can buy $7.00 
worth of the best reading matter in the 
country for $5.00? They may not 
know, as you will as soon as you have 
finished this page, that The Century Co. 
is making a special offer of twelve 
months of The Century and twelve 
months of St. Nicholas for $5.00. 

The St. NICHOLAS sttbscriber must 
be a new one. 

Both magazines have never been more 
crowded with fine illustrations, interest- 
ing articles on all kinds of important 
subjects, fiction of true Century and St. 
Nicholas quality, and humorous contri- 
butions that are full of the joy of life. 

So show them this special offer and 
get them to send us immediately the 
order blank on the opposite page. 


The New Spirit of 

The Century 

means a great deal to your parents if 
they have seen the recent numbers of 
The Century Magazine. If they have 
not, all the more reason why they should 
immediately subscribe. 

As every one knows, this is the best 
month to begin a subscription to St. 
Nicholas, the best-loved of all magazines. 

Here is the order blank for them to sign: 

A year's reading for the whole family for $5.00 

Enclosed please find $ , for which send The Century for one 

year, beginning with the issue, to 

Birthday Name Address 

And St. Nicholas (must be new subscription) for one year, beginning with the 

issue, to 

Name Address 

(Send $6.50 if St. Nicholas is a renewal) S.J.C. 



DEAR St. Nicholas Reader: It is n't nec- 
essary to tell YOU that the February 
St. Nicholas is worth watching for. Any one 
of the thousands and thousands of boys and 
girls who read St. Nicholas know that, of 
course, the February number is going to be a 
fine number. Is n't this a great January num- 
ber? And were n't you pleased with the 
Christmas Stocking number last month? 


The case of Billy and Louise is typical. 
Billy is the oldest, and is, therefore, privi- 
leged to read St. Nicholas first. If he and 
Louise were twins, the rule of "ladies first" 
would, of course, apply. Billy himself is 
strong on obeying rules. You should have 
seen how rigidly he obeyed the one about his 
having St. Nicholas first ! 

So when the Christmas Stocking number 
came, Billy was the one to cut out the calendar 
that shows the red-letter days of the arrival 
of St. Nicholas, and tack it up in the upper 
hall ; then he read the magazine every possible 
minute for a day and a half. This was par- 
ticularly hard for Louise, because she got 
hold of the number for a few minutes early 
one morning, and saw what a splendid lot of 
pictures and stories and puzzles and things it 


After Billy had been monopolizing St. 
Nicholas for about three quarters of a day, 
Louise lost patience, and, taking a twenty-five- 
cent piece from her terra-cotta bank (which is 
slightly out of repair), she skipped down to 
the corner and bought a Christmas St. Nich- 
olas of her own ! 

No, it is not for regular readers that this is 
written, but for the great numbers of NEW 
FRIENDS, whom, nowadays, St. Nicholas 
is making every month. 


The boys in the articles "With Men Who Do 
Things," go to Panama in the February St. 
Nicholas, and there witness the blowing up 
of a great dike. The description is so excit- 
ing and interesting that, although you might 
consider this serial written especially for boys, 
we are sure that every St. Nicholas girl will 
read it as eagerly as her father, uncle, or 
brother. When the girl readers grow up, they 
may not be civil engineers, but that does not 
prevent them from appreciating such inform- 
ing picturesque articles as these. 


Every boy that has done any camping or 
cruising knows how important it is to be able 
to cook. An army could accomplish a good 
deal without powder and bullets, but it would 
last a very few days without food. Some peo- 
ple, think that Americans are not as skilful in 
IO ■ 

cookery as they are in a great many other 
things. Perhaps the next generation will 
know as much about choosing food, cooking 
it, and making it attractive, as Americans 
now know about manufacturing steel or 
sewing-machines. One of the best series of 
articles that St. Nicholas ever published 
starts in the current, that is, the January, 
number under the title "The Housekeeping 
Adventures of the Junior Blairs." These 
pleasant young folks whose acquaintance you 
have just made are going on a winter picnic 
in the February St. Nicholas. We suppose 
that some people may ask, "How in the world 
can you have a picnic in the winter?" We 
confess that we used to think of a picnic as a 
summer party out in the woods or the fields 
or on the beach, but that was before we read 
about the Blairs ! No boy, however manly he 
may be, need be ashamed to be found reading 
these articles, and if he studies them care- 
fully, he will be laughed at less and, indeed, 
will "have the laugh on" the other fellows 
when the camping-party gets hungry. 


A great many St. Nicholas readers when 
the February number comes out will hurriedly 
turn to "The Runaway," Allen French's serial 
story, or to "The Lucky Stone," by Abbie Far- 
well Brown. The younger citizens of the 
United States of St. Nicholas will eagerly 
look for "The Baby Bears' Fourth Adven- 


St. Nicholas has always been famous for 
its poetry, not only the very remarkable prize- 
winning verses written by members of St. 
Nicholas League and printed month after 
month in the magazine, but other poems, a 
number of which have found their way into 
anthologies. In the February St. Nicholas, 
"The Dutch Doll and Her Eskimo" might be 
called a comic tragedy in ballad form. Here 
are the opening lines of it: 

An idle Pixy chanced to stop 

Before the doorway of a shop. 

Within were dolls of every nation, 

Each in its native habitation. 

Cossacks, English, and Japanese, 

Italians, Dutch, and Cingalese, 

Spanish, Irish, and Eskimo. 

The Pixy wandered to and fro 

Until his eyes began to blink. 

And so he shut his eyes — to think. 

(You '11 find that, toward the close of day, 

Your father often thinks that way.) 

The poem, as a whole, shows how, even in 
doll land, woman suffrage is a subject for seri- 
ous consideration. "The Ostrich and the Tor- 
toise" is an entirely new fable by D. K. Ste- 
vens. This fable is said to have nine or ten 
morals, although only one is selected and 


given at the end. It is illustrated with the 
most amusing pictures by George O. Butler, 
whose drawings are well known and loved by 
every reader of St. Nicholas. 


Very often, they say, things that look like 
poems are really prose. "Ruth and the Jingle- 
jays," by Betty Bruce, is really in verse, but it 
looks as if it were nothing but prose. Here, 
for instance, are a few paragraphs from this 
remarkable little story: 

"Who are you?" quavered Ruth. 

"Oh, we? We 're just what we appear to be." 

"Appear? You look like tiny flies!" 

"Ha, ha !" they laughed. "That 's our disguise." 


Clara Piatt Meadowcroft, in an article that 
will interest old and young, with the title "At 
the Children's Matinee," says that "The the- 
ater manager, who for so long believed that 
the whole world was made up of matinee girls, 
tired business men, and a few cultured per- 
sons, has at last discovered the children. 
Surely he must have been blind and deaf not 
to have found them out before. It is certainly 
not the fault of the children that they were 
neither seen nor heard, and the only plausible 
excuse he can offer is that he was unusually 
blind, and more than ordinarily deaf." 


A typically breezy St. Nicholas article is 
contributed to the February number by E. T. 
Keyser, called "Under the Blue Sky: Bob- 
sledding and Skating," which tells, among 
other things, how some energetic boys learned 
to build bob-sleds and construct a place to use 
them. This is a mighty good article that should 
be read in the morning. If a boy read it at 
night, he would lie awake making plans for 
the glorious times he was going to have the 
next day. 


St. Nicholas is going to give more space 
than ever to such articles as have been appear- 
ing under the heading "Nature and Science for 
Young Folks." The St. Nicholas League in 
the February number contains especially in- 
teresting pictures, poems, and articles by the 
many contestants. The Riddle-Box gives the 
answers to the puzzles in the January number, 
and prints several fascinating puzzles which 
the readers will enjoy solving— or trying to 


In the advertising section, readers will find 
"The Book Man" as interesting as ever. It 
appears that although "The Book Man" has 
been in St. Nicholas only a few months, a 
great many children consult him about books, 
and tell him their likes and dislikes. These let- 
ters he answers direct by mail. By no means 
are his correspondents all children, however, 

for he gets letters frequently from mothers and 
uncles, fathers, school-teachers, and librarians, 
all of whom are more than welcome to what- 
ever services he can render. 

The Advertising Competition continues to 
interest a great many readers. The list of prize 
awards for January will be announced in the 
March number. 

Stamp-collectors consult the St. Nicholas 
stamp page every month, and write to St. 
Nicholas regarding their favorite pastime. 


Every now and then we meet some one who 
thinks that only children are interested in St. 
Nicholas. Among the many letters that prove 
that grown-ups take the keenest interest in 
the articles, stories, and pictures of St. Nich- 
olas is a letter from a bishop, who writes : 

"Permit me to say that, in my judgment, St. 
Nicholas's tribute to Lincoln, 'The Matter- 
horn of Men,' leads all others." Tnis article, 
by Ariadne Gilbert, is one of the series pub- 
lished under the heading "More Than Con- 
querors," in which the biographies of great 
men are told in a way acceptable to old and 
young. Another letter about this series comes 
from Mrs. , of Chicago: 

"I have been desiring for some time to ex- 
press to you our appreciation of the articles 
entitled 'More Than Conquerors,' which have 
been appearing in St. Nicholas for several 
issues. They are indeed valuable beyond 
words, instructive and encouraging, and we 
hope for as many more such articles as there 
are such great men whose lives have inspired 
the writing of them." 

Here is another letter to the Editor from a 
grown-up: "If you had been flat on your back 
for ten days, being fed hourly with a spoon, 
would n't you want something to cheer you 
up? And I got it to-day when St. Nicholas 
came. I have n't been able to read much, but 
I 've read every word of this number, and I 
want to tell you that it 's a wonderful maga- 
zine, and I 'd rather read it than any other- 
grown-up or otherwise. I think it is marvel- 
ous the way you keep up the standard, year 
after year, and I hope people appreciate what 
a lot of hard work and high ideals that 
means !" 

The Editor of the St. Nicholas Riddle- 
Box has received this letter from a member of 
the St. Nicholas League : "For many years 
our family has enjoyed your magazine. Papa 
seems as eager for it each month as he was 
when a boy. We all especially delight in the 
Riddle-Box. There are puzzle-departments all 
over the literary world but none like the St. 
Nicholas ones. In the solution of your puz- 
zles, one finds not merely recreation, but drill 
in paraphrase, synonym, history, and geog- 
raphy. Indeed, I always feel as if I have 
learned something after I have persisted 
throughout a set of your fascinating puzzles." 



A Good-Looking Man 

To be really good-looking a man must have a good 
skin — a skin that is clear, sound and healthy. Such 
a skin is bound to be accompanied by a fine Com- 
plexion, which is a leading essential of good looks 
in either man or woman. But it is impossible to 
have a fine skin unless care is bestowed upon it — 
especially in the case of men, who are subjected to 
more exposure than women. 

The WISE MAN therefore will look to this if he has 
not already done so, and will start the NEW YEAR 
by resolving henceforth to wash DAILY with 

acknowledged by the most famous 
Skin-specialists, and by the great- 
est Beauties of the last Hundred 
and Twenty-Four Years to be 

^ ATE 



"All rights secured" 







Vol. XL! 

JANUARY, 1914 

Copyright, 1913, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 

J J V/ ©A.R. 

No. 3 

Hot-cross buns! 

Old woman runs! 

One a penny, two a penny, 

Hot-cross buns! 

If ye have no daughters, 

Give them to your sons. 
One a penny, two a penny, 

Hot-cross buns ! 


There was an old woman who 

lived in a shoe, 
She had so many children she 

did n't know what to do ; 
She gave them some broth without 

any bread, 
She whipped them all round, and 

sent them to bed. 

Vol. XLI.— 25. 




Girls and boys, come out to play, 
The moon doth shine as bright as day; 
Leave your supper, and leave your 

And come with your playfellows 

into the street. 
Come with a whoop, come with a call, 
Come with a good will or come 

not at all. 
Up the ladder and down the wall, 

A halfpenny roll will serve us all. 
You find milk, and I '11 find flour, 
And we '11 have a pudding in half 
an hour. 

Old Mother Hubbard, 
She went to the cupboard 

To get her poor dog a bone ; 
But when she came there, 
The cupboard was bare, 

And so the poor dog had none. 

Polly, put the 

kettle on, 
Polly, put the 

kettle on, 
Polly, put the 

kettle on, 
And we '11 

all have 


Jack Sprat could eat no fat, 
His wife could eat no lean ; 

And so, betwixt them both, 
They licked the platter clean. 




Ralph Ifcnrp Sariour 

Author of 'The Crimson Sweater," "Crofton Chums," etc. 

"WlLLARD !" 

Mrs. Morris's rebuke sounded only half- 
hearted, and she shot an apologetic glance at 
Willard's father. But for once Mr. Morris, the 
sternest of disciplinarians, chose to be deaf. 
After all, the boy's disappointment was keen, 
and so his criticism of Grandma Pierson elicited 
only the perfunctory warning from his mother. 
The boy's disappointment was shared to a scarcely 
lesser extent by his parents, but they had learned 
to bear disappointment in silence. Willard, wait- 
ing for his father's reprimand, sat with down- 
cast eyes fixed on his untasted breakfast. Fi- 
nally, however, as the expected storm did not 
break, Willard took courage and went on, but 
with more caution. 

"Well, I can't help it," he insisted, with a 
gulp. "She ought never to have promised if she 
did n't mean to keep it !" 

"I 'm certain, Will," responded Mrs. Morris, 
soothingly, "that your Grandma Pierson fully 
meant to keep it. Mother was never the sort 
to say a thing and not mean it." 

"If she had lived on, she 'd have done just as 
she said she 'd do," said Mr. Morris. "I guess 
she expected to live a good many years yet. 
Eighty-one is n't very old ; leastways it was n't 
for her; she was such an active old lady. When 
were we out there before this time, Mother?" 

"Three years ago Christmas. That was when 
she made the promise. I almost wish she had n't, 
seeing it 's turned out as it has." 

"It seems as though she might have made a 
new will after she promised what she did," said 
Willard, rebelliously. 

"Maybe she put it off, thinking there 'd be 
more money later," replied Mr. Morris. "Cousin 
Joe writes that the whole estate won't amount to 
much more than five thousand dollars, and some 

of that 's in a mortgage that '11 take a lot of han- 
dling to realize on. The fact is, Mother, I don't 
just see where she expected to get the money for 
Will anyway, do you?" 

Mrs. Morris shook her head doubtfully. "Per- 
haps she thought that by the time Will was ready 
for college, she 'd have the money. She cer- 
tainly meant to do something for him, George. 
She 'd always been especially fond of Will." 

"Oh, she meant it, I 'm sure. She asked me 
how much it would take to see him through col- 
lege, and I told her two thousand. It was her 
own idea. There was n't anything actually said 
to that effect, Mother, but I think it was simply 
understood that Will was to have that money, 
and that we were n't to expect anything more. 
And there was n't any reason why we should. 
She 'd have done quite enough for us if — if 
she 'd done that. As it is, Clara and Alice get 
it all." 

"I suppose that 's my fault, George. 
I always wanted her to think we 
plenty. And then Clara and Alice both needed 
it more than we did." 

"I know. I 'm glad you did. And I 'm not 
begrudging the money to your sisters. As you 
say, they do need it more than we, even if— Any- 
how, we 've always managed to get along pretty 
well so far, have n't we? Maybe we have n't 
had many luxuries, Jenny, but we 've managed, 

"Of course we have. You and I don't need 
luxuries. I 've always had everything I really 
wanted, George. I 'd have liked Will to go to 
college, seeing he 's set his heart on it, but 
maybe this is for the best, too. Perhaps he will 
be more help to you in the shop." 

Willard, staring distastefully at his plate, 
frowned impatiently. "That 's fine, is n't it?" he 
demanded. "Here I 've been telling all the fel- 

You see, 
had — had 




lows that I was going to college in the fall ; and 
I 've gone and taken the college course, too ; and 
Mr. Chase has been helping me with my Greek ! 
And now— now I can't go after all ! I think 
it 's — " he gulped — "too bad !" 

"Maybe you '11 get there, son, although I don't 
see much chance of it next fall. If only business 
would pick up— If I can find the money to send 
you to college, you '11 go. If I can't, you '11 have 
to buckle down at the shop. There are plenty of 
men doing well who never went to college. I 
wish you could go, but maybe it was n't intended 

"Well, I 'm going, sir ! When I get through 
high school next spring, I 'm going to find some 
work and make enough money to start, anyhow ! 
If I can make good on the foot-ball team this 
year, maybe I '11 get an offer, and college won't 
cost me anything. Lots of fellows do it," mut- 
tered Willard. 

"But you 're not to be one of them," returned 
his father, decisively. "Here, let me see those 

Willard passed the packet across to him, and 
watched glumly while his father slid off the faded 
blue ribbon that held the envelops together. One 
by one Mr. Morris held them up and peered into 
them for the third or fourth time. 

"Unless she meant to put some money or a 
check in one of these," he murmured, "I can't 
understand it." He laid the six envelops in a 
row on the cloth and shook his head over them. 
Then he took up the papers which, with the 
strange and disappointing legacy, had arrived 
from the West by the morning mail. But they 
told him nothing new. Grandmother Pierson's 
will, a copy of which Cousin Joe had sent, was 
short and definite. There was a legacy of some 
personal trinkets and a small sum of money to 
an old family servant, and, "To my grandson, 
Willard Morris, the contents of the packet in- 
scribed with his name which will be found in the 
mahogany work-box on the table in my bedcham- 
ber." The rest of the estate, real and personal, 
was bequeathed in equal shares to Mrs. Morris's 
two sisters. Cousin Joe's letter was brief. In 
pursuance of his duties as executor of the estate, 
he was forwarding the legacy mentioned in the 
will, also a copy of the instrument. Willard was 
to sign the accompanying receipt ; and Cousin Joe 
hoped they were all well. 

The package had been done up in a piece of 
brown paper and tied with a white string— what 
Grandma Pierson would have called "tie-yarn." 
On the outside, in the old lady's shaky writing, 
was the legend, "For my Grandson, Willard Mor- 
ris." Inside they had found six envelops which, 

once white, had yellowed with age. The writing 
on each was the same : "Miss Ellen Hilliard, 
Fayles Court House, Virginia" ; and the post- 
marks showed various dates in the years 1850 and 
1 85 1. In the upper right-hand corner of each 
envelop was a stamp quite unlike any Mr. Morris 
had ever seen. Five were buff and one was blue. 
Each was round and about the size of a silver 
half-dollar. They were printed in faded black. 
A circlet of stars ran around the outer edge, and 
inside was the inscription "Post-office, Alexan- 
dria." In the center was the word "Paid," and 
under it a figure "5." 

"You say these were your father's love-letters, 
Jenny?" asked Mr. Morris. 

"Yes. I 've seen them many times. Mother 
read me parts of them, too, sometimes. He wrote 
beautifully, you remember. Mother always kept 
those letters in that old work-box with the green 
velvet lining, the one the will speaks about. It 
was her treasure box, and it was always kept 
locked. I remember there were three or four 
daguerreotypes there, and some clippings from 
newspapers, and such things." 

"She was careful to take the letters out," 
mused Mr. Morris. 

"Maybe she had a feeling that she would n't 
get well. I suppose she destroyed the letters. 
She would n't want any one reading them after- 
ward, you see, Mother would n't. Of course it 
might be that her mind wandered a little toward 
the end, and she thought she was really doing 
something for Will when she put his name on the 

"But Cousin Joe says the will was the one she 
made before we were out there," objected Mr. 
Morris. "I think her mind was all right then. 
Well, it 's strange, that 's all." He rose from the 
table with a sigh. "That 's what it is, very 
strange." He pulled out a big silver watch and 
looked at it. "Son, I 'm sure it 's time we were 
hiking along." 

Willard pushed his chair back disconsolately 
and arose. He was seventeen, rather tall for his 
age, and had strong, broad shoulders like his 
father's ; or as his father's had been before con- 
stant bending over desk and bench had stooped 
them. The boy had a good-looking, frank face 
and nice brown eyes, but just at present the eyes 
were gloomy and the face expressed discontent. 

"Better take those envelops before they get 
lost, Will," counseled his mother. He regarded 
them with a scowl of contempt. 

"I don't want the old thi lgs," he muttered as 
he left the room. Mr. Morris, looking after him, 
frowned and then sighed. Mrs. Morris echoed 
the sigh. 




"I fear this settles it, Jenny," said Mr. Mor- 
ris, tucking the Audelsville "Morning Times" in 
his pocket. "If I could get hold of the money 
anyway, he should have it ; but I don't know 
where to turn for it, and that 's a fact." 

"Never mind, dear," said Mrs. Morris as her 
husband stooped over to kiss her. "There 's al- 


Now, however, he waved his hand, and, turning 
in at the gate, entered the house and climbed the 
stairs to the teacher's room. Mr. Chase was 
seated at a small table by the window. A stamp- 
album lay open before him, and he was affixing 
little hinges to some stamps, and pasting them, 
with deft, experienced fingers, into the book. 


most a year yet, and something may turn up. 
You never can tell." 

"We might as well look on the bright side, I 
suppose," returned Mr. Morris, "although things 
have n't been turning up much of late, Jenny." 

His gaze encountered the envelops again, and 
he stared at them a moment. Then, with a puz- 
zled shake of his head, he passed out. 

It was a fortnight later that Willard, returning 
from practice with the high school foot-ball team, 
and passing in front of Mrs. Parson's boarding- 
house, heard his name called, and looked up to 
see Mr. Chase at the open window of his room. 

"Come up and pay me a visit, Will," said the 
assistant principal. 

Willard hesitated a moment. He had been 
rather avoiding Mr. Chase for the last two weeks. 

"Pardon me if I don't get up, Will," he said. 
"I want to get these in before the light fails. 
Well, how are you getting on at foot-ball?" 

"Pretty well, sir." 

"It is more interesting than our old friend 
Homer, eh ? You know we have n't had a Greek 
lesson for a long time, Will." 

"No, sir, and I — I guess there is n't any use 
having any more." 

"Why, how 's that? Do you think you know 
enough to pass those exams?" 

"I 'm not going to take them, sir. I — I 'm not 
going to college after ail." 

Mr. Chase looked up in surprise. "Not go- 
ing !" he exclaimed. "Why, Will, I thought that 
was all settled. What 's changed your mind?" 

Willard very nearly replied that Grandma Pier- 
son had changed his mind, but he did n't. In- 
stead, "Father can't afford it, sir," he answered. 




"Dear, dear, I 'm sorry! Is it— quite settled? 
Is n't there any hope, Will?" 

"No, sir, I don't think so. Not unless I earn 
the money somehow, and I guess I could n't do 

"It would take some time," Mr. Chase agreed 
dubiously. "You 'd need pretty nearly three hun- 
dred a year, Will, although you might scale that 
down a little. I 'm sorry, awfully sorry !" 

"Yes, sir, so 'm I." 

There was silence for a moment. Then Mr. 
Chase asked, "And you don't think you want to 
go on with the Greek, eh? Suppose you found, 
next fall, that you could go, after all, my boy. 
You 'd have hard work passing, I 'm afraid." 

"I don't believe there 's any hope of it, sir." 

"Still, the unexpected sometimes happens, 
does n't it? You would n't want to lose your 
chance for the need of a little Greek, now, would 

"No, sir, but—" 

"Then don't you think we 'd better go on with 
our Friday evenings, Will? I do. Even if you 
should n't get to college, my boy, a working 
knowledge of Greek is n't going to be a bad thing 
to have. Now suppose you drop in on Friday 
after supper?"' 

"Very well, sir, I guess I might as well. I — I 
have n't studied much lately, though." 

"Better look it over a bit before Friday then. 
There, that 's done ! Now we '11 light up and 
have a chat." 

"I did n't know you collected stamps, Mr. 
Chase," said Willard as the teacher closed the 
window and lighted the study lamp on the big 

"Have n't I ever shown you my books?" asked 
Mr. Chase. "Yes, I 'm a 'stamp fiend,' Will. It 's 
not a bad hobby. Expensive, though. I could n't 
afford it if I was married. I suppose," he added 
ruefully, "I ought n't to afford it now." 

"I started to collect stamps when I was a little 
kid," confided Willard as he took the chair Mr. 
Chase pushed forward, "but I did n't get very 
far. I don't know whatever became of my stamps. 
I think they 're in the attic, though." 

"Yes? Did you have many?" asked Mr. Chase 
as he washed the mucilage from lis fingers at the 

"Only about a hundred, I believe. I had a Cape 
of Good Hope, though." 

"Did you?" Mr. Chase inquired. "Which one 
was it?" 

"I don't remember. Is there more than one ?" 

"There are quite a few," Mr. Chase laughed. 
"And they differ considerably in value. You must 
show me your collection sometime." 

"I doubt if it 's worth showing," murmured 
Willard. "I guess all my stamps are just common 
ones. There was one, though, I paid a dollar for. 
I forget what it was. I suppose you have an 
awful lot?" 

"Only about twelve hundred, I believe, but 
some of them are rather good. When I stop to 
consider what those stamps have cost me, though, 
I have to shudder. Still, stamps— rare ones, I 
mean — are n't a bad investment. They increase 
in value right along." 

"Twelve hundred !" exclaimed Willard. 

"Yes, indeed," replied the teacher, with a smile. 
"And I don't go in for 'freaks' much, either ; nor 
revenues. Revenues in themselves would keep a 
man busy." 

"What do you mean by "freaks'?" asked Wil- 

"Oh, 'splits,' and 'blanks,' and surcharges, and 
such. Of course, though, I have a few sur- 

"And what is a 'split,' Mr. Chase?" 

"A 'split' is a stamp of, say, two-cent denomi- 
nation cut diagonally across. Each half equals 
in value a one-cent stamp. Sometime ago, when 
an office ran out of one-cent stamps, it would cut 
up a lot of twos. Sometimes a ten-cent stamp 
was split to make two fives, and in one case 
three-cent stamps were cut in such a way that 
two thirds of each did duty for a two-cent stamp. 
Later, when the government ran out of a certain 
issue, they merely took a stamp of a lower de- 
nomination and surcharged it, that is, printed 
over it the larger denomination. I have a friend 
who makes a specialty of provisional stamps, such 
as 'splits' and 'postmasters.' He pays no atten- 
tion to anything else, and has two full books 
already, I believe." 

"Some stamps cost a lot, don't they?" Willard 

"Unfortunately a good many of them do," Mr. 
Chase chuckled. "There 's a rumor that some 
one paid seventeen thousand dollars, not so long 
ago, for a pair of Mauritius post-office stamps, 
one-penny and two-penny. Those are mighty 
rare, and I 've never seen them. Then there are 
the British Guiana one-cent and the Niger Coast 
Protectorate; the latter— I forget its list number 
— is perhaps the rarest stamp in the world, since 
only one of its kind was ever printed." 

"My !" said Willard. "What 's that worth?" 

"So much that it 's never had a price put on it, 
I believe. Some of our own stamps are worth 
quite a lot, too. Take some of the postmasters' 
provisionals, for instance. Only one copy is 
known of an issue from Boscawen, New Hamp- 
shire, and whoever has that surely has a prize." 




"What is a postmaster's pro— what you said?" 

"Provisional?" laughed Mr. Chase. "I '11 show 
you." He reached under the table and pulled out 
a big square album, and Willard moved his chair 
nearer. "Provisional stamps were made and 
issued by postmasters in the days before we had 
a national postage-stamp system, Here 's one 
issued in Trenton, New Jersey, and here 's one 
from Portland, Maine. See ? Some of them are 
pretty simple; just the name of the office and the 
words 'Paid— 5.' They 're interesting, though, 
and, as I say, some of them bring a lot of money." 

"How— how much did those cost?" asked Wil- 
lard, eagerly. 

"These ? Oh, not much. ■ This one was twelve 
and— let me see — that was eight, I think, and — " 

"Eight cents?" 

"Hardly! Eight dollars, my boy." 

"Well — well, if they came from some other 
place, would they be worth that much?" stam- 
mered Willard. 

Mr. Chase closed the book and replaced it un- 
der the table. 

"If they came from Alexandria and were genu- 
ine, they 'd be worth quite as much as these ; per- 
haps more. Why do you ask ? You don't happen 
to have one in your collection, do you?" 

"Yes, sir ! That is, not in my collection, but 
I 've got some that— that my grandmother sent 

"What ! postmasters' provisionals of Alexan- 
dria, Virginia ? Are you certain ? What are 
they like? Where are they?" 

Mr. Chase was plainly interested. 

"I don't know whether they 're postmasters' 
provisionals," replied Willard, "but they 're a 
good deal like those in your book. They 're 
round, and sort of yellowish-brown — " 

"Yes, buff; go on !" 

"And they have some stars around the edge, 
and then the name, and 'Paid— 5' in the middle, 
just like those of yours." 


"That depends on how many there are. It is "You say your grandmother gave them to 

scarcity that fixes the prices on stamps." you?" 

"Supposing they were from Alexandria, Vir- "Yes, sir." And thereupon Willard told about 

ginia," Willard pursued, rather breathlessly. the legacy, and Mr. Chase learned the real rea- 




son why the college career had been abandoned. 
And when he had finished, Mr. Chase strode to a 
bookshelf and returned with a catalogue. After 
some excited turning of pages, he paused and 
read silently. "That 's right," he said finally. 
"Your description tallies with Scott's. Where 
are those envelops, Will? Can you let me see 

"I guess they 're at home. I have n't seen 
them since that day. I — I hope Mother did n't 
throw them away !" 

"Throw them away !" Mr. Chase slammed the 
book shut, tossed it aside, and seized Willard's 
cap from the couch. "Put this on," he exclaimed, 
"and scoot home ! Find those envelops and bring 
them over here ! If your mother has thrown 
them away, you 're out sixty or seventy dollars 
at least !" 


"Where are those envelops, Mother?" asked Wil- 
lard, five minutes later, bursting into the kitchen, 
where Mrs. Morris was in the act of sliding a 
pan of hot biscuits from the oven. The pan al- 
most fell to the floor, and Mrs. Morris straight- 
ened up to remonstrate against "scaring a body 
to death" ; but the words died away when she saw 
Willard's face. 

"What envelops do you mean, Will?" she 

"The ones Grandma Pierson sent ! Mr. Chase 
says those stamps may be worth seventy dollars !" 

"Sakes alive, Willard Morris ! You don't 
mean it? Why — why— what did I do with them? 
Have n't you seen them around ?" 

"No, I have n't seen them since the day they 
came. Don't you know what you did with them, 

"Why — why," faltered Mrs. Morris, "it does n't 
seem as if I did anything with them, Will ! I 
don't recollect seeing them after you and your 
father went off. Will, you don't suppose — " her 
voice became scarcely more than a whisper — "you 
don't suppose I threw them away, do you?" 

"You would n't be likely to, would you?" he 
asked anxiously. "Please try and think." 

"I am trying, Will, but— but I can't remember 
seeing them again." She hurried to the dining- 
room, which was also the sitting-room, and be- 
gan a feverish search. Willard followed behind 
her and looked wherever she did, and in two min- 
utes the room had the appearance of having been 
devastated by a cyclone. And in the midst of the 
confusion Mr. Morris entered. Being informed 
of what was going on, he too took a hand in the 
hunt. But ten minutes later, they all had to ac- 
knowledge that the envelops were not in the room. 

"I don't see what I could have done with 
them," reiterated Willard's mother for the twen- 
tieth time. "Are you sure you did n't take them, 

"I know he did n't," said Mr. Morris. "I re- 
member seeing them lying right here when I left 
the room." 

"Well, then I did something with them, that 's 
certain," murmured Mrs. Morris, looking dazedly 
about; "but I don't see what!" 

"I guess we 'd better have supper," said Wil- 
lard's father. "We can have another look after- 

So Mrs. Morris returned to her duties, while 
Willard, preparing hastily for the meal, returned 
to the room and continued the search. At the 
table he ate very little, and as soon as supper was 
over, he began rummaging again. The search ul- 
timately led from the dining-room to the parlor, 
from the parlor to the kitchen, from the kitchen 
to the hall closet, and from there to the bedrooms 
up-stairs. And at eight o'clock, Mrs. Morris, 
lamp in hand, was peering about in the attic ! At 
half-past eight, Willard went to the telephone 
and, calling Mr. Chase up, acknowledged defeat. 

"You can't find them?" came the teacher's 
voice. "That 's too bad. Have you looked in the 
waste-baskets, and the ash-can, and — and those 

"We 've looked everywhere. I guess what 
happened was that my mother shook the table- 
cloth at the back door, and they were in it and 
fell out." 

"Well, I 'd have another look to-morrow by 
daylight," advised Mr. Chase, in disappointed 
tones. "Don't give up yet, Will. You may find 
them tucked away where you least expect to. 
I 'm awfully sorry. Good night." 

Willard hung up the receiver, sadly. "Oh, if 
I could find those envelops and get seventy dol- 
lars for the stamps, I 'd have to earn only about 
a hundred and eighty to have enough for the 
first year. He says it '11 take about three hun- 
dred, but I 'm sure I could do it on two hundred 
and fifty. And if I could get through the first 
year, they 'd have a whole lot of trouble keeping 
me away the second !" 

In the morning, after a sleep badly disturbed 
by dreams, Willard was up early, and when the 
kitchen fire was started, he was out in the back 
yard searching around the kitchen doorway, 
among the currant bushes, and along the picket- 
fence. But he found no trace of the envelops. 
That was Tuesday, and hope did n't actually fail 
him until Thursday. It would not have failed him 
then had it not been that, on that day, Mr. Morris 
put his foot down. 




"They 're gone for good, Mother, and there 
is n't any use fretting about them. So please stop 
pulling the house to pieces and settle down again. 
When a thing 's so it 's so, and you can't make it 
any other way, no matter how much you worry 
about it. There 's nothing to do but let 'em go, 
and try to forget about it !" 

That evening, Willard 

found his old stamp-book in 
the attic, and took it over 
to Mr. Chase. But al- 
though the latter went 
through it carefully, he 
found no prizes there. The 
entire contents would n't 
have brought a dollar at a 
stamp dealer's. When he 
was leaving, Mr. Chase re- 
minded him that they were 
to begin the Greek lessons 
again the next evening. 
Willard hesitated, and then 
promised half-heartedly to 
come. What was the good 
of knowing Greek if he 
could n't get to college? 

But at seventeen no dis- 
appointment is big enough 
to last forever, and Friday 
was a wonderful autumn 
day, with just the right 
amount of tingle in the air, 
and at foot-ball practice 
Willard played so well that 
the coach promised to let 
him start the game against 
Shreeveport High the next 
afternoon; and — well, after 
a good supper eaten with 
a healthy appetite, Willard 
had quite forgotten about 
Grandma Pierson's legacy. 
And at half-past seven he 
found his Iliad— it was n't 
an easy task, either, be- 
cause, since the search for 
the lost envelops, scarcely 
anything was where it used 
to be ! — and set out for Mrs. 
Parson's with a light heart. 

"I did n't have a chance 
to study this at all," said Willard, as he seated 
himself across the table from Mr. Chase. "I 've 
been too busy looking for those envelops, you see. 
So you '11 have to excuse me if I flunk." 

"All right, Will, I '11 forgive you this time. Do 
you remember where we left off? Was n't it 
Vol.. XLL— 26. 

where Ulysses and Diomedes are setting out to 
spy on the enemy's camp?" 

"No, sir, we were way past that. I 've got the 
place marked. I think—" 

"Hello, what 's wrong?" exclaimed Mr. Chase. 

"Why— why— here they are ! They were — 
they were in this book !" stammered Willard. 


"Eh? What were in — " 

"Those envelops, sir ! Look !" 

And there they were, sure enough ; all to- 
gether, and with the bit of faded blue ribbon 
about them. Mr. Chase, beaming, held out his 
hand for them. Willard, still exclaiming, hazard- 




ing theories as to how they got into his Iliad, 
followed around the table while Mr. Chase care- 
fully slid off the band of ribbon and looked them 

"'Alexandria,'" he muttered. " 'Paid— 5.' 
They 're the real thing, Will ! By jove, what a 
find ! Perfect condition, too ! Not a tear on one 
of them ! And no— hello, what 's this?" 

"What, sir?" asked Willard. 

Mr. Chase was staring at the last envelop as 
though he could n't believe his eyes. "Why- 
why, it 's blue!" he almost shouted. 

"Yes, sir, I — I forgot that one was blue. There 
were five of them brown and one blue. Is n't — 
is n't it any good?" 

"Any good !" exclaimed Mr. Chase. "Any 
good?— it 's— " 

He sprang up excitedly, and seized the cata- 
logue from the shelf. "Any good !" he mut- 
tered as he turned the pages quickly. "Any good ! 
Any—" His voice died out, and Willard, won- 
dering, watched his lips move as he read silently. 
Then the teacher studied the envelop again. 
" 'Ditto,' " he murmured, " 'on blue.' " Then he 
closed the catalogue slowly and decisively, and 
laid it on the table. Willard watched him fasci- 
natedly. He had never seen Mr. Chase look so 
excited, so wild-eyed, as this. Was it possible 
that the assistant principal had suddenly lost his 

"Will," said Mr. Chase, slowly and solemnly, 
"I — I can't be sure — I 'm afraid to be sure— but 
if this stamp is genuine, it 's worth — " He 
stopped and shook his head. When he contin- 
ued, it was to himself rather than to Willard. 
"There may be a mistake. Perhaps the cata- 
logue 's wrong. We '11 wait and see." 

"Do you mean," asked Willard, eagerly, "that 
the blue one is worth more than the others ?" 

Mr. Chase laid the envelop on the table and 
was silent a moment. When he answered, he was 
quite himself again. 

"It looks so. Will. Yes, I think I may safely 
say that the blue stamp is worth quite a little 
money. You see, there are two or three dozen of 
the buff ones that are known of, but, so far. only 
one or two blues have ever shown up. But I may 
be mistaken ; don't get your hopes up until we 've 
had it examined, my boy." 

"How much is it worth if— if it is — what you 
think?" asked Willard. 

Mr. Chase shook his head. "Let 's not talk 
about that now. I — there 's the possibility that I 
may be mistaken. Will you let me have these 
for a week or so? I 'd like to send them to the 
city and get expert advice." 

"Of course. You do anything you like with 

them, sir. Only— if you care for it, 1 'd like you 
to have one of them, Mr. Chase." 

"That 's nice of you, Will, but I could n't take 
one as a gift. I '11 gladly buy one if I can afford 
it. Or— wait a bit ! If this blue one is worth 
what I think it is, I '11 accept one of the buff 
stamps as a present. How will that do?" 

"I 'd like you to have one, anyhow, sir. Do 
you think the blue stamp is worth— worth a hun- 
dred dollars?" asked Willard. 

"Will, I don't dare to say. Yes, perhaps a hun- 
dred ; perhaps more, much more — unless I 'm 
making a bad mistake somehow. I '11 mail these 
to-morrow, and we ought to hear within a week. 
Now— now let 's get back to the lesson." 

But Willard did n't make much progress that 


Of course Mrs. Morris remembered when Wil- 
lard told her. 

"Is n't it funny?" she asked beamingly. "It all 
comes back to me now. When I went to clear off 
the table, those envelops were there, and I 
thought to myself, 'Those are Will's, and he may 
want them after all, and I '11 just tuck them in 
his Greek book.' It was lying on the side table 
there. And then I forgot all about it ! I 'm so 
sorry, Will !" 

"It does n't matter a bit now," Willard de- 
clared. "How much do you suppose that blue 
stamp will be worth. Mother?" 

But Mrs. Morris shook her head. "Goodness 
knows, Will ! But maybe it '11 bring enough to 
buy you a nice suit of clothes and — " 

"Clothes !" scoffed Willard. "That money is 
going to put me in college. If there is n't enough 
of it, I '11 get a job somewhere next summer and 
earn the difference. I heard of a fellow who 
made nearly three hundred dollars one summer 
just selling books !" 

"It 's my opinion," declared Mr. Morris, "that 
that stamp is worth a lot of money, and that your 
grandma knew it." 

"I don't see how she could, sir," Willard ob- 
jected. "Why, even Mr. Chase is n't certain 
about it yet." 

"Mother was a great one to read the papers," 
said Mrs. Morris, "and I would n't be surprised 
if she saw sometime that stamps like that were 
valuable. She was forever cutting things out of 
newspapers and saving them." 

"We '11 wait and see," said Mr. Morris. 
"You '11 find I 'm right, son. And if I am, I '11 
be mightily pleased !" 

Waiting, though, was hard work for Willard. 
For a week he managed to be fairly patient, but 




at the end of that period he began to be uneasy. 
"You don't think they got lost in the mail, do 
you?" he asked Mr. Chase. 

"They could n't, because I did n't send them by 
mail. I was afraid to. I sent them by express, 
and put— well, a good big valuation on them. So, 
even if they should be lost, Will, you '11 have a 
lot of money coming to you from the express 

That was comforting, anyhow, and there were 
times when Willard hoped devoutly that the ex- 
press company had mislaid the package. But it 
had n't. Four days later, Willard was called to 
the telephone at supper-time. 

"Will, can you come over here after supper?" 

It was Mr. Chase's voice. 

"Yes, sir ! Have you heard — " 

"Yes, I 've just got a letter. You come over—" 

"Is it all right, sir? About the blue stamp, I 

"H-m ; well, you come over and I '11 tell you." 
Something that sounded like a chuckle reached 
Willard. "Good-by !" 

"I 'm going over to Mr. Chase's," he an- 
nounced. "He 's heard about the stamp. I don't 
want any more supper !" 

"What about it, Will?" his father asked 
eagerly. "How much is it worth?" 

"I don't know yet. He would n't tell me. 
Where 's my cap? Has any one seen— Here it 
is ! I '11 come back right away — if it 's all right !" 

"Hello, Will !" greeted Mr. Chase. "Nice 
evening, is n't it?" There was a perceptible 
twinkle in his eye, and Willard grinned. 

"Yes, sir, it 's a fine evening," he answered 
with a gulp. 

"Yes, we "re having wonderful weather for 
the time* of year. I got a reply from that fellow 
in New York. What did I do with it?" Mr. 
Chase pretended. to have mislaid it, and dipped 
into one pocket after another. Willard squirmed 
in his chair. "Ah, here it is !" said the teacher 
finally, drawing the letter from his inside pocket. 

"Now, let 's see." He opened it with tantalizing 
deliberation. "I asked him to examine those en- 
velops and give me an estimate of their value. 
I did n't tell him we had four more of them, by 
the way." 

"No, sir," murmured Willard. 

"Well, he says he will buy the buff one for 
twelve dollars. That 's less than I hoped to get 
for them, and maybe we might do a little better 
somewhere else. What do you think?" 

"Yes. sir; I mean— I don't know!" blurted 

"Now in regard to the blue one — Mr. Chase 
paused and looked across at the boy. What he 
saw seemed to please him, for he smiled. "I '11 
read you what Watkins says about the blue one, 
Will. Let — me — see; here we are! 'Of course 
you know you 've got the prize of the year in 
the "black-on-bluc." I '11 take it off your hands 
if you want me to, but you 'd probably do better 
at auction. The stamp is in perfect condition, 
and being on the original envelop, ought to fetch 
top price. There 's a big auction in December, 
and you 'd better let me list it for that if you 
want to sell it. Your letter does n't state whether 
you do or don't. I 'm keeping the stamps until 
I hear further. The last Alexandria postmaster 
black-on-blue sold two years ago in this city to 
John Thayer Williams of Philadelphia. It was 
without envelop and slightly soiled. The price 
paid was twenty-six hundred dollars. Your stamp 
ought to bring a couple of hundred more, at least. 
Awaiting your instructions, respectfully yours, 
W. L. Watkins.' " 

Mr. Chase folded the letter and smiled across 
at the boy. 

"Well, what do you think of that, Will?" he 

Willard returned the smile rather tremulously. 

"I think," he began. Then he stopped, swal- 
lowed, and began over again. "I think," he said 
huskily, "that Grandma Pierson is going to send 
me to college after all, just as she promised!" 



They gave him whistles and a drum, 
Two big tin tops that buzz and hum, 
A ninepin set, some squeaking toys ; 
Then said: "Now, Tom, don't make a noise!" 

They gave her paints, a sewing-box, 

Four dolls and stuff to make their frocks, 

A set of books with pictures gay ; 

Then said: "Now, Madge, run out and play!' 



I have so many, many friends 

To tell my secrets to, 
Unless some die, or move away, 

I don't know what I '11 do. 

I tell them, — oh, so cautiously! — 

To twenty-three or four ; 
But somehow, by that time, they are n't 

Like secrets any more. 

There 's one I did n't mean to tell 

Another soul, 't is true, 
But I am sure you '11 understand. 

I b'lieve I '11 just tell you. 

Perhaps I 'd better not, it 's so 

Particular — but — well 
I will, if you will promise sure 

That you will never tell ! 

MO Ff 




When Bernard Saint-Gau- 
dens and his young Irish 
wife took their six-months- 
old baby out of his. home in 
Dublin and carried him on 
board a ship sailing for 
America, they had no idea 
what a valuable baby he 
was. I do not mean in 
money ; the little family of 
three was all poor together ; 
but I mean in brains. If 
babies had been dutiable, the 
United States Government 
might have been paid a tidy 
sum for little Augustus's 
coining. But I suppose his young French father 
never dreamed that the small right hand clasping 
his own so tightly would teach stone how to 
speak. And I suppose even the beautiful black- 
haired mother, with the "generous, loving, Irish 
face," thought less of her baby's future greatness 
than of the famine driving them all to a land of 
strangers. Surely, to fellow-passengers, the 
youngster did not look like a budding genius. 

Nor were the New York City home and streets, 
where Augustus spent his' boyhood, the best 
places to ripen genius. In the Bowery and other 
crowded districts, the child found no greater 
beauty and inspiration than the twilight picking 
of flowers in a near-by graveyard. His young 
mind was a contented clutter of all kinds of city 
impressions : the smell of cake from the bakery 
and of peaches stewed by Germans in his tene- 
ment ; "races round the block" ; the racket and 
joy of street fights, and the greater joy of boy- 
invented games. 

The "Reminiscences of Augustus Saint-Gau- 
dens" paint him as no infant saint. The culprit 
confesses to "lickings galore in school and out," 
and tells us one of his "typical crimes" : "The 
boy by my side in the classroom whispered to me, 
'Say !' As I turned to him, his extended fore- 
finger, which was meant to hit my nose, found 
itself at the level of my mouth. I bit it. He 
howled. I was 'stood up' with my back to the 
class and my face close against the blackboard, 
immediately behind the teacher, who, turned to- 
ward the class, could not see me. To relieve the 
monotony of the view, I took the rubber, covered 
my features with white chalk, and grinned around 
at the class. The resulting uproar can be im- 
agined. I was taken by the scruff of the neck 
and sent to the private classroom, where I had 
the honor of a solitary and tremendous caning." 

He must have been very often in mischief, for 
Saint-Gaudens says that, besides these whippings, 
he was "kept in" for about an hour every day, 
and that he used to look wistfully out of the 
window and envy the freedom of the floating 

None of his teachers seemed to find anything 
good either inside his fun-loving heart or his 
little red head. Apparently no one but himself, 
or some secret crony, admired his slate drawing 
of a mighty battle, or his painting on a back 
fence of a negro boy with a target. Augustus, 
himself, took great pride in that negro boy. The 
hole in the boy's trousers, with the bare knee 
sticking through, was a real stroke of genius ! 

The little fellow often strolled over to his fa- 
ther's shop and drew pictures of the shoemakers 
at work. One day, Dr. Agnew, who had come in 
to order a pair of boots, saw these pen-and-ink 




sketches, recognized the lifelike pose and action, 
talked the pictures over with the young artist, 
and gave encouragement where teachers had 
given only whippings. 

There is a theory that the cobbler's trade offers 
great chances for meditation. A man can do a 


i j 


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'frit ■ , 

4 if 

4 -' 

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/ 4- 

V * 



Ave,/ ST- 

»AV!>EN 5 


power of thinking while he sews a sole. But 
Augustus, not being a moralizing boy, was more 
amused than instructed by his father's philoso- 
phy. Whether he was ever told that what he did 
was "as much use as a mustard-plaster on a 
wooden leg," or that he was "as handy with his 
hands as a pig with his tail," we do not know; 
but those were two of his father's comparisons. 
As a matter of fact, before long, the boy did 
many useful things, and was particularly "handy 
with his hands." As for his tongue, as soon as 
he learned to speak, he had to use that skilfully. 

At home, the Saint-Gaudens children— Augustus, 
Andrew, and Louis— spoke French to their fa- 
ther and English to their mother. 

On Sundays, Augustus and Andrew, the two 
older boys, would take the Canal Street Ferry 
across the North River to the New Jersey shore. 
There were fields and trees 
there then — half a century 
ago— and to those city boys 
it was a weekly trip to 
\ heaven, with one flaw that 

iwjV heaven does not have — the 

coming back at sunset. A 
mob of boys used to take the 
same trip. They would push 
their way to the bow of the 
boat, clamber onto a front 
seat, and, lords of the sea, 
sit there in a grinning row, 
their feet swinging and their 
hearts big with the joy of 
enterprise. The Saint-Gau- 
dens boys- had five cents 
apiece— "two to pay the ferry 
over, two back, and one to 

Hundreds of boys in the 
poor parts of great cities will 
understand this kind of a 
holiday better than any coun- 
try boy. This is especially 
true if a bit of the artist is 
buried in their suffocated 
natures— a longing' for space, 
and light, and color. Augus- 
tus had that longing, and he 
had a fine chance to satisfy 
it when, after an attack of 
typhoid fever, he was sent to 
the country to get strong. 
This is the story from a 
long-after letter to Homer 
Saint-Gaudens, his only son. 
He called himself Nosey, 
because of • his big nose. 
"One night, Nosey woke up while he was sick, 
and he saw his mother and his mother's friend 
kneeling and praying by the bed. It was very 
quiet, and in the little light he saw his good 
mother had big tears in her eyes. And all he 
recollects of the sickness after that was his friend 
Jimmie Haddon. He was very fond of Jimmie 
Haddon. His father was a gold-beater, and he 
used to have four or five men with big, strong, 
bare arms with big veins on them, and they used 
to beat gold in a basement until it was so thin 
you could blow it away; and there was a sign 









$!*■ ■" ' 





over the door, of an arm just like the men's arms, 
and it was gold. Well, he recollects Timmie Had- 
don coming into the room and holding his moth- 
er's hand. But they would n't let him go near 
the bed, as he might get sick too. And then the 
next thing, Nosey was brought to the country, 
just as you are now, and it seemed so beautiful 
and green." The "country" was Staten Island. 

Far from the rumbling streets and crowded 
buildings, the little sick boy found himself once 
more in paradise, only this time he did not have 
to leave at sunset. There was a hill in front 
of the house. For many days, he looked at that 
hill, so close to the loving blue, and wondered 
what was beyond. At last, he was strong enough 
to climb it, and then he made the discovery that 
there were more hills, still farther on, all beau- 
tiful and green. How plenteous and still it was 
— quite as if there was room in the world for 
birds and crickets, as well as for rushing people ! 
But much as he loved the country, the city was 
to be Augustus's home for yet a long, long time. 

So far, the mischievous and affectionate little 
boy had not proved he had any great brain value. 

He drew a good deal ; but what was that ? Many 
draw who come to nothing. At thirteen, how- 
ever, he changed from a pesky school-boy to an 
earnest little workman. To satisfy his strong 
art-instinct and at the same time learn a trade, 
he was apprenticed to a cameo-cutter named 
Avet. Soon after that, he entered a drawing 
class in the night school of Cooper Institute. 
Home from a day of cutting cameos, he would 
swallow a hasty supper and dash off again to 
draw. Either Mr. Avet, the cameo-cutter, or the 
drawing teacher must have heartily encouraged 
him, for, inwardly, more in joyful hope than in 
conceit, Augustus believed himself a "heaven- 
born genius." If the people who jostled against 
him in stages and horse-cars had only known how 
great a genius, would n't they be "profoundly 
impressed"? Such were his youthful thoughts. 
Before long, however, he must have been too 
tired to care what people thought. "In the morn- 
ing," as he tells us, "Mother literally dragged me 
out of bed, pushed me over to the wash-stand, 
drove me to the seat at the table, administered 
my breakfast, which consisted of tea and large 




quantities of long, French loaves of bread and 
butter, and tumbled me down-stairs out into the 
street, where I awoke." 

It was a rushing life for a little boy ; much too 

Education led him from Cooper Institute to the 
Academy of Design, and then to Europe. He 
was in America, however, during the exciting 
Civil War, and he saw things then that, pictured 
on his young mind, asked his older hands to make 
them live in bronze. He saw the soldiers march 
by to war ; and, in the Draft Riots, the sudden 
desertion of the streets and the sudden sound 
of "men with guns running in the distance." 
One April morning, when he was seventeen, he 
found his mother, yes, and his father, too, cry- 
ing at the breakfast-table. It was the news of 
Lincoln's death. Augustus was one of the great 
solemn crowd that went to see the President's 
tired face at rest. Like many others, be looked 
intently, reverently ; but he did not know, that the 

surprised his boy by asking, "Would you like to 
go to the Paris Exposition?" 

The answer is easy to guess. 

"We will arrange that," the father continued. 
To the fellow who had lived such a cramped life, 
spending as little as possible, always, the very 
idea seemed a miracle. Ever since Augustus had 
worked, he had regularly given his entire wages, 
as a matter of course, to his parents. If he was 
to have a trip, it would be a kind of present ; but 
the father had it ready. "He paid for my pas- 
sage abroad, and gave me one hundred dollars 
which he had saved out of my wages." To most 
of us it seems a small enough equipment, but it 
was bountiful from a poor shoemaker. As al- 
ways, the boy was deeply touched by his parents' 
sacrifice. He had a second surprise. An artist 
friend gave him a farewell banquet, and at the 
table, under Augustus's plate, lay one hundred 
francs in shining gold (about twenty dollars), 
"to pay for a trip to Father's village in France." 


time would come when his touch would almost 
make that sad face live. 

One day early in 1867, Mr. Saint-Gaudens 

The last night and the Sunday before sailing, 
Augustus was very busy. Though his artist heart 
leaped forward, his home-loving heart tugged 




back. As if to print on his mind a better picture 
of two faces, very dear, he made a bust of his 
father and a drawing of his mother, those last 
nights in the home he was leaving. 

money his father had generously spared would 
not last long, even by pinching. Augustus would 
have to work as well as study. And so, a day or 
two after he reached Paris, he engaged himself 


Augustus Saint-Gaudens was nineteen when, 
in February, 1867, he sailed for Europe in the 
steerage. At that bleak season, the sea seems 
rough enough in the first cabin. In the steerage, 
Saint-Gaudens was sicker than "a regiment of 
dogs." But he had with him, besides his carpet- 
bag, a big cargo of youth, and ambition, and 
sportsmanlike spirits. If he ever reached the 
steady shore, he was going to work hard and play 
hard, and he could suffer even the miseries of 
that miserable voyage for the joy that was set 
before him. It is as worker and player that we 
go with him, after the welcome land is reached. 
He was intense in both. He earned his vigorous 
play by vigorous work. 

Even on his first night in Paris, as he trudged 
up the brilliantly lighted Champs-Elysees, 
weighed down with the immense weight of his 
more and more burdensome carpet-bag, he was 
half laborer, half sight-seer. He hated the heavy 
load ; but he loved the dazzling glory. The little 
Vol. XLI.-27. 

to cut cameos for an Italian named Lupi. Morn- 
ings and evenings, he worked in a modeling 
school, to "learn sculpture in nine months" ; af- 
ternoons, he cut cameos for his living. But he 
worked "so much at the school and so little at 
the cameos," that he grew poorer and poorer, 
moving from one cramped lodging to another. 
The Latin Quarter must have seemed almost too 
homelike to a Bowery boy. He tried sleeping on 
a cot without a mattress ; on a mattress on the 
floor ; with a friend, poorer than himself, on a 
cot two and a half feet wide. With merry cheer, 
the young artists shared their hopes and hard- 
ships. One night, he and his chum, Herzog, 
moved all their little possessions in a hand-cart 
hired for five cents an hour. Two cot-beds and 
bedding, pitchers, basins, piles of books, a mod- 
eling-stand, and what few clothes they had— all 
were loaded in artist disorder on that little cart. 
Though one of them "ran behind to gather the 
driblets," and though they got a third friend to 




help, they lost a "good quarter" of their things 
on the road. 

Still jolly fellowship prevailed. Through all 
the ups and some of the downs, Augustus whis- 
tled and sang ear-splittingly, and loved "Beetho- 
ven and ice-cream." It was the "regular life of 
a student, with most of its enthusiasms and dis- 
heartening^." Among other disheartenings, there 
was a nine-months' delay before he was admitted 
to the Beaux Arts. Meanwhile, he took what he 
could get in smaller schools, and all the fun there 
was anywhere. # His account of Professor Jac- 
quot is delightful. Half lispingly, half splutter- 
ingly, he would lean over the drawings and say, 
" 'Let us shee, um-m-m ! Well, your head 's too 
big, too big. Your legsh are too short.' Then 
bang ! bang ! would come the black marks over 
the drawing. 'There you are ! Fixsh that, my 
boy, fixsh that !' " The young students had a 
great deal of fun at Professor Jacquot's expense, 
and Gus Saint-Gaudens, who had been such a lit- 
tle scamp in the North Moore Street school long 
ago, had lost none of his sense of humor. It 
cheered him through many times of gloom. 

Let us "jump," like Saint-Gaudens, from work 
to play. Twice we have seen him intense in 
labor, first as a boy in New York, cutting cameos 
all day and drawing at night, and then as a young 
man in Paris, studying sculpture mornings and 
evenings, and cutting cameos in the afternoons. 
As a necessity, however, he snatched every 
chance for rest and fun. He doted on wrestling 
and swimming, and was a beautiful diver. So 
as not to interrupt his art and still get physical 
recreation, he would go swimming at five o'clock 
in the morning, and he exercised more violently 
than any other in the gymnasium. No one was 
more eager for a holiday. Poor as the students 
were, once in a while they allowed themselves 
the joy of an outdoor excursion. A third-class 
railway carriage was good enough for them ; 
much of the time their feet were better yet. 
Saint-Gaudens's friend, Monsieur Gamier, de- 
scribes the delightful trip three of them took to 
Switzerland. It cost from twenty to thirty dol- 
lars. "As soon as he saw the water, Gus had to 
enter. . . . Nobody got his money's worth so well 
as he. Everything seemed enchanting, everything 
beautiful. We bathed in the Rhine. We passed 
over it on a bridge of boats, and drank beer in 
Germany. It was wonderful !" Then he went 
on to tell of one day when they rose at dawn, 
took their tin drinking-cups, butter in a tin box, 
wine and milk in gourds, cold meat, and a big loaf 
of bread, and piling them all on the top of their 
knapsacks, tramped forth into the morning, poor, 
but happy as "escaped colts." 

It seemed to be Saint-Gaudens's nature to be 
happy. During his three years in Paris and his 
five in Rome, hope was his best tonic. It coun- 
teracted many a dose of grim disappointment, 
and much that was depressing. "He was dan- 
gerously ill in a low attic in Rome," and, though 
he soon proved himself a fine cameo-cutter, it 
was years before his success as a sculptor was 
sure. Meanwhile, he and Miss Homer had de- 
cided they wanted to get married ; but Miss Ho- 
mer's father thought an artist's trade a bit un- 
certain. And so, hard as the fact was, the wed- 
ding-day hinged on orders for statues. They 
came, and so did the wedding; but Saint-Gau- 
dens's life was a money-struggle a good deal of 
the way, and a health-struggle at the end. In 
Rome, he had to piece out his earnings from 
sculpture by making cameos; and in America, 
he had to piece out by teaching. As lives go, 
however, his was not sad. Love and confidence 
filled his childhood's poor little home. And he 
had, as a man, the happiness of educating his 
brother Louis, and of making his father proud. 
Except for the death of his parents and the com- 
plete ruin of his Cornish studio by fire, he had, 
as lives go, little sorrow. Generous, free from 
conceit, and always fond of a good time, Saint- 
Gaudens was rich in friends, friends who laughed 
at his singing, trembled at his fearless swims, 
suffered at his disappointments and illness, and 
gloried in his success. 

The three things he had to conquer were pov- 
erty, illness, and the problems of art. It is with 
Saint-Gaudens the artist that we are chiefly con- 
cerned. He described his life as "up and down, 
up and down, all the time," and his brain, while 
he worked on the Farragut, as a confusion of 
"arms with braid, legs, coats, eagles, caps, legs, 
arms, hands, caps, eagles, eagles, caps." Besides 
this, he had to deal directly with "molders, scaf- 
foldings, marble assistants, bronze men, trucks, 
rubbish men, plasterers, and what-not else, all 
the while trying to soar into the blue." 

Except for occasional flights to Europe, the 
rest of his life was spent in this country : fifteen 
years in a New York studio on Thirty-sixth 
Street, and then seven years in Cornish, New 
Hampshire. Peeps into his studio give peeps at 
his circumstances and character. One day, amid 
the "clatter of molders and sculptors" and the 
"incessantly jangling door-bell," we find his old 
father and Dr. McCosh, president of Princeton, 
sleeping there as soundly as if they were in bed. 
Mr. Saint-Gaudens often took his nap at his son's 
studio, and this day, Dr. McCosh, who had come 
too early for his pose, had had to wait till the 
big horse for the Shaw Memorial had served his 




time as model. It was already strapped in place 
and "pawing and kicking" for freedom. 

Saint-Gaudens was not, above all things, either 
self-controlled or patient. Once when the work 
had been stopped "for the thirty-fifth time, while 
some one looked for a lost hammer," he ordered 


a gross of hammers, in the hope that, out of a 
Tiundred and forty-four, one would be at hand 
for use. He said to his assistants one day : 

"I am going to invent a machine to make you 
all good sculptors. It will have hooks for the 
back of your necks, and strong springs. . . . 
Every thirty seconds, it will jerk you fifty feet 
away 1 from your work, and hold you there for 
£ve minutes' contemplation." 

"Time and distance" were two of the articles 
in his artist-creed. 

"You delay just as your father did before 
you," flashed Governor Morgan. Saint-Gaudens 
did delay, and for this he was much criticized; 
but think of the discouragements that met his 
art, and remember, too, his 
love of perfection. Often 
careless molders, by neglect- 
ing some detail, would waste 
both time and money. When 
a workman broke two fingers 
off his "Venus of the Capi- 
tol," he had to make the 
whole figure again. When 
the Morgan monument was 
"within three weeks of com- 
pletion," the shed which shel- 
tered it burned down, and the 
statue was so badly chipped 
that it was ruined. Saint- 
Gaudens had gone into debt 
for this statue, and it was 
not insured ; but the destruc- 
tion of his brain- and hand- 
labor was worse than the 
money loss. He had a hard 
time over one hind leg of the 
Sherman horse. While he 
was in Paris, something hap- 
pened to the cast, and he had 
to send a man to the United 
States to get a duplicate. 
"Three weeks later the man 
returned— with the wrong 
hind leg." Then, when the 
horse was enlarged, "the leg 
constantly sagged." Guided 
by their own judgments, the 
assistants "plugged up the 
cracks," with the result that 
the leg was three inches too 
long at the final measure- 

Among other stories in the 
charming "Reminiscences" 
by father and son is a con- 
fession by the son. When 
he was a boy in Cornish, he had a pet goat 
which he had trained to play a butting game. 
The goat would butt, Homer would dodge, and 
then, to his great glee, the goat would butt 
the wrong thing or the air. One day at dinner- 
time, when the studio barn was deserted, Homer 
was playing this game. Beyond the open barn 
door stood the wax model of the Logan horse, 
"waiting to be cast in plaster." This time, when 




Homer dodged, the goat butted the back of the 
horse. But since it did not fall or breakj the 
relieved child thought it was n't hurt, and did n't 
tell. Before any one noticed that "the rear of 
the animal was strangely askew," the horse had 
been cast in plaster and the enlargement begun. 
This meant the loss of a whole summer's work — 
just one more of the accidents and errors that 
increased the "toughness of the sculptor's life." 
The worst of all was that great catastrophe — 
the burning of the studio in Cornish. 

But, instead of dwelling on that, let us look 
at that other cause of delay in Saint-Gaudens's 
work— his love of perfection. For fourteen years, 
while other statues came and went, the Shaw 
Memorial stood in the crowded studio. A "kink 
in Shaw's trousers" had caught a "kink" in Saint- 
Gaudens's brain, Shaw's "right sleeve bothered 
him," and the flying figure drove him "nearly 
frantic." Again and again he modeled and re- 
modeled her ; he experimented with the folds of 
the drapery; he changed the branch in her right 
hand from palm to olive, to make her, as he said, 
less like a Christian martyr. In turn on the scaf- 
fold behind the Shaw, stood the Chicago Lincoln, 
the Puritan, the Rock Creek Cemetery figure, 
and Peter Cooper. Meanwhile, as Homer Saint- 
Gaudens says, his father returned to work on 
Shaw, "winter and summer, with unflagging per- 
sistence. Even the hottest of August days would 
find him high up on a ladder under the baking 

Besides this, Homer Saint-Gaudens tells us 
that four times his father made a new beginning 
for the Fish monument, before arriving at a final 
form, and that for the McCosh relief he made 
"thirty-six two-foot sketches." He had to re- 
model by hand the enlargements of the standing 
Lincoln, Peter Cooper, and the Logan horse. 
Usually assistants do this mechanically. The 
inscription for the Stevenson Memorial, contain- 
ing 1052 letters, was "modeled— not stamped—" 
letter by letter twelve times. For a coin design 
Saint-Gaudens modeled seventy eagles, and some- 
times he would stand twenty-five of them in a 
row for visitors at the studio to compare. And 
for the Phillips Brooks monument he made over 
twenty sketches and drew thirty angels, before 
he decided to use the figure of Christ instead of 
an angel. 

"There were few objects in his later years that 
my father 'caressed' as long as he did this figure," 
writes Homer Saint-Gaudens of the Brooks. "He 
selected and cast aside. He shifted folds of the 
gown back and forth. He juggled with the wrin- 
kles of the trousers. . . . He moved the fingers 
and the tilt of the right hand into a variety of 

gestures. . . . He raised and lowered the chin. 
. . . He shifted the left hand, first from the chest 
to a position where it held an open Bible, and last 
to the lectern, although the lectern was not the 
point from which Brooks spoke." And so the 
Brooks statue was long delayed. 

Whether Saint-Gaudens's delays were due to 
accident or the search for perfection, he was, as 
Kenyon Cox said, "one of those artists for whom 
it is worth while to wait." One committee, at 
least, trusted him— that for the Shaw Memorial. 
It took Thomas Gray eight years to write his 
perfect elegy. Why not give Saint-Gaudens four- 
teen years for his wonderful bas-relief? 

In our search for the secret of his magic, for 
the life-giving power of his touch, we find it lay 
where most magic does lie, in hard work. If 
Christopher Columbus could come to earth, and, 
standing outside a big, darkened building, should 
see it suddenly blaze with light, the touch of the 
electric button would seem to him a magic touch. 
But back of that touch would lie a complex sys- 
tem of wires and years of work of many minds. 
Back of the living, speaking bronze of Saint- 
Gaudens lay years of struggle for perfection. 
If his Rock Creek figure fills us with the sense 
of mystery, and the Shaw Memorial stirs with 
throbbing heroism ; and if the living Lincoln 
looks down, nobly patient under a mighty burden, 
it is all because the magic touch was given 
through numberless experiments by the hand, 
and out of the brain and heart of a devoted man. 
Once given, the touch would last ; he knew that, 
"A poor picture goes into the garret, books are 
forgotten, but the bronze remains." Saint-Gau- 
dens's art would not die with him, like the art 
of Edwin Booth. It would be perpetual. And 
it was worth the cost, in money and vital strength, 
if bronze and stone could be made to live. 

So much for the world's gain by the magic 
touch. The artist had a gain, himself. The joy 
of his touch came back in many ways, though, 
when his statues were unveiled, he tried to escape 
speech-making ; and though, when he was asked 
if his life had satisfied him, he exclaimed, in 
genuine modesty, "No, look at those awful 
bronzes all over the country !" When he was 
traveling in the West, the sleeping-car conductor, 
after painfully spelling out his name, gave "a 
squeeze with his big fist," and said : "Why, you 're 
the man who made that great statue in New 
York! Well, I declare!" That little surprise 
brought real joy to the sculptor. And another: 
one night, almost at midnight, Saint-Gaudens, 
his wife, and Mr. William W. Ellsworth came 
suddenly on an old man standing bareheaded 
before the Farragut monument. 




"Why, that 's Father !" exclaimed Saint-Gau- 
dens. "What are you doing here at this hour?" 

"Oh, you go about your business ! Have n't I 
a right to be here?" answered the old man. So 
the others walked on and left him to his moon- 
light and his pride. 

And then Saint-Gaudens had fun in his work. 
Apparently the darkies, who posed for Shaw's 
followers, brought Saint-Gaudens the greatest 
merriment. He employed "countless negroes of 
all types," and again and again they "gave him 
the slip." But as time went on, he learned just 
to offer "a job," and finally, "promised a colored 
man twenty-five cents for every negro he would 
bring me that I could use. The following day 
the place was packed with them." 

And so his statues brought him laughter. It 
was a good gift— with the magic touch. But not 
the best: the study he put on Brooks and the 
Guiding Figure gave his heart the touch divine. 
During most of Saint-Gaudens's life, "only the 
joy of religion had drawn from him any response. 
But now as," in making this statue, "he gave the 
subject more and more thought, Christ became the 
Man of men, a teacher of peace and happiness." 

The deepest gifts are often the most secret. 
Those who saw Saint-Gaudens at. work, and sing- 
ing lustily the while, would have guessed nothing 
of this. Like Stevenson, he made light of pain, 
this singing laborer. And yet, rheumatism, ner- 
vousness, and dyspepsia were his steady compan- 
ions. Three times he had to go to a hospital, 
and during those last seven years in Cornish, he 
fought a constant fight against illness. He had 
to "work with teeth set." "He limped around 
behind a curtain to take medicine . . . came back 
and worked away for hours." The last thing he 
touched, as an artist, was a medallion of his wife ; 
he worked on that "when he could no longer 

In the little town of Cornish, brook-threaded 
and hill-caressed, Saint-Gaudens had found a 
satisfying home for the last years of his life. It 
"smiled." For Lincoln models there were "plenty 
of Lincoln-shaped men." The farmers loved to 
see the statue in the field. And a crowd of Saint- 
Gaudens's friends followed him : he had a farm ; 
they would have farms ; and they would all love 
the country together. So around him grew up a 
little settlement of artists and writers, with gar- 
dens made to live in, pillar-like poplars, and fra- 
grant tangles of wild grape-vines. Unknowingly, 
the city-bred boy of long ago had craved the 
blossoming country, and hungered for something 
sweeter than the streets. The little trips to the 
Jersey fields, the peace of Staten Island, the 
over-powering grandeur of Switzerland, and the 

fairy-like perfection of Capri, with its "fields 
and fields of flowers,"— all these had made that 
hunger worse. Saint-Gaudens, crying out for 
beauty, was weary of "work between four 

Then, too, as long as he was able, Cornish gave 


him a place to play: to ride horseback (and per- 
haps be thrown), to fish for trout, play golf in 
summer and hockey in winter, to slide down 
"perilous toboggan-shoots," and tip out of sleighs, 
and to love it all — the fringing spring with its 
trebled brooks, and the sparkling winter with 
its merry bells. 

As long as his strength would let him, he 
played and worked intensely, bearing his long, 
unmentioned sickness with the bravest spirit. 
Though he loved the world, he was not afraid to 
leave it, and he had not counted the "mortal 
years it took to mold immortal forms." 





Author of "The Flower Princess, rhe Lonesomest Doll," etc. 

Chapter I 


Four flights up the rickety tenement staircase 
was a little room with the door shut tight. The 
key was turned in the keyhole 
outside. From inside came 
the sound of sobbing for any 
one to hear. But there was 
no one to hear ; every one was 
too busy indoors or out on this 
beautiful June day. Every one 
who had work to do was doing 
it, over the hot stove, or at the 
shop or factory. The free 
children were romping or tum- 
bling about in the alley ; for 
this was Saturday morning, 
and there was no school. 

Saturday morning in June ! 
That suggests' all sorts of 
pleasant things : parks, and 
flowers, and excursions on the 
water; birds, and green grass, 
and freedom to run and play 
out of doors. Freedom ! But 
the key was turned in the lock 
outside the dingy tenement 
room, and there came the 
sound of sobbing from inside. 

It was Maggie who cried. 
She lay on a cot-bed in the 
corner, crumpled up like a 
rosebud that has been left too 
long without water. The little 
girl's long, black curls were 
dress was 
Over one 
bruise, and 
was black 

niums could not sweeten the air that came up 
from the alley. 

Presently, Maggie sat up on the bed and looked 
around her with red eyes. "I want to get out !" 
she said aloud. Maggie had a habit of talking 

tangled, and her 
torn and rumpled, 
eye was an ugly 
one of her wrists 

and blue. The room was bare 
and grimy. The only furni- 
ture beside the cot on which 
Maggie lay consisted of two 
broken chairs, a table, a cup- 
board, and a tumble-down 
stove. In the window, two pots of geraniums 
seemed struggling to look as cheerful as possible. 
But it was hard work; for though no merry sun- 
shine came in at the window, the room was hot, 
very hot. And all the feeble efforts of the gera- 


(SEE PAGE 217.) 

aloud to herself. And she talked in language 
not quite like that of other tenement children ; for 
once she had had a mother who taught her better, 
and she had not quite forgotten. "I can't bear 
this place, it 's so hot. It 's Saturday, and I want 




to be outdoors !" She ran to the door and banged 
on it as hard as she could with her small fists. It 
was not the first time she had done so that morn- 
ing. "Open the door !" she screamed, thumping 
the panels with her knees. But no one came to 
release her. "They 're all busy somewhere," 
said Maggie, at last, turning away. "It 's no use. 
I '11 have to stay here till 'Tilda comes home. 
And goodness knows what will happen then !" 
She eyed her bruised wrist ruefully, and put her 
hand to her eye, which was painfully swollen. 
"If she hits me again, I don't know what I '11 
do !" Maggie's lip trembled. "I guess I 've stood 
about all I can. And she ain't even my real sis- 
ter. Oh, how I wish I had a home, and a mother 
to take care of me as I used to have !" She 
sank down in a chair beside the table and buried 
her face in her arms, sobbing wildly. 

Suddenly she sat up, the tears still in her eyes. 
"It 's no use crying/' she said; "but what '11 they 
think of me at the Settlement? What will Mr. 
Graham say? I missed the language lesson last 
night, the first time for six months, since I began 
to go there ; and now I have n't reported this 
morning, when he was going to take us to the 
park. I bet they 're starting now. My ! how I 'd 
like to go with the other children and play out- 
doors this lovely day ! And maybe he 'd tell us 
some more stories!" Her eyes brightened at the 
last word, and strayed to the pillow of the bed 
where she had been lying. Presently, with a 
sigh, she crossed the room and pulled out from 
under the pillow a worn green volume. "I can 
read my book anyhow, and I can pretend," she 
said. " 'Tilda does n't know, and she can't stop 
that !" 

Curled up on the bed, Maggie was soon 
absorbed in the contents of the green book, and 
for the time she seemed to forget her troubles. 
Her pretty mouth lost its sad droop, and her pale 
cheeks took on a bit of color. But presently 
something in the text made her uneasy. "I 'm so 
hungry !" she sighed. "I wonder if 'Tilda left me 
anything to eat?" She went to the cupboard in 
the corner and began to rummage among a clut- 
ter of empty boxes and bags, old clothes, and 
stray articles of all kinds. A few crackers and a 
bit of cheese rewarded her search. These she 
placed on the table in a cracked plate, and with 
her book open before her, sat down to eat her 
morning meal. 

" 'The Princess partook of a banquet, waited on 
by many slaves,' " read Maggie, grandly. " 'All 
kinds of delicacies piled the groaning board' (I 
wonder why she did n't have that board fixed), 
'and a sparkling jeweled goblet- was at her 
hand.' " Maggie reached for the cracked water- 

pitcher that stood across the table, half empty, 
and was about to drain it elegantly when her eye 
caught a new sentence in the book : " 'From the 
conservatory came the sweet odors of beautiful 
flowers.' " She glanced quickly toward the win- 
dow. "I had almost forgotten the conservatory," 
she said, and crossing the room with the stately 
tread of a story-book princess, she emptied the 
pitcher into the thirsty geranium pots. "There !" 
she said, "I guess that tastes good to you !" 
And she continued to quote, as she picked off 
some dead leaves, " 'The Princess cared for the 
beautiful blossoms, and tended them herself, 
while the slaves watched admiringly.' (I know 
it by heart!) 'On the terrace the peacocks 
strutted in their showy feathers, and nibbled 
gratefully the crumbs which the Princess tossed 
to them from the window.' " Maggie returned 
to the table and gathered up the cracker crumbs, 
which she scattered outside on the window-sill. 
Immediately, several sparrows came to quarrel 
over her hospitality. A single pigeon swooped 
down from a neighboring roof and pecked dain- 
tily at the crumbs, cocking his head and peering 
at her with knowing little red eyes. "What a 
pretty bird !" exclaimed Maggie. "Don't he look 
knowing? Perhaps he 's a fairy in disguise! 
Are you?" she asked, leaning forward eagerly. 
But at her sudden gesture, the pigeon and the 
sparrows fluttered away, and Maggie turned from 
the window with a sigh. "I wish I could fly like 
that," she murmured. "You bet I would n't stay 
long in this stuffy room. Not much ! Oh, dear, 
I am so thirsty and hungry ! Say, I wish the 
fairies would fetch me something tasty to eat and 
drink, the way they do in books. I wish the 
lucky stone would get busy and do something for 

She drew from her pocket a little heart-shaped 
stone with a white stripe around it, and laid it on 
the table, looking at it earnestly. "Of course it 
did work from the very first, a little," she said. 
"Was n't it funny how I just happened to see 
Mr. Graham pick it up on the street ? And when 
he saw me stopping to see what he was doing, I 
remember just how he said, 'Little girl, here 's a 
lucky stone for you. I wonder if a fairy put it 
there?' S'pose she did? S'pose the lucky stone 
made him say, 'I don't believe you knozv about 
fairies, little girl. Don't you want to come in 
and hear me tell some stories to the other chil- 
dren?' Say, it was funny! Just think; if I had 
n't hiked to the Settlement, I should n't have 
known about Saint George and the Dragon — 
where he got his name — nor about lots of other 
things. And Mr. Saint George would n't have 
been my Jim-dandy friend, nor have given me the 




fairy book. And I guess I should n't have 
known what it was to be magicked under a spell. 
And if I had n't known that, I don't believe I 
could have stood 'Tilda so long. Yes, I guess it 
was a lucky stone for me, all right ! But, believe 
me, it is 'most time something else happened to 
break the spell. I do think it is 'most time my 
fairy got busy, and the lucky stone brought me 
some real, big luck. Mr. Saint George said he 
believed it would." 

But what was that sound on the stairs ! Boots 
were ascending, were creaking toward the door. 
They paused outside. Maggie's face went sud- 
denly pale. In two flying leaps she was across 
the room, stuffing the fairy book back to its hid- 
ing-place under her pillow. Then she fell back 
against the wall and stood at bay, with her little 
fists doubled up before her, and her slight figure 
tense with dreadful expectation. 

"It 's 'Tilda come back ! It 's the wicked 
witch !" she whispered, with fearful eyes on the 

Some one knocked. Maggie did not answer. 
Her heart was knocking, too. "Hello !" called a 
man's voice; "anybody in?" 

Maggie bounded to the door. "Oh, Mr. 
Graham," she cried; "I 'm locked in!" 

"Locked in ?" A hand fumbled with the key, 
and presently the door opened, and in came a tall, 
gray-suited young man with the kind of face that 
children like. But he was not smiling now. 
"Hello, what does this mean?" he said sternly, 
looking around the room. "Why are you shut up 
in this place when you ought to be out of doors 
with us?" 

"Oh, Mr. Saint George ! You have come to 
rescue me, have n't you ? I am so glad to see 
you ! I was afraid it was 'Tilda." Maggie ran 
up and clasped his hand eagerly. He put an arm 
around her, then held her off to look at her face. 

"I should say you had met a dragon, all right !" 
he exclaimed. "How did you get that eye? And 
what is the matter with your wrist?" 

" 'Tilda," said Maggie, simply. "She came 
home again last night — queer — and in an awful 
temper ; and because I wanted to go out, I had to 
catch it. That was why I did n't come to the 
Settlement for the lesson." 

George Graham made a quick remark under 
his breath. "And why did she lock you in this 
morning?" he asked, frowning. "Whew! It is 
hot here !" 

"She knew I wanted to go with you. But when 
I woke late— 'cause I did n't sleep all night with 
my banged old eye— she had gone off and locked 
me in. And I could n't tell you about it ; that was 
the worst of all !" 
Vol. XLI.-28. 

"And she was going to keep you here all day?" 

Maggie nodded. "She don't usually get home 
till late Saturdays." Again Mr. Graham made a 
sound with his lips. 

"I guess it is about time to put a stop to this !" 
he murmured. "Have you had breakfast, Mag- 

Maggie glanced at the window-sill, where the 
sparrows were nibbling the last of her crumbs. 
"The captive Princess had a royal banquet," she 
said, with a laugh; "crackers, Mr. Graham; about 
two crackers and a half. Only I gave the half to 
the peacocks," she giggled, as she saw his be- 
wildered expression. "Oh, you know I play it 's 
all a fairy story," she explained, "like what 's in 
the fairy book you gave me. It helps a lot." 

"Look here," said Mr. Graham, pulling a box 
from his pocket. "I have something here, and 
you sit right down and eat it. We were going to 
have it for luncheon in the park, you and I. But 
I guess it will never taste better to you than 
now. Miss Wilkes has gone on ahead with the 
other children. We '11 take a car and catch them 
up later, after I 've had a doctor look at your 

"My ! ain't it good !" commented Maggie, as 
she nibbled the sandwiches which Mr. Graham 
set out on the cracked plate. "Am I really going 
to the park with you after all? What will 'Tilda 
say ?" 

"Never mind what she says ! I '11 attend to 
that," said Mr. Graham, with a grim look about 
his jaw. "You 're going to the park with me as 
soon as you have eaten your breakfast, and I '11 
be here to explain several things when 'Tilda sees 
you again. But now I 've got something more to 
tell you. Are you prepared for a surprise?" 

"A surprise?" Maggie stopped in the middle 
of a bite. 

"You go on eating, and I '11 tell you. We '11 
have just a little taste of green grass and flowers 
to-day. But how would you like to go to the real 
country and stay for a couple of weeks or so?" 
Maggie stopped eating altogether. 

"Oh, Mr. Graham ! What do you mean ? How 
can I ?" 

"You can, and you shall, if you want to. I 
have made all the necessary arrangements. What 
do you say?" 

"Will 'Tilda let me?" 

" 'Tilda will have to let you. I '11 see to that. 
Her last night's doings have settled one matter 
so far as she is concerned." 

"But where is the country, Mr. Graham? I 
never was there. What is the name of it?" 

"How do you like the sound of Bonnyburn, 




"Bonnyburn ! Bonnyburn ! That sounds like a 
fairy name, Mr. Graham," said Maggie. "Is it a 
real place, not just in a book?" 

"It 's a really, truly place, 'way up in the moun- 
tains, Maggie, where you will get fat and strong. 
There is a farm at Bonnyburn where we get our 
Settlement potatoes and maple-sugar. I wrote to 
Mr. Timmins, the farmer, about you. He has a 
little boy and girl of his own, and they got inter- 
ested in you. They want you to come and visit 
them for a fortnight. I guess you will have a 
good time." 

"Oh !" cried Maggie, clasping her hands, "the 
country ! That 's where there are trees and grass, 
and flowers growing wild. Mama used to say 
we 'd go there some day. She used to live in the 
country. And it 's where the fairies live, — don't 
they, Mr. Graham?" 

"Well, Maggie," he laughed, "you will just have 
to go and find out. If there are any there, you 
will be sure to see them, they are such friends of 
yours. School closes next week. What do you 
say to going the week after?" 

Maggie looked down at her poor dress. "My 
clothes ain't very good," she said, her cheeks 
turning crimson. "My mother used to dress me 
real pretty. But since she died and 'Tilda took 
me, I — I don't ever look nice. My mother would 
have been ashamed to have those country children 
see me, — what are their names, Mr. Graham?" 

"Bob and Bess Timmins," he answered; "and 
they 're about your age. Don't you worry about 
clothes, Maggie. We can fix you up at the Settle- 
ment, I know. Now put on your hat and come 
along. The children will be getting anxious 
about us." 

Maggie began to skip, all smiles and eagerness. 
"I shall take the fairy book with me to Bonny- 
burn, though I know it all by heart," she declared. 
"I don't dare leave it behind, for fear 'Tilda 
should find it. She 'd burn it up. Oh, Mr. 
Graham, if it had n't been for the fairies— Say !" 
— a sudden thought seized her— "I guess your lucky 
stone is beginning to work. I guess I am going 
to be un-magicked. Oh, thank you, Mr. Graham !" 

She gave him a big hug at the head of the 
crazy tenement staircase, and they clattered mer- 
rily down, hand in hand. 

Chapter II 


Forty-five minutes late, the train tugged panting 
up a steep slope into the heart of the mountains. 
It had left the city eight hours behind it, and the 
next big city was still many miles away. There 
was a general relaxation among the hot and tired 

passengers; most of them had long ago ceased to 
look at the passing scenery, though it was well 
worth their attention. 

A brakeman came lazily down the aisle and 
stopped at a seat occupied by a little girl with a 
shabby suitcase. Maggie's face was pressed 
closely against the window, and, absorbed in the 
wonderful moving picture outside, she knew 
nothing of the discomforts within. It was to her 
an enchanted journey, the first she had ever 
taken. The brakeman touched her shoulder. 

"You get off at the next station," he said, nod- 
ding out of the window. "We are coming to 
Bonnyburn now." 

Maggie turned to him big, eager eyes. "Oh," 
she said, "this is Bonnyburn ! Ain't I glad !" She 
clutched her suitcase and started to her feet. The 
brakeman laughed. 

"I '11 bet you 're glad," he said. "It 's a long 
trip for a kid like you, all alone. But we are n't 
there yet. I '11 help you off when the train stops." 

Maggie sank back again onto the seat, setting 
in place her new straw hat with its bright rib- 
bon, and smoothing out the gingham dress which 
had been clean when she left home. Then she 
turned again to the window, with its panorama of 
towering peaks, green slopes dotted with white 
patches, and a silver brook threading the valley 
below. It was a fair and goodly land through 
which the train was toiling. To Maggie of the 
city tenement it seemed more. 

"I 'm glad it 's here!" said Maggie to herself. 
"Ain't it like the pictures in the book ! And look 
at that lovely palace up there on the hill, all white, 
like candy ! My ! I '11 bet a fairy princess lives 
there !" 

"Bonnyburn ! Bonnyburn !" called the brake- 
man, as the train slowed up to a tiny station 
neighbored by a mere handful of houses. Maggie 
clutched her pocket-book and rose nervously. The 
brakeman seized her suitcase and pushed her 
before him to the door. 

"Get a move on!" said he, not unkindly. "We 
don't stop here for refreshments." For Maggie, 
a prey to sudden shyness, moved reluctantly. 
There would be strange people to meet her. What 
would they do? What should she say to them? 

The brakeman darted down the steps with her 
suitcase, and then fairly jerked Maggie from the 
train, setting her breathless on the platform. The 
conductor waved his hand, and the train puffed 
carelessly away from the station. 

Maggie stood looking about her, somewhat 
dazed. There was no one to meet her. She was 
quite alone. The station-master came out, picked 
up the mail-bag, and vanished. The station 
seemed entirely deserted, and not a soul appeared 




in the neighboring houses. Apparently there was 
not even a live dog in Bonnyburn ; or else they 
were all asleep. And oh ! how still it was ! 

Maggie's lip trembled, and her little pale face 
looked a shade sadder than usual. She sat down 
on the suitcase and lifted her eyes to the hills. 
The hills ! A great, wonderful wall of them sur- 
rounded her. They peered at her over one an- 
other's shoulders, roun